by Swinn, J. D.
“Guys, doesn’t this seem ridiculous? As if no one has ever tried standing with it?” Her words were heavily annunciated.
“If everyone thought that way, then no one ever would have.” Talar had an amused tone in his voice; he loved a challenge. She sighed and stepped forward, not sure what to expect. The autumn breeze cooled the sweat on her palms, and she rubbed them lightly against the sides of her jeans. Her hair was tucked back into a bun, but a few escaping pieces were brushing against her cheeks.
The stares burning with anticipation made her a little uncomfortable, and she felt rather foolish to begin with. A deep breath cleared her head and slowed her heart as she stepped onto the raised platform on which the angel was perched. She watched its face, half expecting it to turn its eyes toward the intruder, but that was ridiculous, she thought. She ducked beneath the arm and half-flinched in expectance. To her relief and dismay, nothing seemed to happen. She looked at the others, who were still looking on just as intently.
“Nothing?” asked Seth with a disappointed tone.
“No, I think that-” she stopped short as she turned to look at the angel’s other hand. Through the small white ring, the scene seemed to change. She imagined by the others’ reaction that her face had gone slack and pale. It was as though the ring had been transformed into a telescope of sorts, though what she could see through it must have been far more distant that any man made telescope could have perceived.
The hall she saw was as lavish as any she had ever seen. Rich blue carpets adorned the marble floors, and thick pillars curved into arched ceilings. Adornments traced each curve and corner of the room, like veins carrying golden blood to an unseen heart. The walls were lined of portraits of men and women, likely long dead. Some portraits were of people seeming to walk away, but glancing over their shoulder. She then noticed that those walking away were lifting their right foot, as to step, revealing the Shask that was emblazoned there. The elegance and poise of each Markbearer was unlike any she had ever seen; admiration swelled inside of her at the sight of those she knew nothing about. It was then that her thoughts wandered to the Great Warlock. If he had any of the poise of his followers, which she imagined he did, it was easy to see why one would have devotion to him.
As the image burned itself into her mind, she became aware of a hand on her elbow. Mira was gently shaking her, trying to bring her attention back to this place. She blinked once and tore herself away from the beautiful and impossible sight. It took her a moment to realize the others were waiting for her to speak.
“I saw,” she paused, trying to determine what it was she had actually seen, “a place” she decided on simply. “It was beautiful and full of tapestries and portraits, some great gold and marble hall.” She was aware that she must be starry eyed, her longing to be a part of such a place would have shone in her face.
“Alantra,” said Max with a sort of dazed and amused look. His eyes were unfocused, as if recalling some memory from long ago. He was certainly the most knowledgeable of Markbearer history, likely a consequence of his time spent in association with the Vine. “The legend of the great hall. They say that the Great Warlock used to speak of it toward the end of his life, but most just thought that his mental health was deteriorating.” Wyd picked up where Max had trailed off.
“He was supposedly always speaking of some great place that no mortal could reach without his aid. They say he thought he possessed something that would allow one to travel there, a place of supposed beauty and wealth. Of course, no one ever found it.”
“You think what I just saw was Alantra? Well, don’t just stand there, come look!” With thoughts of faraway places dancing through her mind, she grew impatient to draw conclusions about the image within the ring. Max stepped forward and they exchanged places. The entire group held its breath as they waited for his verdict. His face remained in a pensive expression, examining every inch of the image before him.
“It looks just as the texts always described,” he breathed. “Shining white walls lined with gold, sapphire tapestries and carpets…” he trailed off, his thoughts appearing to Nameh to be swimming through his consciousness in such excitement.
“So the amulet is in Alantra?” questioned Cal. “That’s impossible, legend tells that there’s no way to get there without the Warlock.”
