Six Chimes of the Swan’s Song

Six chimes of the Swan’s Song.

by Crystal

A roaring thunder sounded.

Grim dashed down the decaying halls of the underground labyrinth, Roan easily keeping his stride and the necromancer, Srai, taking up the rear. Dust began to brush off the walls as they shook in response to the report, centuries of grime and rubble breaking loose, shaking slumbering creatures to a state of nervous consciousness.

They could all see the opening looming up ahead, but Roan was the first to sense the danger. The charr pup sprinted in front as a spider jolted from the ceiling, its chitin legs clacking down on the stone briefly before the flying charr. The solid tackle sent the two enemies rolling through the opening into a wide cavern, the humans dashing through right on their heels.

Not far behind, the second roar sounded.

***

“You’ve got a map?”

“Oh, yeh!” The chirpy necromancer seized a roll of parchment off of a well organized shelf, jabbing it triumphantly towards the dervish. “Has everything! Pathways, doors and it’s even marked out the territories of the local wildlife, spiders and such. You like that kinda stuff right?”

Grim raised an eyebrow, nonplused “this map is centuries old. You don’t even know if the chambers are still standing after the searing.”

A growl of disgust sounded from the corner. The two humans glanced up at Roan, relaxing against the back wall. While not around at the time of the destruction, he still felt responsible for the actions of his kind. The charr was growing much faster than any human child and as he was reaching his young adulthood, Grim could not help but be proud of whom he was growing up to become.

Srai snapped Grim gently from his reverie, “These chambers are much deeper. I’m sure they’re still around and, see this section here?” Her finger forcefully prodded a long passage way leading to the surface. “It was one of the original tunnels before the catacombs were built. We know how strong Forgotten architecture is, it’s probably still intact and can lead us straight to the lower chambers!”

Grim mulled over the information as he gazed into Srai’s pleading face. He was as eager to go, likely more so than her, but he did not want to risk their lives needlessly. Of course Roan had no idea of their plans, but he would follow his adoptive father to the ends of Tyria if need be. “Alright, I guess it sounds like a plan. But…”

“Great!” Srai chirped in, triumphantly.

Grim shot her a glare “But…at the first sign of trouble we leave, ok? If anything happens, and I mean anything, we use the spells to map us back to the guild hall.”

Srai was already partially out the door, dragging a reluctant charr behind her. “Sure thing! Everything ‘ll be great, you’ll see!”

***

The chamber that the breach opened onto followed a cylindrical path around the sides of a great pit which fell away into darkness far below. Roan had already sliced through the soft connective tissue between sections of the spider’s chitinous shell by the time the pair had reached him.

He glanced around and a low growl echoed from his throat. “I hate this place. No wind, no trees, it all looks the same.”

“And yet plenty of things around to kill us.” Srai added helpfully.

Grim beckoned them towards the right as he gained his sense of direction. “This way.”

The party of three reluctantly pushed on, leaving behind the spider’s corpse and the sound.

The sound of the third rumble thundering through the underground.

***

Grim gingerly stepped through the rotting mass of vegetation, once more questioning why such a chirpy woman had chosen to study necromancy. Before him stood a small door entrenched deep inside a well crafted tunnel, conforming to the architecture of the Crystal desert. “This must be it.”

Roan, silently gazing at the other two, patiently waited for them to move.

“Well, it did come straight from the snake’s mouth as it were.” Srai fingered the book she had hidden in her backpack.

Grim had pawned that particular journal off of a Vabbian bookseller who could not read the Forgotten tongue and so had sold it for a decent price. Of course, he could not read it either and had simply intended it as a gift for the guild’s aspiring linguist. Little had he suspected the extraordinary find she would make nor where it would lead them.

Grim patted the charr on the shoulder tenderly as he pushed ahead into the gloom.

At the rear, Srai muttered to herself happily. “Great! Guess we’re going down.”

***

“We’re still going down, ya know?” observed the blue haired necromancer.

Roan growled back at her.

“Oh, c’mon! You noticed it too!”

“Quiet, both of you!” Grim flung out his hand, bringing the party to a halt, he listened keenly to the shadows ahead. “Hold here a moment. I’ll be right back.”

They had come to a natural cavern and the forgotten architecture was surrendering to mud and cavernous lakes. Likewise, the lighting from magically imbued stonework was dimming, giving way to a stifling darkness up ahead. Before the others could argue, Grim charged forward, vanishing into the night.

