Ancient Voices: Into the Depths

by Allison D. Reid

  She contemplated the possibility that he was acting from a more mature faith, or that he possessed a deeper spiritual insight than he was able to share with her. But what if he was wrong? If the powerful Tyroc and its Temple could be so easily taken up into the Shadow’s grasp, what chance had Minhaven and its tiny monastic community? Jadon had obviously not felt the call to act, but something indescribable was continually tugging at Morganne, urging her forward. What if she was supposed to do something? What if the tomes had been found at this point in time precisely because Aviad wanted the world to hear their message?

  Morganne spent another weary night tossing restlessly about, trying to sort her thoughts and figure out what Aviad wanted of her. By morning she came to the decision that she must at least tell Glak. She had informed Jadon of the book’s contents, and it was his place to share them with his order. But she had originally set out to look for information that might help the Kinship fight back the beasts. She felt an obligation to tell them what she knew as they prepared to meet the beasts in battle yet again come spring. By morning she was resolved to seek Glak out and to bring Elowyn with her.

  Morganne explained everything to a wide-eyed Elowyn as she hastily dressed herself and Adelin. Elowyn seemed anxious about the idea, unsure as she still was about Glak, who was so carefully guarded and extremely powerful. She could not predict how he might react. Elowyn thought Morganne was being uncharacteristically rash in her decision, but knew that once her mind had been set, nothing would change it. Elowyn hoped that Glak would receive their news well, for if he did not, there was no place they could go to escape the wrath of his displeasure.

  The Chest of Sorrows

  Glak’s home was perched atop a densely wooded hill on the western edge of Minhaven. It was an unassuming stone cottage that looked out over rolling fields and a few small farms, with the village in the distance. Had Morganne and Elowyn come across it by chance, they never would have guessed that it belonged to the charismatic leader of the Kinship. Glak was outdoors when they arrived, splitting firewood against an old stump. Just to the right of his cottage was a huge wall of already split wood, enough to last through two winters. Elowyn wondered if this was how Glak fed his restlessness when he was not sparring with the men at the granary. He called out in friendly greeting as he saw them approach.

  “This is an unexpected honor—I rarely have guests. But where is young Cailean?” Glak asked Elowyn in a jovial tone as he brought his ax down, splitting through a large piece of wood with one forceful stroke. “It is rare to see one of you without the other anymore.”

  Elowyn’s face grew warm. “No doubt he is training at the granary.”

  “No doubt,” Glak replied, balancing another piece of wood lengthwise on the stump and splitting it in half with the same ease as if it were a loaf of bread. “He is strong and ambitious. He will be a fine swordsman one day.”

  “It would please him to know you think so. He has great respect for you and the Kinship,” Elowyn replied with sincerity.

  “Aye. He is also well regarded among my men.” Glak brought down his ax hard onto the stump so that it stuck there. He leaned on the handle and gave the girls an inquisitive look. “But I gather from your faces that you have not paid me this visit to discuss young Cailean’s progress.”

  “No, we have not,” Morganne said, giving Elowyn a sidelong glance and taking a deep breath. Now that she was here, she wondered if she should have heeded Elowyn’s warning more carefully. Her heart was racing in her chest, but it was too late now to turn back.

  “One of the monks has been teaching me the old language so that I can read the tomes you brought back from the mountains,” she managed to gasp out in spite of her nervousness. She was still trying to catch her breath from the long walk in the cold winter air. “I wanted to see if they contained anything about the beasts.”

  “I see. And you’ve found something written about them?” Glak asked with great interest.

  “Not precisely. What I found connects them to the other strange beasts appearing throughout the realm ... the Hounds in Tyroc, the trolls that destroyed Deep Lake, and possibly others I have not yet heard about. I believe that I know of their origins now, and I’m afraid the prospects of defeating them are not very good. They answer to a master no army can defeat.”

  All of the joviality left Glak’s face and the color faded from his cheeks. He glanced about, peering cautiously through the surrounding trees. He lowered his voice and asked, “Have you shared this information with anyone else?”

  “Only the monks,” Morganne replied. “I had hoped they would know what to do, but they seem content to simply pray and wait. You and your men will not have that luxury come spring. I thought you might want to know the true nature of the foe that awaits you.”

  “Say no more in this open place,” Glak cautioned. “Come inside and warm yourselves, then you can tell me what you know.” Glak abandoned the ax and walked over to his front door, holding it open for the girls to enter.

  The inside of Glak’s cottage was disappointingly plain. Everything was clean and tidy, but had the feel of a place that is rarely used. There was very little furniture and no more than a couple of chests held his belongings. The girls sat down at a heavy wooden table near the hearth while Glak added wood to the fire.

