Dark shores of salvation, p.60
Dark Shores of Salvation, page 60
part #3 of Travails of the Dark Mage Series
Brining his instrument to his lips, he played a soft note, a single note. It filled the clearing and resonated deep within the forest.
He turned his attention to the pool.
Reflections of sky and treetops shimmered then vanished.
Darkness filled it. Deep within the darkness was a lone spark of red. Very small, it looked like but a child’s breath could blow it out.
The image held for a moment, then all along the edges of the darkness, light began to be seen. At first very faint like the first moment when night starts to fade. Then the light turned blinding.
Darkness fought back, but it could not withstand the sustained onslaught. Cracks formed all along the edge. It shattered, first in one place then another. Light took its place.
The glowing light attacked deeper into the darkness. The red spark moved first in one direction, then another. It found no avenue of escape; the light was everywhere.
Darkness continued to give way. Fissures formed, then broke away until all that was left was a very small island of darkness on a sea of light. Huddled upon that island, the tiny spark glowed faintly.
The surrounding light grew in intensity and then as one, the surrounding sea of brightness surged forward like a tsunami. It hit the small island of darkness, and sundered it.
Adrift in a sea of light, the red spark survived but a moment, before its glow faded and vanished altogether.
Blinding light pulsated upon the surface of the spring. It steadily grew until it rivaled the sun. Heat came off the surface of the Spring. Such a thing had never happened before. It grew stronger and hotter. Hotter and stronger. Then, the light winked out.
When his eyes adjusted, he saw a land devastated beyond comprehension. Nothing lived. Every living thing lay withered on the ground.
He stopped playing and the image turned into chaos. The music no longer worked its magic on them.
Tears rolled down his face at the sight. Never had he seen such lifelessness. A feeling of monumental despair settled over him.
Images once more flooded his mind. The Little Brothers were not finished.
Putting the recorder back to his lips, he blew the note again.
What he saw this time put clarity on what the Little Brothers had first shown him. It took several times with the recorder, but he finally understood what they had needed him to know.
Rocked to his foundation, he couldn’t at first believe what they were telling him. But it had to be true. Little Brothers are incapable of deception in any form.
“I did not think it had become so bad,” he breathed.
Time was not an ally. It was a swift thief that came and went quickly.
Moving hastily, he left the clearing with the spring and hurried back to his home. Taking another well-hidden path, he made two turns then came upon a very small area, barely large enough for four men to stand within without touching. The vines were very tall here and nearly blocked out the sun.
Upon the ground was a vyrzlysk. But not just any vyrzlysk, comprised of stones and leaves such as those within which farmers leave the season’s first bounty. No, this one was far larger, easily filled a third of the space within the small area.
Hexagonal, bluish stones made up the ring of the vyrzlysk. Each were six inches in diameter, with darker veins of blue running through the stones. They were the same as the stones Kenny had earlier retrieved from the bottom of the pool. Inscribed in white gold upon the surface of each was the Symbol of Asran: a plant encircled by a ring of interwoven leaves.
Master Kermudge stepped into the ring of bluish stones.
Little Brothers swarmed around him; flying, darting, some sitting on his head and shoulders.
He ignored them. Holding up his hands in front of him, he closed his eyes and formed an image in his mind. Magic flowed from him, the bluish stones flared to life, the deep ribbons of darker blue seemed to writhe as if alive.
The earth spirits grew even more erratic in their flying. A cloud of them flew like a tornado around him, going ever faster and faster.
With the image clearly formed in his mind, he said, “Take me.”
Primal magic infused him and the bluish stones. The white gold inscriptions of the Asran Symbol upon the stones blazed forth to a blinding intensity.
Then he was gone.
A week ago, Brother Willim received word about a strange occurrence on the edge of the Waste. Had taken him a day to get there. Hours away from reaching the site, he could feel there was something wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what, but the world felt off. The closer he grew, the worse the feeling became.
Bolts of lightning periodically manifested from a clear sky. After the third, he realized that though the bolts began in different areas of the sky, they all struck the same spot. It was toward that spot that he was headed.
Winds began to pick up as he rode; gently at first, then stronger until he saw the epicenter of the disturbance.
A dust devil of massive proportions rose from the desert to a frightening height. Two, three hundred feet at least it towered. Spinning furiously, casting dust and debris from within its body to the world around it.
Though interesting and frightening in itself, it was the hundreds of bird carcasses that lay scattered in every direction that truly horrified him. Twisted and mangled, the birds lay like a carpet upon the desert. The where and why of this eluded him.
Dust devils tended to last a few minutes at best. Yet he had word of this a day ago and yet it remained. Also, they moved about. This one seemed rooted to one small area. That part that touched the ground, moved about some within a certain area. It did not stray from that area.
The feeling that had plagued him of the world being off came from this vortex of sand.
