After several hours of continuous labor and an examination by his mother, Vilmos was finished. Joyfully, he scrambled into the kitchen to sneak something to eat, yet as always it was his ill-fated luck to be caught.
“Vil-MOS! What are you doing?” Lillath asked. She tried to hide laughter with her hand. “Never cease eating do you?”
“But I am hungry.”
“Go ahead. Don’t eat too much. We’ll have an early dinner. Don’t forget today is Seventhday and we’ll all go to the service, won’t we?”
Vilmos frowned, then replied, “Yes, mother,” but in his mind, he wished they would not go. He hated the long sermons, during which he often fell asleep, which got him into even more trouble.
In a moment Vilmos knew that without fail he would be told to review the history and as he didn’t want to do that, he gathered up his bread and cheese and tried to leave.
“Not so fast. Hold on a minute Vilmos,” Lillath said, “forgetting something?”
“No mother. I put the bread back into the box, honest.”
In a blur he was out the door and headed toward his room, sanctuary one solitary step away when the voice reached him.
“Mustn’t forget to study your history. Someday you’ll fill your father’s position. Even with your faults.” She added the last part in jest, but Vilmos didn’t catch the false sarcasm in her voice immediately.
“And what faults are those?”
Lillath tried to hide her smile with a shielding hand. “I’m only joking. Go study the Book.”
Vilmos lifted the heavy book from its resting place. Usually the Great Book would lie before him the remainder of the day, but mostly his mind would wander. Vilmos turned back to his mother and asked, “Mother, are there other books? I mean, surely all knowledge cannot be contained in one book.”
“Don’t ever let your father hear you talk like that.” Lillath paused and stared at the boy. Her tone became milder. “Books are a rare, rare thing in the land. It takes years, lifetimes, to pen a single tome. And only a true book smith can press scrolls into such a leather binding as befits the Great Book.”
Vilmos smiled. He opened the book about midway, and then set it down. Normally he would have turned away immediately and stared out the window. But today the book seemed to want to open to a particular pair of pages, a group of pages shuffled and he was staring at a new section of the book. Thinking fondly of what his mother had said, he mumbled his way through the inscribed words.
With the simple lives of children, the story began…
Thousands of years ago wars ravaged the lands, spread by the slow incursion of the race called Man to the brother races until it seemed that humankind would not endure.
Great-Father had not intervened until this time, he had spread his gifts thinly out to each of the brother races, imparting each with but one simple gift, but even the wise and the great could not have foretold the coming of the scourge of evil spread by a maligning of those same simple gifts…
Time eternal evolves in great circles and the All-Father knew and understood this only too well. So as the evil scourge was finally defeated and the First Age came to an end, he planned carefully for the future by selecting and gathering a few of those last children and imparting upon them greater knowledge and wisdom than most. Some he taught how to outwit time itself. Some he conditioned as watch-wardens to look for the signs of the next Coming, the next Age of humankind. Others he cast into the never-ending circle of time itself so that their spiritual forms could wind their way through its realm. These were the lost children and he appointed a single guardian over them all…
To balance it all, there was one who was both good and evil, fated by destiny to become part of time itself…
Vilmos frowned and stopped reading. He’d thought he had read, or had had read to him, every page of the Great Book at one time or another, but he had never read this page. It puzzled him, and he reread it. What did it all mean? What was the lesson?
Confused, he closed the book and stared at its cover. Later he opened it to a different section.
Vilmos’ father did not come home until late that evening. Vil had been delayed in a special advisory session. Apparently a series of bear attacks had taken place in Two Falls Village a day’s ride to the north, and huntsmen and trackers from the surrounding villages were preparing to track down the great black bear. There would be no one allowed to travel outside the village until the bear was caught.
Vilmos, who had been listening intently at the door to his room, suddenly found he had an entire evening to do as he pleased—that is as long as he didn’t venture into his father’s eyesight. He thought Great-Father was truly smiling down upon him.
