Tell me something I don’t know .
The voice added after a pause, “You have a choice to make: Leave the scroll and crawl back from whatever hole you came from, or take it and answer my prayers."
Curse the choices. But this is a strange guardian .
"And what will you do in either case?"
"Nothing," the voice said. “Nothing will stop you from leaving the tent whatever your choice is."
What have you dragged me into, Sherako?
I had no idea what to do. That guardian had a link to the scroll case that I couldn’t fathom. I couldn’t just phase to Veil or shadow step, not with the guardian so close. So I tried to weigh the situation, relying on what I thought I knew about the owner of this tent.
Well, Anarca was a great mage. He was, in fact, the head of the third tower of Cane, Tower Oblivate, and a rival of Aster and Gazateer, the Wizards of Eon, although supposedly a protégé of theirs.
He was a gifted enchanter, which allowed Anarca to play a monumental role as the Grand Evocke, the main spokesman of the Searing Tower. It was he who delivered the most infamous and harshest letters and announcements to the greatest kings and lords. He was known throughout the lands as The Hope Ender.
The Hope Ender ...
I turned to the scroll case I was holding in horror. What had I been thinking ? This mission was above anybody’s league.
Against my nature, and in violation of the agreement I made with Sherako centuries ago that I would never back down from his marks, I left the scroll case. I lifted my fingers off the case and the hand simply reverted back to its inanimate form. I retreated from where I came, leaving the tent from its back. Sherako hissed at me on my way out, but I couldn’t care less what he thought of me at that moment.
That was when I heard the footsteps.
I turned my eyes to the source of the steps moving in the darkness. Walking in a powerful and determined manner, a cloaked man, in a simple robe, stopped to look around. I didn’t have the time to get into stealth or at least into my crude disguise, but he looked right at me casually and continued towards the back of the tent as if I wasn’t there. He seemed unbothered by my presence.
I jumped into the shadows as fast as I could. Out of nowhere, a hooded walker appeared, moving beside me with a tiger’s grace. The man dressed in a simple robe stood twenty feet or so from the back of the tent, almost at the western fringe of the camp by the Arcatur Mountain. His friend moved opposite to him, closer to the tent, and got to his knees at its rear. He looked back to the wizard as if waiting for his signal to open the tent. The wizard nodded. Heavily muscled, tattooed arms reached from under the kneeling man’s cloak and opened the back of the tent.
"Calatheria Ellathium Gerazia,” said the wizard.
I felt a gentle air draft carrying his words inside the tent, but returned with a reply in the whispering and crude voice I heard when I was holding the scroll, "Zerathiam."
I knew that language, but I hoped I’d heard wrong.
The mage looked at me again, and I recognized his sharp mustache and the circle divided in two drawn on his robe. That wizard was Gazateer.
He hadn’t aged since last time I saw him, five years before. But again, I couldn't read his facial expression. Are you bothered by my presence or not? I asked him in my head.
The hooded warrior stepped back and looked at the mage. That reply wasn’t planned for, it seemed. He dropped his cloak. I saw that he was a Nel, one of the narrow-eyed noble human race from the far western parts of the world. He kept his hood up though, and I still couldn’t see the full features of his face from where I stood, just his mouth and the tip of his nose.
The booming metallic voice returned from inside the tent.
"Gazateer, do not tell me you didn’t expect me."
"Reveal yourself," said the Wizard of Time.
A low, thundering sound, resembling that of a lion’s growl, came from inside the tent. Gigantic metallic insect legs appeared from inside, slashing in the air and slamming the ground outside the back of the tent. More barbed legs emerged, and I looked farther up to the top of the hulking creature that had just come out of the tent. The human torso, shoulders, and gray arms were enormous and heavily muscled. His head had two overly-large eyes that seemed to be divided into numerous little ones.
The hooded warrior drew his sky-dark katana. As soon as I had a good look at the markings covering his body, and heard the words that came out of Gazateer's mouth, I knew I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Why didn’t I just walk away ? Something in that look the wizard gave me made me linger.
