by Jon Monson
As Aydiin took his next step, the twilight didn’t merely illuminate the next step – it brought a vast hall the size of a city into view. The ceiling stretched over a hundred spans high, the stone coming together in a smooth dome. The walls curved in a circle, ending at what looked to be leagues away.
A subterranean lake dominated the cavern, its contents almost glowing in the twilight. Aydiin began walking towards the shore, the smell of the fresh water drifting into his nostrils as small waves lapped against the coarse sand beach. The soft crunch of his boots on the dirt mixed with the roar of three separate waterfalls cascading into the body of water.
In the center of the lake, an island protruded defiantly out from the waters. Yet it wasn’t the land itself that drew Aydiin’s gaze. It was the small building constructed on the sandy soil.
From this distance, it looked to be only a single circular room topped with a small dome. At only two stories tall, it would be dwarfed by even a modest building in Maradon. Yet somehow, Aydiin couldn’t bring himself to look away.
His eyes refused to blink, as if they wanted to absorb the scene in its entirety. Aydiin opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, it just hung open as the water lapped around his boots.
“Any chance it’s safe ter drink?” Barrick’s voice sounded to Aydiin’s right. Blinking, he ripped his eyes away from the scene to see his friend crouching next to the water, dipping his filthy hands into the lake.
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be,” Aydiin said, the words sticking in his throat. “It probably won’t kill us more than dehydration will.”
“Well it sure tastes good,” Barrick said, bringing a cupped hand filled with the liquid to his lips.
Aydiin bent down to do the same. His tongue snaked out onto his dry lips at the mere thought of water that hadn’t spent a week baking inside a leather bag. He plunged his hands into the lake.
The water shifted, avoiding his touch. Aydiin moved his hand again, the water bending and retreating as his hand approached. Still in a crouched position, Aydiin flung himself head-first into the lake.
His face made contact with wet sand, the dirt filling his mouth and nose. Flipping himself on to his back, Aydiin’s eyes widened to see that the water had created a small valley. All around him, the water had parted, avoiding his touch.
“Stones,” Barrick cursed behind him. “What did yeh do ter make the water avoid yeh like that?”
“Well, seeing as how you can touch it, I’m guess it has something to do with the disc in my pack,” Aydiin said, rising to his feet and retrieving the piece of gold. “I think we need to make our way to that island.”
“I won’t argue with yeh on that,” Barrick said, as Aydiin walked back to the shore. Barrick hopped into the circle of dry land around his friend. “Although it sure seems like a small building ter hold a treasure.”
“It looks just about right to be a library,” Aydiin said. “Well, a small one at least.”
“A lake that parts fer us,” Barrick whistled. “Right after a statue that crumbled ter dust and invisible stairs.”
“Let’s not forget the pile of sand covering this place,” Aydiin said, moving towards the bridge. “And those creatures, which I’m beginning to believe are actually guardians of the Lonely Spire. I get the feeling we’re the first mortals to set foot in this cave in a thousand years.”
“We’d better be,” Barrick said. “With all the effort it took to get here, there’d better be enough gold to buy the throne from yer old man.”
“I can’t imagine a worse job than being Sultan,” Aydiin sighed, concentrating on his footing.
“But yeh’d finally be able to save the people, or whatever nonsense yer always going on about,” Barrick laughed.
“Bayram will inherit when Father passes to the Beyond,” Aydiin said. “If Salatia can just hold on a few more…decades, then everything will be alright.”
“I think we’ve gotten off topic,” Barrick said. “We’re supposed to be thinkin’ bout treasure, not politics.”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” Aydiin said, stepping onto the island containing the diminutive structure.
Even up close, it was unimpressive. The walls did seem to glow in the twilight, giving it a certain mystique. Yet it certainly didn’t seem capable of housing a trove of ancient artifacts. It hardly seemed worth building at all.
A simple door – carved from the same stone used to create the building – stood in front of them. With a sigh, Aydiin grabbed the handle and pulled. As if the hinges had been oiled that very morning, the door swung open noiselessly.
Aydiin’s stomach fell as he entered an empty, circular room. The walls, smooth and white, held no book shelves filled with ancient knowledge. The floor, created from a fine tile, wasn’t littered with artifacts. At this point, he would be happy to even see a simple chest or crate. Yet there was nothing.
“I can’t believe this is all there is,” Aydiin said, his feet carrying him further into the chamber.
“Well, at least we can fill up our water sacks,” Barrick said. “And assumin’ we can get past those sand monsters, we’ll be able ter make it home. This should make for a pretty impressive story, if nothing else.”
Aydiin sat down on the floor in the very middle of the room. The tile here was a bit more decorative – still white, but laid in intricate patterns rather than just large squares. He looked closer to see the outline of the sun.
The disc – still held tightly in his hand – began to glow. It was different from the column of light it had created atop the Lonely Spire. It was also different from the cave’s twilight.
It glowed an intense red before transitioning to a deep blue. After a moment, it turned brown and then into a milky white. The room grew brighter, the twilight giving way to the brilliance of midday sun.
