Heroes of Time Legends: Murdoch's Choice

by Wayne D. Kramer

  “Yes…that he did.”

  “And he offered substantial reward, did he not?”

  Zale frowned. “That’s a little beyond your charge, Healer.”

  Fulgar raised a placating hand. “Forgive me, please. Then, may I ask, why not seek it?”

  “It’s an adjunct of Shadow Age myth.” Zale shook his head, as if to shake away his doubts. “We’ve no reason to believe the thing even exists.”

  Fulgar arched an eyebrow. “You think Vidimir disingenuous, that he meant to lead you to something that isn’t there… perhaps…so that you would miss the bar’s deadline?”

  “That cuts reasonably close.” Zale took a gulp from his stein.

  “The Grimstone is real, Captain. It is a piece of the Dark Entry, broken as Zophiel used the last of her power to attack it. After that, her mortal body gave up her soul. She died in the arms of Birqu Umis, the Patriarch. It was then, in the year 3021 of the Foudroyant Age, that the Shadow Age began.”

  Zale sighed deeply. “So you say, but you speak in legends. I can’t verify any of this in actual recorded history.”

  “It is real history. How it’s recorded depends very much on the source.”

  “Much like the Grimstone, I imagine.”

  “The Grimstone existed within the Grandtrilian continent during the Shadow Age. Some in the Order believe it was here in what is now Tuscawny.”

  Zale tried to assess whether or not this man should remain aboard his ship. He seemed to reek of ulterior motive.

  “Your records sound inconsistent,” Zale said. “Vidimir claimed the Grimstone to be elsewhere.”

  Fulgar tilted his head. “Can an object not move locations over millennia, Captain?”

  Zale merely grunted in response.

  “I believe Vidimir directed you toward Gukhan, yes?” Fulgar asked.

  “I don’t feel quite at liberty to discuss that,” Zale replied. Now that Zale thought about it, Fulgar had not been that far from Vidimir’s table, but he was still surprised Fulgar had been able to pick up so much of their conversation. His mind lingering on the name of Gukhan, Zale took another drink.

  “There was a point at which the Dark Entry was under the ground,” Fulgar said, “and the Grimstone above. Our land exists by way of the divine, and so it is by the Light of the Land that it is held together. For the land to be without the Light is akin to the body breaking down from the inside, like an evaporation of the cellular structure within. You would cease to exist. Our land nearly succumbed to the darkness in those days, but certain heroes appeared, who fought for our land and drove the Grimstone away.”

  “These ‘heroes’—were they also ethereal astrals?”

  “Not astrals,” Fulgar replied, “but they did possess etheretics. Genetics passed down from the linage of archastrals, such as Zophiel, who had become mortal for the sake of our world. With their divine powers, they overcame the forces of darkness and banished the Grimstone from our land. They became a chapter of legend—the heroes of their time.”

  Zale perked, remembering his conversation with Tome-scrubber. “Heroes of Time. This is part of that legend? Who were these heroes?”

  “Forgive me, I do not remember all their names, but I do know they were led by one of the name Macpherson.”

  Zale sat upright with a jolt. He felt chilled to the bone upon hearing his own birth name.

  He gazed out a portside window, looking to the harbor south of the Queenie’s berth. “On your word that it’s real, you would have me go after this Grimstone?”

  “I mean not to overstep my bounds, sir. You must pursue that which you are called to pursue. If you do not retrieve the Grimstone, then another might, and the dangers of this artifact in the wrong hands are unspeakable.”

  “Dangers, such as…?”

  Fulgar sat back, seeming to consider his answer. “Void energy is darkness, its very essence in opposition to Aether…to Light. Some would count Void as among the divine etheretical energies that have entered our world over the eons, but that is wrong. Void is anything but divine.

  “Since the Shadow Age,” he continued, “certain substances exist in our world which allow their users to connect with the Void and channel its power. Byrne, also known to some as the Dark Ethereal, is one of them. You witnessed Vidimir use this in the tavern.”

  Zale nodded.

  “The destructive and manipulative forces of Grimstone are much greater,” Fulgar said. “If the Grimstone were ever reunited with the rest of the Dark Entry, we could see the land plunged into another Shadow Age, possibly one even fiercer than the first.”

