CHAPTER 1- A NEW KIND OF SILENCE
Everyone knew there was only New Peridios. For four-thousand, three-hundred and twenty-two years, everyone knew that. Settled upon a series of temperate islands, everyone knew the city was all there was. Until the night, of course, the night-sky flashed white, and over a hundred million souls gazed up to watch the strange phenomena, and to listen to the screeching thunder that followed. Originally thought to be just a vicious storm, scientists would soon start referring to this event as the dawn of a new age.
Suddenly, there was much more to the world than just New Peridios. A new era had, begun. The world had entered the Age of Discovery.
The year is 1DA, the date is Quatro the 15th.
After twelve days amidst the endless, empty sea, the new horizons of the world revealed themselves. Green outcrops that grew and expanded as The Narwhal drew closer. Wrapped in a rough cloak, Busco Quinn gripped the wooden rail tightly, wondering if something else might escape his nauseous diaphragm. The ocean swirled beneath the wood below him, not quite blue, not quite green, flashes of indigo and teal that exploded into white as they hit the bow. Busco watched the azure kaleidoscope below him and felt his feet sink beneath him, and the vomit rising and pushing out through his teeth and into the abyssal waves.
Busco was tall for his age of seventeen, especially for the humans, standing at six-foot-four, and particularly athletic amongst his Academy peers. Of course, what stood out for most was not his stature or build, but his skin. Busco was one of the rare few who held the old bloodlines between his veins. His ancestry was those of the Nocterran, a secretive and well hidden sect amidst the crowded streets of New Peridios. His skin was charcoal grey, his shoulder-length hair was an astonishing white, and his eyes were chips of the coldest ice.
The afternoon sun had begun to descend below the green horizons ahead, and Busco pulled at his cloak. The salted breeze cut through him every-time it stirred. The edges of the mountains grew larger, and soon silvery-grey patches of shingle and stone began to reveal themselves. The sight of land sent a rejuvenating breath through his body, and suddenly his legs didn't feel so loose beneath him. He heard a shout above him as the sentry called out for land, and after a few calls, there was the galloping of excited feet. The ship's workers and passengers alike scurried around Busco to get a good view, with the Dvergr-or Dwarves, if you were to use the guttural slang- staking a good seat at the front and standing on their toes, the pompous Eves at the back pretending to not be interested, and a myriad of other races all cheerfully gazing at the new world before them, but out of all of them, the largest and heaviest footfalls belonged to Khol.
“Busco!” He called out.
At sixe-foot-five, Khol Groken was the only other student at the Astral Academy to come close to Busco's stature. Of the Minotaurs, with fur like bark and mahogany horns at his temples that became golden at their tips, Khol clumsily tried to gently move past his fellow passengers, occasionally stopping to apologise for stepping on their feet with his large hooves. Busco turned round and forced a tired smile, feeling the weight of the last two weeks heavy upon his bottom eyelids.
“We're finally here?” Khol asked excitedly.
“Looks like it.” Busco replied, tightening the cloak over his chest.
Like Busco, Khol also wore the grey Apprentice-level robes of the Astral Academy, lined with black trim, but unlike Busco, Khol had a thick all-body jumper of fur to rely on when the chill set in.
“Wow, just look at it all.” Khol said with quiet awe. “H-h-how big do you think it is?”
Busco failed to reply, but set his eyes like stone upon the beachhead.
This is it. He thought. If he's here, somewhere on that landmass, I'll find him.
His teeth clenched, and he felt them subconsciously grinding against one another, and fought against his instinct to stop it. A hot feeling of shame appeared on the back of his head, and the feeling of being observed. Casting his head back, past the excited and tired crowd that had formed, he saw his and Khol's master.
Gybalt Ganders was stood at just under six foot, but his stance was proud and disciplined, a stark contrast to his wild iron-coloured hair and matted beard. Adorned in the black robes of the master rank at the academy, Master Ganders was human, and of less discriminating stock than Busco. His ancestors had amassed from the East of the old lands, his skin was pale and pallid, but his eyes were a curious and vibrant green. In between every other pair of eyes that were locked upon the new world ahead, Gybalt's were focused solely on Busco. Busco felt the emerald gaze drill into him, and recoiled, turning again to look at the rolling ocean, but not seeing anything. He had to wonder.
