by R D Wolfe
“Taitron? Altruis?” Darien asked, “Is any of that near The Academy?” Darien asked, trying to make sense of everything.
Chorrun paused for a moment before answering, a confused expression crossing his face. “There is no academy in Taitron. Why, the only academies I know of are either in the histories of the other worlds, or far to the north and west of here, nowhere near Taitron, or even Altruis for that matter.”
Suddenly, Darien remembered what he had been doing before he found himself talking to Chorrun and burst out, clearly surprising the centaur. “I have to get back to The Academy! What are the others going to think? Master Whyn! Oh no, what will Kara think? I have to get back!”
Darien rushed past Chorrun. The centaur called after him as he ran towards the front door, but Darien didn’t listen. Running into the room beyond, he saw light coming from an open entryway. The door stood open. Turning towards the golden beams of sunlight pouring in, he sprinted out onto the street and was momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the scene around him.
Darien was struck into complete silence, even within his mind, as he attempted to comprehend what he was seeing around him. He was standing on the side of a path, no, not a path, a road, cobbled and worn from uncountable years of travel, with wheel marks cutting deep ruts into either side showing where carts had been pulled along. His attention turned to the deep, dense forest that surrounded the village, hiding the view of everything further than fifty feet into the tree line.
The centaurs strolling down the street didn’t notice him at first as he stood silently, mouth agape. Slowly, it dawned on him that he was truly far from home, and he dropped to his knees. The time it took to fall to the ground seemed an eternity in Darien’s mind, as the implications of what he was seeing immersed him in a myriad of emotions, swirling through confusion, hopelessness, grief, disbelief, and strongest of all, despair.
Then a thought crossed his mind.
I’m dreaming. I need to be dreaming.
Standing quickly, Darien glanced around, as the centaurs now turned their gaze towards him curiously. Ignoring them, he quickly rose to his feet and began running down the street to his right, forcing centaurs out of his way, as they called after him incredulously. Turning off the path and into the dense forest, he ran towards the sound of running water, finding a brook bubbling along inexorably, indifferent to the crazed Darien, who quickly began splashing himself with its water.
“Wake up!” Darien screamed without hearing his own voice cascade around him. “Wake up, please!”
After his head was sufficiently soaked, he fell back on the bank of the brook and scrunched up his face, the dampness of the water chilling his entire body. Catching his breath from his sprint into the forest, he slowly opened one eye, peering around him and his surroundings.
Nothing had changed.
Squeezing his eyes shut again, hopelessness seeped deeper into him.
Where am I? What’s happening to me? Why me?
Thoughts raced through Darien’s mind like the battering blows from an invisible enemy as he lay in the grass, fighting back panic. After several minutes, the normal discipline which he relied upon so heavily began to return, and Darien opened his eyes. Sitting up, he turned to look behind him and saw Chorrun standing about fifteen feet away, allowing Darien some privacy, but also shielding him from any onlookers.
“Are you well?” Chorrun asked softly, his light accent falling gently on Darien’s ears.
“I-I don’t know,” Darien stammered. “I don’t know how I got here, or who you are, or if any of this is even real. I just want to go home.”
Chorrun stayed silent for a few moments before saying softly, “You don’t know why you are here? At all?”
Darien shook his head, holding back a new wave of senseless panic.
“That… that could be a serious problem.” Chorrun sounded shaken.
The two remained silent as the sound of the brook, the clop of distant hoofs on the road, and the quiet rustle of the trees throughout the forest their only companions. After a time, Chorrun slowly walked over to Darien, lowering a muscled arm to help the frightened him to his feet. Darien accepted and rose, feeling a measure of strength flowing into him.
“Come with me back to the village,” the centaur said. “After you get some food and rest, we can talk. This is not how the stories say the cycle should begin.” Chorrun made his way back to the road, turning to look at Darien with an expectant stare.
