by RM Wark
That must be me!
The man scooped the boy up into his arms and twirled him around, much to the boy’s delight. But as the man twirled, it became clear that Gentry was not witnessing his future reunion with his son. The man holding Luca was Blake, one of the village constables.
Ripples formed in the reflecting pool once more.
This time, images of Dennison’s crew flashed before him: Taylor’s tormented screams as fire consumed him; Barnaby’s lifeless eyes staring up from the water; Rex’s stiff body being devoured by coyotes; Clive choking on dirt; and Dennison lying motionless in a puddle of vomit.
Ripples formed in the reflecting pool once more.
These images were not as clear, and Gentry found himself squinting. Who is that? he wondered as he watched a broad-shouldered man pull back the string on his bow. The arrow let loose and hurled through the air at an alarming speed. It was then that Gentry recognized the intended target: Fallon.
“NO!” screamed Gentry, thrusting his hand into the frigid water in a desperate attempt to stop the arrow. The image immediately dissolved into ripples. And then everything turned to black.
*************
She was suspicious at the first sight of him. Lord Etan was smiling. He hardly ever smiled, not that she could recall anyway. Her thoughts immediately turned to the impending battle between East and West.
Perhaps something has happened. Perhaps the East has been victorious.
“Is everything all right?” she asked cautiously.
Lord Etan’s smile brightened even more. “It is sunny today. Would you like to see?”
“You … you are letting me out?”
“Aye.”
“For good?”
“That depends on you, and whether you cause any trouble or not.”
“I shall not cause any trouble. I promise,” she replied eagerly.
“Good. My father had a room prepared for you. You shall be free to roam the halls of the castle, but I am afraid you must remain in Cetahl.”
Lord Etan paused for a moment.
“A mighty battle is imminent. We must keep you safe,” he said in earnest.
“Aye. I understand.”
Lord Etan unlocked the cell door and offered Lady Delia his hand. She accepted it with a smile.
*************
When Gentry finally made his way back through the long tunnel to the chamber, Fallon noticed that his friend could not look them in the eyes. Fallon patted him on the shoulder in understanding. He, too, had been haunted by the images in the reflecting pools. And the voice in the dark….
The old man gave Gentry a moment to collect himself before he spoke. “There are some clothes and other provisions in these bags,” he said, pointing to bags lying against the tunnel wall.
How curious – I do not recall the old man bringing those along, thought Fallon.
“I also have some bread and cheese, but it shall not last long,” the old man continued, pointing to another sack. Then he held up a small pouch and placed it in Fallon’s hand. “And here are a few gold pieces for you to share – wherever your paths may lead.”
Fallon was taken aback by the unexpected generosity. “I do not know how to thank you.”
“I do not require your gratitude. Just find that which you seek,” replied the old man.
The old man’s eyes flickered silver for the briefest of moments as he lifted his hands into the air and touched his fingers to his thumbs.
Fallon turned around to find that two tunnels leading from the chamber were now illuminated in a pale light.
“The tunnel to the left shall take you west. The tunnel to the right shall take you east. Do not stray from the lighted path,” the old man warned.
Fallon turned back around to face the old man, only to find that he had disappeared once again. The odd sensation he felt whenever the old man was near was also gone.
*************
“Are you all right?” asked Fallon.
Gentry nodded his head but did not immediately speak. They began sifting through the various bags left behind by the old man.
“This one must be yours,” joked Fallon, holding up a coat that was much too large for him.
“Aye.” Gentry smiled and grabbed the coat.
They finished dividing up the food and gold. “Well, I suppose this is good-bye …,” Fallon said, his voice faltering. “I am going to miss you, my friend.”
“Hopefully you shall find your way back home one day,” Gentry replied.
The two men quickly embraced and stepped apart. “Tell my family that I love them,” Fallon said.
“I shall.”
With a final wave, Gentry turned down the illuminated tunnel that led west, towards Reed. Fallon watched his friend disappear and, with a sigh, began his journey down the illuminated tunnel leading east.
Hopefully towards the mountains with the pale green lake.
Fallon walked for miles, his thoughts consumed with the haunting images of the reflecting pool and the strange voice in the dark. He followed the illuminated path as it twisted and turned. He climbed over boulders. He leapt over chasms to which there were no discernible bottoms. More than once, he removed his shoes, rolled up his pants, and carefully stepped through shallow streams. The frigid water moved with purpose from its unknown origins to its secret destination somewhere deep within the mountain.
To the reflecting pool perhaps?
Fallon’s heart sank when he heard the echo of another babbling brook ahead. Though wider than the others, his hand confirmed it was just as shallow, and just as frigid. As he stood there debating whether to continue on or to rest his weary feet, his stomach began to grumble.
“Well, that settles it then,” he said aloud with a sigh.
He nibbled on a small piece of bread and hard cheese as he stretched his aching legs upon the worn blanket the old man had given him. The babbling brook soon lulled him into a deep sleep, and when he awoke, Fallon felt more refreshed than he had in quite some time.