A flash of light split the sky as a bolt struck the dust devil somewhere near the top. The crack of thunder that followed caused his ears to ring.
Such a thing he had never seen, nor even heard of.
He secured his horse to a stunted tree, then walked toward it.
The winds grew ever more severe the closer he got. When it grew to a tempest in which he could barely keep upright, he stopped.
Such power. Never in his life had he felt such raw power.
A green glow sprang to life around him as he accessed the power of his god.
“Asran, lend me your aid,” he prayed as his magic sought out the source of the vortex.
Slowly extending his magic toward the dust devil, he felt the power fueling it begin to fight his efforts. The closer his magic drew to the vortex, the more resistance he encountered. Calling upon more and more magic, he pushed the magic closer until his magic reached the swirling mass.
It was dark when he woke. Head felt like a dozen tiny smiths were trying to hammer it into oblivion, he groaned.
Pain coursed over his exposed skin. Calling upon the magic of his god, Brother Willim was able to ease his pain. It felt like he had been burned, could detect a hint of burnt hair.
Sitting up, he realized that he was now well over two hundred feet away from the vortex that still swirled in the distance. Even in the dark, it could be seen. A very subtle glow came from it, a pale luminescence.
He did a quick check of himself and found nothing broken, just a few bruises and minor burns. Coming to his feet, he glanced around and found where he had left his horse. He walked over to it, all the while keeping an eye on the vortex. There he pulled his water bottle from his satchel and took a deep draught.
Inspecting the dust devil with magic proved ineffectual and borderline life-threatening. He set up camp and sat for some time on his bedroll, staring at the vortex swirling in the distance. When he finally decided to go to sleep, it still swirled.
The next morning, it yet remained, an ever-turning fixture upon the landscape.
All day he walked around it, investigated with magic as much as he dared only to learn very little. What it was doing there? What powered it? How long it would last? The answers to each remained elusive.
A little after noon the first day, he saw a dark mass in the sky on the horizon. Realized it was a flock of birds. Then watched in horror as the flock of birds flew straight for and then into the vortex. Their mangled bodies were flung from it in every direction.
He raced to the closest dead bird but life was gone.
None of the over a hundred birds survived.
Another question was added to his list needing answered: Why would they fly into it?
Days went by as he sought to discover something about this event that would enlighten him and enable him to end it. During this time, two more flocks met a similar grisly fate.
The second flock he had done everything he could, used his powers to the limit to sway them from their doom. Every time he managed to get them to altar their course, as soon as he stopped, they would resume their flight toward the vortex.
Each time they would get a little closer to the swirling dust devil, the vortex seemingly irresistible in its attraction. And the closer they drew, the less his magic had an effect until he could no longer influence them and to their deaths they went.
It saddened him greatly to watch them being thrown from the depths of the swirling vortex to their deaths. He knelt before one that had just been expelled. The bird was broken in multiple places.
The neck had been broken, both legs laid at impossible angles and one wing was gone altogether.
Wind alone couldn’t do that, he thought to himself.
“What do we have here?”
Startled at the suddenness of the unexpected voice, he leapt to his feet and spun around.
An old man stood before him, one that he had known for many years.
“Reverend Father….,” he began. “I…” words failed him.
Master Kermudge laid a hand on Brother Willim’s shoulder then drew him close.
“I know,” he replied. “The world, it has gone mad.”
He gave his priest a gentle embrace, then held him at arms’ length.
Little Brothers burst into the air around them. Chittering and zipping with great haste to and fro, their antics relayed just how anxious they were.
Brother Willim ignored them. Turning, he directed his gaze toward the vortex.
“What are we to do?”
Master Kermudge let go of his priest and stepped forward to stand with him.
“The Balance has all but tipped,” he said.
Brother Willim gasped. “How?”
Gesturing to the vortex that continued its inexorable spinning, he said, “This is but a manifestation of that.”
“We need to stop this,” urged the priest of Asran.
“I will take care of this,” Master Kermudge said. “You are destined for another path.”
They turned toward each other. “You need to renew an old acquaintance,” The High Priest said. “And time is not your friend.”
He then relayed what he had learned from the Little Brothers, and what his priest must do.
As he talked, Brother Willim’s face slowly drained of color. Fear and trepidation filled him.
“How can this be?”
“The how of it is unimportant. You must go and go now. Make all haste, for the moment draws nigh when the scales will tip. From that, there is no coming back.”
He laid his hand once more on his priest’s shoulder.
“The fate of all rests upon this.”
Brother Willim nodded. “It shall be done.”
Master Kermudge nodded and removed his hand. He watched his priest gather what few belongings he had, mount his horse and race south.
Over a dozen Little Brothers flew through the air around him as he galloped. Shortly, they were out of sight.
To the rest of the Little Brothers, Master Kermudge, High Priest of Asran said, “Come my friends. We have work to do.”
