Magic's Genesis- Reckoning

by Rosaire Bushey

  Seeing her eyes, Dravud’s voice was emotionless and dry. “Having embraced their fate, the people of Agubend are given certain liberties – among them, drink. But have you noticed yet what they lack?”

  It was Haustis who answered, her voice matching the dryness of Dravud. “There is no joy in their eyes. They seem haunted, as if they merely play parts in a charade. There is no love, no happiness, no life.”

  “Of course, there’s no life,” Alabast punched his way into the conversation like an unbroken horse. “They’re all dead.” Only then did the white guide seem to notice what was different about those who followed him, and he reached out to touch Lydria who drew back. Dravud put himself between the two.

  “Alabast, I believe our goal is near. Lead the way as you are commanded.”

  The white guide gave Lydria and the others a sharp look and made a mocking half bow toward Dravud. “I know my place, Dravud. Don’t forget yours.”

  The white guide balled his long fingers into a snow-white fist and turned down a road that eventually led to an alley where a short, fat man stood by a door that he opened with a bow toward both the guides.

  The doorman smiled at them all and winked at Haustis, chuckling slightly as he closed the door behind them. Inside they found a rug merchant. Piles and rolls of rugs lay in every available space leaving only a narrow path of stone floor that led without turn to another large man behind a counter.

  “This is Abulet. Abulet, these three are from Karjan.”

  “She seeks still her ring?” Abulet laughed and put down the hookah he had been smoking. When he climbed off his chair, Abulet was shorter even than Hokra and twice as wide. He had no discernable neck, and his ears and chin all coalesced into a puffy mass of skin encircling his nose. Even his mouth seemed to disappear into his face, his thin lips hiding teeth stained by an eternity of tea and weed. He was not an Eifen certainly, nor a Chag Ca’Grae. Lydria thought he might be from the desert kingdom of Dar’Ahlmon, but she had never seen anyone as misshapen as Abulet in her travels there.

  “Hello Dravud.” Abulet gave a half bow to the guide and shook the taller man’s hand with a sincerity that surprised Lydria. “Hello, my friend,” was all Dravud replied, returning the bow and placing his hand on his chest.

  Somehow the fat that seemed so encompassing on Abulet’s face, did not extend to his legs. While they were thick, his ankles and calves showed some definition and his feet, tucked neatly into sandals, were skeletal by comparison.

  The rugs in Abulet’s shop featured scenes the likes of which Lydria had never seen before. Mostly, the stark and lifeless landscapes of the Nethyn Plains. A few that she could see scattered around the room used the Placid Abyss as their feature, and a few more the stunning spires of Agubend, but all of them were colorless. All of them varying shades of grey that approached but did not quite find either black or white.

  “They are all a little bland, yes,” Abulet said, in the manner of someone who knew the faults of his wares. “But there is one you may find interesting. Putting his finger to his nose, he walked quickly past them and across a pile of rugs laid out on the floor to the right of his counter and chair. Against the back wall, dozens of rugs were positioned on rings hung from the ceiling. Moving these aside, Abulet revealed a plain pine door hidden by the heavy floor coverings and led them down a flight of wooden stairs. Lighting a small torch, he motioned for them to continue until they arrived in a room as large as the one upstairs, but one that was all but empty. Where the top floor was covered in rugs, the basement had only one rug laid out across the entire floor. The rug was enormous, but its size isn’t what captivated Lydria. When the torch was lit, the colors of the rug jumped up to greet them.

  Red, green, aquamarine, blue, amethyst, and diamond ran the length of the rug in equal spaces exactly like Karjan’s fire door. Moving closer Hokra reached down to the rug, his hand hovering a finger’s width above it before pulling away quickly and staring at Abulet.

  “These are not fibers. These are real gems.” Hokra leaned back down and ran his thick fingers over the amethyst, not quite touching the gem, and his collar pulsed once and glowed brightly for a moment.

  “This stone lives,” he said.