“Not true.” Seth’s voice cut through the conversation and was silent for a moment. They all turned their attention to him, though he looked as though he had little intention to continue. When he saw that all eyes were on him, he nearly laughed, and finished his thought; apparently, he hadn’t thought he would be taken so seriously. “It simply states that the Warlock possessed some sort of ‘key’ or method of getting there, that doesn’t mean that it died with him. Look at all the things he passed down through the years, there are thousands of possibilities.” Nameh began to think that Seth was the type to keep such profound thoughts to himself if unprovoked, and mentally noted that she would no longer allow him to. Her mind instantly clicked through all of the wonders she had learned from the Warlock, especially being a Listener.
Spells ticked through her brain, along with the symbols for each of the groups of Markbearers: Listeners, Seers, Sensers, Healers, and Whisperers. The book had now taught her what each of them were capable of. She already knew what Listeners and Sensers could do, but she now knew the others as well. Healers were able to transfer magic from one being to another, either themselves or some outside source in much greater quantities than a normal magic absorption. Seers were able to see fleeting glances of visions not their own. When focused, this could mean seeing through the eyes of another, or seeing into the past and future for a brief time. Whisperers had a talent that was not as exact as the others. Put in simple terms, they could project their thoughts and feelings onto others, either intentionally or unintentionally depending on their discipline. All these things the Warlock had given them, but which could possibly lead them to Alantra?
“Why not something simple, a spell that all warlocks would know?” Mira turned to Wyd at this statement, as if expecting him to magically produce the answer on command. He remained pensive for a moment before he spoke.
“This may be over simplifying it, but what about the Warlock’s transportation spell? We used it to get here, and to the Corner, quite frankly I use it often. It was one of the first spells taught to others by the Warlock, but it was not as common of a spell then. The only thing required for it is a clear picture of where one intends to go.”
“And that’s exactly what the Warlock gave us.” Talar’s words were soft and definitive, an end to Wyd’s thoughts.
“So, is that really the plan then? We’re going to try to make it to Alantra?” Nameh’s words held more excitement than she’d wanted them to, but she truly was in high anticipation. The Great Warlock’s hidden hall, now with the added prospect of it containing the most powerful artifact in the world-the Relic itself-was enticing.
“We can hardly just go running off to some random place, having no idea what’s going to be waiting for us there. Don’t you think we should do some planning, stocking up on supplies?” Mira’s voice was, as usual, the voice of reason, that clear toned pitch that always held necessary truths. Nameh felt a familiar feeling well in the pit of her stomach; it climbed up her chest and grew in her mind until she felt as though she may explode if she did not release the pressure building. A faint smile passed over her face, and her eyes shifted out of focus, glassy and distant. Memories were resurfacing which had been in deep recesses for too long. Some were painful: the night she left home those years ago, her first day at the Academy spent in total silence. Some were memories of release and contentment: her first battle, the day she and Mira had become friends. So much had come from the simple decision to become a Guardian, and it all came down to this moment. She felt as though her life to this point had been some distant symphony, the notes fading in and out of her range of hearing. It was only now that she could remember where accompaniments had threaded through,
though she had been deaf to them at the time. The music now swelled inside her, preparing for its greatest crescendo. This was her moment.
“Isn’t this why we all became Markbearers?” her voice sounded foreign to her own ears, for the first time, she recognized the even pitch it held against the melody sounding through the air. Couldn’t the others hear it? “Weren’t we all looking for something more, something to fight for, something beyond normal? We all had the chance to fit into the human world, assimilate and become utterly average, but we didn’t. How many times in history did people come so close to changing the world and stopped short; we’ll never know because they made their choice. I’ve made mine; I’m not going to be one more that missed their chance to change things.” Her words had held more fervor and passion that she had known was inside of her. She supposed that emotions could even be hidden from oneself sometimes. “If we don’t go, we’re all dead-or worse-anyway.”
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t go, but what’s going to happen if we don’t leave right now?” Mira’s question was meant to be rhetorical, but Nameh would not leave it unanswered, not when so much was riding on the shoulders of their next move.
