Skull of Oghren

by Tuomas Vainio

  Pan's gaze wonders to the night sky, he could jump and fly away. Yet how far could he get before the magister spews even more fire towards him? The boy's lungs are feeling ever heavier, his vision is blurring, and so he spurs into one final desperate action. He loosens his mask and the black cloak crafted by Mimas and Enceladus. He ties the two items together before uttering the command word; 'Volovis.' The black cloak spurs into the life, into flight, and as he lets his fingers go it becomes as frozen as everything else around him. His head hurts, but he dives under the cloak and into the cold night air.

  He finds bricks he could cling from, and so the flicker of faerie fire finally dies off.

  Time is frozen no more.

  The magister's breath of fire tears another hole through the wall. A grin of satisfaction rises onto the face of the magister before it fades the moment he spots the fox mask floating against the night sky. He rushes onwards, spewing more fire from his mouth and hands. Trails of fire cross the sky as the magister tries to hit the fleeing cloak and mask, More and more fiery fury arcs across the sky until the cloak finally catches fire.

  A bellowing laughter follows as the mask drops. The magister takes a one final breath of the cold night air, before he turns away, tugging the golden key back under his clothes with tremendous satisfaction. How dare someone try to steal from him.

  Pan still clings against the wall. He knows he cannot hold on forever and how he cannot risk sneaking back in, not yet at least. He glances down and the drop is ever so long and dark. Pan's fingers twitch in pain, and so he does the only thing he can. He begins to climb upwards to the ancient roof. Having gazed at it from afar, the boy hopes to find a place to sit and rest. A place shielded from the cold howling night wind. A chance to overcome and wait for the temporal difference to fade, for the wound in time to close.

  The rat's eyes had opened to see the magister spew fire towards the mask illuminated in the dark. Desperation had filled his heart, until rat's nose caught onto the scent of the boy. How Pan had clung against the wall just next to the enraged magister. How he decided to climb ever higher. 'Smart boy.' The old rat mutters, before he limps across the floor to his shard of mirror. A piece hidden under the bottom of the ancient cabinet...

  ***

  Mimas wakes to face the old rat sitting on her throat, slapping her chin with its tiny paws. The old rat looks miserable, blood stained, shivering, with desperation in his eyes. He only says five words: 'I need you to fly.' The girl rubs her eyes, and she gets up and pulls her pigeon cloak from under her pillow. When she opens the window of her room, her siblings begin to wake to see their sister rise and vanish into the night sky. Pallene and Enceladus wonder what it is all about, until the quiet fall of snow draws their curiosity. They stick out their tongues and hands to catch snow flakes.

  The giant pigeon flaps its wings made of black cloth through the falling snow. Mimas clings against the bird's neck while the old rat rests between the two. They soar across the skies, swooping up and down with the winds and glide past the towers. The streets are blanketed with an almost an inch of snow. Therefore, although the Tower of Judgement no longer casts its beam of light towards the sea, thanks to the snow, Mimas can see enough of the city to know where to guide her pigeon.

  Once they finally reach the tower, they circle around it until the old rat's nose picks a whim of Pan's scent. They do not land the bird of cloth. Instead Mimas instructs the bird to grab a hold of the motionless boy covered underneath a blanket of snow. The bird's wings blow loose puffs of snow before they can head back.

  ***

  Much later Pan sits in front of the fireplace, he is tugged underneath blankets, and Loge does her best to force him to as much hot soup as possible. The real Skull of Oghren rests by his side. The boy stares at it intently, until Loge asks: 'So what are we going to do with it?'

  'I do not know, maybe hide it underneath my bed.'

  The girl laughs. 'I've seen the underneath of your bed. No one will ever find it!' Before shoving another spoonful right into Pan's mouth.

  Epilogue

  Two days have passed since the old rat and Pan ventured to steal the true Skull of Oghren.

  The magister that was tasked to handle its guard has kept his mouth silent and he tries his best to keep the secret from leaking out. The surviving were-rats and their replacements already know what has happened. No one will come to ask anything from them, so he is not too worried. But still, the knowledge of the incident means that it will require a mixture of hunger and peer pressure before even the newly afflicted learn how to behave under his rule.

  The were-rats are not a problem. But he is nevertheless sweating and walking back and forth at the top of the tower. It is only for so long that he can delay the fulfilment of the court ordered punishments, the falls to darkness as forever cursed afflicted. He knows that it will not take long before someone will enter through the mirror to fetch the skull themselves. It is not like it would be the first occurrence of it taking place during his long career as the skull's overseer.

  Our magister stares at his desk; at his bottle of wine and small keg of ale, he has not had a single drink after seeing that fox faced float in the air. His throat longs for a drink, but the strange feeling of horror continues to stay his hand. Thus once more he turns to the old cabinet. The doors are open. He sees the fragments of the skull and the hammer, and he simply cannot believe his eyes. He cannot believe his own hands as the grasp for the fragments. 'How can it be destroyed?' He cries and cries with mixture of horror and amazement.

  Then there was the issue of chronomancy. A thought that is fearfully aggravating, he cannot muster a thought of how such banned art could even exist within the city, let alone his room to be marked on the Orb of Time? The questions those council appointment magisters had asked of him, the blood they drained to make sure he was not the chronomancer... The thought of the encounter still makes him flinch from the memory of the pain.

