Puri stopped a few strides from the man, gesturing for Brock to continue. Brock stepped up to the short stone block wall surrounding the terrace. Imitating the man standing beside him, Brock put his hands on the waist-high wall to gaze out at the scene beyond.
Below the terrace, a small city made of stone bustled with activity. Horses pulled carts filled with supplies along narrow streets. Women tended clothing lines strung on the rooftops. Children played in a plaza, running and laughing. Men and women filled buckets of water from a large fountain at another plaza. A third plaza located upon building rooftops waited just below where Brock stood. The upper plaza was empty other than a lone craftsman who sat on a bench, carving a wooden totem. A natural rock wall, perhaps ten feet tall, surrounded the outer edge of the city to obscure it from view from the canyon floor beyond.
Brock was stunned. How had this city been constructed into the side of a mountain? The very thought of carving this much stone was beyond comprehension.
“It’s amazing, wouldn’t you say?” the man beside Brock asked.
“Yes…um…sir. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Brock replied.
He turned toward Brock. “Please, call me Turan. You are not of my people, so any other term would be inappropriate.”
Not sure what to do, Brock imitated Puri’s bow. “It’s nice to meet you, Turan. My name is Brock Talenz.”
Turan smiled. “Manners. This is good. I hoped that you would not be difficult.” He stepped away from the wall. “Come with me.”
Brock followed as the man spoke. Puri trailed them both at a distance.
“We Tantarri have lived here for four hundred years.” His arm swept out in a gesture toward the city. “This place is our home and is quite special to us. You and your companions will be the first outsiders to see this place and leave alive. Ever.”
Brock swallowed hard. The Tantarri had meant to kill them, but something happened to change their intentions. He had the feeling he was about to discover what it was.
Turan led him to a tunnel that snaked upward, speaking to Brock as he made the ascent. “Every head clansman for the past four hundred years has dreaded your coming. We have watched the signs, waiting for your arrival. Now that you have arrived, the fate of my people rests upon your shoulders and mine. My role is to ensure that you have what you need to succeed. Yours is to have the wits to find the correct path and the will to survive.”
Brock had no idea what the man was talking about. “I don’t understand.”
The man paused, glancing at Brock with sad eyes. “Soon, you will.”
Turan led Brock up the winding stairwell and into a small cave. A thin beam of light streamed through a single opening opposite from the entrance. Looking through the narrow opening, Brock realized that they were directly above the large terrace they had just vacated.
Shifting focus, his eyes settled on an old man sitting cross-legged on the floor. Blue-colored smoke emitted from a small brazier next to the man. The smoke swirled about, filling the small room with an odd sweet scent.
Turan addressed the man. “Elder Yuranni.” He paused as he gave a shallow bow to the old man. “The portent hovers above us in the morning sky, warning the Tantarri of what is to come. The Duratti Prophecy comes to fruition.” He gestured toward Brock. “I present to you the outlander who can wield the lost magic. May fate smile upon him and the quest to come.”
The small man raised his head, his eyes looking upon Brock. Despite the slight stature of the ancient man, Brock could feel the weight of wisdom in his dark eyes. A gust of wind whistled through the narrow window and teased the man’s wispy white hair, causing it to dance and his long white beard to ruffle
The man gestured at the floor before him. “Please, sit, my son.”
Brock sat across from the man. The brazier stood to one side, the blue-tinted smoke filling Brock’s lungs. He soon began to feel dizzy. The old man beckoned with his fingers, and Brock leaned close. Yuranni’s palm settled on Brock’s forehead, and the man closed his eyes. After a few moments, his eyes flashed open, and he nodded.
“He is indeed the outlander from my vision. I see the lost magic within him and life magic as well.”
The old man stared into Brock’s eyes with frightening intensity. Brock felt light-headed, and the room began to spin. Yuranni’s skinny arm shot out to grab Brock’s wrist. The man’s eyes rolled back and Brock’s vision blurred to white.
