“That one is like part of my tattoo,” Bladeborn said, in gasping breaths. “Why would you—?”
The Acolyte said, “…I believe that faded marking on you is tied to a creature of the Abyss.”
Pointing at the center of the tattoo, a look of fear in his eyes, the Acolyte said, “This is an ancient symbol for poison…the entire marking is very odd. Judging from your age and how faded it is, I would guess it was put there before you had any say in the matter.”
“How…how did you know that?” Bladeborn asked.
“You sleep now, young one. Although I have no supplies, and only inner strength to heal you, we will attempt to do so.”
When Bladeborn awoke, the Acolyte was standing right over him, softly chanting a prayer. He watched as blue light appeared around the old Acolyte’s hand.
“What… is that light…?” Bladeborn gasped out.
“It is magical, healing Essence,” the old man said reverently. “The light of it comes from Heaven, or a place near it. I draw from that place, as much as I can, to help ease your suffering. Without a totem, it is very difficult to do so.”
“There is no hope for me, old man,” Bladeborn said coughing. “I am broken up inside.”
“Do not say such things,” the old man said. “Hold still now, and close your eyes,” the Acolyte said. “Now think about your wounds closing and your bones strengthening. Work with me…for as I said, you also have Essence that can be turned to healing power.”
Days passed, and the old Acolyte spent hours praying over Bladeborn. When the Guards first threw Bladeborn into the cell so badly beaten, his conditioned had worsened until he was at death’s door. Now, with the magical help of the Acolyte, his condition was radically improving.
“You have a natural affinity for healing magic, young man,” the Acolyte said softly. “I think that with us working together, you will live.”
Bladeborn knew of fortune tellers and their totems. This man was different. He seemed to be sincere, and his magic was working.
The old man mentioned that Bladeborn’s symbol was something called “the sun.” He had never heard of such a thing as the “sun.” The man looked frightful as well. He was certainly the oldest person Bladeborn ever saw.
The Acolyte spent long times between prayers talking to Bladeborn. He said many things, most of which Bladeborn forgot or found obscure.
The Acolyte declared, “I have thought about it, young man. Your tattoo speaks of Rat-Bug venom. Did anyone ever say why?”
Bladeborn stated, “A man from home told me people in a cult put it there when I was very little. I don’t know why. I have never liked it.”
“Listen to me closely. I will tell you what I know about for one day, it will matter.”
Bladeborn began to pay close attention to what the old man was trying to teach. Before they had even shared each other’s names, the man was telling Bladeborn about numbers…and then about writing.
“Why are you in this dungeon?” the old man asked.
“I stole a blanket for a man I owed my life to,” Bladeborn said. “And I stole other things so I could eat.”
“Your punishment is far too cruel,” the old man said sympathetically. “Sometimes…I wonder if they will ever let me out. Long ago, I betrayed the people of the upper levels of the City,” he stated, with an absent look in his eyes. “Because of my crime I have been locked away in here for an age.”
“I don’t understand,” Bladeborn said. “What did you do?”
The old man’s eyes widened. “No, I cannot speak of it!” He bowed his head. “Someday, perhaps…but not now.”
As time went on and Bladeborn’s health improved the Acolyte began to test Bladeborn’s intellect.
“For someone with your simple education, young man, your problem-solving skills are excellent. I think I could teach you some of what I know of the world, if you are willing to learn.”
“I am willing…” Bladeborn stated. He felt, what else was there to do?
Bladeborn already knew a little of the alphabet. He and the old Acolyte scratched symbols on the moldy walls of their prison until Bladeborn became fair at both reading and writing. The Acolyte was a harsh taskmaster, sharply berating the young man for every mistake or ignorance. Despite this, Bladeborn was motivated to learn.
Bladeborn was also learning how to use and repair the net they had woven of long hair. Keeping it in good condition was an essential part of their survival, because without the tiny wormfish they caught they would have had nothing to eat. The studies continued as time wore on.
