The Monolith

by Stephen Roark

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  Rathborne smiled. “I wouldn’t be much of a Seeker if I didn’t know who was knocking at my own door, now would I?”

  “That’s not an answer,” I replied, forcing a smile as I shut the door behind me. There was a piece of strong stone jutting out from the hearth and I sat on it, welcoming the warmth of the flames, wishing they would somehow drive the chill from my bones. Of course they wouldn’t; it was a different kind of chill that hung over me.

  “What ails you, son?”

  “Rathborne,” I said slowly, my eyes on the rough stone of his floor. “Do you—do you know of the Bloodless?”

  Rathborne shifted slightly, tapped his fingers against the circular cane that housed the hidden blade.

  “I have heard mutterings,” he replied. “Dark things move in the shadows of the woods. But not much reaches me out here, I’m afraid.”

  “The plague. The one that…the one that took your son. Can you tell me about it?”

  It hurt me to ask him, and even though he didn’t show it, I knew it hurt him to hear it. Under normal circumstances I never would have asked such a thing, but I was desperate—anything that might help me understand what I needed to do to help my friends.

  “The Weeping Hills were once a quiet farm town,” he said slowly, his eyes searching aimlessly as he replayed the memories in his mind. “There were more houses then, more villagers. A man turned first, Henry was his name. Madness took him. He was no longer himself. Then the sickness. Then death. We thought it was over, but then others fell, and then more. We knew not how it spread, but it did. There was no way to stop it. We did what we could, but it was not enough. Those of us who survived were those of us who fled.”

  “Did they attack others?” I asked him. “The ones who were infected?”

  “Some of them.” Rathborne nodded. “Some just died. Others lost their eyes and went mad—”

  “Lost their eyes?” I snapped. “What do you mean by that?”

  Rathborne scowled and spat into the flames, causing them to pop and sizzle. “Blood eyes. Red with hate…”

  It’s the same thing…I realized. But it can’t be!

  A plague that infected NPCs could never be transferred to real players. Impossible. NPCs, even if true AIs, were nothing more than code, incredibly complicated code at work at all times. Players were…humans! Code couldn’t infect a human like that. Our brains didn’t work that way. But if what Rathborne was saying was true, the same plague that had swept through the Weeping Hills and destroyed them was now attacking players. I’d heard of diseases and infections in the real world that would mutate, become resistant to original forms of treatment that had once cured them. But that was real.

  “Rathborne. Do you know anything about a massive city?”

  Rathborne looked up at me. I saw something in his eye, but he waited for me to continue.

  “An unbelievable city with towering buildings and bridges between them…a place that looks like it was built by a crazy person—”

  “Yaharan,” he said, a grim tone in his voice that felt like I should be ready for a fight.

  “You know it?”

  “It certainly sounds like what you are describing,” he replied. “It was designed to be the capital city. Lee Corpicus, a famed architect, was commissioned by the Medica family. It was meant to be a shining achievement to the brilliance of man…”

  “So, what happened?” I asked.

  “As they began digging the foundations…they discovered something.”

  Again, I shuddered. “Something?”

  Rathborne shook his head in something close to fear. “I know not what, but they say Lee went down into the earth that day, and when he returned, he was no longer the same.” His words hung in the air. The only sound came from the crackling of the flames in the hearth. After a moment, he looked up at me.

  “Why do you ask me about Yaharan, Rand?”

  “I have to go there,” I told him. I saw a flicker of concern appear and disappear across his face.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know if I can explain,” I told him. But I tried anyway. “I’ve had—visions.”

  “Visions.”

  “Of a monolith,” I continued. “A black monolith that seems to suck up all the light from everything around it. It—calls to me. I believe it is in Yaharan.”

  I got to my feet, anticipating the end of my conversation with the old Seeker. I don’t know what I’d expected coming to him. Answers. Answers beyond the ones he’d be able to give me. I was looking for someone to solve my problems for me, and that was naïve. This world was set up against me from the get go, and that was before the madness, the Bloodless, the visions and the monolith.

  “If you believe you must go, then you must,” Rathborne said. He was right, but I could sense it pained him to say so. “But, Rand…Yaharan is dangerous, filled with powerful creatures and dark things that will give you no quarter. You have grown as a Seeker, but you still have much to learn before facing the mad city.”

  My angry outburst surprised even me. The pain that flared in my hand as I drove my knuckles into the stone of Rathborne’s wall managed to slightly quell the rage and confusion churning within me, but not enough.

  -2

  I shook my head, ashamed at my behavior in front of the old man. He saw something in me that I wasn’t even sure I saw myself, and I felt as though I’d just damaged his perception of me. But thankfully, when I looked back at him, I saw something different in his eyes.

  “Rand,” he said gently, gesturing to the hearthstone where I’d been sitting. “Please, sit. I must tell you something of great importance.”

  39

  To Seek the Awakening

  “I went to see her…like they said I should, but I never could have—I did not understand what I was getting myself into. Had I known, I fear I would not have had the strength to make the trek up the mountain and face the evils along the way. Now, madness stretches across my mind. Beware, beware the Fortune Teller!”

