Ashkii Dighin- The Hunt for the Hypnotist

by Adam Lynch

  Suddenly, the sky clapped the surface with lightning, everyone feeling the earth’s quake beneath their feet. After the flash, what appeared as a giant boulder was left in the area it had struck. Seconds after remaining idol, it moved, a serpent-like creature unfolding, extending out its fat long body.

  Presenting himself to the world of man, the divine dragon unveiled his massive jaws, spitting out his three-forked tongue, growling. His righteous blue eyes were penetrative, smoke huffing out of his four nostrils. Limbless and wingless, he had a crest of ram horns, a serrated spine going down his gold serpent body. Like the records had proclaimed, the god of the wind had carried up the dragon into the heavens, and then with lightning, he had struck him down upon his enemies. He was the wrath of the god of the sky—Ieronne, Watcher of the Summerian Council.

  Once in the display of all to fear, he sounded another ground-quaking roar. All who were near the sound stumbled off balance.

  Ashkii’s ears recovering from the ear-splitting sound, Rolf sprang on top of him suddenly and unexpectedly, pinning him to the ground. It was this that brought Ashkii’s attention suddenly towards the chain and stone on his neck again—the stone’s glow so illuminating it was as if it had contained life inside. “Spirit Gatherer!” He shouted, his teeth clenching, saliva dripping from his jaws. “How is it that you yet live, aye?”

  Pounce! With his shield, Socrates bashed Rolf on the head as hard as he could, knocking him off Ashkii. “Call me the coward,” said Socrates, bashing his chest with his fist, standing tall. “I’m not the one leaping from one man’s back to another.”

  Recovering, Rolf growled, furious. “Come on then!” he challenged, his arms spread out wide. “I’ll kill you all—you, the Spirit Gatherer, and your dragon!”

  At this, Rolf launched for Ieronne. However, the serpent—acting fast—opened his jaws and shut them with him inside. The werewolf as stubborn as ever caught his jaws, pushing them open. Ieronne jerked his head, shaking him out, but the werewolf held strong. Ashkii, taking the opportunity, strung his bow, aiming for the dragon’s neck—which was said to be a dragon’s weak spot if penetrable at all.

  “Halt, Spirit Hunter,” ordered Socrates, ramming Ashkii with his shield, suddenly terrified of him when he saw the weapon that he had carried. “The Spirit Bow… it cannot be. That was supposed to be nothing more than a myth...” Looking at the dragon and then at Ashkii again, his face had announced to the world that he knew what needed to be done next. “Ieronne must not fall. If the Spirit Gatherer dies, then so does the Spirit Bow.”

  This declared, Socrates thrust his spear at Ashkii. Ashkii dodged, caught it, then bashed on it the Spirit Bow, shattering a third of the spear. From this, Socrates marveled, terrified. Then overcome with rage, he pulled out his sword, slashing with such aggression Ashkii couldn’t counter.

  For a second, Ashkii pulled his glance towards the dragon, whom was still engaged with the cursed werewolf. Ieronne hadn’t finished off Rolf, which meant that the dragon must have known about his curse. It had seemed that the dragon was intelligent, purposely avoiding killing him, aiming only to subdue him. With such a distraction, Ashkii could get the shot he needed—but first he had to lose Socrates.

  “Fight me,” he challenged. “Serve up to your reputation.”

  But instead Ashkii ran for it, sprinting towards the steps that led to the castle’s second floor.

  “Sun-Shields, after him,” He shouted. “Kill the Spirit Gatherer.”

  Taking notice, all neighboring allies pursued him, launching their javelins at his back. Ashkii found fortune dodging many fatalities, but then one scraped his thigh, then another at his rib, slowing him down. Yet, he persisted up the steps, climbing up the ledge as soon as he could reach. A vigorous battle cry, the Sun-Shields pursued him, Ashkii running for his life along the second elevated flooring. The dragon now in his side view, he decided to attempt a running shot. Stringing his bow, he aimed for Ieronne’s neck, firing. A perfect release, yet Ieronne evaded it at the last second. Impossible. He missed. How did the dragon see it coming?

