Land of Madness

by B T Litell

  Michael tried to answer again; he felt his mouth move as it tried to form words, but he felt parched and could not find the words to speak. He brought his tea to his mouth and invited the bitterness of the tea and hoped it would help his words finally escape. As the last of the tea dripped into his mouth, Michael felt he could speak again. He set the cup down and cleared what felt like a beavers’ dam from his throat.

  “What about this distant land that Joshua worries so?” Michael asked, knowing he would have other questions when he heard the answer to this one.

  “Drendil is an old land that long ago fell to Madness…” Simon started explaining when he was cut off.

  “I explained a brief history of Drendil during our trip from Feldring. What worries me is more than simply the exile I have walked into,” Joshua explained.

  “Brother don’t see this as a sentence of exile. We need you to accompany Michael through this journey. You are the best suited for this…” Francis began.

  “Of course, you’re going to say that I’m not the most suited for this. You all have families that would be devastated for you to leave. Why would you not send the one priest you found in an orphanage who has no wife, no children, no connections at all. Is this really why you are sending me?” Joshua questioned, holding in little of the rage he felt. There was a long silence before anyone said anything. Priests with cups of tea looked deeply into their cups as they searched for any kind of explanation that wasn’t exactly what Joshua had spelled out.

  “I’m sorry for this pain, Brother. Please don’t see this as us sending you away simply because you have no family. That is not why we chose you.” Francis finally replied. “Not entirely, at least. You are a strong priest, and you are honestly more capable for the task than any of the rest of us are, and that is truth.”

  Michael sat in his chair for several moments, staring into his empty cup while thoughts flew through his head as if they were leaves pushed through the air by a fierce wind. He tried to grasp these thoughts, but they escaped him too swiftly. He closed his eyes, allowing these thoughts to smolder in a warm blaze in the back of his mind. As he sat there, he felt a foreign embrace within himself. Visions of his life flashed through his mind. Feldring, the only home he knew, a city standing like a sentry in the mountains flashed inside his closed eyes. Never again would he see the star-filled nights of the mountains, the bright, mysterious colors that danced through the sky.

  Seasons passed like a breath exhaled in the cold as Feldring, at least the vision he saw in his mind, began to change. The city began growing, buildings rising higher into the mountains, spreading the city wider than he had ever known it to be. As these buildings grew, countless people filled the roadways into the city. He saw merchants as well as people looking for a new home in a city that showed promise of shelter and growth.

  Then without warning, there was fire. Flames blazed through the mountains. People fled from the city in terror. Something was happening, but he could help no one. Fire that should not spread across stone. Fire that blazed in colors he had never seen until then. Dark fire. It consumed light around it; pillars of smoke flooded the skies as the city emptied. People ran down the road from the city, but they kept falling, flames rushing toward them. Escape was not possible. Screams of terror rang out from Feldring as women, children, and people he had spent his life with burned in a terrible fire that he knew even the waters of the seas could not stifle.

  Michael opened his eyes and gasped at air as the flames spread through the woods below the city. Joshua sat on the floor beside him. When had he gotten out of his seat? Why was he laying on the floor? He felt cold, and warm at the same time. His shirt was once again drenched in sweat and the cold fabric clung to his chest and back. He felt numb, but even that numbness could not stop the screams he still heard in his mind as Feldring burned in dark fire that consumed everything.

  “What did you see?” Francis asked. All the priests had gathered around him on the floor. Before he answered, Joshua helped him sit up, handing him another cup of tea. The tea was welcoming, but the sounds of agony continued to torment his mind for a few moments as reality blurred back to his eyes. Finished with the tea, Michael grasped at words, wanting to share what he had seen. Would they believe him? Was this another nightmare?

  “Feldring. The city grew and covered the mountains. Then there was fire, black fire that consumed stones. It came down from the mountains and surrounded the city. No one could escape. What does it mean?” Michael tried to stand, but Joshua pushed gently on his shoulder so he would remain sitting.