  —from the last ramblings of Carlyle the Red

  Nothing had changed inside Rathborne’s cottage, but at the same time, everything had. Something had shifted in his demeanor, but it was beyond me to explain it. The closest thing I could come up with was the feeling you get when a window has been left open and you are just beginning to feel a chill without realizing it. I felt as though I’d just stepped into a secret ceremony as I sat again on the warm slab of stone beside the fire—and waited.

  Rathborne’s eyes never faltered. They locked onto me with purpose and stayed there. I wanted to say something, but it was not my time to speak.

  So, I waited.

  “Rand,” he said finally. “I saw something in you when you first arrived at my home. You know that, don’t you?”

  My mind didn’t even allow me to think. I simply nodded. “Yes.”

  “The cape cloak you wear now is a direct result of that,” he explained. “But—but now I fear what I have seen in you, and I fear it because I believe I know what now lies ahead of you.”

  Again, I waited. What could I possibly say?

  “There exists an ancient tale in this land. A tale so old none of us seem to know its origins, but it speaks of a Seeker with a great destiny, a Seeker with a singular purpose that will not only change him, but the very world around him. A Seeker that will bring about the Awakening.”

  “The Awakening?” I asked, finally finding something to latch onto amidst the storm of confusion that rampaged around me. “What is that?”

  “The old stories are unclear.” Rathborne frowned. “But it is of great importance. All will be affected, never to be the same again. We have all been told to be on the lookout for this Seeker, and after hearing what you have told me this day—I believe I have found him.”

  A very unsettled feeling came over me as Rathborne spoke.

  Found him? He’s talking about me!

  I looked at my arms, and sure en
ough—goose bumps. It was like I was speaking to a prophet, a preacher, a man of unfathomable wisdom who had singled me out of everyone in the universe for some reason. An unseen beam of light had spotlighted me for some reason and I wanted to think my way out of the world immediately. But this was Rathborne. He deserved more than that, and although I was uncomfortable beyond explanation, I wanted to hear what he had to say.

  “Found him,” I said slowly, trying desperately to take some form of ownership over his words that had terrified me. He nodded, readjusting the stovepipe hat atop his head.

  “I cannot offer you more than that, Rand, and for that I am sorry,” he continued. “I cannot give you solace on your visions, but I believe you are correct. I believe this monolith may hold answers for you, but I am not the one to give them to you.”

  The way he said “the one” stood out to me. “Are you saying there is someone who can give me answers?”

  I’d yet to see it, but Rathborne hesitated before he answered. It wasn’t because he was thinking hard or trying to remember something; it was because he didn’t want to say what he said next.

  “Rathborne?”

  “The Fortune Teller,” he said, as though the words were a sickness on his tongue.

  “The Fortune Teller?”

  “Are you going to repeat back to me my every word, boy?” His fit of rage shocked me as he rose from his chair so quickly it knocked it over onto the floor. I felt like a kid again being shouted at by Principal Druthers. Rathborne recovered instantly after seeing the look on my face, but his explosive anger had been enough to give me a glimpse into the man that had been a fierce Seeker in his day. His hands, weathered but still strong, gripped the mantle of the hearth as he composed himself.

  “Forgive me. That was…wrong of me.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I’d come here for answers, but I felt as though I’d been thrown from a cliff into black waters in the dead of night, with not a single star in the sky to guide me. Rathborne seemed to be unraveling before my eyes, fighting against something that he knew and I did not understand.

  “Rathborne. Just tell me,” I told him, getting to my feet. “I can see it’s hard for you, but I can take it.”

  “That’s the thing, boy…I wonder if you can.”

  “Don’t say that to me,” I replied firmly. “I’m not a boy and I need to know what’s going on if I’m going to do something about…all of this.”

  Rathborne’s support for me had been unwavering, like a steel ladder forged into the sheer wall of an impassable cliff, but there was a real concern in his eyes now, as though what he said next would bring upon some kind of responsibility in him—a responsibility that terrified him.

  The old man looked at me with sad, tired eyes. A bitter crescendo swept through the cottage, unseen, announcing the importance of the man’s next words.

  “The Fortune Teller that resides at the base of Mount Jadanus. She—she will be the only one with answers for you.”

  “Should I be worried, Rathborne?” I asked, feeling comfort in the weight of my axe as I let it hang by my side.

  The old man’s lips pursed as he fought back emotion. “You should. But not for the reasons you might think.”

  “Is she high level?”

  “The Fortune Teller does not abide by the same laws of this world as the rest of us,” Rathborne replied. “She is a foundation of this world. An indestructible pillar that will never fall. Your fight will not be with her, but with yourself.”

  Rathborne’s right hand fidgeted, almost trembled, before joining his left as he held his cane, leaning on it like an old friend. For some reason, in that moment, I wished to see the blade concealed within the dark wood.

  “That sounds like a riddle,” I said finally. “I’ve never liked riddles.”

  “If only it were just that,” Rathborne tapped his cane against the hard stone beneath us. “You must keep your wits about you, son.”

  “Can’t you tell me anything more?”