  Morganne took Glak’s invitation as a positive sign. The nervous feeling in her stomach began to fade as she unwrapped the tome and laid it on the table. With growing excitement, she started to tell Glak what was written in it and showed him some of the illuminations. Reading the tome for the second time, in the presence of Minhaven’s greatest protector, was far less frightening than reading it in the empty tavern had been. She noticed more, allowing her eyes to linger on the beautifully detailed illuminations in the margins. Morganne became so absorbed by the tome itself, she did not notice, as Elowyn did, that Glak was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He fidgeted. His breaths came shorter, and his cheeks flushed. His eyes darted hungrily across each new page as Morganne revealed it. Perhaps it bothered him that he could not make sense of the written words himself, but Elowyn didn’t think so. She had been carefully observing him for weeks now as he interacted with the men at the granary, trying to figure out who he was beneath what she had come to realize was a carefully practiced exterior. For the first time ever, Elowyn sensed that Glak was afraid. This man who had faced countless horrors, and battles more brutal than Elowyn could ever imagine, was afraid of the tome laid out before him.

  Glak seemed to be frantically searching the illuminations for something specific as Morganne carefully translated portions of the text for him. Elowyn could sense anger and frustration welling up within him, and she nudged Morganne to warn her. But Morganne was also lost within the tome’s gripping pages and Elowyn could not seem to draw her focus away from it.

  When Morganne came to the page with the drawing of the Chest of Sorrows, Glak stared at it aghast as though he could hardly believe what he was seeing. He instinctively cowered from it, holding up his hands in a protective gesture as though he were a child, weakly attempting to fend off a blow from someone bigger and stronger than himself. But he quickly recovered his wits, slamming the book shut then shoving it away so forcefully that it teetered on the far edge of the table. The tome’s grip on them was finally broken. Morganne leaped up from her seat to grab the fragile book before it could fall to the floor. She turned toward Glak, waiting indignantly for an explanation. She received none.

  “Remove it from my sight or I will cast it into the fire,” Glak said gruffly. With a bewildered look, Morganne wrapped the rejected tome back in its cloth.

  “I brought you this book to warn you that the prophecy within it has already come to pass—destroying it changes nothing. The chest has been opened and Alazoth released.”

  “How do you know this?” Glak challenged, turning on her with unexpected ferocity. “Did you see the chest opened?” Morganne finally recognized the tension in his face and the danger i
n his tone.

  “No,” Morganne confessed with wide, startled eyes. “But it is true just the same.”

  Glak began to pace about the room as he often did at the granary when he could not find a suitable challenger to fight against. “Why bring this to me? What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Your men are prepared to risk their lives fighting back the beasts. Their blood will be spilled first in Minhaven’s defense,” Morganne stammered, her courage faltering in the face of this unexpected reaction. “Do they not have the right to know what they are fighting? I want nothing more than to help the Kinship prepare for the inevitable, for their sakes as well as ours. If the Kinship fails, the rest of us have no hope against such an enemy. We will fall as Solis did.”

  “Do not speak to me of Solis,” Glak snapped angrily. “I am painfully aware of what happened there, and I understand Minhaven’s position all too clearly. Do not presume to lecture me on its defense, for I have carried that burden upon my back since before you were born.”

  Morganne was at a loss. She did not understand Glak’s anger or why it was being directed at her. She sat frozen in her seat, unsure of what to do. Elowyn gave her a look of alarm and shook her head as if warning her not to press the subject any further. Elowyn did not fully understand what was happening either, but knew that they could not afford to make an enemy of Glak or the Kinship. And though Morganne understood the wisdom of this, her fear was quickly turning into indignation. She had risked much to come here and speak openly with him. Had she not worked so hard to translate this tome, it would have been abandoned on a sagging shelf in the monks’ dusty scriptorium. All of their fates might very well rest in the hands of this one man, who was stubbornly refusing to accept the gift of prophetic knowledge that she had brought him.

  Morganne rose to her feet, securing her cloak and holding the rejected tome close against her chest. She told herself that Elowyn was right, that she should accept this defeat graciously and leave without saying anything further. Yet whatever force had been pressing upon her so persistently to act, was now telling her heart to speak on regardless of the consequences.

  “All the old stories teach us that the tomes hold a different kind of power than the sword,” she said. “Without their wisdom, no battle against the Shadow has ever been victorious. Varol became the greatest warrior known to history, not simply because he was a good swordsman, but because he had the power of the Ancients and Tome of Truth behind him.

  “When I told the monks what was in this tome they advised me to do nothing. I dared to believe they were wrong. Perhaps it is a flaw of mine that I cannot sit idle waiting for doom to find me. But if I were that sort of person, I would not have made it to Minhaven at all. Would you not also run out to meet your enemy face-to-face, rather than find his sword in your back?” Glak stopped pacing and turned to look at her.