  “It sounds like the spread of Madness. Even our land is not safe. I feel this Shadow Knight is only the first sign of what is to come. The realm of Shakhat will be pushing forth into our world if this Shadow Knight continues with his agenda. Michael, we need your help. Find Sven and James, kill this Shadow Knight for us. The world will burn unless we stop this,” Gerald said. His forehead bore smudges of ink. He must spend every waking moment reading and studying texts.

  Before anyone else could say anything, a heavy knock resounded through the door. Francis opened the door, and on the other side stood Bruce and the King. Bruce still wore his mask, hiding his face; concern warped the King’s face. Francis stepped away from the doorway, welcoming them in.

  “Thunder rang out from a cloudless sky over the Keep, torches and candles flickered, and a gust of wind blew through the windows. What happened?” Bruce asked, glancing at Michael, still sitting on the floor with Joshua beside him.

  “Your Majesty, Michael had a vision of Darkness consuming Feldring,” Joshua said, helping Michael to his feet after taking the cup from him and setting it on the table.

  “When did this happen?” the King asked, concern remaining on his face.

  “It started half an hour ago. The thunder and wind started when he fell from his chair,” Francis replied.

  “Was this a vision or nightmare? Does it matter which it is?” The King’s interest made Michael curious. How long had they said it had been? It felt like it lasted less than five minutes to him.

  “That we do not know, Highness. Without testing his dreams to determine their level of Magic it’s hard to tell whether a nightmare or a vision could be more predictive. Would you like to speak with Michael now, sire?” Joshua asked, adjusting his robe after kneeling beside Michael.

  “I would like that, Joshua. Follow me to my study. We’ll have privacy there. Make sure of that, Bruce.” The King waited for Michael and Joshua to nod that they were ready before he and Bruce stepped out of the priests’ study and turned left outside the door.

  Bruce walked in front of the King, with Michael and Joshua walking closely behind them. They went up another level in the spiral staircase Joshua had led Michael up from the throne room. Guards walked up and down the hallways on this floor, stood along the walls, and bowed their heads as the King walked by. At the end of the hall, which ended with no cross passages, stood a sturdy door with two guards on each side. The door was plain except for the King’s eagle lacquered in the center of the wood. Bruce opened the door, and the rest of the party following him walked into the study. Before he closed the door, he gave an order to the sentries, clad in the same armor, which included the masks and spiked gauntlets. As Bruce closed the door, Michael saw the sentries walking away.

  The King walked around his desk and sat in the tall, cushioned chair. On the desk, Michael saw a variety of maps, letters and other papers he couldn’t identify as they were face-down on the desktop. After looking as closely at the largest map as he wished to look without being rude or intrusive, Michael saw nothing useful. He could see a land unknown to him, with little of the land actually drawn on the map. A wave of curiosity suddenly rushed over him and he wanted to know what land that map portrayed. He felt himself staring rudely and reluctantly tore his gaze from the King’s desk.

  “This map shows the only portions of Drendil that we had records for. More complete maps existed long ago, but they were burned lo
ng ago to discourage people from venturing there. What we do remember about Drendil is that the land flows with Madness. We have allowed only one person that has set foot on this strange land to return, and he grew mad immediately afterward. Intent on revenge for his madness, he became the first man to attempt to assassinate the King. He failed, despite killing the eldest of my uncles,” the King said, responding to Michael’s apparent interest in the map.

  “It is because of that man that we cannot allow anyone to return from Drendil. That is the only reason for instating an exile, though in your case it is for different reasons. You are not being sent there as a punishment,” Bruce said, standing behind the King. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, and one foot in front of the other, the toes of his boot against the ground. Michael knew Bruce would be able to fly across the room if he needed to, even appearing as relaxed as he did.

  “Sire, Francis has asked me to accompany Michael to Drendil,” Joshua said. His voice held a thread of hope that the King would overrule this decision.

