Ninvaleth Arkor (The Tower of Bone) Pt 2

By late afternoon, we had descended the spire into the main foyer of the tower. It was here that I discovered that the tower was more of a tall castle than a tower. It was far colder here, and looking up I could see that the wide, cathedral-like room with is high ceiling was lit not by torches, but by a sort of jellyfish caught in the ice above us. While the light was dim, it was sufficient enough to reveal giant pillars adorned with hieroglyphs and runes.

“How beautiful,” I remarked aloud.

“Yes,” the ferryman sighed. “When I first saw it, it reminded me of the ceiling of the Mileau Qalaf—the Hall of Mysteries—in Castle Alasari.”

“But sir, Alasari fell into ruins...almost a millennium ago,” I said. He made no reply, but for the first time I caught a glimpse of his amber eyes burning like twin halos in the dark. Again, I considered the idea that our guide may not have been altogether of this world, or even of this dimension.

“We should rest here long enough to eat something,” he said after a pause. “It's quite the descent we have left if we still intend to reach the barrier of ice tonight.”

The ferryman and I prepared a small makeshift camp while Xartolin kept watch. I took stock of our rations and divided them out evenly among us. Bread, cheese, and water seemed like it would be enough to hold us until a larger meal could be made later that night. The ferryman advised us against lighting a fire, so we ate in the cold in silence. When we had finished, the ferryman spoke.

“You have questions. I will answer what I can. We may not get another chance.”

Xartolin and I glanced at each other. While the ferryman was correct—we had many questions—neither of us knew what to ask first, nor how long his patience would hold. Xartolin was the one to break the silence.

“That thing that took Ingra,” he said. “Will we encounter any more of them as we progress?”

“Perhaps. I think if we do not, then luck is with us. We are in the place where their presence in this world is strongest, but Sensayeth no longer makes his dwelling here, so perhaps the Reticent horde has mostly left, as well.”

“You said they are conceptual constructs, but how can such a creature exist?”

“Is it really that hard to believe? Whether or not you believe in him, you are at least familiar with the raven god, Qraw. Is he not a conceptual construct? A being who exists and will be worshiped only so long as there are material beings to believe in him?”

“But, until this day, I doubt a single person in Quensolynia believed in these...these Reticent, as you call them.”

“Because you haven't stopped believing—you've merely forgotten them. Do all flies cease to exist because winter freezes them all to death? No, because in the backs of our minds we believe they will return in spring. Furthermore, the Reticent are the closest beings I know to an anti-Qraw. He is one, they are many. He draws strength from spreading his influence, while the Reticent's strength flows from the fact that people will believe they don't exist. He dwells in starlight, while they lash out from the Void. Fear, anxiety, paranoia, depression...the Reticent are all these things and more.”

“That song that it was singing,” I chimed in, “at first I thought it was a lullaby from her homeland, but it seemed too...”

“Otherworldly?” the ferryman finished. “I suspect it was.”

A chill wind blew through our small camp and I shivered, not so much because I was cold, but because for a brief moment I imagined it was the breath of the Reticent.

“You spoke of creatures worse than goblins,” Xartolin went on. “What else do you think lurks here?”

“Many things that have not and never should see the light of day. Conjurings from the Void. And, perhaps...a dragon.”

“A dragon?”

“Yes. An old one, bound to be the guardian of the Oxuri until his death, which may only come when the Stargem is removed from this place. Sensayeth cursed him, you see. He hates the Betrayer more than you or I have power to hate. If we agree to aid him, the encounter may prove the easiest of this voyage.”

“You mean to bargain with a dragon?”

“They are not all the mindless, wrathful beasts you know them as. Once they were a proud species, full of wisdom and honor gained from their travels through space. In truth, I know not whether they are of this earth or merely vagabonds on a road of stars. Regardless, if we can appeal to the dragon's honor, we may be able to leave without loss of life.”

