What does it mean? Thoughts of an ancient prophecy speaking of some end-of-time battle crossed my mind. But I was no fan of prophecies or anything else that defied time in such a way.
“You have in your hands what the Goshae and the Vile Born were after for countless years. You made a choice when you came here, and now you have planted the first seed of the Final Harvest. What you opened was not a mere lock in some device. You have opened a door that was sealed for too long.”
The shards felt heavy in my hands.
“You are different, Genn, different from the rest of your kin. You are different than any treasure hunter I have seen before. Despite my doubts, the Great Mother believes in you, the Mergals believe in you, and so do others.” He glanced at Taria’s body wrapped inside the oaken roots. “The chance you’ve been given is not just for your race or the underworld, but to the surface races as well. Prove me wrong, Genn, and heed the Mergals’ message. They left our world along with their Gray Forge, and their legacy now lies in your hands.
“Many will hunt the Shards of Mergal down. The Goshae and the Genn who sent you here are not the only ones who will stop at nothing to acquire the Rushk. So choose wisely what to do with them. We can guide you no further. What lies ahead will not be easy, and despair will lurk at every corner. It is despair that will be your greatest foe as your list of friends grows thinner and your enemies multiply.”
Then before he turned to leave, he added, “If you find yourself lost, know that she left you a trace.” He glanced up at the cave where the mysterious figures had disappeared with Taria. “Do not lose that trail.” Then he disappeared into the dark Eye.
I heeded the lesson the Mergals left for us, and I heard the lesson that time preached. Now the Rushk had been passed to me. I came to think that the Mergalians and the Galad’Vemast were convinced that it was the last and only chance for the Mergals’ legacy to survive on. Whatever they intended to deliver had this final chance of being fulfilled.
I felt as if I had the entire Goshean Bracelet on my shoulders. I had, however, also found the Twin Daggers. Two daggers of incredible powers; one could weaken an ox and turn it to a shivering aged rabbit and the other was a master of pain. Still, those daggers irritated the hell out of me. Their story, which I learned in Vaud, was baffling. But the trait that agitated me the most was their whispers. Over time, I eagerly waited for the moment they would whisper the truth about the tale I learned in Vaud at the top of the eleven stairs. I waited for them to tell more about those words they kept whispering. One of them whispered Yoppa while the other whispered Yarpus, and in my mind, these became their names. Yoppa and Yarpus, the Whispers of Vaud.
As I stood in the cavern, I had the feeling that I was being watched, and that feeling has accompanied me ever since. But I ignored that feeling and looked around, trying to decide what to do next. I had to leave that place, that was for sure; then I would decide about the Shards of Mergal. I saw Sherako leading up across the narrow ramp that climbed along the sides of the chasm where the Gray Hammer had fallen. It slithered up toward the hole where the mysterious shadowy figures were standing. The last, fading notes of their music died inside.
That was the last thing Taria showed me , I pondered, so it must be the trail . I heard the words surfing with the music, but I couldn’t make the lyrics out. After I entered the hole, I saw nothing for quite some time. Finally however, through careful navigation, it led to the elusive Sandor’s Twisting Ladder.
Sandor’s Ladder was a set of spiral stairs. It stretched from the lowest point in the Bracelet to the uncharted top of the mountainous ring. It was impossible to actively find. It kept twisting and changing its route and location across the years due to the strange earthen contortion that took place deep in the Goshean Bracelet. Still, it was the fastest way through the Bracelet if one was lucky enough to find it, or in my case, led to.
I went through the hole and up the Twisting Ladder. On my way up, much went through my mind. I had to report back to the Verda Luka and collect my fees. But what I would report exactly and how I would explain the fact that I returned alone was not yet clear to me.
Then I thought of the new Verda. Xolis had manipulated the Verda Luka into dealing with the Chain of Cas. They broke the basic rule of the Genn’s society; maintaining true neutrality. I knew the ultimate purpose they hid for the Rushk; they would never give it to the Order of Eon. If I brought that priceless legacy to Xolis he would run and hand it over to the Chain of Cas hence pushing the Genn farther from the middle of balance. When I gazed at the bag in my hands, I knew I had to decide.
