The Dark Season Saga- the Final Harvest

by Yehya H Safwat

  What is he up to ?

  He poked one of the wounds with his massive black nails, and then turned toward the slowly-approaching Ginto behind him. The latter seemed startled and halted his reluctant approach –his fear of the Untherax won over his curiosity to know what was going on.

  The Untherax slowly turned his attention back to the wounds and then stood up. His eyes roamed the silent mobs, still and waiting. In a sudden, smooth motion, he grabbed his cruel barbed glaive and landed an earth-shattering blow on the skull of the slain beast. I heard screams, and some of those at the front of the crowd tried to withdraw from the scene. The Untherax slowly pulled his weapon from the splintered skull. Dark brown blood dripped on the cobbled street. He stood above the skull, watching. At last, he kneeled again.

  The crowd gasped as the skull twitched. The gasps turned to sounds of amazement as the bashed skull slowly turned toward the dark hulk.

  With a shudder, it cracked open. A shadow of unknown source fell on the skull, veiling it from the eyes of men, but not mine. I could just make out a dark blur escaping the shattered mouth of the dead beast and bolting toward the bystanders. Then another blur… then another…

  Through the bystanders and across the crowd, the blurs interspersed. And then, as they passed behind someone, they reappeared in a different form. They became dark gray humanoids with silver fumes wreathing their forms and erupting from their eyelashes… they turned to Genn.

  Dozens of my kin came out of the ogithon’s skull and walked amidst the heedless mobs.

  Beside Ginto a hooded Genn appeared, startling the ratman. “Find him,” the Genn ordered his assassins.

  From underneath the Genn’s hood, I saw a goatee beard. Xolis.

  He raised his head, and though his eyes didn’t land on me, I heard his windy voice as it echoed across Borg. “Nimtha…Welcome back to Talor.”

  When the Oak Spoke

  During that day, the third day of the celebration, the Oaken Ring was summoned in the east, in the land of Karelya.

  That meeting would have been obscured from the knowledge of men if not for a friend of mine who was there. The languages that were used there and the exact nature of its members are hard for me to know, but what I’ve learned is what my friend has told me. I can only do my best to report it as truly to that account as possible.

  At the spring of the Iganera, beside the mountain, a formidable looking Ekran with a powerful build, majestic eagle head, and huge mane, came from the eastern path. He waved his huge pole-arm, greeting the earth-colored Savir, a crop-shepherd, who arrived at the same time from the western path across the spring. The Savir nodded in respect, the painted leaves and butterflies rippling across his body as he did so. They both stood silently around the spring. A moment later the water started to boil and rise, and a well-built man-shaped elemental emerged as if ascending stairs.

  Following the stern Ekran soldier entered a wintry Ekran, my friend A’rak.

  Both Ekrans saluted a Goram Sethor in a breastplate, a species of the elves’ large cousins, who was completely lost in thought. The giant elf-kin was gazing vacantly toward the enchanted spring at the edge of the Igna Moariae but raised his eyes to salute them back. A barely audible sound came from somewhere in front of him, and he raised his eyes, trying to figure out what was moving out of the mountain. A huge boulder, rolled slowly, straight onwards, and at last it froze right next to him, greeting him in a language I dare not say I know. The elf-kin gave it a brief smile and then dug back into his thoughts. As it rolled on, legs sprouted from beneath it lifting its bulk then the rest of it morphed smoothly into a stony humanoid.

  When several minutes had passed in near-silence, A’rak greeted everyone before commenting, “So few have come.”

  “Few are actually still around, my friend,” came the chilling voice of the Pishante wolf lord, a gigantic wolf made of ancient extinct trees, as he enters the hidden spring.

  A’rak turned to the slow steps sounding from his left and saw the giant bear approaching. With him walked Lenar.

  “I have felt Agathorn’s loss,” came a rumbling voice from the mountain. “You have my deepest sympathy, Lenar.”

  They all turned to face the ancient oak tree, half buried in the rocks, where they saw a pair of eyes.

  They all bowed to her in respect.

  “Thank you, my Queen,” Lenar replied as he straightened.

