A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  Iltar turned the corner, walking along the balcony overlooking the foyer. The window above the door allowed a view to the lawn in front of the grand country home, but not the sky. He’d have to descend the stairs to see if the sky was yellow.

  Iltar kept his eyes on the window, watching for the sky to peak out from the portico’s eaves.

  “What are you looking for?” a voice asked. It sounded like his own.

  Iltar jumped, stumbling down the stairs, but caught himself before tripping completely. Where had that voice come from? Now in the foyer, Iltar looked around, but stole a glance at the window. There was dark red beyond the eaves—those strange clouds. Yup, he was there again in that strange dreamscape.

  “I asked what you were looking for…” the voice said, coming from the parlor. There was a sense of curiosity to those words as well as an underlying tone of tension.

  “The sky,” Iltar said without thinking. He’d done it again! It was like he was compelled to do certain things here. He couldn’t completely control his actions. Iltar soon found himself walking toward the parlor.

  That same reflection of himself, clothed in the red robe, stood in front of the parlor’s fireplace. The reflection had his back to the foyer, his hands clasped behind his back. Two red books, like the ones he had carried before, sat on the table.

  “You’ve not sought me the last few times you’ve come to Vabenack,” the stranger said. He turned, looking at Iltar with a solemn gaze. “Why?” That seemed strange coming from a delusion of the mind. Was he really questioning Iltar’s motives in a dream? Absurd!

  Every night Iltar had found himself waking in his parent’s home or in his tower, then stepping out into the world with the yellow sky. Each time, he went to Soroth, and each time, it lay in ruin. Subsequently, Iltar found that same strange reflection of himself standing on the only intact pier in the southern docks. But the reflection never spoke. Why was he doing so now?

  “I need to wake up,” Iltar muttered, turning to the windows beside the home’s main entrance. “I don’t need to be wasting my time in this stupid dream world.”

  Suddenly, everything changed.

  Iltar found himself sitting up in the bedroom where he had retired the night before. As expected, the clothes were strewn across the floor. All was as it had been when he fell asleep.

  Iltar yawned and moved to the curtains. They were pulled shut. He opened them, finding a starry sky.

  How long had he slept? Did he just barely doze off? It felt like it… No matter. It was still dark and that meant he could go back to sleep, so he did.

  * * * * *

  Cornar sat quietly in his study, bent over, his hands clasped. This is really it, he thought sorrowfully. His face twisted into a pained frown. Why was he feeling like this? Cornar had been happy about retiring when he first spoke with Kalder. That was nearly a year ago. He was truly happy since their last adventure. Cornar cherished every moment he had spent with Karenna. It was wonderful! And she was so beautiful.

  Footsteps echoed from the foyer, a faint pitter-patter entering the study. Who would be up at this late an hour? Everyone had retired to bed quite some time ago. The door to the study opened, and then Cornar heard his wife’s voice. “Why aren’t you coming to bed?”

  Cornar sat up straight, turning toward Karenna. She was wearing a pale-pink nightgown made of lace and silk; it was modest, but showed off her curves. He sucked in a breath, regaining a stoic composure. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “You never even came up to bed,” she retorted flatly. “Baekal helped me with the kitchen, and we only finished a few minutes ago. I thought you were talking to Iltar, but his door is closed.”

  Cornar shook his head.

  “Have you been sitting here since the meeting ended?” Karenna asked, concerned.

  Cornar nodded and pursed his lips.

  “Are you regretting that promise you made?” Karenna asked, her face stern.

  Was he? Not consciously at least. The thought of breaking the promise never crossed his mind. How could he do that? Cornar had never broken a promise in his life. It was a trait he was proud to possess.

  “Cor, I understand if you want to go,” Karenna said. “From what Krindal showed us, you’d be a fool not to go.”

  “No,” Cornar shook his head. “I’m just tired, and this was an eventful night.” Those words felt hollow. But he was tired, and the evening had been an active one.

  “If you say so,” Karenna said doubtingly. “Just don’t stay like this. And come to bed.”

  “I will in a bit,” Cornar said, forcing a smile.