Do the Verda Luka deserve something as powerful and valuable as the Rushk? I pondered.
Hours passed, and the Twisting Ladder reached a labyrinthine bridge. When I crossed it, I heard the beat again. It sounded clearer; drums coming from across the walls of the mountain. Much closer.
I mustered my courage, reminding myself that we, the Genn, were far from that danger and my path would not cross theirs. As it had always been, my role was just to watch, and on rare occasions, to take. So, trying as hard as I could to clear my thoughts of all the horrors I’d seen and heard deep in the Goshean Bracelet, I continued on my way.
Amidst all the speculations and queries building up inside my mind, there was one thing I was sure of at that moment. The day the Gray Hammer fell, something else rose... a faint beat in my chest.
Chapter Three
The Quest
The Mouth of Iskath
In the days that the Dargos led the Sidnian army towards Henya, I was still climbing the Twisting Stairs. During my ascent, I kept hearing the sounds of the Progeny of Zuld crawling across the Dark Mile and battering on the Wall of Enigmus. Even across thick mountain walls, I could hear their rumbling approach, and I dreaded the moment I would lay my eyes on them.
It wasn’t until midday on the fifteenth day of climbing that the sound of their drums could be heard no more. I figured out that I’d climbed high enough inside the mountain, way above the level of the passage. The dark passage must have been leagues beneath me, and I was thankful for the distance that separated me from that nightmare.
Yet I could still feel the hammer fall echoing across the mountain and within my hollow being. I still had the feeling that something was following me out of Mergal.
Silent, absentminded, and accompanied only by the echoes of my lonely steps on the rocky, twisting ladder, I spent my days climbing higher and higher. It led me from the Gray Forge all the way up towards the western side of the mountain. I emerged inside the Iskath’Dorai (6) , the Mouth of Iskath, which was a small cave, not more than twenty feet deep. It was the same cave where we, me and my fellow Severs, used to meet with Makista for our lessons. It gaped on the western side of the Goshean Bracelet a mile above sea level and overlooked the Karonis rocky shore, below the Glaw Bridge. I emerged through an opening immersed in a pool formed by the river Iskath. The mysterious river ran along the distance from somewhere inside the mountain till it reached that cave. The small pool spread to the edge of the cave where it plunged down to the Karonis Shore.
It was in the afternoon and the sound of the waterfall, which was called Iskath’Demeel or the Fall of Iskath, burbled in my ears. I dropped exhausted on the wet rocks of the wide cave, gazing at the gray sky of Talor. The sunny days carved deep in my memories seemed more like a childhood dream by then.
I glided farther into the cold water and gazed through the mouth of the cave above the waterfall. Under the fading dusk light and the glittering young night sky, I could see all the way to the other side of the sea, to the famous Hullrazor Coast, where countless shipwrecks lurked between the razor-sharp rocks and below the cruel reef. They’d accumulated through years of continuous assault on the dwarven Shore of Helgon by the Windelows, Murks (7) and the Vile Born. Even Lorken in the far west had its share in those assaults.
I looked upon the waning sun, something that we deep earth-dwellers appreciated and envied the surface race
s for. Even if it was a dull sun, fatigued and sleepy. It was showering the Valley of Dust Battlefield with depleted rays through the gathering clouds above.
For a while, I lingered atop the natural plateau at the cave’s exit beside that mystic pond, and I watched. Perhaps to a surface dweller, I had just come out of darkness, but it was this surface that basked in constant dusk, awaiting the inevitable arrival of a crushing night.
The sunset on the Valley of Dust was a beautiful scene with a deep meaning. I accepted the merciful warm tendrils of the vulnerable sun and took off my dirty black shirt and dark armor. I walked into the running cold water of Iskath flowing through the glinting rocks of the cave. A small, clear, semi-still pond formed just at the edge of the cave.
