The Shadow Tome (ch. 15)

Chapter Fifteen: The Curse of Gorgon

It had taken them the whole of the morning to reach Cam’s house, which laid on the other side of the river. It was a sturdy, well built log cabin nestled snugly within the forests of the east land. The edifice was thatched with straw, and smoke billowed out from the stone chimney; releasing a pleasant aroma of slow cooking meats. The woods around the place were not crowded, which let the bright midday sun creep through the vegetation.

After leaving the town, Cam had revealed to them the story of how he knew of their coming. "I dreamed that you would come," he had said. "A beautiful women in a red dress told me that a man would seek me out, and that he would wear a shard of glass around his neck".

Matthew knew that the woman could have only been Sheela., "but how did she know?" He mused to himself.

They rode a short ways after this until arriving at the ferry post, where an old, grumpy man sat waiting on shore. There was a long, wooden dock in the water, and a wide barge was tied to the end of it, floating in the water. Upon paying the boatman, he ferried them and their horses across the river. From the other side, they rode the grassland of the valley before finally reaching a forest that sprawled out over the foothills of the valley and crept into the grassy plains. They had enjoyed the beauty of the place as they traveled, but could not forget the wickedness of what they had seen the previous night.

During their journey, Cam had spoken of the east land, and how it had come to harbor villainy.

"The light of Laeriana has long been extinguished from this place," he had said.

"I don’t understand," Matthew responded. "The people of Galahadran abandoned the old ways many years ago, but they are still united, and the people are noble and strong."

"I will explain," Cam said. "Galahadran, while no longer servants of Aurorai, are still touched by her power. The justice and nobility of the goddess still dwells in their souls, as it were. However, here in the east, that is not the case."

They had asked him how this came to be, and Cam had pointed to the shard of glass that hung from Matthews neck. "I believe you already know," he stated.

"The elvynglass?" Matthew asked.

"Yes. It is known as The Shattering to those that remember it. The breaking of Laeriana’s heart."

"And so," he continued. "Without the love of Laeriana, the people of the east have slowly subverted into what you have seen."

"And what about you?" They had asked him.

"My family and I are some of the few that still retain the light that once covered this place," he had responded.

For the rest of their journey, Cam spoke to them about the east land and its history of growing wickedness. Matthew thought of the young Ceranda beside him. She was only just a child, and had already lived through countless nightmares. He felt ashamed that he had ever thought of not intervening the previous night in the inn.

At midday they arrived at Cam’s home. As they approached the cabin, the door swung open, revealing a short, stocky woman who was running to greet them.

"Thank heavens!" She exclaimed when she reached them. Cam embraced the woman, who appeared to be his wife. "I had feared there was trouble. You’ve been gone longer then a week."

"No trouble," he lied.

He turned to Matthew and the others. "My wife Dorothea." They nodded in acknowledgment, and she smiled back.

"Welcome, welcome my lords. And ladies," she said after a moment, realizing almost surprisingly that there was women among them.

"I hope you all enjoy venison," she said. It should be just a bout ready now, I think."

Cam raised an eyebrow. "Venison? I have been gone more than a week."

She smiled. "Yes you have, and we still have fresh meat to put on the table."

Cam looked flabbergasted, but before he could respond, she spoke again, beaming with pride. "Perhaps, you should speak with your son about this matter."

"James," he said. "He didn’t?"

"He certainly did and a great big male too. Creature never even knew he was there." The short woman did nothing to hide her exuberance.

Cam was excited as well. "Well, where is the lad?" He asked, looking about.

"I told him to wait inside. He can’t wait to tell you himself."

Cam turned to the others. "Come my friends. You are welcome here. My boy, ha. He’ll make a woodsmen yet!"

Cam and Dorothea led them into the house. The walls of the cabin were adorned in paintings and game trophies; great horned deer heads and the like. Meat was roasting on a spit over the fire, and a young boy of thirteen years, sat at the table, grinning at Cam as he entered.

Matthew and the others waiting around rather uncomfortably as Cam greeted his son jubilantly, congratulating him on his first successful hunt.

The boy looked much like is father, although he had short blonde hair like his mother’s that hung over his blue eyes. Cam’s hair was brown, and tied back behind his head by a silver band.