Does he know?
As his stomach began to tighten and loosen simultaneously again, an uproar from behind him began to eclipse the sound of the waves below.
“What are ya gawking at, ya lazy gits?”
Parting the crowd, the ship's captain made their appearance on the deck, pushing aside his crew and passengers alike.
“You wanna look at the shore? Look at it when we've landed, otherwise you'll be starin' at it from under the waves.” Their voice was gravel grinding against stone, as hard to hear as their face was to look at.
Captain Rihlat Majida was a human of the West, once, a long time ago. How old they were, what kind of life they lived, and even what gender they were before their first death, was impossible to discern from their appearance.
Their skin was a ragged and sodden grey, and only covered about half of their body. Stained bones poked through the dried pieces of flesh that still clung to them, and one eye was lidless and wide, but the amber inhabitants were as observant and searching as ever.
“C'mon lads, everyone back to work now. Come on, move it.” They shouted, at no-one in particular as they limped across the deck.
The crowd around Busco and Khol began to move in a flurry, even passengers not under the captain's employ began to disperse. Captain Rihlat slowly hobbled towards the bow, their long red coat coasting on the breeze behind them, their red hat with a long white plume threatening to blow off at any point. They jerked one leg forward, and dragged the other behind, with a silver sabre rattling against their thigh bone. Busco watched as they stood beside him, and placed a ring-laden hand on the rail, and dropped to silence for a second. Busco watched them curiously, wondering if they wished for a moment they could breathe in the ocean air, when they turned and fixed their watchful eyes on his.
“Whatta you lookin' at, dirt-skin?”
Busco heard Khol behind gasp automatically, and a few onlookers turned with gaping mouths. He himself felt his gaze harden, and his grip loosen at the sound of the slur. The captain noticed the reaction and sent a scanning look around.
“What? What did I say?” They asked to a silent crowd, who did their best to pretend they weren't listening and watching.
“Tsk.” They clicked at the side of their mouth. “Can't say anythin' to young people these days without someone getting' offended.”
They shot Busco a final, sardonic grin through crooked teeth and tightened skin, and limped back towards the cabins, occasionally throwing out another order or curse at the crew-mates who tried to avoid their gaze. Busco followed him with an intensity in his stare normally reserved only for perceived enemies, when he felt a calm hand on his shoulder, too gentle to be Khol's. Master Gybalt had silently and hastily moved up towards him without him even noticing.
“We're almost there.” He said in his low and heavy voice. “You and Khol should head back to your cabin and get ready.”
“Yes, master.” Khol replied with a sense of relief in his voice.
Busco remained silent, but nodded in confirmation. Master Gybalt had a way of sounding completely relaxed and unyieldingly stern in every sentence. Busco fought against the movements in his stomach. He couldn't wait to be free of this creaking and rolling death-trap, of his racist captain, and of Master Gybalt's all-consuming gaze.
Just wait for the right time, he had to tell himself more than once.
The afternoon sun had only just begun to dip behind the mountains by the time The Narwhal rolled into the shallows, setting the stage for the splendour of a sunset that only appears by the coast. The ship's crusted, Narwhal shaped figure-head was tainted with algae and weathering. The bow of the ship was caked in barnacles, making it a shabby addition to the coast. By the grey shingles, a rough make-shift pier had been set up by the new founders of Promise Coast, and a settlement had begun to form. There were several dozen figures on the beach-head, of various races and creeds, from all points of New Peridios, and all were in a hurry.
Several crude structures had been erected by the shore, which was waves of shingle and stony sand, leading towards an expanse of dense jungle. Busco breathed in the air of this new world, happy to feel an air of freshness not tainted by sea salt for the first time in a fortnight. There were a few ragged structures of wood built onto the opening before the jungle, several bunk-houses laden with hammocks, storage sheds, and a mess-hall of sorts, where a Crustacead diligently boiled rice for the hungry workers. The chef wiped condensation off of their brow with a large claw, while his second set of more human like hands continued to stir, only turning to occasionally watch the new arrivals. With his bag swung over his shoulder, Busco led Khol in departing The Narwhal. They were finally here.