  Karenna cocked her head, narrowing her gaze at Cornar. “I love you, Cor, more than anything. I hope you know that.” How could he not know?

  “I love you too,” Cornar said.

  Karenna slipped back through the foyer, her footsteps echoing into the study. Soon, her footfalls faded, and Cornar was alone once again. He did love Karenna, and that’s why he had to keep his promise. Yes, Krindal’s quest was the most intriguing venture ever proposed to him, but intrigue was not enough to break his resolve.

  .

  “Elynia was not what I expected. She stayed for almost fifteen years but didn’t seem to age one bit. That oddity worried me, as she didn’t have a ring such as mine. But she wasn’t malicious or devious.”

  - From Origins and Oaths of the Keepers, preface

  Iltar was back in that strange place again, Vabenack, as Reflection called it. He had decided that if he was to continue experiencing these strange dreams, he should give a name to the only other occupant, although what he came up with was more of a title.

  As usual, Iltar found himself where he had drifted off: the couch in the living room of his parent’s home. No one was around, which was typical. He expected to be alone when he came here.

  He stepped outside, seeing the yellow sky, as he expected. This strange place was becoming natural to him. There weren’t many of the blood-red clouds in the sky. A denizen of this weird realm might have called it a sunny day, yet the sun here was a dark blue. The sun almost looked like a hole in the sky, as if that round blue spot was the real sky and the yellow was a transparent tapestry veiling the world.

  Iltar had been here twice since the dream-encounter at Cornar’s home in the country, where Reflection finally spoke to him. Both times Iltar just waited until he awoke. That decision made the dream drag on for what seemed an eternity.

  “So, should I seek this Reflection?” he asked himself. Maybe the dreams would stop if he saw them through? Each of the dreams Iltar had before the encounter in Cornar’s home ended much like the first. Something woke him before he reached the docks. Perhaps he needed to have an actual conversation with Reflection.

  “To Soroth it is,” Iltar said reluctantly. He sauntered down the path, but heard a whinny. A horse? Iltar turned back around and hurried to the stables near his home. He looked inside, finding his black stallion.

  “Well, this will make things faster,” Iltar said, hurrying to the horse. Once mounted, he galloped out of the stables, bolting down the path into the woodland. The horse didn’t tire, which wasn’t too strange for the dream realm of Vabenack. Real world rules didn’t seem to apply here. Iltar galloped his horse all the way through the forest, reaching Soroth in a matter of minutes.

  To Iltar’s surprise, Soroth stood intact. Buildings were not ruined, city walls weren’t crumbled, and roads weren’t spotted with craters. Another oddity that contrasted the other dreams.

  Iltar hummed thoughtfully, riding his horse into the city. Soroth looked deserted. Carts full of wares dotted the streets, vacant and unattended. It was as if the citizens had been plucked from their daily activities and taken elsewhere.

  Iltar eventually rode to the docking district, where he found that all the wharves occupied by tall trading vessels, lavish yachts, and warships. Which pier was Reflection standing on? In the other dreams it was the only intact pier, everything else was in ruin, so it was easy to spot.r />
  But why the change of scenery? Did his subconscious not want him to have this conversation? But no, he refused to be doomed to a lifetime of reoccurring dreams. “One pier at a time, I suppose,” Iltar said. “It was eastward, I know that.”

  Iltar guided his horse along the piers, searching with his eyes before moving on to the next one. He read the signs as he passed. A large font identified the pier number, and a smaller script identified the various wharves.

  After several minutes Iltar stopped at one of the piers, noticing a red spot at the far end. In the other dreams, only part of the pier was intact, so he saw Reflection clearly. This time, Reflection stood at the end of the pier nearly a grand phineal away.

  Iltar looked to the sign, taking note of the pier number in case he had to come here again. It’d be faster if he knew where he was going—

  “What…?” Iltar gasped, his expression turning ghastly. The sign read, “Pier Eight. Wharves One through Thirty-Eight.”

  “It can’t be…” he mumbled. Pier Eight was the pier where the Promised Maiden was moored in reality. Was this dream some twisted manifestation of Iltar’s desires to go on that adventure with Krindal and the others?