“And if we can't?”

“Then we abandon our quest and embrace death. Fleeing will do us little good.”

“How is it that you know so much about a place no one has dared enter for thousands of years?” I inquired.

“I have had access to libraries that have not been seen for a longer period.”

“Then my assumptions were correct, and you've actually excavated the Mileau Qalaf!” I gazed at the ferryman with eyes full of wonder.

“Excavated is not the right word. Everything I found, I returned to its place lest the curse of that place fall upon me. But yes, there is no stone of Alasari nor page in its library that these eyes have not seen.”

“And Qualosomef? What of our first king?”

“He sits upon his throne, though his opal crown was missing when I arrived at his court. I reckon some grave robber snatched it, and now dreams of Qualosomef's ghost demanding the return of his crown.”

“And the dagger that slew the king?”

“Still lodged between two ribs, caught on the upper of the two. This, I admit, was the only thing I removed from its place. I thought perhaps the ancient sovereign would rest easier with it removed. In his decayed ear, too, I whispered the name of his killer in the hopes that he might curse the one who deserves his wrath rather than whomsoever visits his throne.”

“You confuse me,” I remarked. “To the dead you seem amiable enough, yet you condemn the living.”

“It may seem that way, but that is because I am slow to trust. Show me that you are honorable folk, and perhaps I will be as amiable with you as I am with the dead. The dead, you see, you can trust never to lie. Particularly about being dead.”

“I didn't know you were funny.”

“My humor is often lost on those less accustomed to the darkness.”

A brief pause. I took a sip from my waterskin.

“You say you took no relics from Alasari,” I said when I'd finished, “yet you'd take the Oxuri from this place. What do you intend to use it for?”

“This I will not say—you would attempt to prevent me from my goal. Suffice it to say that the Oxuri are objects that exist in all dimensions—not just those of line, circle, and sphere. Of particular importance to me are the dimensions of time and love. One who holds the Oxuri holds the power to rewrite history.”

“I have a guess at what you'd do,” I said grimly. “Does this have anything to do with the woman mentioned by...by the Reticent?”

The ferryman looked away as if I had deeply wounded him.

“That is one of the tasks I would perform, yes,” he said quietly. “The Reticent have shown me her death on a pyre, but I refuse to believe that is how our story ends. I've heard that tale before, and it is full of wizards and glass intended only to fill its listener with pity. I will not be pitied. And this will not be her end.”

I saw another intense flash of those amber eyes. It became clear we'd get nothing more out of him for the time being. We broke camp and readied ourselves to descend further in the cold dark.

Night?

Our descent led us down a spiraling staircase of bone, treacherously brittle. We had to pause twice to provide new fuel for the lantern, but otherwise our progress went unhindered. As my hands touched the wall, I noticed glyphs etched into the skeletal structure and wondered if I wanted to know their meaning. The language was not one I recognized—spidery and somehow decrepit, it felt like the language of the Reticent. I tried not to touch the wall again.

When we came to the blocked passage at the end of the stairway, it was well past dark by my reckoning. Xartolin retrieved the explosives from his pack and began preparing them. We first examined the wall of ice, determining how thick it was and thereby how many explosives we should use.

“Mind you, I have little skill in these matters,” our guide said, “but it may be that we can drill into the ice far enough to place a bomb in the very center of the wall, and then use a bit of rope to lengthen the fuse.”

“As decent an idea as any other,” Xartolin acquiesced.

The hand drills against the ice made for strenuous work—it was easily another three quarters of an hour before we had made enough progress to slowly guide the bomb into the hole, attaching a rope to the fuse. We then used the lantern to light this fuse and hurried back up the stairs for cover. For the first time in nearly a decade, I found myself praying to Qraw. If this went wrong, our journey might end here—or worse, our lives. The waiting was terrible. Looking over to the ferryman, I noticed him praying, too, though he seemed in far more of a trance than myself.