  “I know. This was a decision he approached me about during your absence. With your understanding of Michael, his dreams, and the situation, it was a hard, but necessary decision to make. I am sorry you are having this fate thrust upon you, Joshua. What are your thoughts about this?” The King sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin as he awaited the answer.

  Joshua was quiet for a few moments before answering. “Sire, I have no reason to turn down your request. I don’t wish to leave, though I understand that duty is a burden we all must take up from time to time.”

  The King opened a drawer in his desk and removed a pipe and a small canvas sack about half filled with tobacco. He packed the loose leaves into the bowl of his pipe, topping off the bowl with more leaves as he got toward the end of his packing, then retrieved a match. He looked up at Michael and Joshua and motioned that they could also smoke if they wished. The ever familiar fhisk of the match sang out as the sole sound in the study, the small flame consuming the wood as the King lit his pipe. He puffed vigorously at the mouthpiece as the flames danced across the surface of the tobacco leaves. Wisps of bluish smoke rose from all three of their pipes for a few minutes before anyone spoke again.

  “Randall should have Queller moored by now. I’m expecting him shortly so I can discuss details of his assignment with him. He knows he’s setting sail soon, but I haven’t told him exactly what he will be doing, or who he will be transporting. Midday tomorrow his preparations will be finished, and the next morning, during high tide, you’ll depart,” the King said. He turned to Michael, “I understand you are a carpenter’s apprentice, but I must ask this anyway. Are you trained in any way to use a weapon? I see you have a sword with you, though you seem uncomfortable with it on your hip.”

  “My father only taught me how to draw and sheath the sword without hurting myself. I’ve had no reason to learn to use it as my life has been peaceful up to this point,” Michael replied.

  “I will make arrangements for Randall and his crew to teach you basic swordsmanship during your voyage. As a passenger on a warship there’s very little else to do, so this will help to pass the time. I promise he is a good, though tough, teacher. You may not be immediately ready to fight this Shadow Knight, but he will at least get you started on that path. Do you have any questions for me?” the King inquired, striking another match to relight his pipe. Frustration twisted his face as he buried the tip of the match into the well-packed tobacco. Michael thought perhaps the King had packed too much of the tobacco into the bowl and he wasn’t getting enough air flowing through the fiery leaves.

  “I have no questions, sire,” Michael said, keeping his eyes on the map still, slowly drawing on the stem of his pipe. For a brief second his eyes left the map and he saw Bruce still leaning against the wall. Had he never been told what the man did for the King, he would have assumed he had fallen asleep. His chest rose and fell slowly in as if he were sleeping. He knew the brute was awake, but he maintained the appearance well.

  “Highness, I have one question: is there no way that either of us will ever be able to return from Drendil?” Joshua asked, puffing at his pipe for a few seconds before he realized it had also gone out.

  “It pains me to say this, but right now I cannot allow anyone to return after setting foot in Drendil,” he replied, knowing that would bring great pain to Joshua.

  A bell outside the castle chimed six times, pealing through the quiet of evening, marking the time. In about an hour, the sun would fall beyond the horizon and night would fall upon the world. Through the window, the sky began growing dark with streaks of colors, red, purple, and a deep gold, splashed into the dusk sky. The colors reminded Michael of a painting he had seen once in Master Gamel’s shop. The painting had come in to be framed and only had been there for a few hours before it went back to its owner. Clouds at the horizon showed deep purple stripes with pink on the western edges. Michael sat puffing at his pipe with Joshua and the King, mesmerized by the colors that announced the coming of night. For a few minutes the room remained silent save the sound of the small, even unnoticeable popping of the wicks of the candles around the room. As the King tapped the burned tobacco from his pipe, three quick knocks sounded at the door.

