by Eston, S. C.
Vìr took a few steps, put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Then he made a few signs. The elder asked him to repeat them, which Vìr did. I kept looking at his hands and how thin they were.
“Vìr apologizes and says we have to move. Are you still willing to help?”
I looked at Vìr, knew this was to be the last moment we would have together. I wanted to hug him, a gesture I had never made before. But I hesitated and the moment passed.
“I am,” I said and noticed that the curved sword was hanging on his belt.
*
We schemed and planned until dusk, although many details were not shared with me. It was understandable but frustrating. The plan could work without me, but if I succeeded in my responsibilities, the chances of success would improve greatly.
During the afternoon, Naéd and I had a brief moment alone, when I learned that it had taken Vìr more than ten days to recuperate from the toxin I had unknowingly fed him. Ten days of misery, nightmares, and agonizing pain. It was pure luck that I didn’t ingest some of the same substance. In some ways, I also owed it to Eriéla, as she kept insisting on spending her days with me. We often ate at the knights’ barracks or with her family.
Vìr survived. But he was never to be the same.
The wicked toxin had burned the inside of his mouth, blackened his tongue. Then it had attacked his throat. Naéd said that Vìr made it through those days without complaining, with an unflinching determination and optimism. Yet, in the end, it was too much even for him.
When he realized he had lost his voice, even Vìr, a giant among us, had crumpled and wept.
*
Vìr was gone, gone after Maéva. He would try to free her. I knew I would not see him again. Our farewell had been painfully brief.
“Are you certain?” asked Naéd.
I nodded, keeping a tight grip on my bow. I was standing in the doorway and looking outside, where Vìr had disappeared in the woods.
I disliked Naéd greatly. I was grateful for the help he was providing, but I disliked his relationship with Vìr, the trust they had built. It was jealousy. I also hated who he was: a member of the League. I respected the Sy’Iss but feared it more. Over the course of my life, I had learned to ignore the scholars as we crossed paths on the roads of Ta’Énia. To me, the Sy’Iss was an entity without a face, never a face. It was easier that way.
I looked at Naéd, a short figure with a small frame, and knew he couldn’t possibly hurt me. Still, I feared him. And hated him.
“Why are you helping him?” I challenged.
True, I had betrayed Vìr and was now helping him. Yet I couldn’t fathom a scholar doing the same thing, someone who was part of the organization responsible for putting Vìr away, for poisoning him, for trying to kill him.
Naéd didn’t reply right away. The rain was lighter. It had been a dark day, with a sun that had not shown up, nullified by thick clouds.
“Once, a very long time ago,” he started, “there was a tragedy and many a life was lost in the shadows of Ul Darak. A select few were chosen and sent to investigate. They founded Ta’Énia and started to study the region. They learned what they could, while warning wanderers of the dangers of the Borders. It was an honourable endeavour. It lasted for many, many years, and tangible progress was made. The scholars were from the League of A’ra and they formed a bond with the likes of you, knights of the realm. Those who dedicated their life to help the A’ra became the protectors. I am one of the rare who still believes that such harmony can be achieved and that we should learn of Ul Darak and try to understand it, instead of trembling at its feet. It is that very fear that grew and eventually created the divide.”
Naéd paused. I kept looking away and knew I had to leave. I had stayed too long already. My absence would be difficult to explain.
“Maéva and Vìr also want the same,” added Naéd. “Theirs is an honourable quest and one that could help bring the League back to its former nobility.”
It was not the answer I had been looking for. I knew of the coming of the Sy’Iss, of the many lives lost and how the League had taken on a responsibility no one had dared accept until then. I knew of the knights and their dedication in facing the dangers of Ul Darak. I was myself dedicated to the cause. I would only realize later the clear distinction Naéd made between the A’ra and the Sy’Iss.
That day, I understood that Naéd was, in some indirect way, doing all this for Maéva and for Vìr. And I was doing the same. It sufficed.
“I’ll go now,” I said, uncertain what else to say.
“Vìr mentioned one last thing,” said Naéd, “to ask of you. It is a strange request, but he insisted you would know what he meant. He said to tell you only once he was gone, at the last possible moment.”
I waited, a foot already outside the door.
“He asked that you write a journal.”
7. Further Deceptions and Wiles
Afire 1, year 3001, Dàr is 60.
At first, depriving myself of food and drink seemed to have the desired effect. My body started to feel normal again, alive. Then a series of undesirable consequences surfaced.
I became extremely irritable, going as far as snapping at the knights guarding me and feeding me. My muscles started to grow weak, forcing me to write from my bed, lacking the energy to get up. My fingers swelled, making the handling of my quill difficult, which in turn resulted in illegible words. I threw away many pages. The fire stopped warming me as sickly chills became more and more common. My thoughts turned toward food and my need for it, and the facts of the past became blurry. The images in my head went rogue, scrambling here and there, changing constantly without my consent.
I had no choice but to start eating again.
But I am now in worse condition than I was previously. I have wasted many good days and am rushing to record the last events of this dark tale.
*
Afire 2, year 3001, Dàr is 60.