“Fortress City is only a speck on the surface of the world,” the old man said. “The real world is outside the City, and it is incomprehensibly larger. There are many planets like ours in the solar reach. But our world is unique…it is like a giant coin, hollow between its two sides. On one side, the sky is grey and the sunshine is red. On the other side of our world, the sky is clear and the sun bright yellow… Do you understand?”
“Hmmm,” Bladeborn tried to understand.
“The world that we live on is called Draconia. That name was given to it thousands of years ago, before its current rulers got so powerful.”
“I still have trouble understanding how there could be more than this City,” Bladeborn wondered. “You claim that there is more than Fortress City…something beyond the four directions…What is out there?”
“There is MUCH more than this City! Thousands of miles of land and sea, trees, mountains, and—sky! If I had a book… I could show you pictures…”
“I have seen books with pictures before, and they are good,” Bladeborn said simply.
“I don’t just want you to have a book, young man,” the Acolyte said, frustrated. “I want you to learn! So, listen! Most people who live in Fortress City are like you… they have forgotten about the existence of the main gate, which leads to the outside. It has been generations since the gate was opened. Almost all those who knew how to open the City to the outside died off before I was born.”
“This ‘main gate’ leads to what you call the outside?”
“Yes,” the Acolyte said.
“And that’s where these trees and mountains exist?” Bladeborn said, nodding.
“Yes, of course. There are no trees or mountains in here are there?”
“Well there are wood-plants in the garden levels,” Bladeborn argued. “And there are mountains of trash about…”
The Acolyte countered angrily, “Those wood-plants are small and soft compared to real trees! Listen to what I say!”
Bladeborn decided he would have to accept the man’s tales as truth.
“Let me go on,” the Acolyte said. “Within our world, between its two sides, is a vast machine,” the Acolyte gestured wildly with his hands. “Beings called ‘titans’ operate complex mechanical workings that pump water, air, and fire through pipes, so the world can continue to renew itself over time. It is said that the machine was built when the gods were young, but no one knows for sure. What some who live here do know is that Fortress City functions by tapping into these systems.”
“What is a machine?” Bladeborn inquired. “Like a lock? Is that it?”
“Yes!” the Acolyte nodded “Like a lock, only bigger and many times as complex.”
Bladeborn wasn’t sure if he could believe the Acolyte or not. “Could we eat now?” he asked.
It took a while for Bladeborn to understand there was a world “…beyond the city.”
“In the last great war, Devils scoured the land around Fortress City with the fires of the Hells. It is why we fled inside and sealed the gates….”
“To keep them out?”
“It was necessary,” the Acolyte said. “And, unless it has grown back, there will be no living thing for many miles. But! There is a possibility that the land has renewed…The energy of it returns…that is the nature of magic.”
“Tell me more of magic?” Bladeborn asked.
“Nothing ever disappears,”
the old man said. “Fire, frost, energy… There are echoes of it in the space between the worlds, as well as in our memories. Each thing affects others. This is a basic understanding of magic.”
Bladeborn was still unsure about the meaning of magic and thought he would never understand it, so he changed the subject, “Why is it that our world is called Draconia?”
The Acolyte claimed, “This world has always been called ‘Draconia,’ after the elder race of creatures that once controlled it. The Draconians could make people dance like puppets using the patterns in their minds. They were totally evil, and they ruled for untold eons.”
Bladeborn asked, “What about Saint Morth, the god you have taught me to say prayers to? Why didn’t he stop these evil—Draconians?”
The Acolyte said, “Morth, the god of the Heavens…did just that. He appeared on this world building Fortress City as a haven for those who wished to escape the Draconians. In final war, Morth sacrificed himself, killing all the Draconians in their capitol city. So, he was martyred. Long afterward he came to be known as Saint Morth. It is… much more complicated than that, but for now that’s all you need to know.”
“How do you know this?” Bladeborn asked. “It was long ago, right?”
“A very long time ago,” the Acolyte said. “But church history, handed down from one priest to the next, has kept the truth of it intact.”