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The gravel rushed up to meet his feet as he stepped off of the pier, like a hundred thousand old friends welcoming him home. A tight smile pulled at the sides of his mouth, and he pressed forward, eyes straining to find Master Gybalt amongst the swirling crowd. Slowly, the haunting sounds of waves that had perturbed his dreams for days were being eclipsed by the sounds of crunching stones beneath his boots. There was an unprecedented air to the beach-head. There was the promise of excitement and opportunity amongst this new-found world, and the otherworldly dread of what may yet lay ahead. He found himself staring towards the trees. The clearing was much larger than it had looked from the bow of the boat. There was almost a hundred people here, moving one way or another, of every size and any race. The promise of the first new land to be discovered in four thousand years had tempted the ideas of every opportunist from each of the twelve districts of New Peridios, and for some who only wished to not be found.
Having been stood only several feet from the pier, someone immediately knocked into the back of Busco, bringing him back into reality with a crash. He turned, expecting to see Khol's bumbling over the loose stones, but as he noticed with a taut mouth, it was not. During their time on The Narwhal, there had been many passengers alongside them, and many who wished to converse to idle away the time, or play cards to stake a fortune before they even arrived, and some who did not want to be seen. Busco recognised the figure, standing more than a foot below him, as one who would rarely leave his sleeping quarters, rarely speak, and did not even seem to eat. Dressed in an indigo cloak with the hood permanently up, and purple rags around the lower half of the mouth, it was impossible to see what was hidden beneath, or even what species of sapient they were, Their frame was thin, but their posture was purposeful and direct. A small bag hung to their side, and along their back, a long sword with a strange thickness to the blade was wrapped up in a make-shift sheathe.
“Hey, watch it, buddy.” Busco said, feeling the stress and exhaustion fuel his anger. Though he could not see the figure's face, he could feel the intensity of their stare.
“Can you see Master Gybalt anywhere?” Khol called out from behind him, oblivious to everything. The sound of his great hooves stepping on the stones almost eclipsed his voice entirely.
Busco looked round to him, and by the time he turned back towards the figure, they had begun to walk off, once again without a word, heading towards somewhere else on the beach-head. Busco heard a tsk escape him, and turned round to Khol.
“C'mon, he must be around here somewhere.”
Closer to the edge of the jungle, Busco and Khol had sighted their grey haired master talking with Captain Rihlat, to their dismay. Stoically stood behind them was the bodyguard Master Gybalt had hired for their expedition, a human of the Old Order, Sir Douglas Aeinon. His long silver-speckled hair was tied up behind him, and beneath his world-weary brow were two quick moving pools of blue. His cloak was white with purple stripes, as was gifted to all knights in the Old Order. He stood proudly, chest jutting forth bearing his own personal sigil; a Brown dog on white, fitted to his light steel and leather armour. He turned slowly and noticed the two students, watching them carefully. Not wishing to interrupt and subject themselves to more of the undead captain, the two sighed sadly when Master Gybalt motioned them over to join them.
“Captain Rihlat tells me The Beaten Path is directly east of here, as the explorers are calling it. From there we will have to find our own way, so we'll find somewhere to stow our bags, then we'll be off immediately.” Master Gybalt spoke plainly.
“You mean we're heading off, now?” Busco moaned, hoping to get accustomed to being back on solid ground first.
“Whattaya moanin' for? Ya've been lounging around for two weeks.” Captain Rihlat chimed in. With less of the sting of sea-salt, their breath was much more pungent here.
“Thank you, captain. We shall make our own way from here.” Gybalt said calmly, handing the Captain a golden dynasty from their pocket, which the Captain studied out of habit more than suspicion. They grunted as they put it in their pocket and turned towards their ship.
