Silent Requiem (Tales of Ashkar Book 3)

by Kayl Karadjian

  And once she collected all of the orbs, she would eradicate Amaetheus.

  _ _ _

  “Any minute now,” Incindir said, though the more he repeated it the more he realized that he was trying to convince himself, not Halcyon. He held the fishing pole firm in his grasp, the bait sunk low inside a lake that they had encountered on their way back to Tolitoli.

  The two sat together, with hardly a word exchanged since leaving the mountains. There was far too much running through Incindir’s mind since the realization that not only had he almost died, but he was faced with a harsh truth.

  His power alone was not enough.

  But it wasn’t arrogance that had led him to believe that he could do it by himself. Or maybe it was. He had never seen such a power before. No elementalist could have survived the Fourth Flame like that, and yet she shrugged it off as though it was nothing.

  If not Incindir, who then could challenge such a power? His mind immediately turned to faces that made his heart sink. He could not turn to his sworn enemies, not after what they did.

  “Incindir?” Halcyon said.

  “Yes?” he replied, forgetting that he was supposed to be fishing for food.

  “Are you well?” the boy asked.

  Incindir chuckled to himself. “Yes, Halcyon, I am well.”

  “Then why do your eyes tell me otherwise?” Halcyon pressed, his complexion soft and worried.

  “Which one?” Incindir joked. “The right or the left?”

  Halcyon was unamused.

  Incindir shrugged as he gazed into the icy waters just beyond his feet. He watched the tranquil waters while listening to the constant howling of blizzards, which had become more silent than silence itself. “What happens when all the orbs are brought together?”

  “Then the path will be opened,” Halcyon answered.

  “What path?” Incindir asked.

  “The path that you are not yet ready to tread,” continued the boy. “The path that all of Ashkar must follow in unity, but before everyone can come together, they must find the light within.”

  “Do you expect me to understand all of that?” Incindir asked.

  “No, because you are not ready,” Halcyon explained. “I see that now. Much must transpire before then, but I fear that time will run out before you reach it.”

  “Yes, the Skyward Hands must be prevented from abusing the power of the orbs,” Incindir affirmed.

  “Power of the orbs?” Halcyon said as he shook his head, then tapped Incindir’s chest on his sternum. “The power lies in here, not the orbs.”

  “But we saw it for ourselves, the magnitude of an orb’s power,” Incindir said. “The trees came to life from being in the presence of one. The power of them all combined must be immense.”

  Halcyon wagged his finger. “No, the power of an orb is only reflected by the power within. The special properties that you claim to be held inside an orb is just a product of your will placed upon it.”

  “Then why are we collecting them?” Incindir asked, feeling a tinge of frustration making its way out. He had imagined the prophecy to be a premonition of something for so long that he had trouble discarding it even when the face of the prophecy was telling him otherwise.

  Halcyon made a face like an adult would when asked an absurd question by a child. “In time you will understand, Incindir. Do you trust me?”

  “Of course I do,” Incindir said, and the frustrated feeling washed away, just in time for him to catch the fishing pole that almost flew out of his reach. Incindir fell face-first into the snow from the pull of whatever it was that had taken the bait.

  And it was big.

  Incindir shifted his position so that instead of his head being toward the water it was his feet, then summoned a block of ice and planted himself before he could lose any more ground. He then reeled the fishing pole while pulling as hard as he could, the pole bending to the point that he thought that it would snap.

  “Catch the seafood!” encouraged Halcyon with fists raised.

  “Working on it,” grunted Incindir. He took a deep breath, flexed his core and legs, and pulled as hard as he could. From deep beneath the waters shot out a massive, long-necked creature with four fins and a tail.

  It wriggled in the air on its descent, but before it hit the ground Incindir shot out a blast of flame that cooked it on the spot. It crashed into the snow just a few feet away.

  “Seafood!” the two shouted in unison.

  Incindir generated an ice knife and immediately went to work. The beast was three times his size—more than enough food to last him all the way back to the orb and then back to Tolitoli. When he was done having his fill he moved to prepare the leftovers for the journey back.

