The Dark Season Saga- the Final Harvest

by Yehya H Safwat

  The strange thing was not that only two people managed to crew the massive vessel across the impassable Sea of Mountain Waves. Not even because they came aboard a ship usually requiring one hundred sailors to man. It was what the sailor described of how they managed to achieve it.

  He moved the ship with his voice, the sailor described. The mysterious passenger seemed to know secret words which, when spoken, moved the wind. And the wind moved the sea, even the Sea of Mountain Waves. The passenger stayed alone on the command deck for the entire journey, conversing with the sea. The sailor, on the other hand, stayed in his room, cowering beneath his bed. He kept hearing the roaring of the wind and the clashing of waves, hissing in anger. It was as if the sea was offended by their mere presence and the audacity that they had to venture through the forbidden Drum. They sailed cross uncharted waters and encountered things man was not supposed to see.

  One night the sailor heard the passenger speaking to someone or something. All he made out was that there was no time to spare and that they had no choice but to take this route. An important message needed to be delivered at any cost, he said to whomever he was talking to.

  I was distracted from the narration when Sherako appeared at my feet. I bent to pick him up and he purred as I patted his back and gently caressed his neck.

  “What have you got for me, old friend? What do you seek in this unfortunate city?”

  As I expected, I received no answer from my silent companion, but I knew that he had something in mind. So I stepped into the shadow of a building protruding from the hill. There, I closed my eyes, and muttered “Thias”. I said to Cresh the Teller, hoping that my whisper would reach her.

  Tell me, Cresh, what secrets dwell here? What words remain unheard? I started using the O’Lenatum, whispering in the ancient dialect of the Genn. Then I fell to silence as I tried to listen for any replies.

  "IT IS DRIVING ME CRAZY… THESE FLIES ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY!" screamed the same crazed monk in my face. Twisting and dodging invisible flies, he bumped against my shoulder.

  He pulled my face close to his ear as if trying to see me with it.

  "What are you doing? What flies?" I pushed him away in annoyance. He fell on his back and stayed there, his face toward the sky. “Why didn’t he blow it yet, Pilgrim of the Shadows? This endless torture!”

  Then he stood up and started moving away before the guards of the nearby inn got to him. "The other pilgrim, the Golden Pilgrim, what is he waiting for? Look around you, isn’t it time yet? You must know, you are a wayfarer too, but a different one.”

  He turned and ran away, giggling maniacally and swatting at the imaginary flies on his face. He faded into the crowd surrounding a small tavern, leaving me shaken. Who was that ‘Golden Pilgrim’ he referred to?

  I scanned my surroundings. People continued walking about, going into shops or prodding their mules forward. No one seemed to take any notice of me now that the man was gone. Slowly, I started to regain my resolve and made my way out of the alley.

  I sent Sherako a thought: Let us be quick, Sherako; just mark me something. Tell me what we are looking for here. If we were going to search for a hidden legacy in this city, we needed a reliable, quick source of information.

  “Line up please,” I heard someone say. I turned to see dozens of passengers exiting a ship. Those standing on land were being lined up in front of an officer. Beside him, a peculiar, green-haired gnome sat on a big wooden chair with his legs dangling halfway to the ground. He had a table in front of him. On top of it was an odd looking, gray book where the gnome wrote down the names of the passengers and their origin as each one of them informed him.

  I lingered for a few minutes until the gnome finished recording information about the group in front of him. I heard the Neligan telling him that no more ships were coming and they were done for the day. Then he was escorted by a heavily guarded carriage toward the city’s eastern gate.

  The Radimortum. That must have been the well-known log book where the Lorks keep track of all those who travel in or out of their harbors. It was another habit passed to them by the Traveler.

  Cresh whispered in my ears with its windy voice, Radimortum .

  The Genn’s intuition screamed inside my head. I turned to reenter the alley and stepped into the shadows there. I searched for Sherako. When I looked up, I saw him jumping in the gnome’s carriage.

  “Good boy,” I whispered.

  Trying to follow the carriage, I moved along in the shadows of the approaching night. Seeing that eyes stopped following me, I was sure that I was finally where I belonged, the shadow’s embrace, and I started to relax. The world seemed a lot better from where I watched, from the realm of shadows, from the borders of Veil.

