by Paul Centeno
“You don’t need spirits to build or invent something,” replied the orc. “You only need to perfect your craftsmanship and believe in yourself.”
“Some may consider that blasphemy,” said Aarian.
“Do you think such thoughts?” asked Varkagorsa, glimpsing at the would-be Dralekar, wondering if he was wrong to bring him here.
“Not anymore,” said Aarian in a tone of defeat.
Once again, the orc gazed at his companion curiously due to the response. “I am intrigued by your answers regarding these nine spirits of yours. You seem to believe in them and yet shun them away as though you don’t need to rely on them.”
“I have lost everything,” said Aarian dejectedly. “My home; my loved ones; my dignity; my hope; everything. Even my faith in the Nine has shaken. I want to believe in them. In fact, I need to believe in order to have meaning in my life. Yet there is something deep within me that is telling me it is useless.”
“Perhaps you need a new belief, humyn,” said the warlock pensively. “One that is more reasonable.”
“Let me guess,” replied Aarian, raising his eyebrows. “Yours?”
“Do not dare mock me, youngling,” said Varkagorsa. “The emperor has lived longer than your petty belief and has outlived those spirits you claim to believe in. You should, at the very least, respect the prophecy.”
“Your emperor can’t possibly be more than ten thousand years old,” responded Aarian, a frown forming on his face.
“Humph,” snorted Varkagorsa. “You’ll see.”
They stopped speaking to each other for a while. An awkward silence descended upon them. It was only punctured when the wind grew in strength, allowing Varkagorsa to sail using his single mast instead of sculling. This, however, was short lived because when he drew closer to Warenyth the wind started to die out.
His boat eventually reached an icy water cave where a massive steel portcullis lifted, thick chain links of titanium pulling it up. As the orc propelled his vessel into the cavernous tunnel, Aarian stared at the walls that contained malachite and iridium vein deposits. Narrow artificial walkways lay along the ledges where other orcs stood, many of which fixed their eyes on Aarian with either hatred or shock.
“Mar’gon ka vak jar lee’gis elf heba’el ke-pel humyn pok,” said Varkagorsa, cackling while rotating his oars.
Aarian heard the other orcs respond in their native tongue, not understanding a single word. But when they growled and grunted at him, he had a terrible feeling that Varkagorsa didn’t tell them about him possibly being Dralekar—whatever that was supposed to mean, he thought. Several guards in the same suit of armor as Varkagorsa gnashed their teeth at him, making him concerned while the vessel propelled through the dim tunnel.
“What did you tell them?” asked Aarian, apprehensive.
“I told them that I’ve captured a crazy elf pretending to be humyn,” said Varkagorsa. He tried to contain himself from laughing as he added, “Oh, and that you will become the emperor’s new pet.”
“What?”
“Calm down,” grunted Varkagorsa. “If you make a scene they’ll gut you in the blink of an eye.”
Aarian sighed heavily, sweat forming along his brow. He wasn’t sure if he could trust the orc who led him here; however, it was too late to change his mind. Now he dwelled in the broods of darkness, a hell made of steel where beastly brutes with the hearts of demons resided. Did the warlock trick him? Or did he trick the guards? What was this prophecy Varkagorsa had spoken of before? And what did the “Challenge of Titans” entail? Whether it was a hoax to lure him here as his eternal prisoner, he decided to play along and take a leap of faith in the orc. After all, he did save his life from the banshee.
Not more than another minute passing, they reached a titanium wharf built in the cavern. This reminded Aarian of the cove and dungeon that was a part of Fal’shar, giving him a chill that ran up his spine. As soon as Varkagorsa moored his vessel, guards aggressively clutched Aarian and put manacles on his wrists. From that point on, they stepped aside, allowing Varkagorsa to shove him forward.
Though still cold in the cavern, Aarian felt it wasn’t as bitter as being outside. He had a dreary look on his face as Varkagorsa lugged and kicked him out of the cave into a natural path with a jagged, rocky ground that slowly shifted into a titanium tunnel. Upon reaching the metal passage, they went up a flight of stairs and stepped outside, crossing an elongated bridge of steel lit with torches. Aarian couldn’t hide his expression; he found the view and structural design of Warenyth to be even more fascinating than elven architecture.