  “I can’t believe that I caught something all the way out here,” Incindir said, his hands moving on their own like they had a thousand times before. “This is a type of diadar. You can tell from its long neck. I think that this lake connects with the ocean.”

  “Incindir,” Halcyon said, though his voice sounded graver than it should have.

  “I was really hungry, Halcyon,” Incindir replied as he looked over at Halcyon. “I couldn’t spare the poor thing. Now we can go back to find the orb.”

  “No, Incindir,” the boy looking northward repeated. “The orb is moving again. Could it be…?”

  Incindir stopped what he was doing and dove for his blade. “How far away is she?”

  “Far enough to allow us an escape, should we choose it,” Halcyon said. “I would strongly consider it, Incindir.”

  “In this environment my offense is diminished,” Incindir agreed, much to his own chagrin. “But maybe if I—“

  “I am asking you to run from this fight,” Halcyon demanded in an uncharacteristic tone, his eyes pleading.

  Incindir gritted his teeth. “To what end, Halcyon? Even if we manage to gather the rest of the orbs, I will still have to face her.”

  “If you manage to collect the others, then you will not be alone,” replied the boy.

  It was then that Incindir understood what Halcyon had meant earlier, if only a little bit. He put away his blade, took Halcyon’s hand, and ran.

  Chapter 20

  282nd Dawn of the 5010th Age of Lion

  Raxxil waited impatiently at the port side of the ship as the Taja docked at Seaward Sails. He stood alone, of course, none of the other three appearing as determined as him to continue the chase, each with their separate reasons.

  While he had hardly spoken a word to Tanaria—or rather while she had hardly spoken a word to him—since they had embarked, the other two seemed locked in their rooms.

  But they had to come out sometime, and Darius’s uncomfortable face and Samantha’s concerned one came into view as they stepped onto the poop deck. When Tanaria joined them, reluctantly at that, the four set foot onto the docks.

  As strange as the attitudes were, what was even stranger was the distinct lack of ships docking at Seaward Sails. In this case lack meant none, for the Taja was the only ship anchored off the coast of the Western Reaches—something that Raxxil had never seen at any dock anywhere.

  It was the same for the port city itself. There were next to zero dock workers, with crates of supplies thrown around haphazardly. As they walked down the long dock the wood groaned with each step, far louder than it would have if the port was active. When the four of them made it to the end of the dock and stepped foot into the inner parts of the port, it was close to empty as well. The streets were empty save for a few people who distanced themselves from the traveling elementalists. It appeared abandoned, and so they waded through with no idea of what happened to Seaward Sails. There was no sign of a battle being fought here. It was just a ghost town.

  “Somethin’ ain’t right here,” Darius said, echoing Raxxil’s thoughts.

  “Get some food, get some supplies, and let’s meet back here,” Raxxil ordered as he went off on his own and entered a general goods shop. It wasn’t empty, but the man be
hind the counter trembled before Raxxil like a little boy.

  “I’m not here to hurt you,” Raxxil said as he scanned the shop for the items that he was looking for, namely food that he could pack for the trek across the continent. He placed the items atop the counter, and when the owner did not make a move he leaned on his hands and sighed. “What happened here?”

  “T-the Order of the Faith came here and took whoever was able,” the shaking man said in an accent similar to Darius, rough and coarse. “They said I was too old to fight, but they took my son. I don’t know where he is an’ I don’t know what happened to him.”

  Raxxil looked away, pondering if the truth would be more appropriate. False hope was a blight on the mind, he had come to realize that, but it was also true that often times hope was inherently false.

  “Your son fought for the Order of the Faith in Arcadia,” Raxxil answered. “Chances are that he is dead. The Order of the Faith was crushed. Only a fraction of their forces made it out alive.”

  “H-how do you know?” the man asked.

  Raxxil looked him in the eyes. “Because I was the one who crushed them.” He then gestured at the items. “How much for these?”

