Island of Darkness

by Richard S. Tuttle

  The general stepped up to the middle wagon and stuck his head inside the canvas. He shook his head in disbelief as he stared at the wagonload of watula. He quickly checked the other two wagons and returned to the bottom of the steps leading into the headquarters. He stared shouting orders.

  “Direct these wagons to the marketplace,” shouted the general. “Organize the unloading at empty stalls. I want a wall of Imperial Guards around the wagons and the stalls at all times. I want runners sent throughout the city. Each family may send one person to the market. Organize it efficiently. I will have no riots in my city. When each family has received food, I will allow them to return for seconds if there is enough. Anyone trying to get seconds before every family has received their first share will be arrested.”

  Imperial Guards scattered to follow the orders of General Manitow. The general watched for a few moments before returning his attention to SpringThaw.

  “Your gift is well received, Sakovan,” stated the general. “Please accompany me to see Mayor Reaker. He is truly the recipient of this gift. My men will ensure that it is distributed fairly.”

  Temiker watched the general leave with SpringThaw. He stood for several moments watching the Imperial Guards race around to carry out the general’s orders. With a smile on his lips, Temiker walked back to his schoolhouse. He found Mistake still in the kitchen sipping a cup of hot tea.

  “How did the food delivery go?” asked Mistake.

  “It went very well,” smiled the mage. “I do not think the Omungans know what to make of it, but the people are starving here. It will be hard to overcome centuries of hatred and mistrust, and I think things will work out fairly well. Now, what is your story? Are you related to MistyTrail?”

  “I am her sister,” Mistake nodded. “I came all the way from Fakara to find her.”

  “Then why are you running away from her?” questioned Temiker. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “She does not feel the same way about me that I feel about her,” shrugged Mistake. “Having a sister means nothing to her. I will not force myself on anyone. I just want to go home.”

  “And home is in Fakara?” inquired Temiker.

  “It is the only home I know,” nodded Mistake. “I don’t even have a horse. I came to Khadora by boat and to the Sakova by choka.”

  “Then how will you return to Fakara?” inquired the mage.

  “I will walk if I have to,” frowned Mistake.

  “Well, you certainly appear to be determined to leave,” sighed Temiker, “but are you sure that your reasons are sound?”

  “She feels nothing for me,” pouted Mistake. “I have spent my entire life looking for her, and she couldn’t care less. I feel like such a fool. I just want to run away and hide.”

  “I think I can understand your feelings,” sympathized the mage.

  “No, you can’t,” retorted Mistake. “You have no idea how terrible this whole thing makes me feel.”

  “Do not believe that you are the only person to have a conflict within your family,” countered Temiker. “I have seen enough such woe in my lifetime. My own brother did not talk to me for a decade.”

  “What did you do to him?” asked Mistake.

  “Nothing,” sighed Temiker. “The whole argument was based upon a misunderstanding. Malafar believed that I was responsible for his son’s death. He shut his mind to any other explanation and shunned me from his family. I was not allowed to speak to his wife, or my nephew and niece. It broke my heart.”

  “Did he eventually learn that he was wrong?” asked Mistake.

  “Yes, he did,” frowned Temiker, “but he learned too late. His wife, Rhodella, and his son, Alfred, had already died before he realized the error of his ways. Lyra left him to become the Star of Sakova. Even though I am sure that he still loves me, he could not face me after all of that. He finally just left and ran away.”

  “And you think that is what I am doing?” asked Mistake. “You think I am judging MistyTrail too harshly and ruining things by running away?”

  “I think you would be very wise to dally here for a spell and think about things,” nodded Temiker. “I know MistyTrail. She is a sweet young woman who likes nearly everyone.”

  “Oh I think she likes me,” admitted Mistake, “but it is not the same as being sisters. She considers the Sakovans to be her family.”

  “And why shouldn’t she?” asked Temiker. “The Sakovans are the only family she has ever known. They rescued her and gave her shelter. They raised her and accepted her as one of their own. How can you expect her to just turn off those feelings?”