A mural appeared on the walls, the dull colors gaining strength. The entire structure began to change from the bright white, taking on vibrant greens of forests, the blues of the sea, and the red rock of the desert. Within moments, Aydiin found himself completely surrounded by the largest work of art he’d ever seen.
“I’ve never considered mehself an artist,” Barrick began, moving towards the walls. “But this is wonderful.”
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Aydiin said, also moving towards the walls.
“This guy’s a little less than beautiful,” Barrick laughed, pointing to a creature of darkness, his teeth sinking into the neck of a screaming woman.
Aydiin scanned the entire mural, looking more closely at the actual images. The half he’d started to inspect was filled with beautiful landscapes, images of farmers and festivals. It showed the beauty of life.
The other half showed creatures like the one Barrick had pointed out. It depicted a landscape overtaken by darkness, battlefields with broken bodies strewn around the ground.
“I think it’s a depiction of the Final Battle,” Aydiin said, stepping back into the middle of the room.
In the middle of the mural – across the room from the entrance – eight glowing beings battled the creatures of darkness. The three impossibly beautiful women and five unrealistically powerful men stood together against the onslaught, a pile of shadowy corpses at their feet. These were the Eight Divines worshipped by mankind, the saviors of the world.
“It’s been too long since I’ve been in a church, mate,” Barrick laughed. “Haven’t seen one of these murals since I was a kid. Who’s the feller in the middle?”
Barrick referred to a figure standing in the middle of the Divines, an aura of pure white surrounding his body. While the others fought, this man only stood, his eyes closed. Aydiin had also never seen him depicted in any mural, although he knew who he was.
“It must be Alarun, the Great Betrayer,” Aydiin whispered.
“I’ve never seen him in any church,” Barrick said.
“That’s because any depictions of him are considered to be heresy,” Aydiin said.
The religions of the world, even with all their differences, had always been able to agree on one particular piece of doctrine – worship of Alarun, the chief of the Divines, was forbidden. He was the Great Betrayer of mankind, unworthy of their devotion. No images were to be made of him, and any discussions concerning the God of Gods were held only to further denounce his betrayal.
At the Final Battle, each Divine had created a Stone for use by mankind. These Divinity Stones had spread throughout the world – rare, but still numerous – giving a piece of divine power to mere mortals. They were the sign of the Divines’ love for the world they had sacrificed themselves to save.
Yet Alarun had withheld his powers. He had decided that saving mankind from the Undergods had been enough. In doing so, he betrayed his people and forfeited any right to be worshipped.
“I know this is all very interesting,” Barrick said, “but yeh should take a second ter look at yer feet.”
Aydiin ripped his eyes away from the mural towards the ground. The tile had begun to glow, the sunburst in the middle creating a soft white light. In the middle, Aydiin saw a piece of ground unaffected by the glow – it was the size of the disc clutched in his hands.
The disc continued in its changing of colors - glowing a brilliant red, beginning its transition to blue. Bending to one knee, Aydiin slipped the disc into the circle at the very center of the sun. Its light switched to a pure white, blending in with the rest of the sunburst.
The floor began to shake as the design began to rise up from the floor. A stone face appeared, followed by shoulders and a torso. As a full statue emerged completely from the floor, the room immediately ceased its shaking and everything grew quiet.
The stone figure stood just taller than Aydiin, and it depicted a man with an impossibly muscular body. The statue’s features looked at once alien and familiar, as if they could have belonged to anyone he had ever met. Yet most striking of all was the large gem held in those granite hands.
The Stone seemed to contain every color imaginable. Those colors swirled and danced, each trying to dominate the others. Aydiin’s eyes grew wide, locked tight on the gem. The more he stared, the more he forgot everything outside of the beautiful battle of colors.
“I think this little adventure may have been worth it after all,” Aydiin said.
“I think yer right,” Barrick responded.
“I don’t want to be too hasty,” Aydiin said, still unable to rip his gaze away from the Stone, “but I think we may have found one of the lost Great Stones.”
Great Stones were the fabric of legends. When the Divines had sealed the Undergods in their prison, literally thousands of Divinity Stones were created. Each Stone gave a single power to the mortal who wielded it. Yet each Divine had only create one, single Great Stone.
The Great Stones differed significantly from their cousins. They couldn’t be absorbed, and they didn’t directly give any powers. Instead, a Great Stone greatly enhanced the powers of those around it. A Fire-dancer who could normally burn a house to the ground could decimate entire city blocks when drawing on the Great Stone of Surion.
However, their greatest power came more from perception than any act of destruction. The Stones gave legitimacy to several rulers. It was through the Stone of Surion that Aydiin’s great-grandfather united the warring tribes of Salatia to form the Sultanate, and it was by that same power that his father held them together. Yes, Fire-dancers within Maradon could do things that could be done nowhere else, but that wasn’t really the power that held the nation together.
The people saw it as a divine mandate, that no matter how poorly they were treated, their Sultan had the right to rule over them. The Great Stones were a mystery, but most believed them to hold the true essence of the Divines. That gave the person holding the Stone more than just the power to lay waste to a city.