The fight started, and my heart pounded like the Sea of Rhymes’ thunderous waves. The metallic legs moved like a storm of razors, slashing at the warrior. Each leg found the warrior's katana in front of it. The warrior seemed calm and expressionless as a sculpture. The flurry of the blades was fast, even to my eyes, and lasted for half a minute or so before the beast suddenly stopped. The warrior took advantage of that pause and fell back a couple of steps to a more spacious area. He took another posture. That pose was not unfamiliar to me. I squeezed my memory, trying to remember where I saw that marking which was glowing on his body. It resembled a map of footprints with different intensity –it was a battle glyph. He started moving, following the same pattern of that marking’s lines. His sword slashed and pierced at different elevations and angles according to the intensity of his current footstep on the marking on his body. His speed increased as he applied the battle glyph. The pattern of the movement was still glowing on the ground along with his motion, resembling that glowing marking on his body. He managed to deliver serious cuts to the creature's torso with his sword yet the beast seemed unshaken. His defenses were futile.
Gazateer spoke again, casting another spell. The mage's words conjured a dusky yellow wind that hovered behind him. As soon as he finished the incantation, the wind rushed towards the creature and floated in the air behind him for a moment. After a couple of seconds, it took the shape of his entire form and started to move, imitating the creature's movements.
The creature moved it gray hands as well, and a slithering sound came forth from them. Fumes surrounded the warrior then slowly faded, leaving behind a web of stranded iron that firmly engulfed him and pulling tightly together like pulled cords. The beast then uttered a word opening a small black hole below the warrior that started to grow in size rapidly. The warrior looked at the web engulfing him, again with no expression whatsoever, then looked at the beast and fell into the hole. It was then that I saw his face: Zan, the Nelsian Prince and head of the Asais. I was witnessing a battle between titans.
Why does making holes connecting to another dimension seem so easy? I asked myself, recalling Azurus’s disappearance in Karelya. The pit stopped growing when it reached a dozen feet or so wide and inside it, I saw another place, some ruined temple. The mage levitated in the air, looking down into the hole.
"Now, where are you planning to take this fight, Se’vilar?"
The insect-like beast crawled into the hole, following the warrior. The wizard lowered slowly into the ground, and the hole closed behind them.
I stood frozen; I don’t know for how long. When at last I managed to pull myself together, I looked around to check if anyone saw the fight or even the twenty-foot tall beast. But no, there was no one, just the silence of the Arcatur Mountain bordering the western side of the city. Something obscured this fight from knowledge.
At that moment, running seemed like the best idea. But as soon as I started putting it into action, and turn to run away, I heard that thundering grunt again. Terrified, I whipped my head around, but I saw nothing. I didn’t look up though, and the hulking beast fell to the ground two feet behind me, uttering that fearsome growl of his, and turning slowly to me. Wherever they took their battle, whatever dimension they traveled to, they must have returned to finish it where it started.
“Well, well. What have we here? Why are you not in your hole,
Genn?” said the beast with amusement that destroyed any hope I had left.
For some reason, not a single urge ignited inside of me to prompt an escape. I felt myself basking in exquisite despair. I didn’t even try to move this time, and just closed my eyes, expecting either one of his razor-sharp, bladed legs to slice me in half. Or to feel his teeth chewing on my back, my lower torso dangling out of his freakishly stretchy mouth.
I heard the blade slashing through the air and closed my eyes even tighter as the strike landed.
Seconds later, I opened my eyes slowly, wondering why I didn’t feel anything. Beside me, I saw the beast halfway on the ground with four of his legs sliced beneath him. Zan was beneath him too, still propelled halfway around with the force of his swing. He regained his posture, and dragging his sword on the ground beside him, the blade produced what seemed to be more a tiny meteor shower than sparks induced by friction. The Nels moved a few steps away from the beast and then turned to face him gracefully. He took his battle stance, waiting for the beast's move. I was, I’ll admit, awestruck.
Damn this crushing hopelessness . The mere presence of Se’vilar, the prophet of the Lord of Despair, strangled all hope.