  “I don’t,” frowned Mistake, “but shouldn’t she feel something special towards me now that she knows I am her sister?”

  “Mistake,” Temiker smiled fatherly as he put his arm around the Fakaran, “you have lived your entire life knowing that you had a family somewhere. You have doggedly pursued finding them with the thought of being reunited. In your mind you have built this wonderful paradise called family, and you have finally stepped into reality. To MistyTrail, this must be quite a shock. I am sure that she gave up hope of having a real family years ago. You have to give her more than a couple of days to adjust to this.”

  “I don’t see how her attitude will change any,” pouted Mistake. “Sure it is a surprise, but shouldn’t she at least be excited about it?”

  “Perhaps,” shrugged the mage. “Maybe someone should have told her that you were coming before you got to the Sakova. It would have given her time to think about it while you traveled.”

  “Well that didn’t happen,” scowled Mistake. “We certainly can’t go back and change that now, can we?”

  “No you can’t,” agreed Temiker. “Nor will you be able in the future to go back and change the actions that you are taking today. You have spent years searching for MistyTrail. Are you willing to burn your relationship after only a few days? There is a real question that you have to answer before you run any further. After the years have passed you by, will you look back at this moment as the greatest mistake of your life? Will you kick yourself for walking out on your sister because she was confused?”

  Mistake sat silently for several minutes as Temiker’s words sank in. Finally, she began to cry. Temiker tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away. He walked to the fire and poured a fresh cup of tea for her. He walked back and handed it to her. She nodded silently and took a sip.

  “You are a wise man, Temiker,” Mistake sniffed. “Perhaps I came on too strong and too quick for MistyTrail. I will return with the wagons to StarCity.”

  “I have a better idea,” offered the mage. “Another caravan will be coming to Alamar. Spend some time here and think about things. Let MistyTrail do the same. After a week’s time, you can go back and see how things stand. I truly believe she just needs a little time to dwell upon what having a sister means in her life. I am sure that everything will work out just fine.”

  “Then that is what I will do,” nodded Mistake. “I really do not want to leave her.”

  Chapter 5

  Changragar

  Marak and Ukaro traveled well past the Golden Gates and the Sacred Lake on an old mountain trail. The trail climbed steadily and eventually the trees fell away below them. Marak began to shiver as he saw last season’s snow still lying in the dark crevices of the mountains. When Ukaro turned into a narrow canyon, Marak felt a numbing cold blow over his body. His teeth chattered and he wrapped his arms about himself in an effort to retain his body’s warmth. The narrow canyon broadened suddenly and Marak stared at the old building in the center of the valley. An ancient temple, much like the one in Angragar, but much smaller, sat in solitude.

  The jaguar that Marak was riding suddenly stiffened. Marak calmly ran his hand over the large cat’s shoulder.

  “Changragar,” Ukaro announced.

  “The cats are fearful of this place,” Marak stated. “Why?”

  “Changragar is a place of power,” replied Ukaro. “You are in
the presence of Kaltara. Can you not feel it?”

  Marak frowned before saying, “All I can feel right now is the need for a good blanket. It is freezing here.”

  “It is cold,” shrugged Ukaro as he halted his tiger in front of the temple. “You will get used to it.”

  Marak looked at his father as he slid off the jaguar. The Chula was practically naked with only a breechcloth to cover him. His whiskers had a tinge of frost, and his mane was stiff. Marak shook his head and followed Ukaro up the small flight of stairs to the doorway of the ancient temple. There was no door to open; its wood had decayed a thousand years ago.

  As Marak entered the temple, he stopped and gazed about the foyer. There were several discarded torches on the floor near the doorway. Ukaro stooped and lit two of them. He handed one to Marak, who held it high above his head as he surveyed the interior of the building.

  “It has not weathered the years as well as Angragar,” he said softly.

