“Taria’s curse,” comes the Asker’s echo.
“I turned to my Vault, realizing the dangers of what I was doing. I was getting attached to something that was never meant for me, something that was already lost. Warmth was not meant for my kind or for someone of my profession; it would be my undoing. So, I let her go, and into the bitter dark coldness of Veil, I threw myself.”
***
My careful pursuit of answers began with the mysterious Weavers and their Sedai. I subtly sniffed for any useful information about them. I got some major disappointments from most of the sages, lore-masters, and record-keepers I visited in my crude disguise. It was like chasing a thought in the memory of a world.
Few, very few, of their lot gave any useful bits of information. Two, however, linked those "Weavers" to the lost kingdom of Icyndica in the far frozen south. The Anguish itself proved even harder to trace. Both the instrument and its composers hailed from the same spot on Talor, that was certain—the Realm of Frost.
When the Verda Luka’s blazing pursuit was reduced to a smolder, I resumed my focus on my main quest: the Shards of Mergal. I had to deliver them to their rightful owners, and if I failed to do so, then I would hide them in my Vault. They would be the first treasure I would not be thrilled to have.
More than once, I barely escaped the clutches of the Verda Luka, sensing their silent approach from behind my shoulders. Many times, I saw Xolis’s goat-bearded face and his translucent wild hair jumping from one face to another in the streets of desolate cities and towns as he searched for me.
Word of the ancient Genn from House Nertinet who betrayed the Keepers of Verda spread across Talor, along with contracts on my head. Those words also spoke of the legendary Rushk, the Shards of Mergal that longed to fulfill their destiny. The two survivors of my mission in Mergal spoke of the uncovered Secret of Mergal which I learned in Vaud atop those stairs. Some wanted to gain favor with the Verda Luka, some wanted the Shards of Mergal for themselves, and some were after the secret.
Very carefully, I searched for any information about the Rushk, but the only useful tips came from a withering elder dwarf smith, one of the Trodons. After months of seeking out information, I tracked down and found the dark-skinned Trodon. There were only a handful of Trodons left in the coastal city of Bafan, where I found the smith. The rest of them had already left for Bayland in the south with young Prince Akavi, Hidnor’s cousin.
I caught up with him in Bafan before he boarded his ship.
“I don’t know of anyone interested in hearing the story of the Shards of Mergal anymore. People gave up on this legend long time ago”
Shrouded in my crude hood I replied, “I’m a lover of history.”
“We Trodons love to recall the story.” He turned his eyes to the Goshean Bracelet across the Sea of Mountain Waves. “The Shards of Mergal are the legacy of Trodos the Maker, his last gift to Talor. They are linked to Igna, the greatest elven patron, and Dar, the Lord of Storms. Myths describe this link as some kind of a joint work”
“What are they? Each one of them must be shaped the way they are for a reason? What is the purpose of the crescent, the broken branch and the lightning bolt?” I asked.
The Trodon explained, “The three shards were collectively called Rushk . In the ancient tongue of Mergal, it refers to the hour of the night just before dawn, when it is darkest. Their purpose is not a simple one. It is a secret scattered among several entities. Only when they are reunited can it be unveiled.”
“The Order of Eon?” I asked.
“Yes. But it is highly unlikely now. One day, years ago, the Shards of Mergal left our world.” The old Trodon said to me, “The moment they return, if ever, is anticipated eagerly by many, despite losing hope of it ever happening. You have no idea who will be waiting for their restoration to our realm.”
A faint spark glowed in his eyes as he fixed them on mine. Trodos was their god. All he had to do was ask and I would have gladly ridden myself of the Shards of Mergal and handed them to the Trodon, but he never did.
He continued, “Hidnor is the king of Helgon now. He is searching for his father’s legacy, and he would pay handsomely for the Shards of Mergal.”
It was my turn to say nothing. I saw it in his eyes, he recognized me yet he didn’t announce it.