The explosion came without warning, shaking the walls of the tower and sending more of its skeletal structure chattering to the ground. We waited, barely daring to breathe, but heard no subsequent collapse. We descended the stairs on tiptoe, as if this would aid in holding the roof above our heads. Our caution, however, was unwarranted. In the now smoldering and dripping ice there was an archway wide enough for one to side-step through. Xartolin passed through first, feeling the walls as he went.

“It feels as though it will hold,” he called to us, and we squeezed through.

The opposite side revealed a hallway of cells. We had reached the dungeon. What we hadn’t expected was that the cells would be occupied, and that the explosion alerted the inhabitants to our presence.

In each cell was a humanoid figure, fetus-like in appearance, with a single arm outstretched from the boney bars of its prison. In lieu of fingers, long, twining tentacles stretched down to the floor like sinister curtains. Their faces were composed entirely of a shark-like mouth of canines. Their ears were pointed like a bat. From their throats they emitted a crooning moan that was hauntingly similar to the scream of a rabbit.

“What…what are they?” Xartolin looked pale.

“Vampyres,” the ferryman answered. “The twisted forms of men and women Sensayeth feasted on. They are dead in every sense of the word but that they hunger, and the blood of their victims keeps their cursed hearts beating. I suspect I do not need to tell you that you shouldn’t let them touch you.”

“They would eat us?” I whispered.

“For the most part, yes,” the ferryman breathed, “but their purpose is also two spread their hunger. They may try to make us like them.”

“Like them?” Xartolin’s face turned green.

“I have seen various types—some like bats, others like spiders, and still others like mosquitoes or leeches—but in some form or another, you would be as they have chosen to be.”

“Why would anyone ever choose to be like this?” I, too, was beginning to feel the color draining from my face.

“They were Sensayeth’s Dark Disciples,” the ferryman replied. “They were fooled into believing that sacrificing their souls to Sensayeth would grant them eternal life, but didn’t realize that life without death is entirely the same as death without life. You simply cannot have one without the other. It would be the same as trying never to sleep or never to wake. Certainly, these Disciples will never die of old age, but they will also never again know what it is to be alive.”

We side-stepped through the hallway that was, with those foul tentacles, now narrower than the passage we’d just made in the ice. Once, I thought I felt one of the spindly membranes brush my face, but it was only a strand of my hair. At the end of the passage was a steel door with a spoke handwheel, like the entrance to a vault. The crooning of the vampyres seemed to come from within my brain now, a nagging question: “Crooo-woo? Crooo-woo? Crooo-woo?”

To my horror, that question was answered by Xartolin’s gurgling scream. The ferryman and I turned back to see him wrapped in the embrace of one of the vampyres, who had taken a large bite out of his arm and was now vomiting black blood into the warrior’s face. We lunged for him, together breaking the vampyre’s hold, all the while feeling other tentacles whipping our backs and trying to take our legs out from under us. We ducked and ran back to the door, dragging Xartolin’s limp body with us. I tried desperately not to hear the crooning that had now become an excited plethora of questions shouted into my brain only to echo off the gray matter there.

By some miracle, the ferryman and I managed to open the vaulted door and hurl ourselves through, slamming the door shut on the cacophony’s crescendo. The ferryman took from under his tunic a necklace made of the skull of a raven—a holy item used only by the witch doctors of Qraw or knights under the reign of Qualosomef. He began muttering as he swung the skull back and forth over Xartolin’s face.

“Qraw, you who drew us from the Void, hear my prayer. I have ever been and shall ever be your servant, but now I am in need. I made a mistake, you understand. I misjudged this man, and that is my sin. He is a decent man who does not deserve to have his soul purged from him. Please hear me: release him from this curse.”