After the introductions, they all sat down to a meal of venison and vegetables. It reminded Matthew of home, and hoped, in vain, that he would not be the one that would break apart this harmony.

Once the meal had ended, Cam left the cabin, followed by Matthew, and retreated into the woods surrounding the abode. They walked among the trees for a time, and the fallen branches cracked under their boots.

"So the time has come, my friend, to tell me this business that you have to implore of me."

Matthew was silent for minute, pondering his next words. "It pains me greatly, that I must be here, now, and that I must ask of you that which I would wish for no one."

Cam nodded solemnly. "It is no secret to me, Matthew, that you bring me anything but glad tidings. So out with it, and let us look ahead."

And so Matthew told the man their story from the beginning. He spoke in grave reminiscence of how they had come to be there in the east. Cam listened silently to his words as he heard the horrors of Cyrinth Myriad; the story of Sheela, and the tale of the dark lord.

"And so, the historian sent us east, to find your father," Matthew said.

"My father," Cam replied quietly. "And he sent you hear, did he?"

"Yes. We asked him of the Shadow Tome, the ancient book that you found, years ago in Gamael."

Matthew could tell that Cam had grown cold at the mention of the black land. Fear, as strong as any that could live in a man, gripped him.

"We must recover that book, Cam. It must be brought to the historian, where it will be safe from the hands of Sargoth."

"It is safe!" He cried. "What you seek is impossible. You can not begin to imagine that which awaits you if you continue to pursue this course."

Matthew retorted, "Soon there will not be a single patch of earth that does not owe its allegiance to the dark lord. He will find it; his black hands will stretch over the whole of the land, and they will seek it out, and no power on the earth will keep it from him. Only in the ancient walls of the library will it be safe."

Cam was silent, deep in thought. Matthew feared that the man would undergo a similar episode to that of his father’s, but Cam kept his composure.

Matthew continued. "What is it, that awaits us there? What are you so afraid of that would make you wish for the presence of Sargoth himself more then this?"

The others voice was merely a whisper. "His name, is Galuseth, and he is a harbinger of death."

"The beast that guards the book?"

"Yes, a beast, but non that you could ever imagine. I dare not speak of it, less I fall back into the void that still dwells within me from it."

Matthew sighed in surrender. "So that is it, then. We are to cower before our fear, and wait for the doom of men to fall upon us. No sir, I will not. We go, with or without your guide, for there is no other road for us, but the flames."

Matthew then turned from the other, and stopped back towards the cabin, leaving the fearful man to his musings.

Back within the house his companions were enjoying their chance to relax. Dorothea was more then happy with the thought of entertaining guests, and it was obvious to them that she seldom had the opportunity to do so. Matthew allowed him self a small smile at the sight of Ceranda, who had caught the eye of Cam’s son James. She was fairly reclusive towards him, but Matthew did notice the faint showings of a smile on the girls face.

Cam entered a moment later, and looked upon the happy scene.

Matthew turned to him. "I will go without you, if I must," he said. "But know this; when the followers of Sargoth come, there will be nothing to stop them from taking this from you. I promise you that."

Cam looked at his family, and he could feel his eyes begin to water.

"I will speak to Dorothea," he said at last. "We will leave tonight."

Then, without a word, he left Matthew and embraced his wife; perhaps, for the last time.

* * * * *

The scent of fresh pine wafted in the night air, born from the crackling of a small fire that was ringed with large stones. The flames danced to the tune of a cold north wind that heralded the coming winter, and an owl sung a somber ode to the changing season; a song which seemed to gently stroke the brilliant white stars upon a midnight canvas. It was a picture seemingly painted by the gods themselves.

Beneath the mural of night sat the five companions, before the fire. They were transfixed by the eerie waltz of the flames, and the gentle gale carried to them an unsettling melody. They found only small comfort in the warmth of the flames.

Many days had passed since they had left the small cottage behind. Dorothea had protested adamantly that they not go, but Cam had assured her there was no other way. Leneia and Ceranda remained in the company of Dorothea and James. Matthew had insisted on this, and Becken had not resisted, knowing that it was necessary.

Cam had led them south through the valley, on foot, for they could not use horses where they were going. They spoke little during the journey, and mostly closed within themselves. They readied their minds for the task before them.

