by Marc Mulero
“Alright.” Eres swung around and pulled three grapes from his pocket, each of which reflected a different hue from the rushing waters. He held one up and inspected it. “This has ridges on it. Same as yesterday, and I’m still alive, right?”
Ting. It hummed every time Eres hit it gently against a pointed rock. Ting. Ting. And at the first sign of liquid, he brought it quickly to his mouth. It may not have looked like much, but it was dense, filling, like he’d already eaten half a meal. But maybe he’d just been adapting to eating less, who knew?
Next, he grasped a crystal with a deep blue smooth outer shell. This one was bigger than the other two. “I remember you.” He smiled angrily, and then whipped it into the waterfall. “No thanks.” His stomach had hurt for two days after that one.
The third one was a risk – red and succulent-looking under its casing. Very tempting, but also new, uncharted. It could’ve been straight poison for all he knew… or maybe contained the nourishment of an entire meal. He looked to his bag – the rations that Ramillion had given him were still mostly there. “Don’t do it. Last resort. Reserves. Don’t eat those bars until you’re starving.”
And with that, he took a deep breath, cracked the red grape in one shot and sucked down the liquid.
“Gross… tastes like dung.”
Days of this turned into weeks. Eres was losing weight – he could see his ribs every time he bathed and his skin had less of a glow than it normally did, as if the light of life inside of him was dimming. Or maybe, hopefully, it was all in his head. Maybe the malnourishment created a dark mental cloud that made conditions appear worse than they actually were.
Either way, everything was becoming unsettling.
The only thing he knew for certain at this moment was that cupping his hands in a rushing river was satisfyingly refreshing. And he did eventually find a use for that red grape – he realized the liquid was pretty overpowering – good for killing odor. Small victories. But truly, the whole purpose of not advancing from this cave was to learn in peace, without the arm blades of a Drigus slicing at him, or whatever other ungodly enchantment that was set to kill him. And also, to heal.
One look at his burnt arm confirmed there was no infection, just some scarring and discoloration. Good, he thought. He was recovering at least.
But outside of that, his overall physical condition was worsening. Where not so long ago he was a specimen of lean muscle, now he was stringier, starving for some sort of protein – so much so that as he traveled into the depths of the cave, he could’ve sworn he saw a school of fish slithering about in calm waters. He got excited, pulling this makeshift crystal rod that he’d fastened together and tried to spear one. Poke… poke. Poke. But nothing was there. He caught nothing. Just plants. All the while the food that Ram had given him looked more and more like the fine dining meals served in the Colliding Spheres.
What’s worse… he was still terrified of retreating into his esper for fear that Seren Night was following him in the Eternal, lurking like a vulture waiting for a carcass. Was it all in his head? Did the paranoia of Clas Modon – the author of The Third Scar - seep into him?
“No,” he finally told himself, throwing his crystal stick to the floor and plopping on his behind. “Maybe the others inherited their espers before Skrol training, like I did. Maybe they’ve been here before, they could know the way forward. If Seren follows me, then so be it. He can’t kill me in Rudo if he gets me in Gushda, can he? But perhaps he can trap me there somehow.”
He shook his head. “Being alone in these caves is driving me crazy. Time to go.”
And with that, Eres lay flat on his back and dove inward, finger aglow.
The tunnel into Gushda was less inviting this time around. The journey felt longer, more judgmental. And when he arrived as his ethereal self, the whole plane suddenly appeared overwhelmingly vast. Where once everything was mystical and warm, it now felt haunted. The battles past playing overhead seemed less historical and more violent. A parent scolding a daughter seemed abusive instead of an instance of ‘tough love.’
Did he bring his demons with him?
“A big distracting wall of memories. Bright lights to decorate my home.” Eres echoed the words of the author. He scoffed. “My fata would never do that. I’ve traveled far and was taught much. Gushda isn’t bad… it’s how you perceive it. How I perceive it.”
The space gradually shed a few shades of darkness, as if it were evolving based on Eres’ thoughts.
