Verge of Darkness

  *******

   

  Masrel, arm-in-arm with his paramour staggered out of the Folly, closely followed by Tovral hurrying to prepare his ovens for the next day’s baking.

  Casca walked over to Pagan and Aeneas, pulled a chair and sat down. Both could tell something was bothering him. “Is all well, father?” Aeneas asked, brushing crumbs from his tunic front.

  Casca nodded in response. “Just have some matters on my mind.” Grinning, he continued. “You sure wolfed down those oatcakes, didn’t you? But I think it’s sleep time for you now. I’ve got to talk to Pagan about a few things.”

  Like all youngsters since the dawn of time, Aeneas protested, but he did as bid, said his goodnights, and disappeared behind the bar, and up to the living quarters.

  Pagan looked closely at Casca. “What ails you my friend?”

  “I think we are about to face a nightmare that will change everything for ever,” Casca told him. Glancing over his shoulder, he got to his feet, paid the two serving girls, Loretta and Parsis their nightly due, and bade them goodnight. He saw them out, then shut and barred the windows and door. Stepping to the bar, he poured two jugs of ale before returning to the table. Placing the jugs on the table, he dug into his pocket for his pipe and sat down.

  All the while, Pagan had sat quietly watching his friend. He didn’t push Casca for an explanation, patiently waiting for him to elaborate.

  Casca took a deep draught from his jug, then proceeded to fill his pipe. “Beleth’s balls,” he grunted, “I need this.”

  Tapping down the hagash buds in the pipe, he lit them with a taper, and took a deep drag, before passing it to Pagan. He leant back in his chair, shut his eyes, and blew out a big gout of aromatic smoke. It made him feel a bit better, but not much. Straightening up, he met Pagan’s questioning gaze.

  “A great evil is returning to the world. Something indescribably horrific that will be the end of us all and everything we know, and it is up to me to find a way to defeat it.”

   Pagan looked closely at his friend before replying, keeping his tone neutral. “Evil is everywhere in the world, my friend, and it is the task of us all to fight it where we find it.”

  “That may be true,” Casca said. “But this is different. Left unchecked… in time… it will destroy everything, leaving Petralis and lands hundreds, maybe thousands of miles distant, barren and devoid of life.”

  Pagan frowned. “What is this great evil you speak of?”

  Casca took another drag on the pipe before replying. “Those ruins you love exploring? That’s where it is coming from.” He then went on to tell Pagan about the stories his father used to tell him, and Elander Zucross’s history of Petralis and the Gualich. He told him about the nightmares he’d been having, and how his ancestor from ages past, the mage Castillan, and three other heroes defeated the Gualich, driving them from the world.

  “And guess what?” continued Casca shaking his head in despair, “Zou Yan-Tse, the Chenghuan sage wrote that the energies holding the Gualich behind the portal would fail one day, and the task of facing these demons who feed on the essence of life itself, would fall on the surviving descendants of those four heroes and, you are not going to believe this… a wanderer!”

  Pagan took a swig from his jug, then a deep drag on the pipe before exhaling noisily. “Sweet heavens,” he whispered. “Last time I went there, the horse and Ripper flat refused to go anywhere near the ruins. Something scared them witless. Do you know who the surviving descendants are?”

  Casca cursed loudly. “Apart from me, of course, no, I…don’t!” And I am no magicker or mage. What am I supposed to do, make these shape-shifting demons disappear by farting loudly? Give me that pigging pipe.”

  “Easy,” Pagan admonished. “We’ve got to keep clear heads to think this through.”

  Casca glared at Pagan and snatched the pipe out of his hand. “Don’t you go preaching to me. My pigging head is clear enough.”

  Pagan raised an eyebrow at the harsh words.

  “I am sorry my friend,” Casca said. “But I have to tell you that I am scared out of my wits.”

  Pagan shrugged. “It’s of no matter Casca. This seems the stuff of nightmare, and a wise man should be scared when faced with such. But despair avails us nothing and… help often comes from the most unexpected of sources.”

  Casca looked unconvinced. “Well, the help had better come quick,” he grunted.

  “One question.” Pagan said. “Have you considered the wanderer Zou Yan-Tse mentioned might be me?

  Casca looked at Pagan, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “You know, I never considered that. A wanderer…that does describe you perfectly.”

  “I say we take a trip to those ruins,” Pagan said “They may provide some answers. We also have to consider how to find the other descendants. But first I need to read Zou Yan-Tse’s words.”

  Casca arched an eyebrow. “I wish you luck, my friend. Reading Cheng always gives me a headache…and writing it…” He shook his head in despair.

  Pagan grunted in agreement. “That is true enough,” he said, rubbing his knuckles ruefully at the memory of the tender inducements of his first tutor, Ho Jun-Rhee. “Now, pass me that damn pipe.”