  More curiously—how did he know to dodge? Was he aware of the Spirit Bow’s existence? Did he know it could pierce his flesh? This was a serious problem. Without the element of surprise—or even a distraction to help aid him—how could he win?

  Suddenly, a javelin from Ashkii’s pursuers scabbed his leg, caught deep in his leggings. This staggered him down to his knees, the Sun-Shields drawing ever more closer to him. That, in addition to Ieronne’s full attention now on him, there was no place he could go. He watched as the serpent inhaled the flames traveling from his stomach to his throat like a volcano ready to burst.

  Desperate, Ashkii strung his bow, prepared to fire before Ieronne did, but it was too late. The flames of Hell burst out of Ieronne’s mouth, projecting right at him. Ashkii spread out his arms, welcoming the face of death—until suddenly, there was an obstruction. A large wing spread out in front of him, following a thunderous whistle. The inflamed wing not only obstructed the flames, but redirected them to all of Ashkii’s pursuers, incinerating them to ashes. Ashkii, astounded, fell on his back. Then, examining the creature, he saw that it was indeed Fiere the phoenix. The bird was fully engulfed in flames. But how? A phoenix had only done this at the very end of his life. Fiere was so young. How was this happening?

  With no time to adjust to the shock, Fiere clapped his wings, a wave of flames projecting so powerfully towards Ieronne that they’d not only staggered him, but engulfed that entire area of the castle in a blaze.

  “Now, Fiere, come to me!” shouted a familiar voice not far from where Ashkii sat. It was Kelanassa. Kelanassa?! What was she doing here?! “Let your spirit become reborn inside of me.” At this, Fiere did just that. Burning himself to ashes, the ashes then flocked to Kel like a black hole, swallowing the ashes into her mouth. It was the freakiest and most unexpected thing Ashkii had ever seen her do...

  Then suddenly, Kelanassa commenced yet another act of sorcery that Ashkii had never seen her do. From her body, she unleashed the spirit of the engulfed bird for Ieronne. The dragon, astounded and unprepared as anyone witnessing it was, fell captive to its capture. The spirit of the phoenix latched onto the dragon’s body, pinning him to the ground with all its might.

  “Now, Ashkii!” shouted Kelanassa as audibly as she could. “While he’s still, fire the Spirit Bow!”

  She’s right. Now was his chance. Acting first, thinking later, Ashkii strung his bow, aimed, then released for the dragon’s neck.

  Prophecy

  A perfect hit was made, wounding the dragon. He grunted with agonizing pain, but the spirit of Fiere kept him still.

  “Again!” Kel shouted.

  Ashkii did just that. He strung and released a second arrow, and then another—all projected for the neck. After every explosive hit, Ieronne grunted, blood spurting out of his neck. His volume gradually diminished, but Ashkii fired until his quiver was empty.

  Then he waited.

  Ieronne had endured twelve arrows. Was it enough? After the last arrow was shot, the dragon hadn’t moved—not even so much as sounding a grunt. A minute later, Ashkii watched as Ieronne’s body turned to stone.

  At this, Kel released Feire’s spirit, the phoenix turning back to ashes, falling on the stone of Ieronne like sprinkled rain.

  Was it over? How could he know? No man had ever slain a dragon before.

  Then, after the brief astonishment of the battlefield and all its surviving people, an army of White-Bloods leapt over, under, and into the castle from all sides. Sounding mighty battles cries, they poured in, taking the wounded Red-Bloods and Sun-Shields by surprise. The battle hadn’t lasted long before both armies were trapped and forced to surrender. It was all over before Ashkii could even process what had all happened.

  He glared at the woman he thought he knew as she approached him, her smile indicating that she was pleased by his surprise. “So,” she said seductively, her mood unusually grand. “How
does it feel to be the first dragon slayer in all of Season’s history?”

  “What was that back there?” He went straight to the point.

  “That was one step towards our future.”

  “I wasn’t aware you were a sorceress...”

  “If you are referring to what I did with the phoenix then that was not magic. It was a gift. There is no magic yet that can do what I just did.”

  “And what did you do exactly?”