I watched in astonishment as the hollow eyes of the raven skull began to glow like hot coals and steam issued from the beak, floating into the unconscious Xartolin’s mouth. At first, there was no change, but then Xartolin started with a wolf-like bark and in one swift move slapped the skull away from his face. They ferryman recoiled, retrieving the skull before returning to Xartolin’s now convulsing body. He carefully removed Xartolin’s belt and looked to me: “Help me get his mouth open.”

Xartolin fought us tooth and nail, but after several attempts we managed to get his belt in his mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue—or us, for that matter. I held his head in my lap as his body raged at the world, fighting to hold onto whatever makes us truly alive. And I wept when I realized that this was a fight he was losing—his ears elongated into pointed bat ears; his teeth became all canines; the flesh receded from his face until it was little more than a skull, the nostrils two dark pits; his fingernails grew into claws. My tears fell onto his face and burned a pattern of dots into the rotten flesh of his forehead.

At last, the ferryman pulled me away. I resisted, but his strength was uncanny and I was dragged to my feet.

“There’s nothing more we can do for him,” he explained. “His battle is in his own hands now. He must decide if his heart is still true to Qraw’s Light, or if it will join with the darkness of this place. I’m truly sorry, but if it’s the latter, we want to put some distance between us and whatever he becomes.”

So we fled down further into that dungeon, leaving behind the man I had not realized I loved until that moment. I was certain his muffled screams would haunt me until the day of my death, but then realized that day may be sooner than I wish.

* * *

The pathway soon opened onto a massive cavern filled with pillar-like stalactites and stalagmites, with pools of water so clear I swore there was none there at all. Bat hibernated on the ceiling, oblivious to us, my sorrow, or our quest. A hard wind blew through the cavern, but it was oddly warm. My guide said nothing, but his hastened strides convinced me that we were nearing our goal; that this was not wind but the breath of a sleeping dragon.

Abruptly, the ferryman stopped and began setting up camp while I watched. He lit a small fire and prepared what smelled very much like a stew, but when he offered me a bowl I refused.

“You must eat,” he said. “It’s been nearly five hours since we last stopped to rest.”

“Only five?” I answered. “It seems like an age.”

“A lifetime,” the ferryman nodded. “It’s all anyone gets. It’s what Xartolin got, and it’s what you’ll receive as well.”

“And you.”

The ferryman looked at me, considering.

“We shall see,” he said.

“I loved him,” I blurted out.

“I know.”

“How could you know?” I only just found out now and now it’s too late. How could you possibly know that?”

“It’s in the way you speak to each other; the way he puts himself in harm’s way to protect you. You take care of each other; give each other what you need. I know a thing or two about love, having fallen into it myself. I know how oblivious one can be to it, and how much it can hurt when the subject of your affection isn’t there. But trust me, Ulistra, this will pass. I won’t say it isn’t worth starving yourself over, but it is worth living to love again.”

We sat in silence as he finished eating, upon which I informed him that I’d take the first watch. He said nothing, but put out the fire and laid down on his sleeping mat, his back turned to me.

I began to consider what the ferryman had said about each of us only getting a lifetime. I thought that, somewhere, there was a man who longed for a death that never came, or a newborn girl who died within moments of birth. It all seemed suddenly fragile, this thing called life, and I wondered if there was anything in this universe protecting it from shattering altogether.

But then I remembered the way the ferryman’s raven skull had glowed and steamed when he’d prayed to Qraw. That alone seemed to be proof enough that there was something watching over us and that, even if we didn’t necessarily believe in him, we had only to ask for his aid and he would give all he could. Only the Reticent could ever hinder him.

It was as I contemplated this that it appeared to me that the coals of that skull shone before me again—two orange specks in the dark. They came closer, and in my trance I thought Qraw had come before me to once and for all cancel whatever doubts I had about his existence.
But then a gurgling growl emerged from the dark—the rumbling of some unseen stomach—and I smelled the sweat, piss, and scat stench of what could only be a goblin.

