August 12, Mel Bay, Oregon
Black.
Black slacks.
Black suit jacket.
Shiny black buttons on a faded black button up shirt perfectly pressed.
Black pin stripes and black tie with the first hint of light from diagonal white stripes. The tie covering his heart. Ira Conrad imagined his heart was pumping dark blood through his veins. Blood that was perhaps a crimson so deep it was a shade of black as well. Ira imagined the blackness seeping through limbs and erupting from his chest—the pain was so real that it was hard to believe it was an emotion and not a physical or literal ailment.
Ira suppressed a hiccup and gripped his shirt with a fist.
Ira stared down at the closed casket. More black; a shimmering darkness that reflected Ira’s own image on its smooth glossy surface. He naturally laid his other hand against the box. He could barely hear others in mourning passing behind him, sniffling, or weeping. Some sighed heavily as they passed. Ira could see their faint reflection in the casket’s mirror like surface; holding white handkerchiefs. Ira wondered why they weren’t black.
He wanted to cry too. He wanted to let it all drain out like a pressure cooker that’s lost its seal. It would relieve a certain amount of agony, but he couldn’t do it. It was almost like he wanted to cling to the agony. To make sure he paid for the loss—paid for it a thousand times over.
Ira was sitting in a pew with his mom, Stephanie Conrad. She wiped tears from her eyes with a white handkerchief as well. Everything seemed to echo in the Cathedral. There seemed to be so many shadows, and the only light was filtered by stained glass windows, depicting Saints with curled fingers and bowed heads. Ira noted the blaze of light surrounding each of their heads like a halo. Their long red garments bathed the light and turned it a transparent red, like Christmas lights. Much of the Cathedral reminded Ira of Christmas. He supposed that made sense.
The Cathedral smelled old. It smelled of dust and wood. It smelled of death.
One by one speakers mounted the pulpit. Ira recognized them but was in no hurry to recall their relation to Cole. They became a rumbling in the back of his mind; a mind tossed to and fro. Guilt to agony and back again.
The memories crashed into his cranium. Ira leaned forward and held his head in his hands. No. You don’t have to gruel over this again!!! But the memories only came with more fury. The phone in his hand.
“…Are you busy tonight?”
The lie.
The stupid girl. The distraction. The stupor of thought.
Ira held his face. The first tears wetted his palms. They smelled of salt. They didn’t solve anything. Ira sat wondering if he would ever be whole again. He didn’t want to be—he wanted to pay for this. Pay for it a thousand times over.
Ira gripped the casket once more; this time accompanied by several others whom Ira recognized but could not put a name to. The bulky box was heavy even with 6 men lifting. Ira fought back more tears as they hauled the box from the hearse to a perfectly rectangular hole cut out of the grassy hillside.
There was a gusting wind whipping through the cemetery. It seemed to ripple off headstones and crash into the mourning procession. Women’s hats were thrown off, and men’s ties flapped like kite tales. There was sun too; a bright glowing sort of summer sun. It was a happy sun.
What inconvenient weather. It should have rained.
Ira turned his back as the first shovels of dirt and pebbles were tossed back into the hole. He shut his eyes and tried to disappear, but the sound of mud and rock on the hollow casket beat like a drum in his mind—thump.
He wanted to cover his ears. Panic seemed to well up in his throat—thump.
Each crumbling thump seemed to shake Ira to the core. Tears were streaming again. His feet were moving. The tree, he stumbled behind it. Coming to his knees he gripped a handful of grass and set his head against the tree’s trunk.
Guilt! Loss! Guilt! Loss! Thump thump thump. Wind.
Thump. The wind seemed to convey the sound of his lost friend’s last existence as it was suppressed by dirt and mire—thump.
Or was he imagining the sound—thump.
You will not be forgotten. THUMP!
I will pay for this a thousand times over. THUMP!
Showing posts with label Clouds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clouds. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Clouds Chapter 1
August 12, Somewhere beneath Lake Nasser, Egypt
His hands felt raw as he gripped the crusted rocks. They were the only thing keeping him from tumbling down the steep slope in the darkness. Several times his tattered hiking boots had slipped out and Isaiah Conrad lurched on the edge of the precipice. The trail wound downward like a snake in the enormous cave. They had walked for what seemed like a full day without stop. The tunnel had grown wider and wider, as they walked deeper and deeper into the earth. Isaiah had held a glowing shaft in the darkness to guide his way for much of the trip. It was a simple tube of glass, but when Isaiah touched it, a blue light emitted in the darkness. Isaiah was a Mariner, and thus had a gift to charge certain artifacts made from viduro-glass with an energy known as the Mist. The Mist glowed in the darkness from the shaft giving him a vision of his foot placement.
But the path soon became illuminated from another source. Tiny twinkling lights, like stars, flickered somewhere far above. Isaiah pondered on them for many hours, wondering how such a light source could exist in the dark of the cave. He had naturally wanted to call them cave stars. They illuminated everything in a dull blue light. Isaiah could now see the vast expanse before him. It was like being in the largest cathedral that ever existed. But instead of pillars, there were large rounded rock walls curving up to the ceiling at least a couple miles above them.
Below was a vast expanse of water. Isaiah could not see the far end of the chamber but in its center, jutting out of the water, was a large island. The island looked like a perfect disc that rested on the water. Its diameter was at least 20 miles. And though they were in a cave, deep beneath the earth’s surface, Isaiah felt like he was on top of a mountain staring down on a great lake.
The island was not vacant however. It was covered in crumbling structures that seemed covered in moss and mud; large stone buildings that were crumbling against the weight of long rains, and a damp ocean like air. There were large roads, completely empty, that ran through the groaning city, and a perimeter wall that rose to full height in some places, but vanished from destruction all together in other spots.
Isaiah paused on several occasions to stare out at the dim broken city below. Marinthe! A once great nation was now rubble and history. Isaiah’s heart jumped with the sight. He wanted so badly to spend the rest of his life digging through the city. Discovering what his ancestor’s lives were truly about. It was an archeologist’s dream world. It was a completely dead city. All of the cities inhabitants had died with the cities destruction. Isaiah’s ancestors had been some of those that had escaped. They carried on much of the traditions and brought with them many artifacts, but the Mariner world was still a secret and a myth, little known to the outside world.
Nevertheless, Isaiah could not help but get excited. He imagined that his current emotions were on par with those that had discovered Pompeii after Mount Vesuvius erupted and buried it. Or like the man that discovered the Valley of the Kings in Egypt. Marinthe had suffered a similar fate, only not by volcano; Marinthe had been sunk and destroyed by hurricane, tornado, blizzard, fierce winds, and lightning—all in the same moment. Each weather form had contributed to its current state. The few accounts Isaiah had encountered described it as though the island had been flipped upside down completely and forced into Lake Nasser, which was where the island had originally existed.