“If ya still alive in three weeks, that's when I'll be here to take ya back.” They stepped and limped with difficulty on the shingles.
“Course if ya are too scared, I can always take ya back now.” They said quietly, turning to Khol specifically, who drained the colour out of their face and pretended he didn't hear them.
Sir Douglas spoke to one of the foremen at the beach-head, a huge Gorillon, who pointed them towards an empty shack lined with hammocks, and handed him some coins. Some of the hammocks had been called already, with some possessions stood nearby. The party of four stashed their bags near the empty ones, took some grateful drags of water and a quick snack of salted ox, and prepared their satchels with what they would need for their mission.
At the base of the jungle, Busco sent a final sweeping glance towards the crowd, watching as many workers boarded The Narwhal to head back to New Peridios.
Is he here?
“Busco!”
He turned, and saw Master Gybalt watching him. Sir Douglas Aeinon and Khol stood patiently further up. Busco sucked in a deep breath, and climbed the stony shore towards them.
“Who are you looking for?” Gybalt asked plainly.
“No-one.” He felt a flush creep up his cheeks, as if the sanctity of his thoughts had been plundered.
“Well then.” Gybalt said, turning his back to the beach-head and climbing towards the jungles of the new world.
The Beaten Path had been carved out of the jungle, it became a clearing but soon narrowed so as to be wide enough only to walk through in single file. The sand beneath them grew smoother, as Master Gybalt led the way, with Khol behind him, then Busco, and the stoic Sir Douglas bringing up the rear.
The path was empty, and the sounds of crunching stones, hammers on wood and the eternal waves began to fade behind them. The fringes of the forest fought against their intrusion, with thick leaves brushing against their shoulders at every interval. The air began to thicken as they stepped further in. Their boots and hooves sank into the soft sands, and the sounds of rustling leaves enveloped the world.
“Huh.” Busco heard himself saying out loud. It's so quiet.
“It's weird, isn't it?” Khol said, glancing around to Busco quickly, his thoughts once again being read.
A life-time within one city, a constant shuffle of movement and the flurry of life, to a world where only insects and strange sounding birds seemed to populate. Even Master Gybalt seemed to feel it, slowing his pace and drinking in the foreign air.
“It's a whole new kind of silence, isn't it?” He said absently.
Busco sent a quick glance behind him, and saw Sir Douglas's watchful eyes widen at the bulk of vegetation around them, soaking in the same feeling they all felt.
“Look, we're almost at the clearing.” Master Gybalt called back without looking.
Ahead of them was a small clearing that The Beaten Path collided with, populated by a gathering of small rocks and sand. Someone here before had piled some rocks up deliberately as a marker, and next to it was a crude warning sign, with only a skull and crossbones drawn on it with black paint. Busco saw Khol shiver in front of him, and Master Gyablt reaching past his chest and into his black robes.
“Here we are.”
He pulled from near his chest a bronze locket that hung from his neck by a thick chain. In the centre of it was a small purple gem that glimmered in the bask of the setting sun.
“What's that, master?” Khol asked.
Master Gyablt didn't turn from his locket, but held it aloft, and closed his eyes. The gem began to pulse slightly with light.
“This is what will tell us where we need to go.” He opened his eyes again. “A present from my dear friend, Master Se, before she passed.”
Busco felt something sting his chest at the sound of her name. His heart dropped below his rib-cage, and the creeping darkness he had tried to escape threaten to engulf him once more. This time, however, Master Gybalt didn't seem to notice, or at least, did not seem inclined to react.
“Sir Douglas, are we ready?” He called to the back of the line.
“As we'll ever be.” Came the gruff reply.
“Good.”
Master Gybalt set forth, watching the pulsing gem in his hand, turning slightly to observe where the pulse was brightest, and followed it towards a deep mass of plants, and pushed against them, and into the undergrowth.
They trudged through the dark jungle, as the light began to escape the Aerth, The canopy above was thick, and the roots were tangled below them. Each of them tripped at one point, feeling the earth below harden. The heat was hypnotising, a luring song born from a serpents mouth. Flies and mosquitoes flew with direct purpose at them, fluttering amongst their eyes and skin.