  Haustis looked at the rug from a distance standing between Abulet, Dravud, and Alabast. “Why have you brought us here, Alabast? You did not bring us to see a shop with no customers and rugs with no colors.”

  “You are quite right Eifen. I have brought you to Abulet’s shop to retrieve Karjan’s ring. It is here, in this room. Specifically, in this rug in front of you.”

  “Where?” Hokra was scanning the rug from a low angle but could see nothing that looked like a ring.

  “Who will attempt to retrieve the ring?” Alabast folded his hands in front of him and stood in front of Abulet who melted into the background before quietly retreating up the stairs.

  “Attempt? What trick is this, Alabast?” Lydria no longer thought Dravud would be helpful, having brought them to this point. If they could retrieve the ring, then he might once again guide them, but until that time, they were on their own.

  “Countless people have tried to free Karjan’s ring,” Alabast explained. His expression was emotionless, and he continued as if reciting a menu. “Kings and paupers, ladies and harlots, all have tried, and all have failed.”

  “What happened to those who failed?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps they passed on to True Death? Although if people thought there were a possibility of that happening, there would be a never-ending line outside Abulet’s shop. The truth, I fear, is probably more … unsavory.”

  Lydria started forward but was held by the strong grip of Hokra. “I will find your ring. Point me.”

  Hokra had used his royal tone, and Lydria suspected he had infused it with a little magic as well to keep the others from moving forward. He was trying to mimic the power that he had heard in Lydria’s voice and while it was a game attempt, it fell far short of the command her voice had exuded. But the Chag’s royal tone was in itself, powerful. It was a tone and voice he had used infrequently, and never to Lydria or her companions, and it told all who listened that there would be no argument, no discussion. The decision had been made.

  “Excellent,” Alabast said, rubbing his overly long fingers together. The white digits seemed almost boneless and as he moved them together Lydria thought they might get snarled together like thick strands of white hair. “You need only to walk the length of the rug but be sure to stay on one color only.”

  “What happens then?”

  “When you reach the end of the strand, you will have an opportunity to secure the ring.”

  Hokra looked at the planks of gem and placed his palm on each one in turn, his fingers curling toward his palm and back as if stroking a calm dog. Both his eyelids were wide, and his lips moved as if he were reciting something, but Lydria knew he was speaking to the stone. His collar did not glow, instead his natural talent with the rock as a Chag Ca’Grae flowed through his wide, thick fingers and he communed with each of the gems.

  For his part, Alabast watched with interest as the prince moved down the line, never returning to a plank once he had finished with it. “What is he doing, do you think?” the white guide said out loud but to no one in particular. Lydria did not want to give Karjan’s henchman any satisfaction but Haustis answered almost immediately.

  “He speaks to the stone. These gems are not of this place but from Eigrae, even I can see that, though I can see barely a portion of what Hokra can see.”

  Both guides stood still and seemed to lean forward, peering as if the extra inch or two might give them some additional clue as to what the Chag proposed.

  “The diamond has seen much sorrow and so I will not take that path,” Hokra said finally, looking to the stone and stroking it lovingly in farewell. The red, green, and blue all have had many suitors attracted to their bright colors, and the amethyst as well is known. But the aquamarine is generally shunned for i
t is not bright with color. But the stone is calming. In Safarngal, aquamarine is given to those who show courage, and it is often used as a talisman of protection. I believe this is the road I must choose.” With no further discussion, Hokra stepped lightly onto the gem rug and placed his feet squarely on the plank of aquamarine.

  As soon as both feet were on the gem, a wall of colored light surrounded the rug, but Hokra himself did not seem to be bothered by the brightness that caused the others to shield their eyes.

  “He has chosen and now he must return with the ring, or not at all.” Alabast was calm and reverent, his opinion of Hokra obviously improved by his decisiveness. “I have lost count of how many I have brought to this place. And while I hope your friend accomplishes this task, I must tell you it is unlikely.”