For that reason Isaiah had searched Lake Nasser for years in search of any remnant or archeological sign of the once great city of Marinthe. But his flaw was thinking the city would be under water. Isaiah didn’t understand how but the city had somehow been pushed deep inside the earth...
“Conrad! Keep moving.” A raspy winded voice echoed through the air. Isaiah looked forward again. His only companion on the trip, a man who claimed to be called Triston Howard. Isaiah shuttered to himself. He openly admitted to hating the man in his mind. He wished he could push him off the cliff face, but Isaiah worried the fall would not kill him. It was only water below, and he might survive. It would be too risky. Mr. Howard was dangerous; dangerous for whom he really was. Isaiah was no fool and it did not take him long to realize that Triston Howard was in truth a man so old, he was worthy of archeological study. His right name was Amun Chenzira, and he had been an original inhabitant of Marinthe some 3,000 years prior. Chenzira had been the Emperor for a short time…
How did I end up in this predicament? Isaiah thought as he began trudging forward again. His frail knees wobbled with each step. Isaiah was beginning to feel his age. He did not think 65 year old men capable of such. That was another reason of why Isaiah had relied on Chenzira to find Marinthe; a man who had seen it, who had walked its streets and lived to the current day. Chenzira had been there, over 3,000 years prior and had been the catalyst that brought the city to its destruction. Yet somehow Chenzira was still alive. He was a man shrouded in secrets and dark endeavors. He would not have good intentions for this journey to Marinthe.
Isaiah knew Chenzira was returning to find something, probably some artifact that had aided him in the past to conquest. But what exactly that meant, Isaiah could not be sure on. He found himself, however, wondering if coming was the right thing to do at all. He was risking so much, and for what? To get a glimpse of an ancient civilization? Conrad reviewed his reasoning in his mind to comfort a swollen conscience. In all reality Isaiah had little choice in the matter to begin with. He stumbled upon something so valuable many would kill for it.
In either event Chenzira would have managed the trip with or without himself. He would have simply killed Isaiah, and taken the map to Marinthe, had he not agreed to the journey.
It had only been 2 week prior that Isaiah had made a major archeological discovery there in Sudan. It was a large glass box the size and shape of a coffin. At first Isaiah had hoped to use it as data for an analogue he was working on which proved that glass had been first created by the original inhabitant culture called the Mariners near lake Nasser. But inside the glass coffin, Isaiah discovered several artifacts of more value than a simple analogue.
Isaiah tried desperately to keep the contents of the box secret. One of the artifacts was a map, the other a weapon.
Isaiah quickly wrapped the weapon up, and shipped it FedEx to one of his colleagues, Tannon Daecraw in Oregon. Tannon would know what to do with it. He would know how to hide it.
The map, on the other hand, Isaiah kept in his possession. It was his backup plan. Too many eyes were there to witness the glass coffin. There were loose lipped traitors, and Chenzira’s persuasion was absolute.
Isaiah thanked his lucky stars for the map however, for not 2 days later, a man came knocking at his door proclaiming to be Triston Howard, a curious descendent of the Lost Mariner civilization. Isaiah knew instantly that Triston Howard was a liar and somehow in league with the Marauders. He did not realize at first though, that he was the leader of the Marauders.
Isaiah proclaimed that the map was the only thing found in the box and he agreed to accompany Mr. Howard to find the lost entrance to Marinthe. It was enough to fool Chenzira for a time. Chenzira had agreed to the trip and not made mention of the weapon. Isaiah only hoped that the weapon would remain occult. Deep in his heart he doubted that though. Whisperings would lead Chenzira to Oakridge eventually. That was another reason Isaiah regretted his decision with each step. His family was in Oakridge.
Isaiah took a few more steps and tried to shake his consciences constant mutterings. At least now Isaiah was still breathing and he would witness what Chenzira was up to… and seeing the walls of Marinthe somehow made it all worth it. For the moment, anyway.
Isaiah kept moving down the slope. Witness? The word stung his mind. Witnesses to crimes were liabilities. Chenzira would not leave him alive. Once they reached the city he had to escape. He had to hide and find his way back out before Chenzira. Then inform the academy and they could stop the evil again before it started.
There was still so much risk. The day before Chenzira showed up, the same day he sent the weapon to Tannon, Isaiah wrote a hasty letter to Patrick, his grandson. Isaiah was not sure why he did it, but he felt the need to warn his family, but he had sworn to Stephanie, his daughter, that Patrick would not get wrapped up in the Mariner world like his father had.
As long as Patrick got his letter everything would be fine. He hoped he would understand their importance. Isaiah could only hope Patrick would notice any out of the ordinary people hanging around. There would be many trying to find the weapon. Patrick would be getting the letter any day now.
A twinge of remorse etched his brow. This could all go very wrong. He would surely be killed, done away with once his purpose was fulfilled, in fact, he was already becoming more of a drag than a necessity. Chenzira had found Marinthe, and beyond doubt no longer needed Isaiah’s presence.
Chenzira was not the type to leave innocent bystanders breathing. Then Patrick and Stephanie would be next on the list. Then anyone who opposed Chenzira would be obliterated. There would be a war. A war between the Mariner’s and the rest of the world; Chenzira versus the entire world civilization above. Was it right to risk all this just to see the lost city? Isaiah’s archeological ambitions had long put distances between him and his family. It was another subject of remorse. He pushed it from his mind.
Isaiah came around a bend in the trail to find Amun hunched and staring out over the city. It was the best view yet of the large roadways and crumbled buildings. Isaiah’s heart almost stopped. There was so much history here. He imagined finding artifact after artifact that would help piece together what life had been like for the original Mariners. Isaiah couldn’t help but let his jaw drop. It would be worth it. This moment made it all worth it.
The city was covered in shadows of the cave though. The small blue lights hovering somewhere above like stars illuminated only certain angles. There was so much Isaiah did not understand. He thirsted for the knowledge though. Years down the road, Isaiah would be bringing his students from the university to witness this site. The thought was little more than a wish, however.
Chenzira groaned. He was hunched over wearing his cloak and hood. Isaiah could make out a hand gripping intently at the fabric on his chest.
“This had all been mine. Truthfully, it still is mine. Every stone, every wooden parapet, every archway, every grain of sand...every shard of glass.” The raspy voice was like listening to an old radio. He hadn’t spoken this much the entire journey. It was as though seeing the lost city, caked in shadow, was like seeing a loved one in the casket of death. Isaiah almost felt sorry for the cruel man.
A few more moments passed as both men gawked in the darkness. And then Chenzira urged them forward. He said at dawn there would be light and they could cross the channel to the island. Isaiah did not understand what Chenzira meant, or how he presumed to know so much about this underworld.
