Heh... well, I guess I'll feel all the worse for this but... ENTER IF YOU DARE!
The Legend of Ael: Glass Doors
1:
Thunder rent the night sky,
following the lightning as it weaved its jagged tapestry through the darkness.
Rain fell in huge droplets, splashing as it fell into steadily growing puddles,
blown fitfully by angry zephyrs. A few stray leaves tumbled by the lone road,
its trail barely noticeable in the pitch. In the distance, seemingly frozen,
the shadow of a village loomed, its bulk almost startling in the cold black.
Lights winked like conspirators from the windows of buildings. Even from a half
a mile out, the sound of cheering could be heard. Somehow, despite the dismal
weather, this did not seem out of place. With an impatient toss of his head,
the boy absentmindedly wiped rain from his eyes, tugged his hood lower and sniffled.
It was cold. Not as cold as it could have been, but it was weather that normal
people tried to avoid. Such musings made him laugh. He was not, in many cases,
normal. Not by common decree.
The woman standing beside him watched the village
passively, her only motion being the barest shuffle of her worn down boots.
Finally, without a word, the boy began to walk the last steps towards
possibility and the woman, groaning, followed. In the seconds that it took for
her to reach his side, his pace, the rain had intensified, trying to drive them
into the springy mud, quickly turning into bog. That was also expected. In
fact, the boy would have been shocked and perhaps a little disappointed if this
leg of his journey got any easier. So far, all he had done was walk, and talk,
though never often. He’d been expecting something much more arduous than what
he had encountered but was, obviously, under no illusions that things would
remain the same. He would be a fool to think that life remained easy. He would,
he knew, be acting his age. And that was more than a little younger than he
felt.
They had come from the forest about six miles back,
their supplies restocked by the men with pointed ears, living their lives in
the tall trees. His companion, Sarah, called them elves. The boy, feeling this
was ridiculous, called them people, and felt that was all that mattered. And
yet not all had been easy for them. They had lost two of their party before the
forest had even come into view and, to make things worse, another had decide to
remain within the peaceful haven of the people
in the woods. The boy did not despise her for this. Indeed, he respected
her decision but did not agree with her forsaking their quest. Perhaps because
he would never imagine leaving the path he walked now. It was his quest.
The two came to a sign that revealed the village to
be Spain,
with a population of fifty and three. For a moment the two stared at the sign
as though trying to work out a puzzle. Where he was from, Spain had been
a country, prosperous if his geography teacher had been right. He didn’t know.
He had not cared much for geography, and had put it in the same vein as art.
Shrugging, he made to move away when the woman tapped his shoulder lightly, at
first so soft that he thought it could be rain. There was no reason to believe
otherwise but he turned anyway. The past had taught him to be careful even at
the best of times. Even in the attic, if it came to it. But that was something
he rarely thought on nowadays.
“It won’t be a coincidence. This may be a sign.” The
boy nodded, brushing aside dripping strands of dark hair from his eyes. “Does
the number fifty-three mean anything to you?”
“Not that I can think of.” He spat into the darkness
and sniffled for awhile. “But I suppose we’ll ask loads of questions, or be
asked them.” When his companion frowned, puzzled, the boy nodded, more for
himself than for her benefit. “Like in the inquisition, you know?” Shrugging,
he led the way and, after a hesitant look at the signpost, the woman decided to
follow. Thinking on the name of the village, he wondered whether they believed
in god. There were such things as gods, he had found. There were none for him
to believe in, but gods all the same.
The cheering grew as they entered the village like
shadows, passing by small houses that lined either side of the road. Each house
seemed to be the same; flat roofed, nearly windowless but for a glass rectangle
that peeked out from either side of each front door. Even the doors were the
same. Wood, painted green, and so old that most were peeling in the rain and
wind. The boy looked at these without interest, aware that his companion took
every opportunity to look long at some shaded object jutting from long untended
bushes. If anything, the village itself was the only thing that seemed out of
place. The road was turning into bog quickly now, but he guessed that before
the rain, the road had been almost bone dry. And yet to either side of him
there grew bushes outside the houses. And in the distance way back the way they
had come, he knew it would be possible to discern the faded green of the
forest, looking like a momentary double horizon during a clear morning. It was
like something cut from a movie. These days he could barely even remember what
had been so appealing about watching such things. Unconcerned with what Sarah
had begun to look at in the soil, the boy drew out his last Wispa bar and
proceeded to eat it.