  “The Dark Entry? You mean that thing still exists?”

  Fulgar returned a deadpan look. “We don’t know. It has never been found. Yet, we also have no evidence that it was eliminated. Our strongest confirmation of the Dark Entry’s presence is the Grimstone itself. Even this small fragment was not something that Macpherson and the Heroes could destroy. Rather, it was cast away and hidden.”

  A hidden object of great power—the perfect formula for a high-value catch, Zale thought. He still wasn’t sure what to make of Fulgar. The man seemed to have a deep understanding of this legend from a source of information Zale had never heard of. For Zale, information was like having a sharpened sword at your side. You could never go wrong by having it, and it just might come in useful.

  “Vidimir claimed the Light is weakening…that the Grim-stone would help it,” Zale said.

  “Search your soul. Is it sensible that dark brightens light? Is white made brighter by black? No. They are not compatible. One must overpower the other. It is not to help the Light; it is to replace it. If someone strong enough controls the Grim-stone, with its power can the entire land be transformed for the sole purpose of serving masters of the Void, such as the umbramancers of old. Perhaps you can see how grim is a good descriptor for this object.”

  “You do paint a rather bleak picture,” Zale agreed.

  “And, yet, there is an element of fate which is hard to ignore. These ‘heroes’ I spoke of—it was Augustus Macpherson, your ancestor, who took the greatest measures to safeguard it from ever falling into the wrong hands. Having befriended a grimkin shaman, he underwent a sacred ritual with the Grim-stone, fusing his own blood with the object so that only he—or one of his bloodline—could again claim the Grimstone and free it from its hidden sanctum.”

  Zale turned away from the window. “The bloodline of Macpherson?”

  “Indeed, Captain. For you, of course, this makes the Grim-stone more than a mere bounty. It is nearly a birthright. You are the namesake of Macpherson, are you not?”

  “How do you know that?” Zale shot back. He’d already had his fill of strangers inexplicably knowing the details of his personal business.

  “I am of the Order, sir,” Fulgar said calmly. “Our records are more complete than even those of your guilders.”

  “Ha!” Zale boomed in triumph. “If all this talk of bloodline is true, then why should I rush to retrieve this thing? I’m the only one who can!”

  “If that is the only way—and there might yet be other powers which can break it—heed closely what I said: Macpherson’s bloodline, not merely Zale Macpherson.”

  That brought Murdoch’s face from flushed to blanched. “You imply my family, as well.”

  Fulgar nodded. “It could be that no others know of this. But, should others who seek the Grimstone eventually make these connections, then not only you but your children and grandchildren and all in your line are in certain danger.”

  Zale was gripped by sudden anger at his shortsighted ancestor. How could he not know the danger heaped upon his descendants? Then another thought rattled him. Has anyone else made this connection with my family? Vidimir?

  He looked Fulgar over. “Why would you want me to retrieve it anyway? With the bloodline lock removed and my brood absolved, I would just bring it to Vidimir for the payoff. I owe that to my crew. Your Order and the kingdom can sort out the rest of this legen
dary gibberish. That is not my concern.”

  “Just so, Captain. Even simply releasing the Grimstone from its ancient hiding place in Gukhan would count as a success to the Order. No one can ascertain the intentions of that nation, which is in itself unsettling.”

  Zale puffed a derisive laugh. “If it’s as powerful as you say, there are those who might say it’s even more dangerous in my hands than Vidimir’s. Does this not concern you?”

  Fulgar took a moment to answer. “I think not.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “I believe you are a good, honorable man—a family man— with a good heart and a good soul.”

  Zale scowled at the notion that Fulgar presumed to know him. “Let’s be clear, Healer. I am no hero. I don’t save damsels in distress. I don’t rescue helpless, furry little anthropods from oppression. I retrieve unique and valuable cargoes for this kingdom, and I bring them to the buyer for payment. We ask no questions; we question no motives. We expect only to be hand somely paid for our services—no more, no less.”

  “As you say, Captain.”

