The Fenimeldiyaan: Stolen Time - Chapter 7

Anwyn returned to the desert, feeling disconsolate following her unproductive meeting with Judaas Fendor and several of the other Vyrdigaan Elders.  None of them had been able to break through the blocks in place around the Meldin Universe.  She knew that they would keep trying, but the waiting chafed at her.

In a vain attempt to calm her troubled mind, she tried to meditate.  The sand beneath her had picked up on her restless mood and was doing its best to comfort her.  She murmured a prayer of thanks to Rash-Kaan, God of Fire, the deity who presided over the Sartorian deserts.

In the midst of her meditative trance, vivid images of Andreas and Gerald assailed her mind.  It was like the mental equivalent of being hit over the head with a sledgehammer.  Along with the visions came a telepathic cry for help.

Anwyn reached out with her crystal senses, verifying the familiar mind signature before acknowledging the summons.  “Gerald?  What be wrong?  I’ve been trying to reach Andreas but tis like he’s ceased to exist”.

Torn between relief and dread, Gerald gave the telepathic equivalent of a yell.  “Well, I’ll cease to exist afore much longer.  Apollo says I be almost dead.  He reckons ye can use me as a way to get over here.  He says ye’ll know what to do”.

Gerald was hiding something, that much was obvious.  However, Anwyn did not have the luxury of time to ponder.  “Alright.  I’ll be there soon.  I have to go and fetch someone else who might be able to help.  It should only take a few minutes”.

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Parsivaal Probyt looked up from the ancient scroll which he had been studying, having sensed the imminent arrival of his mother in law.  He always enjoyed her visits but he sensed urgency and great sorrow radiating from her.

The moment she arrived, he held her in his arms, sending out calming emanations from his crystal bonds.  “What be wrong, Anwyn, dearest?”

“Everything!” she burst out, tears streaming down her face, leaving clear trails in the sparking sand which clung to her skin.  “I’ve just had a really strange message from Gerald Hunt”.  She paused to catch her breath.  “And I think Andreas be gone”.

Parsivaal’s wrinkled face screwed up even further in concern and confusion.  “Gone?”

“Aye, to the Beyond” she confirmed.

“But he’ll come back” he assured her.  “All of us be Ascended Masters and you know that a little trip to the Beyond won’t hurt him”.

“This be different” she asserted.  “I can’t feel him at all.  Not the slightest trace of his mind signature.  Tis like he don’t exist anymore, not in any form”.

“What about the Elders?” Parsivaal enquired.  “Surely you’ve consulted with them?”

Anwyn nodded.  “Aye, of course.  First thing I did.  They can’t reach the Meldin Universe either.  But I have an idea how we can get there.  I’ll need yer help”.

“Aye, anything”.  He pushed up the ragged sleeve of his patchwork robe and displayed the distinctive Vyrdigaan emblem tattooed on his arm.  “What do you need?”

She gestured to a glass globe on one of the high shelves.  “A whisper jar.  Ye know which one”.

He smiled at her before closing his eyes and concentrating to materialise the requested artefact.  Another glass globe appeared in his hands.  He set it down on the shop counter.

Anwyn touched the lid of the jar to activate it.  The voice of the Goddess spoke to her.  “Welcome, Lady Anwyn.  Nothing be lost to you. No door be closed to you.  Lord Andreas will never be unmade.  His energy endures.  Fitzgerald Hunt will be the bridge and I will guide you across.  Become the glass.  Wind turns green and the Goddess smiles.  Everything will be the right size”.

Anwyn bowed reverently to the jar which contained a tiny part of the Goddess’s energy.  “Thank ye, me Lady”.  She looked up at Parsivaal.  “Come with me?”

“Of course”.  He smiled and took her hand.

Anwyn touched the side of the jar and used her personal alchemy skills to merge with the glass.  Parsivaal followed suit. 

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Gerald’s clumsy fingers clutched at the glass globe, trying not to let it slip from his grasp.  He had no idea how he knew, but it was a rare artefact from one of the Vyrdigaan Order’s secret archives.  He would have preferred Anwyn to have come in person, but he presumed that she had a good reason for sending the whisper jar instead.

The jar fell from his hands, but it did not break.  It merely rolled a little way from his body.  Its outline blurred and wavered, becoming indistinct.  A few minutes later, two tall, white-haired sorcerers materialised.

The two elderly men appeared to be polar opposites, despite the fact that they both had pale skin, pale eyes and long white hair.  One of them wore pale grey robes and his long hair was neatly groomed.  The other was dressed in a shabby patchwork robe and his hair looked like it had not been brushed in several decades. 