“Does my perception change?” He sighed, feeling crazier by the second, yet still building the resolve to draw his own conclusions. “Stop it, Eres. Stop asking questions. Determinations, that is what you must make.
“My perception of Gushda evolves and devolves along with me. I’m conscious of it. I see it now, in front of me. Now I must ponder – if I see it differently just based on my hunger, my disdain in Rudo, then what does a murderer see? What does Seren see?
“That’s why he ‘needed’ the light, the Ostara esper,” Eres decided, “because he is rotten to the core. Yet he didn’t kill me when he had the chance... maybe he was luring me. Maybe I have to lead him to something in Gushda first, before he steals my esper.
“Determinations,” he repeated. “Why am I here? Because I need to understand how to progress in my Skrol training before I starve to death. I need to understand the ways of espers, Gushda, Skrols, by way of these new books. That is my purpose today.”
And so, he dove horizontally as if he’d just rewritten the laws of gravity.
“Hmm… there should be no visions of the Northern Grottos here. Maybe Fata has some Skrol training in his memories… who at this point in their Skrol training would have learned to extract their memories into Gushda? Probably none.”
The space grew darker once more – less hopeful.
He floated into a memory of a dust storm, feeling his ethereal form whipping about like a loose shirt in the wind, then flew past – the memory trying to cling on, but it eventually was left behind him.
“So much noise in this place. If I’m not going to find direct answers in relation to this cave… perhaps I should search for answers to Skrol origins since I’m already here. The princess of the Five Hearts would be a good place to start. I definitely am a descendent of the Amrite esper. It’s true. Which means she must’ve hung some lights too.
“But according to the play, she left the Founder before absorbing his teachings. Well, there’s proof all around me that someone, somewhere along the way figured it out. The princess spent the most time in here - she was addicted - this was her vice. It’s actually possible, maybe even likely that she progressed further than any of the others.”
This thought reminded Eres of his ooma, how she struggled too. The death of his mother must have broken her in ways that he would never understand. To have a daughter perish in direct contrast to what was considered normal within the arrow of time – where Lorfa should have passed before Miyannas – it would be a good excuse to become consumed by an escape. In this case, an esper.
His constantly spreading train of thought ceased immediately when he saw a glistening light far beyond some colorful instances. He swam past portals, each dragging him in for a moment, tempting him, before they too were behind him. “That light is the mark of my fata. I’ve never gone this way, before…”
Closer and closer he swam. He could see his smoky hands flickering in front of him as he became further removed from any beaten paths. The light was getting more profound with every gar traveled. He was approaching until, suddenly, he was sucked into it as if it had its own orbit.
One blink changed his entire surroundings. His ears popped, vision swam with spots… then everything cleared.
Agden was there with his back toward him – Glite equipped under a half-cape, sword dirtied with some creature’s blood. But he was calm, pensive.
“What is this place?” Eres did a once around. There were tiny balls of light bursting in place and grey visible winds encircling them like
a tornado. Rain swishing sideways.
He knew the feeling, whether in Rudo currently or not, this was a storm. He was in the eye of a storm.
“Eres.” His father’s voice thundered with an unusual seriousness. “I can only hope that it’s you hearing this. And if it is… I am saddened too. My son, I am going to plant this memory only in a dark path within Gushda. You cannot otherwise see it when you are hopeful. Understand?”
Eres was stunned. “So there is a correlation,” he said to himself. “Then that means… my fata is troubled too.”
“You can’t see this on your first go around… it’s impossible. The initial impression of Gushda is too overwhelmingly bright. Even if you’ve witnessed my death before receiving my esper, the Eternal would still overwhelm you with hope. It’s only after years of understanding, combined with misery, that you can be here, right now, with me.” Agden spun, his half-cape flapping aside. “My sense is that you are in Skrol training perhaps. Actually, that is my hope, since it is the lesser of many other evils.”