“Ye’ really think we should let him go alone?” queried the necromancer.

The charr was well equipped to see in the dark, but they could both sense a deeper darkness up ahead, a darkness Grim seemed to want to face alone. “He is capable of protecting himself.”

Srai nodded her agreement, and the two sat down to await the dervish’s return.

As they waited, drops of water beaded down from the high ceiling, shattering the smooth surfaces of the crystal pools.

Roan was the one who decided to break the unnatural silence, his predator’s gaze falling on his companion pointedly. “Now, will you tell me why we came here?”

Srai met his gaze, shifting uneasily, she was unsure how or if she should answer. Thankfully, before she could, the sound of returning footsteps padded down the hall. With a sigh of relief she expressed her gratitude to her lucky stars for the timely rescue.

At least, until the grinding roar penetrated the night a fourth time.

***

Grim smiled, watching the charr and the human talk as they made their way down into the first layer of the maze. The two were fast becoming friends and he was beginning to wonder whether this trip was necessary at all. Yet every time he looked back on that day so long ago, when he had met Roan, the answer came back the same.

So he plodded along behind the rest, content in Roan’s happiness but knowing he could do more. Besides, if anything went wrong they could always get out.

***

Grim lead them on through the chambers ahead towards the exit and soon they had returned to lightly imbued Forgotten made tunnels, the passage of time covering everything in a light dust. Here, inconceivable fragments of shadow stretched across the ground, the remnants of a recent battle with a few shadow fiends. He hoped no one would notice the lack of footprints in the dust, this wasn’t the route they had taken in, but he was pretty sure that he could find their way back out.

“We’re almost there.” Grim stated sombrely, the weight of his words descending on them like a stifling cloud.

Lost in their thought, none of them noticed the surprise attack until it was almost too late. Up ahead, shadows began materializing out of the walls and niches, forming dark canine shapes, yellow eyes glowing menacingly, the darkness screeched at the intruders before crawling in to attack with scythe like claws.

The trio may have been caught off guard, but it did not matter, they ploughed into the opposition without a second thought, as swift and merciless as any shadow.

None of them had come up with a new plan.

Somewhere below the thunderous roar of ancient gates being forced open sounded its fifth note.

***

“What’s gotten the flesh-waker so excited, father?” Asked Roan, baffled by Srai’s sudden outburst. They had hardly made it through the first layer of the maze beneath the catacombs of Ascalon.

Grim brushed his hand across the cold surface of the stone “It’s called a Bloodstone Roan. It’s said that a long time ago the gods sealed away great power into these stones with the blood of King Doric himself. They were scattered by an eruption on the Fire Island Chain and spread across the land.”

Srai’s breath was coming out in excited gasps. “It’s incredible! To find one here of all places!” She was running around, tracing the engravings with her fingers.

Roan still looked puzzled. “Well, what does it do?”

Srai was shocked. “What does it do? What does it do? Well…” She pondered a moment, her speech quickly shifting to that of an educated necromancer. “…Nothing I suppose. The White Mantle used to sacrifice people on them; their life force helping to keep the seal on the door of Komale intact. Since that’s now open, the transfer of power probably has nowhere to go, so who knows?”

***

Grim was right, they were getting close. They had encountered many more shadows on the way up, likely remnants from times long passed, too scared of the surface world in their limited number. The group easily sliced through the darkness and before long their flight to the upper levels crossed them into an intersection they all recognised by the remains of a campfire.

Not wasting any time they dashed up the ramp to the first floor, just reaching the top of the incline before hearing the sixth gate burst open.

***

“What do you suppose these are Grim?” Srai was staring down at a part of the map located deep below the ground.

“They look like doors to me, all blocking off that one chamber. Could be what…” His words whispered to a halt, a look of concern drawing across his face.

“Is something wrong, father?” Roan stopped tending to the fire that they had prepared lunch over and looked up worriedly.

Grim shook his head “Nothing Roan, I’m fine.” He smiled at the pup reassuringly, trying to forget the weak voice that had passed through his mind. He could almost understand it, almost recognize it…

“I think you’re right, there’s quite a few of ‘em.” Srai sighed. “Could be tough getting through if we have to, might need Roan to use his head.”

The charr glanced over her shoulder at the map and puffed out his chest, the charr’s equivalent of rolling his eyes. He was accustomed to human banter. “There would be no need, I’m sure that tongue of yours could quite easily cut our way through all six.”

The group shared a laugh.