. . .
Brock drifted in the white, feeling floaty and weightless. As if a fog were lifting, an image materialized before him. He found himself high above the Tantarri plains, a battle raging below him. Paladins from the Holy Army fought against waves of giant creatures. The Tantarri rode in on horseback, attacking the evil army from the side, but it was clear that the enemy was too many. Time seemed to lurch, the evil army replaced by scattered human corpses littering the grassy fields. Among the broken bodies of Paladins and Tantarri warriors, he found only a scattering of enemy remains.
The image blurred again, showing a city of stone built into the side of a mountain. Lonely streets of blood-soaked stone were a harsh reminder of the joy and full lives that used to dominate the now dead city. Leaving a trail of corpses behind, the dark army had moved on. Brock knew they could not be stopped. Humanity was doomed, destined to be but a memory. He began to cry as the last threads of hope inside him severed. Mankind would be no more.
. . .
His vision cleared, and he was back in the small cave. The old man before him sat with his head bowed. Brock wiped the tears from his face, trying to get his emotions under control. What had he seen? Was it a dream?
The old man lifted his head, locking eyes with Brock. “No, it was not a dream. It was a vision of the future.”
Choked up, it was difficult for Brock to speak. “How did you do that? It was so vivid, so real.”
“It is called dream weaving.” The old man gave a small smile. “I must confess, this is not the first time you and I have shared a dream.”
Brock’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? We just met.”
“The world of dreams does not require physical proximity. It is possible for a practiced Dreamweaver to locate someone, though they are a great distance away, and share a vision within their dreams. Even someone whom they have yet to meet.” Yuranni glanced up at Turan before looking back toward Brock. “About a year and a half ago, I was in the world of dreams and encountered a vision of great importance. Driven by this vision, I entered the world of dreams to locate the person from my vision, seeking to implant a rune within his mind, for without my interference, the lost magic would never return.” The man folded his hands in his lap and leaned back. “Though we had not met, my vision gave me an impression of your spirit, your essence, which I located through the world of dreams. I then entered your dream, presented myself in the image of your god so you would not question the message, and imprinted the rune into your mind.”
Brock’s eyes grew wide as he remembered the dream he had the night of the banshee attack at Glowridge Pass.
Yuranni nodded. “You know of what I speak.”
“Yes. I know of it,” Brock replied, still trying to comprehend the concept.
“And I expect that the rune helped you in some significant way?”
Brock nodded, thinking back on how using Chaos on the rune had animated Hank’s corpse, who attacked the banshee before both fell over the cliff edge. “Yes. Without it, I would have been killed.” He then remembered the encounter with the bacabra and how he had used that same rune to bring the boulder to life. “In fact, it saved me twice.”
Yuranni nodded. “The vision warned that we were doomed unless I took action. Though it is against our beliefs to insert oneself into another’s dreams, I found that I had no choice. I apologize for the violation.”
Brock didn’t know what to say. “Um...that’s okay.” His thoughts drifted to the vision he had been shown. “What about the vision you just showed me?”
The old man sighed. “The night after I entered your dreams, I had a vision of hope, matching an ancient prophecy that the Tantarri hold dear. Each night since then, I have instead had some variation of the terrible vision I just showed to you. These visions all relate to the same prophecy, one that the Tantarri have witnessed countless times in the past four centuries. ”
“It’s not just the Tantarri, is it?” Brock replied. “I saw…I felt everyone dying. It would be the end of everyone.”
The old man nodded. “That is correct. All of humanity will fall to this evil force.”
“I don’t understand,” Brock said. “Why show it to me?”
The man’s eyes softened. “The weight of responsibility is heavy, but there are some who seek it, like a drug. They seek power, seek to control others.” He paused briefly. “Sometimes, responsibility seeks out the person. When this happens, forces unknown see in a person what is required. Some quality within makes them special. Perhaps it is courage. Perhaps it is strength of will. Perhaps something else. I believe it is a strong sense of compassion. After all, isn’t caring the most desirable quality in a leader?”
