The Vitalis Chronicles: White Shores

by Jay Swanson

  “You look like you've already had a few.”

  “Well,” he muttered, eyes almost crossing. “I haven't, and I'll be damned if I don't get one before I die.”

  Bill turned to watch him attempt to walk into the trees. “You're daft, Clive. You should wait for the slavers to come.”

  “Rotten slavers,” Clive muttered weakly over his shoulder. “No-good filthy pox-ridden motherless whore... whore... bastards.”

  He hadn't made it more than a dozen paces when he was thrown back from the trees like a child's doll. He slammed into the sand next to Bill, who jumped to his feet in surprise. Clive just groaned and passed out in the small sandy crater.

  “Who's there?” Bill looked around, and to his mingled relief and terror, no one presented themselves.

  He turned from side to side, biting his lip as he watched the trees. A large shadow passed under his feet as the sound of leathery wings flapped overhead.

  He spun to see a large beast settle on the ground front of him. It looked sort of like a man, a huge man, nine feet tall with dark gray skin. Its features were hard, chiseled like a flying statue. It furled its bat-like wings as it crossed its muscular arms. A strip of blackened leather tied up its crude dark pants that disintegrated just below its knees. Its feet looked like thick talons, with short, cruel looking claws at their tips. The thing was all angles.

  Bill fell backwards over Tom as he tried to back away. The beast moved forward and leaned in as if to speak to him. Bill would have cried out if the shock hadn't stolen his voice.

  The monster's face was long, much like a human's but more sinister. Its eyes were large, dark, perceptive. It had long hair that was pulled back and tied behind its head, its ears were long and pointed.

  The beast studied him for a minute, arms folded over its muscular chest seeming to sniff the air. Satisfied, it stood erect again, which was when Bill noticed its knees bent backwards like a bird's.

  “I would assume that you are all that is left of your crew,” it said.

  Its voice was deep, gravely, and filled with the wisdom that only centuries of living could provide.

  Bill didn't know what to say. He was so stunned by the fact that it spoke, he failed to comprehend what it said.

  The beast looked up and off into the jungle. “There's only these three?”

  “Yes,” came another gravelly voice, this one slightly higher than the first. Bill turned to find another monster of equal size standing behind him. “I searched the wreckage, but the only others I found died of their wounds.”

  “A shame,” the first creature looked back down at the cowering Bill. “I'm sure he'll want to see you anyways.”

  “We should take them soon,” the second said. “Two of them look on the verge of dying themselves.”

  “He'll be able to heal you,” said the first. “And I imagine he will have work for you as well.”

  Bill didn't have the courage to oppose the idea. He didn't know who it was they were referring to. And though he didn't much like being indentured to a stranger that sent giant bat creatures to fetch him, their presence drove him to keep his mouth shut.

  The first beast reached for him with large hands and claw-like fingers. Bill made an effort to escape but it did him no good.

  “Don't struggle,” it said as it lifted him up. “This is awkward enough as it is.”

  It turned Bill around and wrapped its arms around his chest. Clutching Bill's arms in its claws, it unfurled its wings. Bill could see the other hauling Tom and Clive as it lifted off the ground effortlessly. They followed shortly after, and soon were flying over the lush canopy of the ocean side jungle.

  It didn't take them long, however, before they came to much darker territory. The jungle had been slashed and burned for as far as the eye could see. Black smoke rose in the distance as they passed over dark figures working among the remains of the forest.

  They continued onward, passing over camps that spread for miles. Rough, terrible structures built as if inspired by a necromancer's skeletal nightmares. The fires of a hundred kilns burned hot, their locations given away by the thick smoke that drifted out of the low huts that contained them. Bill wasn't sure if he felt more sick from the flying or the stench that rose to his nostrils.

  Soon the monster carrying Tom started making its descent towards a tall cluster of mud huts lined with jagged sticks and stones. Before Bill knew it, he too was making his way down, his stomach churning as he saw rows and rows of people in cages. They looked like animals, their clothes rotting off their bodies as they pressed against the wooden bars attempting to get a better look at the newcomers.

  Not like this, he thought to himself. I don't want to end up like this.

  They landed in front of what was comparatively a huge structure in the center of the camp. Four monsters of a different kind stood watch at its entrance, holding large spears that looked like they had jagged meat cleavers at their ends.

  The beasts themselves were hunched over, not more than four or five feet tall, and black as night. Their humped backs were scaly, like a turtle's shell with knobs protruding at all angles. Their faces were almost set in their shoulders, reptilian and grotesque. Massive arms, tiny legs, and so black they appeared to trap and absorb any light unfortunate enough to pass by.

  If they recognized the creatures that carried the humans, they didn't show it. They may as well have been invisible as the monster put him down and made him walk between the guards. The hunched beasts sniffed the air, but otherwise showed no interest. The doors were covered in cruel runes and symbols, most of them foreign to Bill. The few that weren't foreign made him shudder. This was a dark place.