And now that power sat just inches from Aydiin’s face. He wondered which of the Lost Stones he had found. The Great Stone of Okuta – the God of Craftsmen – belonged to the Emperor of Margella, currently acting as the focal point of the man’s throne. Aydiin’s father had the Stone of Surion, atop a massive statue guarding the harbor in Maradon. The other six were lost. It could be any one of them.
Barrick slowly began reaching for the Stone, but Aydiin grabbed his wrist.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Aydiin said slowly.
“Oh right,” Barrick replied bashfully. “You did find it, after all. You should have the honors, mate.”
“Oh, no, that’s not it at all,” Aydiin raised his hands. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to touch it with our bare hands.”
“Why not?” Barrick inquired. “If it’s a Great Stone then there’s no harm. My old man touched the Great Stone of Okuta, he did.”
“True,” Aydiin responded, “but just in case, we should probably still keep it wrapped up.”
Aydiin ripped off a section of his already fraying shirt with a quick tug and approached the Stone. He paused to savor the moment just inches from what would likely be the most significant archeological find of the century, when his stomach tightened. The colors dancing inside grew in intensity, each trying to overpower the others with a new ferocity. He stopped to pull his hand back.
He was unable to move. Against his will, his hand kept moving towards the Stone, and as much as he tried to pull it back, he couldn’t. It was as if the Stone called to him, and his arm wanted nothing more than to answer the call.
The cloth in his hand made contact with the gem, and the fabric began to disintegrate. As if made from glass, the Stone began to crack, light bursting out from the chasms. The Stone turned into a vapor, and his hand began to burn as the mist infiltrated his skin. A trembling overtook his arm and spread through his torso.
The various colors that had been battling for dominance within the Stone took their battle inside Aydiin’s body. Fire collided with ice, stone stood against mighty waves. Aydiin howled, his entire body trembling from the battle raging within him as the Stone disappeared, becoming one with the reluctant prince.
Chapter 5
The train rumbled and swayed as it tore through the Salatian countryside, a vast expanse of irrigated farmland. A particularly forceful bounce jostled Aydiin from his uneasy nap, and as the fog cleared from his eyes, he was glad to see row after row of orchards growing dates and figs. After Oltu and the Soulless Desert, he had begun to think he would never see green again.
His gaze shifted away from the window to the Barrick’s still form dozing in his seat on the other side of their private compartment. He lie curled up, his brown bowler hat covering his face. From his posture, Aydiin could tell that Barrick felt uneasy in his presence, and he wondered if life would ever return to normal.
As his gaze returned to the window, he let his mind drift at the site of children scurrying through the branches of a lemon orchard harvesting the sour fruit. There were hundreds of them, shoeless and barely clothed. They’d probably been hard at work long before sunrise and would only stop at the death of twilight.
He frowned, thinking of the difficult life facing those younglings – a life made more difficult by his father’s policies. Economic growth and opportunities for the lower class seemed to be foreign concepts to the Sultan. As a result, conditions were, even on the coastal plains where food grew in abundance.
As the train flew by the child laborers, he found himself unable to focus on how to solve the problems facing his struggling nation. Those types of questions could usually keep his attention for hours as he worked out possible solutions and how to get past Father in their implementation. Yet today his mind went back to his new, all-consuming worry – the events that had unfolded within the Lonely Spire.
“Still trying to figure out what happened, eh?” Barrick’s muffled voice drawled, and Aydiin turned his gaze to the man. He still sat curled up, his hat covering his face and muffling his voice slightly.
“Have you been able to think about
anything else?” Aydiin asked, trying not to sound exasperated.
“You seem to forget my love of women,” Barrick said, taking the hat off his face and returning to its rightful place on top of his head and smiled at Aydiin. “You could never take their place in my thoughts, mate - no matter what happens to yer face.”
Sighing, Aydiin turned his gaze back to the window, although this time his eyes focused on his reflection in the glass rather than the increasingly green landscape. He’d been trying to forget the changes made to his countenance by the Stone. More than the rumbling of the train, this was what kept him from sleeping.
Each Divinity Stone left its mark on its holder. Like molten rivers of vibrant color flowing across the skin, Marks of Power were different for each Stone, and the patterns set apart those favored by the Divines from those who weren’t. They were arguably more desirable than the actual powers granted from the Stones.
Each Stone made a different Mark. Fire-dancers’ hands were decorated with fiery rivers of molten lava while Jolts showed off electric blue streams on their forearms. Healers often purchased trousers with slits along the thighs to show off the milky-white lines that meandered along their upper legs. Wave-crafters’ markings were on the chest, Lurchers’ on the calves, Creeps’ on the back, Wind-walkers’ on the feet, and Stone-weavers’ on the upper arms.
None of them marked the face. None marked the entire body.
Yet as Aydiin stared into the window, he could see the lines flow along his cheeks and forehead. The markings snaked down his neck and onto his chest and arms. He held up his gloved hand, knowing only the leather separated him from another reminder of what had happened.
Every color on the spectrum flowed, each fighting with the others for dominance as the rivers and streams shifted. An electric blue bubbled to the surface before being shoved down by a molten red, which was in turn subdued by a milky white. The sight would be awe-inspiring if he weren’t so concerned about what it all meant.