Reaching into his tunic, Master Kermudge removed a small green gem crafted in the shape of a leaf. It glowed with a deep, dark green. He closed his fist around it, then walked toward the swirling vortex.
“My Lord Asran, be with me in my time of need,” he prayed.
Green power suffused him as Adellup, Asran’s leaf-shaped focal point, flared to life.
It was time to set this to right.
Chapter Forty-Six
Standing beneath a shade tree on a gorgeous summer day, he looked out over the valley stretching into the distance before him. Trees, shrubs, flowers in bloom clothed the ridges in majestic beauty. Rarely had a scene produced a feeling of peace and complete rightness.
He couldn’t recall just what had brought him to this most perfect place. It was certain, however, that the troubles that had plagued him throughout his life simply melted away. Calm settled over him as he took in the breathtaking beauty laid out before him.
A breeze wafted by to ruffle his hair. Eyes closed, he listened as it continued on its way, leaves rustling in its wake. When the leaves parted as they do in a breeze to allow sunlight through, its warmth brought strength and shattered all weariness’ remnants.
“Are you ready?”
Snapped out of his reverie by a voice coming from just behind his left shoulder, he glanced back to find a young lady dressed in leather tunic and trousers. A pack hung from one shoulder and simple knife of utilitarian use hung at her belt.
Her hair was a deep brown that hung to just below her shoulders. Meeting her eyes…. Her eyes were striking, causing him to pause. Never before had he beheld a person whose eyes were different colors; brown for the right and hazel for the left. They mesmerized him.
She laid a hand on his shoulder, snapping him from his reverie once more.
“Are you ready?” she asked again.
“Yes,” he replied.
Smiling, she nodded. “Good. We have little time.”
Without waiting for a reply, she started along a trail that could barely be called such that led off the ridge into the valley below.
He followed without question.
Walking with her, in this place of nature’s supreme beauty, felt right. Everything about this place felt right. He was happy. Happy in a way he had not been for a long time, if ever.
Her steps were quick and sure as she led him deeper into the valley. It didn’t take long for the trail to reach the bottom where it followed the banks of a medium sized stream.
Water trilling over rocks only added to the perfect ambiance. He hadn’t known that such a place could exist.
They walked for hours. Or could it have been but minutes? He didn’t know or care. Then he saw the first person other than she and him.
A man stood at the junction where their trail split. A nondescript man in a brown robe secured with a plain cord. The man smiled as they approached.
It was a welcoming smile that produced feelings of acceptance and comfort.
The girl ignored the man, chose the right-hand trail and moved on past.
“How are you today?” the man in the brown robe asked.
“I am doing very well,” he who followed the girl replied.
The robed man gestured to a small inn off to the side partially hidden among a stand of trees. “Please, take your rest. And there is food.”
Thinking this was a good idea, the man paused.
But then the girl vanished down the trail and he made his apologies and hurried after her. Catching up to her, he said, “Why didn’t we stop?”
“No time.”
Not understanding, he continued following her.
His stomach growled a bit and thoughts of the promised food and rest continued with him for some time.
Then not long after leaving the first robed man behind, another was seen standing at another junction in the trail.
Several pallets were laid out in the small clearing wherein the man stood. Three had people on them who were injured. Two other pallets were empty. A beautiful young woman who likewise wore a brown robe administered to them.
“Come,” the man in the brown robe said, “let us help you.”
Again, the woman continued down the trail without a word or look at the others.
Fearing to lose her again, the man who followed her rushed to keep up with her.
The brown robed man watched them leave with sadness on his face.
When they were out of sight, the woman paused and turned to him.
“You do not want anything they will give,” she explained.
“All they want to do is help.”
She eyed him for a minute. “But at what cost?”
“Cost?” he asked, perplexed.
“They weren’t going to charge us anything for their assistance.”
“Not all debts are paid in coin,” she replied.
Turning on her heel, she continued down the trail.
“Wait!” he hollered as he hurried to catch up with her.
“What do you mean?”
Before she could answer, they emerged from the trees to stand on a rocky precipice overlooking a deep, dark canyon. From below arose an unpleasant odor of rot and decay. Just looking into its depths brought forth feelings of nausea and did much to dampen the euphoria he had felt.
“Where…?” he began but was cut short by a flaring of bright light from several points along the ridge of the canyon. Six to be exact, spaced equidistant along the ridge encompassing the dark abyss in front of them.
At the heart of each stood a person in a brown robe, similar to the ones worn by those whom they had seen along the trail. Four women and two men stood with arms upraised as they each brought forth the power of their god.
“We must hurry!” she exclaimed.
Moving quickly, she reached the beginning of a steep series of steps hewn along the side of the canyon. Their winding, switchback path disappeared into the darkness below.
He hesitated as he watched the light from the six form a ring around the canyon. The power of what they did could be felt down to his core. Surprisingly, it brought no fear, no concerns, as if what they were doing was the most natural thing in the world.
