Through Time
By Dabeagle
Chapter 12
“Where is the Wind Master?” I queried the wispy figure.
“In the city of Merriman, he seeks to wake the Living City,” It replied.
“What is the Living City?” I asked, figuring I’d come back to Merriman.
“The city of Merriman became the Living City when the Quala, sensing his death was close at hand; used magic’s to transform his essence into the city itself. For decades the magic flowed, keeping wells full by bringing water from underground streams to the surface, farming made possible to feed the people. The essence formed domed spires and trellises so delicate they appeared to move in the breeze. The sand of the desert fused to become glass, and then hardened by magic, became flexible as well.
“Once the city was complete, the people came to trade, to eat, to be entertained and make families. Quala lords inhabited the high seats of Merriman and from them; the city became aware of itself. Merriman allowed no bloodshed, no theft on its streets. The very walls would apprehend would be evil doers in the city. But all was not meant to last, when the power of the Quala became unstable, they left the city to protect its citizens from the sudden destruction of the Quala lords.
“That could be quite messy,” The figure intoned.
“So this city is actually alive?” I asked, incredulous.
“It has a spark of life; Merriman grew too large to be in all places at once. Thus a Quala lord must be present to power the city. The Wind Master will clear the sands from the streets, and free the trapped peoples of Merriman.”
“What trapped peoples?” I asked in confusion.
“As the sands flew into the city, Merriman wrapped its people in cocoons of safe keeping; waiting for the day a new lord would emerge to revitalize the city. So, the city sleeps and keeps its people safe, until the Quala come again.”
“What would make the sands cover the city,” I mused to myself.
“The destruction of the Quala made for many disturbances, mountains fell and seas shrank, what was once land became sea and what was once fertile became barren. Massive winds made of storms never before seen, carried the sands over great distances and buried the great city in a sandstorm that was larger than any seen before or since.”
I sat digesting this information, not sure what to make of it exactly. A Living City? Why would you want to uncover it? I mean, what would be the purpose of doing so, especially if you consider the fact that the south was teeming with hordes that would threaten any paradise?
“Merriman will be the site of the final conflict. It is foretold,” The figure intoned as if it had read my thoughts.
“How did you know…?”
“I am fashioned after Quala magic; I am attuned to your thoughts and needs. I was left behind to guide the way and defend the spheres from the uninformed.” The apparition floated serenely and I merely gaped at it. I guess it only made sense; the Quala must have thought they would reappear again someday.
“Did Merriman…did he make himself into a city because he didn’t want to die like the other Quala’s?” I asked slowly.
“Merriman is the guiding light to the next age. It is the portal.”
“What should I do?” I asked the figure.
“Travel to Merriman, bring the Air Master, then he will make the water sphere possible to attain. Air must exist first.”
“Air, water. Is there an Earth and Fire sphere as well?” I asked.
“Yes,” intoned the wraith.
“How do I get to Merriman?” I asked.
“Through the stone there is a river, it will bear you swiftly to Merriman and the Air Master.”
I turned and looked at the wall, finding no cracks or doorways in the chamber save the one I came through. I moved around the outside of the chamber and found nothing more than smooth stone, carved intricately with the scenes of the uses of wind.
“How do I get to the river?” I asked.
The walls suddenly began to shift, the stone swirling as it came to life and an opening swirled into the grains of the wall, revealing a swiftly flowing river in a cave like opening. I stepped cautiously towards the opening, muttering about asking and receiving. I looked back at the wraith and decided I should ask something more useful than history of the area.
“How can I cast a spell for lighting my way through dark places?”
“Illuminata,” the wraith said as its robes swirled about it.
“Ok, here goes nothing,” I said to myself as I stepped into the cave and muttered, “Illuminata.”
I was aglow, light seems to flow just under the surface of my skin and I lit the passageway with a luminescence that was surreal. I concentrated on creating a boat, something solid for me to ride in on this journey. Satisfied that I could make it somewhere in this water craft, I was born away into the permanent night of the underground river.
