by S C Gowland
The panel in front of him showed figures, writing and pictures. Simple forms, but intricately detailed up close. Walkers stood, cloaks flowing, green blades in their hands. He shifted backwards several steps to take in the emerging view in front of him, looking towards Aralorne busy rifling through the pages of his book.
‘What do you see?’ he called.
Kaoldan looked again the panel now fully illuminated. He saw a battle, a great battle between three distinguishable groups of figures: light, dark and grey. There was writing – gracefully and ornate – at the bottom but not in a language he knew. He took a few more steps back to gain a better view.
The picture became clearer, most definitely three groups involved in a battle. To the left white figures with pale blades, to the right dark figures, with purple blades and in the middle grey figures with green blades: Walkers? His eyes moved to the dark figures: Otan?
‘Are those the devious bastards we came across in the woods?’ asked Zahara.
‘Maybe.’ said Kaoldan, lost in the imagery.
‘What I want to know.’ said Dalon arms folded. ‘Is who are the ones in white?’ He nodded to the left of the panel.
‘That,’ said Kaoldan, ‘is a very good question.’
‘I want everybody to touch as many panels as they can in the same time.’ said Nova directing people with his cane.
‘I have an idea.’ said Zalen out of the darkness. He moved to the first of the panels on the other side of the entrance and then ran along the edge of the room. He pressed his hand with a smack onto each one, they burst into light, as he continued running hitting them in sequence. The surrounding darkness evaporated as the room spilled with light.
‘Clever boy.’ murmured Nova. ‘It's a story.’ He pointed to the first panel. ‘If you follow the sequence of the panels, you can see the whole thing.’
Kaoldan’s eyes went wide. It was a story, how had he not seen it?
A shout from the far end signalled Zalen had finished his sprint. Seven panels were illuminated; they pulsed in unison – like one heart – faster and faster until with a burst of light that made the group shield their eyes, then they stopped.
Kaoldan tilted his head, the ache subsiding in his neck and shoulders, turning to see the all seven panels lit as bright as day.
He narrowed his eyes, there was something else.
Movement. Silent and constrained but definite movement within each panel.
They had come alive. Figures moved in each living paintings.
The glass showed etched figures, scenes with true colours, tinged with a translucent light.
Nova looked at Kaoldan then at Aralorne. ‘Were you expecting that?’ he asked.
Aralorne shook his head and blew out a breath of surprise.
Kaoldan could hardly blame him, it was something he had never seen before either.
They moved in silence to the first panel. It showed Walkers – judging by their green blades - clad in grey, moving materials, blocks, grey and yellow, laying them in lines. The view panned out to show the walls were actually the beginnings of towers, dozens of towers. The creation of Zuviosal? They moved to the next.
Walkers, but at their centre a black-robed figure. Then hammers clanging, smiths working illuminated by fire, sweat. The Grey Council, but far more than the current seven members, dozens. All surroundings something, working together to push, to force, tremendous amounts of Fajin magic and energy pushed into something. A black crown, a Dark Crown. It is presented to the black figure at the centre of a circle of grey Walkers.
‘The Paragon Walker?’ said Zahara face screwed in disbelief. ‘We made a dark crown for the Paragon Walker? The Dark Crown?’
Nova said nothing and walked to the next panel.
The central black figure raised their arms, a black inky smear enveloped them, it spread outwards, gathering in members of the grey circle. Black figures emerged with purple blades. The view panned out showing the terrible, inevitable spread of darkness consuming other Walkers, spreading across a map of the world. It spread like oil on a canvas consuming all around it; corruption itself.
‘He was one of us?’ said Zahara, no-one answered.
Kaoldan worked his jaw, tension itching at his back.
More images. Hundreds, thousands of deaths, Orbs floating in numbers beyond the counting towards the Abyss. Fleeting images of destruction, murder and much worse.
Kaoldan averted his eyes and moved towards the next panel.
It showed a great war, a war between forces of light and dark. Green and purple blades clashed. Sweeping views of battles, individual struggles, death on both sides – more orbs for the Abyss. But the dark forces overran the light, a map of the world overrun with black ink.
