by Jay Swanson
He closed his eyes and let the old magic rise up within him and do as it would. It ran through his fingers and intertwined with the enchantments in the rock. It didn't take much, and when he opened his eyes, he saw a delicate design of flowers and ivy lit up along the stone where his fingers had run. The silvery light faded, and as it did the crack opened more widely and revealed a stairwell down under the mountain.
On either wall were small floating balls of light that looked like glowing smoke. They twisted in on themselves as if compelled by some internal source of gravity. Eternally seeking to escape, ever only to return. They emanated the blue light he had seen. It reminded him of Tertian's home in the mountains. The thought made him hesitate. What if there was another Mage here, one who knew what he had done to Tertian?
He shook the thought free. A cold resolution set in. He could handle himself. And he doubted he would have been led here, healed and clothed, only to be betrayed in a dimly lit cave.
Ardin stepped onto the platform that led to the stairs. The crack in the door closed and sealed behind him. Well, that's that, he thought.
He walked cautiously down the stairs. The lights floated in large square recesses which lined either side of the stairs like low windows into the mountain. The decorative carvings around and behind the lights were ornate, made up of subtle flowers and ivy. The whole place seemed to be touched by an engraver's grace. The place was beautiful, glistening with raw power and tender care. Awe filled him as he set foot in the hall. Its unmarred surface ran on from the bottom of the long stairwell until disappearing down what appeared to be another set of stairs farther on.
The hall broadened significantly, possibly twice the width of the entrance. Statues lined either side so that the space through which he walked felt no wider than the stairwell behind. Each cast multiple shadows out onto the floor as the little lights behind them strove to stave off the darkness. He took his time wandering along, inspecting the statues that caught his attention.
Each was of a different person, life-sized and posed as if caught in their most glorious or inspiring moment. There were men and women. Each was dressed in long flowing robes with an amazing amount of detail to their clothing. They were ornately layered, beautiful, and they all looked serenely peaceful and wise.
He started reading their names. Each was carved in long flowing script above the runes that rimmed the base of their statue. They were strange, but enchanting names. Most were different than any he had known before. Some of the statues held long staffs decorated with runes and dangling pendants while others carried swords, small animals, or baskets filled with flowers.
Each of them seemed a masterful work of art, from the laced and decorative clothing to the strands of hair that wove in and out of the stone. Some were stern, strong. Others were delicate, beautiful in their serenity. Something about the endless line of them caused his heart to sink a bit. There was a great unspoken sadness to it all. A few of the stands remained empty, but the vast majority held statues.
He came to another, shorter set of stairs, and walked down into a broad circular room. At the opposite end an even larger ball of light floated in a recess that looked to be over a large table. Unlike the other lights, this one seemed to be made of flickering fields of blue fire rather than smoke. More statues rested around the room to either side. Each had been given more space, their stands larger than the others.
And in the middle rested the largest stand of all: a round, half-empty platform. The figure on it faced away from him. It looked as though it were missing a partner as it only took up the right side of the dais. He walked around it to investigate the room. These statues had titles along with their names. There were maybe two dozen of them in this room. Two large archways led out on either side of the great light and into darkness.
Then he noticed a face he recognized. He rushed over to see more closely. It was Caspian. Ardin knelt to look at his titles more closely: First Mage – Eldest of the Magi – Keeper of Lore. He looked younger, but it was certainly the Caspian he had come to know. He had no beard, and long hair flowed out from under a tall, gently swayed, pointed hat. It curved around his ears as if to grip his head in case of any sudden gusts of wind. An off-kilter crescent moon with a circle floating at its center rested just above his forehead. A raised, textured strip ran under it and up the front until it tapered to nothing at the tip. The hems of his robe were richly decorated with moons and stars and opened up to reveal his light armor beneath. Belts and bands and necklaces of all kinds crisscrossed the decorative protection. He smiled at the statue, wishing the old man's voice would fill it and speak comfort to him.
He turned then to his left, realizing with a jolt that next to Caspian stood Tertian. He looked particularly menacing as he stared into the center of the room. The presence of the statue made Ardin shiver with a mixture of emotions: hate, fear, even guilt. He wondered where these statues had come from. They looked so lifelike. It was eerie to see the faces of people he had known to pass.
He turned to inspect the other side of the room and found Charsi. Her expression was so different than when he had met her, warm and welcoming. Save the paintings in Tertian's home, it was the first time he had seen her whole face. Her half-smile was playful even; she was beautiful. It was obvious where Alisia's looks came from.
Alisia, the thought tugged on his heart. Are you here somewhere too?
“Welcome, Ardin of Levanton.”
He whipped around in spite of himself, looking in every direction for the source of the voice. The large floating light to his left glowed and dimmed with each syllable.
“I have waited a long time to meet you.”
He couldn't tell if the voice were feminine or masculine. It was kind, which somehow led him to lean more towards it being feminine.
“Who are you?”
“My name is known by few, but you know me as the Greater Being of this continent.”