“Be careful Genn. Choose wisely whom you spoke to, as the Dwarf King is closely watched.” He said. “One of the Shards is ours and does belong to our king, but he can’t just have his own Shard and leave the other two remaining as orphans. They will do more harm than good if this happens because very likely he won’t be able to safeguard it alone. One shard is useless by its own, so says our records. Think of them as three weights that should be hanged on the tips of a triangular balance. The Shards need to be delivered to the fully assembled Order of Eon. It alone can protect the Shards.”
As I watched his ship sail south, I contemplated in silence. I recalled the myth A’rak the Ekran spoke of. The one person who will make the Order of Eon complete once more.
The Gate Keeper.
***
Back in Veil, I walked around my lake, heading to the river Sarus. I gazed upon Cresh dancing on the inconstant hills like a dust devil with her glittering core. I sat atop a bleak rocky hill, listening to the swooshing of the river’s waters.
“What are you looking for?” said the Fisherman, the entity whose company I sometimes sought at the cold dark banks of the river. I used to tremble when I stood in his presence, a being of unfathomable dominion over mystery and doubt whose voice shook all my beliefs, sometimes to near oblivion. Yet for some reason, in the end of those very rare encounters, he always left me unscathed, shaken, but in one piece.
"Is this another test?" I asked with a smile. After the incident with Cresh, I no longer feared that being. In fact, I considered the rare moments and the conversations I had with him priceless. "I thought you got your answers centuries ago. Do you still doubt me?"
"I am the Fisherman of the River of Doubt. It is the very essence of my existence."
“To throw baits?” I asked with a smile.
He didn’t answer. I turned towards the sky. "Peace. I am searching for peace. Is this a good answer?” The Waters of Doubt caressed my feet.
"For me it is. I am fulfilled whenever you step out of doubt. Years ago, you wanted nothing more than to travel along Sarus and head for the Night’s Eye. What changed your mind? Peace... well this is a very expensive word,” he answered, musing.
"I know it is. I have searched all realms of men and I rarely found any. Only the luckiest or the wisest finds peace, and when he does, his entire world would hunt him down for it."
"It is a necessity. You can never understand what peace is without fear and pain. The world of mortals is a world of opposites. You above all must understand that"
He pointed to the sky with his pole and asked, “What do you see?”
“The world of men,” I replied, gazing up into the sky towards Talor.
“You have been watching it for quite some time. Now tell me what you see?” he repeated his question.
Fear started crawling to my chest but I realized that I knew the answer to that question. So, regaining my calmness, I replied with melancholy, “I see an undignified land where the tallest building is that of pride. A land where courage long lost its battle with doubt and the remaining good few abandoned the many. What I see is a land swarming with dreams, yet forsaken by hope.”
“So why do you watch still?” he asked.
“That was the pact, the deal: to watch,” I replied.
“To what end?” he asked as he threw the pole into the murky waters.
I took my time thinking then I replied, “Until pens are dry and books are folded. Until the last seed of the Final Harvest.”
I heard a sudden swoosh beside me and a faint whisper. I looked, but he was gone.
As the years passed, I became more and more convinced that my last endeavor in Mergal had a deeper effect
upon Talor than I’d imagined. As I watched through the sky of Veil, I saw thief guilds around the world spoke of my skills in eluding the Verda Luka and the value of my finding. Stories were woven around the brave Genn who defied his city for a promise he made to his long gone mentor. Songs were written about the thief who honored the memory of a dying woman who loved him, expecting nothing in return. By doing that, he forever gained the enmity of one of the cruelest ruling orders ever known.
During those years, I kept a low profile. I lingered within Veil for the majority of the time, sneaking to Talor only on rare occasions. I had more than enough memories of Talor piled up in my Vault in Veil.
Yet there were no signs of the Gate Keeper.
More years passed. Yet the search went on.