Slowly, inch by inch, I drew the dagger Xartolin had given me. The creature snarled and now I could feel its rancid breath in my face. The sound of its forked tongue running over yellowed teeth resounded in my ears, followed closely by another roaring churn of the goblin’s stomach.

“Goblin,” I spat, “you picked the wrong day to be hungry for woman-flesh.”

With both hands I drove the silver dagger deep into the space between those orange eyes. A scream burst from the monster’s throat and I stabbed again, this time lower, where I imagined its stomach to be. Warm, sickly green blood gushed into my face, and I stabbed again. And again. And again. The goblin’s shrieks and gurgles as it choked on its own blood kept my arms in motion, bringing the dagger down on I cared not what.

“DIE, YOU BASTARD!” I screamed at it, “DIE IN THE NAME OF QRAW!”

At last, I heard its death rattle as it ceased to move beneath me. I was sweating, gasping for breath, and utterly drenched in the goblin’s blood. When I looked over, I found the ferryman staring at me.

“Sleep now,” he said. “I’ll take care of the body. It’s my turn to watch, anyway.”

* * *

Regrettably, the ferryman ended up having to plunge the goblin’s corpse into one of those clear pools. While it seemed cruel to defile those waters, both of us knew that the stench might attract the monster’s companions. I had been extremely lucky—the one I’d killed had been weak from hunger, but a goblin at full strength would not have allowed itself to be seen or heard. And at that point, the best I could have hoped for would have been for a quick death. Goblins, however, are well-known for taking pleasure in simultaneously raping and eating their victims alive.

We were very close to our goal now, but I felt somehow the closer we got, the more our luck ran out. As we walked through the cavern, my foot hit some unseen rock and hurtled me forward. The lantern smashed on the cave floor, plunging us into darkness. I cursed, but the ferryman merely took my hand and led on, his amber eyes glittering like stars in the emptiness of space.

“When we meet the dragon,” he whispered, though the cavern amplified his words, “be sure not to look into his eyes. For one, it’s considered impolite…and he may try to entrance us.”

I said nothing, but squeezed his hand once to show that I understood. We rounded a corner, and now the hot breath of the beast was a hurricane wind. My heart pounded in my throat. Here the ferryman let go of my hand and took several strides forward.

“RÉCULOSA!” he cried, the name resounding off cold stone. “RISE, RÉCULOSA, LORD OF THE EASTERN SKY!”

A great rumble answered him as the dragon raised its head from slumber. Two volcanic irises danced around a pair of slit pupils. I quickly bowed my head to avoid gazing into them.

“WHAT ISSSS THISSSS?” the dragon bellowed. “VISSSSITORSSSS, YESSS? HASSS THE DAY OF SSSSENSSSSAYETH’SSS JUDGMENT ARRIVED? AM I FINALLY TO BE FREE OF THISSS DUNGEON?”

“Great Réculosa,” the ferryman replied, “I fear we must tell you no to your first query, but we may see about the second. We are scavengers, Your Majesty. Harael is my name and this is Ulistra of the Court of Vilcou—ˮ

“SSSCAVENGERSSSS?” Réculosa smirked. “YOU LIE, HARAEL. YOU ARE THIEVESSSS WHO WOULD TAKE WHAT RIGHTFULLY BELONGSSSS TO VALASSSSENTIXXXXUROS. LITTLE BETTER THAN THE BETRAYER HIMSSSSELF. TELL ME WHY I SSSSHOULD NOT ROASSSST YOU WHERE YOU SSSSTAND.”

“I will give you two reasons,” Harael answered confidently. “First, because you and I have a common enemy in the Betrayer—I would see you take your revenge on him tenfold. And second, because I did not lie when I told you we may be able to free you from this prison.”

“AND YOU WOULD ASSSSK FOR THE OXXXXURI ASSSS PAYMENT FOR THISSSS SSSSERVICSSSE, YESSSS?” the dragon sounded genuinely amused. Another great shift of weight was heard, and a new light shone in the dark. “BEHOLD YOUR TREASSSSURE, THIEF!”

