Chapter Nine
A Fantasy Forged in Stone
The odd trio scampered away from Michael’s home in the dead of the morning. The rain had eased but a thin veil of autumn mist still showered the city of Istol. Staying in the dark shadows of the squat buildings they were silent until they came upon the Main Street tollgate.
Michael stuck his head out from behind an alley wall and spied the squadron of guards, lazily manning the gate station. “How do you plan to slip past them with those weapons?”
Aroha glanced at Nichole and shrugged. “Is three too many?”
“Three what?” Michael asked.
Nichole seemed to weigh up the unsaid idea and shook her head. “I could, but I don’t want to freak him out like that just yet. Plus, we don’t know if there’s anything else close by that might get drawn to us.”
Aroha gestured idly in agreement. “So, just the weapons then?”
Michael leaned against the alley wall, aware he wasn’t a part of the conversation, watching them carefully as they spoke.
Aroha handed her silver bow to Nichole. Nichole glanced at Michael, flashed him a polite smile and muttered to Aroha. “Cover me, will you?”
Aroha nodded, then turned to Michael. She opened her mouth as though to speak and then frowned at something across the road. “What’s that?” she asked, too pointedly.
Michael didn’t believe her for the slightest moment but out of politeness he glanced across the road, and to his unsurprise, found nothing in particular. When he looked back, the two rangers stood with small smiles.
Aroha patted him on the arm and nodded. “Let’s go.”
“What about-” Michael stopped, realising the elegant silver bows had simply vanished.
Before he had a chance to ask ten more questions, both young women stepped out into the Main Street and Michael jogged after them.
The guard captain of the gate perked up as they approached and set a hand on the broadsword hanging from her hip. “Who goes there?” she demanded with a voice like gravel.
Nichole stepped forward out of the shadow and said, light of voice, “Hey there! We’re just on our way to the Centreton market.”
The guard’s dark eyes peered through their helmet slit. “You’ll get there about six hours early.”
Nichole shrugged easily and held out her hand in a friendly manner. The guard took it, seemingly drawn in by her confidence alone. “We ‘preciate you keepin’ us safe.”
As soon as she clasped Nichole’s hand the guard’s energy lightened.
The captain released her and strode back to their small outpost, waving in an upward sweep to the lookouts atop the outer wall. A small glimmer of silver could be seen, palmed into her hand as she made the gesture.
Michael smiled inwardly but remained stoic before the Iron Suits as the gate was lifted and they made their way out onto the main road. “Nice hand-off. Smooth.”
Nichole smiled and immediately led them off the highway and down into the thick, wild grass that lead out to the east. “I’d wager you know a thing or two about bribin’ guards?”
Michael gave a cocky head sway and let a small grin slip onto his face as they stepped into the Istol hinterland. “One little thing I know is that you don’t have to bribe city guards to get let out.”
Aroha glanced at him, an equally smug grin on her face. “You do if you don’t want to get recorded in their tower log.”
Michael opened his mouth to retort when he realised she was right. He glanced at her, slightly humbled and nodded. “Too true.”
The trio moved through the darkness like a storm wind. They rose and fell across the long and tall hills of the Bawdion countryside, soon making it out of the thin mist of rain which only seemed to fall in the region of the city limits. The night became clearer and the stars peered through the veil of the void down onto Draendica, so full and bright that it seemed there was more light than shadow. The air was clean and the scent of the nearby sea mingled with the sparse forests, dotted about the province, perfuming the wild world. For hours, the rangers led Michael away, moving seemingly without desire for rest. It was only when he himself was glistening from sweat in the silver moonlight that they slowed down. They came to stop on the edge of a small open glade, dotted with tall pines and smooth, grey boulders.
Michael sat down against a rounded rock, panting like he’d lost a lung.
Nichole and Aroha stopped beside him but neither seemed too exhausted and certainly not to his extent. Aroha sat down next to him and pulled a small water-skin off the back of her belt. “Drink.”
Michael tried to suppress his craving but nearly inhaled the entire water skin the moment it touched his lips. He pulled away and settled into his heaving, muttering, “Thank you,” between breaths.
Aroha nodded and her natural smugness seemed to falter. “Look, Michael, I know I was harsh earlier. Often it’s the only thing that works. Even so, I’m, uh, I’m sorry. This night’s always the hardest and I know you’re going through a decent bit.”
Michael shook his head quickly, still slightly faint as his heart slowed a touch. “Don’t apologise. I’m sorry I took so long to come around. After all, you two were only there to make sure I was safe... It’s just been a long spell.”
Aroha looked at her feet and then glanced at Nichole as she paced gently back and forth in the starlight, waiting for the two of them.
“So, you two,” Michael began, “is this your job? You run around looking for defenceless lambs like me?”
Aroha patted him pitifully on the knee and said, “Well, we’re called Guardian Rangers and we do a handful of jobs. We’re hunters when something dangerous is seen closing in on a city, we’re watchers, making sure nothing of our existence gets out into the world, and yes, occasionally, we’re lamb-herders. Mostly we’re messengers when they need something delivered quickly.”
