Memorias: Deep in the Arnaks

by Serabian, Charles

  Iliana stood as if to address them. Simply standing forced Valor’s mouth shut, but instead of offering a rebuke, she turned and walked to the outer most wagon, drawing her silver blade and encasing it in blue ice once again. She began to check the surrounding area for any potential dangers.

  “What’s going on?” Valor asked.

  Armun pulled back his hair. “Nothing immediate. Calm yourself. The things I’m going to tell you are beyond secret. Though any day now, they could become common knowledge.”

  Valor looked around. “Who’s she looking for? There’s not a soul out here.”

  “Then she is looking for the soulless,” Armun said resolutely.

  Armun held up his hand, but Valor was done talking. “Finish eating. I need to find something in Iliana’s things here... go on, eat.”

  Armun reached into the depths of a pack that Iliana had carried on her back all day. He fumbled about for a minute, then pulled out a large book. He stood promptly, and grumbled in his throat, clearing it of sand and dry jerky, and tossed it directly in between Valor and Orrin.

  Valor snatched it just before it hit the ground. It had a meticulously carved, rusty gold latch that wound all the way around the binding. The front was illustrated similar to stain glassed windows that he’d seen feral looters carrying off of carts they had pillaged during raids. The colors were deep shades of reds, greens and blues. Upon touching it, he realized that part of the cover’s design was inlaid stained glass. “What is this?” he asked. “Looks expensive.”

  Armun turned his jerky stick and said, “A book. A children’s book.”

  “We are taking great secrets from children’s books?” Valor said.

  “That book is a very short history of the Old Land, far across the Great Sea. That book there came from the Old Land itself. The harmians called it Arevelk.” Armun opened the first page.

  Valor looked up from the cover. “You mean a land that no one has set foot on for thousands of years?” With the word thousands, he looked to Iliana, who had seemed to manage hearing them from so far away; her gaze spoke of uncaring nonchalance.

  Armun continued. “The book was given to me by a harmian of some renown, many years ago. He was a good friend, now past. He himself came from the Old Land. Do you know the story of the first people?”

  Valor bit into his last bit of meat, talking through a mouthful. “I know the basics. Some war happened in the Old Land. The harmians nearly killed each other. Ended up building a couple thousand boats and sailed their way over. The story of every race, from time to time.”

  Armun nodded. “So you have some general knowledge. But I must correct your knowledge of the events that transpired. The harmians did not fight one another. Well… they did, but it’s not simple as that. And you should take to calling it Arevelk.”

  Valor’s head tilted to the side, questioningly. “Alright… Arevelk… so, you got some proof that any of this is true? And by proof, I mean anything other than a child’s book that your friend told you was some ancient cipher for the truth.”

  “I have all the proof I need, especially after leaving Emberless.” Armun pulled out a few pieces of ober from a pocket within his cloak, and studied them. “Let me ask you boys... of all the magic in the world, or the ones you know about - what do you think could be the most destructive?”

  Valor answered without hesitation. “Probably whatever black craft made all the slaves under the Arnaks mindless. I’m assuming there’s some link between the ober and the white death. You called it noman’s spell, or something?”

  Armun folded his hands under his chin and asked, “Right. Exactly right. What you call the white death, you’ve heard me call memorias. Lobosa called it that right before he attempted to perform the same magic upon me. You can probably make the link as to what memorias translates to in world tongue.”

  “Memories,” Valor said instantly. Orrin signed the word [ memories. ]

  Valor felt stupid. It was so obvious. What else could the white death be made of? He thought about all the soulless faces of the thousands of slaves. He had always wondered why the noman’s spell had never affected him, Jerryl, and Orrin the same way it had the others. It wasn’t the spell alone. The ones who seemed to have no mind had truly had it stolen from them, right between their eyes.

