Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  It didn’t take long for Wyand to locate one of the Venerates outside the Hall. He requested personal guidance, and the Venerate agreed to walk with him. They started down the path that ran along the base of Aldhagen’s wall as an approaching line of clouds quickly darkened most of the night sky.

  “What troubles you, Depthcarver?” the Venerate asked after a few strides. Wyand suppressed his nervousness and anger as much as he could, but both still manifested in a rapid twitch just below his left eye. Hopefully it was too small a movement for the Venerate to notice.

  “I’ve been having trouble staying focused, Venerated One,” Wyand said truthfully, “and my work is suffering for it. I can’t explain it; my mind just feels clouded for some reason.” The Venerate reached out to Wyand’s shoulder, signaling for him to stop walking. Wyand felt his skin crawling with anxiety as the Venerate studied him with an unwavering gaze.

  “You have no illness,” the Venerate concluded, still staring at Wyand.

  “That’s a relief,” Wyand said as they resumed walking. “But…Venerate, I must confess, I have been keeping a secret.” It was time for Wyand to put his plan into motion.

  “You know this to be a sin, although a minor one. What is this secret?” the Venerate asked.

  “I don’t know how, but I think my lack of concentration may be due to this,” Wyand said as he revealed a fist-sized rock from the waist pocket of his nightclothes. It was not the mysterious stone that had opened his mind to buried memories—that stone still rested against Wyand’s side in the opposite waist pocket. This was the pathway stone, the obstruction that Wyand had now turned into something useful. He bowed and offered the unremarkable stone to the Venerate. There was a long pause as the Venerate examined the stone from all angles.

  “You feel that this has caused your focus to waver?” the Venerate asked skeptically.

  “I found it just before I began losing concentration, so I assumed the stone was at fault,” Wyand said. “I should have brought this to you sooner, but I allowed my duties as a Depthcarver to take precedence. Forgive me.” The Venerate was silent, offering no words of reprimand or absolution. Wyand was left kneeling, staring at the darkened ground, as a growing fear accompanied each heartbeat. The Venerate knows I’m lying, Wyand thought. This was a foolish plan. Thunder rolled in the distance.

  “Rise, Depthcarver,” the Venerate said at last. Wyand sprang to his feet, preparing himself for judgement. “Take this stone and cast it into the darkness beyond our walls,” the Venerate commanded. Wyand slowly reached out for the stone, keeping his eyes fixed on the Venerate. This didn’t feel like punishment, but it wasn’t forgiveness either. Wyand seized the rock and flung it as hard as he could towards the top of the wall surrounding Aldhagen. The stone sailed up and over the capstones and vanished from view.

  “Good,” the Venerate said. “You see, Depthcarver? This is what must be done with all distractions, all things which threaten to disturb your peace or question your honor. Cast them out.”

  “I understand, Venerate,” Wyand said quietly. Flinging the stone from Aldhagen was a stark reminder of what the Venerates would do to Wyand if they found out he knew their secrets. He would be seen as disturbing their peace, questioning their honor, and they would cast him out. If they didn’t just kill me instead… Wyand thought.

  “For the sin of keeping this secret from us,” the Venerate continued, “you will tell everyone you meet about your ‘special stone’ and what happened here tonight. Tell them of your shame for keeping this from the Venerates, but let everyone know that you ultimately cast your distraction away for the good of Aldhagen.”

  “Yes, Venerate,” Wyand replied. It worked! he shouted inside.

  “Then it is done,” the Venerate concluded. “Come, we should return to the Hall. Reflection is nearly over and a storm is upon us.” Between his anxiety and now exuberance, Wyand hadn’t noticed that the wall of clouds now blanketed the entire sky. Jagged arcs of lightning were visible above the tops of Aldhagen’s walls and thunder echoed from one side of the city to the other. The end of the Venerate’s staff suddenly shone with a white-hot light that would illuminate the way back to the Hall.

  After a short distance, Wyand began to feel an unusual sensation of heat on his right hip. He discreetly put his hand into his waist pocket and found that his hidden stone was warm to the touch. He looked down quickly and discovered a faint blue light spilling around his fingers as it emanated in pulses from the stone. Wyand closed the pocket hastily and prayed that the inexplicable light had gone unnoticed. He looked up just in time to avoid running into the back of the now-stationary Venerate.