  I took a small shadow step and entered inside another carriage, just behind the gnome’s. I found myself sitting beside an old, overly ornate man covered with makeup which made him resemble a golem. He was inattentive to his surroundings, lost in his thoughts, but then he turned to my direction abruptly. He just sat motionless, staring at thin air, his eyes centered on my own. He couldn’t see me and just froze like that.

  I left the carriage the moment I passed the gates and walked casually beside it. But then I saw it was pulling a cage behind it. It was covered with a blanket. When I peeked inside, as any respectable rogue would have done, I saw an undressed man, soaked in soot and lying on the floor. His gray hair covered his face, and a strange black cloak capped his back. Some peculiar markings covered parts of his shoulders and back, a painting of something with wings, but I couldn’t make it out. He didn’t move, and I was pushing my luck so I walked away, heading deeper into the city.

  I heard that crazed monk from somewhere nearby bellowing:

  “HE WHO VENTURED OUT AND WAS ONCE PAINTED WITH SHADE,

  INTO THE LIGHT HE WALKS AND INTO THE LIGHT HE SHALL FADE.”

  Beside Edwin, I Lingered

  “Nimtha. Wake up.” The soft-spoken female whisper pulls Nimtha back to consciousness.

  “What...?” Nimtha mutters as he fights to open his eyes. As he lay on the stony step, he raises his head to sneak a peek through the narrow window few feet away. He sees a shadow appear atop the sky-high glacial wall of the crater. The storm has worsened. Though it’s hard to see through the blizzard, Nimtha makes out a shady humanoid figure looking down to the frozen city.

  “They are closing in,” says Nimtha. Trying to see how far the golem reached with uncovering the buried object, he notices that the pearl’s light has dimmed a bit. A cruel fact weighs on his shoulder. He realizes that the darkness of whatever lies within the core of the storm is draining the light of Ardul from inside the pearl.

  The Asker’s voice echoes. “They are closing in. But it shouldn’t concern you right now. It will take them some time to search the hundreds of buildings around us. Besides, I must find my answer. Only then can things fall apart.” Nimtha’s face slackens. “Do not worry. If I wanted to harm you we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Now tell me, is that why you returned? Trador’s girl?”

  Nimtha does not respond right away. “Maybe because of A’rak’s words. It was the first time ever that Sherako marked something on his own accord. Maybe it was the years I wasted searching for the Gate Keeper or, as I said to the Fisherman, the Final Seed that was not sown yet.”

  “Is that all?”

  A warm sigh escapes Nimtha, “Maybe I returned because of what I saw in Robyn or what my Genn’s intuition detected in that city. But now I know what really made me return to Talor.

  I had a purpose that I didn’t know of when I ventured into Borg.”

  And the Asker’s eyes shine like it never did before.

  ***

  As I walked around Borg, I found that each of its two halves was considered a separate district. The coastal hill, which sloped north, stretched parallel to the shore, facing the rare sunlight and precious sea breeze from the north. In this district, was where I found the governor’s mansion and the no
bles’ houses. There are wider streets, exotic shops, fancy inns, and military quarters.

  Somewhere in its middle, at the highest point of the city, the hill inclined south, stopping at a wired fence. The slum district started at this point, descending further south with the mountain to its west and the Silver Marshes to its east.

  Night had fallen when Sherako led me to where I should go. The governor’s house was where I would find the Radimortum.

  As I followed my cat, I recognized many rogues, thieves, and bounty hunters. I saw a few high-level assassins, with their cruel intentions, rough exteriors, and hearts black as a starless night sky. I saw them in disguise, in alleys doing their hits or lurking beneath stairs. Around corners, waiting for their mark, or casually blending into the crowd. They were everywhere. Those were dangerous days, especially in big cities such as Borg.

  I tried to sniff out any scent of the Verda Luka, but none of those rogues and assassins recognized me. But I couldn’t take the risk and stayed in stealth, just at the borders, cursing my past, and that was how I spent my time in Borg.

