Authors: Usman Ijaz
Adrian listened to her speak, and in his mind he
could envision the loss of freedom that the Ascillian people had undergone.
Listening to her speak, he gained a better understanding of his ancestors of
both lines than he had before. But he still had questions he needed answered.
“And how does the Source relate to us?”
Lysa smiled as she looked at him. “In our old
tales the Source and the land are two halves of one whole, forever linked to
one another. One represents the heavens, while the other symbolizes the earth
we tread. The land we lost to those from across the sea, but then we know that
it was never ours to own to begin with. But we dare not lose the Source to the
waiting dark. Since time out of mind we have been entrusted with the care of
it. It has been in our care for thousands of years ... but now there is no one
to care for it, and it weakens.” Her voice dropped as she spoke. “It is hard to
believe that something so beautiful could be found in the Ruins, a most horrid
of places. But you must understand that the Source belongs where it is. It is
an odd balance, a small pinprick of light within a swarming mass of darkness.
It is the only thing that slows the rot.” She regarded him with suppressed
hope, and breathed, “But perhaps you can change that.”
“How?” Adrian demanded.
For the first time he saw her falter a little,
become hesitant. “I ... I do not know. The Source has changed over time. It is
no longer what it once was. You will find out for yourself, I trust. All you
must worry about is reaching the Source and preserving it.”
“And if it fails?”
Lysa shuddered. “It will be an unpleasant fate
that awaits this world of ours.”
2
The city appeared before them as they topped a
rise. It stood as Adrian had last seen it, but for the fact that it looked much
more livelier. But as he looked at it he couldn’t shake the feeling that it
also looked quite forlorn without the long-stretching fields of memory-blossoms
surrounding it. Even from the distant they were at, he could see the gates
standing whole and wide open. Beyond the walls the towers stood tall and
complete. The hand holding his squeezed gently.
“This is your home, Adrian. Wherever you may go,
never forget that.”
They walked to the city in silence. Wagons and
people atop horses rode past them coming and going from the city. Adrian
watched them all in fascination as he realized that not all of them had the
tell-tale gray eyes of the Ascillians.
As they came to the gates, Adrian felt hesitant
to enter beneath the walls, fearing what had happened the last time. But his
mother gently pulled him along and he followed her. They came out the other
side and into a bustling city. The warble of hawkers and of a great city that
had come to them subdued outside suddenly seemed to magnify. Adrian looked
around with wide eyes. People filled the streets, hurrying about their chores
or strolling languidly. The bright cone-topped towers looked down on
everything. Square buildings, unlike any he had seen before, lined the streets,
their color ranging from an earthy brown to sky-blue and sun-gold. Booths and
canvas tops were attached to most of these buildings and from beneath their
shade hawkers cried to the passersby. Those on horseback evidently had a hard
time getting about in the milling throng. Adrian’s eyes followed the people as
well, as strange in the fact that they shared his eyes as the cut and color of
their clothing. Many were dressed in colorful tunics that came down to their
waists, with baggy trousers of either white or light brown. He noted how many
simply wore sandals rather than boots.
“It is marvelous, is it not?” Lysa asked him.
“Yes,” Adrian said, and nodded. He found it hard
to believe how alive the city seemed compared to what he’d glimpsed earlier.
The thought nearly saddened him, but the sight of the vivacious city before him
dispelled any such feelings. Lysa began to lead him down one of the streets.
“When the people from across the sea decided
that the land was theirs to conquer, they give us a small bit to call our own,
to try and appease us. Where we once had the entire land to stroll, now we had
only a small plot of it. We decided then that it was easier to make of it what
we needed, rather than to rectify the greed of the outlanders. War has never
been our way: in the long stretch, both sides lose and grieve. So we accepted
what they gave us, and accepted that the world was changing.” She frowned as
she added, “Most of us, at least. In the beginning there were bands of Ascillians
rebelling against the growing change, but it soon became clear to us all that
we would have to accept that change. In the end it was our own left hand that
doomed us. I trust that you know of the left hand which brings darkness and the
right hand which holds the memories of peace?”