Time passed, and Bladeborn had become an excellent student, well versed in many subjects.
The Acolyte had once been called Onar, High Cleric of the Crystal Sarcophagus.
For his part, Bladeborn said he was no one special, just a thief who had no ties to anyone in the City.
“I don’t believe that,” Onar said. “It is very difficult to pass through the world without having SOME effect on it.”
“Well, I was one who had no friends. I tried to stay out of everyone’s way. Sure, if I had to, I’d fight, but other than that I—”
“It takes either a very meek or a very weak soul to have no effect on the world,” Onar said, as if he were quoting some mystical writing. “Souls like that are so rare that the Judge of the Dead re-incarnates them.”
“What does all THAT mean?” Bladeborn asked. He felt it might personally affect him, so he was interested. “I know the Judge of the Dead, of course, where souls go after life. But what is re-incarnation?”
“Well, young one,” Onar began, “When you die, your soul appears before the Judge of the Dead… The Judge decides if you have been evil or good, bad or saintly, during your lifetime. The decision is based upon ALL the actions you have taken and the choices you have made while living. If you were evil, living only for power or for wealth, you are sent to the Hells, or possibly to the Abyss. If you have been good, helping others and being selfless, you join with the gods in the Heavens.”
“I have heard this before,” Bladeborn asked. “But what if there is someone like me, who has done nothing?”
“That is impossible,” Onar declared. “That being is re-incarnated.”
* * *
Bladeborn had been practicing swimming, which was yet another skill Onar had imparted. One day, while he was diving at the deep end of the waterway in the cell, Bladeborn found something amazing.
“Onar, wake up!” Bladeborn said, running over to where the old man was sleeping. He shook his friend and teacher, shouting, “Wake up!”
The old Acolyte groused, “Young man, I swear by Saint Morth, you should let me sleep! I was dreaming of…”
“Listen, Onar!” Bladeborn exclaimed, “I swam down to the bottom of the waterway where the fish are and found an old metal grate there—with two bars missing! If we could bend the last bar we might escape!”
Onar awoke fully and stared into his student’s eyes with an unusual sadness. “What are you forgetting, Bladeborn?”
“Well,” Bladeborn said, “Something took those bars apart. Maybe long ago, someone in this cell had a tool?”
Onar looked away and said, “You have found the work I gave up on many years ago, Bladeborn.”
“What?” Bladeborn exclaimed in surprise. “YOU did that?” He looked in wonder at his cellmate. “WHY didn’t you tell me?”
Onar sighed and thought about what to say for a long time. Finally, he admitted, “I would never survive in the waterway, Bladeborn. These days, I am too old even to swim to the bottom where the bars are. If you made it through those bars I would be alone once more.”
Bladeborn could not be angry with his friend and teacher, even then. He lowered his eyes in understanding and said, “I see…” The younger man got up and walked over to the far side of the cell to sit by the water.
Onar got up slowly, and walked over to Bladeborn, and then sat down. He explained, “I am not long for this world, Bladeborn. Soon I will go before the Judge of the Dead, to my final reward. Was it so wrong for me to keep this from you?”
“How do I get the last bar out?” Bladeborn asked slowly. “I am not angry. But I must know: how can I regain my freedom.”
Onar held up his hand and put his fingers together and snapped them. “To get the first two bars apart, over the years I did this small magic trick a thousand upon a thousand times…”
A small white spark and a popping sound appeared at Onar’s fingertips. Although the energy made was tiny, Bladeborn blinked at the power of it.
“Can I learn how to do this?” Bladeborn asked.
Onar responded, “I will teach you how to focus your mind for it, but the strength to make it happen must come from Essence. You will know when it happens…”
Onar was guiding Bladeborn in studies of recent history while Bladeborn snapped his fingers, focusing his mind as he was instructed. The small magical trick was leading Bladeborn nowhere.