  Words issued in the air by a magnificent unicorn with a golden mane, “You called for us, noble Galad’Era?” It was not a language to be understood by mortals, which A’rak translated to me.

  “What has happened came to our knowledge. Aidus will be punished,” added a powerful centaur with trunk-sized chest and enormous horns, which ended in black pointy tips curled backward. Those horns were what marked him as the prince.

  Lenar replied with a bow, “Of that, I am sure, noble prince Vhal. In this life or the next, he will be. But we called you for another matter still.” Then he asked reluctantly, “I am sure you all know what will come in a couple of weeks’ time.”

  They exchanged looks of acknowledgment but none spoke.

  Lenar hesitated, then went on carefully. “I know I am not part of the Ring, but I know something about it, something solid enough to use the powers entrusted to me by Agathorn and hold this meeting on his account.”

  “You seem uncertain,” issued the Unicorn Lord.

  “I am. I am uncertain. What I am about to say is above my authority, but we have no choice. I know that something grand is about to happen, and I know that you all feel it too. Nothing stopped the Erante Writer from filling the Erante before; such a thing is not recorded. What is coming is so obscured that it fell beyond the knowledge of the Bolaghast.”

  Everyone glimpsed towards the half-buried oak.

  Lenar continued, “I am sure that some of you noble creatures of Talor’s Wild may have always been aware of its approach.” he paused. “I know about the Final Harvest.”

  The assembly listened, still. No eyes wavered from the speaker.

  “I know that what is happening in our beloved Talor prophesies the arrival of the ending chapter. And I know that we have wasted all our chances. But… I dare to ask your guidance and support, one more time.”

  Still, gazes were locked on him, unnerving him even more. Then the Ekran commander slowly spoke, “Guidance? Support? Support in what exactly? Have we ever abandoned you or failed our part so far? We have always been there for all creatures of the world, and look where it got us. Now, nearly all wildlife in Talor will not see another generation.”

  “Let him speak,” said A’rak. “Continue please, Lenar.”

  Lenar nodded his apology to the Ekran commander and went on. “Agathorn summoned the Ring for one reason. He wanted to give you a message... his last message.”

  The centaur prince was the first one to ask. “Last? Will he be leaving again on one of his endeavors? Or is it his time?”

  “Agathorn is on his way to Eredia,” answered Lenar plainly.

  “The land of Niver Darg?” Asked the man-shaped rock that the former boulder had transformed to. “It’s the land of the Herald and the Silver Marshes. Why is that of such an importance that you came to the Oaken Ring? And why does it make this his last message?”

  “He is not going to Erados, as he was supposed to when he returned from his mission south. He is on his way to Borg as an answer to an invitation,” answered Lenar. The great giant bear growled.

  “An invitation? Explain more, please,” said the Pishante lord.

  Lenar answered: “An invitation that came to the Ring from Lorken.”

  Murmurs broke out amongst those present. Lenar stood in silence, and a giant ape, lurking camouflaged atop a tree, growled, jumping down to face the trembling druid. “LORKEN?” he thundered, less than a feet separating them. “So an invitation came from the murderers of his child, and he answered?”

  “Let’s hear what the invitation said at least,” said Yoldes, the Grea
t White Owl, as it hovered beside the oak.

  They all turned to Lenar, who hesitated again before continuing, “It is an invitation to sit down and negotiate.”

  “Negotiate? Negotiate for what?” asked the centaur prince skeptically.

  “For his other son, Azurus, the leader of the Vemast.”

  Silence followed as the legendary beings of the Ring exchanged looks.

  “Not only Azurus, but the current chief of the Serador is in their custody too. A similar invitation was sent to the Serad Clan in Henya. Things are happening at an unprecedented speed, and I believe that whatever takes place in Borg will have a prominent effect on everything. Agathorn is heading there to negotiate for his son, and who knows what kind of offer the Chain of Cas will come up with? They will have a plan. I fear for my brother, and so should you. We must support him and fortify his position.”

  Again, skeptical looks were exchanged.

  “To what end? Since when did we start to negotiate with the Chain of Cas?” Asked Vhal the centaur prince. “We all know that there can be no good in anything they offer. The Lorks will not just hand the greatest elven captain and the chief of their most feared enemy to us. You know that.”