  It took a moment for Bill's eyes to adjust to the darkness within. More of the massive beasts stood in the dark hallway on either side, their reptilian tongues licking scaly faces as they held their staffs. It looked like they were waiting for something. Bill had yet to see any more of the winged creatures.

  A short scrawny thing scurried out of a door down the hall and came hustling towards them. It waved its hands and squawked at the winged creature carrying Tom.

  The creature squawked back, it sounded like the same language to Bill but it may as well have been meaningless gibberish. Finally the winged beast turned and faced Bill and his captor.

  “Stupid little thing says he's not to be bothered with half dead pirates.”

  “Pirates?” Bill bristled at the term.

  The beast ignored him. “He said to take them to the witch doctor and wait until they're well before we make introductions.”

  “Makes sense I suppose. Either way, they won't be our problem anymore if we dump them on the witch doctor.”

  “True enough.”

  “ Did he tell you to find others?”

  “He said three isn't acceptable.”

  “You told hi–”

  “Yes I told him but he doesn't care.”

  Bill wanted to protest; to say something. Anything. But he had no idea what was going on and didn't feel like he was on the verge of understanding. He was turned and ushered back out between the hunched black creatures and their massive arms. He wondered if they could even run on those short little legs they stood on.

  The sunlight was blinding in spite of the smog that seemed to cover the area. He was grabbed by the shoulders and turned up a long street lined with cages. He hesitated, his legs not wanting to carry him any further. The creature behind him would have none of it and pushed him onward. They made their way through the mud and filth that filled the street, humans filling the cages on either side. These looked as bad as those he had seen from the air, but from up close, it was revolting.

  No one tried to reach out to them. Rather they cowered in fear of the monstrous guards. He wondered what this place was, if it was where the slaves they had purchased in the past came from. He hoped he wouldn't end up in one of those cages. They looked like they were made from a combination of large sticks and bones. Bill swallowed hard, not wanting to kn
ow where the bones had come from.

  Soon they came to another low hut at the end of the rows of cages and were turned inside. A little old man covered in tattoos and piercings waited inside. His bloodstained apron looked almost as old as he did.

  “What have you brought me today, my fine Titans?” He rubbed his palms together as if anticipating a treat.

  “Just some shipwrecked pirates.”

  Bill didn't hear the slight. He was caught on the word: Titans.

  “Not the ones we were supposed to trade with today?”

  “The same.” The other Titan put Tom and Clive down on filthy beds to the side of the room.

  “Aww.” The witch doctor seemed displeased. “And all you have to present to his Excellency are these three peasants?”

  “So it would seem,” the larger Titan said. “He can be happy he got any at all. Their ship was torn to shreds by his precious lizards.”

  The witch doctor looked aghast at the Titan.

  “You ought to watch your mouth. He hears more than you know and demands respect.”

  “We don't much care what he demands.” The Titans didn't seem to share the common fear of whoever it was they were referring to. “We'll be back in a few days to collect them when you're done.”

  And with that they ducked out of the building and took flight.

  Titans, Bill thought to himself. Real, honest to God Titans...

  “Well then,” the witch doctor said as he produced a wicked looking instrument from the folds of his apron. “Let's have a look at you.”

  ALISIA AND THE man she called Caspian walked arm in arm down the beach as the waves continued to roll in. He was tall, and in spite of the flowing, elegant robes that he wore she could tell how thin he was. His white hair and beard were short, well groomed, and framed his face like a king's. Or at least how she imagined a king's face would be framed.

  He frowned as she recounted her story, telling of the warning she'd received from her mother in a vision that men would be looking for her. How those men had burned her adoptive home and killed Charsi.

  She told of her escape and endless running from Khrone's Hunters, and how a strange boy had come to her rescue when she thought all was lost. She teared up at the mention of Ardin, and went on to explain how he had stuck by her, how they had barely escaped the Hunters multiple times, and how they had hoped to find safety in Brenton.

  The fisherman seemed to be of particular interest to Caspian, who asked a number of questions before allowing her to continue. Their time at sea had been the most nightmarish part for Alisia. Her fears and sense of helplessness were only compounded by the seasickness and sense of constriction within the hull of the ship.

  She burst into tears as they passed through the gates in the wall and entered the courts of his small castle, its white stone walls still unfinished. She told him of how Ardin had been beaten within an inch of his life trying to rescue her, and how she had been unable to do anything to stop it.

  “And now he's gone,” she said, her tears spent.

  She felt weary.

  “He gave me enough time to save myself,” she said. “But I couldn't do the same for him.”

  “Why are you so sad over the loss of the boy?” the old man asked, curiosity and empathy mixing in the question. “You knew him for such a short time.”

  “I don't know,” she said. “He was so kind to me, and did what he could to protect me.”

  She sniffed back against the tears.

  “I guess he was the closest thing to a true friend I've ever had.”

  “I should agree with that,” Caspian said smiling. “It sounds to me as if he were a valiant friend above all others.”

  She nodded, realizing for the first time that they were in a long, arched hallway. It was covered in beautifully decorated inscriptions and carvings. The walls were all white, and light crept in through the numerous small windows that appeared near the roof above, as well as from the courtyard she could see down the way. Small blue and purple flowers seemed to grow wherever they could find a foothold. In front of them stood a tall stone door, bordered by two engraved trees and covered in beautiful script that she barely understood.