Still not understanding, Brock asked a different way. “I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
“To understand, first you must understand how true prophecy works.” The old man explained. “Imagine you toss a stone into a pool, sending ripples across the peaceful surface of the water. Now imagine the water to be the calm of life magic, what you call Order. When a world-changing event occurs, it is like the stone dropping into the peaceful pool of Order, sending ripples outward, even into the past. Those with the ability of true prophecy encounter these ripples in the form of visions. Since these events are in the future, there are variations in the outcome, dictated by people’s actions leading up to the event itself. You see, our future is not pre-determined, it is the result of a convergence of what might happen and the choices we make in life.”
Brock nodded, confirming that he understood. “So you are saying that this vision is one of many possible futures, which means there are other possible outcomes.”
“It is good that can think with reason.” Yuranni gave a nod and a small smile. “I have seen similar visions of this event hundreds of times. All but once, I have witnessed the same heartbreaking outcome.”
Brock gritted his teeth, holding back his growing frustration. “So, there is hope, but it is slight. What can we do?”
Elder Yuranni looked up past Brock. “Turan, did you bring the Duratti scroll?”
Brock glanced up at Turan, who pulled a roll of yellowed paper from his belt. Unrolling it, he read out loud.
“And, so, many generations after the War of Wails, a portent will appear in the morning sky. Look for the star that shines during daylight, for it marks the return of the great evil. Within days of this warning, an outlander will appear on Tantarri lands. You must bring this outlander to the mountain home. Misguided by distrust, you will attempt to imprison him though your deepest pit cannot hold him. You will know him when he flies above where others tread, for he is blessed with the lost magic.”
Turan glanced at Brock before continuing. “The Tantarri must watch for him, share these words, and keep him safe. This outlander marks the Reditus, the return of the lost magic. In all possible futures I have envisioned, the coming enemy destroys everything unless they face the might of the lost magic. Even then, the path to survival is a narrow thread looming over a wide chasm.”
Brock thought about the words, about the term lost magic. They must be referring to Chaos. While there were others who could now use it, everything had started with him. His mind was racing, trying to understand.
“So this prophecy, you’re saying that it describes me.” Brock realized it was difficult to argue, based on the specifics described. “Where did you get this?”
Elder Yuranni spoke. “It was written by my ancestor, Elder Duratti, roughly four hundred years ago. He was the first of the Tantarri elders and was the first to experience visions of this event. Like me, he had hundreds of prophetic visions, all but a single instance ending in despair. The prophecy you just heard are the words he wrote after his vision of hope.” Yuranni paused, frowning. “Since his passing, his ancestors have seen many times that number, never again seeing this single path to an outcome of survival. That is, until the night I entered your dreams.”
Brock swallowed hard. Four hundred years was a long time for these people to wait. One vision resulting in survival among thousands ending in doom spoke to poor odds. Though disheartening, it wasn’t in his nature to give up hope.
“Okay, let’s say I believe you. What can I do? I can’t stop an army, I’m just one person.”
Head Clansman Turan spoke again. “There is more in the prophecy. Listen closely.”
He unrolled the scroll again, finding the passage he needed. “Guided by a single warrior of the head clansman’s line, this outlander must lead a quest for secrets hidden within a throne marked by runes. Guard the outlander well, for the quest will be fraught with peril and death. With this prize in hand, they must free the lost magic and meet the armies of evil in the heart of Tantarri lands when the portent reaches the evening sky. Should the quest fail, the end of humanity is certain. Of this fate, there can be no doubt. This vision is the greatest truth I will ever record.”