  Shaking off the thought, Iltar guided his horse down the pier. He reached the end within minutes and dismounted.

  Clothed in that same red robe, Reflection stood at the pier’s edge, staring at the purple ocean. The waves rippled across the purple water, moving away from Soroth, despite the lack of wind.

  Iltar’s boots didn’t make a sound against the wood as he approached Reflection. It was just one of many oddities here.

  “Tides ebb and flow,” Reflection said in Iltar’s voice. “Just like civilizations.” He didn’t turn around.

  “Who are you?” Iltar asked. It was the first of many questions he had. But he would be asking himself, wouldn’t he?

  “Men are like water,” Reflection continued. “They move every which way, aimlessly.”

  “Are you saying humankind is fickle?” Iltar asked, stepping up beside Reflection. He looked the old man up and down. Reflection was just as before, looking exactly like Iltar, but with long white hair. Iltar took a moment to study the emblems on the crimson robe. He committed them to memory; hopefully those symbols would stay with him when he awoke.

  “You can divert water with a dam,” Reflection continued. “You can do the same to men. Some use religion. Others use civil laws. And there are some who devise their own rules, codes they adhere to… Those men, they are the great ones—the first droplets at the head of newly formed streams. But in a way, they’re just following the course of the environment around them. So, still like water.”

  Reflection kept on about this strange philosophy. Iltar’s questions hadn’t diverted him into a conversation. Reflection was like an orator on a stage. You couldn’t interrupt such men; they just kept on with their rhetoric until they were finished. Perhaps a different approach was needed.

  “Why did you want to speak with me?” Iltar asked.

  “… When a civilization becomes stagnant, its people become filthy, like a stilled pond. Moss builds in the water, vile insects swarm the shore, and disease festers in the pond. The only way to eradicate the filth is to flush the pond, and to do that it must be drained and replaced with fresh water.” Reflection stopped and turned to Iltar, looking directly at him. “That’s why I’ve wanted to speak with you, Iltar—to remove the vileness caused by stagnation.”

  “What?” Iltar asked, bewildered. Reflection had finally spoken to him, but what did he mean? Was that speech about water all for him?

  “You’re not deaf,” Reflection retorted. His eyes were stern. “Nor stupid.”

  Of course he was not. Bah, crazy dream-thing, Iltar thought, gritting his teeth.

  Reflection raised an eyebrow and then blinked several times before speaking. “Why did you decide to seek me?” he asked.

  “I’m tired of these dreams,” Iltar said frankly. “You can’t imagine how tedious it is reliving the same thing over and over.” Reflection smiled. He seemed amused by Iltar’s comment, his expression almost patronizing. “I just want to rectify whatever it is that’s happening to me,” Iltar continued. “You’re obviously a manifestation of my subconscious mind. That’s why you look like me.”

  “You think of me as someone to direct you? Guide you?” Reflection asked, nodding. “So be it. I will play the guide.”

  “Good.” Iltar was pleased by the cooperation. Perhaps he could be rid of this nightmare once and for all. “So, why were you talking about stagnant water?”

  “Parables are poignant methods to convey ideas to those open to hearing the truth,” Reflection said. “Did you see truth in my tale?”

  “I can see some truths,” Iltar said. “But men are masters of their own wills. We forge our own destinies.” The last bit he nearly yelled. It was a sore spot for him. Rovin and Cordis had tried to manipulate Iltar’s life so that it would benefit them, while being detrimental to him and those he cared for. They had almost succeeded.

  “Some is better than none,” Reflection said with a chuckle. “Perhaps, in time, your eyes will be opened. You will see the stagnation firsthand.”

  “Whose stagnation?” Iltar asked. “Soroth’s?”

  “The Chosen have faltered,” Reflection said. “They no longer guide my children. Things must be rectified, and that’s where you come into play.” He looked at Iltar, studying him up and down. “But you’re not ready, not yet.”

  “In what ways?” Iltar asked.

  “Many ways.”

  Iltar groaned. “So I’m dreaming about an internal growth, growing myself into something greater.”