What I saw next stung me to my feet. A camp of a tiny army was standing at the edge of the Henyan Front facing Glaw, an army soaking in fear. They were too few, those who came to the defense of the Henyan Front, fewer than ever. I thought that must be the moment when the road cleared of obstacles in front of Zuld’s Progeny as they slithered through the Dark Mile and swarmed over Talor. I pictured them cracking open the Wall of Enigmus and shuddered at the idea that their moment of conquest was near. I realized that I was about to witness the massacre that every Talorian feared—when the Henyan Front falls.
Instead, I saw the Battle of Atmos Niver Darg and the Return of the Serador.
Choice
In my early days in Veil, I took up a task that most of the locals considered insane. Trying to locate the final burial ground of a fallen angel, I climbed one of the Ten Peaks where I had an almost deadly encounter. I came face to face with the Wind of Veil, an elemental duchess with a thousand titles, although I believe most know her as Cresh. Then another entity from beyond mortal knowledge came along; the Fisherman, who watched the battle and for a reason that escapes me, he stepped in. I don’t know what he told her, but because of him, Cresh spared my life and agreed to help me, on her own terms. I could call her to my aid, and she promised to answer, but only should there be a good reason. The scale by which Cresh measured the importance of the reason was unknown to me, but she seemed to answer my call in either a life or death situation or when an enigmatic secret was involved.
In order to see and listen what was happening at Henyan Front clearly, I called for her help, I called upon Cresh the Agile. The air beside me thickened, and a small dust devil formed. Within the shadowy vortex, a figure started dancing and then it approached me. In a matter of seconds, she engulfed me, transforming me into mere wind. To the men below I would look like some dark cloud but this form enabled me to hover above the battlefield. I saw and heard every detail of the memorable day.
The valor. The honor. The victory.
When the fighting subsided and the cheers faded into my ears, music flowed onto the scene. Sad Sedai tunes came upon the winds of the east. They were the same tunes I’d heard beside Taria, and they flowed directly from the Dark Mile where Atmos went. Not everyone heard them. Not everyone fully understood the feat of valor that the son of Niver Darg demonstrated to the entire world; the lesson he taught. With solemn reverence, a mere handful of them gazed at the dark passage where the hero went and never returned.
In my wind form, I flew above the battlefield toward the west and then dropped to a couple of hundred feet or so west of the army camp. I saw the Sidnian army getting ready to camp for the night. I saw three of the humans taking the Eredian flag and moving west; a man, a woman and a young girl with short icy-white hair white. It was the flag that would never have a match. The scent of that soon-to-be-legendary artifact called for me, filling me with burning desire to get my hands on it. But I had other business to attend to.
By dawn, I was exhausted. I debated between proceeding with my quest down the faint trail and heading back to my home, the underworld. I looked back at the Bracelet and saw, up in the cave, two figures standing. Both the wounded Genntay we left by the door of the treasury and his companion were standing at the Iskath’Dorai, pointing at me. By the first hazy-blue whisper of the daylight, I spotted another Genn behind them. He was a slim, bald one with a goatee beard and thick translucent-blue eyebrows. Pearly-blue, fuzzy hair outlined his oval head.
Xolis, the leader of the House Gabana, was eyeing me angrily. I moved my hand to the shards secured in the leather bag attached to my belt. He had been aiming for this mission for years before I agreed to help the Verda Luka. He obviously would not let the Shards of Mergal slip through their fingers after so many years and that much effort.
It was time for the decision…
When the man carrying the flag passed beneath me, I heard the young girl with peculiar white hair saying something that drew my attention to them.
“There are words in the music,” she said.
I was intrigued by the idea that she, a human child, heard the music and the words. At a crossroad, I picked a rock and landed on it, transforming back to my Genn form.
As I lurked on the rock like a statue watching Xolis, I heard her saying to me in a confident young voice, “Good evening, Genn.”