Gazateer’s yellowish wind moved faster than the beast did, it seemed to predict Se’vilar’s moves, yet I felt the battle was way unbalanced. The wizard and the Asai were already overpowered.
Raising his head slowly, Se’vilar revealed diabolical features on his gray face, and he smiled, showing little concern for his four legs lying on the floor beside him.
"Where are you going with this, prophet of Aesgar?” came Gazateer’s voice. "You know you can't win this."
Still smiling, Se’vilar seemed too confident. I started to feel it, and so did the mage. Gazateer spoke a word to cast another spell, but he pointed his staff upwards then slammed it on the ground. The sound of the battle started to fade and a high pitch began to rise. The Wizard of Time looked to the skies, and so did I. The stars seemed to change places, and the clouds moved haphazardly. The celestial flurry took on a silver glow, overtaking the entire sky.
When the clouds cleared, I was speechless. In the sky, I could see a reflection of what was happening on the ground: the battle, me and the mage. I saw the picture moving faster… faster than its reality on the ground.
The images brightened, and I shielded my eyes. It was not long before the noise started to fade and I could hear the sound of battle cries again. I saw the warrior standing on top of the beast, who was still smiling. The minute or so I was distracted by Gazateer’s spell was enough for Zan to finish his task. The mage screamed at him, "Zan, don’t kill him. It is a trick."
The warrior turned to him, but the mage was looking at me. "A wizard told us that you would be watching and bid us to let you be. It is your role to watch. But this time I will have to ask you for a bit more than that, Genn. I will have to ask for something forbidden to your kin, for this situation doesn’t have a neutral ground. Undo your choice; we are going to lose this fight."
In the sky, I saw the result of the battle. The beast was lying dead with his belly opened. Gazateer entered the tent and took the unguarded scroll. The legions of the Tirra Mortus surrounded the city. A’tor, Robyn, Zan, Valadas, and Gazateer stood by the gates waiting for the attack. Inside the city, the Neligans aided Anarca in shredding it apart. I couldn’t see further in the future but I realized the consequences of the current actions. If they killed the guardian, the link he had with the scroll would be severed. The Chain of Cas would know about it and thousands would die, if not more. But what choice does Gazateer refer to?
Before I could think properly, I heard the Wizard of Time uttering “Aetaportas.” The yellowish clouds engulfed me and painfully entered my body. First, it felt as though I was standing bare-chested in a sandstorm. Then the piercing became so severe and the force of the air so strong that it muscled into my lungs. I coughed, which made me close my eyes for just a fraction of a second. When I opened them, I was in the tent again, reaching for that scroll case.
I glanced at Sherako’s shadow form peeking over my shoulders and saw its eyes fixed on the scroll case; I understood what was required of me. Foreseeing the disastrous aftermath of the battle and regardless of the promise I had made to myself, I undid my choice.
Knowing about the guardian lurking below, though I doubted it would answer me this time, I called for Cresh the Seeker. But then I felt her breeze. Silently, I watched her materializing beside me. Ignoring that eerie feeling that the Duchess of Mount Aerous was gazing at me, I pointed to the scroll case. I heard a swooshing sound and realized that Cresh had traveled to the scroll case and entered it. A brief moment passed.
I nervously anticipated the result of Cresh’s debate with the Guardians of the Veil in my homeland. Cresh’s journey to the scroll was not just this tiny distance that separated me from the case; it was across worlds. Deep within the Folds of Veil lies The Palace of Thousand Doors. There exists a door for every secret, a hidden path where one can access forbidden and secured knowledge. There are secret words that can bring about miracles, if used correctly. The Words of Power, they were called, what people in Talor call: Magic. There are a thousand doors, each leading to a thousand more and then to thousand more, an endless web of priceless information and secret words, but not without protection. Each door has a guardian and a key. Without the key, the guardian won’t let anyone pass. But with Cresh, the Wind of Veil, well that was another story.
I didn’t know how Cresh convinced the guardian and found a way around the key, but I saw the scroll case had opened and the scroll had dropped on the pedestal. I cautiously removed the glass barrier and picked up the scroll without touching the case, the hand, or the pedestal.
