Into Oblivion (Book 4) (11 page)

Through these scrolls, I learned the secrets of
inter-dimensional travel; the ability to travel between Universes, or to other places within them. It was through my initial travels that I came upon a dying race. They existed upon a world orbiting a dark, dying sun. The remnants of their kind were peaceful, gentle creatures whose sole purpose was survival. There was nothing left for them to strive for, only the fate of death.

I felt that, somehow, these creatures were the key to defeating the darkness. They possessed the ability to gather energy for themselves, though on their world, they gathered it from their dying star. I took one of them and brought it back with me in hopes of altering it somehow to aid us in this battle.

But, unknown to me at the time, the darkness was also drawn to that same world through my travels there. He took the rest of them, along with my friend, and twisted them into horrifying beings of death and destruction. He then unleashed them upon my world, and our fate was sealed.

Defeated, but not discouraged, I continued my travels. Through contact with this creature of mine, I gained the ability to travel between our two dimensions. I first stepped foot on your world ten thousand years ago by your account, and what I found there gave me hope.

Though our Mother spirit was now dead, I discovered that I could replace her with something I found here; a second Mother spirit on this world. It was one that was shielded and protected by your Gaia, hidden from the outside world within her depths.

She was Theia, the sister of our Mother spirit; yours and ours. In my realm, Theia died long ago, having never encountered Gaia and gaining her protection. Our Moon, unlike yours, is a foreign body; captured by our world in passing. Your Moon is the combined flesh of Gaia and Theia, cast off by a great collision between the two.

When I discovered this knowledge, I began the maddening quest of finding this spirit and bringing her back to my world. That was when my troubles began. I could not make the journey within your world, as it was not allowed by the Universal powers. I became mad. I was obsessed with breaking these laws; with bringing life back to my world.

In my madness, I destroyed many things on your world. I caused much chaos, and much horror. I was desperate to save my world and my people. It was my madness that drove me to do terrible things of which I will not speak. But soon, my madness was ended. I encountered an odd being that both frightened and repulsed me. He closed the portal that I had made and I did battle with him. I was killed here, and my remains were buried in the forest.

As I lay dead, trapped in this realm, my madness grew. It became strong enough to reanimate my body. Somehow, I felt that the strange, dark being was drawing my essence back to my remains through some sort of vile magic. Why, I do not know. I never saw him, and I never learned his name or his reasons.

Through his dark spell, my essence became the banshee, while my soul was trapped in Limbo. I was never fully able to cross into my realm or yours. I was caught between them, and my avatar, desperate to communicate with my father, terrorized him to the point of his own madness.

He slowly faded, getting closer to death with each passing attempt to bring him to my domain. As a result, my people began fading away, appearing by the hundreds in this Limbo. They are not dead, merely caught in the shadow realm.

I vowed to restore life to my world, and to my people, at all costs. Through the centuries, I forgot this quest, and my avatar became nothing but a creature of legend; a folk tale. I became the banshee, but my soul remained here.

It was only recently that I encountered my other worldly friend again; this creature that your mentor referred to as the “black Defiler.” In its servitude to the darkness, it had forgotten about me, and we did battle. My avatar was defeated; drained of energy, and I was trapped here once more. Eventually, I regained some strength and called to this Defiler. I found that it had been destroyed, but I imparted some of my energy to bring it back into existence. I knew that if I did so, someone would find it, and learn of its true nature. That person was Farouk, and the creature called out to him. With Farouk’s help, I reasoned, the darkness could be defeated and life could be restored to my world.

That is all that is important to me, Aeli. I care not what happens to me. It is the love of my people and my father that keeps me going, and I vow to give my own soul to make them whole again.

When I encountered you and the star child in the forest, I knew I could trust you to help. I only wanted to bring you here to tell you these things. My hands are now tied because the child destroyed my avatar once again. I am helpless to restore my world.

You must help me, Aeli. I beg you.

Aeli’s heart was heavy with Allora’s torment. She was in tears when she awoke, and let her head fall into her hands to weep. Allora stood, going to her to comfort her.

“I am sorry,” Allora said. “I did not realize your sense of empathy was so strong. I should have known better, given your nature. You are a child of the Earth, and I feel that we are kindred spirits; perhaps even the same spirit. I know how long you have walked this world, Aeli, and I know the sadness and torment you have felt. You have my sympathy, and my love.”

Aeli wept into Allora’s arms, letting her sadness melt away as the Alvar woman accepted it without hesitation.