“What’s going to happen is that the Guild is going to catch up with us. They have eyes and ears everywhere, physical and magical; I would be surprised if they didn’t already know we were here. If we don’t go now, they could reach the Relic first, and if that happens…” She trailed off, not wishing to consider the possibility, and judging by the faces of the others’, they knew all too well what the Guild could do. It had been the night before last that two of their comrades had fallen to the efforts of the Guild. She wondered if this was more death than Cal had ever known.
Nameh could only hear the soft sounds of animals scampering through the dried leaves scattered throughout the graveyard like some sort of morbid confetti. She looked up at the sky through the breaks in the golden and fire colored leaves, and wished she was lucky enough to be a bird, to be able to fly far above the ignorant struggles of man. Her focus was brought back to her friends when the silence was finally broken.
“Then let’s do it.” Seth’s words were simple and concise, and again he continued when attention fell on him. “There really isn’t much we can prepare for; we have no idea what we’re going to be up against, if anything. I think we’re misplacing our struggle as well, I think we’ll have a bigger problem holding onto the amulet than getting it. The Great Warlock didn’t create Alantra in order to keep Markbearers from getting the Relic, quite the opposite actually.” He was right, of course, he meant for Markbearers to be able to get to it if they so needed; Alantra was only for the inhibition of others. Certain subtleties such as this often made Nameh wonder if the Warlock had known how his followers would divide against each other.
“Alright, I don’t think there is much of a decision to make, then.” Cal still retained the light in his eyes that she so admired, though it seemed to have dimmed little. He was handling Gwen and Eve’s deaths better than she had thought he would. Clearly, it was not an easy event to deal with, but he was staying strong.
“Listen,” Nameh began, there was one more matter she had to get off her chest, and this may be her last opportunity, “this isn’t your fight. I know that you and Seth said you would come with us, but you can still go to Detroit. We don’t know how this is going to happen, or even that we’ll live to see how it does, and no one will blame you if you follow the rules of the Vine.”
“Hey, no one told us not to go after the Relic, remember?” Seth’s facetious voice broke the weighted conversation. He smiled, and the concern she had felt was brushed away. “So let’s get our axes ready and shove off!” He couldn’t possibly have known what his simple joke had done for her. As long as they had humor, none of it had to be real yet. They could go on pretending that there was someone behind them, someone who would back them up when they needed it, or even someone to mourn their deaths if they didn’t return.
“We’re coming; this is our fight now, as much as it is yours.” If only Cal could know how utterly untrue that was, how personal this battle had become so long ago. Nameh had enough talking, she wanted to leave, and she wanted to leave now. She pulled the black coat she wore closer around her body and fastened the buttons down the front. All the others did the same, catching her message that it was time to leave. They all wore dark colors, Nameh and Cal in black, Mira, Max, and Wyd in deep grays, Talar in brown, and Seth in a deep navy that contrasted brightly with his slightly lighter eyes.
Wyd stepped forward expectantly, ready to perform another transportation spell. Much to his surprise, Max put an arm out in front of him.
“Why don’t you let Nameh do it?” He flashed his ice blue eyes at her with his characteristic playful smirk. She returned his look count for count, though surprised. She hadn’t told any of the others that she was a Listener because she had no wish to convey the story of the Moon faerie war. “She is a Listener, after all.” Now he had done it, if there had been any question remaining, it was wiped clean, leaving only the truth. There was no reason to go on pretending, and the fact of the matter was that it truly wasn’t as consequential as she’d worked it up to be.
“You’re a Listener?” Talar questioned, though he did not often speak, he was apparently interested. In fact, they all seemed to be taking an interest.
“Yeah, but I’ve never done a transportation spell, I probably could, but it wouldn’t be as clean as Wyd’s.” She flawlessly deflected from the issue of her keeping this from the others with a question. “Seth, do you know what you are?” She knew his answer by the expression he gave.