Michael nodded, but he merely spent a long moment, stopping himself from asking, Who’s they? He glanced at her and decided not to ask, certain there was a reason for her subtlety. “Back at the house, what you said seemed a lot like a smaller piece of a much bigger speech… So I gotta ask. Khasm, the Gargan, Blood Magic- are you really trying to sell me that it’s all real?” Michael’s face was heavy with skepticism, but not dismissal.
Aroha nodded understandably. “It’s a lot. I know. I also know you truly won’t believe anyone until you see it, but here’s the gist: A long time ago, there was a Creator, Khasm -yep, the one we all know from bedtime stories- Khasm had twelve children, then they had their own children and so on and so on. Each creator represented one key aspect of life. Baeyne was Love, Farganon was Companionship, Verganus was Trust, and countless others. Eventually, this species of makers, called the Gargan- yes, the faerie-tales even got that name right -got bored. They made a million different creatures to populate an empty world forged by the hands of Khasm. Then they made one the wrong way and fucked it all up.”
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Michael blinked. His mother had told him plenty of bedtime stories but never in a fashion so straight forward. “Yeah the stories don’t mention that. Go on.”
Aroha sat up properly and said, “Now, usually, a malfunctioning creation wouldn’t be a problem. Except, each race of the Created was imbued with immortality. Gargan-grade immortality. So, when they fumbled the making-process of these creatures, it ruptured their minds, and not only were they utterly mad, but they were utterly undefeatable.”
Michael’s brow stitched together with concern. “Undef-, as in can’t be killed by gods?”
“Oh, the gods could kill them. But they always came back,” Aroha muttered flatly.
There was a line in the Riinin Holy Book, The Ionadae. Michael wasn’t religious, but some of the words fell like lightning on a clear day. The one that sat with him in the moment was ‘Fear not those who roil in rage, but those who withstand it in silence.’
Aroha continued, though watching him closely. “So, the Gargan Creators went to war with these immortal, cursed creations. And slowly, more and more of the gods’ creatures had their minds warped, and one-by-one they all turned against the Gargan, except for a powerful few. Eventually, tired of the bloodshed, and seeing their children become blood-lusting gods Khasm shrouded the world with their wings and smothered everything. Killed everyone. Some say they killed themselves too, but no one knows.”
Michael let out a long breath. “Is that it?”
“Almost.” Aroha glanced at Nichole who was sat with their legs crossed and eyes closed, almost meditatively. “After the dust settled, it turned out that all of Khasm’s might hadn’t rid the world of the magic laid into the soil. It was the only remnant of the Gargan. It lived in the trees and mountains, water and sky. And when us Draendicans came out of our caves, some of us even wielded that old, dead magic. Those people are what our faery-tales call Legacies.” Aroha gave him an implied look.
Michael tried to let the words sink in, but after a moment he knew Aroha had been right earlier. It was not so easy as hearing it. He nodded slowly and then asked, “So, you two are together, right?”
Aroha chuckled at the change of pace and smiled warmly at Nichole who had raised her head at the question. Aroha nodded without taking her eyes off her. “We met when we were young, while she broke into my parent’s house and I’ve been in love with her ever since.”
Michael grinned from ear to ear. Despite everything, some things were just easy to smile for. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” He glanced sideways at the young woman and frowned. “Wait, how old are you both?”
Aroha’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “Can’t be much older than you, I suspect, why?”
Michael squinted in the dark and shrugged. “I’ve only really been seeing you two by lamplight and moonlight and I only just realised how young you both seem.”
She nodded and tugged at her hood. “We’re both seventeen. You?”
“Fifteen, but my birthday is in Frost. Glad to see you guys avoided conscription,” Michael said, the weight of the notion heavy in his tongue.
Aroha’s eyes darkened as she nodded and Nichole ambled over, adding, “Well, you can only get conscripted if they catch you. To catch you, they have to find you. We are not easily found, to say the least.”
Michael’s mouth idly opened in realisation. “And this ridiculously secretive thing wouldn’t be so secretive if you didn’t have a great hiding place.” The very thought of it made him hunger for an answer and he could hardly stop himself. “Is this place in Bawdion or a whole other province? How much more hiking should I expect?”
Nichole stepped up to them and held out her hand but said nothing through her smile.
Michael sighed and took her hand. She pulled him to his feet like he weighed nothing and in the space of the moment Michael realized just how easily she could likely put him to the ground if she wished. Though Nichole was clad in her dark garb all the way up to her wrists, Aroha was nearly sleeveless altogether, and her arms were taut and refined like sculpted stone all the way from her forearms to her shoulders.
As they began making their way through the small, forest glade, Michael nodded toward her strong arms and asked, “Is that all from bow-work or is there some incredible toning magic which they don’t mention in the faerie-tales?”
Aroha barked a laugh and Nichole suppressed a smile. “Bow-work, mostly. Sword-work and… hand-to-hand too...” she then cast a meaningful look at her girlfriend.