Cam had told them the Gamael lay past the mountains to the south. There was only one passage that could lead them through it. The few that knew of it called it The Gorgon.

Now, sitting around the fire, Cam spoke. "The darkness calls out to you in that place. Some say that a man can lose himself in it. Those that do, never return."

"It is the back door to Gamael," he continued. "The only other way is straight through the heart of Mulden Mord. I tell you that place is evil."

"Has it always been there?" Matthew asked.

"It is hard to say," Cam responded. "There is a legend though, which has been passed on among east land explorers over the years. Long ago, it is said, there was a man named Gaulenmord. He ruled a clan of barbarians who dwelled in the mountains north of Mulden Mord. Some say these men were Aragothans who had cast themselves apart from the God of Death’s kingdom; it is impossible to say for sure. Anyways, Gaulenmord had a twin brother named Gorgon, who despised him. He did so because their father, Gauthric, had chosen his brother as successor and not him, as he had wanted."

Matthew and the others listened silently to the tale, and the shadows from the campfire danced across Cam’s face as he spoke.

"And so, on the night his old father died, Gorgon and his followers rose against his brother, and tried to kill him. Some say that Gorgon slew his ailing father on his death bed, which would explain why the treacherous prince was so well prepared against his brother. Regardless of this, the brothers fought, locked in an epic battle to death upon the heights of the mountain. Finally, with fatigue overcoming them, Gaulenmord struck down his brother. Gorgon fell from the cliff, and into a long narrow passage that wound through the mountains."

"Gaulenmord had killed his treacherous kin, but he was not satisfied. Upon the place where the body of Gorgon had fallen, Gaulenmord uttered a curse upon it. They say he called upon the spirits of the mountain to damn the souls of treasonous men; imprisoning them there on the grave of Gorgon."

"And there they remain," spoke Cam, finishing his story. "To wander those narrow stone halls without rest, for eternity; therefore paying for their unforgivable crime."

Matthew and the others remained silent at the conclusion of the tale, wondering how much truth there was to the legend.

"But as I said, it is just a myth," Cam added, unconvincingly.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, and with the rising of the morning sun, they departed again for the place known as The Gorgon. A certain apprehension gripped them as they neared the mountains. Although Cam had told them the tale was only a legend, they were not entirely convinced, and they felt neither was he.

They could see the black, jagged spires rising in the distance as the sun waxed towards the midday sky. The lush green grass that had once been beneath their boots was slowly beginning to thin as they approached, revealing patches of brown, rocky dirt. The trees that dotted the landscapes also seemed to change. The once strong oaks were growing smaller, and their arms were twisted and knotted. The light of the sun began to fade as well, although there were no clouds. The air seemed almost to thicken as they neared the mountain, and it squelched the sunlight, darkening the land around them. Finally, with midday upon them, the land began to slowly rise in the form of rocky, barren hills; the feet of the mountain.

They were there.

The jagged, wicked maw of the Gorgon laid before them beneath the shadow of the peaks. The craggy, black monoliths loomed over the place menacingly, and seemed to devour the light of the sun in their black crevices; a light already diminished by the dark aura the whole place seemed to cast upon the five travelers. Around them, upon the barren hills, were black and twisted trees, dead from lack of sun and water; lifeless husks protruding from the earth like disfigured claws.

Between the cliffs, the passage known as The Gorgon laid before them. It was lightless and they could feel an unseasonably cold chill emanating from its narrow corridors. The passage, quickly descended out of sight, lowering into the heart of the mountain. The jagged, steep inclines slowly came together further down, creating a sharp arch across the passage, enclosing it from the light of the darkened sun, and already they felt as if voices called out to them, daring them to venture further.

Never, in all his life, had Matthew been so hopelessly crushed by the shear weight of forbidding that the place instilled upon him.

Becken squirmed uncomfortably from where he stood, looking into the passage. "You are sure there is no other way?" He asked in vain.

"Yes. It is the only way," was Cam’s response.

They stood a moment longer before the entrance to the passage, before at last Matthew stepped forward. "Lets go," he said.

The grinding of rocks reverberated from under their boots as the five companions crossed the barren hillside, and descended into The Gorgon.