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I was shocked to see that the Oxuri glowed from within Réculosa in the place where his heart once beat. With pity in my own heart, I realized that Sensayeth had transplanted the Oxuri into the dragon in place of its heart, thereby dooming him to forever remain the Oxuri’s guardian.

“TRY TO TAKE YOUR PRIZZZZE IF YOU WILL, HARAEL, FOR I AM ITSSSS KEEPER, BOUND TO IT BY MY LIFE WHETHER I WILL IT OR NO. SSSSLAY ME AND TAKE THE OXXXXURI IF YOU CAN. BUT KNOW THAT MY LIFE ISSSS ALL I HAVE LEFT, AND I WILL NOT WILLINGLY PART WITH IT, DEFILED ASSSS IT MAY BE.”

“Nor should you,” Harael said calmly. “Your eyes are old, dragon. Do you not recognize a servant of Qraw when he stands before you?”

The dragon snorted once in reply—a dismissing scoff.

“There is still some magic in this world,” Harael continued. “Your makeshift heart should be proof enough of that.”

“ISSS YOUR MAGIC POWERFUL ENOUGH TO CONTEND WITH THE SSSSORCSSSERY OF SSSENSSSSAYETH?”

“It is not his magic,” I spoke up and immediately felt the dragon’s eyes on me. “It is the power of Qraw.”

The dragon grinned, “ISSS THAT SSSSO? YOU WILL FORGIVE ME IF I NEED ASSSSSSURANCSSSSSESSSS. COME, GIRL, LOOK INTO MY EYESSSS. IF YOUR GUIDE ISSSS TRULY A SSSSERVANT OF QRAW ASSSS HE CLAIMSSSS, I WILL BE FREE AND YOU MAY LEAVE THISSS PLACSSSE WITH YOUR PRIZZZE. BUT FAIL, HARAEL, AND I WILL GIVE HER A VERY DIFFERENT GIFT.”

The ferryman considered, glancing at me briefly. Then he said, “Your terms are fair. So be it. Hold still as you can.”

“PROCSSSSSEED, WITCH DOCTOR,” Réculosa laid down again, but his eyes were locked onto mine.

Harael knelt on the stone floor and took out his necklace again, swinging it back and forth and muttering words I couldn’t make out. The dragon’s fiery eyes glared into my own, and mentally I joined in Harael’s prayer. This time, the eyes of the raven skull shone ten times as bright, and I could see the dragon’s face dimly illuminated by its light. Réculosa was aged to the point that his flesh had begun to decay while he still lived. Though his eyes still burned, they were dimmer than I’d first imagined, and I realized he was going blind. I no longer feared him, but pitied him the way one pities a beached whale. His breath, too, seemed to come in painful rasps. I wondered how he could value his life anymore; how he didn’t wish for death; if his thirst for revenge was all he lived for.

The steam from the mouth of the raven skull wafted to his nostrils. He breathed in, heaved a great sigh, and then closed his eyes. I thought the spell would be peaceful in nature, but then his eyes shot back open and he writhed in much the same way Xartolin had. A small belch of fire escaped his mouth, followed by a scream.

“YOU BREAK YOUR WORD, THIEF,” Réculosa cried. “YOU ATTACK ME; BURN MY INSSSSIDESSSS.”

“O, mighty Réculosa,” Harael strained to be heard over the dragon’s roar, “I have not betrayed you. The Oxuri must be purged from your body to make way for your new heart. Trust in Qraw, whom we both have served. The hurt is not his doing, but the Betrayer’s spell being exorcised.”

“NNNNO,” the dragon bellowed through clenched teeth. “I HAVE SSSSPENT MY YEARSSSS PRAYING TO A GOD WHO DID NOTHING TO END MY SSSSUFFERING. NOW YOU TELL ME HE ADDSSSS TO MY TORTURE? THEN I RENOUNCSSSSE HIM…AND I DAMN YOU TO FIERY DEATH.”