“What luck!” exclaimed Vilmos as he jumped onto his bed. “What to do? What to do?”
With final commitment, he closed his eyes and retreated to his special place. The vale was a beautiful place toward evening with a red-pink haze held in the darkening sky spreading outward into the heavens in striking hues of orange and red. The hunter eagle was gone from the sky now so Vilmos contented himself by sitting on the very brink of the high cliff he had chosen. Occasionally he would throw a rock up in the air, catch it midair and then let it lazily float down to the ground like a feather.
Suddenly tired, he yawned. His vision began to fade out as slumber entered his thoughts and within minutes he fell asleep. Lulled by his fatigue, he was caught in the quasi-world he had created. Sleep for him was always accompanied by dreams, although unlike others who often forgot their dreams upon waking, Vilmos remembered his.
The dream began. It was a strange and frightening dream, the only dream that had played out before him the whole of his life as far back as he could remember.
The words of the Great Book that had lain before him most of the day came to mind, corrupted by the evil of the dream…
The creature of darkness descended to the earth from the heavens, wreaking havoc across the land’s face, once more reclaiming that which was his, that which was denied to him.
Look weak creatures! Look what you have let loose! Look what you have freed to provide for your demise! I am what you most fear! I am He. A name cursed for all eternity. I possess the forbidden name, never spoken lest it invoke the greatest of all evil. I am that evil. I can speak its name. Do you know what that evil is? What does humankind fear so very much?
You fear yourself. You fear that which humankind was, and still is. You fear the darkness of your soul…
The boy, who was Vilmos as he looked in upon his dream as if from a distance, saw the evil one and looked into his eyes. The darkness within was well known to him. Its origin of rebirth was known. Held entranced by its call, he moved his hand forward to help it but was stopped by a sharp, stifling pain that shot through him. The shock and ache made his small body writhe as it carried him away.
Unconsciousness befell him, yet the images and the agony were still clear in his thoughts when he awoke some hours later crying out into the darkness, huddled in a cold, sweated corner, his body clenched and trembling.
“No!! No!! It will not be!” screamed Vilmos, perspiration dripped off his forehead.
“No, no, no,” he continued through the sobs, unable to block out the lingering picture of the shadows in his mind, especially the evil, mocking grimace that laughed a deep, hideous laugh and the cold jet-black eyes that seemed to haunt every corner of his mind.
This was the worst dream he could recall. For a time the dreams had stopped completely, then they had returned with renewed fervor. Each night the vision came. Repeatedly it played, relentless. Each time growing worse, because each time it became more realistic. Now it was as if the Dark One was in the very room Vilmos occupied.
Normally he would have simply escaped to his private point to stare out across the vast expanse below, feeling more at home and at peace there than he had ever felt in his own home. However, this night Vilmos did not want to return there. Something was wrong, though what, he didn’t know.
Content to remain in his room in the dark, staring into nothingness, desperately trying to remember something that he knew was important, his mind raced in a million different directions.
Throughout the night he lay gazing into the darkness, searching for something that appeared to be just beyond his grasp. His concentration was so great that he had not moved in the entire time and when the sun rose bright and beautiful into a clear sky, he did not enjoy its beauty. His mood only turned from pensive to dreary. The new day brought him only misery, as he knew it would. His body, stiff and sluggish, moving with the aches and pains of one well beyond his years, did not respond well to his desires and again it was a long, slow process to coax stiff muscles into movement.
After eating breakfast and methodically performing his perfunctory chores, his thoughts filled with dread. The tutor would come this day. Weary and fatigued, Vilmos trudged back to his room, slumped onto the bed, all his energy spent. Utter exhaustion played out on his face, though he didn’t understand why.
The instant eyes closed, consciously or unconsciously, he drifted away to his special place. It had been calling to him in the back of his mind all that morning.