“I will send you back now,” Allora said. “Seek out your mentor, Farouk. He alone holds the power to bring this spirit back to Alvheim, and you alone have the power to convince him. We can work together to free all of the realms of this darkness.”

Aeli wiped her eyes, knowing that Allora’s words rang true. By helping the Alvar, she reasoned, the Lifegiver could be defeated here as well.

The horror of Eirenoch, the banshee, was the key.

Farouk crossed back into Earth with his sword drawn and his staff held out before him. He waved the staff, attempting to sense Aeli’s presence, but to no avail. She seemed to be gone, and Jodocus was gone as well. Even Belo, who buzzed about in search of his creator, seemed to be puzzled. There was no one in sight; not Adder, Jhayla, Aeli, or Jodocus.

All that was left was the small pile of shattered bone and the carved skull of the banshee. Quickly, he picked up the skull and examined it. He had seen it before, when he encountered the black
Defiler, but the carvings did not make sense to him at the time. Now, however, with his new knowledge, he recognized the symbols for what they were. It was an entrapment spell; one inscribed by a man he knew all too well.

These were the inscriptions of Tyrus the Blackhearted.

But how?

Who was this man that Farouk had known only as a Sultan and Sorcerer? How could he have cast this spell when he could not possibly have existed at the time the banshee was born? What were his reasons for doing so?

Seek your answers within,
the Keeper’s voice said in his head.
The truth may surprise you. All is not as it seems.

Farouk nodded to himself, and cleared a place on the forest floor. He would have to meditate, to seek the counsel of the
Defilers within his gem. They would know the answers. He sat, folding his legs into a comfortable position, and projected himself into the realm of the gem once more.

He was glad to see his friends sitting around the fire when he arrived. They knew his purpose, and his questions, and were happy to oblige. They raised their hands to impart the knowledge to Farouk, who accepted it as a vision.

His mind was projected into Aeli’s, to his surprise, and he observed her conversation with what he knew to be Faeraon’s daughter, the banshee, Allora.

When the vision had cleared, he gazed once more upon the creatures that sat across from him. Though he now knew of the Alvar, and Allora’s purpose, the question of Tyrus still remained.

“Tell me of Tyrus, my friends,” Farouk said.

Chapter Ten

Hamal had known of the existence of the island prison for some time. He also knew that many of his allies were imprisoned there, and that bringing a vessel of appreciable size was a good idea. Thus, he now rode aboard a Jindala frigate; a ship that could carry at least one hundred men. With himself, the four priests, and the small crew of pirates that had stolen and volunteered to pilot the vessel, there was plenty of room for prisoners.

Jadhav was the goal, but there would be others.

There had to be, Hamal hoped.

When the island prison came into view in the distance, Hamal summoned the Thyrian that had been commissioned to accompany them. Though wary of those that used the magic arts, Hamal had accepted her presence as helpful, and even necessary. With her magic, she could summon a mist that would cloak the small frigate, and allow them to slip to shore on a smaller craft.

It was a good plan, and it was the only to free the imprisoned Raja. Once accomplished, Hamal would then make his way to Eirenoch to meet this Onyx Dragon; it was a location that Jadhav, he guessed, would choose as well.

“We have arrived, my lord,” a priest said.

Hamal nodded, scanning the dark silhouette of the prison walls and towers. “Summon the mist, before we get too close,” he said.

The witch, Istara, stepped to the ship’s bow, raising her arms to gather the clouds. Within seconds, a thick layer of mist rolled in from the sea and surrounded the ship in an impenetrable cloak of fog.

Hamal grinned. “Excellent,” he said.

He regarded the witch suspiciously, but felt that a small part of him found her desirable. She was beautiful, actually, with long umber hair and eyes the color of the sky. What an interesting time he could have with her…

Hamal had to shake his head to clear i
t of these thoughts. Now was not the time for such a distraction.

“The mist is ready, Hamal,” she said. “Be careful and good luck to you.”

Hamal nodded, keeping his eyes trained on her as he and the priests boarded the small rowboat that would take them to shore. “I look forward to having you welcome me back,” he said.

Istara grinned seductively. Hamal felt a burning for her; something he had never felt before in his life. It was as if she had cast a spell on him.

“My lord,” a priest said, snapping his fingers in front of Hamal’s face. “Shall we embark?”

Hamal shook his head, blinking his eyes to clear his thoughts and focus. “I am sorry,” he said. “Yes. Yes, we go.”