Isaiah stared downward again. It was a dizzying height, but he could now make out the movements of deep waters in the shimmer of cave twinkles… or whatever it was that gave light in the cavern. Isaiah put a hand to his forehead as they walked. He was old and he could feel the tension on his joints. He couldn’t do this much longer. He did not know how he would make the trip back out. Isaiah was convinced there was an artifact in Marinthe that Chenzira was after, perhaps even one of the 8. He did not know what exactly it would be. None of the original artifacts would be of any use though after so many thousands of years. If the Glassblower that created an artifact was deceased, than the artifact would be useless. Except for a few of them. There were 8 of them created by the hand of Demetri Idero Idune himself. They had lived on beyond his death. Many believed it was because Demetri never died, but was simply taken home to a palace prepared by the Maker inside the sun. There was legend of 8 artifacts, which Demetri had used in the destruction of Marinthe. And that these artifacts still functioned. A legend Isaiah now had reason to believe was true, after finding the weapon in the Sudan which He believed to be one of the 8 artifacts of Idune.
The thought cinged his own brow. Isaiah glanced around as though his secret might be discovered. Even thinking about it made his hands tense and his brow sweat. In Chenzira’s presence… if Chenzira only knew what he possessed, what was on its way to Oakridge in a express FedEx package. There was no telling how Chenzira would react. Isaiah had hung on his every word hoping to learn more about Chenzira’s history. How he had lived for so many years. Hoping to discover some part of his plans, but Chenzira was no fool. He had no reason, or intention of allowing Isaiah to know his schemes. Isaiah had to get away. He had to discover what Chenzira was after, and then somehow reach the surface before him and warn the Counsel at the Academy. All this before anyone discovered what else he had found in the Sudan.
Isaiah stared back at the stony cliff path they were trotting down. His legs seemed to shake with each step.
Ahead Chenzira began hacking and wheezing and grabbing at his chest. Isaiah relaxed knowing that whatever had kept Chenzira alive for so long, it was not holding him together so well these days. Chenzira looked like a sallow carcass of a man.
A wind crept up from the water below. They were treading down a steeper path and the surface seemed closer with each step. Isaiah could now smell the wet air. It smelled of seaweed and old dirt. The waters must be ancient. Isaiah wondered if there was an outlet or an inlet of any sort… if these waters ever moved? The scientist in Isaiah was coming out again. It was that curiosity that made him risk it all on this adventure. He had known from the beginning that the man who offered to take the trip to Marinthe was an enemy. But the daunting urges to see the lost city at last, to see it before he died, to be the only man to know his roots…
Isaiah sighed. He had risked it all for truth about his heritage, and he was beginning to wonder if it was worth it. It had to be. He would figure out Chenzira’s plans and disclose them…somehow. That would make his vain sacrifice a more noble cause. Then the Haloes would speed his mission. The Clouds would be guiding him.
Isaiah stared down again. They were low enough now that he could jump. He could hit the waters without dying on impact. The height was still dizzying though. Isaiah could not bring himself to do it. Not yet. Why am I such a coward?
Suddenly Chenzira stopped dead in his tracks. He was staring again out across the city. Isaiah began to wonder on the wretched man’s delusions.
“Take this!” Chenzira said, as he revealed a silver hilted pistol from a side bag. Isaiah furrowed his brow. What was this madness? Isaiah took the gun in his two hands. Was Chenzira preparing him for a duel? Was he going to give him an honorable last moment? A chance to defend himself before he died?
Isaiah cocked the gun and pointed it at Chenzira. He would not give him the chance. He would kill the Dark Seed then and there. The pistol began to glow blue as Isaiah’s touch charged the glass capsule interior. He gently nudged his finger against the trigger. All he had to do was pull, and a blue ball of liquid fire would explode from the barrel of the gun and incinerate Chenzira.
“Don’t you move…or I’ll…” Isaiah’s words sounded hallow. His hand was shaking as well. He was wavering in his boldness. Chenzira began to laugh.
“You are a fool Conrad! It never ceases to amaze me.” Chenzira removed a second pistol from his bag and pointed it out over the water. Chenzira nodded with his head for Isaiah to look. Slowly, expecting a trap, Isaiah glanced out across the water. He could hardly see anything now. A low hovering mist was gathering around the city. After it gathered like an army of mist, it ventured across the water. The mist was rolling and tumbled gently in their direction. With each bounce it became a larger heap of cloud matter. Though it did not seem to be moved by the wind, it was now channeling directly for them like a large mountain of dark and gray cotton.
“You can go ahead and kill me, but what are you going to do about the Dark Mage on its way to prevent us from reaching the city?” Chenzira’s smile was now gone. He held the pistol out, pointing at the rolling mist. The clouds tumbled to the cliff face and then pushed upwards. In seconds they would be enveloped.
“On my mark human!” Chenzira spat the words, knowing that Isaiah would obey. It burned Isaiah that somehow Chenzira still held the charge of a leader. Isaiah pointed the pistol at the cloud mass. “Wait for its core to appear.”
“How will I recognize it?” Isaiah whispered.
Chenzira snorted. “With all your clout and arrogance, the Academy still knows nothing of the Mariner world. Clinging to petty traditions, but you don’t know anything of what it means to be a Mariner!” Chenzira shook his head. Isaiah wanted to strangle the man then and there. He was not a soldier, he was an archeologist; a teacher at the university. He did not profess to know the workings of the Mages. That was left up to others. “You’ll recognize its core because that will be the first thing it reveals, in the shape of some monster, just before it smashes us to bits.”
Isaiah held his breath. He watched as the rolling, tumbling clouds pushed upwards. It all made Isaiah feel very small in a large world of danger. At the head of the tumult a large ball of mist began to churn in a circle as though it were spinning. It began to take shape. The ball of mist seemed to condense and solidify. There was an oblong ball of cloud out of which grew to large horns of mist causing it to strongly resemble a very large ram’s head made of cloud matter; riding at the head of a torrent of smoke—this was the Mage’s core.
Isaiah had heard stories, even seen some photographs, but never had he actually witnessed a Mage fully revealed to the naked eye. They were creatures made of the clouds. They were the clouds. Large roaming beasts that hid themselves placidly in the sky from the human world unless compelled to a manifestation. And now that he was seeing it, he no longer wanted any part of it. The white demon sped upwards none the less. A huge massive river of fog with the head of a ram.
Chenzira opened fire. He relentlessly pulled the trigger of his silver pistol. Blue charges sped toward the Mage. 10, 11, 12 charges were fired by Chenzira before Isaiah gathered his courage and followed suit. The cobalt bursts crashed into the cloud matter and exploded like Molotov Cocktails. They seemed to ignite large chunks of the cloud with blue laces of fire that spread, slowing the Mage’s progress until they fizzled out. The Mage shifted and 2 enormous arms began to form from the fog. It used the large arms to block the last few charges.