* * * * *

Ancient hands, older then time itself, grasped the stylus tightly with dry fingers, and pressed the words carefully on the page, sealing them in ink. Several more lines were written, before abruptly ending.

The historian stared upon the page in the silence. He knew that the time was almost upon the young man.

"I told you Romand, that there was yet one piece of the story to be told," he said to himself. "What happens now, may determine the fate of us all."

He then turned his head back to the page and continued his writing, mumbling under his breathe.

"And so the son has come to sow the seed of hope, or smite it with a blazing sword."

* * * * *

It was darker then they had anticipated within the corridor, and immediately the temperature changed. A piercing cold struck them as the light disappeared from behind the cliff face. They wrapped their cloaks tightly around their bodies, attempting to ward off the bitting chill, and they could see the grey wisps of their breathe mingle through the windless air. Cam lit a torch he had drawn from his bag, and the new flames struggled against the chill. The light was dim and they could see no more then a few paces in front of them as they stomped through the cold passage.

As they walked beneath the canopy of stone, rock debris fell through the cracks in the arch every so often, clambering upon the barren floor, and more then once they had to duck out of the way from falling rocks.

Carefully, they continued on, gradually descending even farther down into the earth. The corridor was not straight, and constantly they were forced to follow the twisting path as it made it’s journey through the mountains. It narrowed as well, as it progressed, and soon the small company traveled one ahead of the other, since there was not much room for more then the width of their bodies.

Mortimer made a grimace, as did the others, one by one. "What is that stench?" he barked.

A foul odor now wafted in the air around them, and with each breathe they felt that they could almost taste the repugnant fumes. Becken lurched forward suddenly as his stomach constricted, and he vomited on the stone as the smell continued to invade his nostrils.

Matthew’s face was like stone as he responded. "It is death," he stated.

As they journeyed farther, a breeze began to blow through the passage; cold and numbing. The flames from Cam’s torch began to weaken, and he attempted in vain to shield the fire with his hand. Moments later the torch burned out, and they were left in darkness.

"Be careful lads!" He called out.

There was no light in the passage now, except for pale streaks of sunlight that managed to sneak through the cracks of the rocky canopy above them. They could just vaguely see the outlines of each other among the black canvas around them.

"Can you light the torch again?" Matthew asked.

"I don’t know. What of the cleric? Can he not conjure up the flames to light it"

Matthew turned to Romand, awaiting a response.

"I cannot," he said. "Aurorai has no power here that I can use. I am afraid, were are now truly in the darkness."

"What is it that makes this wind, I wonder?" Becken said, almost to himself.

"It is peculiar," Cam responded as he continued to try and light the torch. "I do not remember such a thing the last time I traveled these halls. In fact, much is different."

Matthew waited a moment longer before speaking. "We must go on," he declared.

Cam responded incredulously. "Are you mad boy! There is no hope to travel here if we cannot see. We must turn back!"

"The light of the sun is all I’ll need," Matthew responded, stepping forward.

"Could they not here the whispers?" He wondered to himself, as he stood in the near lightless passageway. Something summoned him from the shadows; a voice, faceless and obscure. It called him by name.

"Who are you?" He asked in his mind. There was no response. It did not leave him though, and the voice continued to beckon him come.

Matthew took another step forward toward the voice. It sounded familiar somehow, almost like some distant memory. The wind was blowing stronger now as he moved forward. It was cold, and the stench it carried was stifling, but he did not care. He needed to know who knew him there, in the place that even the gods themselves had no power.

He had quite forgotten about the others, as he took another step into the darkness.

At last the timid flames ignited from Cam’s torch, lighting the passageway. Just several paces ahead, the barren floor went black.

"Lad no!" Screamed Cam, in desperation as Matthew stepped into the chasm. They lunged forward to stop him, but he was already falling into the precipice and quickly vanished within the blackness of the void.

A moment later, there was a crash of metal and stone from within the abyss, and the sound of crunching bones reverberated through the cavern walls.

* * * * *

Matthew did not know how long he had been laying upon the out cropping of rock that hung over the abyss before his eyes flickered open. It was black all around him, except for the pale glow of torchlight that emanated at the top of the cliff face. He thought he heard voices calling down to him, but he could not make out what they were saying, or whose words they were.