  “Very good,” Armun said with a smile that quickly faded. “Memories. And the magical skill used in extracting those memories is called memorias. It’s beyond illegal, beyond dark. But it’s exceptionally powerful. It can be used for anything. It could light torches, mimic life, build bridges. But it’s the definition of evil. It twists anything and everything you desire into your slave, and if you master it, the possibilities are endless. And what’s worse, it has no cost upon the user. Most spells of such power have a reversal effect. But not this. It is a testament to the sick genius that designed it.”

  “How is it really used?” Valor asked.

  “I’ve never been sure,” Armun said, one hand balled into a fist. “Though some have tried. Your Warden knew, and attempted to use it on me.”

  Armun pointed back at the book sitting in Valor’s lap. “That book is mostly a picture book. I keep it more out of sentimental reasons than anything else. I know you question its authenticity, but no geomancer I’ve ever brought it too could prove my harmian friend wrong. It did indeed come from Arevelk. It is considered by most to be a tall tale. But soon, some might start to believe again. Smart folks think the other copies were purposefully hidden, but... so be it.”

  Valor opened the first page, revealing a picture of an ancient shore. Only then did he realize how large the book was. Orrin grabbed the left side of it, supporting the book’s backside, as well as the pages Valor had flipped open. The pages seemed as if they’d never been turned.

  Upon the picture’s shore lay a sparkling city, bathed in light. Ships floated in and out of its harbors. Strange things that looked like ships floated above the city, with no water to contain it. There were many of them, filling the skyline like birds flocking to a mile wide nest of unreachably high towers.

  “If nothing else it’s a well made book. What are those?” He turned the book around and pointed to the flying things.

  “Are those ships in the sky?” he asked.

  “No one knows,” said Armun, “We have found pieces of strange metals floating along the eastern shore on occasion.”

  Orrin signed to Valor. [ Yes, I remember it as well from one of the library books. ]

  Armun continued. “What you’re looking at is a picture of Arevelk. It had a real name, once. All we know is that it translated to old and then land. The people there were the harmians, said to be the first to walk this earth. Not quite our progenitors, but almost. It is peculiar most people will readily accept that idea, but - ”

  “Progenitors?” Valor asked.

  “Our creators.”

  “Oh.”

  Armun waved away a fly from his jerky strip. “Alright. I was saying - their culture was at the pinnacle of all things... art, systems of government, farming, you name it. Harma ruled them directly. Elves claim to be direct descendants, but it’s rather unfounded.”

  Valor thought of Abassan and Innith, drifting into the memories of their teachings, and Abassan’s body being dragged away.

  Orrin nudged his brother, [ You alright? ] He signed.

  Valor nodded.

  “In any event, Harma ruled the harmians. Despite the Goddess of Grace’s inability to create original names, they lived in peace for years.

  “Until Selex came.” Armun stopped speaking for a moment to take a long swig of water. Valor had a feeling the story was only about to get longer. He watched Armun take a drink of something from a different skin. Whatever it was, it seemed to burn going down.

  “Harma and her people fought a constant struggle against the dark entity known as Selex, or the Unnender. Her brother. The memorias I spoke of? That is what he created. His legacy… an abomination. His armies were limitless, and e
ven dead soldiers could supposedly fight again after he filled their corpses with memorias. Memories were pulled out, and a jumble of memorias was jammed back in. Just like stuffed animals.”

  Armun’s eyes grew cold. Valor could tell there was a history in the old man, deep as the story he told.

  “Naturally, his sister Harma did not take kindly to this. She saw how twisted her brother had become. As the story goes, she banded together with her own brothers and sisters, the lesser gods. Together, they managed a continued stalemate.”

  Armun rubbed his right temple hard, leaving red blotches upon his skin.

  “The war raged on for years, until both sides were ragged. Selex was running out of creatures and land to infect. He had, in effect, revealed his own weakness. Selex cannot create new life, only manipulate that which is already there. But Harma and her people were running out of everything else. The soil had become bereft of life, so much so that her people began to starve. So with one final push...” Valor turned the page, revealing a dead land, and on each opposing side a force to be reckoned with. One was clad in armor, swords and spears, the other was comprised of strange beasts, but mostly black, nondescript shapes, with frightening, jagged faces.