***

Even as the comrades ran, the shadows burst out of their prison, thousands upon thousands, a darkness that clambered through the labyrinth, lusting after the taste of the living flesh they could feel so close. The night crept up the path to the land of the sun, shadow creatures straight from the underworld, accumulating long lost stragglers in their flight to freedom. A nightmare brought to life that streaked through passage ways, leaving a lingering, palpable feel of death that would have smothered the living, had any creature survived the initial onslaught.

As the cacophony of roars and shuddering cries of the dead rose from beneath, the party crossed the threshold of the Bloodstone and time seemed to ground to a halt. Suddenly, all three realized where they were and what it meant; they had to stop the shadows, now. They stared at each other, resolved, for only a moment, sharing a last smile, before their mouths began moving in sync, the sound of hurriedly cast spells melding into a single song.

Yet one managed to race ahead of the others, completing before the rest.

As the spell’s spark of magic filtered through the air and despite the cries of protest, two of the figures vanished, forced back to the safety of the guildhall.

The single remaining figure stood on the Bloodstone, motionless.

With cries echoing from far below, the lone straggler found themselves at peace, resolutely fingering the cruel dagger at their belt.

***

They had made it to the central room and it was enormous, but what really caught their eyes was the giant map of the labyrinth that lay before them, engraved on a stone pedestal, different from the one they had on paper. Strange marks obscured some of the chambers, while others seemed to have been holey forgotten. Through it all a network of lines travelled between the strange designs.

It was time to see just how far the Forgotten had gotten in their research.

“This is incredible! The whole place is infused with magic, and not the weak stuff.” Srai was giddy with excitement. “It’s like a giant organism; veins have been structured throughout to power different functions of the labyrinth. The glowing stones were only a latent effect, this place can do so much more, all we have to do is cast a spell to power it up and hopefully find what we’re after. They must’ve kept records of their research somehow. So, let’s see, I saw something here somewhere…” She fingered through their long dead benefactor’s journal.

Barely aware of the girl’s ramblings Grim had his eyes firmly shut. The whisper was back, faint, but far more insistent than before, clawing at the back of his mind. He grasped at it, tried to hold it, called it to him anxiously and in a burst of triumph, Grim recognised the voice, the angelic tone of Dwayna’s Avatar. An instant later, he deciphered her message. However, it was too late; his words to his comrades were drowned out by the power of Srai’s own, a melodic song of pure force.

Even as he finished his warning the maze began to wake. Roan began glancing around nervously as the chamber shook and Srai stared, perplexed, at the engraving, now alive and glowing with the transfer of power from different sections of the warren. “Why is all the energy being drawn there…?”

Grim ferociously grabbed the two and shoved them towards the door. “We’re leaving!”

Not questioning him, they ran, leaving behind the pedestal and the strong blue light, glowing in the depths.

***

The dead had broken through the last seal meant to contain them, the last precaution the Forgotten had set before beginning their research. Last time, the gate to the Underworld had only opened for an instant before the snakes had shut it down, closing the floodgates. But, not before a host of shadows had made it through, a host that destroyed most of the inhabitants, leaving the rest to flee and the warrens in a state of eternal slumber. This time, the gate to the Underworld did not close, this time the host was too large.

This time they broke through the seals.

But never reached the surface.

In the midst of a deafening roar the bloodstone activated, with no outlet for the enormous energy released it blasted directly back into the catacombs. As it burned through the tunnels, the pure force evaporated the screaming spirits and vaporized the stone foundations. Nothing survived the utter destruction wrought by the gods’ final curse, and final gift alike. In barely a minute the entire underground lair was reduced to a smoking crater of molten rubble. The darkness, the gate and the glowing Bloodstone buried under centuries of Forgotten construction.

Slowly, buried deep, hidden in the depths, the stone began to fade, it’s energy exhausted as it fed off the last drop of crimson blood marring the surface of the wicked wicked.

***

The small room was lit by a single candle and Grim sat in the corner listening intently, still tired from a good day’s training with his feline son. He had been rudely awakened when the linguist had come bursting into his room blabbering about her translation, and as Grim was coming to discover, with good reason.

Srai was now summarizing passages directly from the journal. “Well you see…this guy, err…snake thing, seemed really interested in finding a way to access the underworld without having to go through the avatars. In essence, I think his theory is pretty sound, I mean as far as I can tell, all this is kinda beyond me…but, there shouldn’t be any barrier or resistance, so logically you could bring someone back through the gate. Not sure how well he got it working though, could be worth a shot.”