  Zale scratched at his chin. “Perhaps it’s in Gukhan, but that’s an entire country—not much of a lead.”

  Fulgar briefly felt inside his coat. “I believe I can help with that, Captain, and perhaps achieve a more targeted search.”

  Zale heard loud shuffles and shouts from the decks outside. It was a subtle shift in the bustle of readying the ship. This was more frantic…disturbed.

  A strange flash reflected in the portside windowpanes. Zale strode toward starboard and looked out to the north. Fulgar joined him.

  A sloop several berths away erupted into flame. It was not just fire.

  It was purple fire. Darkfire.

  “Hell’s fury,” Zale growled. “It’s coming this way.”

  Fulgar’s eyes were wide, his mouth half-open. “This is a most disconcerting development.”

  Zale snatched up his hat and made for the door. “It would seem, Healer, that your legend has come to taunt us.”

  Jensen skidded into such an abrupt stop that he almost slipped right over the starboard taffrail. The eerie purple flames were only about four berths removed from the Queenie, eating their way through the docks at an alarming rate.

  “Starlina!” he gasped. “We need to get you out of sight.” He spotted some sailcloth stowed against the inner railing. He grabbed it, unrolling part of the large cloth as he ran. “Stay under this until I come back for you.”

  He flung the sail over her and urged her to the deck before she could protest beyond a stifled yelp.

  Jensen stood up straight and looked around. He smoothed out his shirt, both thankful and surprised that no one had taken notice.

  “Men!” barked Captain Murdoch down on the main deck. “Make for the waves!” He nodded to his first mate.

  Dippy rang the bell. “Cast the moorings and weigh anchor!” he bellowed. “Ready the sweeps and shove off the dock!”

  “Aye—on the moorings, sir!” Kasper replied, grabbing two men to assist.

  A merchant cog two berths away exploded, shooting purple fireballs and enflamed timbers into the air. Jensen tumbled halfway down the staircase to the quarterdeck. The blast and sudden swells in the water bounced the Queenie violently.

  Jensen pulled himself up by the rail and glanced overboard. Flaming debris from the explosion landed upon the berth beside them. The hungry flames spread instantly to the planks of the dock. Very soon, the fire would reach the Queenie.

  “Sir!” Jensen pointed. “There might not be time to cast off!”

  Kasper and Dippy both ran to the starboard rail.

  “Fire’s coming this way!” shouted Kasper.

  “Hack the moorings!” ordered the captain.

  “I’ll take care of the head line,” said Yancy, pulling an axe as though from nowhere. Their quartermaster had the placement of hidden objects on the ship down to an art.

  “I’ll take the stern!” Fulgar ran nimbly up the stairs past Jensen.

  Jensen was surprised the physicker had volunteered to cut a dock line.

  “That’ll take more than a scalpel!” Kasper called as Fulgar passed.

  Upon the afterdeck, Fulgar drew something from within his coat and swung. The rope was thicker than a man’s arm, yet one swing was all it took. There was a flash of white, and the line was free. Jensen stared with mouth agape.

  “Time to shove off!” Captain Murdoch roared. “Keep a wary eye on the fire!”

  “Fire, you call it,” Jensen said with a shiver. “I’ve never seen fire like this before.”

  The captain looked back at him just as the bell rang out again.

  “All oarsmen at the ready!” Dippy called.

  That included Jensen. He started for the stairs.

  “Beep!” yelled Murdoch. “Lock the wheel and center the rudder. Stand ready to jibe hard to larboard as soon as we’re clear of the dock.”

  “Aye, sir!” Kasper headed for the helm on quarterdeck.

  Jensen was nearly bowled over as he made his way down the stairs to the inner deck. Already Evette and her crewmates had the oars positioned and ready to extend outside the boat.

  To his horror, he saw that the flames had already made their way around the dock, past the ship’s bow and now at portside.

  Jensen, along with several others, stumbled his way to a bench and grabbed an oar. Another crewmate sat next to him to assist.

  Jaxon was somewhere behind him, his airy voice shouting over and over: “Don’t touch the fire, man! Don’t touch the fire!”

  “Everyone to larboard!” Evette cried out. “Find a part of that dock that isn’t burning!”