  The giant ape stepped in. “I hope it is vengeance he went there to unleash. I know Agathorn well. He was not called Tempest for the sound of it; everyone knows that, even his enemies. Nothing else can be discussed at the tables with the Chain of Cas, only war.”

  Vhal nodded. “If he went to unleash vengeance upon the Borgians, it is his right, but this is a mortals’ fight. The Oaken Ring will go no further in this endless struggle.” Lenar nearly interrupted, but Vhal held up a hand for silence. “The keepers of life will not help feed the flames of the Redemption Wars further. The Ring will not aid you to sow more hate. No more missions, quests, or other joined tasks with men. You elves have lost the last thing that binds you to this world. We all watched Gabriel blossom for ages. But he is gone now”

  Sounds of approval issued from some of those assembled.

  Vhal went on, “At this point of the game, you are outnumbered to say the least, out-powered and with no more allies. You are abandoned by even those you are still fighting to protect. Trador and the Order of Eon are gone for good. The slim hope that Eredia and its allies proposed is now gone: Garold has the crown.”

  “He is a steward,” Lenar protested.

  “A steward who wears the crown. You can imagine what mischiefs he intends to practice, once he gains full control of Eredia. Helgon is preoccupied with hostile armies showering its walls, and with the Trodons defeated in Bayland, its arm in the south is severed and its strength has waned.”

  A’rak gazed towards the horizon, but still, he said nothing.

  “And two-thirds of the world is now devoted to the Chain of Cas. What the Chain created in place of the Black Army will be the end of everything. The Tirra Mortus is the beast that man fed to obesity, and it is now chewing on his flesh.

  “And tell me, who watches over the Eyes of Gosh after Azurus’ disappearance? Now, even our back is unprotected. Do you know what would happen if the Serador left the Tel’Abad once again?”

  “The Vemast are still here and… we are not without allies,” Lenar said, although his voice held a hint of despair. “The Serador may yet stay. There are still some fighting.”

  “Not enough!” thundered the gigantic ape.

  “Fighting?” said the Pishante wolf lord. “I have been around man since he crawled out of Talor’s womb, and I have never seen him less dignified. Now you ask us to take the greatest risk of our lives? To sit down with the Chain of Cas and negotiate? We didn’t deal with man in the prime of Talor, even when he was even better than us. You expect us to bargain with him when he is at his lowest? If what Agathorn seeks is destruction, there are other methods.” He gave a meaningful look to the rest of the gathering.

  “Although we won’t get very far, we can cause destruction. We can join him as individuals not as the Oaken Ring,” approved the giant ape firmly, pounding his chest. “But it will not be to negotiate.”

  “We need to support Agathorn,” Lenar pleaded. “Let us simply listen to the deal they are offering and get Azurus back. We need you for this one last step. After this, you can leave us be.”

  “To what end? I ask you again Lenar, tell us, to what end?” said Vhal. “Even if the Lorks were willing to trade for Azurus and Thord, the price will definitely be more than we can pay. That will leave us with one option: open war. And if we backed from this war, we would haul Talor to the pits of Lorken.”

  Then he turned to the ape adding, “We are the soul of the wild, the harmony and tolerance of Igna. We cannot match their hatred or cruelty, and that will be our weakness. Their vengeance will be fed by the fear of men, nesting like a disease within each one of them. And we cannot fight all men; we cannot fight every soul on Talor.”

  The Pishante wolf said, “If Agathorn chooses revenge, there will be no more mercy in this world, only a wrathful storm. Now, even the elves have tasted greed, spite, and envy thanks to your brother. Even Karelya is fading. There is nothing left here to fight for.”

  Lenar lowered his eyes with shame and then looked to the oak helplessly.

  The great ancient oak spoke for the first time since the discussion began. The voice that came from her was that of Gabriel, and the lines on the trunk seemed to reveal the outline of his face.

  It is not the majority I want to save, uncle; it is those precious few worth dying for. It is as much a fault of the few good men in any race as it is the fault of the mobs when that race fails. We are the good in man, and we shouldn’t abandon him.

  No one’s eyes strayed from the image of Gabriel’s face.