Michael’s face crinkled in silent laughter and a warm feeling filled him. He let it linger for some time before it fell away. The day had been so bizarre he wasn’t even certain he knew what he should be feeling. A part of him was still so raw and just wanted to lay down beneath the dark sky and weep. A part of him wanted nothing more than to walk to Ariaton and find his friends and tell them everything. But another part of him wanted to keep on. He scarcely believed a word of what they said, but he believed that they believed it.
And for some reason, be it a mistake or not, they came to him, and he’d be damned to the darkest hole of Enthall and bound in the brightest, most molten Riinin chain before he pretended it wasn’t the very thing he’d waited for since he was old enough to want anything.
They continued across the great knolls of Southern Talisatia, bringing them up toward the stars as they melted under Rising sun’s light. The cold wind bit and gnawed at their fingers and noses as they crossed over another southeast strain of the imperial highway. It was only when the sun began to pull up clear into the sky that Nichole and Aroha came to a stop and told Michael to rest for some time before continuing. It was bright and the sun was unyielding but they had been going since midnight and as soon as Michael touched the soil, he fell into a long and dreamless sleep.
He was awoken again only a few hours later and the sun had dipped well over the peak of midday and began falling fast once more.
They fed him some dried meat and they kept on, and while Michael was tired in his bones, his curiosity burned like fuel. The trio spoke but a handful of words to one another until they approached a long set of rolling hills, holding up the sky and limiting the view of anything lying beyond. The day had turned dark again and Michael’s legs had trekked untold leagues.
Michael saw this newest great hill and set his hands on his knees, shaking his head. “This one’s going to kill me. Can we stop again?”
Aroha had her own sheen of sweat by this point but her strength was unblemished. She smiled knowingly and said, “My friend, have faith, it’ll be worth the climb.”
Michael all but wheezed and cast a piteous glance to Nichole. She too was worn through but her stance was upright and her stern gaze untouched.
“You have my word. I expect you take that kind of thing seriously?” she said.
Michael brushed off a trickling sweat-drop and nodded. “Go on, then.”
Nichole patted him on the back and together they made their way up the tall knoll, glad of the dry day and the lack of mud on the hillside. They fought to the top and Michael was doing all he could not to crawl and groan by the time he reached its peak.
Michael Williams lifted his head to see over the rise and his heart stopped.
He stared for a long time until he’d forgotten about every dark moment that had come before. He stared until he scarcely remembered his own name. He stared until he knew, under threat of pain or death, that he’d never forget it again.
In the basin of the valley Michael saw something only describable as a citadel. Walls so high that to scream all the way down would take more than a lungful, and their stature was only the third most fascinating thing about them. The first, by far, was that they were made of monolithic stone slabs woven together by glowing bronze veins, pulsing into the darkness of the early morning, as though somewhere a hidden heart was beating through them. The second was the main gate on the face of the fortress wall; a truly colossal sized steel gate shining in the moonlight, which if opened, he suspected could allow through fifty people abreast at once. The wall itself was hexagonal, connecting at six equidistant points around the entire complex, and upon each joint was a pointed castle-turret with a mounted ballista looking out over the valley.
Michael was almost too shocked by the monument itself to realise there were people wandering on the walls, smaller than ants from his distance. The longer he looked the more it teemed with life.
He’d seen a imperial ‘provincial citadel’ before. Each province had one. All constructed to keep a city garrison close to hand in case they needed to rouse an army or put down a local rebellion. Michael once believed no one could ever craft something more daunting than those imperial citadels.
But next to this, they seemed like shoeboxes.
Within the walls was a smattering of different smaller buildings all centred around one enormous central keep, built from the same dark stone as the walls. He saw a main foyer with a great pavilion and a long street running from the main gate to the keep itself, lined with different structures, some dead as the night while others flickered with lamp-light and distant, unintelligible voices.
Michael wanted to ask as many questions as his mind could conjure from Who built this place? to Why did they need to build it? only to come to the realisation that he didn’t care. All he could truly focus on was that it looked like the kind of place hurricanes would move around for fear of angering it.
Michael stared and stared. The interior was the size of a great village, perhaps, and with all its magical flourishes, the young man wanted to apologise internally for using such a mundane word to describe it. It almost pained him to bring his eyes away, but when he did he looked at the two rangers and opened his mouth to speak.
He tried for a long moment but Michael realised he had no idea what he wanted to say.
Aroha smiled from ear to ear and took him by the shoulders, and like some theatre performer, gestured proud and wide to the staggering, heavenly stronghold. “I give you, the last Legacy home in Olympium. A haven of light against the unyielding tide of darkness. The magnificent-”
“Fort Guardian,” said Nichole, gazing softly over the sight.
Michael finally found his voice and watched in awe as he noticed tiny moving shapes amidst the great stronghold. “How has this stayed a secret?”
Nichole gave a small grin and shrugged, “We’ve gotten pretty good at keeping secrets, but I get the sense you’d rather I showed you? Or are you too tired?”
Michael chuckled clear and bright in the darkness. He'd rather forgotten what the word 'tired' meant.