“The Greater Being...” Ardin wasn't sure what to think of this.
There was a long silence as the two stared at each other. At least Ardin imagined the light was staring at him. It was impossible to tell. It seemed like endless layers of rippling energy.
“What is this place?”
“This is the Temple of the Magi, a sanctuary to their dead and a place where they could meet with me at will.”
“Are you... the Creator?”
The light erupted into a dazzling array of colors and intensities as it laughed at his question.
“No, no. I am not within a hope's distance of attaining so lofty a title. I am merely a messenger and servant.”
“Then why do they call you 'Greater?'”
“Because, dear Ardin, compared to them, I am.”
“So this place is a tomb?”
“Not hardly; this is more a memorial. When the Magi pass there is no body left behind, as I'm afraid you have discovered by now.”
Ardin's stomach twisted, memories of Alisia and Tertian dying landing him like blows. “Then what are these statues?”
“Representations of every Mage that has ever lived and died. They are represented in the height of their earthly glory, manifested here as soon as they are taken from this world.”
“There were this many Magi?” He was astounded by the thought.
“Indeed, and now they are all but extinct.”
“So the Magi really were good, then?”
“Of course. In conjunction with the Creator, I made them to help guide mankind as my Magistrates. They came to be known by mankind as 'Magi' over time. I was made for this explicit purpose, to serve as a mentor and guide to humanity on this continent. But as they grew in population I needed assistance. Thus we created my Magistrates.”
“Why the Purge then? Why kill them all?”
“Mankind was led astray, I'm afraid. They were corrupted, their leaders compromised. The Greater Being of Grandia, the Demon as you know him, abandoned his intended purpose. And in the war that he was to unleash, he reached o
ut to and corrupted key people under my protection.”
“Why didn't you do anything about it? If you're so powerful–”
“Mankind made their decisions, Ardin. In the end I'm only a guide. As I said, I couldn't be everywhere at once. The decisions, and their resulting consequences, rest with the individuals that made them.”
“But the Magi! All of these people... you could have stopped it! This room is filled with the ghosts of your failure!”
“And you've never failed, Ardin?”
The reproof stung more than a little.
“I'm not perfect, young one. I separated myself from my physical and metaphysical presence to conquer my rival. Thus the formation of the Brethren, of whom you have met Tristram. But in doing so I removed myself from human society. I was bound to this place, thus I no longer had a voice. No longer could I walk with them and learn from them, let alone teach them. They thought I had abandoned them when I was doing all I could to save them.”
“So they betrayed you too...”
“Completely.”
This was all so foreign to Ardin. It went against everything he had ever been told. “Why am I here?”
“There is something very important that I would ask of you, Ardin. Something you must choose to do, if you will.”
“What is that?”
“I believe it to be merely the outcome of lessons you are already being taught. That wound, on your shoulder. Where did you get it?”
Ardin's hand rose absentmindedly to where his shoulder gently throbbed under his cloak. The words caught in his throat.
“I'm afraid that is one scar that will never fully heal, Ardin. You brought that injury upon yourself in your wrath, at the expense of innocent life. And in many ways you are lucky it is all you received.”
“I didn't mean...” Ardin's eyes drifted downwards. “I'm so sorry...”
“Your apologies are not due to me.” The voice remained kind. Ardin felt grateful for that. “I can see the fear in you, Ardin. Fear of yourself. And I want you to overcome it. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I need you to.”
“What could you possibly need from me?” Ardin looked back up at the talking ball of energy.
“My rival rises again. He is yet imprisoned, but he reaches out from his tomb to claim lives and raise a host. He has enslaved the people we fought so hard to free and will soon destroy them all. I have not seen it myself, yet I am sure of it. All of the signs are showing themselves. I can sense his monsters, near even to here. I need you to travel to Grandia, Ardin. I need you to free your fellow man from the clutches of the Greater Demon before he ends them all.”
Ardin stayed silent, the massive request dropping to the floor with a nearly audible thud. He had seen what horrors lay on Grandia, even if it had only been a glimpse. How on earth could it ask this of him? Didn't it know who he was? What he had done?
“Alisia, where is she?” He had to keep his mind elsewhere. “I'd like to see her statue.”
“Of course. She stands right behind you.”
He turned, not having noticed who stood on the dais in the center of the room. It was indeed Alisia. The carving was so incredibly lifelike. For a moment his heart leaped within him at the hope that she might yet live. But the realization of what the statue meant in and of itself could leave him little doubt of the truth.
He moved slowly towards her, the platform on which she stood level with his chest. He reached out only to touch her toes. They were bare in the soft grass that somehow grew to cover the surface on which she spun. Wild and free, happy, her skirt spun in the breeze with flowers in her hands. She looked at peace, full of joy. He had barely caught glimpses of her like this.
His throat twisted violently as tears formed in his eyes. He would never see her again.
“She came to visit me...”
“On the Magaic Plain, yes.”
“How is that even possible?” His fingers brushed over the cold stone, wishing life into them with their passing. “Was it a vision?”