This last declaration was directed at me as his eyes locked onto mine again. Entranced and paralyzed, I watched in horror as the dragon reared and belched rancid fire at me. Harael hurled himself at me, tackling me out of the way, but not before the damage was done. From head to waist my flesh was charred, the hot wounds cauterizing just as soon as they were made. My clothing burned to ash, and I lay naked and cold on the floor of the cavern. Harael removed his tattered robes and spread them over me. My sight was still blinded by dragon’s fire—I could not make out the ferryman’s face.

At last, the Oxuri worked its way up Réculosa’s throat until he vomited it violently onto the floor. Its light illuminated every inch of the cold stone, revealing black bile oozing from the dragon’s mouth.

“I…I WILL BURN YOU FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, THIEF. I WILL—ˮ

“Do nothing,” Harael said, retrieving the Oxuri. It warped from an orb to the shape of a scythe in his hand, the blade jet black. “I did as you asked: I purged the Oxuri from your body and granted you a new, young heart. If you believe that you owe me nothing, then there is this: you can do little to harm me, for now I hold the Oxuri. Now truly I am destroyer of worlds, master of fates. If you believe your power exceeds that of Time, Space, and Death itself, come…and I will show you Qraw’s wrath incarnate.”

The dragon snarled, but was wise enough in his weakened state to withdraw. Even as he did so, a new figure emerged out of the very air, holding a mace of light aloft.

“VALASSSSENTIXXXXUROS,” Réculosa greeted the stranger, bowing his head, bile still dripping from his teeth.

“I wondered if you would show yourself here, wizard,” Harael said to the stranger. “To tell the truth, I expected the Betrayer more than I did you.”

“He’s indisposed, that much I can tell you,” Valasentixuros replied, “but despite my battle with him, I have more than enough energy to deal with you, child.”

“I’ve come too far, old man. You will not stop me now.”

“So certain, are you?”

“Need I remind you that Qraw is with me, whereas you and all your kin are damned? You flew too close to heaven, Valasentixuros, and Qraw punishes you for your pride.”

“You, too, have grown prideful. See how long Qraw is with you while you wield a weapon that is not yours.”

“All I would do, I would do for the sake of all Quensolynia. You know this.”

“I do, but good intentions do not always make good ends.”

“But I could prevent the Undying War from ever happening. All the death and heartbreak—I could make it all go away. I could bring back your children.”

“Do you think for one instant that I haven’t tried? I have spent years of my life traveling back through time, saving a life here, taking one there. It makes little difference. All turns out the same, as is the will of Qraw.”

“I will make those responsible for our suffering pay the ultimate price,”

“Why do you believe you’re worthy to judge the living?”

“Because someone must. The crimes of this world have gone unpunished since the dawn of time. Sinners still go to Telra’s Endless Garden to be gifted with new life. I will change that. All those souls I deem unworthy of heaven’s light…they shall come to me.”

“No. The Oxuri are mine. Hand it over now, or by Qraw I will end you, boy.”

“Then take it from me if you can, wizard.”

A great battle then commenced between the embodiments of Time and Death. I wish I had words to describe it, but my eyes had not yet recovered. Most of what I saw were flashes of white and black light accompanied by the crack of thunder and the roar of flame. The light and sound overwhelmed me, and I drifted into a fitful sleep.

* * *

When I awoke, it was night, though I was certain not the same one. I was back at the watchtower on the outskirts of Lehynta. Again, the ferryman sat across from the tower’s beacon, though this time it wasn’t lit. A few yards off, I could see Réculosa stretching his wings in the snow. When he realized I was awake, the ferryman stood, leaning on the scythe.

“What happened?” I asked.