My son agreed to listen to me. He is my last hope. I will ask him, as I did Sia, to take the pages away, outside of Jarum. He will not be able to deny this last request, the last wish of a dying father. He has been supportive until now.
Faron, my son.
In two days, my burden will pass on to you.
I can feel the poison gaining again, becoming stronger and dragging me down. This will be my last entry. My story is almost spent.
*
Falling 8, year 2967, Dàr is 26.
It was a year later. The sun floated in the west. In front of me, the high mountains of Ul Darak rose and fell, a tapestry painted on the cerulean canvas that was the sky. So close and yet so far, so untouchable, so eternal. Frightening.
I was standing in the middle of the bridge of Saril, under one of its many arches. I had not yet found the courage to cross the suspended bridge. Just a few more minutes, I told myself, just a few more. I was looking east over the highlands and searching but knowing I would not see them, hoping I would not see them and that they were safe.
The escape had been successful.
Vìr and Maéva were gone.
The day after I saw Vìr for the last time, Maéva’s disappearance was discovered. The Sy’Iss dispatched knights, protectors and soldiers in pursuit, including myself. As instructed by Naéd and Vìr, I had created a false trail leading from Maéva’s house toward the north. So most of the search effort initially went toward the Darani Lowlands, away from Vìr and Maéva.
There are so many places one can hide in the vast expanse of the Yurita Highlands. Vìr had some tracking skills and knew how to cover their trail. He would not be surprised this time. With his talent complemented by Maéva’s knowledge of the flora and wildlife of the region, the pair would be impossible to find.
The Sy’Iss eventually asked me to help retrace the route we had followed the first time Vìr and Maéva had been apprehended. This time around, I took a few wrong turns, slowed the pursuit, but still brought the group to the camp. It was deserted and had not been
used since our previous visit. Of Vìr and Maéva, there was absolutely no trace.
We returned to Ta’Énia empty-handed. All were greatly disappointed, while I kept hidden a sense of relief. Patrols were reinstated, with twice as many protectors, in the hope of finding a hint of where the traitors had gone.
A year later, standing on the bridge of Saril, I still yearned to get but a glimpse of them. I missed Vìr deeply and secretly. When in Ta’Énia, I could put most of my feelings away and live unaffected for a while.
But not this day.
Alone, high above the valley floor, I grieved.
When the Sy’Iss realized the impossibility of its quest, it changed strategy. Rumours and dark tales circulated. At first, they attacked Vìr’s past. But then, the slurs included Maéva as well.
It started with tales of a dark-skinned warrior from Toria in the west, leading a rogue company of insatiable brutes, bloodthirsty, rampaging across the open country, evading the real war, taking cover behind it, traitors and deserters, pillaging one defenceless village after another. A tale of horror. Poor families ruined, innocents killed, no exception, women…children. Vìr portrayed as the leader of this ragtag band of killers.
Vìr was described as a savage, without morals, without honour, a man who abandoned the soldiers fighting to free his country. It was said that following the end of the war, he looked for a place to hide. At first, he found nowhere to go. But then his long search led him to an isolated place along the feared Ul Darak: Ta’Énia.
This is where the tale takes an even more horrendous turn. To find his way to Ta’Énia, Vìr had needed support, so stated the Sy’Iss. And he received that help from Maéva. All knew this. But it went further. Maéva had not been alone. Her family were accomplices.
The Sy’Iss wove the tale so seamlessly, so perfectly, feeding it bit by bit, that the populace, enthralled, became a raging mass after a few months. If not for fear of the Sy’Iss, they might have taken justice in their own hands and committed the unthinkable. I struggled to understand the magnitude of what was happening.
All knew, though, that something needed to be done and that was when the Sy’Iss, having gained the support of Ta’Énia and most of Jarum, stepped in to put an end to it all.
*
I grabbed hold of the column beside me with two hands, squeezed until my fingers hurt. Tears in my eyes. I hit my head against the rock, punishment, although I knew I could not have done anything to stop what happened.
The Sy’Iss had gathered all those closely or loosely related to Maéva. They were taken from Ta’Énia, easily, but also from Vi’Alana and Za’Ina, from Ta’Oros and Vi’Télia, all over Jarum. Each one was a link in the chain that had forged Vìr’s path through Jarum, all the way to Ta’Énia. They were all branded as traitors.
Twenty-four in all.
Maéva’s relatives, her uncles and aunts, her cousins, nieces, and nephews…and a few others, maybe distant cousins, probably unrelated innocents. Nobody really knew…or cared.
All twenty-four were put into the caves, some of them probably in the same cell as Vìr. No food. No visit. This time, no one to help them. No escape. It was almost a blessing to know that Maéva’s parents had gone several years before. But not so for the elder man whom I had met briefly on the day Vìr left.
Naéd. I learned he had been Maéva’s uncle…
Early one morning, as the sun appeared over Ul Darak, cries and screams echoed from the deep tunnels. All ignored them or pretended not to hear them. After a few days, the lamentations were, for the most part, gone.
An eerie silence fell over Ta’Énia. All knew something wrong had happened, but none dared talk about it.
