by Cale Madison
I read over the titles of multiple books: Undying Laws of Ataman, Crossing the Sea of Death, A Dance With Leviathans. Clearly, I needed to study more. In our moments of peace as we divulged ourselves into the literature of well-spoken authors, a voice rang out from above, “Hello, who’s down there?”
We watched as an elderly man descended the spiral staircase from a loft on the upper floor. In his hands, he carried five or six books that he proceeded to deliver to various shelves along the wall. His white hair barely covered the baldness of his shining, sweaty head. I reached into my pocket to withdraw the black box and present it to him. I asked, “Are you the alchemist, Scabbard?”
“Yes...I am but where...where did you get this?” he asked as he snatched the box from my hand. He retreated from our company momentarily to examine it closely in the light of a candelabra. His wrinkled fingers ran over the markings like the first analysis of a blind man.
“In Avenwood. I hit it against a rock and it opened. A dark vision came to me...horrible, twisted nightmares...I saw the end of the world.”
“So you find something mysterious in a foreign place, and you proceed to smack it against a rock to open it? Son, you have the instincts of a gorilla.” he snapped, “Wait, wait...”
Scabbard vanished into one of his back rooms to begin tearing through papers, scrapped parchments and crumpled files. After several minutes of searching, foul curses and mumbling, he finally returned with a thick, leather-coated book with identical writing as seen on the box. He snapped his attention between the pages, fiercely reading each word with intensity and asked, “What exactly did you see on the other side? In your vision?”
“Everything in flames.” I answered, “Every country in the Realm. Oceans of fire and ancient monsters. Twelve men on horseback, dressed in black armor. They were being led by a crowned man. He was pale with long, black hair.”
Scabbard suddenly became anxious. He slammed the books shut and returned the box to me with a hurried haste, replying, “You must leave now...you’ve already put my life in danger by coming here!”
Alarmed, I resisted and asked, “What do you mean? What is it?”
“Stupid fool...” the trembling man said with a grave tone, “This box was sealed by a powerful enchantment! The markings, engraved there, translate from the oldest form of language between mages and sorcerers. Not many can interpret this language now, but those that do call themselves the Eyes of the Oracle. See those markings there and there...those are the most common of Old Tongue. I cannot speak it fluently, but I do recognize those letters there.”
“What does it mean? The markings?”
“Keep away...stay out...take your pick.” Scabbard replied, “The Eyes now live in exile. They must’ve sealed this box and somehow it came to rest in Avenwood, then fell into your hands. As for the riders in black...”
The alchemist disappeared for a second time to dig through the towering pile of parchments before continuing to murmur, “Ah...wait...by the Gods...”
Alarmed by the sudden information, Aketa and I nervously waited as he returned to us from the back room with several papers in his hands. He trembled as he revealed to us an aged parchment with an ink-blotting of the same crowned figure from my vision. The image revealed a shrouded man with a sinister appearance, clutching a gleaming sword with a skull in his right hand. His eyes were milky white and without an iris.
“That’s him...the one from the vision!” I said, almost immediately.
Scabbard shook his head in silence for a few seconds. A scowl crept across his wrinkled face, one that showed a combination of fear and sadness. On the paper, I looked over unintelligible writing and inscriptions, signs that I did not recognize nor comprehend. Aketa asked, “Who is that man?”
“His name is Sinika,” the alchemist answered her, glancing behind us to check for any uninvited guests, “but people of the Old Realm called him the Shadow King. One of the most ruthless tyrants the world has ever known. Murdered millions in his quest for power. I’ve learned nothing else about him apart from these documents. They say that the continents were once conjoined, unified as one body. Monsters, necrophages, relicts of a forgotten time, all lived beyond the oceans that surrounded us. Twelve men, known by historians as the Alakar Wraiths, were led by Sinika. He saw himself as one of the Gods, as did the twelve prophets that followed him. They murdered and burned those who opposed his way of thinking, practicing in the arts of dark magic.”
“What happened to them?” I asked, watching as Scabbard continued to flip through the book’s crinkling pages.
“Scriptures tell of a time when a ball of fire fell from the heavens to cleanse the Realm of the wicked and the sinful, supposedly caused by Sinika and his foul sorcery. That is what they now call the ‘Year of Falling Stars’. The impact was catastrophic and when the oceans ran dry, thousands of horrid creatures could safely cross onto our lands. He is allegedly the reason that we live among the monsters of the world. A band of oracles plotted to stop them from inflicting any further damage upon the Realm. Somehow, they locked Sinika away forever.” Scabbard answered, squinting his eyes as he scanned the parchment, “I’m not entirely sure how, but they did. They managed to contain the darkest soul in history.”