  The man was speechless, though Raxxil hadn’t the time to spare for his grief. When a few moments passed by without an answer, Raxxil withdrew a few coins that he thought was sufficient, left them on the counter, took the items, and walked out.

  As he walked back to the meeting spot, he thought of the war in Arcadia. He knew that there had been something odd about the forces of the Order of the Faith. Many who he fought on the battlefield did not look like they hailed from Lenas or the deserts. Some didn’t even speak the common tongue.

  Was it the orb, or are the minds of men and women so feeble? Could the Order of the Faith convince so many so easily?

  Raxxil waited for the others, and one-by-one they returned. First Darius, still as uncomfortable as ever, followed by Tanaria, and lastly Samantha. Raxxil withdrew his items to show the others. “I’ve got some dried meat, some nuts, and a pouch of water. If we need to we can hunt for some food.”

  “Do you know the way, Raxxil?” Tanaria asked. “Aren’t we on the western side of Onturi? Lenas is on the east coast.”

  Raxxil nodded. “Yeah, but Darius here is a native of the Western Reaches. He’ll be our guide until we reached the Ghadji desert. From there I’ll know the way.”

  “You are from here?” asked Samantha as she turned to the bounty hunter. “That… explains some things.”

  “Come on, let’s go buy some horses,” Raxxil said as he marched to the east further inland. Even Port Vana, as quiet as it was, was livelier than Seaward Sails. It was no surprise, then, when Raxxil found the stables at the edge of the port to be empty with no stable masters in sight.

  “Should we look for another stables?” Samantha asked. “Perhaps there is one at a different part of the port?”

  “No, we’ll just have to tame our own horses,” Raxxil said as he was met with dry fields that stretched all the way to the horizon. The further away they walked from the coast the drier the air became, triggering glimpses of the Ghadji desert. The air smelled the same, and so too did Raxxil’s suppressed woes come out of the shadows.

  He was glad that it did. All the more to crush Liberty with.

  “What’s the next town?” Raxxil asked to Darius, who swallowed hard at the question.

  “Adderton,” he replied, though it took him a while to do so. “About thirty miles east.”

  “Will we be passing through your home town?” Tanaria asked.

  Darius nodded, though his eyes were glued to the ground.

  “What’s it called?” Tanaria continued.

  “Adderton,” Darius said.

  Tanaria’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow, that must be nice to be visiting your home, then.”

  “It’s the opposite, actually,” Darius muttered.

  “Why?” Arwynn asked with wrinkled forehead as she exchanged glances with Raxxil. “Weren’t you born there?”

  “No, I died there,” he said.

  _ _ _

  There it was, the ruins of Lorine, or like many have come to call it, the Fallen Kingdom.

  Kalic stood atop one of the peaks of Corsma, gazing down the valley where his once proud home stood. In its absence of civilization, the vegetation had grown to claim its reign. It grew unabated in all corners of the vast valley, and even from here Kalic could see the moss that covered once high walls and towers.

  The only remnants of people were the ones living in the outskirts. Olim, Dalim, and Perrin, though even those villages were shadows of their former selves. The valley had been drained after the fall of Lorine, for who would want to live in such an accursed place?

  It was strange to come back to his former home—the one place where he had avoided ever since its fall. Images of its former might and beauty were juxtaposed onto the sights that Kalic was seeing now. Even though the wilds were a mark of the crumbled kingdom, Kalic felt an odd sense of serenity. There was something about nature that he had grown to appreciate.

  Nature did not feel jealousy. It did not seek to corrupt or destroy something, and while it was unforgiving, it did not hide its intents. It behaved exactly as one would expect.

  Treachery was unnatural, and Kalic was a product of that unnatural element.

  And so it was in that sincerity Kalic found the warmth in the wilds. He made his way down the peaks of Corsma to the heart of the Fallen Kingdom. The air was sweet and quiet, tree branches swaying in the winds and wild fauna crunching leaves as they fled from Kalic’s wake.