“No, I haven’t figured it out yet. It’s not like I haven’t been in situations where I should have found out, but I still don’t know.” He didn’t seem too dismayed at this, more curious, though she couldn’t imagine that it was something he was pleased with.
“I don’t know yet either,” Mira interjected for Seth’s sake.
“But you’ve only just been marked.” he pointed out.
“That seems like ages ago, but it was only a few weeks.” It was true, so much had happened in that short period of time, that it felt as though years had passed instead of weeks. It made her wonder how long this Relic hunt could go on, if it was just beyond the Angel’s ring, or if there would be more to come. Nameh knew that she couldn’t live like this forever, a war was brewing. She remembered something her father had always said when she was back home, “A true fight is never won.” he would say. Part of her hoped that this wasn’t true, that maybe the seven of them could have a sort of normalcy when the Relic was turned over to the Vine. But as she had said to the others only moments ago, this was why she had become a Guardian, become a Markbearer, to have something worth fighting for. If the struggle continued, she would fight until the end, whatever that was.
The discussions ended, they silently formed a tight circle in anticipation of Wyd’s spell, which he was preparing. She took one final look at the autumn scene around her, and breathed in her favorite scent. The smell brought her back to Central Park a year earlier when she and Mira had run through the scattered leaves in pure and unscathed joy. She couldn’t remember feeling that peaceful since, when things had been so simple, and everything they learned was still a game. Now, things were turning real and changing faster than she could cope with. She stared at the lone evergreen tree before her and admired its steadfastness with a thin sense of pity. Though all the foliage around it was transforming and yielding to change, it stood firm. In the end, she thought, the evergreen would live when all was barren, thrive when all life was gone, and stand tall at the others’ shortcomings. But did the trees ever grow lonely? Did they ever tire of being the only left alive; was it truly worth it to be the only remaining if there was none to share it with? Perhaps we are simply crafted for change, life simply created for death, she thought. Perhaps being the strong evergreen wasn’t worth the loneliness. Perhaps most of the trees changed their colors so willingly beca
use it was natural and necessary for new growth. She quickly doused this feeling, crushed it beneath all that she held inside as she always did. Wyd’s muttering shook the senseless thoughts from her as the autumn colors swirled about her, maybe for the last time, she thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: THE BEGINNING
This time, Max was able to land on his feet as they spun into the hall. His ankles cracked beneath the force as his knees yielded expertly. He began drinking in the beauty of the sights immediately; his dreams had become realized in a single moment. Even before becoming a part of the Vine, he had heard stories of the legend of Alantra for years. He had been told it was the most perfect place a mortal may ever lay eyes on, and he could see now that these statements had not been exaggerations. Though the hall must have been thousands of years old, perhaps more, it showed not a single sign of wear or aging. The white of the walls was the purest he had ever seen, something too clean and perfect to be made by man. The gold lines tracing along the white glittered as though a light came from within them, not just reflecting off of the surface. It appeared as though the long room was lit with bright sunlight, though there were no windows or light sources in sight. The rich blues were more vivid in person than they had been through the ring’s image, deep and fathomless. One could get lost in wonder wandering the lengths of this hall, he thought, with its seemingly endless stretch.
The group walked for what felt like miles before they reached the great hall’s end. Each step was compelled by the prospect of new glories lying just ahead, and each step was rewarded with such. Tapestries and portraits lined nearly all parts of the walls now, depicting great battles and triumphs of times long forgotten. The fabled Mancer war of old stretched across a massive section of wall in an awe-inspiring display. The necromancers of the west and the aeromancers of the east had warred for long months, the westerners atop the backs of fierce dragons, and the easterners atop the swells of great tsunamis, with hurricanes at their backs. He could think of few struggles more worthy of a place in Alantra than the dragon riders and the weather callers. He heard Cal draw a quick breath just ahead of him, and fixed his eyes forward, letting them rest on what he had seen.
