chapter 1 and 2
And the Maker proclaimed light to the world, and so there was
From the earth the heavens opened and spewed out life
And life was in the hands of the Prophet whom was entrusted with great secrets
But the Prophet desired power, so tried to conquer the Maker
And the Maker, grieving inside, struck down the Prophet and laid him to rest in the Mountains of Fire
And the Maker found that human kind was found wanting in the desire for power
So the Maker made a token, to control the life and substance of the world
And to entrust the safety of this token, drew a prophecy to control it’s fate
Let the earth open and draw in life, and the heavens fall to consume
Chapter 1: Prolouge
Geoden Yviskova slowly paced the stark black halls, hardly noticing the deafening silence or the apparitions of tortured faces molded into the walls; only the weak were intimidated by sound or sight. He did not even feel the slightest panic or suffocation that illusions placed in impossible thickness around the palace usually made you feel. The Hall of the Night was a fit name for this cold, resounding temple.
He himself did not think or feel at all; just lived. He felt hollow and numb inside, at the same time not realizing it. A small price to pay for immortality and the number of other gifts that were bestowed upon the faithful. He lived to serve and carry out orders. Sensations were not meant to be squandered by meaningless thinking. No. Thoughts should be possessed and controlled by people much more knowing than he. Knowledge was a precious gift that was meant to be honed and used. He had known and agreed to this before he had even begun changing. He was not worthy to control his own thoughts; on the other hand, His Greatness was.
Turning numbly into an open archway, Geoden glided between rows upon rows of kneeling pallets; all the deathly black which made them disappear into the floor. At this time of the day they were all filled, or being filled or vacated, veiled servants dragging away the weaker ones from their pallets. He himself remembered his first meeting clearly; he was allowed that small privilege to ponder and meditate on. That was what filled his daily hours when he was not serving His Greatness; pondering and meditating.
Kneeling on his selected pallet near the front of the room, Geoden closed his eyes, then doubled himself over as thoughts hit him like the clash of an avalanche. Not his thoughts this time, though. His name was Boedrick Dalani, only into his mid-twenties, with no wife or family to hinder him. He liked drinking excessively, and frequently got involved in tavern brawls. He lived in the High City of Galandore, located in the center of the Yurasia Province. He was a stable work hand in the Golden Crown Palace, earning his living just barely. His favorite inn was…..
As Geoden – no, Boedrick – crouched there on his pallet, gallons of memories gushing into his head, a slow smile crept up on his face. The pleasure of having thoughts – if not his own – was like being able to breath again; a privilege not to be wasted. He consumed every thought, memory and small detail. He delved in the pools of knowledge that were seeping into his head. More knowledge than plain old Boedrick had every even dreamed of having, he was sure.
With the years of experience and knowledge, also came bits and pieces of the mission that he was about to be sent to accomplish. Bits and pieces only – His Greatness did not usually let his subjects know the extension of his planning. Only a few chosen knew more than was necessary, and those were usually disposed of in a few short months before their knowledge could be used against them. In a way, Boedrick was lucky that he was not privileged with more details.
Words drifted through the intricate pattern of his mind. Archives…Nargak…Prophecies…Even with the stopper placed on the flood of knowledge that he could have, Boedrick knew the whist of what he was to do, where he was to go – the only mystery was how he was to do it. With the knowledge of what he was about to do, Boedrick shivered.
His memories trickled to a close, but the words that acted as guiding stones remained burned into his peripheral sight. Wherever he went, whatever he did, in whichever circumstances he was in, he would see those words and remember them – always.
As Boedrick regained his senses from the semi-conscious he had been experiencing, he realized that he was being dragged towards the two, midnight-black double doors by a pair of strong hands. Irritably shoving them away with a back handed blow – he was that kind of man now – he straightened, and then strode purposefully towards a direction he did not know yet. He was drawn there by some invisible force.
Striding past trickles of empty-eyed men and women, Boedrick sniffed contemptuously. To think that once a very long time ago he had been like that; brainless fools! One day everyone would serve His Greatness in this way, Him controlling every mind, body, and spirit. Boedrick chuckled gleefully. And the people like him would be rewarded plentifully, of course.
Slamming open the iron-bound wooden doors, Boerdrick strode outside, directing his attention towards the Traveling Dock. Roped off with steel braids, Hardnan from the six corners of the world mingled with each other, exchanging notes or writing down reports against steel platforms, encasing them in small ivory tubes and striding off purposefully with them. Veiled servants bustled around with a smooth, easy gait, holding trays full of refreshments for the recent Travelers. A smooth, iron desk was full to overflowing with maps and drawings, surrounded by armored soldiers and intent Hardnan. Near the back, Boedrick could barely see a solemn black line of people making their way towards the palace’s back gates.
As Boedrick stalked towards the roped off area, a slim, almost too pretty girl came to fall in stride with him, casting him a coy smile. Dressed in a filmy tavern maid’s dress, her nicely formed curves and voluptuous bosom showed pleasingly. Her bronze colored curls fell down to her waist in small braids like vipers. Boedrick returned the smile with a sly grin, then turned his attention to where they had arrived. He hadn’t even noticed that they had already crossed the iron rope and were in an empty cubicle now.