“In brief, the Star Lord and I quarreled like boys with toys,” Harael answered. “After dealing each other several godly blows, we decided neither of us could best the other, and begrudgingly struck a truce. I’m to borrow the Oxuri for my purposes, but once I’ve completed them, I must return it without further objections.”

“What of the tower itself?”

“Sunken to the bottom of the Homonel Sea,” Harael smirked. “And good riddance. It was beautiful to watch, in a sort of melancholy way. Like an omen declaring that the old days have gone and nothing will ever be the same again. A new world order is coming, Ulistra, and a war must be fought between those who herald its coming and those who are bound to the past.”

“And Xartolin? Any sign of him?”

“He is here,” a familiar voice spoke from behind me. “Or, at least, a part of him.”

Harael helped me to my feet, and turning about I saw that, indeed, Xartolin stood there. His figure was still deformed, but there was a quiet dignity about him that told me Qraw had not abandoned him.

“I have been granted new life,” he said. “And a new life means a new name, yes?”

“How did you manage to get out of the tower before it collapsed?” I asked, hot tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

“He’s an enigma,” Harael shook his head, “even to me.”

“I like this,” the figure who was Xartolin smiled weakly. “Yes, Enigma shall be my name.”

“Now that that’s settled,” I said, turning back to Harael, “what will you do now?”

“I will do as I told you I would when we first met. There is a usurper on the throne of this world, and I will end his reign. By hook or by crook, I will. What about you? Will you still try to stop me?”

“In my state?” I laughed, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit. For a moment, my vision glazed over, and the ferryman looked more like a shadow cloaked in sunlight—a walking eclipse. “There’s a young man waiting for me back at the inn, I think. I should let him know that I’ve returned, if not unscathed, then well enough.”

“I will accompany you that far,” the vampyre Enigma said, “but I owe a debt to the man you know as Harael—a debt that must be paid.”

“And the dragon?” I inquired.

“He owes me a debt, as well,” Harael replied. “We will see what he decides to do with his remaining years once it is fulfilled.”

“I feel as though I owe you a debt, myself,” I admitted, “but I don’t know what good I’d be to you now.”

“If you wish to aid me,” the ferryman answered, “you can do so by keeping watch over King Vilcoufait and reporting all you know to the beggars of Orkham. They are my eyes and ears. In this, you may prove the most useful of all indebted to me.”

“Farewell, then,” I bowed to him. “Perhaps we will meet again.”

“We most assuredly will. One last time.”

And with that, he raised his scythe, which flashed once before he and the dragon disappeared.

CODA

The log of Ulistra ends here. You close the leather-bound pages and are prepared to hand it back to the librarian, but find he’s nowhere to be seen. The stacks seem to tower over you, foreboding an unknown doom. Each time you turn a corner it seems to lead you back to the same aisle you started from. Lost and completely alone in the growing dark, you kneel and pray to awake from this dream. And Qraw grants your wish, for there are far more stories to be told.

AFTER WORDS

I know. You’re probably saying, “But what happens next? That’s not a proper ending! What happens to Ulistra and Enigma? What about the war Harael spoke of? Who is this mysterious Valasentixuros and why does it feel like he should be a main character? And what about Sensayeth the Betrayer? Shouldn’t he have shown his ugly head?”

In due time. This novelette was practice for a much larger work to come. It helped me explore characters I hadn’t touched for nearly five years—characters who had become foreign to me. The story of Ninvaleth Arkor was one I’d had in my head for some time, but I’d always started it by telling how the Undying War began rather than its aftermath. Like Homer, I found I have to begin in the middle and work my way backwards and forwards until the story’s told in full.

Many questions will be answered in my series, "The Reticent," and most of the characters you see here will be revisited there. Valasentixuros especially will be explored further, and Sensayeth the Betrayer will make more than a few appearances. For now, I hope you enjoyed this brief glimpse into their world, and I promise I will try to plug out the next installment as soon as I'm able.

--Dale Dresden
November 29, 2015