I still had that feeling of being followed. I still had a feeling that something had left Mergal with me and had been at the corner of my sight ever since, but that didn’t sway me from my mission. As I searched, I saw things that were happening in Talor too slowly and subtly to be noticed by humans and other short-lived races. Only someone with my tedious existence, someone who had lurked behind the curtains watching for decades, could have taken notice.
It was by the closing of the century that I came in direct contact with those happenings . From the folds of Veil, I noticed not only the fall of many kingdoms but also the rise of a few. I saw the prospering of the Eredian Kingdom in the middle southeastern part of Talor at the hands of the house of Niver Darg and his followers, the Dargos. Stories spoke of the great house of kings, successors of Niver Darg and his son Atmos, ruling over Eredia.
I heard about an exceptional elven race rising from the ashes of the elven civilization: the Galad’Era, the Brave Few.
I watched as the defenses of Henya were rebuilt. There, the Serador lingered, continuing to give their support when needed against the Vile Born in the ruins of Henya. During those years, the enigmatic tribe of the fearless and proud followers of Tyrus, the Lord of Wrath, watched over the eastern boundaries of civilization. Under the leadership of Diamath and his bloodline, the Serador blocked the passage of Tel’ Abad and waited. As the century grew old, the mouth of Tel’Abad remained constant, but the world around it changed.
Timely happenings, the forces of light were picking up.
Then came the day when man created a new terror in place of the Chain of Cas’s Black Army. It was a new army that was given the name of the Tirra Mortus. It meant the Million Deaths as it caused more deaths across Talor than any other army, some claimed to be close to a million. A whole new range of treasures fell in my path: crowns of fallen kings, tomes of forgotten knowledge, wasted thrones, broken scepters, abandoned weapons, and much more. Passionlessly and without direct contact, I pursued them all, yet only when those items were forsaken. The majority were remnants of defeated kingdoms and ruined cities, things that fell to the increasing blaze of wars across Talor. Adopting the same philosophy of the Redemption Wars, the Second Redemption Wars were the nightmare the Tirra Mortus created.
In such endeavors I kept the promise I made to myself and stayed away from all affairs of man. I adhered to my plan; I would not step into the light again except to rid myself of the burden of the Shards. It made me feel a bit guilty, watching and doing nothing, but we, the shadow lurkers of all types, must maintain the balance. Besides, I had enough of a burden already.
During all those years, the tunes of the Sedai accompanied me and painted the course of time. Sometimes I heard them faintly; at other times, they were deafening. Every couple of years or so I ventured to the Mouth of Iskath. I checked the rock that resembled the tongue at the edge of the cave over which the river Iskath dived, exiting from the miles-high opening. Nothing new was carved, and my last mission was not unwritten. I had to finish Taria’s quest.
I kept asking myself: What was I meant to do next? Collect more memories? They seemed endless; what exactly did Taria want me to find? Where did that door lead to? When I opened it, I came on the other side seeing nothing.
Where are you Gate Keeper?
Until pens are dry and books are folded. Until the last seed of the Final Harvest .
Yoppa … Yarpus , my daggers whispered.
Chapter Four
In the Land of the Dargos
The Gate Keeper
Every year or so, shrouded in my hood, I ventured into a tavern or skulked around a crowd, lurking in a shady spot. Across the vast surface of Talor, I subtly asked around for someone called the Gate Keeper. No one gave me an answer.
I was not utterly undetected. In a coastal city on the Eredian gulf called Suprema, someone noticed my rare visits. A veteran bartender, one of the giant Brutes, a human sub-race, became aware of the mysterious visitor’s intentions; my intentions. The majority of the Brutes had reddish golden hair and heavy facial hair. They worshiped Trodos.
My inquisition continued throughout the century. No news of the Gate Keeper was ever heard. The mysterious visits got rarer. Almost a century had passed since I found the Legacy of Mergal.
The Date was 8 th of Gelia, 2217 SC…
The coastal town of Suprema held plain but cozy wooden huts with several bigger buildings, all built on the sandy hills.
One day in the autumn, the door of that veteran bartender's tavern opened. The gray-haired Brute, now more than sixty years old, recognized the mysterious visitor.