Smiling at him, the Hardnan gripped his hands in her silky, soft ones, then blinked her eyelashes slowly. A shiver ran through his body like a cascade of ice, and the Hardnan nodded approvingly.
“That is better.” she said in a low, husky voice that contrasted nicely with her slim figure. Still holding his hands, she stepped sideways, and….
Black light streaked around them, spinning them round and round like leaves in a storm. The Hardnan was still smiling, and Boedrick forced the grimace back off his face. He had done this before many times. Before he could even finish his line of thought, though, they landed with a thud in Boedrick’s room which he rented from the old cranky inn keeper. Catching his reflection in a mirror, he smiled. He had a strong, lean body, silky black hair and emerald green eyes. He looked back to the Hardnan; she still held his hands. She walked a step closer, and their bodies were pressed tightly together.
“My name is Sheila,” she whispered, tilting her head up towards his. “And I believe you took me up here for some special reason?” Boedrick grinned, then lowered his lips fiercely to meet hers. Sheila groaned in satisfaction, then fumbled towards his shirt. For a few hours, at least, Boedrick managed to forget all about his mission.
Tiana inhaled deeply of the cool, fresh air, then smiled faintly. The polished, glimmering white walls sparkled in the early morning light which streamed in from colorfully painted glass windows. Similarly white closets and stands held open books and fancifully painted portraits that shimmered slightly from the protective shields covering them. Wall hangings and tapestries, intricately weaved, stood out starkly among evenly spaced slabs of white marble. The hall, or maybe even the whole Royal Archives, seemed not to contain a speck of dirt. She herself was dressed in a spotless, white silk dress, marred only by a small necklace chain that dangled between her breasts. She touched the small key dangling at the end briefly out of habit; you could never be too careful these days. Even with the shields and alarms set against unlawful authorization, some rapscallions still seemed to slip in from time to time and try to wreak havoc on the Archives. Try. They never got more than a few specks of dirt on the floors before Hardnan arrested them. She sighed. She faintly remembered days when people would step lightly in the shadow of the Hardnan and hold their breath when they entered a room. Now they were in as much danger as any of the common folk. Not that that was much danger, anyway. Hardnan were mostly inclined to show the majority that they were indeed above the normal population; that they were to be treated with respect and honor; Hardnan these days grew spoiled with the care lavished on them. Often that lead to tavern brawlers knocked unconscious or a Hardnan with a knife through their knee or arm. Never a fatal blow. It was unwritten law to not kill Hardnan, but these days you could never be too careful. She grimaced. She seemed to be saying that a lot of late.
Today was her rounds to guard the Nargak, an honor only given to those who had served as long as she. It took surprisingly great knowledge and vigilance to be able to keep watch on the Nargak, a thing younger Hardnan did not seem to comprehend. More than a few had thrown fits over not being given the honor of Watching; sixty year olds as often as twenty year olds. She herself remembered when she had thrown fits herself, but on a much quieter scale. Discipline had been much more stricter, then. She sometimes wondered if some of the forsaken customs should be brought up again, to ingrain more respect and humility into the Hardnan. And also to see the look on their faces when the Elders made them jump up and down on their heads. Naked. She found herself unintentionally desiring the latter effect more than the first.
As a rooster crowed somewhere in the distance, Tiana found herself instinctively going over the start of the prophecies, a habit that had to be ingrained in anyone before they even dreamed of achieving the Watch. Constant vigilance; that was the key. You never knew when a prophecy would spring up on you. You must come prepared at all times.
The cock crows thrice the horn it blows,
The white slashed walls fall slumber,
The room that glistens in the night,
Falls under open awake.
Thieves steal in the night, breaking open doors,
The stone is gone, forever lost,
Until child comes to show.
Turning into a heavily shielded corridor, she used the air around her to form a set of invisible hands that pushed large iron-strapped doors open. As she passed through them she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, then settle back down as she crossed the threshold. The doors swung shut behind her ominously. Her stomach lurched as she took her second step. Suddenly she was in a room of pitch black, seemingly endless in all directions, seeming to roll under her feet as if she was in a large hollow ball. To the untrained eye, of course. Most Hardnan took years to master the uncomfortable feel of the weightlessness of the room, and the illusions were nothing compared reality. Tiana had come to enjoy it, though, embrace the strangeness.
Lightly kicking off with a slippered toe, she floated in the pitch darkness, suddenly surrounded by millions of small dots like so many stars. It was a wonder to her that this room itself was not one giant illusion. No. This room had been made from the beginning of time; a gift to the people of the world. She herself, one of the eldest Hardnan, still did not truly understand it. A mystery if there ever was.