Pain raced across his shattered body like fire as he tried to move his broken legs and every breathe felt like knives cutting into his chest from his fractured ribs. He felt hopelessly alone there in the darkness, and he tried to search for the elvynglass with his eyes, but he could not find it and his arms would not move. He knew he would die there, alone in that place.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a reddish glow, emanating from beside him. The light quickly illuminated the rock ledge, and he could hear the breathing of a man.

"I am glad to see you, my son," the man spoke.

Although the pain still coursed through him, and his vision was blurred, Matthew managed to turn his head to see the specter of his father before him.

The figure of the man was not entirely corporeal, although the features of Mathew’s father were still clearly visible. He was mostly bald, although he still had a thick, shortly trimmed beard on his chin. His face was round with aged lines running through it. The shade looked tired and haggard, and smiled timidly at his son.

Matthew stared in disbelief, for he knew his father to be dead. He had watched him die.

"You are surprised to see me, no?" He said, almost amusingly. "I am sure you are."

Matthew finally found the breathe to speak. "But, you’re dead. I saw... in the vale."

The other nodded. "Yes, my son. This is true."

It was then Matthew remembered the tale that Cam had told about the curse of Gorgon.


"Gaulenmord had killed his treacherous kin,

but he was not satisfied. Upon the place where the body of Gorgon had fallen,

Gaulenmord uttered a curse upon it. They say he called upon the spirits of the mountain to

damn the souls of treasonous men; imprisoning them there on the grave of Gorgon."


Matthew looked upon his father in disbelief. "You, a traitor?"

The man’s expression did not change. "My son, there are things you do not know, even though the pieces have been there for you to find. I see you still have not figured it out."

"Father," Matthew said. "Why are you here? What had you done that would damn you in such a place? Speak!"

Still unchanging, his father spoke. "You never knew the reason why you wanted to be a sacred knight."

Matthew retorted. "I’ve always known. It was my mother’s wish that I do so, and I wanted to honor her memory."

"No," his father said. "She never wanted any of that for you. She didn’t want her son to be plagued by the god’s war. She wanted peace for you."

Matthew stared at him, bewildered. "But it was you that told me! You always said to me how she would be so proud of the things I had done. Of the man I was."

Matthew turned to anger. "What did you keep from me old man! What was it in your life that now traps you in death!"

The shade of the old man, seemingly torn by conflicting emotions, looked at his son. Then he spoke. "Please understand, son, that I had no choice in the matter. I loved your mother, there can be no question of that, and I wanted peace for my only son."

"Answer my question, father."

"It was necessary that you be trained in religion and war, so that when the time came, you would be ready to fulfill the destiny that has always been yours."

"Destiny?"

"Yes Matthew, your destiny. The very one bestowed upon you, seven thousand years ago by my master, Lord Sargoth."

The words were agonizing. Within his head, an explosion of emotion erupted, like a storm. He did not understand, and now images were appearing in his head. He could see his hands, clenched. They held onto something soft and warm.

Then it was gone replaced by the screaming of an infant baby, and the joy of a tired young woman, looking upon her son. A man was there as well.

And then he was back in the abyss, still before his dead father; his sworn enemy.

"The memories are coming back to you know, aren’t they? They are who you are."

"I am not you!" He screamed.

"No, my son, you are much more then I ever was. Now you will hear the rest of the story, that which the Historian, nor Sheela, could tell you."

"Why did you come to me!" He demanded in anguish. Though in pain, he could no longer feel his aching body, and tears had begun to swell in his eyes. "Let me die!"

His father ignored him. "When I was but a young man much younger then you, Matthias Lysander, a close friend of mine, showed me what he had discovered. A book of shade. It entranced me, and I soon joined him in his quest to uncover the other two. For fifteen years we traveled together, crossing the whole of Leodoria to uncover the lost books of shade, and at last we found them all."

Matthew tried not to listen to his father’s words, but they pierced his soul and he could not push them away.

His father continued. "When we had returned to Cyrinth Myriad, everything changed. Matthias was soon named king, and I married and settled with my new wide in Dellwood Vale. The king had told me that he would call upon me when the time was right."

"And so I waited. My wife was soon with child, and I began shoeing horses for a living to support her. It wasn’t soon after however, that complications began to arise with the child, and my wife was often very ill and heard voices in her sleep."