  “It has not been magically preserved as the old Qubari city has been,” replied Ukaro. “You will find no hellsouls here.”

  “What will I find here?” asked Marak. “Why have you brought me here?”

  “This is Changragar,” shrugged the Chula shaman. “This is where the Torak will be born.”

  “I thought I was the Torak,” frowned Marak. “Is that not what the Chula have been calling me?”

  “It is,” nodded Ukaro, “but we are only human. We recognize you as the Torak because all of the signs point to the truth of it. Still, only Kaltara can anoint you. That is why you are here.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that god lives here?” questioned Marak. “This rundown temple is hardly a fitting mansion for Kaltara.”

  “Were it a slave shack,” frowned Ukaro, “it would be holy to the Chula. You need to have more respect for Kaltara.”

  “I am sorry, Father,” apologized Marak. “I do have a hard time understanding this god of yours. Why am I supposed to be the Torak? Why not a believing Chula?”

  “Do not question things that you have no chance of comprehending,” admonished the shaman.

  “Alright,” sighed Marak. “What do I do now?”

  Ukaro pointed to a small set of steps leading to another doorway. “Enter the sanctuary and pray,” instructed the shaman. “I will wait for you here.”

  Marak shrugged and marched up the short flight of steps. He entered a circular room that was devoid of anything except a lone torch holder. Marak walked to the center of the room and placed his torch in the holder. The light from the torch barely reached the walls of the room.

  Marak stood in the center of the room for several minutes wondering what he was supposed to do. He had never been taught to pray. He did not even know how to pray. He felt very foolish. At first his eyes scanned the room looking for imperfections in the construction. Then he started whistling to himself and studying the mosaic design of the floor tiles. When enough time had elapsed that he thought Ukaro would be satisfied, Marak reached for the torch to leave the room. As he reached for it, a cold wind swept into the room and blew the torch out.

  Marak froze with his hand extended towards the torch. His eyes tried to scan the room, but he could see nothing. He stood erect and turned, trying to find the entrance doorway, but he could not see as far as the wall of the round room.

  “Do you believe only in yourself?” boomed a voice from the darkness.

  A knife immediately slid into Marak’s hand as he tried to gauge the direction of the voice.

  “Drop your weapon and kneel,” commanded the voice.

  Marak started turning slowly as the voice spoke. Try as he might, he was unable to determine which direction the voice had come from. Suddenly, Marak’s knees buckled. He tried frustratingly to keep his legs straight, but he could not. He fell to his knees painfully. As if someone had grabbed his hand and forced his fingers open, his hand straightened and he heard the knife fall to the tiled floor.

  “You are stubborn, Marak,” scowled the voice. “That can be a virtue, but not here, and not now. Why do you try to deny me?”

  “Because I don’t know you,” Marak heard himself respond.

  “Yet you have expressed a desire to know me,” replied the voice. “You came close in the prison of the Khadorans. Again the night before the battle at Balomar, you reached out to me. Now you find yourself in my presence, and you do not believe.”

  Marak’s mouth opened in awe. No mortal could possibly know his private thoughts at those two times.

  “Kaltara?” Marak said meekly. “You are real?”

  “If you were looking for a false god,” replied the voice, “you should have gone to Motanga. What must I do to convince you that I am real?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Marak. “I want to believe in you very much. I need to believe in you for the sake of my people.”

  “No, Marak,” responded the voice. “The people are not yours. They are mine. You are my Torak, but the people belong to me.”

  Silence reigned over Marak for several minutes. For some unexplainable reason, he feared that Kaltara had left him.

  “I will never leave you,” promised Kaltara. “The question is, will you ever leave me?”

  “I will not,” promised Marak.

  “We shall see,” countered the voice. “What do you want to know?”

  “I must know of this great evil that is to come against my people,” declared Marak. “I mean your people.”

  “You may call them your people if you wish,” replied the voice, “as long as you understand that they are truly mine. I would like you to deal with them as if they were your own. You have shown that you have the compassion to do that.”