"You haven’t come in years, my veiled friend," he said to me as I sat across the table in the usual shady corner. The Brute had wrinkled features and waning eyesight, but his eyes were gleaming with excitement.
I picked up my cup and pushed it beneath my hood, drinking calmly.
"You know me?" I asked coldly, already knowing the answer but eager to repel the Brute’s curiosity.
"I have seen you half a dozen times during my years," answered the bartender. "I used to work here, but now I own this establishment."
"Family?"
"A wife, a daughter, and two sons.” Answered the Brute.
"You have done well then," I replied in a low whisper. "Regrets?"
"None.” He said this with a prideful smile. Silence followed as I finished my drink and put some coin on the table, preparing to leave.
"Won’t you ask your usual question?" asked the old man with a detectable excitement.
"He has come," he continued.
A faint sound like the quenching of a matchstick issued forth from beneath my hood –he got me intrigued.
"A young prince now awaits the throne of Eredia. He was the one who freed me from the Chain of Cas and welcomed me and my family in his lands. Last month he wrote his first page in the book of legends when he came out victorious over the Murks, who emerged from the Sea of Mountain Waves.
“They swarmed our shore west of here, the shores that separate Erados, the capital, from the Goshean Bracelet. The Murks reached all the way to the Gates of Valor. They even scathed our town. Some say that the Eredian prince, whose name is Trador, defended the Gates of Valor with a handful of soldiers.” He stopped his narration as I gave him my full attention.
"The details about that incident are known only to those who were there with him. But what is certain is that the public started calling him: The Gate Keeper."
He stopped his story to examine his one-man audience as I stared at the floor silently.
"Thank you," was my only reply as I stood up and turned to leave.
At the door, I stopped when I heard the old Brute asked, "Who are you?"
Without turning, I lingered for a second and then pushed the door open without a reply. Just before the door closed the old man saw something: a mysterious shady figure jumped out of the hooded man’s dark reflection on the doorway... a shadow cat.
After the mysterious guest left the wind carried the old Brute’s whisper, "Do not harm him, shade, he is our last and only beacon of hope."
Outside, as I faded into the shadows of the silvery night of Suprema, I whispered back, "We shall see."
Fro
m Shadow End, I watched Trador’s life and rise to power. He was a strong man, body and soul, with dark brown hair and a brown winter beard. Days turned to months as I lingered at the banks of the river Sarus, watching his star glow brighter. I kept track of his deeds and the marvelous adventures he undertook across the world of men. He led his armies against the Windelows and contained them in their island. He sailed with his fleet in the Sea of Mountain Waves and defeated the Murks. Accompanied by a hand-picked battalion, he roamed the Realm of Frost and the rugged hills of Zenia hunting the Ghost Army of Azirca. He aided in the defenses of the Henyan Front and supported the Doster Rising Company.
Seeing the dark age reigning, I never imagined that he would adorn the crown of Eredia. But when he was summoned back home to rule after his father’s death, I had to have a closer look. That was when I decided to cautiously take a step closer to the light. I subtly sought an old feeling I’d nearly forgotten, a feeling I’d come across a century ago: the warmth of hope.
The Obsidian Beacon
For a couple of months I roamed the Eredian lands watching Trador from a closer distance. During my time there, I fancied striding the sunny shores of the surface on rare occasions, especially at sunsets. I loved to dwell on the borders of worlds. I greatly enjoyed bathing in that secretive subdomain, watching those worlds embrace each other.
On the sandy coast east of Erados, I walked, enjoying earth, water, and air plaiting together in one endless braid of life. The beach was as smooth as a bed sheet with an extremely deep back shore, sometimes exceeding a mile before reaching the coastline. I walked leisurely along the unruffled sands. I was heading west towards the Eredian capital. I enjoyed the splashing of the cold waters on my dark leather armor and listening to the sea’s steady breathing.
The Dark Season Saga- the Final Harvest Page 12