  I couldn’t help wondering about the Verda Luka. Have they forgotten about me after all these years? Did they let go of the Mergal’s legacy and the legendary Blades? If Xolis was still alive, he would not have forgotten. Should I expect a knife cutting through my ribs or some exotic poison seeping through my blood during my visit?

  The Genn had been hunting me down throughout the entire century, though their efforts had waned greatly in the last couple of decades. So I decided to unwind. Judging by quality and expertise of the rogues and assassins I saw, I ruled that I was at the top of the chain in Borg and I got to pick the best and highest mark, if I so wished. But I came to Borg following no mark of mine; it was my shadowy companion’s call. The Radimortum was way above the heads of others in the city; I had no fear of competition.

  I coveted nothing anymore in the world of men except the mesmerizing silence of the night. Perhaps I was getting old.

  I walked the glazed streets of Borg between clean buildings two and three stories high, built from beautiful tan-colored stones. The streets were lit by lanterns hanging from well carved wooden poles. I reached the governor’s hall in front of which I saw builders busy erecting a stage. From what I heard, the square in front of it would accommodate the stage on which the contest would take place in the next few hours or the early morning of the next day at the very latest.

  I looked for Sherako and saw him jumping from shadow to another heading toward the governor’s house.

  My stay at the border of shadows made it relatively easy to sneak in. I was like a blur, a mere shadow, to the eyes of the guards and household staff. So it was not long before I was lurking, in a shadowy spot behind the curtain in the reception hall, watching.

  Dressed in tight pants and simple jerkin, the green-bearded gnome sat in front of a desk, half-asleep on a chair much bigger than himself with his legs dangling above the floor. He was gazing vacantly at the movements around him—movements of the guards and house staff preparing for the event. Every now and then a Neligan would bring a visitor along to the gnome in the center of the hall in order to list his name and origin. Every time, the gnome flipped open the Radimortum on his desk.

  Despite the sun was gone, the hall was well-lit with torches hanging on the walls. Yet, the book was not reachable from my spot. It centered the hall and more than ten people were present, the majority of which were ruthless Neligans.

  I made my decision and turned to look in Veil, on the other side of the Fold I was peeking through. I was on my knees atop the hill overlooking my lake, so I scanned the area around me for a rock shaped like an egg. I found one few feet away from me. I stood up from my kneeling posture and walked towards it. I bent a knee and whispered: ‘ Hivay soraqa’ . I heard a small hiss and saw a small gray Hivay slither from under the rock. The Hivay, a rare snake that lives around the River Sarus, was able to inject a nauseating non-lethal poison. I picked it up and pulled it near my mouth, whispering. Then I dropped in on the other side of the Fold and watched as it slithered on the floor, avoiding people and things until it reached the gnome and disappeared beneath the desk.

  I left my spot and went to the bathroom. I opened a large fold right behind the door.

  Sure enough, the gnome ran to the bathroom within five minutes, palms on mouth to keep from vomiting. When he opened the bathroom door, he fell to my lake in Veil, right below the surface of its soft water. He didn’t have time to put up much of a struggle. He just stared at his bleak surroundings and began to lose consciousness. Seconds later, he submitted to the gentle, compassionless Tentacles of the Deep as he reached the bed of the lake, unconscious. The poison did have a benign effect though. It made the gnome independent of the basic requirements of life – like air and such – as long as he was affected. He would be alright there so long as I went back for him before the poison drained from his system.

  I closed my eyes as I morphed into the shape of the gnome. My bones crackled as it shrank to match the gnome’s size and my features melted to resemble his in a perfect disguise. Changing my complexion to match the gnome’s was effortless. I stepped out of the Fold, fully materializing in Talor, and headed back to his desk. I took my time casually going through the records, trying not to draw attention to the gnome’s sudden interest in the book.

  It contained information about all those who dwelled in the major ports serving the Chain of Cas directly or indirectly. It included their names and respective origins and covered almost the entire southern half of the world. Undecipherable notes were written beside several of them. That book by itself was a treasure worth questing for.