The woman, who I presumed to be her mother, whispered, “Do not disturb him, Ulisa.”
The young girl asked with admirable indifference, “What is he looking at?”
“His homeland,” came the man’s reply. The two adults exchanged a worried look. This encounter was something they thought to be impossible to happen.
I peeked from beneath my hood toward them, giving no reply.
They gazed at me nervously as they moved farther away. The woman whispered, “What is he doing, Idath?”
Idath failed to answer and turned to me, asking, “Are we bothering you, my dear sir?”
“The song you heard, what did it say?” I asked with the most human-friendly voice I could muster at that point.
“I didn’t hear it clearly,” answered the woman hesitantly.
“Leave then,” I said as I turned my attention back to the mountainous ridge, trying not to lose sight of Xolis. He was still at the Iskath’Dorai, waiting. “While you can. You are standing in the path of danger.”
“We mean you no harm,” the man said nervously.
From under my hood, I noticed Ulisa taking the furled flag of Atmos Niver Darg from her mother. A monumental urge started to rush through my veins again. I uttered whispers in my ancient tongue from under my hood, startling them.
Idath moved between me and Ulisa.
“Go back to your world Genn. We have enough trouble on the surface,” Idath said with resolve and borrowed courage.
I whispered, “ Thoras Iderim .” The spell I cast confirmed my guess about the wrapped item but also gave me a conclusion; that legacy was not meant for my Vault… yet.
Cautiously, they started to move away from me toward the southern path, peeking in my direction every now and then. Before they took the path, Ulisa turned to me. “What are you doing here?”
“Making a choice,” I replied, trying to be as simple and clear as possible.
She was about to respond to that but then froze in place. “Listen.”
Idath pulled his horse to a halt, and the woman did the same.
We all listened to the mystic tones of the Sedai as it came back to life. Then our ears caught words we couldn’t decipher accompanying the tones.
“Can you hear the words now, Cel? What are they saying?” Idath asked.
“They are speaking of a foretelling, just an old song ... a Yeathorian myth.”
I raised my eyes inside my hood and fixed them on hers. “Tell me,” I commanded.
She firmly looked back at me as she translated the most important message I ever got.
“Along the night came, covering all lands with shame,
Barren lands and barren hands that pray for no rain.
Within the folds of that night, all hopes are torn,
But within those folds, a new candle is born.”
“What is coming, Genn?” Idath asked me.
�
�I only know what has passed. I was told that what comes ahead is not foreseen. No omen or foretelling can guide us,” I answered.
“Are we part of it?” Cel inquired.
I didn’t reply. I had no reply.
“That was for him,” Ulisa whispered to her father, “… that song.”
Idath and I exchanged looks and then he patted his daughter on the shoulder. He turned his horse back towards the path. “Yes, it was. Come, let him be. This is a part of Talor’s tale that we are not meant to read.”
The last thing I saw of them as they rode away was Ulisa’s white-blue eyes gazing at me. Hugging the Flag of Atmos, she said whispered something I couldn’t hear, but her lips spoke plainly: “I will see him again.” She then turned to the road ahead of her, following her father.
I turned to Xolis by the Iskath’Dorai. Under the early morning light, I could see more of his order joining him in the cave. Dozens of angry Genn and Genntays stood with gray vapor swirling around their forms. They descended the worn stairs behind the waterfall. Xolis lingered in the cave and stretched his arms toward me, palm open.
I sent him a thought as I shook my head: No, Xolis. The Shards of Mergal will go to their rightful owners. If it is not the current ruler of Helgon or the Order of Eon, I will wait until one comes from their line and earns them. I will wait until the last breath of that candle.
He lowered his arms with a wrathful glare. He understood my message. That was when I knew that my home had become forbidden to me and that my kin would hunt me to the end of the world for the Legacy of Mergal.
Salitar , my daggers whispered… an answer to the queries that I never spoke.
During Our Seclusion
The Dark Season Saga- the Final Harvest Page 9