Secrets of Arkana Fortress (18 page)

              ‘Bloody tomb robbers,’ San Kiln uttered in a deep, resonant voice. He pawed the man’s hands apart and allowed the stolen goods to clatter aimlessly around him. There was a mixture of gold and silver ornaments as well as a few precious rubies and diamonds, all of which were prime targets for any greed-stricken individual. He purred again, this time out of disgust and resentment. ‘It’s scum like you that give us explorers a bad image.’ He pointed an accusing digit at the man’s face, even though he knew there was point. But if this place truly had trapped and condemned souls within it, which he now suspected given the scattering of corpses that had appeared all of a sudden, then somehow he imagined something, or someone, would see his gesture of disgust.

              A second fresh-looking corpse lay not far off from the first one in the middle of the remainders of a small building. This corpse was reptilian and was equally laden with stolen spoils.
‘Typical,’
he thought to himself as he examined the stuff – another mixture of gold, silver, and precious stones. He picked a diamond up between his thumb and fore-claw and held it up to the sunlight. It was a rare, perfect cut; something that was almost unheard of in this day and age. He placed the rarity back and stood up slowly.

              After examining numerous robbers’ bodies he found a strange connection between them all – they each held, in their stiffened embraces, the exact same objects. He found this baffling. While he thought, he strolled through the ruins taking in as much of the checkered history as he could fathom. If these so-called explorers had all these valuable items then where did they get them from? There was no immediate prized location for them to loot.

              San Kiln stopped in his tracks as the glint of the gold, silver, and stones reflected in his eyes. Where had these come from? A pile of valuables had materialised before him in an open-topped chest out of nothing.

             
‘Take them.’

              He swung around, but saw nothing and no one. ‘Who’s there? Show yourself.’ His voice was forceful in the face of this unknown presence.

             
‘You
come here for the riches, so take what I offer and leave this place.’

              His ears flexed about trying to locate the source of the voice, but it seemed to be coming from all around him as well as in his head. ‘I have no interest in riches or spoils or fame. Besides, why would I want to end up like these poor unfortunates?’ It was now that he had turned to address the pile of treasure. He was not one for temptations of this sort, as could be told by his simple brown and mucky yellow garb – a picture of someone who did not value wealth that much. It looked elegantly fashioned for such exploration tasks.

              There was a silence. It lasted for minutes.

             
‘You are not like the others who have come here seeking fortune and fame… you are stronger; you neither bear any weapons.’

              ‘I have no need for blades or projectiles, and I have no use for riches. I live simply, always have done. I wish only to respect your era of history. If you want me to leave then I will do so.’

              There was another silence, this time longer, which knotted his tail further.

              A heavy breath, long and gusty, blew from the pile of treasure, deflating and eerie. It disappeared, replaced with something that turned San Kiln’s stomach over more than once – a translucent ghost-like figure.

              ‘Who… are you?’ asked San Kiln with large amounts of hesitation.

              The ghost stared at him, his robes and hair blowing around his presence from an unknown wind.

              He swallowed hard and purred intermittently, nervous. ‘You wish me to leave.’

              A hand was raised by the apparition and words were spoken in an ancient tongue that left San Kiln feeling insignificant all of a sudden.

              ‘I am the manifestation of magic left behind in this defiled place. Your appearance is that of our destroyer’s right-hand, but your spirit is the opposite. We therefore welcome you into our village. What is it you seek?’

              San Kiln stammered briefly, the words sinking into his fur like rainwater – they were being spoken directly into his mind. ‘I… I wish to find out about the fate of this place. The island of Xenoc is lost in history, and virtually nothing is known about it or the people who once lived here.’

             
‘You seek knowledge for your mortal records?’

              He nodded nervously. ‘I only want to take with me what you will allow me to have.’

              The air shifted, and the ghost ascended a few metres into the air.
‘Historical knowledge – I can allow you the acquisition of a tome containing Lupian Lore and some historical records.’

              San Kiln felt his heart stop. ‘Lupian Lore?’ He moistened his lips before smoothing out his whiskers gently. ‘Is this the… lost village of Lupana?’ The very mention of what he suspected made his tail tingle and his fangs itch uncontrollably. If this ruined mess used to be the fabled village of the Lupian race then it was, without a doubt, the find of San Kiln’s lifetime, let alone anyone else’s.

             
‘This place was indeed what you suspect. The last Lupian caster died not far from here at the western shrine.’
The figure raised a finger and pointed to his right. ‘
Over there.’

              San Kiln straightened up and turned in the direction the ghost indicated. Things had certainly looked up, but his stomach still churned with intense unease. To find the lost and fabled village was a fast track to whatever he wanted, but something else, niggling and corrosive, ate away at him. He twitched his whiskers and looked back at the man. ‘Why was this place destroyed? Are there any of the Lupians left?’

              The ghost floated silently, his gaze fixed on a random point past San Kiln’s head.

              ‘Why were they killed to the last man, woman and child?’ San Kiln stepped over to one side and pointed his finger at one of the buildings. He had decided long ago that in order to get the answers he desired, then he had to go out on a major limb.

              For the first time in the conversation, the haunting figure showed emotion – sadness.
‘We were a threat, but no longer,’
he began, his face changing rapidly into one of nostalgia.
‘Things were not in our hands… destiny ruled in the favour of evil. Our job of being the race we were had run its course, and all that is left is a legacy of which is lost in the mists of time and events.’