Isaiah wanted to run. His sole desire was to drop the pistol and run for his life—but where could he run to while the enormous creature sallied upwards.
Chenzira was stone faced and did not budge. He continued to fire the pistol at the Cloud beast whose arms were within 20 feet. Isaiah stumbled backward and fell onto his butt. He was turning to run when the Mage reached them. Its large arms and boulder sized fists began swinging at the mountain side. They crashed into the rock, as though they were solid objects, no longer just a wisp of cloud.
The whole cliff side shook and sent shards of rock tumbling to the water below. Isaiah ducked as a large arm smashed the cliff just above his head. He looked back to see Chenzira collapsing to the ground. The Mage must have had a direct hit on the Dark Seed. Isaiah watched in horror. He was frozen in place. He wanted to leap from the ledge but the desire to see what happened prevented him from moving.
The Mage hovered above them for another moment. It reached its massive arms out, that were the size of a semi-truck, above its head preparing for a final blow. But before its beastly hands came crashing down, Amun Chenzira sprung from the rock face. He jumped with a youthful energy that surprised Isaiah. He cleared the gap like a flying squirrel between the cliff and the Mage. He crashed into the cloud monster’s chest, all the while Chenzira continued to fire shots from his pistol at the Ram’s head.
Isaiah gripped his pistol and let it charge for a moment, until it was glowing, a jagged blue light. Then Isaiah fired more shots at the ram’s head. If Chenzira could keep fighting in such a circumstance, than so could he. The Mage was pounding at its chest, but somehow Chenzira managed to hold on. Hold on? To what? Somehow Chenzira was floating there in the clouds, which Isaiah did not understand at all. The cloud matter must have somehow condensed and become more solid.
The ram’s fists came crashing against its own chest, but Chenzira was beginning to get a full blue fire burning across the Mage’s face. The fire seemed to spread slowly onto the Mage’s shoulders and down its arms, until the entire storm was a mass of burning clouds. Then the Mage fell backwards and began to disintegrate into the rest of the oncoming fog. Chenzira rode the flailing monster into the bleak fog below until he was lost from view in the fog below. Isaiah expected there to be some sort of splash on the water as the massive torched ram collided with the surface, but no such sound was made. The ram seemed to disintegrate back into the mist from whence it had come, without a sound. Chenzira was gone as well.
Isaiah was left alone on the cliff face holding a small pistol and wiping his forehead with a dirty hand. He sat up and rubbed his chest. His eyes glared into the mist below but they had become a swirl of unintelligible fog once again. Chenzira was gone? Isaiah doubted it. He looked behind himself at the winding trail he had come down. He could walk away in that moment. He could return to the surface and inform the academy… he could run home and protect Patrick and Stephanie and Tannon…
Then Isaiah paused. There was a light breeze on the air. In his heart Isaiah knew he needed to press on. He needed to see what Chenzira had planned with Marinthe. His letter would be enough to warn Patrick…
Isaiah trudged forward in the darkness.
His hands felt raw as he gripped the crusted rocks. They were the only thing keeping him from tumbling down the steep slope in the darkness. Several times his tattered hiking boots had slipped out and Isaiah Conrad lurched on the edge of the precipice. The trail wound downward like a snake in the enormous cave. They had walked for what seemed like a full day without stop. The tunnel had grown wider and wider, as they walked deeper and deeper into the earth. Isaiah had held a glowing shaft in the darkness to guide his way for much of the trip. It was a simple tube of glass, but when Isaiah touched it, a blue light emitted in the darkness. Isaiah was a Mariner, and thus had a gift to charge certain artifacts made from viduro-glass with an energy known as the Mist. The Mist glowed in the darkness from the shaft giving him a vision of his foot placement.
But the path soon became illuminated from another source. Tiny twinkling lights, like stars, flickered somewhere far above. Isaiah pondered on them for many hours, wondering how such a light source could exist in the dark of the cave. He had naturally wanted to call them cave stars. They illuminated everything in a dull blue light. Isaiah could now see the vast expanse before him. It was like being in the largest cathedral that ever existed. But instead of pillars, there were large rounded rock walls curving up to the ceiling at least a couple miles above them.
Below was a vast expanse of water. Isaiah could not see the far end of the chamber but in its center, jutting out of the water, was a large island. The island looked like a perfect disc that rested on the water. Its diameter was at least 20 miles. And though they were in a cave, deep beneath the earth’s surface, Isaiah felt like he was on top of a mountain staring down on a great lake.
The island was not vacant however. It was covered in crumbling structures that seemed covered in moss and mud; large stone buildings that were crumbling against the weight of long rains, and a damp ocean like air. There were large roads, completely empty, that ran through the groaning city, and a perimeter wall that rose to full height in some places, but vanished from destruction all together in other spots.
Isaiah paused on several occasions to stare out at the dim broken city below. Marinthe! A once great nation was now rubble and history. Isaiah’s heart jumped with the sight. He wanted so badly to spend the rest of his life digging through the city. Discovering what his ancestor’s lives were truly about. It was an archeologist’s dream world. It was a completely dead city. All of the cities inhabitants had died with the cities destruction. Isaiah’s ancestors had been some of those that had escaped. They carried on much of the traditions and brought with them many artifacts, but the Mariner world was still a secret and a myth, little known to the outside world.
Nevertheless, Isaiah could not help but get excited. He imagined that his current emotions were on par with those that had discovered Pompeii after Mount Vesuvius erupted and buried it. Or like the man that discovered the Valley of the Kings in Egypt. Marinthe had suffered a similar fate, only not by volcano; Marinthe had been sunk and destroyed by hurricane, tornado, blizzard, fierce winds, and lightning—all in the same moment. Each weather form had contributed to its current state. The few accounts Isaiah had encountered described it as though the island had been flipped upside down completely and forced into Lake Nasser, which was where the island had originally existed.
For that reason Isaiah had searched Lake Nasser for years in search of any remnant or archeological sign of the once great city of Marinthe. But his flaw was thinking the city would be under water. Isaiah didn’t understand how but the city had somehow been pushed deep inside the earth...