  Rathborne shook his head. “I cannot. It is simply the way of things.”

  I didn’t understand, but there was no point in arguing—I could see that. Instead, I waited, hoping he would add say something more, give me something to go out, but he did not. Every second that ticked away was a second wasted.

  “Okay, old man,” I said, breaking the silence. “You take care of yourself while I’m gone.”

  Rathborne’s eyes met mine. “Take the road beyond the Swollen Cemetery. North of Ebonmire, past the Ruins of Londorin. There you will find the Mountain and the Fortune Teller,” he paused and took a breath. “I will see you again.”

  He extended his hand, and I took it. His shake was firm, almost painful, and I felt the same way I’d felt when I said goodbye to Rey, knowing we’d still be in touch, but that our friendship would never be the same again.

  Don’t let this be like that.

  When he released my hand, I turned away and swiftly left the cottage.

  The rays of morning light trying to force their way through the ever present cloud cover angered me for some reason. Maybe it was a metaphor I didn’t completely understand, but I almost wished for the return of the rain as I made my way back to the Weeping Hills.

  Altarus and Fujiko weren’t coming with me. They couldn’t. Whatever this insane quest I was on was, I couldn’t let it affect anyone else. First Rey, now Jacob. It wasn’t their responsibility to bear the perverse cross that had been thrust upon my shoulders when the visions started. I hoped when I arrived at town that they’d be gone, back to the cemetery or Ebonmire on their own adventures, but after nodding to Alastor and stepping back into the center of town, I saw them both waiting right where I’d left them.

  “Look who’s back,” Fujiko said irritably, rubbing her elbow against Alastor’s side. She was annoyed, and rightly so.

  “Where did you go?” he asked me simply.

  “To talk to an old friend,” I replied, just as simply. “But now I have to go.”

  “Have to go where?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I told him. “But I’m going alone.”

  “Bullshit you are!” Fujiko stepped up to me in a way that made me think she was going to hit me. She didn’t, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t. “You know what it took for us to hunt you down and find you? Bring you to our lab? You’re only here now because of us, and if you think you’re going to head off on your own, on some cliché solo mission because it’s better for us, you’re sadly mistaken!”

  Despite my mood, it was impossible not to smile. I glanced beyond her at Altarus, who simply shrugged as if to say, “You should listen to her.” In her eyes, I saw she was just begging for me to disagree with her so she could straighten me out, but she was right. I wouldn’t even be back in game if it wasn’t for them, and if they wanted to come along with me, that was their choice, not mine.

  “Fine. But if you slow me down, don’t expect me to wait up for you.” It was a bit of a spiteful jab, but also a bit of a joke, but also a bit of the truth. I heard her huff and almost puff as I brushed past her, but she followed—they both did.

  40

  The Town of Ebonmire

  “Ebonmire is the strongest of all! Do not even speak to me of the Weeping Hills. Huh! Merely the sight of that miserable little cluster of shacks is enough to make me weep! Maybe that’s where the town got its name!”

  —Calvin the Drunk of Ebonmire

  We retraced our route back up to the Swollen Cemetery, but kept straight this time, crossing over Victoria’s bridge as we continued on toward Ebonmire. I wondered if she still sat beneath the stone arc, waiting for someone to bring her more Old Bones for her strange soup.

  Of course she is. What else would she be doing?

  The orange sun still fought for its position in the sky, but instead of thin, laser-like shafts of light penetrating the canopy of the forest like anyone would expect, the world simply began to glow as though an underpainting of burnt autumn leaves
had been applied beneath everything. It was oddly unsettling, as the light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, despite the obvious pin of light occasionally visible through the leaves that indicated the position of the sun.

  We passed a group of three Seekers grinding in the graveyard who glanced anxiously in our direction. I waved casually to let them know we weren’t about to ambush and loot them, like the group that had attacked us earlier, but they kept their eyes on us until we passed.

  Smart, I thought.

  “Won’t be long now,” Altarus said as the tight trail began to widen, allowing us to walk abreast of one another instead of in a cramped single file line. A fallen carriage lay at the base of a tall tree, covered with grey vines that seemed intent on devouring it piece by piece. One of the wheels lay like a discarded limb against a patch of swollen lichen.

  “Rand,” Fujiko whispered, pointing to my left through the trees. “See Old Charlie there?”

  “Old Charlie?” I followed her finger and saw a horse, as pale as the moon and so thin I could count each one of its ribs, standing motionless, its eyes completely black and unfocused. If not for the slight steam that arose from its nostrils it could have passed for dead, stuffed, preserved and left there by some demented taxidermist just looking to scare those passing by.

  “We encountered him on our way down to the Hills,” Altarus explained. “He seems to like this place.”

  “Looks dead,” I remarked.

  Fujiko snorted. “You think?”

  Old Charlie’s eyes lacked life, lacked motion, but I couldn’t help but feel as though he was watching us as we continued on.

  Finally, the woods began to open up, and like a river delta, the trail widened and spilled down a gradual slope that led to a cluster of villages surrounded by crumbling fences and hastily made scarecrows.