“Greetings, Fitzgerald Hunt” the well-groomed one said, giving a peculiar half-smile.  “I be Caratacuus Helvellyan and my colleague here be Parsivaal Probyt.  Lady Anwyn sent us here to help”.

Gerald’s breath returned with a heaving gasp.  “She heard me!” he rasped, staring up at the two mages.

“So these two are the reinforcements?” Joseph asked, having watched their arrival with a mixture of confusion and wonder.

“Aye, indeed”.  Parsivaal patted him on the arm and chuckled.  “Expecting someone younger, no doubt”.

Before Joseph could reply, the other sorcerer went over to Gremeldah and hugged her fiercely.  “Thank the Goddess!  Nothing be lost to me.  No door be closed to me.  Energy endures!”

Gremeldah could not help feeling even more bewildered than she had thought possible.  However, the part of her which was Ghadry registered a deep and enduring bond with the elderly white-haired sorcerer.  “Tis good of ye to come, Cara.  Apollo here will show us where to find Morgan Shadowbinder, then we’ll have some adventures.  Just like the old times, eh?”

“I will stay here with Gerald Hunt and Terra Roland” Parsivaal volunteered.  “The rest of you, go off and have fun”.

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Joseph ran his fingers through his hair, feeling terribly out of his league. While Caratacuus spoke to Gremeldah, he knelt beside his uncle and touched his shoulder. “Are you alright, Uncle?” he asked.

The man gave him a small smile, his face twisted in pain. “Been better, mate,” he answered. “Ye?”

Joseph chose not to answer that and stood up again. With Basil’s sword in his hand and his own blade in a sheath at his side, he felt a little more prepared. Before he followed Gremeldah, the pinprick of light that was Apollo Lightbringer, and Caratacuus, he breathed a quick prayer for Ilise’s safety. Hopefully, the need for her blood would keep her from coming to harm at Set’s hands.

Then he followed the others out of the room.

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Gerald gave a groan, leaning his head back against the hard floor. Across from him, Terra had his knees up to his chin, sweating profusely, his face ashen. But at least he was awake. Gerald looked at Parsivaal, trying to decide if he’d seen the man before. Then he spoke, his voice hoarse. “I thought she were going to come herself,” he admitted softly. A bit of disappointment surged through his numb and pained body. Seeing Anwyn as a familiar face again would have given him indescribable comfort. Instead, he had to rely on basically strangers to pull the Vordellans’ hides out of this peculiar mess.

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“This way!” Fitz ran with Ilise directly behind him through the halls of the castle. His lungs ached, his legs burned, and a stitch was knotted in his side, but he forced himself to keep going. Ilise was gasping for breath behind him, and she didn’t even have to lug Lana-a-Dale around. The girl was little more than a deadweight.

“There!” Ilise panted, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a halt. She pointed at a door. “That leads outside, to the outer courtyard. If we keep going through there, we should reach the gate that goes out into Zor.”

Fitz decided not to argue. Given that he was running out of energy, it seemed the most logical thing to do. He threw open the door and the two ran out into the night together. Destroyed remnants of trees scattered the courtyard, the dry ground no longer suitable for growing anything. Rocks were strewn about, indications of the path that had once been forged for wandering nobles.

Ilise pointed to a mostly-intact dead tree. “There,” she said. “We can rest for a few minutes.”

Rest was too good to resist, and Fitz followed her to the protection of the tree. They sat beneath it, and Fitz laid Lana down on the ground, still wrapped in his coat and Leanora’s cloak. Ilise ran her fingers along the end of the cloak, looking sad. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

Fitz looked away, trying to hide the tears that were building. “It was a dangerous game we played,” he said quietly. “Each day, a fight for survival. Never knowing what day might end up being your last. And she lost, in the end. Just like my father. I … just wish …” He looked down at the unconscious form of Lana. “If she hadn’t been stabbed, Leanora could have escaped instead of me.”

“Don’t blame her!” Ilise exclaimed. “I don’t think she wanted to be stabbed! Honestly, are you a fool? Your sister gave her life for you and you lay the blame on another? Take some responsibility, Fitzwilliam.”

“I have!” he shouted, standing up furiously. “Don’t you think I haven’t? I’ve protected Leanora for years. I’ve taken responsibility for her, I’ve kept her safe, and then you turn up and our problems start! You’re the princess of this forsaken place. Some of this is on you.”

She looked away. “I know,” she replied. “Of course I know that. Do you think I’m a simpleton? My parents are dead, my brother is missing, and we’re running for our lives.”

Fitz sighed. “I’m sorry, Ilise. It seems we’re both afforded some guilt. And if I’m calculating properly, we’re cousins, aren’t we? You’re all the family I have left.”