  “Hokra has many talents White Guide.” Lydria’s voice was short and her refusal to use his name seemed to have an effect on him. He remained quiet as Hokra walked slowly but steadily across the rug.

  13-Truna

  As he stepped onto the rug the air around him went dark, his friends and the guides lost to the gloom. Conjuring a miniscule light gave him more than enough to see by and he continued to follow the aquamarine path. What looked like a rug of some few yards now looked like a path of some miles, stretching out in front of him, curving around rocks and following still streams.

  Concentrating his energy, he summoned a white path that followed the gem road, and he began to jog lightly down the path, his feet landing true upon the aquamarine with every boot strike. And as soon as he felt he had come to the first curve, the gem trail ended, and he stood at the bottom of a granite cliff that he had not previously seen even a dozen paces away. The cliff face rose far above him, the wall flat and without purchase for his feet or hands.

  Hokra walked some distance along the rock face looking for something that might help him climb but he found nothing. The climb, he thought, was perhaps the test and the ring maybe waited at the top. It would make sense if all who made it this far failed. Without ropes or spikes or hammers, there would be no reaching the top for anyone but a Chag Ca’Grae.

  Reaching out to the hard, grey stone, he felt it was alive and ran his hands along the surface until he found a place many yards from where he had started.

  “You are lost here, are you not, old friend? You were torn from your home and made to live your life here, far from the wind and rain that shapes you.” Coming to an agreement with the stone, Hokra reached out and sunk his fingers deep into the granite, sighing as the stone clenched his thick fingers, each of them savoring the feel of something they had not felt in what seemed an eternity. Smiling, Hokra rubbed his cheek and bald head against the stone and began to climb.

  The ascent was joyful. As each of his fingers made their way into the stone, the granite released some of its own energy. The climber and the climbed worked together until the ground was far behind and wisps of cloud started to intrude. Just as he was thinking he could climb forever and be happy, his fingers found the top of the cliff. Climbing over the top, he spoke quietly to the granite and touched his nose to the surface in farewell, extinguishing the small globe of light that had accompanied him to the top.

  The view in front of him was as desolate as anything in the Nethyn Plains. Looking back to the cliff he saw nothing; the edge of the cliff may as well have been the edge of the world. Over its horizon there was nothing but blackness, like looking into a wall of Farn’Nethyn.

  When Hokra turned from where the cliff had been, he was surprised to see a small human girl standing in front of him, motioning with her hand that he should follow her. Having no other way to go and somehow confident she might lead him to the ring, he followed, catching up to her quickly and walking by her side.

  “Welcome. It has been many years?” She asked, seemingly unsure of how long it had been since someone had scaled the grey wall. “My name is Truna and it is my task to lead you from the wall.”

  “Where do you lead me, Truna? Do you take me to the ring I seek?”

  “Not directly. The ring you look for has been hidden from its owner for a very long time.”

  “Who has hidden it, and why would they do such a thing?”

  “As to the why, I cannot answer. As to the who, well that is simple. It was hidden by the white guide with many long fingers. He said he needed to trap a monster within his kingdom. The monster was hurting people, he said, and the ring was the key to its powers. Without the ring, he said she would never be able to hurt anyone again.”

  Hokra stared at the girl. She was excited to have someone to speak with and though a child, the Chag Ca’Grae did not need to bend far to look her in the eye. “And how did you come to be here?

  “I am not sure. I think perhaps I have always been here, or it is my job to be here”

  “Do you never receive visitors?”

  “You are a visitor, so not ‘never’ but not very often either. When they come here it takes people a very long time to climb the wall or find another way to me. Usually, I will talk to them as they try to make it to me. Rarely do they talk back.”

  “How can people get here without climbing the wall?” Hokra was convinced he hadn’t seen another way and wondered if he had missed something.

  “The wall you climbed is not the same for everyone. Sometimes it is just a matter of crossing a bridge – a very simple task, yet you should see how long it takes some people to get the nerve to do even that.”