On my way out, I looked at Sherako as he bowed to Cresh’s tiny humanoid visage. He seemed to be satisfied. At that moment, nervous as hell, I wanted nothing more than to skin his vaporous fur off, if that was even possible, cursing what he dragged me into.
Glancing at the cloaked wizard behind the tent as he headed to where I saw him the first time, I disappeared before he could lay his eyes on me again.
Once again I heard that crazed monk from somewhere in the city echoing:
“AND SO DANCES THE UNNAMED TO THE SONG OF REMEMBRANCE”
Am I Alone?
I had finally done it.
I’d meddled in the affairs of man at a level that even exceeded my Mergal adventure a century before. Countless years of unscathed neutrality were threatened with a choice that took less than a second to make.
I ran from the tent. I ran from the guardian like I had never run before. I was too tense to get into stealth mode for another full ten minutes in some dark corner.
I stood there thunderstruck, wondering if that fight between Gazateer and Zan, his Nelsian ally, against Se’vilar would eventually happen this second time around. I turned to Sherako with an accusatory glare but found him utterly confident with our choice. When I was sure that my stealth, blending with my background, was successful and that I was far enough from the tent, I examined the scroll and found it sealed with the stamp of the Chain of Cas.
I didn’t want any more of that kind of treasure in my possession—the kind that brings with it troubles beyond one Genn’s capacity. So I ruled that I wouldn’t open it and just keep it in my possession till I give it to the Wizard of Time.
I tried to lose whoever was after the scroll, if there were any pursuers. I felt like that crazed monk dodging invisible flies and insects that weren’t there. I kept looking over my shoulders, expecting to find that gray hand reaching for me, but it never came. I started wondering if what I had done was even discovered, whether the owners of the scroll were searching for it at all. From one shady corner to another I traveled, avoiding eyes but listening to every word. But as hours went by, I was convinced that my hit was not discovered.
I didn’t know if that trick of the archwizard spared me from being followed or tracked. Yet I knew that a prophet of
a vile deity guarded the scroll that I recklessly snatched. There might be the possibility that the scroll left a trail and I had to behave accordingly.
I was a taker, that was for sure, but what I had in my possession at that moment, the scroll and Shards of Mergal, would shake the nerves of any Genn. When I glanced at my reticent shadow cat lurking in the shade, I got the feeling that I was just a piece on the game board –the worst kind of feeling, especially for anyone like me.
***
I spent hours lurking in the shadows of Maloch’s balcony. I only rarely dared to venture out and sniff for any information that could help me find the whereabouts of the wizard or his Asai friend.
In the afternoon, I left the balcony and went to a shady tavern. I sat by the window and gazed outside. I vacantly watched visitors, performers, and slave masters striding up and down the street. I touched the scroll in my pocket. Burning it seemed like a good idea, but I knew that would not thwart its owners from pursuing me if my actions were discovered. I greatly surprised myself. Damn, I’d seen too much ugliness for one lifetime. I forced my attention back to the riotous streets of Borg.
Then I saw her again.
The golden-haired slave girl was walking, chain-bound, towards the square where both the slave auction and the poetry contest went on. The line halted as she stood outside the tavern window, and I watched her closely. My Sever’s intuition told me that the girl in front of me was different.
Don't get me wrong. I was not a soft Genn, I had already failed in my appraisal of Taria, but she changed me. I would never misjudge the real values of things. Not again.
Suddenly, she looked in my direction. I watched as she tried to see through the murky window, clearly startled. For a fraction of a second, I thought she started to make out the faint silvery gleam of my eyes and the swirling vapors outlining my form. When I am calm, I can control the intensity of those vapors, so I dimmed them. She seemed to lose sight of what must have looked to her as a frightful apparition. Her gaze, which I would never forget as long as I lived, roamed across the few windows overlooking the street. Who is there? Her eyes said , who is watching me? Am I even visible?
The Dark Season Saga- the Final Harvest Page 27