‘They, we, won?’ spluttered Dalon, looking to the faces of the group for answers, no came.
Aching tension crept further up Kaoldan’s back.
‘Or we lost?’ offered Kryst ‘depending on your point of view.’
Nova shrugged his shoulders. Aralorne looked on face expressionless.
A shuffle of feet and they viewed the next panel.
Darkness throughout the circle of the world. More towers were built, always in view the dark crowned Paragon Walker. Time passed, trees grew, seasons captured in silver, green and brown. Then a flicker. A flicker of light deep within Zuivosal. It shone like a star in the midnight sky. Piercing through the murk. Images of combat in a tower.
Kaoldan looked closer, images fluttered past. They were familiar, strangely, sickeningly familiar. A waterfall, a staircase. The Prism Crescent he realised all at once.
He looked, the view entered a room, this room. A struggle between grey cloaked figures carrying green bladed weapons, slowly overwhelming the dark opponents. Until only one remained. The Paragon Walker. Surrounded, hopelessly outnumbered they converged on him. A flash of green and the crown fell.
‘Yes...’ came an excited shout.
Heads turned towards it, a sheepish looking Zalen coughed uncomfortably then fixed his eyes back on the panel, he pointed towards it. ‘Good stuff...’ he mumbled.
Heads turned back toward the panel; it began the images again. Silently they moved towards the sixth panel.
An image of a tower, this tower, the view moved upwards, outwards the light within spreading from within, melting the darkness. The black retreated until it condensed into an area that Kaoldan recognised as the Freth Expanse. It stopped, festered there, throbbing, waiting.
The view shrank back into Zuivosal - seasons passing – to a scene of grey Walkers surrounding the Dark Crown, it fractured and broke into three pieces.
Aralorne gasped.
The pieces separated out merging with the three groups. Two of which disappeared out of view.
Then something strange, the view turned moving between the faces of the remaining grey figures, men and women, but Walkers all. The cloaks of some changed from grey to white then more - spreading like ice across a lake - taking in others.
An image of a battle; grey cloaks, green blades against their brothers and sisters cloaked in white with yellow blades. The viewpoint expanded, more figures more blades of green and yellow clashing.
Kaoldan scratched his jaw, eyes fixed on the images. A civil war? Between Walkers? Surely such a thing was not possible. But given what they had seen, his head was a melee of thoughts ideas and feelings.
‘Does this mean anything to you?’ said Kaoldan to Nova as they moved to the final panel.
Nova shrugged. ‘No.’ he said. ‘None of this makes any sense to me.’ His fingers drumming against his cane. ‘But one thing I do know is that the more I see the less I like.’
They came to a halt in front of the final flickering panel.
‘Broken.’ said Zahara pointing to the bottom corner. A great crack spreading out like a spider’s web. The panel twitched – flickers of colour - but no images came, just a constant dull glow.
Silence, each taking the information in. Kaoldan’s own head f
elt like it was stuffed with wool. Reng had been a Walker? The Otan? Darkness? Revolt? Peace? A civil war? Other Walkers?
‘Even in my wildest dreams I never thought I would get to see so much.’ said Aralorne after a long while.
‘You knew about this?’ said Zalen voice rising.
‘Some of it. Other parts were merely a theory.’ admitted Aralorne.
‘The theory being?’
‘Pretty much all of that.’
‘So we created the Dark Crown, we created Reng, we created the Otan and then fought against each other?’ said Zahara, forcing each word out whilst looking at the floor.
‘Seemingly so.’ said Nova looking from under his eyebrows.
Zahara sucked her teeth and Zalen hummed, face for once serious.
‘But I don't recall any of this being taught in history.’ said Zahara.
‘History is written or erased by the victors.’ said Nova.
Zahara swallowed.
‘It seems we were all lied to.’ said Kaoldan with a frown.
‘To all intents and purposes, I suppose it makes sense now.’ Nova said scratching at his beard. ‘It does make sense that this city was abandoned; regardless of what caused it to fall. Some things are best kept secret. I know I was far happier half an hour ago.’