  “There is something very powerful nearby,” the Venerate said, scanning the surrounding darkness. “Look for anything…” the Venerate’s words halted when he noticed the blue light now shining plainly through the fabric of Wyand’s clothing, “…unusual,” the Venerate said quietly. Before Wyand had time to think of a plan, the Venerate’s hand darted into Wyand’s waist pocket and seized the true version of the stone from the Cavern of the Winds.

  “Unusual,” the Venerate repeated as he rested the stone on his palm. The stone pulsed with blazing waves of blue light now and emitted a deep, vibrating hum. As Wyand looked on in awe, the stone seemed to hover for an instant before it shifted by unseen forces and struck soundly against the Venerate’s chest. A final brilliant flash accompanied a single, resounding hum that was intense enough for Wyand to feel its echo within his bones. Then there was stillness.

  When his sight returned, Wyand discovered that he had fallen to the ground during the confusion. He looked up and saw the stone remained fixed to the Venerate’s chest. It still pulsed, but the speed and intensity of the blue light were fading rapidly. Wyand crawled over to the Venerate but immediately recoiled when he took note of the Venerate’s face. Wyand had seen that look before—the distant, motionless eyes, the mouth hanging slack—it was the same expression that Haemlan’s face had borne so many Turnings earlier. Wyand had only seen it for an instant as his friend tumbled through the air, but that face was unmistakable. The Venerate was dead.

  Still recovering from the stone’s powerful display, Wyand reached out to claim the terrifying object from atop the Venerate’s lifeless chest. This wasn’t right—the Venerates were the murderers, not him. Wyand’s denial grew into panic, and he decided to flee before the situation got any worse. The first drops of rain from the imminent storm hissed against the fading light from the Venerate’s staff as Wyand tried to stand. From the growing shadows, he saw a glimpse of a booted foot just before it struck him in the jaw. Wyand fell backwards onto the pathway with enough force to knock the breath out of him. The edges of his vision faded to a black haze, but he forced himself to stay conscious.

  “Get up!” the owner of the boot shouted. “First my Pathshaper, now this?” Silax glared menacingly down at Wyand.

  “Wait, Silax, you don’t—” Wyand began, but another kick found its mark in his ribs and stole what little breath he had regained. Wyand rolled to his back, gasping for air.

  “DO NOT SPEAK!” Silax bellowed. “I saw everything, heard every piece of your conversation with the Venerate. Your words—your lies—are worthless.” Silax sneered as he bent down and lifted the stone off of the Venerate’s chest. Silax slowly walked closer as he spoke. “You claim to be so righteous, saying that the members of your pathetic task are worthy of the Kingdomturn offering. But look at you! You force an innocent man to be cast from Aldhagen, then you deceive and murder one of the Venerates with the dark magic of this stone!” Wyand still couldn’t breathe or speak, but he noticed several figures approaching on the darkened path. The Hall was close by, so the display from the stone and now Silax’ shouting must have attracted quite a bit of attention.

  “I think it is only fitting,” Silax continued quietly as he stood over Wyand, “that you suffer the same fate as one of your recent victims. So, you will either cast yourself out,”—Silax struck Wyand’s head with
the stone—“or I will kill you right here. Consider it ‘the will of the Venerates.’ Now make your choice.”

  Wyand could feel blood streaming down his face with every heartbeat. How could things have fallen apart so quickly? he thought over and over. Silax struck him with the stone again for remaining silent.

  “Come on!” Silax shouted. “I’ll decide for you if you don’t speak.”

  “Kingdom be found, what is this?” a voice said from the shadows beyond Silax. Wyand squinted through his swollen eyelids to find that a dozen or more workers now stood behind the fallen Venerate. Silax stood triumphantly over Wyand with the stone still in hand, and suddenly Wyand knew what he had to do.