“Conrad! Keep moving.” A raspy winded voice echoed through the air. Isaiah looked forward again. His only companion on the trip, a man who claimed to be called Triston Howard. Isaiah shuttered to himself. He openly admitted to hating the man in his mind. He wished he could push him off the cliff face, but Isaiah worried the fall would not kill him. It was only water below, and he might survive. It would be too risky. Mr. Howard was dangerous; dangerous for whom he really was. Isaiah was no fool and it did not take him long to realize that Triston Howard was in truth a man so old, he was worthy of archeological study. His right name was Amun Chenzira, and he had been an original inhabitant of Marinthe some 3,000 years prior. Chenzira had been the Emperor for a short time…
How did I end up in this predicament? Isaiah thought as he began trudging forward again. His frail knees wobbled with each step. Isaiah was beginning to feel his age. He did not think 65 year old men capable of such. That was another reason of why Isaiah had relied on Chenzira to find Marinthe; a man who had seen it, who had walked its streets and lived to the current day. Chenzira had been there, over 3,000 years prior and had been the catalyst that brought the city to its destruction. Yet somehow Chenzira was still alive. He was a man shrouded in secrets and dark endeavors. He would not have good intentions for this journey to Marinthe.
Isaiah knew Chenzira was returning to find something, probably some artifact that had aided him in the past to conquest. But what exactly that meant, Isaiah could not be sure on. He found himself, however, wondering if coming was the right thing to do at all. He was risking so much, and for what? To get a glimpse of an ancient civilization? Conrad reviewed his reasoning in his mind to comfort a swollen conscience. In all reality Isaiah had little choice in the matter to begin with. He stumbled upon something so valuable many would kill for it.
In either event Chenzira would have managed the trip with or without himself. He would have simply killed Isaiah, and taken the map to Marinthe, had he not agreed to the journey.
It had only been 2 week prior that Isaiah had made a major archeological discovery there in Sudan. It was a large glass box the size and shape of a coffin. At first Isaiah had hoped to use it as data for an analogue he was working on which proved that glass had been first created by the original inhabitant culture called the Mariners near lake Nasser. But inside the glass coffin, Isaiah discovered several artifacts of more value than a simple analogue.
Isaiah tried desperately to keep the contents of the box secret. One of the artifacts was a map, the other a weapon.
Isaiah quickly wrapped the weapon up, and shipped it FedEx to one of his colleagues, Tannon Daecraw in Oregon. Tannon would know what to do with it. He would know how to hide it.
The map, on the other hand, Isaiah kept in his possession. It was his backup plan. Too many eyes were there to witness the glass coffin. There were loose lipped traitors, and Chenzira’s persuasion was absolute.
Isaiah thanked his lucky stars for the map however, for not 2 days later, a man came knocking at his door proclaiming to be Triston Howard, a curious descendent of the Lost Mariner civilization. Isaiah knew instantly that Triston Howard was a liar and somehow in league with the Marauders. He did not realize at first though, that he was the leader of the Marauders.
Isaiah proclaimed that the map was the only thing found in the box and he agreed to accompany Mr. Howard to find the lost entrance to Marinthe. It was enough to fool Chenzira for a time. Chenzira had agreed to the trip and not made mention of the weapon. Isaiah only hoped that the weapon would remain occult. Deep in his heart he doubted that though. Whisperings would lead Chenzira to Oakridge eventually. That was another reason Isaiah regretted his decision with each step. His family was in Oakridge.
Isaiah took a few more steps and tried to shake his consciences constant mutterings. At least now Isaiah was still breathing and he would witness what Chenzira was up to… and seeing the walls of Marinthe somehow made it all worth it. For the moment, anyway.
Isaiah kept moving down the slope. Witness? The word stung his mind. Witnesses to crimes were liabilities. Chenzira would not leave him alive. Once they reached the city he had to escape. He had to hide and find his way back out before Chenzira. Then inform the academy and they could stop the evil again before it started.
There was still so much risk. The day before Chenzira showed up, the same day he sent the weapon to Tannon, Isaiah wrote a hasty letter to Patrick, his grandson. Isaiah was not sure why he did it, but he felt the need to warn his family, but he had sworn to Stephanie, his daughter, that Patrick would not get wrapped up in the Mariner world like his father had.
As long as Patrick got his letter everything would be fine. He hoped he would understand their importance. Isaiah could only hope Patrick would notice any out of the ordinary people hanging around. There would be many trying to find the weapon. Patrick would be getting the letter any day now.
A twinge of remorse etched his brow. This could all go very wrong. He would surely be killed, done away with once his purpose was fulfilled, in fact, he was already becoming more of a drag than a necessity. Chenzira had found Marinthe, and beyond doubt no longer needed Isaiah’s presence.
Chenzira was not the type to leave innocent bystanders breathing. Then Patrick and Stephanie would be next on the list. Then anyone who opposed Chenzira would be obliterated. There would be a war. A war between the Mariner’s and the rest of the world; Chenzira versus the entire world civilization above. Was it right to risk all this just to see the lost city? Isaiah’s archeological ambitions had long put distances between him and his family. It was another subject of remorse. He pushed it from his mind.
Isaiah came around a bend in the trail to find Amun hunched and staring out over the city. It was the best view yet of the large roadways and crumbled buildings. Isaiah’s heart almost stopped. There was so much history here. He imagined finding artifact after artifact that would help piece together what life had been like for the original Mariners. Isaiah couldn’t help but let his jaw drop. It would be worth it. This moment made it all worth it.
The city was covered in shadows of the cave though. The small blue lights hovering somewhere above like stars illuminated only certain angles. There was so much Isaiah did not understand. He thirsted for the knowledge though. Years down the road, Isaiah would be bringing his students from the university to witness this site. The thought was little more than a wish, however.
Chenzira groaned. He was hunched over wearing his cloak and hood. Isaiah could make out a hand gripping intently at the fabric on his chest.
“This had all been mine. Truthfully, it still is mine. Every stone, every wooden parapet, every archway, every grain of sand...every shard of glass.” The raspy voice was like listening to an old radio. He hadn’t spoken this much the entire journey. It was as though seeing the lost city, caked in shadow, was like seeing a loved one in the casket of death. Isaiah almost felt sorry for the cruel man.
A few more moments passed as both men gawked in the darkness. And then Chenzira urged them forward. He said at dawn there would be light and they could cross the channel to the island. Isaiah did not understand what Chenzira meant, or how he presumed to know so much about this underworld.
Isaiah stared downward again. It was a dizzying height, but he could now make out the movements of deep waters in the shimmer of cave twinkles… or whatever it was that gave light in the cavern. Isaiah put a hand to his forehead as they walked. He was old and he could feel the tension on his joints. He couldn’t do this much longer. He did not know how he would make the trip back out. Isaiah was convinced there was an artifact in Marinthe that Chenzira was after, perhaps even one of the 8. He did not know what exactly it would be. None of the original artifacts would be of any use though after so many thousands of years. If the Glassblower that created an artifact was deceased, than the artifact would be useless. Except for a few of them. There were 8 of them created by the hand of Demetri Idero Idune himself. They had lived on beyond his death. Many believed it was because Demetri never died, but was simply taken home to a palace prepared by the Maker inside the sun. There was legend of 8 artifacts, which Demetri had used in the destruction of Marinthe. And that these artifacts still functioned. A legend Isaiah now had reason to believe was true, after finding the weapon in the Sudan which He believed to be one of the 8 artifacts of Idune.