Turan paused, glancing at Brock and then at Puri before continuing. “There was more to my vision, though I know not what it means.” He read, unrolling the scroll to reveal the bottom. “The outlander must close the world’s wound and stop the bleeding before it’s too late. He must also find the truth and set it free, for the lost magic hides within a web of lies. The coming days will be dark for mankind. Remember, when the portent shifts to the evening sky, death will roll across the plains of Tantarri.”
Turan lowered the scroll, his eyes locking onto Brock’s.
Brock looked from Turan to the old man on the floor across from him. “I don’t understand. What do these things mean? What am I to do?”
Yuranni nodded. “It is much to consider.” He glanced to Turan then back to Brock. “We have had centuries to think on this and yet have little to offer in guidance. We instead must place our hope in you to find the answers. Even the vision I experienced myself was clouded, leaving an impression of hope without the details that Duratti recorded.”
Brock tried to come to grips with the words that Turan had read to him. Where to begin? He thought about the vision again. It felt so real, the sorrow lingering.
“This is difficult to digest.” He said, his gaze shifting from Yuranni to Turan and back. “I agree that something must be done, but I have no idea what I am to do. Please tell me that I don’t have to do it alone, that my friends are allowed to join me.”
The elder spoke again. “Yes, your companions may join you. As the prophecy notes, one of Turan’s children must join you as well, or the quest will fail.”
Brock looked to Turan, who glanced at Puri.
“I want to go with them, Father. I am as skilled a warrior as Juran,” she said. “He has been leading Clan Halatti since you became head clansman. I, however, have no defined role. In addition, Juran remains blinded by his hatred.” She nodded in conviction. “I am the logical choice.”
Turan continued to stare at Puri, his brow furrowed as he considered her words.
Brock interjected. “The prophecy mentioned seeking a throne of runes. We haven’t had kings, queens, and thrones in the Empire for centuries. How am I supposed to find this throne if I know nothing about it and it’s been lost for hundreds of years?”
“I regret that I have no answers. Nor can I guess at what wound must be closed or at what truth must be set free,” Yuranni replied. “You must rely on your own council in these matters. We place our faith in the choices that you and your companions make. The actions of man, the guidance of free will, and the gift of hope are the best weapons against a dark prophecy.”
Brock muttered �
��Why me?”
Yuranni laughed. “I would ask the same question if I were in your shoes. This is not a fanciful tale of some Chosen One.” He laughed again. “Apparently, one simple thing hinges on the survival of humanity. Somehow, you are triggering the return of the lost magic. According to the prophecy, we cannot survive the coming days without it. Keep that in mind, and I believe you will find your way.”
Brock couldn’t believe this was happening.
His thoughts drifted back to how he had gained the false rune of Order when trying to pursue a better life by entering the Academy to become a Master. Everything had been going well until Varius discovered his deceit, forcing him to flee the school. Now, Brock and his friends had the hopes of a nation, and perhaps of all humanity, relying on them. He still didn’t know what they were supposed to do or how to get it done. How did he end up in this mess?
CHAPTER 25
Turan left Brock alone with Puri and sent a warrior off to fetch Brock’s friends. Brock leaned against the block wall of the large terrace, looking at the busy city below. He was still trying to come to grips with what had been revealed.
He turned around, looking up as he searched for the window to the old man’s room. After a moment, he spotted the opening, surprised at how well it blended with the rock. His eyes lowered, shifting to find Puri studying him with her dark eyes. Feeling self-conscious from her intense glare, Brock spoke to break the tension.
“Why does your brother hate me, Puri?” he asked. “What have I done that he wants me dead?”
Puri sighed as she stepped beside Brock to lean on the short wall. “He doesn’t hate you. You are just a convenient target for his hatred. He sees you as the enemy who betrayed him and broke his heart.”
She turned toward him, her eyes searching his face. “What do you know of the Tantarri?”
Brock shrugged. “Truthfully, very little. The Ministry shares almost no information about the Tantarri with Empire citizens.”
The Emblem Throne (The Runes of Issalia Book 2) Page 12