  “Almost all of it’s burning!” someone shouted.

  “Ready!” Evette called. “Push!”

  The crew gave a mighty shove into the dock. It was mighty enough, in fact, that the remainder of the dock gave way and several of the oars pushed right through into the inferno. When they emerged, flames engulfed them, as if they had just been dipped into burning pitch.

  “Give way together!” Evette shouted. “Oars in the water— now! Pull!”

  They brought the oars down, heaving to move the ship forward. Jensen was horrified to see that mere water was not enough to quench the purple flames.

  “Pull!” screamed Evette.

  One of the oars snapped. The two rowers fell from their benches at the sudden loss of drag.

  “It’s on the boat!” cried a deckhand.

  “Fire of the dead, man!” Jaxon gasped. “It’ll bring us all straight to Gheol!”

  Another deckhand, Clement, slapped Jaxon across the arm. “Shut up and row, fool!”

  Grunts of strain and anguish filled the deck as they tried to row. Seconds later another enflamed oar snapped just above the blade.

  Evette shook her head in dismay. “It’s no good! We’re tangled up in the debris and losing oars fast!”

  “Find a way to douse those flames!” Dippy bellowed from up above. “Man the pump!”

  Feeling increasingly helpless, Jensen gave his all on the oar. He heard a sickening crack, and splinters erupted outside. The oar-shaft flew forward and whacked him in the forehead.

  He fell, and the back of his head slammed into the bench behind him.

  Then he felt nothing, as a deep, dark calm swept away his vision.

  Zale pointed at the purple flames which now dared to touch his ship.

  “Keep spraying the hull!” he roared.

  Deckhands Redvers, Owen, and Bert manned the ship’s pump, normally reserved for bringing water to clean the deck. Now they used it to hose down the outer hull.

  Murdoch remained in utter disbelief over their state of affairs. Before a few days earlier, he had never even heard of dark-fire. Now it was consuming everything in the Warvonia harbor.

  “The water’s freezing on contact!” Kasper gestured wildly over the railing. “And the flames are still spreading!”

  A plume of violet flame whipped o
ver the larboard beam. Deckhands Sal and Elihu screamed and fell, their arms caught by the flames. Steam rolled from their arms, and any skin the flames had touched turned a frigid white. It was not steam from something hot, but rather the condensed air that surrounded extreme cold. Wind accompanied the flames like a winter blast.

  Fulgar was upon Sal and Elihu in a flash. He pulled something small from within his coat, like a thorn, and jabbed each of their arms. A faint, brief orange glow spread from the site of impact through their frostbite-cold extremities, slightly restoring their natural color.

  “Get these men below!” he shouted to the nearest deckhand.

  He drew what appeared to be a long dagger or shortsword, double-edged and tapered to a sharp point. Its blade was black with tiny sparkles, like stars in a night sky. Soft-white light, like ringglow, emanated from every angle and edge of the blade.

  Zale stared in wonderment. Yet another surprise from their new healer.

  Fulgar reached over the railing and swung the blade back and forth in quick, short strokes. Its glow intensified and extended beyond the weapon’s tip, like a mini-lighthouse emitting a white beam out to sea.

  He aimed it at the nearest of the chilly inferno. The flames actually receded.

  “Captain!” Fulgar shouted. “I can buy us but a little time… but the darkfire…it consumes with a will!”

  Zale chanced a look over portside. Fulgar was right. This was not the combustion that fires normally destroy with. In these flames was a strange, monstrous hunger. What it consumed it simply ate away, leaving its deathly chill.

  Zale’s breath escaped as steam. The water below the dock was turning to ice. He backed up to midship, taking in his surroundings. He felt the natural wind in his face, knowing it fondly over the frigid gusts of the darkfire. It was blowing eastward, perhaps a point or two east-northeast, bow to stern. He inhaled, nodding to himself.

  It was now or never.

  “Full back the sail! The wind favors us, men! Beep, stay ready at the helm!”

  Yancy smirked. “Sailing backwards, Captain?”

  “Work your magic, Fump. Tail her out like we did back in the Whiteland haul.”