“Fifty-three, the sign said.” The woman clicked her
fingers, which then became wreathed in flame and watched as steam rose to be
blown wildly away. “Maybe and maybe not, kiddo, I’m not sure… It seems like a
lot of people have been using this road all of a sudden.” Nodding again, the
boy eyed the houses and threw the wrapper of his chocolate to his right. “It’s
kind of cold. Think you could find a place to stay?”
“Yeah, I can but I’d like to know why there’s
cheering here, especially in this weather.” With a shrug, the boy pointed just
ahead, seemed to think deeply and shook his head. “Then again, we’d most likely
find out from a hotel or something.”
“They are called inns here.” Grunting, the boy closed
his eyes and thought of where they would stay. An image of a sign creaking in
the wind like the batwing doors of a Wild West saloon came to his mind, and
sounds of laughter coming loudly from within. He thought he could distinguish
some voices from others; a barmaid that had been pinched on the rump squealed,
and the cook was talking to the hotel manager – not the innkeeper, no matter
what the mage thought proper – and she was moaning about something that had to
do with wetness. Using his mind to pry into the cook’s thoughts, the boy smiled
and opened his eyes. “Find one?”
“We passed it.” The boy smiled in reply. Without
another word the two began to backtrack.
They came to the inn quickly, and without
encountering anyone, the rain falling hard enough to cover the sound of any
that hid from them, strangers in this place. The boy was intrigued to know what
was happening, but understood that maybe it was better to remain unseen. The
batwing doors creaked on old hinges, slightly slanted and worn with age. From
within came silence, and the wafting smell of tobacco, strong enough to make
the boy pull a face in disgust. The woman looked at the building apprehensively,
rubbing the side of her nose with a manicured finger. There was something about
the place that spoke of something long gone. Something was wrong, the boy knew,
and it likely had something to do with whatever was causing the villagers to
cheer somewhere in the distance.
“Do you see it?”
“Yes.” The boy shrugged uncomfortably and eyed the
bronze number that hid, smothered by creepers that ran to the roof.
“Fifty-three...” It could be a coincidence but he doubted it. After all, hadn’t
his magic, his power led him and his companion to this very building. “I hate
this.” He muttered as she went to enter. “I hate having to be your son, or
nephew or some other relation. I really just want to go in and tell them who I
am. Why do I have to be a kid?”
“You’re not inside; you are ancient. And, for once
you may have pulled my leg. There’s something wrong here, I can feel it.” She
tittered. It was a sound that the boy related to adulthood and its wry humours.
“You may have to tell them. Or show them… either one. Not that you need
permission.” Shaking his head, thinking that she was acting like a child – oh, the irony, he thought – the boy
pushed on the batwing doors slowly, expecting them to fall to pieces. They
looked to be made out of old chair legs, funnily enough. When they did not come
apart, he entered, his nose wrinkled at the aroma of tobacco smoke.
It was a small enough establishment, dimly lit and
full of odours worse than those smelt from outside. A wooden desk sat in front
of a rack of keys. There were ten keys, the boy noticed. Four of them were
gone. A stairway rose beside the desk with a varnished banister, ending in
shadows thrown by a lantern that hung about the corner. It had a haunted feel
to it, this place. And the boy could tell that very well.
A curtain separated this strange lobby from another
room, full of tables and small stools. There were two lanterns alight in this
room, and it revealed a lone visitor to one side, a cup of steaming liquid
between gloved hands. It was hard to see what manner of person the loner was
but the boy was more intrigued to know where the keeper of this hotel, or inn
was.
“You check the common room.” The woman frowned, her
eyes sweeping her surroundings. Pointing at the curtains, she looked at him
with worry in her eyes. “I’ll check upstairs.” Nodding, the boy stepped through
the thin veil of cloth without a backward glance. Immediately the lonesome
figure stirred, dark eyes watching him make his way over. As he came closer the
boy could see that the man had an axe by his side. With a foot the man pushed a
stool out from under the circular table, pulling out a small case of nickel
with his left hand. He was dressed all in black. Smiling easily the boy took a
seat, watching as the man took a roll of tobacco lit it on the nearby lantern.
“Hai there, stranger, it’s cold out today. Maybe it’s
too cold to travel.” Pulling back his hood, the boy ran a hand through his
black hair, shaking his head when the man offered him the case of rolled
tobacco. He’d seen much, but still believed that smoking was wrong. “Kind of
quiet…” he muttered. The stranger nodded, and pulled back his own hood.
“I know how old you are.” The man said. “I am
Arthur.”