The thought cinged his own brow. Isaiah glanced around as though his secret might be discovered. Even thinking about it made his hands tense and his brow sweat. In Chenzira’s presence… if Chenzira only knew what he possessed, what was on its way to Oakridge in a express FedEx package. There was no telling how Chenzira would react. Isaiah had hung on his every word hoping to learn more about Chenzira’s history. How he had lived for so many years. Hoping to discover some part of his plans, but Chenzira was no fool. He had no reason, or intention of allowing Isaiah to know his schemes. Isaiah had to get away. He had to discover what Chenzira was after, and then somehow reach the surface before him and warn the Counsel at the Academy. All this before anyone discovered what else he had found in the Sudan.
Isaiah stared back at the stony cliff path they were trotting down. His legs seemed to shake with each step.
Ahead Chenzira began hacking and wheezing and grabbing at his chest. Isaiah relaxed knowing that whatever had kept Chenzira alive for so long, it was not holding him together so well these days. Chenzira looked like a sallow carcass of a man.
A wind crept up from the water below. They were treading down a steeper path and the surface seemed closer with each step. Isaiah could now smell the wet air. It smelled of seaweed and old dirt. The waters must be ancient. Isaiah wondered if there was an outlet or an inlet of any sort… if these waters ever moved? The scientist in Isaiah was coming out again. It was that curiosity that made him risk it all on this adventure. He had known from the beginning that the man who offered to take the trip to Marinthe was an enemy. But the daunting urges to see the lost city at last, to see it before he died, to be the only man to know his roots…
Isaiah sighed. He had risked it all for truth about his heritage, and he was beginning to wonder if it was worth it. It had to be. He would figure out Chenzira’s plans and disclose them…somehow. That would make his vain sacrifice a more noble cause. Then the Haloes would speed his mission. The Clouds would be guiding him.
Isaiah stared down again. They were low enough now that he could jump. He could hit the waters without dying on impact. The height was still dizzying though. Isaiah could not bring himself to do it. Not yet. Why am I such a coward?
Suddenly Chenzira stopped dead in his tracks. He was staring again out across the city. Isaiah began to wonder on the wretched man’s delusions.
“Take this!” Chenzira said, as he revealed a silver hilted pistol from a side bag. Isaiah furrowed his brow. What was this madness? Isaiah took the gun in his two hands. Was Chenzira preparing him for a duel? Was he going to give him an honorable last moment? A chance to defend himself before he died?
Isaiah cocked the gun and pointed it at Chenzira. He would not give him the chance. He would kill the Dark Seed then and there. The pistol began to glow blue as Isaiah’s touch charged the glass capsule interior. He gently nudged his finger against the trigger. All he had to do was pull, and a blue ball of liquid fire would explode from the barrel of the gun and incinerate Chenzira.
“Don’t you move…or I’ll…” Isaiah’s words sounded hallow. His hand was shaking as well. He was wavering in his boldness. Chenzira began to laugh.
“You are a fool Conrad! It never ceases to amaze me.” Chenzira removed a second pistol from his bag and pointed it out over the water. Chenzira nodded with his head for Isaiah to look. Slowly, expecting a trap, Isaiah glanced out across the water. He could hardly see anything now. A low hovering mist was gathering around the city. After it gathered like an army of mist, it ventured across the water. The mist was rolling and tumbled gently in their direction. With each bounce it became a larger heap of cloud matter. Though it did not seem to be moved by the wind, it was now channeling directly for them like a large mountain of dark and gray cotton.
“You can go ahead and kill me, but what are you going to do about the Dark Mage on its way to prevent us from reaching the city?” Chenzira’s smile was now gone. He held the pistol out, pointing at the rolling mist. The clouds tumbled to the cliff face and then pushed upwards. In seconds they would be enveloped.
“On my mark human!” Chenzira spat the words, knowing that Isaiah would obey. It burned Isaiah that somehow Chenzira still held the charge of a leader. Isaiah pointed the pistol at the cloud mass. “Wait for its core to appear.”
“How will I recognize it?” Isaiah whispered.
Chenzira snorted. “With all your clout and arrogance, the Academy still knows nothing of the Mariner world. Clinging to petty traditions, but you don’t know anything of what it means to be a Mariner!” Chenzira shook his head. Isaiah wanted to strangle the man then and there. He was not a soldier, he was an archeologist; a teacher at the university. He did not profess to know the workings of the Mages. That was left up to others. “You’ll recognize its core because that will be the first thing it reveals, in the shape of some monster, just before it smashes us to bits.”
Isaiah held his breath. He watched as the rolling, tumbling clouds pushed upwards. It all made Isaiah feel very small in a large world of danger. At the head of the tumult a large ball of mist began to churn in a circle as though it were spinning. It began to take shape. The ball of mist seemed to condense and solidify. There was an oblong ball of cloud out of which grew to large horns of mist causing it to strongly resemble a very large ram’s head made of cloud matter; riding at the head of a torrent of smoke—this was the Mage’s core.
Isaiah had heard stories, even seen some photographs, but never had he actually witnessed a Mage fully revealed to the naked eye. They were creatures made of the clouds. They were the clouds. Large roaming beasts that hid themselves placidly in the sky from the human world unless compelled to a manifestation. And now that he was seeing it, he no longer wanted any part of it. The white demon sped upwards none the less. A huge massive river of fog with the head of a ram.
Chenzira opened fire. He relentlessly pulled the trigger of his silver pistol. Blue charges sped toward the Mage. 10, 11, 12 charges were fired by Chenzira before Isaiah gathered his courage and followed suit. The cobalt bursts crashed into the cloud matter and exploded like Molotov Cocktails. They seemed to ignite large chunks of the cloud with blue laces of fire that spread, slowing the Mage’s progress until they fizzled out. The Mage shifted and 2 enormous arms began to form from the fog. It used the large arms to block the last few charges.
Isaiah wanted to run. His sole desire was to drop the pistol and run for his life—but where could he run to while the enormous creature sallied upwards.
Chenzira was stone faced and did not budge. He continued to fire the pistol at the Cloud beast whose arms were within 20 feet. Isaiah stumbled backward and fell onto his butt. He was turning to run when the Mage reached them. Its large arms and boulder sized fists began swinging at the mountain side. They crashed into the rock, as though they were solid objects, no longer just a wisp of cloud.
The whole cliff side shook and sent shards of rock tumbling to the water below. Isaiah ducked as a large arm smashed the cliff just above his head. He looked back to see Chenzira collapsing to the ground. The Mage must have had a direct hit on the Dark Seed. Isaiah watched in horror. He was frozen in place. He wanted to leap from the ledge but the desire to see what happened prevented him from moving.