  I knew I had no spare time, someone might start a conversation with the gnome and I had no time to study his personality. So I urged my companion, lurking invisibly atop my shoulders, to point out his target if it was somewhere in the book. A brief moment went by and then I saw Sherako’s ghostly cat eyes roam about the book. Then when I reached a certain page, his eyes settled on a specific name.

  I glared back into Sherako’s eyes. Are you serious ?

  Silently, as usual, he gave his consent. I turned to the name again: Anarca. Sherako had marked me the Grand Evocke of the Chain of Cas. My shadowy companion was dragging us into a merciless storm. I wouldn’t even consider crossing the Chain of Cas or meddling in any affair of theirs. I began doubting my decision to follow Sherako.

  Then, before I stood up to leave, someone put his hand on my shoulders. I turned to find a pale-skinned gnome in flowing black robes standing behind me. His black hair covered his forehead and a bone necklace dangled from his neck. He fixed his steady gaze on me.

  "Foumimka kalkmarem," he said to me in a firm manner uncommon among the playful gnomes.

  "Gohamney mehedam," I answered back, congratulating myself on remembering the tongue. He was telling me to bring my work—the log, apparently—and go with him. I replied that I would follow in a second.

  "Kalkmarem ameetam."

  With crackling sounds from the bone necklaces and the other bizarre decorations he was adorned with, he waved for me to follow him and turned to leave. I couldn’t just shadow-step to Veil in front of him, I needed a safe distance from all eyes and a spot clear of witnesses to do so. If I was reckless in my travels to and from the plan of shadows, I would be banned by the Guardians of Veil. So I picked up the book and followed him.

  I could hear thunder outside, but when I looked out the windows, I found no storm or rain.

  I had a small window of opportunity which I could have used to slip away unnoticed, but I could see him leading the way higher up the governor’s palace. Who knew what useful information I might run into? So the Genn in me ruled, and I followed.

  I entered the private halls of the mansion of Lord Edwin. The floor was made of semi-opaque alabaster through which natural radiance emitted as if I was walking on a cloud. The translucent molding branched to hallways and led towards doors and halls. Couches and
tables assorted in the hallways were Azirkan in fashion; made using true Azirkan Frost Wood and hides of rare ice-dwelling beasts. I knew that the said wood ceased existing since the fall of Icyndica, after the Azirkan forests had joined the whole kingdom in its frozen slumber. Hence, I wondered how Edwin got his hands on such an exceptional commodity. I could even see a couple of Nelsian wine fountains which provided an endless supply of heavenly wine rumored to pour from Elysaria itself. The place was crowded with Genn’s kind of loot, great legacies of Talor.

  We went up through the stairs all the way till the top floor. I followed the gnome through a door opening to the governor’s court which was actually the roof of his mansion.

  When I entered, I saw that the roof overlooked two sides of the mansion. The southern side overlooked the square where the stage of the event was being erected and the northern one was at the side of the shore and docks. Across the roof at the far end and opposite to the door I came from, stairs led to a tower attached to the western side of the mansion. Four men were on the roof; two humans, a Brute and an Iktrit.

  Guarding the tower’s doorway was a seven-foot-tall humanoid. An executioner’s hood, with a cloak-like tail reaching all the way to his feet, covered his head. His bare chest was smeared with dark grease, and his heavily muscular arms wielded a cruel glaive.

  I guessed that he was one of the Untherax who hailed from the frozen south. They were known among scholars specialized in underworld knowledge as the coveters of forbidden legacies. I, on the other hand, didn’t need to be a scholar to learn the secrets of the underworld. I knew about the Untherax, their story was well known among the races of the underworld. Their presence in Borg was a big alarm.

  The Untherax made their first public appearance fifteen years before my arrival in Eredia. One of them, perhaps their leader, knocked on the doors of the Searing Tower and was granted an audience. What was discussed between him and the dark leaders of the world, the Chain Lords, was unknown, but hushed words spoke of a dark deal. The Untherax –their plural and singular was read and spelled the same –started to appear at events related to the Chain of Cas, especially if there was royalty involved. Though they acted as guards of sort, till that moment, their true intentions were not known. No records of them actually stepping in, protecting something, were heard of. All they added to the picture was just a creepy and silent presence.