***
Gazing out of his room’s window, Raynard admired Teneb ith Serith’s towers and buildings. The great city was larger than what he had ever imagined. Many of the buildings were of Enduen design consisting of round, fat, structures capped with roofs that started with a rounded point that gently sloped down until, at the edge, it twisted back up. Raynard could also see the Government House, towering above all other structures, in the distance. A mass of stone and glass the Government House served a symbolic, rather than a practical purpose. All government decisions, laws, and opinions came from the capital, Enidon ith Serith, or from Dragakar, the largest city after the capital. It was this centralized and inflexible rule that made Enduen rule distasteful to humans.
A soft knock on the door brought his mind back to the room, and the situation at hand.
“Come in” he said.
The door opened and Gerdid walked in, a bandage over his creased forehead. The bandage looked more like a badge of honor and as far as Raynard cared, the man had earned it.
Four days ago, as Raynard lay next to the dead Faradir, Gerdid had managed to find and carry him to his friend’s ship, the Nurion Lady. Once aboard the ship her captain, a fellow named Carran, had wasted no time in departing. The trip took three days on the open sea plus one day up the Chaisian River until they reached Lake Neb. Crossing the lake the ship finally made port on Teneb ith Serith, the city of Teneb. Raynard had spent two of these days unconscious while Gerdid tended to his wounds. Once awake, Raynard spent most of his time in bed or learning from Gerdid the use of a sword, lock picking, and other useful talents. Raynard also took time to learn some of the basics of seamanship while listening to old sailor tales from the crew
Flexing his right arm Raynard stood up kicking his duffel bag under the bed.
“Any news” he asked Gerdid.
Sitting down on the room’s only chair, Gerdid shook his head before answering “Nothing yet. Captain Carran needs more time to ask. Contacts have poor memories but after a few drinks, they seem to recall everything. We have to be patient and wait”
“I know that, but it is hard. I am so close to the end. What if that Faradir had other Cashnem waiting for him?” Raynard asked while pacing back and forth.
“He probably did, and a couple of messenger pigeons should have alerted every agent they have on every port city that touches the Sea of Galere about our escape. Do you remember two men, dressed as soldiers, sitting on the shore as we passed the fortress of Penab at the mouth of the river?”
Raynard nodded thinking back. He remembered the pair. It was unusual to see two soldiers sitting around, doing nothing, watching the ships go by.
“Agents of the Ballanth, and you can bet they already know we are here” Gerdid said flatly.
Raynard ran a hand over his swollen cheek and sat down on the bed. Marks left from the fight with the Faradir would disappear, but he had other marks, unseen, that felt permanent.
“Not bad for a man who survived a Faradir” Gerdid said pointing at Raynard’s injuries.
“I don't know. It feels wrong”
Gerdid raised an eyebrow and Raynard raised a hand.
“Don't misunderstand; I am grateful to be alive. When the Faradir was going to kill me, I felt defeated, that I was going to die. Instead I killed him” Raynard said slowly.
“And how do you feel now?” Gerdid asked.
“Filthy and rotten”
Gerdid gave a warm, knowing smile, “As with all things in life, the first time you kill is the worst. Killing is killing, regardless of the situation, and some men discover that they can go ahead and kill again, and again, until they feel nothing. Soldiers are prone to this after war has torn their soul. Other men discover they actually enjoy killing, men like Cuilan and Rieth. Then there are those that hold life precious and find that killing is something never justified; men like you Raynard. So don’t expect to feel any different than how you are feeling right now”
Raynard nodded.
“These wounds” Gerdid said pointing to his face and arm “And these ones” he said pointing at Raynard’s heart “Will heal in time. You were willing to sacrifice your life to save another one, and you did it against a Faradir. Add to this the fact that that Faradir had probably done much evil, to others as well to himself. Your goodness acted as the perfect counterbalance to his evil, and when he died the tormented soul that was imprisoned inside was finally set free”
“You said that a Faradir becomes one by poisoning his own soul. How can that be?” Raynard asked.
“These creatures are a mystery. They start as Cashnem, servants of Terror. Cashnem are expected to be faithful and serve honorably to their Faradir, and many never make it alive from this phase, like the ones back at the inn”
“Honorably?” Raynard asked shocked.
“Oh yes. Evil as we know it is a human thing. Evil men will stab each other on the back until there is none left to challenge goodness. This evil balances itself out naturally in the due course of time. The evil begotten by swearing allegiance to a Terror is different. It is a powerful, intelligent, yet pure evil. It works at its basic level in a strict code of honor that punishes betrayal, and rewards loyalty. Becoming a Cashnem is a great honor attained by doing dark and atrocious deeds. Eventually the Cashnem manages to excise all of his innate goodness, or his True Good, and his soul burns. As the soul burns, the Cashnem's free will is replaced by an unquenchable anger and endless hatred. With this evil fire in him, the Cashnem progresses into a Faradir, earning in the process unnatural skills and abilities, many of which may seem magical to those who are ignorant of this evil” Gerdid explained.
Raynard remembered the painting on Sulfil’s office, the one with the man and the flaming sword “That tale sounds like the legend of the Farman”
“It is not a legend. A Faradir is the last step before becoming a Farman. Take a look at this” Gerdid said unrolling a small piece of parchment he had in his pocket.
Raynard took the old parchment. The parchment had three sections. The top section consisted of three rows of what appeared to be humans doing some sort of action. The mid section was a drawing, and the bottom section was full of sketches and scrawls.
“Look and tell me what you see” Gerdid said placing a finger at the top row of men.