Focusing her thoughts on one, small dot, she felt dead air rush past her as she traveled forward – or, at least it felt like she traveled. In a fraction of a second she was looking down into dim room, the brightness in the middle casting the rest of the room into shadows. Somehow floating down onto the black and white tiled floors, she landed softly, then straightened and gazed with averted eyes at the Nargak. Looking straight at it was a sure way to burn your eyes out, even with shades. It rested on a span-high pedestal with straight black lines curving gracefully and contrasting with the white interior. In comparison to the column’s intricacy, the Nargak itself was almost hilariously plain; a simply white, blue-veined stone about the size of her head. It was peppered with small dents, as if hit by a hammer unmercifully. It radiated the only light source in the room, specks of clean dust sparkling like diamonds whenever a shaft of light swung haphazardly. Just being close to it made her feel as though she herself was radiating light.
Careful not to get caught in exultance – another mistake of younger Hardnan – she paced serenely around the pedestal, keeping her face downturned in placating thought. She reviewed prophecies in her head, each just more extravagant versions of the first, yet still important. Some scholars said there were more than two hundred renditions of those seven simple lines. The first phrases were the most easiest to understand, though. The cock crows thrice, followed by the horn. Perhaps the Horn of Destiny, or maybe just a simple soldier’s trumpet. The white slashed walls could be several different locations, yet some believed that it was the Royal Archives itself. Either that or the Tower of Glory. In any case, the place would fall under slumber. If maybe just a few minutes of light-headedness, or perhaps the endless sleep, no one knew. Tiana herself believed it was just a metaphor of dark days to come. The heavens knew they had enough dark days already to last millennia. The room that glistens in the night was obviously this room; the Nargak never ceased to glow in brilliance. Some argued that it must have a deeper meaning in that, yet this was the general idea. Falling under open awake did not make any sense at all. Perhaps it was just there to fill lines. Yet Tiana of all people should know that no word in the Prophecies just ‘filled lines’.
The verses after that all hinted of a great thievery, the culprits somehow escaping, with or without the Nargak; that was the great mystery. Ponderers sat awake all night biting their nails over that one, and who wouldn’t? If the Serpent ever got hold of the Nargak…
Shuddering, Tiana crooked her hand in a sign to ward off evil, then gave herself a firm shake. She had never been too superstitious, yet late events had led to everyone taking drastic measures, from ornamental onion root to baths in liver oil. Yet another sign of the end approaching, the Prophecies said.
And yes, of course, the Child in the Prophecies. Hundreds of pages of Prophecies had been dedicated to that particular element. It all hinted about a child – a girl, scripture intoned – destined to save the world somehow. But how on earth could a simple, ignorant child ever be able to defy the Serpent in his face? It made no sense at all. Of course, the Prophecies would sort things out. They always did. And if they……
An explosion racked the room, throwing Tiana bodily against one shadowed wall that was illuminated by the sudden burst of fiery light in all directions. Tiana screamed as pain consumed her, threatening to overpower her, then it was over, leaving her panting and sobbing and aching all over. Half-blinded by the bright after-image, Tiana could barely make out dust swirling wildly in the center of the room, till she realized that there was no center anymore. A clean, two span crater gaped open from the tiled floor, just where the Nargak had been. Tiana widened her eyes, then winced and forced them shut. Heavens behold, but even that hurt! She felt her right leg broken, her spine a mass of bruises, and blood oozing out of her ears and nose.
Suddenly a shadow loomed over her; strange she hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps. Come to think of it, she couldn’t hear anything at all. The dark figure’s mouth moved harshly, but all she could hear was infinite bleakness. A Hardnan could heal her for sure, if she lasted that long. The dark shadow’s fists knotted, but a slightly slimmer shadow came to stand behind it to touch its shoulder. It glanced behind at the slim shadow, then loosened its muscles. The figure moved its mouth, but she heard nothing. She squeezed her eyes shut. Pain was dominant in her senses.
Suddenly she became aware of rough hands searching her, then felt a flare of panic as the key strung around her neck was ripped from its place. She tried to move, but found herself paralyzed. Even so, she found herself strangely calm. If this was death, she was ready to embrace it. Even the pain had muted to a hot, dull thud.
Sighing contentedly, she let her body relax as numbness climbed her body. The Prophecies had begun, and Tiana had been there to witness it. And she knew, deep inside her heart, that the Serpent had not stolen the Nargak. It had merely gone into hiding, to be found by a girl who would know nothing, yet be controlled by prophecy. Where she was, no one had ever known except for Sylviana Downing, several millennia dead now, and the finder of the Prophecies. The most vital Prophecies had been locked away by Sylviana’s own hand before she had passed to the Maker’s hand, the instructions to let no one open it till the end came. Well, they hadn’t opened it. But now they would go to the Serpent. The Heavens help the world!
Her last conscious thought was to offer prayer to the Maker, and to wish the Child of Prophecy the best of luck. She would need it.
As the light of the dawn opened fully, three cock crows rang simultaneously after each other, followed by the music of sounding trumpets. Leagues away the Tower of Glory erupted into a ball of flames, then fell silent as the inhabitants dropped to the floor, not dead, yet not alive. And from the most sacred of rooms in the Royal Archives came a bellowing shout as the iron bound box erupted into flames, not snuffed quickly enough by balls of air, and leaving only one charred word. Wyndi.