  “You could say that,” Reflection smiled. “But it will take a great deal of effort and sacrifice.”

  Iltar eyed the strange mental-reflection for a moment. Reflection was cryptic, speaking answers that only had a half-substance to them. I shouldn’t be surprised. Whatever his mind was working through, he didn’t know the answers, so why would he expect more from a dream?

  “You know,” Reflection spoke up, “there are things in this world far greater than what Krindal seeks.”

  “Oh, pray tell,” Iltar said, his tone mocking.

  Reflection frowned. “A doubtful tone,” he said. “What a pity. No matter. I will prove myself to you, Iltar. Kalda was far grander than the picturesque past Krindal has painted with these theories of Cultural Regression and the Lost World. Indeed, Kalda has fallen from its grace. The things you call tevisrals were more sophisticated than you could ever imagine. They were machines that shaped civilizations and changed humanity itself. It was grand, I tell you, grand! No people were ever as fortunate as the ancient Kaldeans. They had cities that scraped the sky. They could travel halfway around the world in an instant. Disease was eradicated, and they lived in perfect health. The tevisrals you own personally were child’s playthings compared to the wonders of ancient Kalda. And Kalda was peaceful... until a rebellion occurred. That changed everything.” He paused, looking Iltar up and down, as if gauging his interest.

  “The architects of this rebellion formed a proverbial dam, forcing the men of Kalda out of their divinely appointed course. War ensued, then abated for a time, but eventually resumed, crumbling that beautiful civilization…” There was a sorrow in Reflection’s voice.

  “This river of men flowed for some time, like the swells of this ocean.” Reflection pointed across the horizon. “They advanced in some areas while becoming primitive in others. There were some who remained faithful to the ancient ways, but even they have turned out of their course, pooling in dirty ponds.”

  Reflection paused, looking at Iltar once again. “A new channel must be carved for the river of men.”

  Iltar narrowed his eyes. Wasn’t this a delusion of grandeur? Iltar had always wanted to be great—a renowned mage, specifically. This ambition had been seeded by his father, who had hoped for him to join the ranks of his brethren, to follow in the footsteps
of Iltar’s older half-brother. But never had Iltar’s father spoken of becoming a man who could change the world.

  “You are special, Iltar,” Reflection said with a smile that seemed almost devious. “You are destined to form this new channel.” Iltar grunted dismissively.

  “As I said before,” Reflection said calmly, “your eyes will be opened. You will see what you must accomplish.”

  Iltar shook his head and turned back to his horse, but the black stallion was gone. He walked back down the pier, and after a moment he heard Reflection speaking to him, as if he were standing right beside him.

  “You cannot deny your destiny, Iltar,” Reflection said.

  Iltar turned around, finding himself on the edge of the pier, only a pace away from Reflection. He had been walking for a while, hadn’t he? Why wasn’t he farther down the pier? Iltar turned around, quickening his pace.

  Again, Iltar heard Reflection; the voice spoke from beside him. “You will reshape this world.”

  Iltar was standing right where he had been a moment before, at the edge of the pier. How was that possible? Well, this was a dream, after all. Iltar quickened his gait again, jogging down the pier.

  “Why are you running, Iltar?” Reflection asked, his voice in the same spot over Iltar’s shoulder. Iltar didn’t dare look back. He’d find himself at the edge of the pier again. He was certain of it! Although Iltar kept running, the streets of Soroth never seemed to get any closer. After a moment, Iltar stopped. He turned hesitantly, finding himself on the edge of the pier, right beside Reflection.

  Reflection had finally turned around, facing Soroth. He looked sternly at Iltar. “In time you will realize who you truly are, Iltar,” Reflection said. “Now, go. Find your way.”

  The yellow sky vanished, the purple ocean dispersed, violet droplets flying everywhere. The ground shook and broke apart. The pier ripped in half, separating Iltar and Reflection.

  Iltar stumbled and then felt himself falling. The strange colors which made up this dream world faded, like streaking lines of light zipping away from him. Soon, only blackness remained, and Iltar stopped falling. He hadn’t hit the ground, had he? Well, there was no ground. He was floating, suspended in the abyss.