“We are well met, Arthur. I don’t think I’ll give my
name just yet; such things have often gotten me in trouble, and as for my age…
I’m twelve.” The man called Arthur chuckled gruffly and the boy took this time
to study the man’s face.
It was a young face but worn, lines running furrows
from the corners of thin lips that the boy doubted came from smiling overmuch. Dark
eyes, black in the shadow of the man’s hood, glittered frighteningly from
sunken sockets; eyes that spoke of having seen much, perhaps too much. The nose
was a slim thing that jutted out from under the dangerous eyes, it looked to
have been broken sometime in the man’s youth. It was a pale but wind battered
face that spoke of trials and unimaginable escapades. Still smiling Celtic
drummed his fingers on the table and waited to hear what the stranger, Arthur
said.
“You look twelve, just as I look like a young man,
but we both know the truth. In my eyes, perhaps, you see that I have been
through much, and have done things that I am not proud of. In yours I see
power, and something that makes me feel faint. I will not lie to you, I feel
like running scared. That means that you are something greater than I am or
will ever be good friend.” Arthur leaned back and took a long drag at his
smoke. “I may be many things but I am no fool. I know the legends and tales of
prophecy. You,” he whispered lowly, “are Ael.” For a moment the boy looked at
the stranger impassively and then, with a grunt he shook his head.
“You are mistaken maybe.”
“I am not.” Arthur shrugged, his dark eyes seeming to
try to pierce the boy’s thoughts. It was an impossible task. In all his
travels, the boy had never met someone that had been actually able to read
minds. Yet it bothered him that this man thought he knew something of him.
“Trust is a thing that must be earned, I see.” Pausing, the man stubbed the
smoke out on the table and brushed the embers away without a glance. “Let me
tell you about myself…” As though unsure of where to start, the man took
another rolled smoke from his nickel plated case and lit it hurriedly. Then,
with a deep pull he stubbed that out too and began to speak. What he said
startled even the boy.
“Right now, at this very moment, I am dead.” The boy
eyed Arthur with a frown creasing his youthful features, blue eyes like augers
as he tried to see some joke behind the words. The stranger chuckled as though
seeing his puzzlement, but he paled at the concentration on the boy’s face.
With a slight twist to his lips, the man took the tiniest sip from his steaming
drink. “Or, to be frank, I will be soon.”
“You’re pulling my leg.” The boy looked about the
room and saw they were alone, and his mind puzzled over this. “How are you here
then?”
“You feel it do you not?” Arthur asked, leaning
closer, the smell of beer and woodlands smothering the lingering stench of
tobacco. “There is an absence of things. A wrongness that seems to pervert this
sleepy town… and I cannot even say that you have a Spanish way of talking, can
I?” The man set the tankard down slowly as though thinking deeply, and the boy
was tossed the impression that this was no chance meeting either. Just like
their arrival at this village and the number of the hotel – or inn, whichever
he wanted to call it. It was a wrongness that seemed to be guiding them, and he
was unsure where the path ended. Of a sudden the man coughed, bringing him from
his worries. “Too many coincidences make destiny, ancient one. Nay,” he held up
a hand as the boy went to speak. “Say nothing about your age. Either way I must
repeat what I said.” He sat back against the wall again, and the boy wondered how
many times the man had sat forwards and back again. “Right now, at this very
moment I am dead. Do you understand?” The boy shook his head.
“No. I don’t. No more riddles, just explain.” The boy
drove his finger into the table twice, to make his point. “It has to do with
the cheering no doubt.” He paused then and thought back on the man’s previous
statements. Right now, at this moment, I
am dead. Or, to be frank, I will be soon. “You said your name was Arthur?”
“A kingly name, is it not?”
“What is going on here, Arthur? Why can’t you just
talk straight?” The man smiled suddenly as though gladdened beyond any measure.
“What are you thinking?”
“I think as deeply as one may… do you?” For a moment
the boy stared and then shuddered. “You talk to a dead man, one that yet lives
and draws a semblance of breath. You ask the wrong questions, paladin, and
think too broadly. Thoughts should have no depth, no surface. Thoughts should
just be.” The man nodded. “There is time… Tonight…” The man stood. “I will tell
you of myself.” The barest pause, stifling in the silence as the man and boy
eyed each other in open curiosity and bemusement. Suddenly the man spoke. “It
took me a while to understand what my nightmares were.” He said gravely,
strangely. “It took me a while to see that it was a gift. Do you understand?”