  “I infused my body with the ashes of the phoenix, beckoning his mystical energy of regeneration to become one with my body. To keep the energy of Fiere’s ashes from rejecting my body and destroying it, I transmuted the energy into a weapon I projected out at the enemy. The mystical energy of Fiere’s ashes became my temporal spiritual puppet—which I used to hold Ieronne down. Once the dragon was dead, I had to thrust Fiere’s ashes from my body because my body—and no other body—can contain such powerful energy without the help of something to maintain it.”

  “If it’s not through magic that you are able to do this, then how?”

  “It is a gift that I alone possess and have learned.”

  “Like your immunity of illusions?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” She smiled provocatively, passing his boundaries—yet Ashkii kept his focus, still confused.

  “Why haven’t you ever told anyone about this?”

  Her face suddenly became intense, like she wanted to devour him. “No one needs to know about it but you.”

  “Don’t you think I should have known sooner?”

  She paused briefly, studying him, her hand placed on his cheek. “Drink the blood of the dragon from the Chalice of Prophecy, then you’ll know everything that you need to know.”

  Agreeing with her, they went to Ieronne on the ground floor. It was time to harvest the dragon’s blood and know the truth. Though the dragon had turned to stone, much blood had spilled from his neck to the ground, forming a large puddle. Ashkii merely had to scoop.

  Gazing at his surroundings on the way there he saw hundreds of Red-Bloods and Sun-Shields dead—mostly Sun-Shields. Many of them had burned from the blaze storm of the phoenix. All who were left alive were surrounded and brought to their knees by the dominating White-Bloods. “Treasonists,” Ashkii heard one of the captured Red-Bloods mutter in the background, spitting at his side. “You betray your people, your land, your king.”

  “Salem Valentine is not our king,” refuted a White-Blood.

  “He is the god of Seasons. Soon, all of Seasons will be brought to its knees and made to worship him. All who have stood with him will reign and grow in power, and together we will establish a new order of peace throughout the land. As for you treasonists, your blood will be sacrificed to the Red Moon for the honor and glory of our union. Hail the god of Seasons!”

  Then all neighboring Red-Bloods shouted simultaneously: Hail the god of Seasons.

  The White-Bloods, reaffirming control, beat the Red-Bloods back into submission, the Sun-Shields puzzled by their madness.

  Nearing the stoned dragon, Ashkii located Yce Glacis. He was joined by his finest men, encircling Socrates. The council member was on his knees, disarmed. It had seemed that he had survived all the chaos that had transpired, but when Ashkii looked, he could not find Rolf Valentine. He did not see any of the other council members either.

  But Ashkii was not ready to inquire of Yce Glacis just yet. So pulling out the Chalice of Prophecy, he scooped up the dragon’s blood. Then, holding it out, he reserved a mesmerizing glance before taking it to drink.

  “So this is it,” stated Kel, a look of excitement on her face as she marveled at it with him. “Are you ready?”

  He waited before answering. “Yes,” he said, reserving more time to enjoy the suspense.

  Then, grasping it firmly, he said aloud: Now, show me the Hypnotist. At this, he pulled it to his lips and drank.

  Instantly a wave of visions sprang at the forefront of his mind like a vivid dream. He saw a dark book with the number six on its cover. Then he saw a magical kingdom that was shielded by a barrier. Nothing could shatter the barrier—except the Spirit Bow. Entering inside, he saw a beautiful flying fox with eight tails. Then suddenly, he saw darkness—with nothing but a haunting whisper. All the answers you seek are inside, it had said. At this, the visions ended. Ashkii’s senses were immediately brought back to reality, a strong sense of intoxication deterring his rationalization. It took time before he noticed Kel’s hands waving in front of him.

  “Ashkii, do you hear me?” he finally heard her ask. “What did you see?”

  He reserved a moment to adjust. Then, facing her, a long pause was made before he opened his lips. “I—”

  “And there they are: the heroes of Winteria’s history!” proclaimed Yce so confidently that he stole the spotlight from Ashkii. “A miraculous performance. If only my wife had been here to see it.”

  “Yes, we couldn’t have done it without the Spirit Gatherer,” said Kel, scratching his back and casting a passionate glance at him.

  Yce smiled warmly, seemingly happy to see this. Then he clasped his hands together, getting to business. “Well, friends, I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  “What is it?” Ashkii asked, his mind refocused.