  Bruce left his perch at the wall, walked to the door, and reached for the knob as the door came open slowly. Through the crack in the door, Michael saw a tall, lean man with small scars on his face and a bigger one on the side of his neck. The scar on his neck was a deep purple, a ghastly reminder of something that would likely never heal completely. His eyes were the clear blue of a noontime sky, like the King’s, and his nose hooked to the right, possibly from a close and personal fight. His face bore a close-trimmed, auburn beard, and he had his sun-faded brown hair slicked back into a ponytail. The man, whoever he was, nodded at Bruce, who immediately went back to his spot on the wall, unconcerned about the visitor.

  “What news do you have, Randall?” The King asked, placing his sack of tobacco and his pipe back in their drawer.

  “Queller is ready to sail, sire. Had everything loaded as quickly as she could manage. You said it was urgent, after all. I still don’t know why you want us to head back out to see so quickly, though,” he replied.

  “Wonderful. Close the door,” the King replied eagerly.

  With the door closed, Randall leaned against the wood trim that ran all the way around the door and assumed a stance that practically mirrored Bruce, minus the crossed ankles. He stood with his feet wide, appearing every bit like a sailor should. He wore simple clothes, which looked like they were made of canvas or some similar material; a simple sword, and a knife hung at his waist. The sword hung on his left side and the knife on his right. No scabbard covered the knife, and the blade, nearly two hands long, curved viciously. Of all the peculiar things about the man, Michael thought his lack of shoes to be the oddest thing of them all.

  “I need you to sail to Drendil. You will be taking these men there for a quest they need to complete,” the King said, gesturing at Michael and Joshua. This brought a brief, sidelong glance from Randall. “Michael has a sword but needs to learn to use one. Please teach him during the voyage.”

  “I won’t step foot on that evil continent. And you know that I don’t like having any priest aboard my ship,” Randall replied, looking at Joshua.

  “As the King, it is my ship, and you will take whoever I tell you to, wherever I tell you. Joshua is accompanying Michael to Drendil. You will take him, and that is the last word of the matter,” the King replied, his voice growing stern.

  “Your wish is my command, Brother,” Randall said, adding a bit of a sting to the end.

  “Can you set off at dawn tomorrow?” Joshua asked, wishing to relieve some of the tension in the room.

  “We can leave as soon as you and the lad are ready,” Randall said, nodding his head at Michael. “Queller needs not wait for high tide. Her keel is shallow.”

  “Do you require anything else of us, Hi
ghness?” Joshua asked, turning to the King.

  “I have nothing further for either of you. Please find the others you need and vanquish the Shadow Knight. You carry the fate of the world with you, Michael. May the Allfather bless you greatly,” the King said. “Commander, I require some privacy with Captain Randall.”

  “As you wish, Highness,” Bruce replied as he walked out of the study with Joshua and Michael.

  He closed the door softly behind him and motioned to the air before the sentries returned to their posts from the shadows, as it seemed. They nodded their heads and took their places, tucking their thumbs behind their belts. As they walked down the hallway, Bruce shook his head and muttered to himself.

  “That man is a disgrace to his bloodline. I have never questioned why he sails ships instead of serving any political role. He hasn’t one tactful bone in his body. The man is more of a pirate than royalty. And the way he speaks to the king,” Bruce said, mostly to himself.

  “Those are strong feelings, Bruce,” Joshua said.

  “They’re justified, Joshua. He shows no respect to the King, neither as the King, nor his own brother,” Bruce said, his fists clenching.

  “Bruce we’re going to eat and get ready for our voyage tomorrow. Would you care to join us?” Joshua asked, looking at the larger man.

  “Gladly,” Bruce replied, his gaze directed elsewhere.

  He stopped beside a guard leaning against a pillar and stared at the man for a few moments. Joshua and Michael stopped as well, and Joshua took a couple steps away, standing at the far end of the hallway. Michael watched as Bruce came within inches of the man’s face before shouting, his face nearly inside the man’s ear. After flinching so much that he almost left his skin and armor behind, he fell to the ground after having lost his balance against the pillar. Bruce stood over the man, his hands at his waist.

  “Are we allowed to sleep while we’re guarding the King?” Bruce inquired loudly, his voice booming in the hallway.