A roar interrupted their conversation from somewhere above them. Ilise’s eyes widened. “What was that?” she asked, scrambling to her feet. Fitz picked up Lana in his aching arms.

“I don’t know, but I think we need to get moving,” he replied.

The two had just started making their way through the courtyard when something large landed in front of them. The pair recoiled when they saw the dragon crouched in front of them, silver scales peeling and covered in black blood. Beady black eyes peered out at them, and Fitz tried very hard not to notice the red blood in its teeth and claws. “That’s a dragon,” he said dumbly. It was about the size of a large wagon, not as big as he’d anticipated, but still big enough to rip them to pieces.

“Maybe i-if we move slowly, it’ll ignore us,” she suggested, her voice trembling.

The dragon roared again before lunging at them. “Not ignoring us!” Fitz yelled shrilly, diving out of the way. Lana tumbled free from his arms and he landed a few inches away from her. Ilise, however, covered her head and cried out as the dragon swiped at her with its claws.

The dragon struck something and roared in annoyed pain. While Fitz had been diving away, he hadn’t seen the burly man throw himself between the dragon and Ilise, a golden shield flaring up and taking the blow.

“Ilise!” Fitz cried, relieved to see his cousin was alright. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fright.

The man grunted as the dragon redoubled its attack on his shield. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” the man said repeatedly before the shield popped in an explosion of golden light. The dragon snarled in pain and flew off. Once it was gone, the man visibly relaxed and turned to Ilise. “Up you come, kid. Are you okay?”

“Th-thanks to you,” she said, breathing hard. “Thank you.”

“Let’s go, before he comes back,” the man answered, grabbing her arm. “With me,” he added to Fitz, jerking his head at the castle door. “You’ll never get out through the front gate.”

Seeing as how the man had just saved Ilise’s life, Fitz decided to do as he was told. He scooped Lana back up into his arms and followed him into the castle. It was there that the man directed them into an empty room and closed the door. “Stay here and rest,” he told them.

“W-wait,” Fitz said. “Who are you? Why are you helping us?”

The man turned to him, and for the first time, Fitz noticed the scar over his right eye. It looked fairly fresh and seemed to have blinded the man in that eye. “I’m David Smith, former Councilman of Colnia,” he said tiredly, sitting down.

“Former?” Ilise questioned.

A hard look entered David’s brown eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Colnia is destroyed. Completely.”

“What do you mean?”

A twisted smile came on his face before he buried it in his hands. “All the leaders of Colnia and their families were executed in front of me,” he said. “The three heroes, the king and his family, and … my family. My daughter.” His voice was tight. “Slaughtered mercilessly, and she was younger than you.” He raised his head. “Same for your parents. All of them, killed. For some foul sense of entertainment. I won’t rest until Set is dead.”

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After Gremeldah’s group had gone a decent distance, the spark of Apollo landed on her shoulder. “Here,” it transmitted to her. “Past this turn, first door, is where Set is holding Merlin. Morgan’s outside of the door.” He hesitated. “Don’t hurt him, please.”

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The molecules of energy from the ribbon which had vanished from Terra’s wrist morphed into a pale blue spark, barely visible to the untrained eye.  The spark travelled through the castle with great caution, keeping its emanations low and vanishing altogether whenever it detected any mind signatures.  It had a specific destination — the room where Merlin Emrys was being held. 

The faint spark took a circuitous route around the castle, doubling back several times and even splitting into three at one point.  If Set, Jezebel or any of their loyal staff did happen to pick up its emanations, they would be thoroughly confused.

The spark timed its arrival precisely, materialising in the room with Merlin a few moments before Gremeldah/Ghadry, Joseph, Caratacuus and the Apollo remnant came along the corridor. 

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A vast emptiness resided within Morgan.  He could not recall anything except the commands which Set had imposed upon him.  Those commands had become the reason for his existence.  He had no other purpose.  It seemed as if he had been guarding the room forever.

A flash of lightning struck him, sending him sprawling to the floor.  Although he felt the pain, he found that he did not care.  He tried to scramble to his feet, but another bolt surged through him, pinning him down.

“I know ye, Morgan Shadowbinder!”  The eerie voice echoed all around, both inside his head and along the corridor.  He could not tell if the voice belonged to a man or a woman, but there was something familiar about it.  He ought to recognise it but his thoughts were clouded.

He stared up into blood red eyes.  The entity which stood before him wore a hideous mask which looked like it had been carved from shiny black stone.  The mouth opened in a grimace, displaying needle-sharp teeth of the same stone. 