  “Help me!” Wyand shouted to the crowd, his jaw aching with each word. “Silax is mad! I saw him kill the Venerate, and now he seeks to hide his sins by killing me.” Fury flooded into Silax’ face as he drew back his hand to strike Wyand again. A gasp from the other workers caused Silax to falter, however, as he realized that the situation looked exactly as Wyand had described it.

  “Murder!” several workers whispered.

  “Madness!” others shouted.

  “Lies!” Silax screamed over the crowd, but they were already convinced that he was guilty. His rage returned when he looked back to Wyand, but there was desperation in Silax’ eyes now, not triumph. Then the eerie calm washed over him again and Silax stared at Wyand with the faint grin of insanity.

  “For Aldhagen,” Silax said quietly, then he set out in a sprint towards the Hall.

  He still has the stone! Wyand realized. A sheet of rain blew across the path as Wyand struggled to stand. “Stop him!” Wyand shouted, but no one dared to step in Silax’ way. The pain in Wyand’s head and chest were growing, and his jaw was becoming too stiff to speak. He put the pain aside for now—he had to follow Silax and regain the stone. It was the only chance his people would ever have to learn the truth about the Venerates.

  Confused expressions rushed past Wyand as he bolted through the crowd. Rain and blood flowed down his face and soaked into his nightclothes, but his pace only increased. Whether from shock or exhilaration, Wyand found it easy to run in spite of the beating he’d just received. He focused on Silax, watching him sprint as fast as he could to the Hall. I can catch him, Wyand reassured himself. I have to catch him.

  Silax entered the main level of the Hall with Wyand close behind. Their chase spiraled down towards the Last Calling chamber. Why would he go here? Wyand wondered, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew where Silax was headed. The entrance to the Last Calling chamber came into view and, as expected, Silax raced right past it. He was heading for Wracandyr.

  Wyand was within a few strides of catching Silax when the dreaded balconies leading to the Exile Door came into view. Silax pressed forward madly, striving to reach the Casting Platform. He scrambled up the stone steps and spun to face Wyand at the overhanging edge of the Casting Platform. Silax still clutched the stone tightly to his chest.

  “For Aldhagen!” he shouted, lifting the stone high. Then the Feller bent his legs and pushed off of the Casting Platform.

  “No!” Wyand screamed, still running at full speed towards Silax. Without thinking, Wyand leapt into the air with hands outstretched, reaching for the stone. The Depthcarver and the Feller collided midair over the raging waters leading to Wracandyr. Silax’ eyes filled with shock and outrage as Wyand seized the stone. Time seemed to slow as the two workers fell, each staring at the other in disbelief, until the cold reality of the Great River enveloped them both. I failed, Wyand thought solemnly, as he gripped the stone and plunged into the roaring darkness of the Exile Door.

  For an instant, Silax still held onto Wyand and pulled him underwater. Wyand put his legs against his chest and pressed sharply against Silax until he finally felt the Feller’s hands slide away into the water. Wyand struggled to the surface, gasping for air. He needed both hands free to stay above water, so he quickly tucked the stone into his waist pocket. Wyand looked upstream as he tried to stay afloat and saw the lights of Wracandyr’s chamber as they receded into the distance. Then the lights vanished as the Great River fell into nothingness and Wyand plummeted with it through total darkness. Before he even had time to cry out, he hit the surface of the water once more and sank into its depths. Jagged rocks scraped across him as the current carried him farther away from Aldhagen. This is death, he thought after being slammed blindly against another slab of stone.

  The turmoil of darkness and pain continued for what felt like hours, until at last the river seemed to calm. With the roar of Wracandyr fading in the distance, Wyand took a few uncertain breaths as he kept himself afloat. His eyes were suddenly shocked by a distant pinpoint of light that vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. In the instant of illumination, Wyand saw that he was being carried through a massive tunnel as the river surged forward. He also saw that, although the water no longer jostled him in all directions, it was anything but calm. Stone rushed past his face in a speeding blur as another brilliant flash lit up the tunnel. A new, hollow rumble rose quickly from farther downstream. Fear plagued Wyand as he drew closer to the unknown, but a faint feeling of wonder strangely accompanied his terror. Wyand nearly laughed at such an absurd mixture of emotions, but another flash of light quickly crushed his sudden levity.