  “... Harma led her people into battle personally, against the advice of her kin, determined to end the struggle. Selex had never faced his sister’s power up front, and found himself overwhelmed by the purity of her spirit.”

  Valor turned another page, revealing a picture of the goddess Harma, bathed in light. The drawing had her facing away, though there were several distinguishable features that Valor noticed, such as her height, which was much greater than her fellow soldiers. She stood in a row with them, watching as Selex’s shadow fell to the ground, dying a slow and painful death from her raw power.

  “She defeated Selex, as much as any god can defeat another. She weakened him to nothing, and he faded, pouring into the earth east of Arevelk, damaging it so that it could never be farmed.”

  Armun turned the page again. This depiction was thankfully more serene than the previous. Harma stood far off in the distance. She appeared to be walking into the calmness of the ocean.

  “The damage to the land was more extensive than Harma initially believed. She feared that her attack upon Selex had caused this, and was nearly exiled by her brothers and sisters. Some defended her, though. But even if they had all agreed that she had done the right thing, her guilt ate at her. Though most people did not agree to what seemed like Harma’s self-destruction, she set herself upon a plan.

  “One day she awoke, and walked towards the sea, drawing a large crowd. She turned to them, and told them that she planned to sacrifice herself and use her power to create a new land for them. Many swam out to her, but they did more harm than good. The seas were harsh that morning, and many nearly drowned. According to the book, she cried out to her people. “Do not stop me, children,” is what she said. “For when one faces their truth, their heart becomes free.” Then, Harma used her powers to cast those caught in the tide to the shore. Her final word was that someday she’d send a message, a message that her people had a new home.”

  Valor watched Armun’s cold eyes turn glassy. He wondered if Armun believe the story. It would not be like a mage to follow Harma. From what he knew, they had their own version of events.

  To each their own, he supposed. He flipped another page, revealing a singular image, that of a solitary white goose.

  “Now I know you boys aren’t one for tall tales. So you’ll have to take this next part at my word. Years later, Harma’s people had continued to suffer from lack of food, fresh water, even clean air. There were many deaths from malnutrition and disease. But they were ever vigilant, ready for the promised sign. In the end, their faith was rewarded long after her council had broken and almost all life left their continent, save for the people. A flock of geese, like this one here, descended upon the people of Arevelk, flying in from the west. Within days, the entire country was attempting to cross the dangerous seas to find new land. An unknown number migrated across the Great Sea.”

  “How exactly did they manage to build enough ships for an entire country in mere days?” Valor asked.

  “They didn’t,” Armun said, wrapping his cloak tighter as a cold breeze passed through the camp. “They had been building ships for all those two thousand years. They had faith in their creator. Complete and absolute faith. Harmians are not like us. They do not question much. Their faith is absolute.”

  Another page, this one showing the massive harmian ships traveling through both air and sea, collapsed against the sandy shores of a strange new place.

  “Many died on the journey. The sea and the wind are treacherous. But the majority made it swiftly and safely, thanks to their ships. It was on the very spot on which they landed that they crafted a new city, made from the silver metals of their flying ships. The earth below them was strong, and they felt stronger for it, knowing that Harma had crafted it for them. At first they were wary of their new land. Strange creatures dominated it, and they even found some to be much like themselves. They found elves, and dwarves, Laranuans, even humans, which they took a special interest in.”

  The crinkling of paper and another page turn displayed a strange scene. A group of men and woman stood around a large table. One was short and stout, bearded, and extremely wide. “Dwarves?” Valor asked.

  “Yes,” Armun said. “Harmian’s met the many races that were birthed here. But compared to them, we were all barbarians. Even the Laranuans paled in comparison. Especially humans… we were terrible things. The tribes in those days were violent. Elves claim to be half harmian and half human. They certainly look it, but... who knows. For all I know, they could’ve given birth to the dragons.”