The boy remained silent for a moment and then nodded. The man smiled slightly,
the barest upturn of his lips. “You have other things to attend to, I see?
Perhaps we will continue our tales elsewhere and later.” Rising, the boy
nodded, his easy grin slipping away into a stony countenance. A rustle came to
them as the curtain shifted to one side, Sarah poking her head in with a
lopsided smirk on her face that disappeared upon seeing the boy conversing with
the stranger in black.
“I found the keeper of this fine establishment.” The
mage clicked her fingers, watching the tips spark into flames that danced and
flickered before going out. “But he’s not here.” Her eyes swept the room and
then locked on the boy. “Are you coming…?” The boy nodded and turned to bid the
man goodbye. It was no surprise to find that the man was gone.
“Sure. Where are we going to?”
It turned out that the inn/hotel had been empty for a
while. The upstairs hallway had been littered with three dead bodies that had
been crawling with oversized maggots. The room number nine had been open, and
Sarah had gone to see what she could find that was of interest. A man had hung
himself from the miniature chandelier, his body swinging in winds that gushed in
from the open window. Something had chewed off his feet not long ago. Blood
still congealed on the floorboards. There had been a letter in his hand though,
addressed to a woman named Vivian. From what could be read, the mage had
understood that whatever evil had come to this village of Spain
had come barely two weeks ago. It was something that she wondered on, and felt
must be kept from her companion. Besides this the room had held no interest for
her, and the stench had become stronger somehow, more pervasive. It made her
feel like her skin was alive with a mind of its own, and was trying to shiver
its way from her body. Whatever powers at her disposal, Sarah was not a fool.
Like any person in such a time, she fled.
“Well, as I said, the inn is empty.” She said now. The
boy shook his head.
“I disagree. There’s something here alright, and it
can see us just as well as we can’t see
them.” The boy hefted his rucksack on his shoulders, aware that he had been
wearing it non-stop for almost a whole day. “And even if we could, I guess that
it would only be a beginning.” For a moment the woman stared at him
emotionlessly and then, with a nod, she began to look through the desk in the
lobby.
“The village is small anyway, so whatever the hell is
going on may not be hard to find. In fact, it’s only our business because we
have to sleep in this place.” She saw the boy frown and then shrugged,
discarding a piece of paper with a grimace. “Alright, fine then. It does seem
to hold some mystic quality, but why not just believe that some madman drove
everyone to suicide and then left? Why not-? Oh...” She held up a map and
shuddered. “I think I was wrong.” The boy came forwards and looked over her
arm, almost tiptoeing. She was tall.
The map was of the village. It showed the road they
had come in on; a broad strip that split the village in half all the way
through. This road, in turn, split five times as it ran through the village
though, becoming lanes and side-streets and at each end was marked, on the map,
a symbol that sent shivers down both their spines.
“Ael gates…” The boy took the map slowly and
blinked once as lightning flashed across his vision. The creaking of the
batwing doors and of the sign that had looked the same was almost agonizing in
its eeriness. He found himself thinking that this night ticked all the classic
boxes of horror films. The empty village, the hanging man with the message to
set the antagonists on their way to some confrontation, and the bodies littered
in the inn. The man in black with a kingly name, a man that knew much but
seemed to be dead or a magician, or even both. A man that disappeared when you
turned away; and no-one else had seen him. The thunder and lightening playing
tag across the sky while the rain drummed away like the hammer strokes of Thor.
The wind howling and making the signs creak, creak, creak. The map littered
with strange symbols and only one real way to escape, one main road that lead
to somewhere other than a dead end. He did not wish to be fighting in the dark
to escape the village
of Spain. “What is that?
This road isn’t a straight line the others, it runs diagonal to the main road
and then cuts in as though to join it. Kind of like....” Of a sudden he saw the
sign that the roads made and let out a yell of surprise. “Look at the roads!
They make the sign of Krine! Jesus on a bicycle, we should have known.”
“What
you know and what you choose to know are two different things.” Sarah frowned
and then took the map back. “And that road you were talking of? It ends with some
sort of hall, or arena. The rune is an old form of the elves…” she waited for
the boy to laugh as he had always done when what he thought of as myths were
mentioned, elves mostly of all… and sighed when he nodded. “It means Kar’yah. A word that has too many
meanings, though the main one is…” She folded the map and put it into the back
pocket of her jeans, patting her buttocks to make sure it was safely away. “It
translates as Hollow, but means darkness either way.”