              San Kiln blinked at this portion of the ghost’s statement. There was a lost legacy? ‘What legacy?’ he asked intently.

             
‘It will become clear to you and many others when it is discovered once more. You must go, now, to the shrine in the west.’

              The moment of truth, of discovery, was close at hand. Before he went to unearth this history he stopped and spun around as if he were defending his back. ‘Do you have a name?’

              The flittering point at which the ghost dissipated into the air brought a hoarse whisper to San Kiln’s ears.
‘Kasten.’

***

It was as if the destruction of the village had happened just hours beforehand. The ground still crunched from the flames all those years ago, the air was stale and smoky; the bitter taste in San Kiln’s mouth dried it out like a desert.

His eyes blinked fervently as his paws carefully, and with due diligence, helped him over one stone outcrop after another. Moving through the wrecked locale had given him some insight into the way of life the extinct race of humans had had – styles of housing, standard living implements, formations of the buildings, possible uses of some of the bigger structures. Things like this were never much to go on, but it was always a premise for his imagination to start formulating ideas.

              And it was indeed to the west that a shrine stood among a copse of trees and bushes, surrounded by a knee-high wall. San Kiln could feel that the magic of this place had long gone; the stone column had crumbled slightly at its peak, the silvery lines wrapping around it were greyed and paling; and the air felt clumsy and dense. From the many explorations and historical researches he had done, he knew that magically present areas had common factors, one of them being the state of the air around it – clear and focused.

              He traced the silver inlay with a single claw before noticing that he was scratching it out of the column. Purring, he could only assume that the absence of magic had had an adversely dire effect on this shrine – most unusual compared with other magical constructions he had come across as well as read about extensively. It was as if the very magic that had once inhabited this monument had been holding it together – it was now like a wooden chair without any nails to hold it together. A certain aroma surrounded it, not something San Kiln had smelled before on any of his travels. It had a rancid, decaying aura to it; however it didn’t, much to his surprise, make him recoil. He pressed his paw onto the stonework and closed his slender eyes. The air stood still, the sounds of the surrounding forest dying out leaving only the shrine and him.

              There it was… he felt it… something distant. Maybe a remnant of the shrine’s long lost magic?

              His eyes parted carefully as he lowered his hand. The shrine started to shake faintly, and then grew in intensity like an earthquake. The air shifted, his fur reacting strand by strand, making his spine tingle uncontrollably. Without a thought, he stepped back.

He watched with a mixture of dismay and intrigue as the column fell apart before him. It did not, however, just topple over and crash to the floor; instead, the chunks of softened stone floated away from the core and dropped one by one onto the grass. Piece by piece hovered and fell until only the cylindrical base was left. A large sealed book rested in the middle – the Lupian tome. He wondered whether or not to take it, to remove an item that was of significantly sacred value. But the ghost told him he could have it. And so it was with a caring and respectful motion that San Kiln picked up the artefact. It was very large, much like a slab of carving stone, but surprisingly lightweight.

              ‘What is this?’ he mumbled to himself as he ran his hand over the edges of the pages. The plain brown book was locked with a simple looking mechanism that was just a push and release device, but despite his valiant attempts the lock would not budge. Was it so old that it had rusted or something? Or was this another example of the strange magic that was bound to this place? He flipped the book onto its side and examined the spine attentively, tracing the faint outline of what looked like a wolf emblem etched near the top. This was groundbreaking stuff he had in his hands; if his colleagues back in Preull could see him now; their scales, furs, and skins would be green with envy, even though his reptilian counterparts were green to start with, he took a slight amusement to imagine them writhing with jealousy.

              He pondered the possibilities of what this tome contained. With this seal on it all he could do was speculate – he had to find a way of removing it.

              ‘How do I open it?’ he said aloud, hoping that the ghostly figure would tell him.

              There was a silence.

              ‘Are you still there, Kasten?’ His ears wiggled as he turned his head around to see if he could spot anything appearing, but there was nothing.

              He perched on the edge of the wall surrounding the shrine and examined the book some more. Going to his home city of Preull would be worthless as it was not known for magical expertise or anything like that – it was famous for its academic knowledge, including its extensive library that housed information from every known area of the globe, as well as the histories, sciences, geography, economics, and much more of each one. The technological city of Yingtzo, where he had set out from, was not far from Xenoc Island to the east. Sitting just north of the cursed Forest of Mutilation, it prided itself on being the more up-to-date of the cities in Salarias, pursuing technological prowess, both mechanical and magical, and providing willing trade partners with the finest equipment it had to offer.

              That was that then – it was back to Yingtzo in the east. All he had to do was travel back down to the south of the island and fetch his boat. That in itself was a day’s hike, another day or two to cross the channel, and then another half to move from the coast to the city. It was a good thing he liked his occupation, as well as his own company.

Chapter 15

The library in Hocknis was just like any other stereotypical library – quiet, full of the expected compliment of bookworms, one worker sorting out the books alphabetically, and another sitting at a desk near the exit doing paperwork, making sure there were no unnecessary noises. The decor was typical too – a grand high ceiling, oak panelled bookcases lined up like soldiers on parade, the books themselves slotted methodically into each shelf looking like a crude brickwork, magic lights hung above giving illumination where needed. The entire interior was done out in a heavy mix of gold and black, aesthetically complimented by ornate, albeit inexpensive, looking columns that gave the impression that they were holding up the walls and the roof.