Onar’s lesson began, “Two hundred years ago, the last great man to rule Fortress City, Emperor Eshumé, united the Northern Kingdoms on the red sun side of Draconia. His realm extended all the way from Fortress City to the Western Isles, then East to the Great Waste and finally, South as far as the Raider Marches. When at the peak of his power, Emperor Eshumé attacked the only kingdom rivalling his on Draconia—the Empire of the Rhinolon.”
“The Rhinolon?” Bladeborn asked. “Who were they?”
“They are huge beasts with large horns for noses and thick leathery skin. They make servants of every creature they can, keeping them in chains. There are millions of them in the southern part of Draconia. They have close ties with the Devils of the Hells and they have been known to eat people.”
“Why have you never told me of them before?”
“I didn’t deem it necessary,” Onar said, a bit frustrated. “You will never see one of them…”
Bladeborn felt the retelling this part of history should have been the first thing Onar said.
Onar smiled and said, “Emperor Eshumé had never lost a major battle when his United Army advanced into Rhinolon territory. Some think Eshumé actually intended to conquer the Rhinolon nation, and pull down their capital, the Necropolis, but we will never know.”
“So, Emperor Eshumé and the United Army were defeated?”
“Yes,” Onar said gravely. “They were slaughtered. The Rhinolon gained help from the Devils of the Hells they pay homage to, and the battle turned. Only a few of Eshumé’s United Army made it alive into Fortress City.”
“Did the Emperor make it back?”
Yes, Bladeborn… but he was never the same.”
“But these Rhinolon can be killed…They aren’t spirits or Demons, are they?” Bladeborn asked.
“Devils and Demons are separate things. The Rhinolon connection to their Devilish allies defeated the United Army. Rhinolon strength and numbers are great, yet they aren’t smart. That is why they nearly lost, or so history has written.”
Bladeborn wondered, “Were we always their enemies?”
The old Acolyte paused and sighed deeply, then said, “Those first rulers of the Red sun side, the Draconians had both Rhinolon and
human servants. Saint Morth let the humans free, and the Devils let the Rhinolon free. The Rhinolon and Humans fought together to defeat the Draconians. Without an effort by both races, the Draconians would likely still rule today.”
As he listened, Bladeborn snapped his fingers trying to make the energy-spark, but without success. He shrugged and gave up for the time being since his fingers hurt.
The Acolyte gave Bladeborn a stern look, “Keep at it or you will never be successful!”
Begrudgingly, Bladeborn renewed his attempts at the minor magic.
“The Rhinolon have no way of penetrating the walls of Fortress City. It is said that we are magically protected by the powers of Saint Morth. The Rhinolon have their gods, and we have ours.”
“I have heard that many people in Fortress City have fallen away from devotion to Saint Morth,” Bladeborn stated.
“Then our people are doomed… If people believe in Morth the City will hold. But if the belief in our patron god falters, the foundations of the City shall fail.”
The following day Onar began telling Bladeborn about the specifics of his imprisonment.
“When I was a young man, I had been chosen for a great honor: The High Acolyte of the Crystal Sarcophagus. My position was in the Royal Treasure Vault, the highest point of the entire City. In the Vault were the greatest valuables of the ages, and the most sacred of these treasures was the Sword of the Ancients, the weapon carried by Emperor Eshumé. His mummy, which rests inside the crystal sarcophagus was said to be unreachable. Both the mummy and the Sword can be seen through the crystal, but to this day Eshumé’s tomb has only opened once.”
“But… You told me the Sword is still there, right?” Bladeborn asked.
“I am certain it is. The Sword of Eshumé remains in the tomb. For years, I was the one who had to know such things. Yes, I would know…” Onar said with a faraway look in his eyes. “King Koss assigned me to try to open it with prayers to Saint Morth, but I was never able to. He valued the Sword of Eshumé more than anything in the City. King Koss is a cruel man,” Onar said mournfully. “He came to power shortly after Eshumé’s death. High Wizard Dimtreanos, King Koss’s brother, was rumored to have had a hand in the death of Eshumé, but no one knows for sure. That was long before I was born.”
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