“I
guess that names mean little now, so you can actually say mine.” Sarah shook
her head and the boy shrugged. “Not yet, else we may be found before time. You
know that they have tracked you by the mere mention of your name before here.”
“True…
but there’s Ael Gates here. Four of them, would you believe it!” The boy
grinned like a child, and Sarah found herself wondering how childlike the boy
felt now, having travelled as long as he had, knowing he was older than the
eldest. It was a disturbing thought, and one she’d had many a time, but now it
rankled on her and made her shake her head, eyes seemingly frozen. The boy
still smiled, his eyes somehow seeming to have no colour, but of every shade,
cold enough to chill ice. She found herself shivering and lowering her eyes
slightly, but not much. “Okay, we’ll do it your way for now, Sarah. But if it
comes to it…” The boy paused thinking on what to say. Instead, he placed his
hand, now seemingly made of pure light, on the table and watched as it became
floating motes of light in the blink of an eye. With that done he shrugged and
smiled, childlike again before stepping into the rain. Worried at her friend’s
unease the mage followed. He only showed power on objects if there was a cause,
usually. She understood though. Come what may, he was still Ael and could do
things she could only have nightmares of.
It
turned out that Sarah had wanted to see states of the Ael Gates first of all,
so they checked them hurriedly, keeping an eye out for anyone that might
stumble into their path. As expected, they saw no-one. Their only sign that
life had inhabited Spain,
and still did, was the lifeless bodies they saw by each Gate, like some
sacrifice. That, of course, and the cheering, though now the cries had a
definite rage and deathly excitement about them. They came to each Ael Gate and
found them all shattered bar one, the thin slivers of light lying on the floor
like pieces of glass, unable to be lifted by any but the boy. He did so
reverently, but had no knowledge of how to put the Gate together again.
Attempts had resulted in unfortunate happenings. Sarah had stood to one side at
each of these shattered doorways to other worlds, watching like a wraith from
within the shadows. She did not speak, or try to consol the boy in any way. She
just watched and waited. Until they came to the unbroken mirror of pooled light
that sat almost carelessly against a wagon.
“Go.”
He said quietly. “If you want…” Silence answered him for a while and then he
felt one of those rain-like taps on his shoulder.
“I
can’t. This is my quest now as long as it is yours. Regardless of what may pop
up occasionally, like Spain
in the middle of nowhere.” The boy laughed. “I think we’re caught you know. I
think we might have let something get ahead of us. I doubt it matters.” The boy
clapped her hand twice and passed a hand over the Ael Gate, showing a land
beyond that looked like a crazed wilderness, covered in rainforests like tufts
of hair. “Is that where I’d end up?” He nodded. “It looks nice.”
“I
get that all the time.” The boy chuckled and cocked his hand to the right as
though changing the page. An image of castle in the middle of a green plain made
him frown. “This is where I am going… I think.” He turned towards her and
shrugged. “I just have the feeling that something is going to go wrong all of a
sudden.”
“So!
You can’t ask me to leave. I feel like I’m part of you, not your quest. How
long have we been fighting to reach the end, to usurp Krine’s plans?” Sarah
began to cover the gate with straw. The act made the boy clutch his sides with
laughter. After a while she began to giggle too. “I say we go to this Hollow,
this place marked with the elven rune.” She waited till the boy began to
breath. There was water on his cheeks, likely tears from humour and not rain. “I
say we find out why we came here on our way to the celestial heights that mark
our end. I think we may need to.” The cheering rose in pitch and the boy had an
idea that perhaps it was too late to find out anything. Something was coming
and maybe it was best to flee.
And
then he heard the voice of Arthur saying: Right
now, at this moment, I am dead. Or, to be frank, I will be soon. Suddenly,
the boy felt he could almost see what was happening. “It’s like the witch
trials. There’s going to be killing in the Hollow this night. I think we have
to stop it.” Frowning, Sarah scuffed her feet on the muddy ground.
“Need
help?” With raised eyebrows the boy nodded for her to take out the map. She did
so without a hesitation, even in the rain for which the boy felt an almost
insane love for his companion. “Follow me… it’s this way!” Without another word
the two began to head off, slowly at first, before sprinting into the rain,
reflected by the Gate though the straw, breaking their image into a hundred
pieces.