He waded through the brook, climbed over more boulders, jumped over more chasms, and continued along the illuminated path. His sense of time had become distorted again; he could not tell if minutes, hours or days had passed since he parted ways with Gentry. He only knew his legs were aching, and that there was no end in sight to the lighted path.
Fallon began looking for a good place to rest when he noticed the path ahead seemed brighter. As he walked around a gentle bend, his eyes caught sight of a bright beam of light pouring in from a distant crevasse.
That must be the exit!
He hurried his pace, excited to be free from the confines of the mountain. But when he finally reached the crevasse, he paused. For the briefest of moments, Fallon was overcome by an intense desire to turn around and head back – back to his family and friends in Reed, back to the loving arms of Jezebel.
Not one to ignore his instincts, Fallon searched the darkness in vain for some sort of sign, but the outside light flooded his vision, and he could see nothing beyond the shadows.
He turned back towards the light on the other side of the crevasse and took a small step forward. His intense desire to turn around abated, and with each step Fallon’s desire to find the mountains with the pale green lake grew.
When he finally emerged on the other side of the Atlian Mountains, he was more determined than ever to complete his journey.
*************
Lord Etan’s words were not entirely accurate. Lady Delia was not free to roam the halls of the entire castle, but she was permitted to walk about a small northern wing that housed her sleeping quarters, a cozy sitting room, and a dining hall with a fireplace.
Her sleeping quarters had a terrace that overlooked a beautiful garden. She spent most of her free time there, taking in the sights and sounds. On occasion, Lord Etan would ask her to join him on a walk through that garden. She relished those times most of all – stopping to smell every flower, to breathe in the fresh air. Her request
to walk through the garden on her own had been denied.
“It is for your own protection,” Lord Etan insisted when she had complained. She was disappointed, but her mood picked up when he promised to join her for walks in the garden more often, weather permitting.
Despite the lack of freedom, Lady Delia was quite content. Perhaps even happy at times. Mostly, she was relieved to be free from the confines of the dungeon. She vowed never to return.
I must be on my best behavior and do as they ask.
They did not ask much. Twice a week, Lord Etan would request her presence in the cozy sitting room, and they would talk history and politics. He would tell her the latest news of the impending battle and ask her various questions about the West. “How many Western Wizards remain? Where are the strongholds? Who are your father’s trusted advisors?”
She answered his questions as carefully, and truthfully, as she dared. The fear of returning to the dungeons was always lurking in the back of her mind.
“I would guess we are a hundred and fifty strong,” she told him, though she suspected that estimate was on the high side. “And we are everywhere – in every major town and village, in every region.” She saw no reason to point out that the vast majority were centered in Laureline, Aberdeen, and Quintara. “My father trusts no one.”
That last statement was largely true. Many a wizard had said their piece at the Council of Wizards meetings that would take place every decade, but the only counsel her father ever conceded to was his own. And occasionally to that of the old blind woman in the forest.
Lord Etan would never let on as to whether he believed her or not. When he was through with his questions, the conversation would simply shift from the West to the East – or, more specifically, how the East had suffered at the hands of the West.
“We were here first,” he had said more than once. “The land in the West was ours. Your ancestors forced us to retreat beyond the Divisidero Mountains. We were deprived of our rich and fertile lands and, oftentimes, our lives.”
While she would ordinarily just listen and occasionally nod, there had been one time when she felt compelled to argue.
“Your ancestors may have been the first tribe of wizards to arrive from the Otherlands, but the West was never yours. The Order of the Ancients promised the land to us. We have it in writing.”
Lady Delia had tried to be delicate in her response, but she was not delicate enough.
“Forgery and lies! That is all the Western Wizards have!” he had shouted. “The seal was improper. You stole from us. And when we refused to depart our own land, you killed us.”
“I did not kill anyone,” she had responded quietly, her head lowered.
“No. Of course not,” Lord Etan said with a sigh, his voice deflated. “Forgive me, Princess Delia. I know you are not to blame for the actions of your ancestors, though I hope that one day you shall have an opportunity to make amends on their behalf.”
Lady Delia nodded as she considered his words. She had never heard the forgery argument before. She had always been told that the East simply refused to abide by the decree, not that they ever questioned its legitimacy.
It is too bad we cannot just return to the Otherlands and sort this out with the Order of the Ancients, she almost said out loud. But she did not. She knew the wizards could never return. To do so would mean certain death.
The lessons continued through the coming months. She told him what she knew of the West, what she assumed – hoped – was innocuous information, and he shared the East’s version of history throughout all their major battles. It was hard reconciling her own knowledge with what he was telling her, but she nodded just the same.
*************
He could see the Ruins of Aurora in the distance. Fallon remembered seeing illustrations of the ruins in one of Steward Isaiah’s old books, but the drawings did not do them justice.
Seven tall spires twisted into the air, towering above the village below. The tallest spire stood in the center of the others. It seemed to be the only spire still mostly intact, with a large orb placed at its top.
