1: The Arrival At Andrus

His heart was skipping beats like the ropes that sliced the city streets, and yet here in darkness was Andrus the Brave. Andrus the Shadow, sat accruing plight beneath the night gallows of the Hanging Justice. Andrus the nervously clutching his shaking form before the vigilance of the dark almighty’s new dawn.

The cave walls were soaked with dripping, malingering dread. Black-blue water slowly sludged from the ceiling, sliding down the jagged and jutting black granite. Slowly succumbing to the mind numbing cold, freezing floor. A jet-black rat skittered at Andrus’ fragile state, it slipped across the frost fractured and worn stone floor. It left the prison cell by the door it had originally scuttled under, as the cell was otherwise inescapable. Its footsteps ricocheted with harrowing effect.

Andrus wasn’t alone. Despite the fact that he was never alone, not when the watching gaze of the dark son Ishilip protected him. This time, however, there were several other lifers interred in the dank, decaying, pitch black stain of a prison cell with him. They were chained to the walls, hands and feet adorned by rusted orange-brown metal. Their skin stained with bruises and cuts. They would never leave this lightless pit of a place.

A heavy noise scraped as the door’s latch was lifted.

A voice broke the soliloquy silence. It straithed through his head.

“Grab him and bring him to the courtyard. Quickly now.”

Arms seized Andrus by the abrasive wool jerkin he was clothed in. They lifted his blinded body upwards, the glare of the torch shattering his night vision.

For fifty days he had seen little but darkness, no light protruding when the food hatch was opened.

The lifers were recent arrivals, they had been mustered in in the suffocating black.

Dancing shadows were spat from a flickering torch, they emblazoned the circular staircase’s walls with Andrus’ assisted ascension. Several flights of steps clipped Andrus, the black protrusions were sharp and disgruntled, rough teeth friction biting and gnashing. Atrophy and confinement scoured his muscles and two hands held him upright as he was lifted above sea level and brought out into the port jail’s courtyard.

Andrus could no longer remember why he had been kept down in his cell. His memories had ceased their reminder of his purpose and function. His form was left flayed of identity. His eyes just registering the hallway he had been brought into all those fifty days ago.

The large dark brown doors that held him hostage were relieved of guard duty. The moonlight retreated away from the flaming sigils that had blinded him, equally as reticent to the coming event.

A prayer to Ishilip crept past Andrus’ lips. Inaudible waves of cosmic reconciliation. He hoped it would bring him reprieve.

The two guards dropped him at the feet of the one who had spoken. As Andrus’ eyes adjusted, he saw the long aquamarine and kingfisher inlain robes of a port magister. The magister nodded towards the black-yellow garbed guards, who proceeded to return to their fortified nest. Two more guards, wearing deep purple, came over at the nod of the magister’s head. They lifted Andrus up and brought him towards the jail’s gates.

There was a dark brown chariot drawn by horses. Four brown tides with swathes of white or black were to lead the magisterial vehicle. Apparently, Andrus was to sit in the back with the Magister.

A turn of events he wasn’t truly prepared to witness.

The purple clad guards dropped him on a cushion dampened seat. The magister joined him. The guards stood at the front and started the horses. They passed through the gate, which was promptly closed by several guardsmen.

They began their travel through the moonlight forest that hung to the jail’s walls. The road was a winding solitary line that passed scores of bushes and shrubs. Rich brown and green shades of deepness were rustled by deer and squirrels. The deer were a shaded red, with cresting patches of brown and white. The squirrels were small turquoise figurines, knitted fur and sharp paws with swallowing black eyes.

Several of the deer and squirrels moved from the cobbled roadside, out of the chariot’s way. The flames at the front illuminated the vibrant forest life before them. Butterflies and moths with verdant and entropic patterns wove through the canopy and pathway.

“You don’t know who I am. I do not care about your life in the slightest inclination. I hope to the High God that you perish in this hellscape of a place I will send you.” The magister paused to thoughtfully conclude his drawled tirade. “I want this known to you now so that you never feel irreplaceable.” His nose dipped satisfied, a vacant smirk passed over his face, purple eyes distracted by passing animals.

“I’m not sure I understand your premise. I might have lost my mind a bit in the cave.” Andrus paused, he still felt confined and perturbed, disturbed and disassociated. “Hang on.”

Stolen novel; please report.

“Your opinion and state of matter are no importance of mine. You will be used because you have the talents we need. You are entirely expendable to us.” The magister coughed into his hand, the conversation was unbecoming. The sooner this wretched fleabag was palmed over to the Godseers the better. “You will travel with no one in particular, a warden we will assign. You will be taken to the Godheart and given to the Godseers for your crimes.”

“I’m not sure, I have any crimes?” Andrus was puzzled. His skin crawled at the suggestion of this fateful Godseer seeing. The reason eluded him. Clawed at him through a heavily restrictive fog.

“I’m not sure why I was in that cell.” Andrus was fazed. “I’m not sure why in particular you would need me to be…” He clutched at straws.

“What we need from you Andrus, son of Ishilip, is your silence and cooperation.” The magister paused, and a hungering vacuum swallowed them both.

“Because at this point, you are no one.”