Grim looked at her gratefully. “Let’s do some more research before checking it out. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

Srai smiled “Of course! Roan’s practically family!” She gave him a surreptitious wink “Don’t worry, you can trust me to get to the bottom of this, I’ll go see what I can dig up.”

Before she could leave, Grim called her back “Just don’t tell him, at least not yet. Alright?”

“No worries Grim! I won’t breathe a word. Nope, not a word. Now, I just need to remember where I heard that…there was that one guy I met in Vabbi…or was it a girl in Kaineng?” She kept muttering to herself as she made her way down the corridor. Every now and again her voice echoed by the angry shouts and cries of guild-mates, woken by her mindless self-reflection.

Alone, Grim smiled as he thought of his son. After all he had done with his life there was only one thing left. After all his adventures, all his heroics, there was only one thing he needed to do. Only one thing that would make everything right.

He was going to get Roan’s mother back.

As he rose to exit the room he stopped, turning back one last time to regard his dresser. An assortment of tools and small figures lay in perfect order across it. He knew that he was deadly with his scythe, but if there was a close quarter’s fight, he needed to be prepared.

He reached back and grabbed a wicked edged dagger from its resting place.

Given Enough Time

Given Enough Time

By S.S. Kelowna

Staring at the half empty flagon of dwarven ale in front of him, Grim Mortbane wondered if he did this every night. If he sat in this tavern, on this stool, and drank as he had been for the past few hours. Just before he forgot everything once again. Just after daylight faded, night had fallen, and he waited for the tide of fatigue and exhaustion to overcome him.

He knew that the sun would rise again, and the previous day would be gone. As would everyday that had gone before. Days had lost their meaning. Light and darkness no more than ephemeral conditions in what he’d quickly begun to perceive as a steady continuity of temporary existence. Time flowed as it ever had, but he was no longer caught up in its currents. The past seemed deeper, farther. The present sharper. The future was closer at hand than it had ever been before, but still just out of reach.

The routine had become a rhythm, and he’d lost count of the sunrises and sunsets he’d seen like this. He was a nomad in time. Never moving forward because he could never go back. He couldn’t see who he was before, so he would never know who he was now. So everyday he sought answers, and everyday he must have found at least some, but didn’t remember the following day.

Something had happened to him. Something had made him forget everything that he was. Everything that had happened to him. And it continued to curse him all this time later, though, to be honest, he had no idea how long he had been this way.

He studied the profile in the broken glass of the mirror across the bar. Grim, he thought. At least the name fit, even if it was the only thing that did. The weapon in his hand felt familiar, which was almost frightening in itself, a wickedly sharp blade made for killing, yet he knew that it was his.

He finished off the last of his ale, feeling his grip on what he knew—what he had learned of himself over the day—slipping. Soon, he knew he would become that nomad once again, that stranger, the man with no past or history to call his own.

Someone touched his arm. “You almost ready?” the voice and face of the man who spoke were familiar, but Grim couldn’t recall the man’s name, no matter how hard he tried. The other man nodded slightly, as if he understood what was happening, as if he’d seen it happen before. “It’s time to go then.”

Grim looked wistfully at his empty glass, but nevertheless stood and followed the other man out, still searching his mind for the name. The night air outside the tavern was cool and inviting, the moon pale and full, draping the desert landscape in deep shadows. And he felt the shadows begin to creep into his mind, to slowly blot away the things he knew one by one, piece by piece. He tried clinging to something, anything—his name perhaps—and make it easier to remember on the day that would follow.

Grim Mortbane, he silently repeated. Grim Mortbane… Grim… Grim…Grim…Mortbane…Grim…

He came to a stop, looking at the house that stood in front of him, having no real recollection of how he’d gotten there, or who the owner was. But his name. He knew his name. His name was….it was…. He fought the deluge of shadows in his mind.

“This is your home,” a man’s voice said from beside him.

Startled, he looked sideways at the other man. “Who are you?” he demanded, startled even more by the sound of his own voice. He frowned. “Who am I?”

In the darkness, there was nothing. No meaning, no comfort, no escape. In the light….in the light, it was far worse. In the darkness, he couldn’t see the vast gaps in his mind, he didn’t know them. But in the light…the light touched every shadow, made him painfully aware that he was missing something. Though, even as he knew it was missing, he didn’t know what it was.