  “And the evil?” reminded Marak.

  “As it was written, so shall it be,” replied the voice. “In the Time of Calling, memories will be recalled. You will learn of the followers of Vand. What else do you want to know?”

  “Will we succeed in defeating this evil?” inquired Marak.

  “That is the question that you must answer, Marak,” replied the voice. “Were I to destroy Vand myself, I would give credence to his claim to be a god. Destroying him is the task of the Torak. As Vand is merely a person, it shall fall upon the people to defeat him. I have endowed you with the skills necessary to complete the task. I have given you that which was promised thousands of years ago. The rest is up to you.”

  “Then I vow to accomplish this task,” declared Marak. “I will not let the people down.”

  “Or me,” the voice responded with a touch of humor. “Those are the words I have been waiting to hear from your lips, Torak. You show great promise. I am most pleased with what you have done so far. You will go forth from this sacred temple a new man. You will leave here as the Torak. Sleep now.”

  Marak frowned at the invitation to sleep. He still had not had his questions about Vand answered. He needed to know the nature of the evil that would come. Even as he tried to rise to his feet, his body began to grow limp. His eyelids felt exceedingly heavy and his knees began to feel like they were sinking into deep mud. Despite his efforts to rise, Marak found himself lying on the floor.

  Suddenly, the whole room burst into brilliance. He found himself staring upward at the domed ceiling. With the walls of the room being round, he had the feeling of gazing into an illuminated bowl. Pictures began to flash across the ceiling and the walls. They flashed by so quickly that his mind seemed to interpret them only after they were gone. He recognized Angragar, even though it appeared as a thriving modern city. He saw a fiery speaker standing upon the steps of the temple. The people were throwing stones at him. Somehow he recognized the man as a priest. The priest’s name was Vand.

  He saw hundreds of people being chased out of the city of Angragar by angry mobs. As the scenes speeded by, he saw the building of the temple of Vandegar. He saw the great battle where the sea rose up and carried off millions of people. He saw the survivors flee to the coast and board ships.

  The
images moved with increasing fury. He saw a tropical island, lush with jungle vegetation. He saw a great pyramid erected in a flash. He saw the people multiply exponentially. He saw great apes talking and walking like people. He saw great shipyards and cavernous mines. He saw death and destruction. The images turned dark as he watched rituals of human sacrifice, the drinking of human blood, and punishment by amputation.

  The people rebelled. They fought against the dark forces, but they were no match for the evil. The large apes charged by the thousands and tore the rebels apart. Great magicians cast destruction down on the cities. The people raced to the harbor. They boarded great ships and fled.

  The images now placed him onboard one of the great ships. He watched with wonder as land appeared on the horizon. He had the fearful urge to look back at where they had fled from, but he could not turn his head. Suddenly, the land raced up to meet the ship. Everyone jumped off the ship and waded through the pristine harbor. He heard the order to burn the ships and prepare for battle. He recognized the place. It was Raven’s Point.

  * * *

  Aakuta woke groggily. He sat up and rubbed his eyes as he gazed around the room. It took a few seconds for him to recognize the home of Lady Mystic. He rose and dressed. He stumbled into the kitchen and poured a cup of tea. As his senses began to register, he realized that he was alone. He moved swiftly through the home in search of the homeowner. Fear began to gnaw at him as he wondered if Lady Mystic was out summoning the authorities.

  Suddenly, he heard the door open. He pulled his hood on and flattened his back to the wall of the laboratory. He waited to see who would enter the room.

  “What are you doing?” scowled Lady Mystic as she dumped some packages on a chair near the table.

  “Where have you been?” Aakuta asked accusingly.

  “Where have I been?” echoed Lady Mystic as deep furrows filled her brow. “I have been out taking care of you. I destroyed the boat you left in the forbidden area. Did you think that someone would not find it? Don’t you realize that would have started a search for the intruder?”