He’d never stepped foot onto an outdoor bridge that had a ceiling, nor had he seen statues with fire blazing from their eyes and mouths. Many of the brutal sculptures stood at the bridges’ corners, including the one he was passing through. Upon midway across the overpass, he halted for a moment, staring at the aurora he’d seen earlier. It was like gazing at a portal leading to the realm of the Nine that had been sealed up, leaving a heavenly scar in the firmament. Regardless of what was to come, friend or foe, he would never forget this sight.
“Let’s go, humyn,” said Varkagorsa, kicking him forward.
“Okay, okay,” said Aarian, walking on his own. “I just wanted to rest for a moment. I’ve been traveling nonstop since I found myself in Niratredam.”
“Tough luck,” replied the orc, jabbing Aarian’s back using the hilt of his katana.
Aarian yelped when hit, glimpsing at Varkagorsa with a look of death. This, however, wasn’t something the orc could take seriously from such a scrawny youngling. They continued traveling throughout the kingdom of steel and titanium, entering stronghold after stronghold and crossing several majestic bridges; the sights were almost unbelievable to Aarian: grandiose vistas of numerous fjords, snowy peaks that kissed the clouds, seemingly endless mists that covered the tundra and icescape of Niratredam, various moonbows opposite the glowing aurora, and sporadic sights of hippogriffs flying across the arctic island.
When the duo finally approached Warenyth’s central stronghold, which was a fortress about the size of a skyscraping mountain, Aarian hesitated, spotting immense trolls on each side of the entrance. Despite them being hunched, they were so tall that their heads nearly touched the bridge’s ceiling. They wielded double-bladed axes as big as Aarian’s body. He felt just looking at them could cut him in half. Also, their tusks were so thick he wondered if they’d impale him for the fun of it instead of using their axes.
“Get moving, prisoner,” snarled Varkagorsa, kicking him again.
Trying not to look frightened, Aarian walked pass the trolls that stood like statues. They oddly didn’t even glimpse at him. Aarian swallowed heavily, wiping the sweat off his forehead while he passed them and set foot in the central stronghold. Strangely, the interior design of this particular structure was vastly different than the others.
The fortress itself was simply one gargantuan dome-shaped chamber. Below lay the most incredible coliseum Aarian had ever seen before. Pillars as tall as giants held each floor in place where seats for an audience of thousands were located. Looking above, Aarian noticed the sky, realizing there wasn’t a roof. Instead it was wide open with a magical aura preventing snow, rain, hailstones, or wind from entering.
Most intriguing to him, however, was the level where he walked upon. Not only was it the top floor, but it also had magnificent statues of armored orcs, bulky loin-clothed trolls that were slightly hunched, elves in suits of moonstone armor similar in design to his, dwarves with mighty hammers, and, most surprising to the prince, a humynoid sculpture behind a nest fit for forty mammoths. The moment Aarian saw the twenty-foot-tall statue of Xen, immortal Spirit of light, he ran over to it.
“Humyn!” exclaimed Varkagorsa, running after Aarian who kissed the foot of the statue. Catching up to Aarian, he observed his odd worship-like behavior and grumbled. “Do not ever run off like that again.”
“You have a statue of Xen,” said Aarian in dis
belief, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I am so sorry, Xen of limitless light. Please forgive me for my failure.”
“Get on your feet, imbecile,” reproached Varkagorsa. “The emperor will be arriving here any moment. If he see’s you doing this he’ll kill you in an instant for being so damn pitiful and then torture me for the rest of my life for bringing you here.”
“Have mercy!” cried out Aarian, clinging to the base of the statue.
“You are pathetic,” said Varkagorsa, rough palms over his mask. “I didn’t bring the Dralekar here. Instead I’ve brought a pitiful humyn vagabond who’s obsessed with idolizing statues instead of the true Spirit.”
“I wouldn’t judge so soon if I were you, Warlord,” boomed a voice from the sky that was louder than thunder.