The priest at the aft of the boat pushed off, and the four of them began rowing toward the shore. Hamal prepared his weapons for the quest, strapping on the beautiful sword Imbra had given him, and his belt of throwing knives. He also carried a short bow, which fit perfectly across his back, strapped to the quiver of small arrows that he had fashioned himself.

The boat went quickly but silently through the gentle waves. Hamal was almost mesmerized by the sparkling moonlight that reflected off of the waves as he meditated. He was performing his battle ritual; attuning his consciousness to the upcoming task. He often meditated before battle, if there was time, as he believed it made him a more effective warrior.

As he began humming to himself, the priests looked at him in turn, glancing at each other questioningly. Eventually they shrugged, turning their attention back to the sea.

“Lord Imbra,” Hamal spoke finally. “Watch over us and give us the strength to do your will. Give us the courage to see it through, and to vanquish our enemies with honor and discipline.”

“Imbra,” the priests spoke in unison, concluding the prayer.

Hamal looked up approvingly, putting his hands on the shoulders of the nearest priests.

“Are you ready for battle, my brothers?” he asked.

“We are ready, my lord,” one said. “And we are proud to fight alongside you.”

As the shore came into view through the mist, the priests put away their oars and gazed into the darkness. The shore was flat for about ten yards before ending in a steep cliff face. They would have to skirt the shore to find a better place to ascend, or at least find a cave. The island was known for having cells in its caverns. Surely there would be an entrance on the outside.

“Should we remain in the water or go ashore and search there?” a priest asked.

Hamal shook his head. “I am not sure,” he said. “It might be easier to search from dry land. I cannot see much in this mist.”

The priests nodded, agreeing that going to shore was the better plan.

“Pull up near those rocks,” Hamal said, pointing to an outcropping just off shore. “We will wade the rest of the way and tow the boat behind us.”

“We will tow it,” one of them said. “You must not be spoiled with the filth of the sea.”

“Nonsense,” Hamal said. “I was raised on the sea.”

“If you insist.”

The priests guided the small boat toward the outcropping. It was a small cluster of man-sized boulders that had probably fallen from the cliff side at some point. It was just large enough to conceal the boat from shore.

As they reached the rocks, one priest jumped out onto the largest of them, carrying with him a tether. He wrapped it around a smaller rock that was closer to shore and nodded to the rest when it was secure.

Hamal and the priests stepped over the edge of the boat and into the cold water. It was knee deep and frigid.

“I would suggest leaving the boat tethered, and not pull it up,” the priest said. “If we have to make a quick escape, it will be easier that way. Besides, it will be better hidden from view.”

“Alright,” Hamal agreed. “Now all we have to do is find an entrance.”

The priests made their way to the cliff face, going along its edge to keep out of the moonlight. Hamal followed, keeping his eye out for any openings in the rocky face. A few yards ahead, the cliff took a right turn toward the north, and the group paused to peer around the corner.

A large lagoon was on this side of the island. Trees surrounded the shore, and seemed to be clustered around what looked to be a path into the rock face. There were docks constructed here, and a few small buildings—probably inception offices—on either side of the main dock. The windows were dark, indicating the buildings were most likely empty.

The small company crouched in the shadows, scanning the port for any sings of movement. Though nothing was obvious, there would be no way of getting there without being spotted. The moonlight shined directly on the west facing cliff, offering no concealment for stealthy passage.

Hamal sighed. “There is no way we can get there unseen,” he said. “Unless we swim quietly.”

“There,” a priest said, pointing toward the largest of the buildings. “There is a guard. I see no one else. Perhaps you can hit him from here with your bow.”

Hamal followed the priest’s direction, spotting the solitary guard. Judging from this distance, it would be a difficult shot, but he had confidence he could make it. He pulled out his bow and two arrows, knocking one and sticking the other point down in the sand.

“Just in case,” he said.

He stared at the guard for a moment longer to judge the distance and wind speed. The air seemed to be calm, as the guard’s scarves and hair remained still. Hamal pulled back his bow, taking careful aim and compensating for the distance. When he was confident enough, he let loose.

The arrow sailed silently through the night air, catching the guard just below the jaw. He dropped his spear, falling to his knees, and quietly rolled off the dock into the water.

“Excellent shot, my lord,” a priest said.

“Thank you,” Hamal said, retrieving his remaining arrow. “We will go along the cliff face. Keep your eyes open for any guards.”