Eres scanned his father hesitantly, watching him pace, judging his unease. He considered morphing into him to understand his thoughts and feelings more thoroughly, but was still worried that Seren Night may have already been in there, trying to block him. So instead, he listened on.
“I’m afraid that the Silent War is more than I can handle. My closest friends have succumbed to it already, and now there’re so few of us left. I’ve tried everything… sacrificed everything - my time with you most of all. Forgive me, son…
“And now some of my worst fears have been realized - that I’m in a losing battle. It matters not how deeply my Reach goes. He seems to always be one step ahead.”
Eres stepped forward in an attempt to grab his arm. “So how do I stop him, Fata? How do I stop Seren!”
Agden took a deep breath. “Listen. If you’re in training, you must complete it. There’s no other choice but death once you’ve begun. The purpose is to be comfortable with thy self, and to be self-sufficient. To grow wise. A one-man army realizing never to strike unless all other options are out. It strengthens me to think of you as a full-fledged Skrol, son. Even knowing the pain that comes with it. There is no greater feat, no greater honor than to guard the secret.”
“Okay, comforting. I could die here. Great… c’mon Fata, how do I survive after I complete this training? How do I keep the Skrols alive?”
“Seren, Wukaldred and I, we’re all equals. And we all know it. Varying as our skills may be, Seren knows that if he challenges one of us directly, it’s a gamble as to whether or not he lives. That is why, through darkness, he amasses forces. As powerful as we are individually… masses can always overcome. However, we the few are not totally lost. One advantage of being a Skrol, of being few… well, it’s easier to hide.”
“But I don’t want to hide, Fata! This is no way to live. You said it yourself, I’m miserable. Why would I want to remain that way? Why did you?”
He wished so badly for a response but knew deep down that this was a one-way message.
Agden plopped himself onto a flat tree stump, sighed, and haphazardly tossed a pebble into the gusts. He watched it twirl up the funnel, on the outskirts of its layers, begging Eres to follow.
“You wanted this, Eres. So badly. And I knew all along how terrible it could get. Does that make me a bad father? ‘Otera da bouz ooh utam’ your mota would always tell me. ‘Save our child from this.’ Breaks my heart ‘til this day.
“I know!” Agden threw the next pebble to the floor with determination. “I’m going to see you, right now. You’re probably in your favorite seat reading your favorite book.” He smiled. “There’s no other way to crawl out of the darkness for me. So that’s where I’ll go. To my light. To you.”
And with that, Agden cranked his impeller to high levels and burst through the air, the storm packing up and following him as if it were the tail to a comet. The ground shook. And Eres was left to wallow in a collapsing memory.
Even though Eres’ heart was warmed upon hearing his declaration, things quickly turned dark. “Yeah, well, Fata, I won’t ever get to have that for myself, remember? I’m a sexless barren. As much as you always wanted me to be a son, a boy, I’m not.”
As he watched the sky crack like old wallpaper, as trees disappeared into nothingness, as his father became a smaller and smaller spec with a whirlwind surrounding him, he closed his eyes and thought of the one thing that could make him happy.
“Windel,” he whispered, “it’s always you.”
And just like that, Eres was grounded again, back in Rudo, thrust into his starving body.
“It didn’t have to be this way, did it?” He laid a hand on his sunken belly as it groaned. “Sure, the secret was meant to be separated to reduce the burden… yes, it may cause all of ulmanity to age out of existence within seconds… but the Skrols never did have to endure it alone, did they? What happened along the way that made such a decision final? Perhaps another threat like Seren Night, long ago?”
Determinations. A voice inside his head spoke to him.
He nodded to himself. “I can’t change any of that even if I learn the entire history of Ingora. All I have is the now.” He tossed a bad crystal grape into the pond. “What can I do about it now?”
Eres used the rest of the day picking food within the endless crystalized cave using his makeshift javelin to reach high places – looming trees and the like – and all the while keeping an eye out for his crimson blade. He felt like such a fool every time he thought about it. What kind of warrior was he if he couldn’t even hold onto his weapon? A pathetic one, that’s what.