Hesitating a moment, Darien followed slowly, and the two walked back to the building where he had woken up. They traveled side by side, Darien on the edge of the road and Chorrun to his left, shielding him as they walked. A few centaurs caught a glimpse of Darien, and for a moment, he spotted interest in their eyes, but none dared to approach him past Chorrun.
When they reached the desired building, Chorrun stepped to the side allowing Darien to enter first and followed swiftly after. He pulled a sliding door into place, damming up the beams of late afternoon sunlight from streaming into the cool, earthy room. Darien studied his surroundings. Large cushions sat around the comfortable space, which were probably for sitting, or whatever it was called when a centaur no longer stood.
This room was surrounded by seven others, separated by curtains. One was the room Darien had woken up in, five others appeared to be similar, and the final room was hidden from view behind a table centered on the back wall. Chorrun called into the back room, and a young centaur passed through the curtain. He glanced at Darien but did not show the same surprise as the others they had encountered on the road outside. Chorrun sent the young centaur for food and drinks while he and Darien made their way to the cushions. Chorrun lowered himself down and motioned for Darien to do the same.
They sat in silence for several minutes before the young centaur, whom Chorrun had called Laytri, returned with a platter of bread, cheese, and an assortment of fruits and vegetables which looked familiar to Darien. Each one tasted confusingly different. What he would have called grapes were sour like lemons, and what looked like oranges peeled to reveal a flesh that was more like an apple, with a flavor somewhere between a banana and plum. Darien thought Kara would have liked this last one, and he wondered about what she would be doing right now. Probably looking for him, with the rest of the school.
The hopeless feeling returned.
The two ate together in silence, Laytri having left after delivering the food. After Darien finished his meal, he leaned back into the soft cushions, losing himself in the questions of his mind. Chorrun remained silent for a time, watching. After some minutes of silence, Darien looked up at Chorrun, as fear and confusion boiled over, growing stronger the longer he waited.
“I don’t even know where to start my questions,” Darien fought to keep his voice steady. “Who are you? Where am I? How can this, how can you be real? How can I get back home? I want to know how I got here, why I’m here.” Darien paused, breathing deeply.
Chorrun didn’t answer immediately, studying Darien’s face for a few moments.
“The fact that you don’t have these answers yourself raises some very important issues,” he slowly replied, “Nothing I’ve studied as the cycle approached tells us how to deal with a member of The Four who doesn’t know why they’re in Olympus.” Unease crept through his voice as he spoke. “For now, I will try to answer your questions as best I can. As for the rest…we’ll have to wait and see where our talk takes us.” Chorrun took a drink from his goblet before continuing.
“First, I am Chorrun. As I mentioned before, I am a healer, a teacher of history, and teller of stories in this village, which is called ‘Taitron.’ It is a small village comprised entirely of centaurs, like me, who live our quiet lives at the edge of the southern lands known as Altruis, about a week’s ride on horseback for your kind, south of Farkland Reach.”
“Farkland Reach?”
“You don’t even know of Farkland Reach?” Chorrun raised his eyebrows in apparent astonishment. “It’s
central to the lands of Olympus, and where you’ll start your journey with the others.”
Chorrun gestured to a crude map on the wall. Darien wasn’t able to read any of the names labeling the various landmarks, but he could guess where the city was based on Chorrun’s description. However, a familiar word Chorrun had said kept buzzing in his mind.
“Olympus? As in the Greek gods, Athena, Zeus, Hercules, all of them?” Darien asked, grasping at anything familiar.
Chorrun appeared pensive for a moment, as if trying to remember something and then shrugged. “Those names have no meaning to me from the histories. Now, as for how you get home, that I can offer no answer to, outside of the way you came here in the first place—the transitions. I know a very little about them, but I can tell you that we’ve been unable to open any since Cyprin rose to power.”
“What’s a Cyprin?”
“Cyprin is not a what, but a who,” Chorrun scowled. “He is a menace who rears his ugly head once each cycle. I suppose to fully answer your questions, I will need to give you a brief accounting of Cyprin’s tale. It’s a story we tell the children across all of Olympus, part of our very way of life. Everything revolves around the cycle. Every fifty years, our entire world turns its attention to Mount Olympus, and the journey of The Four. Are you ready to hear the story now?”