This is stupid. What the Hel are we doing here in the dark?
The sun had not quite set, but the darkness grew thicker and harder. The only consistent source of light was from the Master's gem. Around them the jungle rustled and spoke, and cicadas buzzed incessantly from somewhere in its depths. Busco knew he had no other choice than to trust the judgement of his new Master, but this seemed to be a fool's errand. For one, he and Khol did not even know what the objective of this mission was.
After almost an hour of stumbling and trudging, the jungle began to thin out, and the walk was less arduous. They emerged onto a slope, reeling from the strain and humidity, The sun was still fighting against the night, sending a final flush of red against the darkening sky, but indigo had begun to shape the land around them. Master Gybalt proposed a quick-break. Khol, Busco and Sir Douglas sat on a rock each and gratefully drank from their water-skins. They were sitting on the base of a single, snow-capped mountain, and through the trees, could see the lights of the beach-head camp beginning to pop up, orange fireflies by the endless ocean.
An endless ocean that leads back to home.
Busco thought, thinking of his family back in New Peridios, and the halls of the Astral Academy. Master Gybalt did not join them for a rest, instead still standing with the locket in his hand, which now grew brighter.
“Ahh, much better.” He said aloud, but mostly to himself. “It's so hard to see this during the day. Night-time is the best time to find what we're looking for.”
The gem began to pulse brightly , due north.
“We're getting closer.”
Busco took out a hard piece of bread and gnawed at it, watching the Master.
“Master?” He called out. Gybalt turned to look at him. “What is it we're here for?”
Master Gybalt remained silent for a moment, and finally released his grip on the locket.
“I'll show you.”
Taking him up the incline slightly, as Khol and Sir Douglas continued to rest, there was a gap between the trees, and Gybalt stood upon a boulder, looking exactly where the gem had pointed him towards. After craning his head, he gestured to Busco, who joined him, and he too stood tall to see over the leaves.
“Right there.” Gybalt said, pointing at something exactly. “Do you see it?”
Busco squinted his eyes against the deep blue backdrop. Somewhere ahead, against the slope of the mountain they were standing at the base of, there was a series of black shapes sticking up towards the sky.
“No?” Busco said, confused. “Maybe? What is it?”
“Look closely.” Master Gybalt said calmly.
The shape was familiar. Perhaps like a building of sorts.
“Is that a...?” Busco started.
“It's a castle.” Gybalt said, and the realisation began to build. There were two turrets jutting out from amongst the trees.
“A castle?” Busco said without believing. Gybalt grunted in affirmation.
“That's right. That's what we're here to find. We've got a rough idea of where it is now, so we'll head back to camp, rest up, and start anew tomorrow.” Gybalt made a motion to step down from the boulder, but Busco still stared ahead with his mouth gaping open.
“You mean there's ruins on this island?” He asked absently, and Gybalt gave half a chuckle.
“It's not an island, Busco, but yes, there's ruins here. Quit a lot, I should imagine. Probably more than we could ever comprehend.” He cast a look back at the deepening sky.
“So-what?” Busco asked, still confused. “We're here to find treasure? Artefacts? That kind of thing?”
At this Gybalt committed to a full chuckle.
“No, no.” He said cheerfully. “No, we're here testing a theory of mine.”
He stepped down from the boulder, awaiting Busco to join him, who did after several seconds of contemplation.
“A theory, Master?” He asked innocently.
“Yes.” Gybalt turned to meet the others, but hesitated, and turned back to him. “Busco, you're a smart lad. How long does it take to build a castle?”
Busco gave him a stunned look, his sapphire eyes shining through the blackness.
“It's alright, it's not a trick question.”
“Uh, fifty years? A hundred? I don't know?”
“Something like that. You want to know why we're studying that particular castle?”
Busco nodded, not caring if it was seen or not.
“Because it wasn't there three months ago.” Master Gyablt turned to leave through the undergrowth, the fading gem was stuffed back under his robes.
“And we're here to find out why.”