  “Rolf Valentine escaped before we could capture him. I regret to say that I am unable to deliver fully on the bargain we have made for the time being.”

  “It’s fine. We no longer have any reason to pursue him,” said Ashkii.

  “Oh, is that so? And why is that might I ask?”

  He faced Kel, the only individual familiar with his memory. “We have learned what we needed from him,” he answered.

  “I don’t understand, but very well, friend. To the good news then: We have captured Rolf’s forces and all seven of the council members around the castle. And with Ieronne’s defeat, the people of Summeria will surely opt into our demands, especially when they see that our demands benefit them as well. They are a democratic assembly—a newer form of rule that I personally admire—but surely they will see as easily as their elected leaders how important it is for them to form an alliance with us. With Summeria’s help and intimidation, we can then form an alliance with Autumnum. Their region having the smallest population in all of Seasons will not dare decline our offer. Dyami is a reasonable man—he will see the wisdom in this. We will gather the Spirit Hunters along with Summeria’s Sun-Shields, and then we’ll storm the castle together and dethrone Salem Valentine. I’m certain that the other regions will agree with me when I say that Salem Valentine and the Red-Bloods are the greatest threat to the land of Seasons—this is not just about the Winterian people. This war is making the Red-Bloods more powerful than ever before. The more they kill, the more blood they harvest to the Red Moon—and this makes them all stronger. Additionally, they have the sorcerers working on their behalf—experimenting, crafting, researching, and stealing power from exceptional individuals. We have to stop them now. If this escalates, their army will become invincible.”

  Hearing all of this made Ashkii curious as to why Yce made no mention of Springeria or their powerful queen, Chiharu Fantasia. She is the oldest and most powerful individual in all of Seasons. Half yousei and half kitsune, Chiharu possesses exceptional abilities that no other being can match. Furthermore, all the people of Springeria are either kitsune or yousei—making every one of them powerful users in the mystical arts. The region of Springeria is a powerful region, and one not to be ignored. So why is that Yce has neglected to mention them?

  However, the truth of Ashkii’s interest lied not with what Yce had said or hadn’t said, but the fact that the mystery of it had seemed connected to what the Chalice of Prophecy had revealed to him. The vision of the fox with the eight tails… that was indisputably Chiharu Fantasia.

  “And what of Chiharu Fantasia and all of Springeria?” he asked aloud, eagerly awaiting his answer.

  Yce chuckled, seemingly surprised. “Ah, that’s interesting you me
ntion them, friend. That’s an answer you’ll have to give me—and to all the rest of us in Seasons.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Springeria has been absent nearly this entire war—just after it began.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Their queen, Chiharu Fantasia, has set up a barrier around the entire region of Springeria. Nothing can get in, nothing can get out.”

  “A barrier?” He faced Kel immediately after asking this. “Did you know about this?” he asked her.

  “Haven’t I mentioned it?” she asked him.

  Suddenly, a light flashed in Ashkii’s mind that second. The kingdom with the barrier—that was another vision that had been revealed to him by the Chalice of Prophecy. Was he meant to go there? Was he meant to see the queen?

  “No one has any idea what goes on in there,” Yce continued. “The barrier was set up just after the Hypnotist had announced to all four regions of its existence. After that, Springeria has been completely inactive in this war as far as anyone knows. Some theorize that the Mystics (Springerians) are working with the Hypnotist in some way. Perhaps Chiharu Fantasia herself is the Hypnotist. Would it surprise you? It wouldn’t me. She is the most powerful magical user in all of Seasons. She is even more powerful than the Sisters of the Red Blood. Kitsune are known for their hypnosis ability and Chiharu is the best of the best.”

  “I’m aware of who Chiharu Fantasia is,” said Ashkii. “However, it doesn’t make sense for her to be the Hypnotist. She’s lived a long time and the Hypnotist’s activity has only begun recently.”

  “This could have been a long plan in the making, friend. But who can know? It’s not if the neighboring regions can sneak in spies to find out. For your mission, I feel it is in your best interest to go there and investigate. You might uncover something important. It’s not if the barrier can stop you. It’s impenetrable, but nothing is impenetrable to the Spirit Bow.”