Raynard looked and noticed a large swirl, with lines emanating from its core. Tall and short men stood to the right of the swirl, with the tall ones stretching an arm towards the swirl while pointing the other at the short men, as if commanding them to enter the swirl. The short walked towards the swirl, heads down, carrying baskets or herding animals.
“Looks like the tall ones are forcing the short ones to go into that swirl. I guess they are the masters and the short ones are their slaves” Raynard said.
“Have you heard about the Gates of Creation and the Divine Road?” Gerdid asked, his eyes unfocused and tired.
Raynard nodded “Only from tales my mother used to tell us. The Gates are some sort of powerful artifact that opens up a link or Divine Road to another world in creation. There were other things but I cannot recall most of them”
Gerdid smiled “That tends to happen when one grows up and replaces wonder with maturity”
“Sad reality” Raynard agreed.
“Well allow me to fill in those blanks. Legend, tales, and some texts say that the Creator made the Divine Roads, and Gates, as a gift to all beings of thought. Through them, one could travel to Alion and bask in the warmth of his joy. According to legend when the Terrors went astray, they hatched a plan to link all of these roads via their Gates into one major Gateway. This Gateway would open the road that leads to the Creator allowing the Terrors to confront and challenge him. In the end, the Terror's plan did not succeed and they were defeated. The Gates were shut, and ever after, this world became isolated from the rest of Creation.
“These legends, like many others are supposed to be rooted in actual events, altered throughout millennia. I
n Alion, a world inhabited for millions of years by different and diverse races, each moving aside or exterminated by its successor, legends and history tend to be the same. While some believe the Gates to be a myth, others believe they are real, but there is no proof of their existence, until now” Gerdid explained pointing a finger at the parchment.
“This parchment” he continued “shows how humans were brought here to Alion. The tall figures are Enduen. As you know, we humans have a belief that we come from a home world where we walk free of the Enduen overlords. This story confirms that, and also shows something else”
“Don’t tell me” Raynard interrupted, he knew now what the old man was going to say, “The swirl on the image is one of those mythical Gates?”
“Correct!” Gerdid exclaimed.
“That proves nothing. Anyone could have drawn that”
“No, not just anyone, look at it closer”
Raynard looked at the lines, carefully drawn in a precise brushstroke. Suddenly realization hit him. These lines and the way they were drawn, he had seen them before. Rougher and simpler, it was his mother’s hand!
Gerdid seemed to notice Raynard’s surprise “Yes it’s your mother’s, back when she was just a girl. She carried it with her for years, chronicling in her unusual way, all that she discovered. I believe she was onto something when they captured her. Good thing your mother is a cautious person and mailed this to my attention before they caught her” Gerdid said taking the parchment and rolling it up.
“What could she have found?” Raynard asked, feeling the pain of his loss raw and fresh.
“I dare not say. We have to find her, before the enemy extracts that information from her. She is strong, but even she cannot last forever under the agony of torture” Gerdid said, a hint of anger and desperation in his otherwise cool tone.
“I agree. What about those other drawings and scrawls on the parchment, what do they mean?” Raynard asked.
“Those are not important right now, finding your mother is. I owe her for something that she did for me…long ago” Gerdid said, a haunted expression crossing his face.
Shaking his head, he looked at Raynard and smiled “Where did you put the bundle I gave you?”
Raynard looked down and pulled out his duffle from under the bed.
“In here”
“In there? Why?”
Raynard looked at the duffle and felt sick to his stomach “I do not want them. They are a killer's toolset”
“They are yours Raynard. Bring them back from darkness into the light or let the darkness take you. Saving your mother demands more than a daring heart and a cunning mind. The perils that await us will test and challenge us, and we will face unspeakable evil. Even after we find her, our journey continues for your mother’s quest is not finished, and we cannot turn back leaving her to finish it on her own. It starts then here, and your first test rests inside that bundle” Gerdid said.
Raynard nodded “As long as I live she will not walk alone”
“I like your resolve, just remember it is a long road, so never waver. Now, I will be outside the hotel in an hour to meet with Captain Carran, and you need to be in that meeting. Wear them from now on, and never, ever leave them” Gerdid said pointing at the duffel before opening the door and leaving the room.
Raynard sat alone with the duffel next to his feet. Slowly he opened the bag and took out the small bundle of white linen tied up with cotton cord. He methodically untied the knot on the cord and rolled out the linen to reveal two blades. One of the blades was his old Korl knife now fully repaired to his satisfaction. He picked it up and looked at it for some time. The other blade was the Faradir‘s dagger. The wicked weapon felt light and balanced, but it also felt tainted, as if every horror and evil the Faradir had done resided within the blade. Raynard picked it up and his eyes could not peel away from its shiny and well-crafted blade. With an effort, he placed it back on the bed next to the Korl.
With a sigh, he looked out the window, the afternoon twilight turning the cityscape into a mosaic of deep reds and oranges. Closing his eyes, he felt the two blades close to him and the way they tugged at his soul. One was pure yet soiled by death, while the other was powerful and attractive, yet somehow repulsive. Perhaps this was the way his life was going to be, a dance between the light and dark. One thing was certain, whatever his life would have been, and whatever the future may have had in store was gone forever; shattered like the once pure blade of his Korl knife. Opening his eyes, he fastened the blades to his belt. Shattered destiny or not his family was imprisoned, victims of a betrayal and a world that feared them and it was up to him to find a way to free them, no matter what it took, no matter the cost, and no matter the consequences.
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