“Ye don’t recognise me, do ye?” the voice mocked.  “Ah, Morgan, ye be getting slow in yer old age.  I suppose a thousand years of endless guard duty will do that to ye”.

“A thousand years?”  Morgan’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Has it been that long?”

“Aye, indeed, me friend.  Too long since we last danced together.  Too long since the light departed from yer life.  Permit me to remind ye.  I be Martius the Warrior God.  I too have fallen from grace.  At one time, I were quite the celebrity, being worshipped by millions of loyal subjects, holding the balance of life and death in me hands.  Twas good while it lasted, but all things come to an end.  Even Gods must surrender to the inevitable.  Me dedicated fanbase defected, choosing Justice over War, Order over Chaos, and so I be reduced to nothing more than a museum piece, to be gawked at by tourists and students.  We have much in common, ye and I”.

“But I don’t even know you!” Morgan protested.  “I’ve never heard of Martius the Warrior God.  The name means nothing to me”. 

The masked figure held up a finger and wagged it from side to side in a bizarre parody of a teacher admonishing a student.  “How easily ye forget.  If I were a caring sort of person, I’d feel hurt, but War cannot afford the luxury of emotions.  Let me tell ye something, dearest Morgan.  There be a war inside ye.  The battle for yer mind and soul.  Ye be tugged this way and that, each side fighting to gain control of ye, each side vying to secure yer absolute loyalty.  I don’t care who wins, but ye should”.

“I don’t care about anything!” Morgan asserted.  “Now, leave me alone.  I have guard duties to carry out”.

“Oh, I don’t think I can do that”.  The figure laughed.  “Dance with me, Morgan.  Like in the old days.  Feel the pulse of life beneath yer feet.  Dance and remember!”

Clawed hands grasped Morgan and hauled him to his feet.  He tried to resist but as the mournful strains of music started up, he found himself moving against his will.  He danced in perfect time with the Warrior God, unable to stop.

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From beneath the cover of the collective invisibility spell, Joseph looked down at Caratacuus, who sat cross-legged on the floor of the corridor, locked in a trance.  “What’s he doing?”

“Projecting illusions” Ghadry answered.  “Tis his speciality.  Would ye like me to show ye what he be projecting?”

Joseph nodded and the green-haired sorceress sketched a rectangle in the air.  Through it, he could see Morgan Shadowbinder dancing with a black-cloaked figure who wore a monster mask.  The eyes of the creature glowed red through the holes in the mask, casting a sickly glow around itself and Morgan. 

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Parsivaal bent down and retrieved the glass globe, stroking it as if it were a beloved pet.  “In a way she has.  Dear Anwyn trusts me beyond measure.  Strange as it may sound, I first met my wife when she was in Anwyn’s womb.  Of course I had no idea back then that I would end up marrying Suri, but the connection between us was formed at that instant.  Anwyn knew nothing of me when she allowed me to meet her unborn daughter, yet she trusted me as much then as she does now”.

Gerald shook his head, trying to make sense of it all.  “So ye be Anwyn’s son in law?”

“Aye”.  Parsivaal chuckled and stroked the globe again.  “We were away on vacation in the swamplands of Malvania when Andreas brought you to the desert”.

“Aye, the desert” Gerald mused.  “Seems almost like it happened to someone else instead of me.  Although I couldn’t stand the heat, I’d much rather be back there than here.  At least I had me wife and me friends around me.  Now everything be ruined and Andreas be gone”.

Parsivaal smiled and handed the globe back to Gerald.  “Let’s see what the Goddess has to say on the matter, shall we?  Touch the lid of the jar and let her speak to you”.

Careful not to drop the globe, Gerald took it in both hands.  He released one finger to touch the lid.  The jar glowed and a melodic female voice spoke.

“Welcome, Fitzgerald Hunt, reluctant monarch of Dundar.  What you have lost can be regained.  A friend may wear the face of a stranger.  Do not rely on appearances alone.  Seek out the familiar amongst the unfamiliar.  Wind turns green and the Goddess smiles.  Everything will be the right size”.

Despite all the tragic events, Gerald could not help laughing.  “Sounds like one of Andreas’s riddles.  I guess that must be where he gets them from”.

Parsivaal patted him on the shoulder and gave a beaming smile.  “Excellent, Gerald, most excellent!  Tis good progress indeed.  Pursue that line of thought and you’ll solve the riddle”.

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The speck of light that was Apollo watched the projection that Gremeldah was showing them thoughtfully. For a brief moment, Joseph saw him become whole again before turning back into the small light. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen him,” he admitted. “Eighteen years.”

“Is it true that he killed you?” Joseph questioned, watching the peculiar dance.