‘Something like this couldn’t be kept a secret forever.’ said Zalen. ‘Someone is always able piece it back together.’ he looked towards Aralorne.
‘It took time and my considerable intellect.’ nodded the white haired man.
‘But we still don’t know what happened here.’ said Kryst. ‘What caused all this?’ he pointed at floating debris hidden in the shadows.
‘Does it really matter?’ said Nova. ‘When the city was lost, so was the knowledge of how. Narratives change, stories are forgotten or apparently over written. A lot can be changed over 400 years. Maybe this is just best forgotten. Perhaps it serves no purpose to rake up the past. Our Order has never been without some form of controversy. We are what we are.’
‘It matters to me.’ said Zahara face set hard.
‘It's not as though there are a lack of problems in the world that need dealing with right now.’ said Kaoldan. ‘Ul’Thadra is slowly eating away at the world, determined to make it his own. I’m not sure solving this 400-year-old mystery is high on anyone’s agenda.’
Zahara worked her jaw and looked away.
A gasp then soft, slow, deliberate steps caused Kaoldan to turn, he saw Aralorne looking over his shoulder.
The white haired man’s eyes went wide, he began rifling through his book. paper rustled. Confused looks passed amongst the group.
‘What is it?’ asked Nova, leaning heavily on his cane.
‘Something that we might have an answer to…’ Aralorne mumbled.
Kaoldan turned and looked over his shoulder. The main wall opposite the giant panels looked much like the other walls in the darkness, uninteresting.
‘Yes…’ muttered Aralorne slowly. ‘Yes… Yes… YES.’ his eyes shone as he raised his head, smile wide.
Nova frowned.
Aralorne marched past Kaoldan book tucked under his arm, with Dref padding slowly by his side.
More shrugged shoulders, and the group followed him through the darkness, feet rapping on the stone floor.
As the gloom cleared, and they reached the wall, Kaoldan posture sharpened and he wrinkled his nose. Two lines of black glossy stone jutted outwards from the main back wall, forming into a wedge pointing directly towards the main entrance.
‘What is it?’ whispered Zahara.
‘He’s definitely onto something.’ said Kaoldan nodding while grinning.
Aralorne came to a halt and leaning towards the wall, running his hands over the polished stone. ‘I knew it’. he said to Dref.
Dref looked about as impressed as a dog can.
‘It moves which means there is something behind it.’ he said to the confused faces.
‘What do you suppose is behind here?’ ventured Zalen.
‘I don't have the faintest idea.’ said Aralorne. ‘I think that's why they call it a mystery.’
Zalen scowled back.
Kaoldan ran his fingers along the surface of the wall, the coolness of the stone made him wince as his fingers felt in the darkness. Smooth but with small paths of coarse grooves in the wall running from one side to another. ‘Smart.’ he muttered under his breath.
‘Do you think you can open it?’ Kaoldan asked as Aralorne inspected the imposing stone walls.
‘I’m not sure.’ he said. ‘And there is no way any of us could get through the stone, even with Fajin.’ he breathed out slowly through his nose, eyes searching for a clue.
‘Holes.’ said Zalen with a grin.
‘Sorry?’ said Nova.
‘Holes…’ repeated Zalen, pointing to the wall to the left
Aralorne looked up. ‘How many?’ he asked.
‘Two.’
‘Two over here.’ yelled Zahara from the other side of the wedge.
‘Of course…’ gasped Aralorne. ‘You clever man.’ he raced over to Zalen – who stood beaming – by the left side of the wedge.
‘What?’ said Kaoldan, beginning to feel a flush of excitement.
Aralorne frowned. ‘I do believe that this next part cannot be done by me.’
‘What do you need?’ asked Nova cane tapping as they gathered around him.
‘I need two of you on that side of the wedge and the other two on the other side. You’ll need your Walkerblades too I believe.’ said Aralorne glancing at Kaoldan.