  Morganne sensed that she had finally gotten through to him. She took a deep breath and decided if there was ever a time worth risking everything, this was it. “I believe you to be an honorable man, and you are in a better position than anyone to act upon the knowledge I bring. If it will help persuade you, I am willing to trust you with our secret. You ask how I know that the prophecy in this book is true. We fled here from Tyroc, from the very edge of the Deep Woods, wherein lies the Rift described in this tome. Alazoth and his Hounds have escaped the Rift and emerged from the Deep Wood. I can assure you that they are very real; they encircle Tyroc as we speak and their chilling howls echo through the nights, terrifying all those who live beyond the city walls.

  “Elowyn was nearly killed by a Hound. Four others that we know of were not so fortunate, yet those bold enough to speak of them are ridiculed into silence. My tutor at the Temple and some of his brothers were in fact expelled for speaking the truth of Alazoth’s release, but however much the leadership there wants to shield our eyes, the impact of that event will soon be felt by all. It is no coincidence that Deep Lake was destroyed by trolls. We were there when it happened. It is also no coincidence that strange beasts never seen here before now haunt our border.

  “Elowyn told me that the overwhelming smell of the beasts, which clung to everything you brought back with you from the mountains, is the same as that of the Hounds. No doubt they share the same origins, and the same master. There has been a shift of power in this world that is being felt even here in Minhaven. I did not know the cause until I saw the page with the Chest of Sorrows. The monk who scribed this tome foresaw its opening and his warning to us is rising up from the depths of the ages. Surely you can see that we must heed it, that we must do all we can to fight against this enemy, both by the sword and with the knowledge and power of the Ancients behind us, as did our ancestors in the days of the Prophets.

  “Do not think that the Temple and the political rulers of Tyroc will resist this darkness, or that they will come to our aid if the beasts overwhelm us. They have been corrupted from within and cannot be trusted. How I know this is an even longer tale, and one that is not mine, but Elowyn’s to share, if she is willing.”

  Elowyn gave her a terrified look and shook her head. Glak listened intently, but said nothing. He stared into the fire, deep in thought, with every muscle tightened as though he was standing on the front line of an immense battlefield, bracing his body for the impending clash of the enemy running towards him. Morganne was now afraid that she had perhaps said too much. She did not know what had compelled her to speak so boldly, but once she had begun she had seemed unable to stop herself. She could only pray that she had done the right thing.

  “Whether or not you use the information I brought you is now your decision to make. I am but a seamstress, and there is nothing more I can do. I am sorry if we have interrupted your afternoon for naught. Come, Elowyn.”

  Just as Morganne opened the door to leave, Glak turned to her and said in a quiet voice, “Wait...please.” He motioned for her to sit back down. “I knew this day must come. But I was not expecting it today, nor could I have imagined that you would be the one to bring it about. If you are but a seamstress, you are not like any other I’ve met in my lifetime.” He gave her a penetrating look as though he were trying to peel back all the layers of her being, searching for assurances that she could be trusted beyond any doubt.

  “Before I speak further, you must both swear to me your solemn oaths that nothing I say will go beyond this room. If this tale finds its way to my brother, or any of my men, I shall know from where it came, because no one of this world has heard it.”

  Morganne and Elowyn gave their oaths, understanding that they were not making children’s promises, but true, adult oaths. Glak would hold them to their word as he would any of his men, and they must keep his secret at all costs.

  “When I was but fourteen, my brother, Grindan, was afflicted with a serious illness. The monks here tried many times to cure him before they finally admitted that he was beyond their skill. He was resolved to die, but I could not let him go so easily. My mother had died when I was but an infant, and my father passed just seven winters after that, leaving Grindan and I orphans. With no one else to look after us, Grindan took on the responsibility of raising me. We worked hard to make decent lives for ourselves, and I could see that slipping away as Grindan’s health deteriorated.

  “The monks told me of a monastery in the south that was known at that time for having some very learned healers. I rashly vowed to my brother that so long as he still lived, I would not return until I had found a cure. Taking up his weapon and armor, I left for the southern monastery, stopping neither to rest nor sleep. At every step I was haunted by the thought that I might come too late.

  “After plying me with questions, the monks treated me with great hospitality, making sure I was well fed and that I rested while they searched for a remedy. But when they returned with long faces, I feared that my journey had been for naught. They handed me a vial that was missing one key ingredient—a substance called black pearl. It was not truly pearl, rathe
r an exceedingly rare fungus that grows in warm, damp places deep within the earth. Only the wealthy could afford to pay for it, should they be fortunate enough to find any.

  “The monks advised me to return home. They said if the healers of Minhaven did not happen to possess any pearl, I should stay by my brother’s side through whatever remaining days Aviad had given him, for there was nothing else to be done. But I could not accept this and headed toward Tyroc, thinking if black pearl could be found anyplace in the world, it would be there. Yet even in Tyroc, black pearl is exceedingly rare, and none could be had for any price. In my despair I crawled into a narrow alleyway between two buildings and sat there with my head buried in my arms. Despite the bold promise I had made to my brother, I had failed him. I did not want be further shamed by having anyone see me weep.