  The rocky faces of the mountains surrounding the valley gave way to more even ground as Kalic made his way to the bottom where he was greeted by vast stretches of forests and woodland fields. He happened upon a cabin built next to a brook and stopped.

  Moss and vine streaked along the sides and roof of the cabin like a spider’s web. Vines snapped as Kalic pried open the door and peered inside, the abandoned home empty save for a desk, chair, bed frame, and some firewood stacked by the fireplace.

  Kalic turned around and exited the cabin, then walked toward the brook. He set down his sword and shield, sitting at the edge and watching the gentle waters push forward. Birds chirped above Kalic’s head, their sweet song a reminder that even when suffering pulls the world down, beauty lifts it up.

  He remained where he sat for a few hours, listening to the tune of the birds and the streaming water. It was almost perfect. All it needed was Vanessa to be sitting beside him. He looked to his left, imagining her vibrant smile beaming at him for no reason at all.

  But she wasn’t there. She wasn’t sitting beside him. Worst of all, she never would. He had to accept it. The only remnant of her existence was the memories of her that Kalic cherished. At this point he had searched for her longer than he had actually lived a life, and if death wasn’t an option for him, it was time for another purpose.

  As he blinked so too did Vanessa’s face disappear, his eyes refocusing down the stream behind where her apparition had just been. In her place he saw a man walking toward Kalic, carrying what looked like a towrth on his shoulders.

  The man, thick of beard and long of hair, wore a flowing, tattered garment of black that covered all except for his hands and feet. He appeared as one would imagine a hermit would, unkempt and equally wise.

  Kalic made no motion to move, instead watching as the stranger made his way over to where Kalic sat. A wave of his hand was all the greeting that Kalic received, and as he reciprocated the gesture the stranger set down the towrth at Kalic’s feet.

  Kalic inspected the towrth, noticing an ordinarily grievous wound on his expanding and collapsing chest. The towrth was sleeping or unconscious, his clothes—similar to that of the stranger’s—dirtied and torn in many places lending further evidence to the attack that had befallen him.

  Both the sash around the towrth’s face and the bow on his back made Kalic realize that there was an air of
familiarity about the towrth. They had met at some point, but when?

  Kalic looked over to meet the stranger’s eyes. “Thine face is not familiar. Have we met before?”

  “No, Kalic, we have not,” replied the stranger. “It matters not. What matters is that Ashkar requires your aid.”

  “My aid?” Kalic asked.

  The stranger nodded, pointing at the towrth. “This towrth goes by the name Erendil, and his elemental has sought to overtake his soul for years. He needs you to master it.”

  Kalic smiled to himself as he looked again at the towrth’s face. “Thou was wise to seek me out. May I ask, then, how thou came to know my name and how thou found me?”

  “It is easy to find anyone or anything when you are the ground everything treads upon,” the stranger answered, leaving Kalic more puzzled than before.

  “Where… am I?” said a third voice, the towrth who had just awakened. The towrth stirred and tried to sit up, but groaned in pain and remained on his back.

  “Terra Sur, in the heart of the fallen and forgotten kingdom of Lorine,” said Kalic, and when the towrth looked at Kalic his brows lifted in surprise.

  “I know you,” said the towrth. “We met on Makka, at Merchant’s Keep.”

  Kalic nodded. “Now I remember. Fated to meet again, it would seem.”

  “But… who are you?” asked the towrth when he looked upon the stranger, examining his garment. “That garment… are you a part of the Skyward Hands as well?”

  “I was once,” said the stranger, looking up in recollection. “That was when I went by the name of Jorne.”

  _ _ _

  “The time draws near, Wu,” Sora said to the elderly man who stood opposite her deep within their lair.

  While Wu’s visits were infrequent due to his position as the Grand Master Magus so far away, they were always of great import, and as for this visit, perhaps one of the most important one ever. Just from her statement Wu’s expression held a mixture of unease and eagerness, two emotions he hardly ever let slip.