  And then he sees a girl standing behind him. The large man flinches and shouts from the shock. The girl screams back in return, and a moment later, after wiping the sweat off his greasy forehead, he takes a good look at her. She is little over ten years old, tawny hair and eyes, and she dons the red robes of an apprentice.

  'Excuse me, I've been sent here to fetch the skull.' She says meekly.

  Somehow the sight of a mere apprentice before him starts to turn the fear bellowing in his guts into rage of having been insulted. 'A mere apprentice?' He utters with a guttural voice. The girl takes steps back, causing the rage to fade, and the large man sighs. 'The petty games, they never tire of their petty games, and someday even you will sent your apprentice to meet someone you despise...'

  'The skull sir.'

  Reluctantly the man steps aside and points his open hand towards the cabinet. 'It is there, feel free to take whichever pieces you want to.' After rubbing his own eyes: 'The jaw bone is most intact, it can be used like a dagger to inflict the affliction.'

  The young girl blinks time and time again. 'But... that cannot be the skull, I have heard the songs about it. I've sung songs about.'

  'Yet it is...' The man says with almost whimpering voice.

  'So the rumours are true?'

  'Yes...' The man blinks. 'What rumours?' He grabs the girl and shakes his shoulders.

  The girl tries to struggle free at first but she simply cannot. 'That the Vulpi broke into the Tower Judgement, that they set hundreds of prisoners free, shattered the light that guards the sea so ships could sneak in and out of the city, and that they even broke they skull?'

  'Why would they think that?' He is no longer shaking the girl.

  'Smoke and fire rose from the tower, an impossibly ancient Vulpi mask was found discarded on the snowy streets below, and the scheduled punishments have not taken place... People are talking.'

  He lets go of the girl as a smile rises to his face. A smile of relief. He knows that the supposedly escaped prisoners are all dead as they had just suffocated
from the smoke. Hence the embarrassing stories of them having escaped is convenient, as no one can accuse the tower of mismanagement and failure of its duty. Thus the moment the shattered skull is revealed to the public, all of the wild rumours will be validated, which means that his own skin is safe until his existence is forgotten once more.

  He rushes to the cabinet. He makes sure all the fragments from the skull to are resting on top of the pillow before reaching into the sleeve of his own robe and pulling out his large silk handkerchief. He opens and spreads it neatly over everything before offering the package to the young girl. 'Do not allow anyone to remove the handkerchief until you are standing in front of the Great Pit at the heart of the docks.' He stresses with his voice. 'It is going to cause a scene one way or another... But it is safer for you if everyone hears of the news at the same time.'

  The girl stares at the piece of cloth and nods in disgusted agreement a moment before she heads down towards the mirror whence she came.

  The old magister sits down and waits for three hours before he finally pours himself a drink. He raises it up, and lets the liquid fall down his throat. 'The Skull of Oghren destroyed?' He waits and his words go unanswered. 'How could anyone ever even consider that?' He fills his empty mug and takes another long sip. 'No doubt my prestigious peers are fighting over for the fragments, and trying their best to figure out and explain how it was all done...'

  'Elen Machios.' Surtur's commanding voice fills the room and the room begins to glow in cold blue light.

  The man simply pours himself another drink, before looking for the goblet to offer one for Surtur. 'How are you my old friend?' He asks while presenting the glass.

  'Did the shattered skull truly belong to Oghren?'

  'It was in pieces, but I know that skull better than my own.' He drinks another mouthful. 'It might have been fake, it might have been truly shattered. I mean, did anyone ever try chronomancy on it? Heck, chronomancy in our city, it seems that everything is possible.'

  Surtur stares into his red wine. His mind returns to his vague memories of his own death. 'Yes, it seems that everything is possible these days.'

  'I wonder what tomorrow brings...'

  The two stare at each other. 'The drink doesn't suit you...'

  'Nigh immortality doesn't suit us.' 'Yet we can get drunk, do you still remember any of the old songs?'

  Surtur coughs, he looks elsewhere, until for the first time in longest time a friendly smile spreads to his face. 'Like of the fox and the keg of bear's beer?'

  ***

  Albezjer, the old rat, looks up at the legion of eyes that stare at him intently. His whisker's twitch along with his ears. 'I can hear how your feet shift on the stones. I can smell your uncertainty, my dear lord Sus.'

  The multitude of rats reply. 'The rumours on the streets...'

  'Are true, and now it is time for you to grant what you are due.'

  'We smell trickery in this.'

  'And I smell your fear. Who knows what such hammer or even hammers could do to your little rat nest?'

  'You dare threaten me at the heart of my domain?'

  'Yes.' The old rat replies coldly. 'Who could ever trust a king who doesn't keep his word? You will grant me what you are due, because the alternative is just too costly for you.'

  'Fine. You can have your petty territory. I wish you luck in your effort of protecting it from the hungry claws of Capra. There is… much intrigue under the cobblestone streets these days, I am afraid the protection I can offer to a vassal is limited.'

  The old rat bows. 'I thank you my dear lord Sus.' The old rat smirks. 'Were I unable to protect my little turf, I would be truly unfit to be in charge of it.' The Rat-King does not appreciate the old rat's words, so he sends him away from under his noses.

  And so the old rat thinks; this, this will be only the very beginning.