The shadow of night clung to him as he walked almost aimlessly around the dwelling in which he’d awakened. His hands ran over the scarred stone, following the dark patterns that had long ago scorched its side.

Fire brimmed all around him—around them—he realized the other figures fighting beside him. It tugged at the edges of his armor, threatening to burn his skin.

And then a voice….a voice he knew, spoke, “You have served Ascalon well. I beg of you…do one last duty for your prince.”

He knew what had to be done. Without hesitation, he delivered the final blow against the undead prince.

He heard the creak of the floorboards behind him, but was not startled by it. He merely turned toward the noise.

He didn’t bother to look up. “How many have these hands killed?”

“More than you know. More than I know. More than either of us wants to know,” the other man said softly.

“So,” he said, looking at the man who stayed at his side. “I am a killer.”

“A soldier.”

“Another word for it, maybe. What happened here?”

“Give it time. You may remember.” The other man’s voice was still soft, almost gentle.

“And if I give it long enough, I won’t want to know… won’t need to…” His voice trailed off. He wanted to know, he did, but at the same time, if he didn’t remember who he was, there had to be a reason. And maybe the reason was that he’d done something terrible. Maybe his lack of memory was self-imposed.

After a few moments, he looked back at the other man. “Who am I?” he asked softly.

The other man sat slowly. “I can only tell you what I know. The rest you will have to figure out. You always do.”

“What happened to me? Why can’t I remember?” The questions fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.

With a small smile, the other man spoke. “I am Merkel. I found you wandering around the desert sometime ago. You knew your name, but nothing more.” He paused for a moment. “Your name is Grim Mortbane.”

“Grim….” It wasn’t that he didn’t believe that was his name. It was more that he knew it was. He didn’t even know how he knew.

“Grim!”

The sound of his name being called made him pause for a second. He looked up, searching for the source of the voice, but he had a difficult time seeing through the smoke that filled the air around him.

A sharp pain in his leg brought his attention back. The warrior he’d thought dead had hit him one last time before succumbing.

Grim glanced at his wound. It wasn’t deep. He would survive.

“Grim!”

Without any hesitation, he followed the sound of the voice. Through the haze, he could make out shapes of burning buildings. The smoke threatening to choke him with every breath he took.

Out of breath, he finally found who was calling him. It was Fend, covered in splattered blood. Grim found himself looking at the dust sticking to the quickly drying blood stains. But it wasn’t Fend’s blood. It was in all the wrong places for it.

Fend clutched something close to him. As he revealed what it was, Grim felt himself choke even more. He felt his knees weaken, and he leaned on his scythe for support.

The tiny bundle Fend held out was the small body of a Char.

All that he had was ruins. All that he was, was ruined. With every new thing that he remembered, he was left with less. The thing about loss was that it was never any less devastating when it was remembered. In a way, forgetting everything had been a blessing. He couldn’t miss what he didn’t know he had.

And yet, he needed to remember

If he didn’t remember, then they were all lost to time.

That was why he walked. Why he walked slowly back through the desert, back toward his memories. Back to the place where it had both ended and begun.

This time, perhaps, it would finally be the end. The end of the torment he had spent how much time enduring. The end of wondering if this was all he was meant for.

He knew he was close. It was only a feeling, like an ache inside of him, the closer he got. He couldn’t help but feel that he was finally coming home. And yet, even as he thought that, he knew that the homecoming would be bittersweet.

He knew it when he saw it, when he saw the tree on the horizon. Like an oasis in the middle of the desert heat. Vivid shades of green stood out brightly against the deep reds and yellows of the desert.

Ignoring the heat, his exhaustion, he ran across the distance between him and the tree. As he neared it, he slowed. The tree was so big, so much bigger than the one he remembered. But he knew it was that tree.

“Someday this will be a tall tree. This will be a symbol of strength that you will see and return to after years of wandering,” he told the small bundle. “This will be your hope, the standard by which you measure yourself”

The child belched loudly, clearly showing what he thought of that idea.

Grim put his hand on the tree and fell to the ground. His son had never seen this tree. It had grown while his son had not. Heaviness weighting on him, he looked to where he knew his house would be…his home.

But all that stood there was a burned out shell. Sun-baked remains of what had been his home.

Years. It had been years. The realization tore into him worse than any other thing he had remembered.

It was time to change, time to make one final stand. He didn’t belong here anymore.

Without hesitation, without remorse, he walked off into the desert, waiting for the sand, the sun, or the next fight to take him. To either give him meaning or peace at last.