The Forsaken Call

by Jamie Murray

  Feeling oddly calm, he came to a strange conclusion, "Am I dead?"

  "Don't exaggerate, you're not dead."

  The voice came from above him at first. When he looked up, there was nothing there, but as soon as he faced forward again, there was someone standing in front of him. He was not simply someone, however; it was Walden.

  "Walden," Jameson said simply.

  "Jameson," Walden replied. He didn't look a day older and seemed healthier than he ever had when he was alive. That in and of itself was the problem: Walden was not alive.

  "Now I know I'm dead," Jameson said, and somehow that made him laugh.

  "Why are you laughing?" Walden questioned.

  "Uh…" Jameson said. "I don't know."

  "Well, you're not dead," Walden clarified.

  "Then how are you here?"

  "I'm not. Not really."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Jameson reached out to touch Walden's arm; it felt solid enough. "You're here."

  "Haven't you remembered anything yet, Jimmy? You don't recall anything familiar about this place? Look around, see if you recognize anything."

  "Recognize anything?" Jameson repeated. "There's nothing to recognize." Still, he looked around superficially, then even turned in a circle to humor the apparition. "The only reason I recognize it is because it's the only thing that's around me."

  "Think harder, Jameson," Walden said softly.

  He reached out and put his hand over Jameson's eyes. At first, Jameson felt a little nervous as he closed his eyes and felt Walden's fingertips on his forehead. He had never heard Walden call him by his real name before, so that had immediately alerted him to the approach of something strange, but it was even odder for Walden to reach out to him like that. Then again, Jameson quickly reasoned that the odd thing was that Walden was there in the first place.

  "You think too much," Walden said in the same quiet voice. "Just be."

  "Are you reading my thoughts?"

  "Just be."

  Just be? Jameson repeated Walden's advice in his head a few times, trying to eliminate concerns and fears from his mind. He knew he had a tendency to over think things so it wouldn't be easy to just let go of all that, especially considering his current situation.

  But, in reality, there was little else for him to do at this point in time. He cleared his mind. He thought of nothing. And, as the moments passed, he felt almost outside himself. At once, he really could remember the place he was standing in, beyond simply seeing it recently. It was familiar, somehow, but not in the way he had seen Johanna and Cyrus and found them familiar, recognizing them from his childhood. This place was familiar because he knew and understood it, as if he could predict what was coming next.

  He opened his eyes and Walden was lowering his hand and backing away from him. Jameson watched him as he stopped near the beginnings a solid object forming near him, taking shape into a massive pillar. The whiteness of his surroundings transformed into stone and vines and, as he looked over his shoulder and around him, he found he was in the place under Market City, and there were other people there.

  Baloric was standing near another pillar, and Louisa at another. Both of them looked younger and, as soon as he saw them, he knew he was inside of a memory, taken back to the last day he could remember before waking up as an adult. Only as he looked upon Baloric and Louisa as they appeared ten years ago did he realize how much a decade really had aged them; both were so youthful and untainted as they marveled at their own stone pillars.

  Jameson gazed at his hands to see they were his own. He was standing in the same place he had been standing when he had disappeared, but as far as he could tell, no one else noticed anything out of the ordinary. This was not an opportunity for him to go back and change what had happened in the past; he was merely witnessing what had already occurred.

  This fact became painfully obvious to him as he looked back at Walden and saw a figure standing behind him. His voice was caught in his throat, and he was unable to yell a warning to Walden that it was Quinn sneaking up on him to stab him. And, just as he remembered it, Quinn drove a sword right through Walden's chest.

  "What's wrong?" Louisa's voice sounded like a dream, distant and far away.

  A child's voice screamed, "Look out!" Jameson turned to see a young blond boy running towards Walden with a sword drawn. The boy was undoubtedly Cyrus as he left Princess Erestina's side to attempt a defense against something which had already occurred.

  "Devin sends his good wishes," Quinn said, and her voice sounded more twisted and far away than even Jameson imagined it could have.

  The anger at what she had done swelled up inside and finally, his voice came to him in the form of, "What have you done!" He was not asking a question, but making an accusation as he watched Walden drop down to his knees and slouch to the side.

  Jameson.

  The voice did not sound like the others; it was clear and distinct. There was no one on the altar who should have produced that voice and, as Cyrus and Quinn began to play at the idea of a swordfight, Jameson searched for the origin of the voice.

  You hear me?

  "I hear you," Jameson said quietly.

  Do you consider yourself the boy from the Prophecy? the voice asked.

  "I do," Jameson agreed. He had heard people tell him this countless times before so it came almost as second nature.

  There was silence from the voice, which made Jameson get antsy. His eyes fell back on young Cyrus who leaned up against the pillar for the Fighter and absorbed the light surrounding it.