Darien settled back against the cushions he was sitting in and motioned for Chorrun to begin, listening intently.
“It began just over three thousand years ago, with the civil war, though the exact date has been lost to time,” the centaur spoke methodically, as if reciting from memory “Before then, Olympus was a peaceful world, with little to divide us. We mostly sought to live our lives amongst our own people. Occasionally, some of us would travel and see the other lands. Then, one group, known as the Night Wind, attempted to gain control of the other lands and bring them under their master’s brutal rule. They were quickly wiped out, but their leader was never found.
“Everyone believed he had been killed or driven off into the far reaches of the northern islands across the sea where he would never be a problem for the people again. Sadly, they were mistaken. After several years of peace—some say decades, others say centuries—we began to lose contact with the other worlds. We gradually lost the ability to travel, and then even our method of communication through the transitions. First, we lost touch with Evindor, then Lystra, Terrae, and finally, Earth.”
Darien sat up straight. “You used to talk to Earth?” His mind shot back to the secrets Master Whyn had said were beneath The Academy. Darien figured they were some old books, or lost scrolls of history, but was it possible that the school knew about Olympus? Was that the knowledge that would be “better kept from the world?”
“Frequently, yes,” Chorrun nodded, visibly annoyed at the interruption. “Those who wanted to travel between the worlds were given the opportunity to visit and learn from them for brief periods of time. No more than a few weeks, occasionally a month. Back then, some of the races still possessed the abilities of magic Now I’m getting ahead of myself. Where was I before your question? Oh, yes, the transitions began dying off. Finally, after the last communication was lost with Earth, the final planet to go dark, he showed himself.” Chorrun’s voice grew ominous, almost as if he was trying to frighten Darien with a ghost story around a campfire.
“The Night Wind’s leader was never really gone as we had hoped. Instead, he had been in hiding, corrupting the races to build himself a new army, studying dark magic to enslave even nature itself to his will, and preparing to bring the lands under his control again. We fought back, but he had grown too powerful. In his hiding, he had found a way to steal magic from the races who still possessed what little was left. The reappearance of Cyprin, the only name anyone had ever known him by, caused a panic across all the lands of Olympus. Our ancestor’s armies, which were so reliant on the magic that was now almost completely under Cyprin’s control, were utterly destroyed in days. With no way to stop him, Cyprin was to become the ruler of Olympus and enslave the entire world under his rule. After enough time, he would begin to conquer the other worlds as well if he wasn’t stopped.”
“Wait a minute,” Darien interjected. “You mean to tell me that the same guy who beat all of your ancestor’s armies three thousand years ago is still up there? Shouldn’t he have died by now? He can’t be immortal… can he?”
Chorrun took a deep breath. “That is where things become complicated. Yes, Cyprin should be dead by now. However, you’re forgetting the magic that he had stolen from the world. From what the histories say, this magic sustains him, even from a mortal blow.
“There is hope, though,” Chorrun’s voice returned to its methodical tone, losing its drama and becoming calm, and almost regal. “Before Cyprin defeated the last of our armies, a powerful spellcaster saw that Cyprin could not be stopped. His name was Whytaren. In a desperate effort, he brought together four others. Whytaren then cast a spell, the last spell cast by anyone since, imprisoning Cyprin and his armies. This spell did many other things, some which aren’t fully understood. It’s even possible that there is more to the spell than we’ve been able to discover these last three millennia, given our lack of access to magic. We do know that it forced open the transitions, giving us just enough time in order to send a message to the other four worlds about Cyprin’s return, and defeat of our armies. It would also reopen the transitions every fifty years to call for help. Four warriors would be brought to Olympus to bring the end of a cycle.