“What purpose do they serve?” Fallon recalled asking long ago.
“I do not know,” Steward Isaiah had replied.
“How old are they?”
“Old. It is said that the Seven Spires were already standing when the first of the wizards arrived.”
“How is that possible?” Fallon had asked, confused. “I thought the wizards were the first peoples of this land.”
The Steward shook his head. “No, my son. There were others before the wizards and likely others before them. But their stories have long since been lost to the passage of time.”
“That is a shame.”
“Indeed.”
*************
His aching legs forgotten, Fallon headed down the mountain in search of a road that would take him to Aurora. He hoped to reach the village before sunset.
Eventually, the small footpath he had been following crossed a larger dirt trail wide enough for three horses to ride abreast. A small stone obelisk, perhaps four feet high in total, marked the intersection. The faintest of markings were still somewhat visible upon each side of the weathered stone, but they were illegible. Fallon resisted the urge to trace the markings with his fingers, and set out upon the larger path.
As he walked, he encountered several remnants of the ancient civilization he supposed was responsible for constructing the Seven Spires. The stonework was largely obscured by trees and grass, but Fallon could still make out the occasional sets of stairs leading to raised foundations for buildings that had long ago been reduced to rubble.
Many stone archways had also survived through the countless centuries. The sight of the solitary structures standing in the middle of grassy fields filled Fallon with an unexplained sense of sadness. But when the path brought him within a stone’s throw of one of the spires, his sadness was replaced by awe.
Standing more than ten stories tall with a base no larger than ten feet across, the twisting structure rose in defiance of all known architectural principles of stability. Although withered grey by weather and time, the setting sun hinted at the pearl and gold facade that once adorned the monument.
*************
Years passed with surprising speed, and in that time the friendship between Lady Delia and Lord Etan grew, much to the displeasure of the Eastern Wizard’s wife, Lady Marta.
“She is mad, I tell you. Irrational. Unreasonable. She placed a knife at her throat and threatened to end her life if I ever saw you again.”
Lady Delia gasped. “Oh my! Is she all right?”
“For now. It was a simple spell to remove the knife from her clutch. But my son – he saw everything.”
They walked along the garden path.
“How awful for you and your son. Perhaps it would be best if you did not come to visit me.”
Lord Etan could see the worry in her eyes. “No, my Princess. My wife … she has always been like this. If I stopped seeing everyone she has become jealous of, I would be a very lonely wizard.”
Lady Delia frowned. “She was like this before you were married?” she mused.
“Aye. I tried to warn my father, but ….”
“But he would not listen,” said Lady Delia, finishing his thought.
“Her father is – was – very powerful,” Lord Etan explained. He looked out upon the horizon where vast storm clouds were gathering. “I do worry for our son, Lord Cephas.”
“Do you think she shall harm him?” asked Lady Delia, with a note of alarm.
Lord Etan shrugged. “I do not know. I took away her wand long ago, but I cannot remove everything she may possibly use to harm herself or someone else. So instead I have the guards watch closely over them.” And then he confessed something he had not yet fully admitted to himself. “Sometimes I worry the boy might be mad as well.”
“He is just a child, my lord,” replied Lady Delia. “You are a good father. He shall
be fine.” She gave him a small smile.
Lord Etan smiled briefly in return, but his expression became distant once again.
“I have other news, Princess.”
“Aye?”
“It has started. The war.”
“War?”
“Aye. The battle to end all battles.”
It was a phrase she had heard before, and her heart sunk. “I see.”
Both wizards fell silent as the rain began to fall.
*************
It was dusk by the time Fallon finally entered the Village of Aurora. He was surprised to see so many villagers still bustling about, haggling with street vendors. He was also struck by the odd juxtaposition of shabby wooden structures built in and around the ancient stone architecture, which – despite having fallen into ruins – still maintained an air of superior workmanship.
Fallon knew little of Aurora. It was primarily a trading village, with its central location in the Western Territories offering several advantages to the merchants who called Aurora home. The village was also home to a handful of rangers, brave men who had been taught through the centuries how to navigate the dangerous trails across the Atlian Mountains into the Laureline and Stratford Regions. Such rangers were invaluable to the merchants, and to men of lesser repute hoping to flee quickly.
Fallon turned his attention back to the street vendors. It would be dark soon, and he needed to find lodging. He approached the vendor standing closest to him. Large bowls of various spices were laid out before the bearded man: pepper, saffron, cinnamon, coriander, and nutmeg, among others.
“You shall not find finer spices anywhere,” the vendor said eagerly.
Fallon smiled. “I do not doubt it. Alas, I am in need of lodging, not spices. Is there an inn that you might recommend?”
Fallon’s question was overheard by several of the adjacent vendors, and he was quickly deluged by loud voices eager for him to call upon their preferred establishments. As they began to bicker amongst themselves, Fallon quietly thanked them and made his escape.