And then, quite timely, two bodies were brought back to Ta’Énia. A large black man and a fragile young woman…Vìr and Maéva. They had been found close to Ul Darak at the foot of Mount Fara. When cornered, they had fought back, killing two knights. All remembered Vìr’s sword. It was put on display.
I made my way to the village’s center, where the bodies were burned. I needed to see Vìr one last time. I got close to the front by pushing and elbowing, immune to the screams, shouts and singing. The populace was happy, so very happy to celebrate and put behind them the disturbing tragedy that had happened in the caves. I got so close that I was able to get a glimpse of Vìr’s and Maéva’s faces, just before the fire consumed them completely. Both their heads had been bashed in and were covered in dried blood. Vìr and Maéva had been deemed unworthy of being cleaned and so would burn in their current state. They were unrecognizable.
What was recognizable was Vìr’s blade, lying at the foot of his roped and charred body.
And it wasn’t his.
There was absolutely no doubt in my mind. I had touched the blade, caressed it, looked at it all night before bringing it to the hidden stash.
This sword was a masquerade!
I started to scrutinize the bodies, without moving, not wanting to alert those around me. The flames were devouring them quickly, but not before I ascertained what the blade had just told me.
Like the weapon, the bodies were a decoy.
*
Even if it was a relief to know that Vìr and Maéva had escaped, the other victims had not. Naéd had not. Only in death was I able to stop doubting and hating him.
I crumpled on the bridge, sobbing.
*
Like the others, I was a prisoner of the Sy’Iss’s web. Even I, who’d had the privilege of being called friend by Vìr.
And so, following that day, I returned to Ta’Énia, to Eriéla and the baby growing in her womb. I returned to being a knight protector, a good one.
I chose to forget.
I chose the life expected of me.
Alone to the End
His eldest son shook his head. A single tear, maybe two, trickled down his cheek. He had the manuscript in his hand, held it with two fingers, as if it was cursed. In many ways, it was.
For a single moment, it seemed the son was about to take the journal with him, but the hope was false. With a flip of his hand, he threw the papers back toward the old man seated on the bed. They bounced and rested on the pillow.
Faron left without another word.
The old man didn’t move for many moments. His frail body trembled, maybe from age, maybe from pain.
Then he took the bow resting against the bed and lay back down, crawling slowly under the covers, keeping the weapon close, pulling the roll of parchment closer. As he deposited his head on the pillow, he closed his eyes.
The thin and aged body had nothing left. No tears and no strength and no will…
Epilogue
Many years later…
She scanned the surroundings, but she saw no other building. The small house was by itself, located on the outskirts of the village.
There wasn’t much left. Moss and grass covered the site. Yet it was easy to see that the home had been burned down. The soil held a significant amount of ash, jumbled with remnants of objects and furniture. This place was different from what they had discovered so far. The village had been abandoned. This was destruction.
She took a few steps, careful where she put her feet. She believed she was now standing in the middle of the ruins. There was unrest in the earth and the air. The disturbance caressed her skin and her thoughts. But she would not be able to see more. This was not her world and it didn’t trust her yet. Still, it was undeniable that something sinister had happened here.
In front of her were remnants of what could have once been a bed. She stepped forward, knelt down. There, just beside it, was something different. She parted the moss and discovered bones.
The poor soul had burned with the building, possibly still alive. The placement of the skeleton suggested the person had been crawling, maybe supplicating. She could almost feel the despair and the panic. She was certainly horrified herself.
She looked around and found more telling signs. One piece was from the door, another from a w
indow. Planks suggested both had been barred from the outside.
She continued to explore, moved pieces around, used a shovel to dig. Then she found letters carved in a plank, and shivers ran down her back.
Dàr.
The name had been laboriously etched in the surface with a blunt piece, maybe a dull knife.
She could not believe it.
They had found him.
*
There were only five of them left, five who had survived the crossing. They stood around, shaken by the story the ruins told. Their leader knelt beside her.
“What an awful end,” he murmured. Then he looked around and included everyone. “He was a friend of Vìr, and so he is a friend of ours. Let’s give him a proper burial.”
Solemnly, in complete silence, the group started preparing a pyre and amassing the bones. Hope had been fleeting during the crossing. The intention had been to find Dàr’s family and, through them, learn of the later years of his life.
Once the preparations were completed, the group gave a brief ceremony, during which they burned the bones.
*
The next morning, they were ready to leave. Nothing more was to be found here. Their leader had put Dàr’s ashes in a flask, to be dispersed in the winds over the chasm of Saril. Now that they had found the village, they would be able to orient themselves.
She came back to the small house, alone. Here she had for the first time felt a weak connection with this new realm. She wanted to try once more. She made her way to the centre of the ruins. There she knelt and closed her eyes. She reached out.
Only coldness and nothingness answered her call. She opened her eyes and looked toward the gigantic mountains in the east. The Eternal, they were known in Tyronia. Here, Vìr had said the peaks were called Ul Darak.
She yearned for her world, for its comforting and continual connection. This world deserved a chance, but it seemed the link would not happen today.
She stood and was about to rejoin the others when something caught her attention. It was a surprise they had not noticed it the previous day. She took a step and knelt down again. With a finger, she brushed aside the silver hair falling in front of her face.