“Each cycle, the entire focus of our world turns to these four heroes and aiding them in their quest. The Four journey across the lands, gathering the weapons held when the spell was cast, guarded by the strongest of the races. When these weapons are brought together, they will open the gates to Mount Olympus, and the Four may then challenge Cyprin, keeping Olympus free for another cycle. Once defeated, Cyprin, and all who serve him are imprisoned once again, forced to wait in darkness until the spell frees them once more to send their dark influences into the world, corrupting all that they touch.” Chorrun’s voice had risen once more to sound like he was talking about some monster hidden under a child’s bed
“You, Darien,” the centaur’s normal voice returned as he looked at Darien, “are one of the Four who was brought here by that spell. You and the three others are the only chance Olympus has to keep Cyprin from returning and maintain the peace our world enjoys.”
Chorrun fell silent. Darien barely understood everything the centaur had just told him. It sounded like some generic legend, or a story meant to frighten children into behaving. They sat in silence as the sun began to dip below the horizon beyond the doorway. Darien looked up.
“That sounds like some fairy tale made up to scare kids,” Darien said, disbelief creeping into his voice.
“Fairies don’t have tails,” Chorrun looked back curiously. They have wings.”
Darien paused, confused for a few seconds. “Never mind that. It just seems like a story used to keep kids from causing trouble. You know, ‘Do what you’re told, or the big bad man will get you?’”
“We would never tell our children that,” Chorrun looked shocked. “The threat of Cyprin is far too real and dangerous to make up stories. If we added to the story, embellished it, they might not believe it was their duty to help the Four when the time came.”
Darien apologized. He hadn’t meant to offend the centaur. Then a question occurred to him. “Assuming all this is true, what if… what if Cyprin isn’t defeated? What if the Four fail?”
“Fail?” Chorrun looked puzzled. “None of the Four have ever failed to finish the cycle. I suppose that everything would continue, but Cyprin would have fifty additional years to gain strength and power. He would almost surely attempt to counter the spell placed on him three millennia ago. If that happens, it’s likely that no one would be able to stop him.
“When Cyprin returns, he tries to reclaim as many lands as he can. His recovery takes time, and the
recovery of his armies would likely take even longer, as they don’t benefit from the same magic that Cyprin controls and guards jealously. There are mentions that his armies were seen a few cycles ago, but any who made it past the ruins of Zanarchin at the base of the mountain disappeared without being mentioned again.”
A thought, hopeful and eager, shot through Darien’s mind. Something Chorrun had said clicked into place, making him smile as excitement rushed through him.
“You said others are coming? You said it was the Four, so my team, they’ll meet me here? In Olympus?”
Chorrun nodded, “Yes, there is always a team of four, I can’t see why this time would be any different. Though your lack of knowledge about the cycle is strange from what I know of the histories.”
Darien sighed in relief, “So, the others are coming, are they going to come here to Taitron?”
Chorrun shook his head. “No, from what I’ve read each member of the Four comes out in completely different places. Farkland Reach, the troll city I mentioned before, is where they have met in the last few cycles. It’s central to the lands here, and the journey to find the weapons always begins there.”
Darien stood up and walked to the doorway looking towards the sunset feeling better knowing that he would see the others soon.
The look on Philip’s face when he sees Chorrun is going to be priceless.
“So, you want me and my team, to go on this… adventure, or quest-type thing,” Darien turned back to Chorrun, “in a world I’ve never heard of, that I’m still not sure is even real, and end the cycle. And if I say no it might doom your world to a brutal rule for the rest of eternity? And then my world would be enslaved once Cyprin opens the transitions again? What kind of choice is that to ask someone to make?”
“That is the purpose of The Four, and you are one of them,” Chorrun nodded. “Everything lines up, save for your lack of knowledge of our world and the cycle. But I wonder,” Chorrun said, thoughtfully, “if you tell me your history, your story, we can glean some insight into what caused such a different chain of events that led to your transition into Olympus. Perhaps a new path lies before us, one outside the stories, and you’ll be able to answer my own questions.”