  The young girl started to skip lightly and whistle, her thin hands twirling her pale linen dress around either side of her as she moved. She ran and skipped, but never moved far from him. Hokra could think of nothing other than the Chag children who played in the fields on the roof of Safarngal and he smiled inwardly at the simple honesty of Truna’s dance. “Truna.” He called to her and she stopped immediately, walking back to him and saying nothing, but her eyes were wide, waiting to see what he would say. “Close your eyes and think of the prettiest thing you can, and tell me what you see,” he told her.

  Truna’s face lit up and her smile seemed to shine more brightly than his magic globes of light. She squinted her eyes tight and pursed her lips, trying to think of something from a long-ago memory.

  “A flower. I see a flower.”

  “Open your eyes.” Her eyelids flew open almost at once and as her eyes adjusted to the blue glow that shone from Hokra’s collar, she saw in his massive hands a delicate orange bird of paradise, which he held out to her. Truna’s eyes never left the flower. She pulled the stem toward her chest before lowering her head, so her nose rested in the flower. “It is beautiful. Thank you.”

  Hokra sat on the barren ground next to her and watched as she marveled at the simple gift. After he was sure she was ready to speak again, he asked her to tell him about the monster residing in the white guide’s kingdom.

  Truna’s smile waned a bit and she turned to Hokra, her eyes, glowing with happiness moments before, fell and she looked concerned. “He said it was too terrible and foul a thing to tell me. He thinks I’m a child.” She sat down with a pout but never took her eyes from the flower.

  The young prince curled his lips up in a half smile thinking he might have told her the same thing were she to ask him such a question, and then he reached out his left arm and embraced the girl. “I am not sure what foul creature this is of which he speaks, but I have neither seen nor heard of it. But I am duty-bound to find the ring he has hidden. Do you know where I might find it?”

  The girl pulled herself from his shoulder, stood and stepped away, her head once again bent toward the bird of paradise she held in front of her. “I do not wish you to go to the ring. You are nice. If I send you to the ring, you will not return, and I will be alone here again. I want you to stay.” She said no more but turned and started to walk away. Hokra followed several paces behind.

  As they walked the horizon slowly changed, from a flat nothingness barely visible in the dimness to a rising blackness as if they approached another cli
ff. Hokra’s eyes, which could see far better in the darkness than a human, picked out faint flecks of white at the base of what he could now clearly see was a rock face, and as he looked to his side, he realized Truna was leading him into a valley, surrounded by walls on three sides that appeared seemingly out of nowhere as he walked, growing disproportionately with his arrival. The valley was similar to his home but as unlike it as he could imagine with no color, sun, or water, and the ground existing in an unnatural silence.

  “You aren’t going to leave me, are you?” Truna stopped while he took in his new surroundings and he saw her face darken slightly as if she blushed.

  “I must not keep my companions waiting; but perhaps after I have found the ring, you could come with me.” Hokra lowered himself again and was rewarded with an enormous smile.

  “There is a cave in that direction,” and she pointed with her left hand to where the white lay like a field of snowdrops. “Go get your silly ring, and then we can leave.” She turned away pouting slightly, and Hokra smiled at the back of her head, her blonde hair falling between her shoulder blades, and he turned in the direction she had pointed him.

  After no more than a dozen paces, he turned to look back and saw he must have walked further than he thought as the girl was no longer visible. Returning to his path, he took only a few steps more before sensing something was out of place and he moved his head slowly from left to right, the realization dawning that he stood in the middle of the snowdrop field with no recollection of having approached it. But there were no flowers on the ground. On every side of him lay the bleached bones of thousands of people and none of their bodies were complete where they lay. Bending to look at those closest to him, he could see marks on the ribs as if wild animals had gnawed at them while they still had meat. Skulls were huddled in small piles, but everywhere there were bones - except a narrow path leading straight to the mouth of a cave.