Andrus hadn’t been sure how to respond, and eventually the silence had broken into unfettered ignorance. Now he felt it necessary to leave whatever thunderstorm of a raincloud the magister was intent on bringing his way, in the lofty realms of the magisters amethyst seared eyes. Andrus wasn’t a fan of drug use, he remembered that for sure, well some drug use, occasionally, but not the potent Kyiusi roots that stained your soul. The magister bit his lip in vacancy as the shuffle of the chariot wheels brought them away from the port jail, and towards the sand walled settlement.

The road they met as they left the private jail track was a formidable break in the sea of forest trees. The forest was left as a protective nest around Ultya, the Decaying city, Andrus’ body could remember the dread and terror it was supposed to feel at his potential return? But he was still unaware as to why his hand were shaking with the sense of decimation.

The magister noticed his unease and resumed his tirade.

“This is an utmost honour, despite what you might feel, this is the epitome of being. This is the pinnacle of our civilisation. With the war between our home and Eryi we are tied to this now more than ever.” The magister paused, the idea was more than him and as a conduit he felt its full totality.

“Especially with your actions. There is no other fate for you than this. You should have known what your seditions and heresies would bring about.”

“I mean…” Andrus paused, he wasn’t sure whether the magister was friend or foe. He assumed neither, some deep feeling in his stomach had rolled around the premise that this blue clad figure was not to be trusted. His acid dipped words turned it into the only solid truth that Andrus could hold to. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting this outcome. I wasn’t expecting to sit in a dark cell for fifty days. What crimes warrant that?”

“You know what your trespassers against the divines have done. The Godseers have called for you by name for atonement. Now you will find what your ill conjured words lead to.”

Andrus wasn’t sure he could continue this conversation. He hoped they would make it to the Godseers before nightfall. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what the two guards had to say about him. Whoever he was.

Perhaps the Godseers would provide some clarity and stillness.

The chariot travelled in death inducing silence. He could see the form of the dead almighty, cloaked in dark black raven feathers. It wasn’t real, but it was a fitting over symbolisation. Andrus wondered why he thought it fit to place this premonition in his vision. It was obvious that death would meet him at the end of this trip. Whatever the magister’s idea consisted of. Whether it was a job to the disdained, or a surprise execution waiting around the corner. He saw the incandescent flames of their campsite to be. A large white tent was surrounded by a gaggle of others.

They slowed upon arrival at the camp site. Strangely it was well prepared and lit, servants were cooking luxurious food around a vibrant red and orange campfire, deep aromas erupting from cooking wares. A strange sigil hung from the large white tent, with red trim and a yellow dragon adorning it.

Andrus was lifted from the chariot by the guards, there were more with the servants, and a bespectacled man with solid blue robes.

Andrus was bound and left to lie against some logs at the edge of the camp, the retinue of the magister set up around the campfire. They enveloped themselves in chatter and talk. Spreading gossip and rumours about why they were here, and what this opportunity meant for the war effort.

Eventually the magister and his apprentice came over to Andrus. The magister had a freckled and wrinkled face, an aged glaze was cast upon his stoic features. Iron eyes and a steel nose caught Andrus’ gaze. The apprentice was young and fire haired, his robe was too long in most parts, naivety and ignorance beamed out from under him in bucketloads.

 Andrus spoke out to them,

“Tell me why I’m here.” His voice was cutting and strained. His body and mind exasperated. “Tell me the reasons you’ve bound me to this torture.”

Words fell out of the magisters sedated mouth; he was evidently deep in his drug induced serendipity. “Andrus, you and your dark god are charged with disrupting the essence of the island. Your crimes are that against the very nature of the cosmos itself. As long as you live you bring burden and damage to our way of life. You are a cesspit in the belly of civilisation, a swamp that needs to be burned and cut to make paths for the future.” The magister finished with poise and pose, his monologue astounding.

Andrus felt severely short shrifted, “You claim these actions were mine, and yet I have no evidence that what you say is true." His temper burned. "Nothing of what you claim sits well in my stomach. None of the crimes you throw at me out here stick with true regard to who I am.”

The magister laughed. “You have no recollection of anything?” He paused with vicious intent. “What a fortunate turn of events.” The Kyuisi induced glaze was massaged by his right hand. “Well, we wouldn’t want to spoil the fun for you.” Harsh staccato laughter continued trailing into the moonlight.

“We wouldn’t want to spoil any of ‘The Godseers’ planned fun.”

Andrus’ stomach churned at the suggestion. His skin shivering into a catastrophic state.

The magister’s apprentice joined in. “Nothing like a sacrifice to raise the skin.” He chuckled as the magister turned with furious exclamation.

“You fool! For the sight of the divine, shut your leaking mouth and distil the sleeping potion.”

Andrus wasn’t sure he’d heard him right, sacrifice? Take him to a stone altar and pull out his heart sacrifice? Shear his chest with a metallic glint under the gods sacrifice? He felt the sweat and panic start to rise. His chest swelled and beat with vicious thuds, repetitive rhythms as his life force sought escape.

There was a rustle in the bushes beside him. The magister and the apprentice were busy bickering over the latter’s loose lips. So a shape emerged from the bustling leaves. A dark burgundy squirrel with a gold tuft of fur on its chest. A soft tail rose above its back.

Andrus thought he heard a voice.

“I’m Ishilip, it’s nice to put a face to a voice.”

Sharp daggers crept out from its mouth. With blazing embers for eyes the furry fiend known as Ishilip looked towards the campers.

“Maybe I should introduce myself to the others?”

Its laugh was brittle and hollow, dashing between slices of teeth.

“Maybe I should.”