They
came to the place named the Hollows out of breathe, shivering with cold and
wild-eyed with exhilaration. Lightning flashed in a crazed dance across the
dark heights, thunder called darker prophecies out at them as they crouched,
silent and deathly still behind the pillar of a standing stone, their sights
filled with the horror that unfurled before them, aware that no matter what
came the boy had been right. There would be killing in this place tonight. Sarah
took off her cloak as they waited, pulling free the sheath tangled beneath. With
dripping hands she drew the sword, another spark of lightening reflecting off
its shimmering surface. Looking thoughtfully at the blade, the mage failed to
miss the sorrowful look on the boy’s face. It was a look that showed that the
child in him still loathed death, though he had dealt it much in his travels. This
did not mean that he did not understand what must come, if it was a part of his
future then he would accept it with all the grace he could manage. Sighing, the boy frowned as he
realised that although he could see enough of what was occurring, he was no
closer to understanding the why of it all.
“Let there be light!” Sarah whispered almost
painfully. Spreading the fingers of his right hand, the boy obliged.
There was a crackle as all the lightening that had
gathered that night came together above that place called the Hollow, quieting
the cheers and angry yells, making all past brief flashes of light seem like
candles. A white blanket spread across the sky, followed by a roar so loud that
the standing stone vibrated and fell to one side. In bare seconds the night was
driven away, the world seemingly spinning faster, thoughts sluggishly running
like men underwater. The storms passed fitfully as the light drove them away,
dappling the village
of Spain with daylight.
For a moment even Sarah sat awed and then she was pulling the dozing figure of
the boy to his feet, waking him with a brief clip to his head. Startled, he
glared at her and then came to his senses, casting his eyes over the Hollows in
the throes of day. It made him hiss.
The place was a haven for the dead and dying. Skulls
made a rugged path through sharp rocks, leading down to a crescent shaped dent
in the ground. Old chairs long thrown away now made seating areas for the
crowd. Of the forty-one people that resided in the Hollows, only one was not
holding aloft a flaming brand above his or her head, now looking at the sky as
though united in prayer. The skulls continued to make a path down the steep
slope, and the boy noticed that this was the only way to get into this horrid
indent in the landscape. The furthest side, perhaps one hundred feet from the
end of the bleached white path, rose steeply like cliffs, the rock smooth like
glass. If he had listened more in his classes he would have understood that
this place was perhaps the result of a meteor or something of the like. But
instead he gazed on it as a child would see a castle for the first time, or the
bones of a dinosaur. It was Sarah that made him see was he usually would. Sarah
who pointed beyond the awesome sight and into the din of rowdy Spaniards (It
still felt weird to call the people of this village as such, but the boy
thought “Hey, why not?”) Sarah who made him see the pillar of glass that jutted
from the black rock of the Hollow, rising high like a giant pedestal. The boy
frowned, thinking on the Ael Gates and then his eyes went wide in realisation.
He opened his mouth to speak and was forestalled by the mage, his mouth still
hanging ajar.
“There’s a woman on that-” She began before
shivering, her magic react later than the boy’s. His companion fell silent as
the ground exploded outwards and night came once more.
2:
It is the same dream as before. The dream that had made
him believe
3:
At
first he is soaring, his eyes can see far and beyond. He is suddenly overcome
with the strangest feeling that he is really standing still, and that it is
everything else, everything that is and ever will be, rushing past him. The
Feeling lasts only as long as the thought, and weirdly this seems to go on so
long that he comes to believe that this is all he has ever known and then, with
a brief flare of pain he found himself staring across a black land that
seemingly lasted forever, and he knew that he must come to this place some time
in his life. Almost as quickly as the image comes does it disappear, leaving
lines of light in his sight as the picture engulfs him in its rush to seemingly
escape; this time he does not even notice the pain. He sees images rushing past
as he soars once more. There are images of places that have no meaning to him
but will do in some dark future. A barren city whirls its way from his sight, a
place full of bones and mist, a place of silence and something worse than
death. Out of the corner of his vision he notices a grey tower with a golden
ladder standing in a green plain, a lone window peeking from its highest floor.
Inside this room, before this image is taken away too, the boy sees a woman
looking mournfully at him, her blue eyes startled in her beautiful face. Then
this too is taken and he is driven, whisked and pulled. Dragged to a land that
is seemingly burning. Somehow, he can tell that this is near the end of what
may come. From somewhere he hears a voice talking, almost as in singsong.
This is the land of Muspelheim,
a place of fire and dreams. Come you to this kingdom, paladin? Come you?
The
voice, such as it is, fades to nothing, and once more the boy is flung into the
sky, seeing more than he can understand, less than he will ever remember. Yet
he knows that he will remember the name Muspelheim when the time comes, and of
the words spoken. Come you to this
kingdom, paladin?