Keir and Amoro stood in the eye of the storm, sand swirling in an impenetrable cloud. The wind screamed it’s fury as it delved into the long undisturbed layers of sand. Slowly, ever so slowly, the swirling sand began to move away from its center, expanding and carrying its payload beyond the mountains in the north, slowly. Once the swirling mass was far enough away, Keir released it and the sand rained down on the dry desert. Keir felt the physical toll of the magic he was controlling, channeling this much energy had him sweating where he stood. There has to be a better way! His brow furled in concentration and the wind began to pick up again, small dust devils dancing and merging into one another to form a large funnel.
Slowly the funnel tipped to one side and the sand began to fly from the end of the funnel, spraying over a great distance, covering the side of the mountain in a sandy blanket. A flash of an object buried in the sand, a brief wink of promise from the sleeping giant.
“There! The Tower of the Sun!” Amoro exclaimed as the sand swirled and the tip of the dome became briefly visible once more. The tip of the funnel moved towards the top of the tower and began to remove sand in earnest. Slowly the bell shaped dome came into view, seemingly hewn of gold and shining like a coin in the sand. Soon the tip of the funnel moved as the sand was streaming in and trying to cover the tower from their eyes.
Keir sighed and slowly let the funnel go; succumbing to the heat that was conspiring with the enormous amount of concentration he was expending to exhaust him.
“I brought water my lord, this will be thirsty work,” Amoro told him as he handed a flask to Keir. He sipped and looked at the sandy wasteland and the top of the glittering tower. He furrowed his brow and studied the landscape as he contemplated his next move. He could funnel two, maybe three more times, but how much would that really help? There was tons of sand here, more than he could hope to move for days at a time, especially considering how taxing it was to do this as it was.
“May I offer a suggestion, Lord?” Amoro asked.
“Of course,” Keir replied.
“The High Seat is to the West of the Tower of the Sun, between it and the Tower of the Moon. If you can get there, the city can aid you.”
“Aid me how?” Keir asked.
“The High Seat is where the energy flows for the city; it will allow the city to shake its sandy coat much more quickly than with you alone, Master.”
Keir eyed the Tower, and then looked West across the endless vista. A small dust devil danced across the surface of the sand, growing once more until a large funnel spun, due west from the tower. Amoro began to direct his search, telling him a little to the left or right, farther west or closer to their position. At last a small, flat roof began to appear in the sand. Intricate carvings lined the edges of its roof, and the funnel began to work the sides of the building, unearthing what Amoro called the high seat.
After an hour more of digging, the building was visible. Its solid rectangular appearance was simply awesome, towering out of a huge hole in the sand. Keir lifted them both down to the entrance of the building. Scenes covered the whole structure, glimpsed as they descended. Some showed the might of Wind, some the power of the Sea, still others the rage of fire and the finality of earth. One more yet was strange to Keir, a binding force that seemed to temper all four elements.
The opening of the High Seat finally in front of them, Keir entered cautiously, all the while trying to appear as though he owned the place. The walls appeared crystalline, shot through with rainbow colors. The floor rumbled slightly, and both Keir and Amoro looked about them in fear as they began to ascend in sudden darkness to the higher levels of the building. Stopping suddenly enough to jar them both, they found themselves in a room barely lit; muted light glowed from four points of the room.
They slowly regained their equilibrium and glanced about the room. A muted red glow came from one corner, blue from another. Pale white light from yet another corner, and a dark brown from the last corner. The white light grew to reveal a chair, apparently hewn from crystal. The chair grew in brightness until its glow filled the room. Keir slowly approached the chair, noting dimly that the other lights were also chairs, muted in their own colors.
The high backed chair vaguely reminded him of his grandmother’s house. When he was eight they had stayed for a week in his grandmother’s house, on the outskirts of Chicago. It was the only house he ever remembered seeing a dining room table, thatch patterned chairs with high backs and regal appearances graced the edges of the oak table. Mom shot up in the living room and grandma had thrown them out of the house at the end of the week.
The chair in front of him was a crystal recreation of the memory, devoid of color. He slowly approached the chair, and then glanced at Amoro who nodded at him to sit. Slowly he lowered himself into the chair, which sighed under his weight as his grandmothers had once many winters ago. Warmth flowed though his body and the chamber suddenly lit, walls coming to life as if they were giant television screens. A low grumbling sound grew in the distance, and the tower shuddered.