“How have we never heard of this story?” Aketa asked him.
“Because there’s some moments that historians would rather leave buried. If the legends are true and this is indeed the man that you saw, I’m afraid their souls are now free again.”
“How do you know all of this?” I asked.
“I am an old man. Knowledge is one of the few things I have left. The Eyes have all told of a prophecy. They foretold that a lone rider, one from a faraway land, would discover the Shadow King’s tomb in a place where one walks among the clouds, then release his soul back into our Realm again. Prophecies can be deciphered in many ways, but this one seems to have come true.”
I said nothing for a while, allowing silence to seep into the room as the candle’s flames began to fade. My rash actions in the forest marshes could have possibly released the soul of a devil and condemned the nine kingdoms to damnation. Aketa noticed my pained expression and supportingly ran her fingers across my back. Had someone crept up to Scabbard’s shop that night and peered through the smudge-stained window, they would have seen an old man thumbing through old tomes while a young couple listened intently. They would have seen the fear in their eyes as they listened to the old man talk about the world’s ruination.
“What can we do?” she asked.
“I know nothing else.” he replied, shuffling away with the parchments to their resting place, “I can’t recall of any scribes, poets or historians who have written further.”
“Someone must know?” I snapped with hostility, “That is the man that I saw and the burning world is our world! Have the Eyes died out? Where are these oracles now?”
“Cara’Ghul. That’s the place you’re looking for.” he answered after recovering a dusty map from beneath another pile of papers, “An island on Whitewater Bay, south of Tavetsche. The last that anyone’s heard of the seven oracles...I would wager anything they’d be there.”
The alchemist pointed to a small island, resembling a crab with two large pincers that formed a rift between the mainland and the surrounding sea. I snatched the map, allowing my wife to examine it alongside me in the candlelight. She whispered over my shoulder, “Has to be a few days from here.”
“If anyone knows how to undo what you’ve done, it would be them.” Scabbard explained, “the Oracles have seen the future, predicted what has past and know everything in the present time - seven with the sight of the Gods.”
“You’re saying that beings from the Old Realm are still alive and nobody’s spoken a word of it? How is that even possible?”
“They’ve tried. Treasure-hunters with a lust for gold, banished warriors seeking retribution, scholars in the pursuit of knowledge...all have tried and failed. None have ever, or ever will, make it
to their island.” he explained, his tone darkening, “The sea claims any ship daring to cross it. Leviathans prowl the waters, harpies nest on the beaches. None have ever crossed and lived.”
“If seven elders did it, there has to be a way.” I said as my eyes poured over the map.
“You are naive to think so. Five centuries ago, it took seven mages with the will of the Gods to contain such a calamity. You two would be smart to run as far as you can until you’ve reached the furthest corner of the Realm. Maybe then, you will have some chance at surviving this. This evil that you’ve unknowingly unleashed is the most dreadful, most chaotic soul that has ever inhabited a body. It’s too late now. You’ve rung the bell and they’ve heard it, out in the still of the darkness. Evil has awakened and it bears a name...they’re coming for you. They’re coming now...”
I pocketed the map, snatched Aketa by the arm and led her away from the old alchemist and his condemning words. We rushed through the doors, then returned to the docks with our bags and a multitude of unanswered questions. My wife placed her hands on her hips, looking away to consider our options. She broke the silence by suggesting, “Say that we return to Mercia and live the rest of our days apart from the world...what would happen?”
“You haven’t seen what I’ve seen.” I replied, “Everything burns. No matter where we go or where we hide, the world ends.”
“So we talk to Darius? Tell him everything?”
“This is my fault, Aketa! I’ll be the one to make it right again. Whether the world ends in ten or twenty or even a hundred years from now, I’ll still be responsible. I want you to wait for me in Mercia. I can’t risk losing you again. I’ll send you home with an escort and travel by foot. If we ran around, spouting about the end of the world, we’d look no different than beggars preaching about the apocalypse! Nobody would believe us!”
“Would anyone?” she then asked. I turned away, looking at the ships readying for a late-night departure. I could see the dim lights within the shop windows and the doorways of houses. The howling of the wind crept past the rooftops, rustling dead leaves along the city streets. I turned away and folded my arms, coming to terms with the fact that I had single handedly condemned the world to its end. An alley cat hissed and fled into the shadows, chasing a rat.
“I know what I saw.” I replied, looking deeply into her eyes, “If Scabbard’s words were true, I have to talk to the only people who stopped it once before. I’m going alone.”