The priests nodded and the company proceeded. They kept to the shadows as much as possible, crawling behind rocks when necessary. No movement was seen anywhere near the docks other than the gentle lapping of waves and the swaying of the palm trees.

When they had come within fifty yards of the port, they stopped to further scan the area. Hamal peered into shadows for several minutes, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“I would think there would be guards posted around the entrance,” Hamal said. “They would be in full view of the path from the docks. We could sneak through the trees.”

“Those trees won’t offer much cover,” a priest said. “We will have to rely on the shadows in their midst.”

“Go,” Hamal said.

The group made a quick dash to the tree line, relieved to see that there were, indeed, some bushes and shrubs that would provide a small amount of cover. Looking into the grove, Hamal could see that other shrubs were scattered around the trees. They could move from bush to bush if need be.

With a nod from Hamal, the priests crept into the grove, keeping to the shadows of the trees and crouching behind the brush. The grove was small, just large enough to conceal them for the remainder of their trek toward the prison’s entrance. There was little underbrush, which allowed them to approach quietly.

Toward the far edge of the grove, the group stopped, seeing the entrance come into view. The door was thick and wooden, crisscrossed with supporting bands of iron. The doorway was reinforced with stone blocks around it, and a large, glowing censer hung above it, shining its white light down onto the two guards that were posted outside.

“Only two,” Hamal said, smiling. “This should be easy.”

“Arrows?” a priest suggested.

Hamal shook his head, drawing two throwing knives from his belt. “These will be better,” he said, moving up closer to get a clear shot. “And I can throw both of them at the same time.”

Hamal gripped his knives by the blades, holding them up in front of his face to aim. The priests held their breath in anticipation.

“Draw your weapons in case I miss,” Hamal said.

With a quick release of breath, Hamal flung both knives. They spun end over end with a whoosh, burying themselves in the heads of their targets. Both guards fell to the ground with little sound. The priests quickly rushed to the pathway and dragged the guards into the grove.

Hamal chuckled, retrieving his knives. “Are you ready, brothers?”

The priests nodded as Hamal searched the bodies. He exclaimed out loud when he found a key, showing it to the priests in triumph. The group crept out of the grove, searching the area for other guards. The priests stood watch as Hamal peered into the barred window and fumbled with the lock. With an audible click, the door was unlocked and Hamal opened it enough to peer inside.

The corridor was dim, lit only with the glow of a few magical sconces. It was long and straight, and disappeared into the darkness further in. Hamal motioned for the priests to follow him, and then locked the door behind them.

No need to rouse any suspicion.

Hamal drew his new sword, silently padding down the hallway. Every six feet or so, alcoves were placed; each one sporting a sconce that was bolted to the wall. The alcoves were deep enough to duck into, should the need arise. Ahead, another door appeared out of the gloom. It was also wooden, but thinner and unlocked.

Hamal peered through the barred window, seeing shadows moving across the walls. He also heard voices nearby. Jindala voices.

“I cannot wait until my tenure is over,” one of the voices said. “I long to see the sands of home once again.”

“I hate the desert,” the other said. “I wanted to go to Eirenoch, but this island is alright, I suppose. There’s just not enough action for my taste.”

“You are far too old for action, my friend.”

Hamal chuckled, signaling the priests to take cover in the alcoves. He knew the guards would come through the corridor; probably to relieve the guards posted outside the entrance. He took an alcove for himself, and the group waited.

The door opened with a clank and the guards came through. Hamal and the priests pressed themselves against walls of their alcoves, waiting for the guards to pass.

“I am only five years older than you, you disrespectful bastard,” the older guard said. The other burst into laughter.

As they passed, Hamal’s heartbeat quickened. But, before he could act, the priests melted out of the shadows and eliminated the guards with quick neck-breaking twists of their heads. They dragged the guards into their alcoves and stuffed them into the shadowy corners.

“Impressive,” Hamal said.

He returned to the door and listened for any further approaches. When he was satisfied, he slowly opened the door and peeked through, scanning the hallways in either direction. He looked back to the priests and nodded, and slipped through the door.

“We should split up,” he whispered. “My sword will point me in Jadhav’s direction. You four should go in different directions and free as many prisoners as possible.”

The priests nodded, deciding whom should go where, and then disappeared into the shadows. Hamal followed two of them, his sword having shown him that Jadhav was in that direction. As he followed the two priests, his instinct led him to take a passage to the left.

“Good luck, my brothers,” he whispered into the darkness.