"I was afraid for her, you understand, and so I went to see Matthias. He said to me, not to be worried, and that he would consult the master."

"Her conditioned worsened considerably more before the king summoned me back to his chambers. And then, my son, he told me what the master had said. Matthias told me that an ancient prophecy was beginning to unfold; a secret, uttered by the dark lord himself before his defeat seven thousand years ago."

"And then the day will come when my heart is found, and my books are united.

When this day that shall change the earth is upon you;

then shall my acolyte draw breathe.

Of my power, and my blood, he shall raise up the Tome,

and plunge the land once more in its final darkness..."


Matthew’s father then smiled at him. "The master was not wrong to choose you, my son."

"What?"

"You already know that Sargoth implanted his spirit upon a single strand of Vendara, and inscribed within the Shadow Tome the means in which to release it. However, according to the prophecy, there would be only one man that could use the Shadow Tome to resurrect Sargoth and release him from the Vendara.. He would be the dark acolyte, the very son of Sargoth himself."

Matthew felt that he might lose himself in the chaos that now consumed him.

Then, his father spoke. "That man, my son, is you. You are the very product of the Sargothan vendara, the single strand that my master implanted his spirit upon. You are the son of the Lord of Vengeance."

In his head he was screaming. The weight of his fathers words threatened to crush him, destroying his spirit. He tried to think of Sheela; attempting in vain to remember who he thought he was. "My love, why did you not tell?" He cried in his mind.

Again, the images he had seen flashed before him. He was angry, and he clenched something soft and warm in his fists. There was a shriek, and then laughter. His laughter. He could see faces; two girls frightened and clawing at a powerful hand.

And then it was gone, replaced again by the new mother and her baby. His father was there, looking down, and there were tears in his eyes. It was not joy that gripped him. There was a blade, and he clutched it in a steady hand.

"Matthew, your life’s training has all been for this one great purpose. It has always been your destiny to recover the Tome, and use it to restore my master upon the face of Leodoria. That is why you joined the sacred brotherhood, and learned the ways of war. You would one day destroy them. My death was necessary to help fester the vengeance within you, and help you too begin your quest for the Shadow Tome. Also, it is why the high cleric knew of the book, and why you were allowed to escape the fate of your countrymen. Everything that has occurred to lead you to this moment, has been from my master’s wishes."

His father finished his story then. "Now the puzzle is complete. Look into yourself, and see the truth."

There was a flash of red in his eyes, and then the images were clear.

Matthew burned with anger in a room filled with mist. It was hot and sweat poured down his face and saturated his skin, but he did not care. His strong, sinewy hands squeezed unmercifully on the girls throats. They felt good against his fingers, and he laughed. The Nyra’Val had released the latent power of the dark lord into his body, and he had enjoyed it. When the girl died, he smiled. The power was his.

And then he saw his mother, cradling her baby against her. Matthew, her son; but this was not to be, for the master had declared the baby his. In the midst of a moment’s joy, the dagger was raised, and in the woman’s eyes burned the question of why.

It was because he had to.

She died quickly as blood sprayed forth from her throat where the dagger had plunged. The hand of her husband held the blade steady within her flesh, and the child screamed, writhing around in it’s mother’s blood. Then it was quiet, and the blood trickled into it’s eyes, burning into them a violent flame. The baby was baptized in the blood of it’s mother, and henceforth became the son of Sargoth, the dark acolyte.

"You killed her!" Matthew screamed.

"No, nothing could save her. The master had declared all before it happened. Just as the dark lord was baptized in his mother’s blood, so would his son be, forever instilling the power of vengeance upon him."

Matthew screamed in anguish overcome with hatred and vengeance. "I will never be like you! Never!"

His father shook his head. "You already are, my son. It is complete now, and the master awaits you to bring the Tome back to him. I know you will not fail, for it is your destiny to do so."

The shade of his father then reached out and touched him. Immediately the pain in his body was gone and his bones were healed. Matthew could hear voices again from above, calling down to him. He recognized them, for they were his companions.

"Good luck my son," his father said to him. "I am sorry for what has happened, but I know you will be successful."

And then he vanished, leaving his son alone in the abyss.

Matthew, the son of Sargoth.