A chilling breeze blew through the vale. A wind that had never before been cold. Today something felt different, as if he were not alone. Worriedly, he scanned the little vale, its steep slopes and its large open floor. He was indeed alone or so he hoped.
He became a great silver eagle, fearless and swift. The dive from his favored cliff was accomplished in one powerful leap. Wings sliced the air and made it sing. Down into the vale’s depths the eagle swept, with great speed and agility. The silver eagle’s keen eyes had instantly spotted its prey and now it raced toward the unsuspecting valley hare.
This was the intruder in his domain, thought Vilmos. He would crush the life from his prey and then would indeed be alone.
He swept up the valley hare in razor sharp talons. The warm and fleshy hare writhed pitifully and cried out for escape. The eagle did not heed its cry, but a part of Vilmos did and he forced the great eagle to release the hare.
“Do you know what it is that you are doing?” beckoned a voice into his mind.
Vilmos was startled.
“N-no,” he replied warily. The voice was somehow familiar.
Momentarily the vision of the eagle faltered. For an instant Vilmos stood on the high, raised cliff staring into the cold northerly wind. Then he was propelled back into the razor-taloned, silver eagle.
“It is called non-corporeal stasis, an out of body experience,” said the other with evident wisdom.
“What are you saying? What does that mean? Are you here to take me away?”
Vilmos ceased being the eagle altogether, yet the cliff was not the place he returned to. Instead, he stood in the middle of the valley and searched in all directions for the source of the mysterious voice.
“Look. Look about you. What do you see?” commanded the voice.
Vilmos did as bid.
“I see the valley and nothing else.”
“Yes that is correct, now look beyond the valley. Extend your thoughts and open your mind. Now what do you see?” The voice flowed with warmth and again Vilmos sensed a familiarity in it.
“I see only the valley,” Vilmos replied.
“No,” said the other with vehemence, “Look, look again. Search beyond the valley. What do you see?”
Vilmos didn’t like this game and clenched his fists in anger. “I see nothing.”
“Open the window to your soul. You will see. Look,” said the presence.
Compelled to do as told Vilmos looked inside himself. He saw the door to his soul and he opened it. Beyond, in the shadows, he saw himself, lying in his bed, in his father’s house.
“What do you see?” the other asked.
“N-nothing!”
“What do you see?” commanded the voice.
“I see myself, I see myself!” Vilmos paused. His voice filled with surprise as he continued, “but how, I don’t understand?”
“That is what the experience is. Your body remains on the physical plane and your spirit searches beyond. You were truly flying. You really were the lone eagle flying over a valley of your own creation.” The ominous voice seemed to close in on Vilmos. “You are a master of non-corporeal stasis, yet do not forget that all things have mirrors on the physical plane.”
“How is this possible?” the skeptic in Vilmos inquired.
“Think, before you speak. Look within, you know it is possible.” The tone of the voice became sinister. “As is everything.”
“I am afraid. I want to go home—I want to go home now.”
“But Vilmos you are home. This is your home. This is the sanctuary you alone created,” the voice rang with heavy truths.
“No, I want to go home,” insisted Vilmos, “I am afraid.”
“Well you should be Vilmos, you should be very afraid.” Vilmos pictured black eyes drawing up before him. “This experience leaves your physical self completely without defense. It is open to attack from any force or forces that wish to enter it. Any spirit can enter your body while your own spirit travels. And there it can grow and thrive!”
Vilmos jumped back, his face drawn and pale with shock. Bewildered eyes looked out. His body shivered beyond control. Everything within him told him to run away, to hide, though he could not. It was then that he recognized the voice, though vaguely. It was then his panic grew to despair and he feared for his very soul.
“It is you! This is what I was trying to remember.”
“Yes it is,” said the voice with mocking overtones.