The Mage hovered above them for another moment. It reached its massive arms out, that were the size of a semi-truck, above its head preparing for a final blow. But before its beastly hands came crashing down, Amun Chenzira sprung from the rock face. He jumped with a youthful energy that surprised Isaiah. He cleared the gap like a flying squirrel between the cliff and the Mage. He crashed into the cloud monster’s chest, all the while Chenzira continued to fire shots from his pistol at the Ram’s head.
Isaiah gripped his pistol and let it charge for a moment, until it was glowing, a jagged blue light. Then Isaiah fired more shots at the ram’s head. If Chenzira could keep fighting in such a circumstance, than so could he. The Mage was pounding at its chest, but somehow Chenzira managed to hold on. Hold on? To what? Somehow Chenzira was floating there in the clouds, which Isaiah did not understand at all. The cloud matter must have somehow condensed and become more solid.
The ram’s fists came crashing against its own chest, but Chenzira was beginning to get a full blue fire burning across the Mage’s face. The fire seemed to spread slowly onto the Mage’s shoulders and down its arms, until the entire storm was a mass of burning clouds. Then the Mage fell backwards and began to disintegrate into the rest of the oncoming fog. Chenzira rode the flailing monster into the bleak fog below until he was lost from view in the fog below. Isaiah expected there to be some sort of splash on the water as the massive torched ram collided with the surface, but no such sound was made. The ram seemed to disintegrate back into the mist from whence it had come, without a sound. Chenzira was gone as well.
Isaiah was left alone on the cliff face holding a small pistol and wiping his forehead with a dirty hand. He sat up and rubbed his chest. His eyes glared into the mist below but they had become a swirl of unintelligible fog once again. Chenzira was gone? Isaiah doubted it. He looked behind himself at the winding trail he had come down. He could walk away in that moment. He could return to the surface and inform the academy… he could run home and protect Patrick and Stephanie and Tannon…
Then Isaiah paused. There was a light breeze on the air. In his heart Isaiah knew he needed to press on. He needed to see what Chenzira had planned with Marinthe. His letter would be enough to warn Patrick…
Isaiah trudged forward in the darkness.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Clouds-Amun Chenzira Still Lives
There was a slight breeze in the dry air. It moved small grains of sand from time to time but amidst the heat of the baking sun in the endless sea of dunes it made little impression on the landscape. There was, however, one feature standing out on the landscape. One solitary, low flying cloud hovered like a spirit over the bleak desert. Its shadow cast against the hills of sand giving them a small break from the scorching sun.
Soon its shadow hovered slowly over cracked columns and bricks that were slowly returning to the earth as though they followed the cycle of time and decay. The sand encompassed much of the ruins. There had once been a structure of some sort in the area. The sand sloped off to an empty river bed next to a cliff edge. At a prior millennia it would have been a waterfall and a paradisiacal glen. The only life now amidst the ruins was a tall, slender man. In that moment it would not have been apparent that he was defined, skilled, and hansom. His chiseled features were now hid beneath a cowl; a large cloak that covered his entire person except his brown boots. He crouched atop a certain fallen spire with his hands crossed. Soon the clouds shadow fell on him and he raised his head slightly upwards.
The silence was shattered after a moment. A low hum echoed through the dry river bed and off the torn and fallen columns. The cloaked man did not move. Soon a low flying aircraft glinted in the sun as it crested the closest dune. Its hull was silver and with black veins running along its different facets. It seemed to be armored and out of its back side was a blue fire that propelled it forward like a jet engine only smaller.
The craft landed like a dragonfly amidst the ruins and its cock pit slowly opened revealing two heads. The two people stepped out of the craft and crunched onto the sand floor. The first was a man in his late 40’s. He boasted a scruffy chin and wore goggles. The second was a woman. Her name was Victoria. She had long flowing black hair and wore a business suit with a skirt that was just as black as her hair; the skirt barely made it to her mid thighs. Upon landing in the sand she removed her high-heels and proceeded forward barefoot.
The man in goggles followed Victoria towards the fallen columns.
“You’re late.” The man under the cowl spoke in a gravelly voice. One would perhaps have thought he was ill from his voice but the man and woman both knew better. They were aware that the man under the cloak had recently awoken from a 200 year sleep. They knew it wasn’t his first either. He had survived millennia upon millennia on this earth making his age countless. They knew very well that he had just accomplished a journey into the heart of the earth and back to retrieve something… some artifact. But what artifact exactly? They had hoped to find out.
“Late?” spoke the man. He sounded tired but steady. “We are here on the precise day and time you commanded.”
“I’ve been here for 2 days now. If you had listened to the whisperings of the Bleak you would have known to come earlier.” The cloaked man said bitterly.
The woman gave almost a snort in response. “We leave most of that up to you Emperor...”
“Don’t be a fool.” He said before she could finish his title. A hand protruded from within the folds of heavy cloth and tossed a shiny item that looked somewhat like a dingy brooch attached to leather belts. The scruffy man caught it in his left hand. He immediately began examining the artifact.
“Is this…it? Is this what you went to Marinthe to…”
“It is an artifact that has survived the tests of time.” The cloaked man cut him off before he could finish the question. “It is called a crutch. It’s a gruesome item my Glass Blower of over 10,000 years created…Rajagal was his name. One of the few human souls I truly miss since my time on earth. He was the most talented with glass and the bleak. But seeing how you, Mr. Cannon are the only Glass Blower I can trust at this disdainful time, it must be you who recharges the crutch. And then I will be able to return to normal.”
“When will you want it back? How much time do I have?” Mr. Cannon said holding the crutch up to the light. It was a flattened sphere of perfectly clear glass attached to small leather belts and buckles. The center piece was so clear that it appeared more like a drop of water than glass.
The Emperor arose at this point and approached Mr. Cannon. He walked with a limp and grunted with each step. “I want you to do it…now.”
A brief look of fear flashed across Mr. Cannon’s face. He doubted his abilities and perhaps supposed once the task was complete his purpose to the Emperor would be fulfilled thus making him a unneeded liability. Cannon breathed deep and regained his resolute disposition. “What must I do.”
Beneath the cowl a grin slowly formed.
An hour later Mr. Cannon and Victoria left in the same craft that had brought them. Timing could not have been more perfect for as the jet disappeared into the horizon 2 more figures appeared with the now setting sun to their backs. It cast long shadows from their bodies as they marched towards the Emperor.
“Giacov! Sophacles!” the Emperor called their names. Upon hearing it they ran towards the fallen monument.