Apollo nodded slowly, reappearing as himself again. “He didn’t want to,” he said. “I could hardly breathe, the pain was so bad. It would have taken me days to die. It would have eaten away at everything that I was. Morgan chose to end my suffering by ending my life. The end result didn’t change. I would have died either way.” A tear tracked its way down his cheek. “We were the other’s family. Closer than brothers. Connected only as blood could be. I wish Morgan hadn’t had to make that choice. I wish …” With a deep breath, Apollo controlled himself. “As Andreas says, wishing doesn’t make it so. We can only focus on the here and now.”

Joseph turned his attention back to the projection, but inside, something was tugging at him. Ilise was still missing. He could only hope the peculiar sorcerers and Gremeldah would be able to save her from Set. They seemed to know what they were doing, but who knew? Shuddering, he kept his eyes locked on the figure dancing with Morgan and said nothing.

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Gerald gently placed the container on the floor, thinking hard. “I never been good at riddles,” he admitted.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Parsivaal chided him.

Sighing, Gerald considered the words he’d heard from the jar and Parsivaal’s words. Although Gerald had never been good at riddles, the thought struck him with the intensity of a bolt of lightning, and he pulled himself into a seated position, staring at Anwyn’s son-in-law. “Parsivaal,” he said quietly and urgently. “Ye don’t mean to tell me … he still be alive? Were that what the jar were trying to tell me?”

Terra leaned his head back against the wall behind him, uninterested in their conversation. His magic block was less painful in the room they were in, but still there. What good did their conversation do him? It was all about times gone past and lost lives and such. All he wanted to do was find Lizzy and bring Queen River home. As a knight, it was his sacred duty to protect the mute Queen and her Mouth.

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David only allowed Fitz and Ilise a few minutes to rest. Once they’d regained their breath, they had departed from the room, walking down the halls. The quiet Colnian led them on a dizzying path, intent on following a mind signature he’d picked up. Although in his youth, his magic had been uncontrollable, age and wisdom had granted him control over it. He followed the path silently, carrying Lana-a-Dale in his arms.

“What’s that?” Fitz’s tense and strained voice interrupted David’s train of thought. Looking up, the old hero spotted a statue in the hall in front of him, and his heart dropped.

  

“Stay there,” he told them, and handed Lana off to Fitz. The unconscious bard groaned silently but didn’t wake as David went up to the statue.

Sure enough, it was his old elf friend, Basil Sonelian. Reaching out, David touched the statue’s forehead and reached out. “Basil Sonelian, I know you’re in there. Speak to me.”

For a moment, there was no response. Then Basil spoke to David, his voice strong and thoughtful. “David Smith. I assume not the David from my time, though. How old are you, hero?”

“Forty-three.”

“I thought so,” Basil said. “Are you alright?”

Tears built in David’s eyes. “Everyone I know and love is dead, Basil, you included.”

Silence. Then, “Will you do me a favour? I won’t be going anywhere for a while. Could you please give a woman named Gremeldah a message for me?”

David nodded. “Yes.”

“Tell her that I only laid the blame on her shoulders so she would hate me. I knew she could fix me, and I knew she’d want to, but I couldn’t let them be delayed so long. I told her some … truly cruel things to get her to leave with the King. Tell her that I am honoured to have been turned to stone for a woman of her calibre and that she is a far better person than I. I was nothing but cruel and patronising to her, and she didn’t deserve that. Can you remember?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell her, Basil. Stay safe. I will fix you,” David promised.

“Thank you, Sir David.” An underlying hint of amusement tinged Basil’s words, but not nearly as overwhelming as the relief David felt from him. “I’m honoured. Good luck.”

The presence left David’s mind, and he leaned forward, his forehead touching Basil’s as tears spilled down his cheeks. “I would do anything for you,” he whispered. “For any of my closest friends. I just want you all back.”

“Sir David?” He turned, seeing that Ilise had approached him. Her pretty face was tight with worry.

He forced a smile, brushing his tears away. There would be time for grieving when Set was dead. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get a move on.”

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Merlin raised his head, feeling something in the room with him. If possible, the shadows had wrapped even tighter around him, squeezing just enough to cause pain without choking him. However, the new mind signature in the room with Merlin gave him some relief, as he recognised it from a brief encounter.

Taking precautions, he used the channel that had been opened by the crystal Anwyn Cesario had given him years ago, on Earth. “This is Merlin Emrys,” he projected, allowing a little smile in his voice. “Honorary member of the Inner Circle and dedicated to protecting the multiverse. Former Guardian and protector of Camelot. Do I have the privilege of speaking … to the Chimera Obscura, Guardian of Grehelin Street?”