  An arc of lightning streaked through the night sky, revealing in its radius a brief view of a landscape Wyand could not comprehend. A vast and rocky plain stretched to the edges of the lighted area, and a multitude of jagged chasms sliced deep broken pathways into the living stone. In that instant, awe flooded Wyand’s mind as he took in the scene before him. He was so struck by the grandeur of what he had seen that he almost didn’t notice that the tunnel ended and the river dropped away sharply less than a stride from his current location. Before he could even think to panic, Wyand was cast over this ledge and into the world beyond Aldhagen. He looked down just as the lightning faded and was left with the afterimage of water streaming down a sheer cliff face into a lake far below. Then the darkness returned, and Wyand felt himself falling through the night.

  There was an abrupt stop, Wyand could remember that. Then there was pain, but it was dull and distant now. Fascination was the only thing Wyand felt at the moment, as he watched thousands of pale yellow lights flickering and pulsing all around him. He was weightless, drifting through nothingness without the need for things like thought or worry.

  Wyand’s stunned bliss quickly passed once his starved lungs began to burn for air. I’m still underwater, he realized as clarity slowly returned. I’m underwater! Wyand’s limbs were suddenly fueled by panic as he flailed them desperately in an attempt to reach the surface. A flash of lightning revealed just how far he had plunged into the depths of the lake. The edge of the water shined mockingly overhead as Wyand sped upward with the last bit of energy his body had left to give. Somehow, he remained conscious and kept moving just enough for his head to burst into the air above. Wyand breathed in salvation and his entire body shuddered with relief and exhaustion.

  The storm raged above, pelting his gasping face with sharp, cold rain. Wyand closed his eyes briefly, ignoring the storm and letting the gentle current carry him as he basked in the visceral joy of simply breathing. After a few moments adrift, Wyand felt a large rock scrape along his left shoulder and instinctively he grabbed onto it. Thankfully, he found an easy handhold and slowly pulled the rest of his body onto the waiting slab of stone. Wyand immediately collapsed, curling into a tight ball as he shivered just as much from shock as he did from the bone-chilling wetness that permeated his clothes.

  Through weary eyes that knew sleep would not come, Wyand was surprised to see the pale lights again. He thought perhaps that they had been an illusion, created in his imagination by a mind starved for air. That meant that either he was still hallucinating, or the lights were very real and filled the lake wherever he looked. Not an illusion, Wyand decided, but certainly unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Any
time lightning flashed through the sky, the mysterious lights would pulse brightly then slowly return to their usual dimness. Wyand rested his head on the wet slab of stone, numbly fixated on this display as it repeated itself with each lightning strike, over and over throughout the night.

  ---

  Wyand’s eyes snapped open in the grey light of early morning. The storm had tapered away sometime during the night, and now only a low bank of thick clouds remained. It was early enough that the sun still hung beneath these clouds, its light brushing against the upper rim of the chasm walls that overlooked the massive lake. I survived a night outside of Aldhagen, Wyand realized. Sadness crept into his mind as he considered that all the people in Aldhagen would never know the truth about the Venerates—that secret had fallen with him. Wyand was quickly reminded of his intense journey through Wracandyr by the dull ache that seemed to cover his entire body. He groaned as he tried to lift his head.

  “Check him,” a hushed voice said from just behind Wyand’s back. Before he could move any farther, Wyand felt several pairs of hands grab onto his clothing and in an instant he was suddenly rolled onto his stomach and held down. The beginning of a shout formed in his throat, but it was immediately stifled by a piece of cloth that was jammed into his mouth and securely tied in place around his head. Wyand struggled as his hands and feet were bound together tightly with heavy cords. He found quickly that he had little strength to devote to resistance, however, and his mind was too frayed to envision a means of escape. After a few helpless moments, he was rolled onto his back and secured against the slab of stone once more. Three unfamiliar faces stared down at Wyand, each holding a different portion of his body as it was hurriedly examined. He panicked when he felt the stone from the Cavern of the Winds being taken from his waist pocket, but was quickly relieved to feel its weight return. A short time later, one of his examiners looked away and nodded to someone outside of Wyand’s field of view.