  The Oak dispelled the image so as not to burden the heart of Lenar, who smiled at her gloomily, “Yes ... to that, to what Gabriel believed in.”

  “What will Agathorn do exactly, Lenar? What does his heart plan to grow?” asked the unicorn.

  Lenar didn’t have the answer for that.

  “Even a hope lying in the coldest of hearts and the darkest place can recover all.” Said the Oak. Its eyes slowly turned and fixed on A’rak, and then faded back to its tree form with no further words.

  All turned to A’rak. The wolf lord asked him with a rough impatient voice, “Is there something we don’t see, Sky Gazer?”

  Glancing at the Pishante, and then gazing west toward Eredia, A’rak replied, “There is something…an un-dealt card.”

  Chapter Five

  The Last Cry

  Find me, my kin

  The moment I laid my eyes on Xolis was the moment I realized that the Verda Luka had finally caught up with me. Many feelings wrestled within me but in the end, one prevailed: anger.

  Anger towards everything Xolis represented. Anger about what the Verda Luka had sown in my city, and anger about the years I’d wasted in running. One of the reasons I’d returned to Talor was to deal with the anger that muscled its way to my gray wastes, but I don’t think I truly understood those feelings until I saw my kin.

  Ginto screamed for the Neligans to secure the area. I looked around for any cover but found the Genn spreading shrouded under their hoods amidst the audience, blocking all exits. I thought of going back to Veil, but the Genn could travel there too. It would only lead them to my Vault, as they would certainly detect the faint trail I left. Yet my prolonged stay in Talor would draw them closer as well. The faint silver streak stretching from my home in Veil to the fold atop the hill was easier to detect the longer I stayed in Talor.

  Suddenly, I didn’t trust the shadows anymore. Veil kept something from me, a secret, a happening that the shadows didn’t share with me. I felt unexplainable things happening at Shadow End–echoes foreign to my home. I could barely hear them, on the border of the shadow plane, resembling countless footsteps.

  I was trapped.

  “What are we looking for exactly?” Ginto asked Xolis with obvious apprehension of the quasi-immor
tal.

  “A kin of mine... he wields a pair of daggers shaped like wings,” Xolis answered in his shady, whispering voice. “He is the one who killed the ogithon –the Untherax told us. The price for his head is kingly.” Turning to his assassins, he ordered, “Find him and tell those sailing on Sarus that we are getting close to him”

  Then he faded into the crowds.

  Ginto gave his orders to the Neligans and they started searching for me. As for the assassins of Verda, they spread across the city like slithering pythons.

  I stood beside a large man in a Pateran robe, trying as hard as I could to stay unnoticed. I easily avoided the attention of the Neligans, dodging their gazes and primitive techniques. But among the crowd, fumes outlining slender forms and inhuman eyes caught my attention. I wouldn’t be able to avoid the Genn for long.

  Here is one closing in . The Genn’s hooded cloak riffled between the bystanders and it seemed the large man’s shadow drew his attention. My hands itched as I went for the Whispers of Vaud. Scanning my surroundings, I counted as many as eight Genn and Genntays. It would be a short fight, but I would show them what a member of Sever was capable of.

  Before long, there were only two men between me and the Genn to my left. I saw another ahead of me to the right. I felt the cold hilts of my daggers and was about to whisper a calling for Cresh the Brutal.

  "Who did this to my ogithon?" Cried someone in the crowd. I looked to see a man in his fifties in a brown robe. His upper half extended outside of the carriage’s door as he gazed at the dead beast. A drawing of black lightning decorated the robe –the sigil of the Tirra Mortus. His scarred eyebrows gave him away instantly. Maloch.

  Everyone watched Maloch, but no one noticed the door on the other side of the carriage opening. To me, its dark interior seemed inviting.

  "My lord." Ginto hurried towards the shocked general. With utter horror on his face, his eyes were glued to the sign of the Tirra Mortus on the latter’s robe. He stood facing the carriage's side door and finally bowed, folding his overly-decorated robe. "I am not eloquent enough to truly express my sincere apologies for your loss. Rest assured that punishment will befall the savage who did it." The ratman said, trying to adopt a formal tune.