“Merriman wakes!” Amoro cried as Keir felt the soul of the city stir and begin to shake its sandy coat from its streets and bridges, its rooftops and trellises. Somewhere, as yet unseen, water was flowing as at long last, Merriman woke from its slumber.
“The West Wood Army is impressive, Jasin,” Cyrix commented to his friend as they walked across the open field to sit by the Praetor, who would announce the mission of the army assembled before them. Green cloaks that shifted to browns and grays covered the Elvin warriors assembled there. They numbered two thousand, a small force to be sure, but each marksman was worth three foot soldiers. Their small numbers also contributed to the need for secrecy as they would travel by night and sleep in daylight.
We passed the last row of archers and mounted the small platform, standing at attention until the Praetor arrived to brief the army.
“They are more impressive in action, Cyrix. They are not seen unless they wish to be seen.”
Before Cyrix could respond the Praetor stepped onto the small platform and commanded attention with her presence.
“Many of you know the rumors, whispers that say Quatar have returned to us.” She paused, glancing at her assembled troops, she alone knowing the dangers that lay ahead and she made lists of names and faces in her head, to remember the fallen as she also knew many who stood before her would never return to their beloved West Wood.
“The Foretold will now come to pass,” she said simply. No ripple of conversation passed through the crowd, no murmurs of surprise, no shuffling of feet. A quiet enveloped the soldiers as they waited for the Praetor to continue.
“Defenders, you will go west. The Living City will wake and we must guide one fifth to the battle for our homes. You must leave the West Wood and bring the anger of the land safely to the other four elements. They will join and make our victory complete. Should one member not arrive in the living city, darkness will fall on the west wood and the broken lands will burn. You carry the light of hope and the promise of peace. May your steps be light and your journey swift, be vigilant and strong my Defenders. At daybreak, you shall quest to the west.”
The Praetor stepped from the platform and strode back to the welcoming arms of her many leaved room. The army quietly dispersed, small conversations breaking out in the ranks and more than one set of eyes darted to Cyrix and Tel’Jasin. They slowly made their way through the city, trees sighing and leaves chattering with news that flowed to the Praetor’s offices. Cyrix heard the leaves, the reports of the forests being mowed down, burning and of bestial armies passing from one duchy to another, pillaging and destroying as they went.
“They are moving west also,” Cyrix muttered.
“Yes, they will meet us in the Living City, though they know it not,” Jasin replied.
“I do not understand.”
“They are the forces of chaos, destruction, greed and power gone out of control. They are change, war, without contribution, they exist for war’s sake alone. They will travel to the city because they will feel drawn, as moths to the flame they will try to extinguish the light you and your kind will cast on them,” Jasin told Cyrix.
They reached the door to Jasin’s quarters. After a moment’s hesitation, Jasin smiled at Cyrix. “I fear I will lose you in a tomorrow. But for today, I wish you to know that you are a loved creature, one who holds my own affections in their hands. Will you join me this night?”
“I will. I will join you for all the days I have left, and I will love you each of those days and each of those nights,” Cyrix smiled as he and Jasin entered the quarters as equals, as lovers.
In the morning light it would appear at first glance that two Elvin archers made their way though the forest, solitary in their journey. The attentive may have caught shadows, or perchance noted a moving branch and guessed a creature had been recently near the plant, so as to disturb it. Defenders lurked in the shadows of the forest, arrayed as scouts and rear guard, spies and last line of defense for their two charges.
The morning of the fifth day brought contact, and chaos was dealt a blow.
People shrieked in the square in front of the manor house. Metal clashed and the alarm rang out, the deep toned horn sounding the trouble signal to the barracks. Balthazar was moving into his clothes before the horn finished sounding. His body was awake but his nerves were fairly calm, considering this not the first time the place he was living in had been raided. Bad memories of things done to the captured were the only things that had him in motion. Santana looked about wildly and Balthazar felt somewhat bad for him, for he knew panic when he saw it. To try and get away with two was harder than with one, trying to take Santana would hinder him.