  “Dragons?” Valor asked excitedly.

  [ He say dragons? ] Orrin signed.

  “He said dragons.” Valor said.

  “Don’t get me started on dragons. Not tonight.” Valor let it go, noting that the melancholy attached to the way Armun said dragons seemed attached to prior experience.

  “The harmians befriended all races, even trolls. They created the Harmenor Pact, which for a short time, bound us all together. The original document still exists, though it’s meaningless now. When the harmians started to whither, everything broke down.”

  “Are they all dead?” Valor asked.

  “Truly, I don’t know. It’s been years since I last saw one.”

  Valor interjected again. “You said that Selex died. Or that he died as much as a god can.”

  Armun shook his skewer. “Yes, it’s complicated. I’ll put it like this; you could say that he was flattened. Stretched out, one might say. For instance, the same way one cannot see the wind. We can feel it sometimes when the wind howls, and we can breathe, so we know it is there. But sometime, sometime within the last few decades, when the time was right, he began to regather his strength, moving westward to conquer his old enemies. No one knows how, but he survived defeat. As he moved west, he found the capital of Harmenor to be deserted, and it had been for many years. He did, however, find evidence that they had travelled westward. And so, westward he went. I firmly believe he has settled in the northeast, in an ancient place called Spine.”

  “Of course,” Valor said sarcastically. “What would an evil wizard be without his tower?”

  He waited for Armun’s response, but there was none given. The old mage seemed to fall into a trance, becoming silent for a while. Valor was about to speak when Armun unexpectedly continued.

  “To follow the story to it’s finality, and where you come in... only when I was a young man did my people, the Urenai, discovered a strange presence looming in the northeast. The memorias,” Armun held up the ober, “this ober, and the memorias trapped inside of it, is my proof that something is desperately wrong. I was sent to retrieve Sir Jerryl Trought, and bring him back with me to help fight the coming battles. He was the leader of a group called the Orange and Black, secret knights and
protectors of Queen Lennith.”

  Valor looked at Orrin. The two of you are witnesses to these events.” Armun looked at Valor with a soft face. “I would be honored if you would accompany me on my way to Carnim Hale. Despite my skills, one can never have too much protection.”

  Orrin sat up closer to his brother. They shared a look. In that instance, they were both thinking about how many more white lies, half lies, or full lies Armun would feed them. Valor spoke, ignoring the question given to him. “So, you are the Grand Master of the Urenai? The world’s greatest battle mages?”

  The old man nodded. “I am. But no more on that tonight. Listen, boys; you are free. But Jerryl, whom I know as Sir Jerryl Trought, one of the greatest military minds in all of Harmenor, asked me to look after you. I can’t very well do that if you run away, can I?” Armun laughed nervously. “You’d be leaving me in a very awkward spot.

  “Again, you two are free. But if Selex comes to his true power, whatever life you think you can have will not last long. I can assure almost nothing if you follow me. But I can promise you more safety than you’ll ever have, more coin than you’ll ever need.”

  Valor felt tightness in his throat. It was difficult to believe all that he had just heard. He turned to his brother and signed. [ What do we do? ]

  Orrin looked surprised. [ You’re asking me instead of telling? Surprise! ]

  Valor signed, [ I’m serious. ]

  Orrin replied, [ I don’t know. We need more information. And the only way we can get that is to travel in peace. We can survive out here, but to do what? ]

  Valor stretched up towards the sky. His brain was tired and taxed from the constant stream of information flowing from Armun’s mouth and into his mind. But who were they to say he was wrong?

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Understand what?” Armun asked.

  “I don’t understand... a lot of things. I don’t understand how if Selex is here, in Harmenor, which according to you... there is a lot we don’t know. And you seem to want to ask us to help you, yet you don’t. You want us to believe you, but I can tell there’s a lot you’re withholding.”