When they reached him both Giacov and Sophacles fell to one knee. “Chenzira.” They whispered ominously. Both were dressed for the trek across the desert. Giacov was defined by a head of white hair that was brilliant in the sun. Sophocles was shorter and stocky. His pectoral muscles protruded from his chest and his arms were like over filled sausages that he folded across his front.
“Arise.” The Emperor spoke. His voice was no longer gruff but smooth and enchanting. Giacov reached out and put a hand on the Emperor’s shoulder. “Master. You seem… well. Once more.”
The Emperor put a hand over his chest and heaved a large breath. “Things will be different this time around. The name Amun Chenzira will be known once more across the earth.” Amun turned and faced the ruined monument. “Do you know what this is?” he asked loudly. He walked forward and his limp was gone as well. The crutch was working. “This was the once great Tower of Idune. Time has crumbled it to the ground just as Demetri Idero Idune himself was lost. I am the only thing on this EARTH that has out done the cycles. I am greater than any other. You two will be princes of the Bleak.” Amun turned and smiled at Giacov and Sophocles. “Do you see that cloud fading into the north?”
Giacov and Sophocles both gazed into the northern horizon. “It is a Mage of the Bleak. It will guide us to the next phase in our assault of the Mariner world. Come, we must not lose pace.”
Emperor Chenzira moved to the far side of the ruins. Giacov and Sophocles followed to find 3 horses tied to a large stone. The three mounted and rode north.
Soon its shadow hovered slowly over cracked columns and bricks that were slowly returning to the earth as though they followed the cycle of time and decay. The sand encompassed much of the ruins. There had once been a structure of some sort in the area. The sand sloped off to an empty river bed next to a cliff edge. At a prior millennia it would have been a waterfall and a paradisiacal glen. The only life now amidst the ruins was a tall, slender man. In that moment it would not have been apparent that he was defined, skilled, and hansom. His chiseled features were now hid beneath a cowl; a large cloak that covered his entire person except his brown boots. He crouched atop a certain fallen spire with his hands crossed. Soon the clouds shadow fell on him and he raised his head slightly upwards.
The silence was shattered after a moment. A low hum echoed through the dry river bed and off the torn and fallen columns. The cloaked man did not move. Soon a low flying aircraft glinted in the sun as it crested the closest dune. Its hull was silver and with black veins running along its different facets. It seemed to be armored and out of its back side was a blue fire that propelled it forward like a jet engine only smaller.
The craft landed like a dragonfly amidst the ruins and its cock pit slowly opened revealing two heads. The two people stepped out of the craft and crunched onto the sand floor. The first was a man in his late 40’s. He boasted a scruffy chin and wore goggles. The second was a woman. Her name was Victoria. She had long flowing black hair and wore a business suit with a skirt that was just as black as her hair; the skirt barely made it to her mid thighs. Upon landing in the sand she removed her high-heels and proceeded forward barefoot.
The man in goggles followed Victoria towards the fallen columns.
“You’re late.” The man under the cowl spoke in a gravelly voice. One would perhaps have thought he was ill from his voice but the man and woman both knew better. They were aware that the man under the cloak had recently awoken from a 200 year sleep. They knew it wasn’t his first either. He had survived millennia upon millennia on this earth making his age countless. They knew very well that he had just accomplished a journey into the heart of the earth and back to retrieve something… some artifact. But what artifact exactly? They had hoped to find out.
“Late?” spoke the man. He sounded tired but steady. “We are here on the precise day and time you commanded.”
“I’ve been here for 2 days now. If you had listened to the whisperings of the Bleak you would have known to come earlier.” The cloaked man said bitterly.
The woman gave almost a snort in response. “We leave most of that up to you Emperor...”
“Don’t be a fool.” He said before she could finish his title. A hand protruded from within the folds of heavy cloth and tossed a shiny item that looked somewhat like a dingy brooch attached to leather belts. The scruffy man caught it in his left hand. He immediately began examining the artifact.
“Is this…it? Is this what you went to Marinthe to…”
“It is an artifact that has survived the tests of time.” The cloaked man cut him off before he could finish the question. “It is called a crutch. It’s a gruesome item my Glass Blower of over 10,000 years created…Rajagal was his name. One of the few human souls I truly miss since my time on earth. He was the most talented with glass and the bleak. But seeing how you, Mr. Cannon are the only Glass Blower I can trust at this disdainful time, it must be you who recharges the crutch. And then I will be able to return to normal.”
“When will you want it back? How much time do I have?” Mr. Cannon said holding the crutch up to the light. It was a flattened sphere of perfectly clear glass attached to small leather belts and buckles. The center piece was so clear that it appeared more like a drop of water than glass.
The Emperor arose at this point and approached Mr. Cannon. He walked with a limp and grunted with each step. “I want you to do it…now.”
A brief look of fear flashed across Mr. Cannon’s face. He doubted his abilities and perhaps supposed once the task was complete his purpose to the Emperor would be fulfilled thus making him a unneeded liability. Cannon breathed deep and regained his resolute disposition. “What must I do.”
Beneath the cowl a grin slowly formed.
An hour later Mr. Cannon and Victoria left in the same craft that had brought them. Timing could not have been more perfect for as the jet disappeared into the horizon 2 more figures appeared with the now setting sun to their backs. It cast long shadows from their bodies as they marched towards the Emperor.
“Giacov! Sophacles!” the Emperor called their names. Upon hearing it they ran towards the fallen monument.
When they reached him both Giacov and Sophacles fell to one knee. “Chenzira.” They whispered ominously. Both were dressed for the trek across the desert. Giacov was defined by a head of white hair that was brilliant in the sun. Sophocles was shorter and stocky. His pectoral muscles protruded from his chest and his arms were like over filled sausages that he folded across his front.
“Arise.” The Emperor spoke. His voice was no longer gruff but smooth and enchanting. Giacov reached out and put a hand on the Emperor’s shoulder. “Master. You seem… well. Once more.”
The Emperor put a hand over his chest and heaved a large breath. “Things will be different this time around. The name Amun Chenzira will be known once more across the earth.” Amun turned and faced the ruined monument. “Do you know what this is?” he asked loudly. He walked forward and his limp was gone as well. The crutch was working. “This was the once great Tower of Idune. Time has crumbled it to the ground just as Demetri Idero Idune himself was lost. I am the only thing on this EARTH that has out done the cycles. I am greater than any other. You two will be princes of the Bleak.” Amun turned and smiled at Giacov and Sophocles. “Do you see that cloud fading into the north?”
Giacov and Sophocles both gazed into the northern horizon. “It is a Mage of the Bleak. It will guide us to the next phase in our assault of the Mariner world. Come, we must not lose pace.”
Emperor Chenzira moved to the far side of the ruins. Giacov and Sophocles followed to find 3 horses tied to a large stone. The three mounted and rode north.
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