“Caine, I love you but listen to me now. I will beat them into your stubborn, thick skull if I must.” Aketa said, clutching my face in her strong hands, “We both know that I’m coming with you...there’s nothing waiting for me back home but an empty house. You’ve said this before and why you think it would work again really baffles me. There’s a reason that we came here. Maybe we were always meant for this.”
“It’s my fault. How does tha-”
“Maybe we were destined to save our world.” she interrupted and held her heart-necklace in front of me, “I’m coming with you, like it or not.”
We boarded The Siren’s Song, where we found the crew huddled together on the starboard side. They were clutching their hats and helmets to their chests and silently staring into the night. I pulled Aketa to the upper deck, where Hjaldemar was standing with his hands on the railing. He noticed us, yet did not turn to greet us. He whispered two words, “Islander funeral.”
The Hallobar Sea was calm this night, the water as smooth as glass. Clouds rolled overhead, covering the full moon. I noticed a faint glow drifting across the water’s surface in the distance. Squinting my eyes, I discovered that it was a small rowboat filled with candles. Skalige’s captain’s jacket, his spare boots and cutlass were among the many belongings floating out of sight. Aketa grabbed my hand and held it tight. Hjaldemar returned his hat to his head, then called out into the darkness, “May the Gods of War shine on our fallen brother tonight. May his soul endure a safe journey to the White Shores and beyond. We live for the battle and we die for our brothers.”
“We live for the battle, we die for our brothers.” said the crew, altogether.
“May his thunderous laugh boom down from the heavens with every storm.” one sailor muttered, lowering his head.
“May he forever watch over us.” Drue said, wiping his eyes with his jacket sleeve.
“May he empty the Gods’ kegs in a fortnight.” another sailor said, prompting the crew to smile and nod in agreement.
“May his spirit protect the Isles for generations to come.”
“May his soul rest in peace...him and his wife and daughter.” Hjaldemar finished, bowing respectfully to the drifting rowboat. The crew followed his lead and bowed. One of the crewmates then loaded an arrow onto the strings of a longbow and dipped the end in a pot of black oil. Hjaldemar lit a torch and carried it down to the lower decks. The flame illuminated the faces of the men as he walked past, showing their red eyes and saddened expressions. “Godspeed, Skalige.” said the red-bearded crewmate as he lit the man’s arrow.
He walked to the starboard railing, aimed the longbow and then let it fly. The flaming arrow sailed through the black, starless night like a comet falling from the heavens. Seconds after striking the rowboat, the wood caught fire. We watched in silence as it continued to drift into the distance, a churning heap of flames. Hjaldemar, never turning his head, announced to everyone, “The baron was a proud man. He lived by the oath he pledged. In the end, he gave his life to protect one of our brothers and I can’t think of a better way to go. I knew Skalige, as did the lot o’ you. He was always more comfortable with a sword in his hand, fighting in the trenches. We would return from war and then I’d find him loading his bags, ready to start another one.”
The crew laughed and smiled.
“Alas, the man has returned home to be with his family again.” the red-bearded man continued, snorting as he fought back the sadness, “Can’t ask for an eternity better than that. I take responsibility for getting us back to the Isles in one piece. I’ll assume his position, but no man could ever replaced Baron Skalige.”
Hjaldemar then raised a flask of wine, “To Skalige.”
“To Skalige.” the crew said in unison before they all drank together.
Aketa then whispered over my shoulder, “I thought you were supposed to pour out the wine? Isn’t that common courtesy when someone passes?”
“Maybe for a regular man. Skalige wouldn’t have wanted to waste the wine.” I said, feeling my eyes begin to burn with tears. The crewmates huddled together, singing songs and reliving old memories. I leaned over the railing and listened to their stories. We smiled and laughed, imagining that we were there alongside them through all of it. Two deckhands cut through the ropes tying The Siren’s Song to the docks. I felt the jolt of the ship rocking free.
Hjaldemar stood in the center of the deck, poorly imitating the baron’s laugh as he told them a story about the time they first met. Drue approached us from the lower deck, leading Nadi by her reins. I patted the gelding's neck and stroked her cheek, grateful to see her alive and well. Aketa felt the weight on their hearts, yet she said nothing. I kissed her hair, smelling the queen’s beeswax and ginger. The dimly lit streets of Brunson slowly vanished behind us as we ventured into a growing fog. The songs of the crew rang out, making us the most lively ship in the waters that night. If someone were fishing along the docks or passing by in a canoe, they would have heard thirty voices singing and merrily cheering, as if something spectacular had just happened. They would have seen a ship with a siren’s statue at the prow, gleaming in the light of torches and lanterns. Almost on que, a dolphin breached the water’s surface and sped along our portside. I watched as it rejoined its pod and disappeared into the night.
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