The big man worked his jaw from side to side, resisting the growing urge of nerves, he glanced at Nova. The old man twitched shrugged and with a flash of green light his cane shrank back into a short black rod, he hefted it in his hand.
‘No harm in looking…’ he said.
‘There are four holes in the wall.’ said Aralorne as they moved into position. ‘I believe if you take out your Walkerblades - do not change them - but insert them fully into the hole at the same time.’
Zahara looked at Kaoldan who shrugged back.
‘Ready?’ asked the black clad man.
Kaoldan sniffed and set himself, sweaty fingers flexing around his blade.
Aralorne stood at the apex of the wedge licked his lips, raised both hands.
‘Insert them...’ said Aralorne, his voice half trembling. ‘Now…’ he dropped both of his arms at the same time.
Kaoldan swallowed and pushed the Walkerblade into the hole, it was a perfect fit, there was the scratch and scrape of metal on stone. His heart began to race, his eyes began to search for movement. Nothing. The sharp clink of metal on stone indicated the blade would go in no further.
Silence.
Kaoldan breath rasping looked.
Silence.
He sighed, shaking his head.
‘Oh...’ said Aralorne, face full of disappointment.
Zahara rolled her eyes at Kaoldan.
‘Ah…’ hummed Aralorne. ‘There was something I forgot’.
‘You forgot?’ asked Zahara.
‘I’m not perfect all the time.’ said Aralorne.
Zahara hummed.
‘Now.’ said Aralorne raising his hands once again. ‘Take hold of your blade with both hands and gather as much of Fajin energy into your body as you can, then channel it into the blade.’
‘You sure about this?’ came Zalen’s voice from the other side of the wedge.
‘Yes, I'm certain of it,’ said Aralorne ‘please trust me.’ forcing a smile.
‘I think I know what he means.’ said Kaoldan grasping the blade with both hands. ‘Close your eyes, empty your mind. Gather Fajin and feel it flowing through you, through your hands into the blade.’
Zahara glanced at her hands then at Kaoldan.
‘I think I can do it.’ she said.
‘I know you can.’ said Kaoldan and meaning it.
She looked at him for a long time and a small smile
grew on one side of her face, before closing her eyes taking a deep breath. She moved back to her blade; three quarters embedded in the wall and breathed out.
Kaoldan ground the front of his feet into the floor, they squeaked, and he felt a wave of calmness wash over him.
‘Ready.’ called Aralorne. ‘Start pulling the Fajin in… now.’ he called.
The familiar tingle itched around Kaoldan’s heart, he felt the reassuring heat: throb, ebb, stretch out within him - filling his chest, his arms, legs and lastly his head. It was like being drunk. The rush of blood filled his ears, his heart sped up.
A tension began to build in his body, as if overstimulated. He had a sudden urge to run, to release it from his muscles. He fought it, gritting his teeth, sweat beginning to form on his head. The Fajin circled around his muscles. his heart racing. He heard a groan from behind him.
‘Hold on.’ he called ‘Hold on...’ uncertain who he was encouraging.
‘Now…’ called Aralorne over the sound of rushing blood.
Kaoldan pushed feeling the energy sweeping through his body down his shoulders, through his forearms into his fingers and finally to his Walkerblade. The blade grew hot, scalding hot, but he gripped it tighter, teeth clenched as he did so.
There was a heavy clank deep within the wall.
Kaoldan opened his eyes, shoulder and legs trembling.
Several more clanks and clatters of movement was followed by the slow grind of stone on stone. He saw movement, one side of the wedge was moving backwards. Light spilled out as if the sun were kept inside.
Aralorne raised his hands covering his face, the brilliance of the light made Kaoldan wince, the black stone wedge ground backwards, the floor vibrating as it moved. Aralorne slowly lowered his hands, he stood taller - seeming to grow - his eyes wide as the light enveloped him.
***
‘Why?’ said Romina her face like stone. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘I want you to be with me. The time is right for this to happen and so it shall.’ said Morveen.
‘Why now? Because you decree it?’ said Tokel chin rising, eyes locked on the dark haired woman.