Aarian rose to his feet in utter disarray when he heard the monstrous voice that shook the entire chamber. His shadow immediately vanished, replaced by a beastly one that was as huge as the nest in front of him. Then he dared gaze overhead, gaping into slit-shaped eyes that glistened akin to agate gemstones. He took a step back while slack-jawed, watching a brown-scaled titan with tattered wings descend onto its nest—a narll elemental dragon. At long last, Aarian met the ageless emperor of Warenyth, fainting before its gargantuan talons.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FAITH IN THE ONE
After what felt like several hours but was simply a few minutes of being unconscious, Aarian woke up. He didn’t attempt to move. Even if he could, he was too scared to try. At first he was groggy with blurry vision and distorted hearing. Then the voices were more clear to him—two monstrous ones to be exact.
“I was so foolish,” said Varkagorsa. “If only I left upon completing the pilgrimage. How could I let myself believe this pitiful buffoon to be the Dralekar?”
“Well,” began the emperor thunderously, smoke rising from his nostrils, “he did beat you in combat. Not to mention the fact that you conjured a fireball and blasted him with it, only for him to heal within seconds.”
“Graaah!” roared Varkagorsa.
The dragon yawned and added, “Time mends all wounds, Varka.” He gave out a chuckle that caused a brief tremor while the orc looked even more frustrated. “Do not worry, Warlord. As is the tradition, we shall uphold the trial.”
“What…what are you planning to do to me?” asked Aarian, warily rising to his feet with an unsteady, worrisome countenance.
Varkagorsa snarled, “The Challenge of—”
“Please allow me to do the explaining, Warlord,” intervened the emperor. After the orc bowed at him, he turned his gaze to Aarian and went on, “First, permit me to introduce myself. I am known as Earamathras.”
Aarian, recognizing that the narll creature before him stood larger than a cloud in the sky, felt his fight against the ice dragon in Tor’kales was a joke. The words Earamathras spoke nearly went from one ear out the other what with him being so startled by the gargantuan dragon before him.
“Ar-are you going to torture and kill me?” stuttered Aarian.
The dragon gave out a deafening laugh. “No, my young humyn boy. I am Earamathras, the emperor of Niratredam and, most importantly, the last breathing guardian of Yunedar. The others are, as you call them, Spirits. But believe you me, they are not guardians.”
“My faith in the Nine will never dissolve,” replied Aarian. “I may falter at times, especially in despair, but in the end I will always believe in them. They are the only true guardians of Yunedar—not you.”
“Hmmm,” uttered Earamathras musingly. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? But there is also humor and peace within you, yes? After all, you did give my grumpy friend here quite an endearing nickname. What was it? Ah, it almost slipped my old mind: Varka.” He noticed the orc on the verge of screaming from the corner of his eye. His white-whiskered snout formed a wily grin as he continued, “Why don’t we give you a nickname too? Yes, how about…Prince? Yes indeed. Prince Aarian.”
“What?” barked Varkagora.
“Wait,” blurted Aarian, stunned. “I never revealed my birthright. Not even Warlord Varkagorsa knew. How did you know?”
“I am timeless and more knowledgeable than you can ever possibly imagine,” replied Earamathras, snorting. “Yet you are not alone,” he added, gaping into Aarian’s fiery red eyes. “Within you lies something atrocious—diabolical magic used when I myself was a youngling like you. It is a primeval and quaint way for the ‘immortal’ Spirits to return. But trust me, my young prince, when I tell you that we cannot allow such a travesty to happen.”
“He is the prince of Vlydyn?” muttered Varkagorsa, his mouth agape.
“What do you mean, return?” asked Aarian, ignoring the orc. “They are the divine Nine; they are Spirits who guide and protect us.”
“Is that so?” said Earamathras rhetorically. “Is that why all your loved ones have been killed? Is that why Vlydyn has been desecrated? Is that why a legion of demons have overrun your kingdom?” Silence briefly fell over the chamber. Then the dragon continued, “If you are willing to listen with an open mind, you may learn a thing or two.”
Aarian hesitated but eventually said, “I will try to listen.”