  You were wrong.

  38. Time is Running Out

  Chapter 38

  The memory froze. Everything around him stood still, and Jameson could actually feel his heart skip a beat.

  Wrong?

  "What do you mean?" he asked, swallowing hard. "Who are you?"

  I am you.

  "I don't understand," Jameson said.

  The scenery around him began to fade, changing back into the bright white where he had first encountered Walden. Jameson wasn't sure if he would rather be in the memory under Market City or in the bright white room, but it didn't appear as though he had a choice.

  When his vision focused, there was a very old man wearing a simple green robe standing in front of him. His long hair and beard was silver and his eyes were milky blue, vacant and remote; this old man was blind.

  "You're me?" Jameson clarified. "From the future?"

  "No, my boy," the man said, the voice sounding far from as confident as the one Jameson had been listening to in the memory. "From the far past. I am as you were one thousand years ago."

  "One thousand years ago?" repeated Jameson. "I don't understand. What do you mean when you say I'm not the one from the Prophecy?"

  "One question at a time, boy, I am only one man," the man said, clearing his throat. "My name is Lorne, or as some know me, the Ancient One. Do you know me now?"

  "You're my ancestor," Jameson reasoned. "You're the one who created the Spirits one thousand years ago and balanced the nations. Right?"

  "Right," said the old man, nodding slightly.

  "What's happening? Why am I here? If I'm not the Prophesized One, who is?"

  "It's no offense, boy. You're simply too young to be the world's only hope. Truth be told, the future is not as predictable as one such as myself would hope. One thing happens after another, and soon your immortal Spirits don't turn out to be as immortal as you may have hoped. Then, so suddenly, there aren't any Spirits left at all."

  "That happened," Jameson said.

  "It did. Thankfully, I employed a safeguard, so to speak. The Prophesized One, my descendant, would emerge from the Forest and resurrect the Spirits."

  "It's not me."

  "No, not originally. Your father was intended to set the Prophecy in motion. Soldiers of Devin saw to it that it would be impossible for him to fulfill his duties."

  "Soldiers of Devin…the Gislan travelers…they killed my parents."<
br />
  "You see, Jameson, your father was the one who was supposed to fulfill the Prophecy, but he was killed. Thus, that responsibility was passed on to you. Upon your father's death, the responsibilities of those who were destined to resurrect the Spirits were also passed on to the next generation. Most members of this new generation are far too young to be expected to carry out their duties, including you, Jameson."

  Jameson could not find it within himself to reply. Suddenly, something even more peculiar happened, though he wasn't sure how it was managed, because he watched as he stepped out of himself. There was a version of himself standing right in front of him, except it was as he had been ten years ago, only fourteen years old, reaching out for the old blind man who called himself Lorne.

  "What can I do?" his young self asked the Ancient One.

  "Stay here and become the warrior your world needs to defeat the Forces. When you return to your world, you, your protectors and your future Resurrected Spirits will be of age in order to fulfill your destinies."

  Jameson watched helplessly as his young self faded out with the old man. In instants, he was alone, staring into the void of where the Ancient One used to stand. All that he had witnessed just then was part of his original memory; it had already happened. Ten years ago, he had willingly allowed Lorne to remove him from his world to train and age in order to become fit to destroy the Forces.

  His father had been murdered a year before Jameson met Louisa because he was part of the Prophecy, and apparently Devin did not know that the Prophecy would simply move down to the next available generation. If Jameson's father had not been killed, then he would be the Prophesized One and Luke's father would have been the Resurrected Rain Spirit, not Luke.

  Feeling absent and terrified, Jameson was ready to call out for further explanation, when he got a new feeling under his skin; the feeling that he was no longer alone. He spun around to see two men sitting at his feet, one of which was the Ancient Lorne, and the other was, surprisingly enough, Baloric. Both where sitting up straight, staring into an orb which sat innocently on a pedestal in front of them, as if nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

  "Oh, Jameson," Baloric said as he looked as though he just noticed Jameson was standing there.

  Jameson hesitated a moment and his eyes wandered to the Ancient Lorne who, despite his blindness, was gazing at the orb. "Is this another memory?" he asked cautiously.

  "No, this is happening right now," the Ancient One said in passing. "Have a seat."

  At first, Jameson wasn't sure he wanted to comply, but once he received an encouraging look from Baloric, he sat down across from him.

  "What's going on?" he asked.

  "You're always so full of questions, Jameson," the Ancient Lorne said, sounding amused.

  "Can you blame me?"

  "There! Another one."

  "Just tell me what's going on. Baloric?"

  Baloric paused a moment and then pointed at the orb. "Take a look," he offered.