He also picked out excerpts from The Third Scar that he found most profound and worth re-reading. At times he appeared as a desperate missionary holding his tome and walking stick, looking for someone to preach religion to within an uninhabited land.
Turned out that the three scars referenced in the title represented “rips” within the fabric of Gushda that the author found in his lifetime. “Ways to leave home,” he described it.
Be careful reader, for if you ever become enveloped in an esper of your own, be wary of the tears in fabric. Because when you walk through… everything changes. It is possible to feel heavy even though you’re mist. It’s possible to see streams of dark red like tongues of flame everywhere you turn. There is hell, as we imagine it, in Gushda. Unintelligible, chaotic hell. Perhaps that is the secret. Maybe I have stumbled upon it. Maybe not. Just beware in your travels, inside and out of Rudo. And remember this one bit of truth: In all of the texts I’ve read, all of the tomes and the scripts, and in my own experience, never has there been documentation of finding another form within the Eternal. Perhaps they are everywhere, and we are just blind to them. Perhaps not.
“I think I’d rather stay within my ‘decorated home’ then, Mr. Modon,” Eres said to the tome. “At least I can learn from my ancestors there. Understand what their purpose was rather than comb through the cosmos of infinity just to say I did so.
“You, author, are starting to sound like someone who possessed a piece of the Amrite esper. Slightly addicted, a bit deranged.”
Soon Eres had deemed he’d prodded enough for one day and climbed back up to his home – wading through crystals that poked him when he wasn’t careful, over a pond that felt quite nice actually when he didn’t make the whole jump, and up an ever-winding ledge that was just wide enough for him to trek up. There it was – what he came to call home. His little nook beside the rushing waterfall.
The next morning, or at least what felt like morning, he woke from thin strands of silk tickling his face. Wait, why was his hair moving? A cool breeze, down here? He jolted upright, held up by his arms, looking side to side. It wasn’t the normal air rushing away from the waterfall. It was cold. Wintery.
An enchantment? Is Ramillion telling me to move on? He shook his head. No way he can know where I am… right? He’s a sorcerer, a player with elements, not some Reach possessed
asshole like Crow.
“Stupid, Eres. He has friends with Reach. Of course it could be him.”
Before he could scold himself any longer, he was doubled over in pain. Hunger, to the point where the sensation was stabbing. Out of nowhere his belly was yelling at him in unintelligible languages. Maybe he’d just been ignoring it until this critical limit, holding out as long as he could for fear that the journey might be endless. Either way, it was time. He’d been torturing himself by trying to be self-sufficient in a mostly desolate, albeit beautiful, but really truly desolate area. He couldn’t take it anymore, and so rummaged through the bag and pulled out a neatly wrapped preserved bar of food.
One bite was like a shot of adrenaline.
Nourishment, the real kind… not those half-edible grapes he’d been suffering with.
“Yes…” He moaned in between bites, eating it slowly, savoring it.
It worked too. In an instant, he felt like a new Dawn. This thing must’ve contained the density of three full meals, or maybe that’s just what a starving stomach led him to believe.
His thoughts immediately felt less dark. Renewed sanity.
“Okay,” Eres told himself, packing up the tome, the food, closing the bag and tossing the strap over his shoulder, “time to move on, whether you want me to or not, Ram.”
The spark of life he had gradually been losing burst back like a reignited hearth. He didn’t know how long it would last or whether or not it was just a state of crazed delirium, but he ran with it anyway, literally – down his narrow walkway, past the crystallized plants and trees, over the pond. Keep going. Staying within the range of the luminescent river with this newfound energy would be a waste, because those were the only areas he’d been venturing into for about a month now… maybe two?
Into the darkness he went – through gloomy, black crystal crevices that must’ve been desolate. They must have been, because there were no signs at all that something had been crawling around. Unless it was some hyper-intelligent predator playing an excruciatingly long waiting game. But what were the chances of that?