“Then there is hope,” said Earamathras. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, sprays of smoke emitting from his scaly nostrils. After a pensive moment, he went on, “Eons ago, before my time as a patriarch and guardian, demons roamed freely throughout Yunedar. And they weren’t mere ethereal beings—they were corporeal, living, and breathing beings. They were also masters of magic. Who knows if they created such power? Throughout my existence not once have I ever been able to come into contact with a benevolent force that told me otherwise. But the demons had a weakness. Varka, do you know?”
“Their physical bodies were not immortal,” he said.
“Well, that’s a good thing,” said Aarian. “All we need to do is return to Vlydyn, kill them, and be done with it.”
“No,” boomed the dragon, his voice causing Aarian to stumble. “Listen carefully, Prince Aarian. Elves have immortal bodies but lack spirits, so if they’re killed, that is the end. But when demons would die in the past, their ethereal form would linger and haunt us whether through nightmares or possession. Eventually, when the demons became extinct—physically—mind you, none of the races were at peace.”
“Not even the dark elves,” said Varkagorsa.
“Correct,” said Earamathras. “But please, Varka, do not interrupt me again. After all, I am supposed to be your emperor. Appearances! Appearances!”
Aarian couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sorry,” he said, trying to look more serious. Initially he didn’t know why but then he smiled and said, “It’s just…you remind me of a funny friend I once had; he was my best friend.”
“Oh?” uttered Earamathras, acknowledging that Aarian had used the word “was” in his speech. “Was he a dragon too?”
“No,” said Aarian, waving his hand. “Dragons are rare. You should know tha—ah, I get it…more humor. My best friend was a gryphon. But what you’d probably never guess is that he was a narll like you.”
“Truly?” said Earamathras, intrigued.
“Yes,” replied Aarian. His smile vanished as he miserably continued, “It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead now, along with my family and friends. I am the only fool who managed to live when it should’ve been the other way around.”
“Agreed,” said the warlord.
“Varka!” exclaimed the dragon.
“Ugh,” grunted the orc. He dared not look at the emperor lest he be vaporized by the dragon’s breath, which meant he felt guilty. “My apologies, Prince Aarian. I did not mean to insult you. I do know if that happened to me it would be difficult to bear.”
“Thank you, Warlord,” said Aarian.
“Shall I continue?” asked Earamathras amusingly. Their approval or not, he went on, “I was nothing more than a whelp when the demons haunted our minds—even mine, as strong-willed and powerful as I am. And so the lea
ders of every race came together and forged an alliance. Together, with their combined legions of wizards, sorceresses, druids, and even necromancers, they tapped into the fabric of existence and opened a portal into the nether, banishing the demons forever from our world.”
“That sounds a bit too bravado for me to believe,” said Aarian.
“I was present during the incantation,” responded Earamathras, snorting. “Yet we were betrayed by the nine leaders. I’m sure by now you know who they are.” Despite him witnessing Aarian grow pale, he went on, “I was never able to discern if they had intended this from the beginning or if they’d been possessed at some point, but the nine leaders, instead of banishing the demons, fused themselves with the most powerful ones in order to gain immortal Spirits. Although they, too, were eventually banished into the realm of the nether, they nevertheless vowed to return. That time, I am afraid, is now.”
His eyes downcast, Aarian didn’t respond to Earamathras. He knew the narll dragon had a point. Something was wrong with the picture that he’d painted in his head; or rather, to be more precise, something seemed to be wrong with the picture that his parents and advisors painted for him. He’d merely accepted and embraced it. And he loved it. This was his comfort zone. In fact, it was just about all he had left to live for. Aarian wasn’t sure if he could handle his belief being taken away too.
“Prince Aarian,” called out Earamathras jadedly, gazing at his red eyes. “I have a terrible feeling you’ve been possessed by one of the demons and that you’re nothing more than a means to an end for the immortal Spirits—an ignorant harbinger whose destiny is to become a gateway and restore them back to power.”
“This can’t be,” said Aarian, taking a step back. He knew he’d marked himself with the symbol that represented the Nine immortals. Then he thought of how he entered the hell rift in order to seal it. His fiery eyes and hair, his nightmares, and the hydra that had been ripped apart by something as monstrous as a demon—possibly himself, were a testament to this. “There’s no doubt that I’m cursed,” he added frailly. “But to be possessed by a demon? And the Nine…how can all of them be evil?”