  Jameson leaned in to see into the orb. He saw a picture of the room they were staying in back at the Angel's complex. Baloric was lying on the bed and, right next to him, Jameson saw himself, lying still and silent as well. The others were all standing around them, pacing, looking worried or doing other various nervous ticks to pass the time.

  "Before you ask, I assure you, you're not dead," the Ancient Lorne said.

  "Tell me what's going on," Jameson instructed. "What happened to you, Baloric?"

  "Lorne brought me here when Devin started the ritual," Baloric explained. "It was a necessary precaution to keep him from obtaining the Mystics."

  "I couldn't bring his whole being to this realm," Lorne explained. "Normally, it's a place reserved only for the likes of me and you, Jameson, as it was for the past ten years. I never expected you to come back."

  "I didn't come back," Jameson corrected. "I was looking for Baloric."

  "If Devin was successful in the ritual, he would have gotten my power and that would have been it for all the nations," Baloric said. "Lorne brought me here so that he wouldn't be able to do that. As I understood it, this was going to be a one way trip and there was going to be no way to get back."

  "But look at you!" Lorne explained. "You found a way here!"

  "With Joy Angel's help, no less," Baloric said with a frown. "I really never wanted to go back to that place."

  "Baloric, we need you back," Jameson said. "If you stay here for very much longer, your body back there is going to die and then you'll be gone."

  "I know that," Baloric said. "It's really quite…unexpected… that you were successful in your quest to get here."

  "Not even I could predict that kind of tenacity," the Ancient One commented.

  Jameson didn't know if he was supposed to feel flattered by what they were saying to him. "How do we get out of here then?" Jameson asked.

  "Hold up," the Ancient One said. "That's it? You're going to leave just like that? You don't have any unanswered questions?"

  Jameson paused and looked at his feet. "I suppose I do," he admitted. "But Baloric—"

  "I have time," Baloric said. "I'm not going to die just yet."

  Jameson hesitated. "I saw what happened," he said. "That day I disappeared ten years ago and came here. But I still can't remember any of the time I spent here."

  "And it's likely that memory will never return to you," Lorne said regrettably.

  "Why did I lose my memory in the first place?" Jameson said.

  "Transitioning between these two worlds can be a jarring experience," the Ancient One answered. "If not for Baloric's powers, I doubt you would have been able to recover as much memory as you did. It's really quite a clean destiny."

  "You keep saying destiny. Do you know what my destiny is? Do you know how this will all turn out?"

  "The world is as unpredictable as ever these days," the Ancient One said. "I see countless possibilities panning out. But regardless of which one I tell you, no doubt you have already imagined them yourself. Some days I see your journey as a success while other days, it is a less than optimistic outcome. It's really as up in the air as anyone else's destiny."

  "But my destiny has a plan," Jameson said.

  "Yours isn't the only one," Baloric pointed out.

  "The Resurrected Spirits," Jameson decided. "We have to find them. That is what the Prophecy asked us to do, isn't it?"

  "Apparently, my writing was too cryptic," the Ancient One said with a slight smile.

  "Louisa, Baloric and—" Jameson stumbled. "Walden. Why Walden? What happened? Why, when he touched the Fighter, did it reject him?"

  "Walden Sparrow," the Ancient Lorne said with a slight huff in his voice. "Yes. Would you believe this was your first question when you came to me ten years ago? It was his first question as well." He gestured his head to Baloric who nodded.

  "Well what is it?" Jameson said.

  Lorne sighed heavily. "Walden was not you Protector," he said simply.

  "What?" Jameson said, perhaps more forcefully than he had originally intended. "But—how can that be right? An armed horseman, his Protector. It couldn't just be a coincidence that Walden—"

  "We met another armed horseman that day under Market City," Baloric interrupted.

  "Another…" Jameson began and then trailed off. The answer was right in front of him, but he felt somehow averse to saying it out loud. "Cyrus. It was Cyrus all along. But…he was so young!"

  "All members of the Prophecy were too young to fulfill it," Baloric reminded him.

  "Because when my father died, the entire generation shifted…" Jameson concluded, hardly able to believe what he was saying. "I don't understand how this is possible. Then Walden died for nothing…?"

  "He did not die for nothing," the Ancient corrected. "Although he was not the Protector from the Prophecy, he served you and kept you safe on more than one occasion on your journey. You cannot begin the argument that the young child, though a great fighter now, would have been able
to protect you on your adventures."

  "Taking you guys inside the mines, and into Gislan, and then into Cyanyanka," Baloric said. "Even if Walden was not officially the Protector, he was your protector. He did a job Cyrus was not fit to do ten years ago."

  "He's fit to do it now," Jameson said distantly.

  "Exactly," the Ancient One said. "All members of the Prophecy and the Resurrected Spirits have grown into adults and warriors. Your job at this point is simply to find them and complete what was impossible to complete ten years ago."