Gripped with fear, Vilmos stood unable to move. He looked out over the valley that had once seemed peaceful, only now regaining the point as he fought to focus his mind. He felt alone, very alone, though he knew he wasn’t. He cocked his head, left and right, forward and back, searching. But his search was in vain because he truly was alone. There was no one else with him.
Waiting to hear the voice again and ensure he wasn’t just daydreaming, Vilmos remained absolutely still. Only his own gasping breaths broke the silence, nothing more.
“Where are you? Show yourself,” Vilmos called out. The only answer Vilmos received was the sound of wind rushing over the point and the returning echoes of his voice as it faded away and blended into the wind.
The vale was empty; the ridge, empty.
“Looking for me?” came a voice from behind him.
Startled, Vilmos jumped. His heart pumped faster and faster. Breathing became taxing. It seemed he could not grasp any air. He spun around, faltering and falling to the hard, rocky surface of the vantage point. He pulled himself to his feet, and shook defiant fists in the air.
“I will not hurt you,” said the now charismatic voice from behind him.
Vilmos spun around again. “Where are you? Show yourself.”
“I am here.”
“But how? A moment ago, I was alone,” said Vilmos as he turned to look in the direction of the voice.
“A moment ago, I was not here,” said the venerable man who now stood in plain view in front of Vilmos. He was by far the oldest man Vilmos had ever seen. His appearance was one of such frailty and weakness that Vilmos imagined a heavy wind lifting him from his feet and casting him about in the air like a feather.
The aged man leaned his weight against his long, misshaped, walking stick, edging poised lips closer to Vilmos’ ear. “Do not let the body fool you boy,” he whispered, “I will not blow away in the wind.”
Just then a cold, harsh wind started to rip across the point. With each passing second, it increased in force until it was a gale of great strength. Very soon, Vilmos found he could no longer stand in its face. He crouched to his knees and then to his belly. The old man did not so much as twitch.
“Please stop it!” screamed Vilmos.
“I cannot. Only you may stop it.”
Not wanting to fall from the ledge to his death, Vilmos huddled close to the gr
ound trying to maintain his grip with desperate fingers. “I don’t know how to stop it. Let me go. I want to go.”
“Then surely you shall perish.” The man spoke sternly, his voice lacking any hint of remorse.
Vilmos trembled. “Do you mean die?”
“As surely as you were born.”
Truth in the other’s words stung Vilmos, similar to the dirt in his eyes. He knew without a doubt that he would indeed perish if he failed to stop the wind.
Wind whipped at him. Dust stung his face and blew into his eyes. And while Vilmos could barely see through this dust and dirt, he felt he had to see the old one again. Gazing through stinging dirt proved a difficult task accomplished only with shielding hands. To Vilmos’ dismay, the man stood straight and tall, tall as the twisted staff he carried. He faced the wind and his stance still did not vary.
Suddenly the man did not appear so aged to Vilmos. In fact, somehow he seemed different, as if Vilmos saw another standing there in the old man’s place. “I do not deny that you have powers beyond my grasp,” began Vilmos, “but I don’t understand the point of the test. I don’t know what to do.”
“Vilmos, use that which you already know. Use the skills you possess. Use them now!” The man spoke powerfully.
Compelled by the enchantment of the voice, Vilmos made a vigorous attempt. He concentrated, trying to make the wind stop. He clasped his eyes tightly together, held his breath, clenched his fists so firmly that his fingernails dug into his palms. The wind did not desist; it continued to lash at him with increased vigor.
Fearing for his very life, Vilmos tried again. He thought about the wind and wanting to stop it. In rebuke, the blast of the wind started to push him toward the edge of the cliff. Vilmos dug his fingers into the dirt trying desperately to hold on, grasping and clawing until his hands were bloody, but to no avail.
His fingers pulsated with pain. Vilmos screamed and pleaded desperately for assistance. He turned his head wildly back and forth, wary of the approaching drop. “I don’t want to die… please help me… how can you just stand there, help me! Please, I beg you.”
Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle Page 7