“It was no vision, Ardin. The Magi used the Plain for many things in life. To meditate, to practice their arts, to communicate. When they pass on to the next realm, they maintain connections to those who carry their Uriquim. When she visited you, she was truly there.”
To be told as much only made the pain worse. She had been right there, in his presence, and he had missed that opportunity. I didn't even get a chance to tell her... anything. Ardin shook his head.
“She was meant for great things.” The Greater Being spoke gently again.
Ardin rested his arm in the grass; his forehead followed.
“She was taken from them.”
“She was taken from you.”
More to the point, he thought. Always more to the point with this one. It stung to have his love for her validated aloud.
“What would you know?”
“That when the Creator made this hall for the Magi, He made it with a very specific number of platforms and this central dais. I've always wondered why he didn't make it more flexible. When He carved it out of the rock there were but a dozen Magi, and now that the Magi are extinct there are none who are unaccounted for. This pedestal was made for two, I never understood that until now. It is your destiny to fight this battle. It is the work you were called to complete.”
“What about those empty spaces in the hall?”
“Annihilated, dead and nowhere. They were destroyed by the very spells and rituals you sought to invoke on Tertian. I imagine he is quite happy that you failed.”
Surprisingly, a great sense of relief washed over Ardin to hear the news. He looked at Tertian's stern statue, grim even in death. He had no love of the Mage, but was glad to know he hadn't condemned him to nonexistence. However that worked, he wanted no part in it.
“But I knew what I was doing. Charsi's knowledge–”
“Charsi never knew the full incantation. Few do. To truly know it is a mark of the Demon's influence. It is a rare creature that bears that mark prominently enough to master such evil.”
Ardin laid his head back down in the short grass. It was soft, moving gently as if caught in its own private breeze. Having the likeness of Alisia so close made his heart swell. He had never longed for anything or anyone so much in his life.
His failure to destroy Tertian came back to him. Perhaps he wasn't as far off the right track as he had feared. He shook the hope from his head. Of course he was. He knew it. He had intended to end Tertian, whether he had succeeded or not. He had wanted him to disappear forever.
“The Magi have served their time on this earth, Ardin. Among them you are the last, and you are to be the greatest.”
“I'm no Mage.” He turned to look at the strange light.
“You are right to say so. You are something more. Much, much more.”
What were the odds he could win himself back, Ardin wondered. He was on the brink of something dark and terrible and he knew it. The asylum had proved that to him if killing Tertian hadn't. Even more so now that he enjoyed the power, even at the expense of life. Especially at the expense of life. He was discovering the cost and he was afraid he was all too willing to pay it.
“Ardin, please. What Charsi meant for harm, for evil, you can turn to good. You will fall again, I promise you that. But you must press on. There are many people beyond yourself who depend on your ability to complete your task.”
“Who could possibly depend on me?” Ardin shouted as he whipped back on the Being. “Who would be foolish enough? I'm just a boy! A boy who killed everyone he ever loved! If the future rides on me then you're lost! God, you're hopelessly lost.”
He turned to walk out of the room, but stopped as the spirit spoke his name.
“You are carrying burdens that are not yours to bear, Ardin. Don't let them defeat you. Free yourself of them, or you will never be able to free your fellow man.”
Ardin started walking. He just wanted out of the place. It felt clean. He wasn't clean. He was wretc
hed, unclean, murderous. He wanted out. He screamed it in his head; he wanted out!
The voice carried along the stone as he made his way out.
“Make for Grandia, Ardin. It is the only path through which you will find your redemption.”
It was all he could do to keep from sprinting down the hall. The gazes of the statues around him were no longer awe-inspiring; now condemning, burning into him, they caused the tension in his neck to twist and grow hot. It felt like the base of his skull might detach itself from his spine. He just wanted to be free of the close, oppressive space.
He did run then. He ran as hard as he could and took the steps three at a time. The door was cracked open to him again and he squeezed through, not bothering to open it any wider. He stumbled onward, crying through the pain and the guilt. He wished he had never been made to feel this way, when finally he tripped and fell.
There he lay, face in the snow, crying and moaning for what felt like self-indulgent ages.
A crunch in the snow made him stop. He held his breath, unwilling to look up, wishing it was an enemy. Even a wild animal. Anyone seeking his life.
Just take it, he thought. Please, just take it.
A large hand rested firmly on his shoulder blade, the thumb rubbing his back softly for a moment before going still.
“Well lad,” came a familiar voice. “You're a bugger to track down.”
SIX
“SHIT, SIR.” Captain Brendyn Sykes wiped the blood and sweat off his forehead as he stared at the twitching mass of monsters that lay around them. “What the hell were those things?”
Major Anders Keaton bit his tongue as he surveyed the scene. He didn't want to believe it was possible. He wanted everything to stay simple, to stay real. But the vision he had been given weeks before hadn't been a vision after all. He had been visited by one of the Brethren. And the being hadn't been lying when he had come.