“Balthazar! Where are you going?” Santana hissed.
“I am leaving,” Balthazar said simply, “The manor has been ambushed at night; no outlying patrols sent word of impending attack. That tells me that the manor will be overrun shortly. Invaders will have no use for a houseboy, though they may have one for a whore. I intend to not offer them that choice, not again.”
Santana gaped at him as Balthazar tightened the cord around his waist and began to bundle his blanket into carrying size. He lashed it with another cord and tossed it over his back.
“What of Regina?” Santana asked.
“What of her?” Balthazar eyed Santana.
“We should go get her,” Santana stated firmly.
“You do that, if you can find her. The silly cow is probably running scared and you’ll die trying to save her. I am leaving before I get caught. You would be wise to do that as well, as they don’t take a great many prisoners that might fight back later.”
“Bally, how can you be so cold?” Santana asked.
“I have seen much and have learned that the smart will care for themselves, and the stupid will sacrifice themselves. You cannot win, Santana, and if you don’t watch for your own backside you may not see tomorrow,” Balthazar replied as he headed for the doorway. Santana flew past him in the narrow hallway and Balthazar also stepped up his pace.
Sounds of fighting were much closer now and the front doors were being hit from outside by a heavy object as the invaders tried to gain entry to the main hall of the house. Santana rounded a corner and was gone from Balthazar’s sight. He shook his head, thinking that a valiant heart made for poor armor indeed. He hurried through the passages, knowing that time was growing increasingly short. He stepped on the stairs going up and heard the main doors give way, which effectively cut off his escape route as these stairs went to the main hall. Even had he wanted to chase after Santana, he could not have at this point. He backed down the steps, panic setting in as he thought of the cruelties of the soldiers who spotted a pretty youth, comments about how few women could be more beautiful. He would be passed from one to another, won in games of chance.
He would die before returning to that life.
He turned and fled down the hallway to the stairs leading to the lower levels, and the sewers. Fighting thundered in the main hall, screams rang into the night and the clash of metal fell on the ear like a waking nightmare. Screams could be heard and then something that he had never felt before, something that raised the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. Something tickled in the back of his mind, like a memory just out of the waking minds eye.
He saw the soldier approaching, sword ready to strike and his own body protecting the woman he wanted. He felt Santana’a arms swing up to defend his flesh from the steel bite of the sword, as if they were his own arms.
“No!”
He felt his diaphragm vibrate with the force of his voice, and the blade bit into Santana’s forearm. He felt the temperature around him drop, his skin prickling from tiny bursts of frost like those seen on glass windows during the winter. Blood flowed, pain seared his arm and in a sudden burst of white light, the soldier was gone. Feminine hands gripped him from behind in fear, and Santana suddenly turned down the stairs from the bloodletting of the hallway to the relative safety of the stairs. Balthazar heard Santana reasoning that since Bally hadn’t shown up in the main hall that he had found an alternate way from the fighting.
Why could he hear Santana’s thoughts? And what had happened to the soldier? Balthazar had no answers to these questions, not one clue except the sudden cold that had seized him. Santana’s footsteps came to his ears, followed closely by those of Regina. They rounded the corner as Balthazar stood watching them approach, standing at the foot of the stairs leading to the lower level.
“Bally! I knew you’d wait for us!” Santana exulted. Balthazar jarred back to action. He turned from them, heading deeper into the bowels of the manor house. Once this had been an advanced hub of commerce, a much more powerful lord had dwelt here than the one who was now losing hold over his spaces.
Rushing water came to his ears and he followed the sound, finding a small river that apparently transported provisions. This house apparently received emergency provisions from the boat tethered to its stone dock.
They clambered aboard and used the long pole to begin moving through the almost still waters. Into a small cave they went, hearts pounding and looking back in fear, lest they be spotted making good their escape. Bally was in fear, hearing the echoing voices of approaching soldiers and wished that the archway where they had just come from were sealed, so that the pursuers wouldn’t know where they had gone. In moments, they would be on the small dock and in pursuit of their craft.