  “Which is why I'm glad you managed to send him close enough for me to sense his presence,” Caspian continued as he swung the doors open.

  In the large room beyond, sleeping peacefully in a big white bed and covered in golden rays of sunlight lay Ardin Vitalis. And once more, Alisia wept.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ALISIA WALKED TO the side of the bed, disbelieving her eyes as she looked at Ardin. His face was still battered and bruised, but looked far better than it had the day before.

  “Where did you find him?” she asked quietly as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “He was just off shore, floating on some debris.” Caspian stood in the doorway, leaning on the post as he watched her.

  “But how?” she looked up. “He was nearly dead when I lost him.”

  “Even more so when I found him.”

  Alisia looked back at Ardin's face; she wondered if it would ever be the same. He had risked so much to save her, faced such insurmountable odds for her. She wondered how he felt about her, or if he was driven by something else.

  “He must love you a lot to have followed you this far.” Caspian seemed to read her mind. “He's lucky to be alive. Whoever did this to him should have killed him.”

  “He was trying to save me,” she said, hardly more than a whisper.

  “So it would appear.” Caspian walked over to the other side of the bed.

  The light from the windowed ceiling illuminated his shoulders and set his white hair aflame. She noticed then that there was no glass in the intricate arches and curls above. The cool of the ocean breeze swirled gently around her. He took Ardin's right hand in his own and held it up.

  “I may be a great healer,” he said. “But there's something special about this boy. He's been kept alive by something beyond himself and it's made apparent by how quickly he's recovering.”

  “Why doesn't he wake up?” She looked concerned for a moment.

  “He will, when he's ready. Until then, I shall continue to minister to his needs and bring him back to health. As for you, I should very much like to speak with you when you have rested.”

  He lay Ardin's hand on the bed and began to walk out of the room.

  “Shouldn't someone stay here with him?” she asked.

  “He will be fine where he is,” Caspian said, comfort in his voice as he turned and beckoned her join him. “There is little that would disturb him here.”

  He shut the doors as she exited and placed his hand on the seal that bridged the two. It glowed for a second, and then he turned and walked towards the courtyard.

  “There is much to discuss, in fact. But I fear for your friend,” his tone hushed and confiding.

  “I do too,” she said. “He's been through a lot, I think this is the second time he's almost died on this journey alone.”

  “I'm not referring to his physical health, dear girl.”

  The old Mage turned and sat on a bench in the open courtyard. Sunlight trickled in through the large tree at its center which created a canopy to give them shade. The tree looked like a statue itself, something from a drawing where its bark curled up from the ground and out into branches. It was thick and sturdy; its bark so light in coloring that it looked to be nearly white itself.

  “What do you mean?” she sat next to him.

  “Do you know where he came from? Where his family is?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “I'm pretty sure he's from Levanton. His family died there I believe.”

  “How?” he asked.

  “Elandir's army burned it to the ground after my mother... do you know what my mother did?”

  “Yes,” Caspian's brow furrowed in response. “The Peninsula, wasn't it?”

  “I think that's why he hates my mother so much; to be honest, she brought it on them.”
/>
  “I had wondered the same thing.” The Mage looked up into the tree.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “When I found him, he was feverish, having nightmares of some sort. He mumbled things in his sleep that made me curious, more curious than I already am I suppose.” The corner of his mouth formed a slight smile.“And the power that's flowing from him... when I picked him out of the ocean, I could feel it. It was coursing through him, seeking release. His presence was like a hilltop beacon in the night. There hasn't been power of that magnitude here since the Magi left this place.”

  He turned to look at her.

  “I don't think I know of any save the Elders, including myself, that can boast such strength. And though I remain uncertain of how strong he is, I have suspicions that he may be as or even more powerful than I am.”

  “That's impossible,” Alisia said. “He hasn't manipulated the Atmosphere once since I met him. In fact magic seemed completely foreign to him whenever he saw it in action.”

  The old Mage sat motionless for a while, lost in thought or otherwise distracted. The grass beneath their feet was lush, green, and cropped short. Alisia looked around at the pillars that ran along its edges, each tall and slender. They resembled the tree in the center with curling engravings and moldings that ran along their faces and branched out to support their arches.

  She sat next to him for a while before asking the question that had bothered her all her life.

  “Why didn't you come back with the others?”

  “I'm sorry.” The Mage turned and looked at her, flustered as from a dream. “What do you mean?”

  “After the Continental Wars, when the Magi returned home from Grandia, why didn't you come with them?”

  He looked at her a bit longer, deep blue eyes unblinking as he finally turned his gaze to the courtyard.

  “I was needed here,” he said. “And at the time I was uncertain I could make the voyage.”

  “You were sick?”

  “Very,” he said. “When we entombed the Enemy in the mountains to the west, I took the brunt of his resistance. It was my duty to hold him in place while they created the seal, it took a lot out of me.”