He felt cold again, shuddered and the stone began to weaken, unseen to his eyes from a distance, but yet he could feel the rock as it became more porous and weakened, eventually crumbling and sealing the passage as voices yelled to retreat. That strange sensation of prickling in the back of his mind happened again, and the rock that had moments ago sealed the passageway blew out into the tunnel.
They drifted farther down the tunnel in darkness, Balthazar’s mind concentrating on the debris and the voices being urged through the dust and into the tunnel. Regina screamed and Santana tried to calm her, but all this occurred outside Balthazar’s conscious thoughts. His mind already had the debris swirling and as the first soldiers moved through the entryway, the dust slammed back into them, solidifying into a sealed doorway. He knew it wouldn’t last; anyone who could blast the rock back into the chamber would make short work of this new blockage. The trump card was that there was an arm waving frantically through the rock, testament that the rock had sealed one of their number in its haste to close off the passageway, and that should make the rest think twice about coming through.
Their little boat turned a corner in the tunnel and the dock was lost to their sight. Balthazar sat heavily, exhausted and not truly understanding what had happened, and was more than a little frightened. His mind seemed to have taken over and defended them from the threat of soldiers and whatever else had been trying to do them harm. A wizard of some sort, perhaps? It had to have been magic that was chasing them.
His body gave way to the exhaustion, and his mind was tired of listening to Regina and her sniveling. What Santana saw in her, Balthazar didn’t know. His eyes closed and they drifted in the dimness of the tunnel, not knowing where they were going to end up.
Hours later their little boat ran into shallow water, the bottom scraping on the rocky shoreline. Sunlight seared into Balthazar’s eyes as he blinked. Santana and Regina were stirring as well, as they took in their new surroundings. The river they had been on was being swallowed into the dry land around them. He stood and stretched, trying to work the kinks out of his back from a rough night in a strange sleeping position. He studied the landscape, withered trees and yellowed grass dotted the arid landscape. The only greenery was in the grass that grew just near the water, but a mere foot beyond it there was no moisture to be had.
“This greenery, I know of it.” Santana commented as he assessed the landscape. “We should take several strands; they hold water like a jug does. One plant may keep us for days.”
“How do you know that?” Balthazar asked.
“I was a farmer before the fields were burned, these plants were damaging to crops because they would take all the water for the crop. They had to be spotted and killed. Bally, what’s wrong with your eyes?” Santana asked, closing on Balthazar.
“What do you mean? My eyes feel fine.”
“They are white; there is no color at all in them. You had fine blue eyes once, now they are all like marble stones. You can still see?” Santana asked him doubtfully.
“Yes, I can see just fine. White you say?” Balthazar mused on this development. Perhaps he had a disease from one of the soldiers? Or perhaps this is a lingering effect of the events of the night before?
“All white. You feel well?”
“Yes, I am….” His reply was lost as Regina spotted his eyes and began to wail about devils and demons, creatures that invaded the mind and the soul.
“Regina shut your mouth. It’s Bally, he’s no demon!” Santana yelled at her, and then grabbed her, which did nothing to stop her awful caterwauling. He then slapped her, forcefully and she stopped suddenly. Her eyes were wide, astonished even. “Be quiet until you can begin to make sense.”
Regina looked at him in shock, and Balthazar was also a little surprised at his action. Santana had only ever expressed feelings of attraction and devotion towards Regina, with whom Balthazar had remained unimpressed as either mate or person.
“My guess is to the North is the manor house, where you see the smoke of a fire burning. Looting was not enough, they had to destroy.”
“My people were to the East, but there is nothing left of that now. Where will we go?” Santana asked Balthazar. Balthazar thought carefully about their options; clearly they did not want to travel in the direction of the smoke. He did feel a pull to the north, however something he had no reason to feel as he had never been to the north in his short life.
“I shall go west and then north, skirting the army encamped on the manor house. We should move at night for cover, avoiding their patrols will be paramount to out survival.” Balthazar hesitated, and then decided that they should know the full scope of the danger. “These armies, they are twisted by the words of some unknown and powerful evil. I feel some reason to go north, though I cannot explain it. I almost feel as though I must go north.”
Santana merely nodded and began to collect the water storing plants for their journey.
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