“I’ve heard the priesthood proclaim it,” Adrian
said. “But what do you mean we doomed ourselves?”
His mother gave a tired sigh. “A small few took
upon themselves to slay Emperor Nero to justify what they had endured. They
killed his wife and children, but failed to assassinate him. The mistake of
those few shaped the fates of the rest of us. Nero’s wrath pursued our people
for decades, and by the end we were but a scattered folk in a land that was not
our own anymore.”
Adrian watched the people around them, to see if
they overheard their talk and what they made of it, but it seemed to him that
no one took notice of them. “How long ago was all this?”
“Longer than you would believe.”
A new thought struck Adrian. “Were the
Ascillians immortal?”
Lysa laughed. “No. We are not immortal. That is
simply one of the myths that surround our kind.”
The buildings that lined the street were now
painted an earthy brown, a color that seemed both at once warm and welcoming.
Children ran among the alleys, laughing and taunting one another as they dodged
the adults that passed in their way. To one side of the street a seamstress
sewed patches into a pair of woolen breeches while conversing with another
woman. Further down the street a blacksmith worked in open view of the street,
beating red-hot metal into the shape he sought.
Adrian watched them all and felt as though this
was how the world should be. Not filled with war and grief, but with an easy
peace. He recognized it as the ingenuous thinking of a twelve year old, but he
couldn’t shake the feeling. His mother led him to stairs built into the side of
one of the outer walls, and they began the climb to the parapets. As they
climbed Adrian looked down on the city and the folk that strolled through the
streets. He felt an abrupt sadness in knowing that in his time all that he saw
was destroyed, not only the city but the peace that it seemed to harbor.
There
is still peace in that time
, he thought,
but it is hidden and scattered
.
He was suddenly certain that he didn’t want to see the little peace that
remained in that time flee as well.
“What should I do?” he asked as they neared the
parapets.
Lysa regarded him oddly. “Do? You will do what
is in your heart. For good or ill, you will do what is in your heart.”
“But ... can’t you guide me?” Adrian asked
desperately.
His mother’s grave, sympathetic gaze met his. “I
have done all that is in my power already, Adrian. In -- in truth, this may be
the last we see of one another.”
Adrian felt an immediate pang of regret and
sorrow at her words. “Why?”
“Some of our kind have the ability to pass down
parts of our memories and ourselves from generation to generation, so nothing
may be lost. It is why we are here now, talking with one another. It is why you
witnessed what you did, for I forged a link between us to pass down my last
memories before I died.”
“Why would you do that?” Adrian asked, unable to
keep the horror out of his voice.
“Because I knew that sooner or later the
bloodshed must end, and I hoped you would survive it. I wanted you to know of
what truly happened, despite what the histories claim. But more importantly …
you were a safeguard, a measure to insure there would be someone left of our
line to reach the Source.” Lysa looked to the surrounding countryside and let
out a sigh. “I have already stretched the time that was given to me,” she said
calmly. “I cannot do more for you, I am afraid. But I can in the least promise
you that the nightmares will cease.”
Adrian felt an odd mixture of relief and despair
at her words. If he had to suffer the nightmares to be with her once more, he
felt certain he would agree to it at once.
They strolled along the parapets in silence
before stopping to admire the vantage point. Adrian looked over the wall at the
countryside that surrounded Asgar. Somewhere to the north a river shone like a
silver band in the sun. Running from the river to the city wall was what looked
to him like a slender stone walkway.
Lysa noticed his interest in it. “It is a water
conduit. It carries water from the river to the city.”
Adrian looked from her to the stone conduit, and
wondered what magic operated such a thing.
Magic!
He abruptly turned
away from the wall, all other thoughts banished from his mind. “I need to ask
you about my--”
The loud toll of bells from one of the towers
interrupted him suddenly. Adrian stared toward the sound and then looked back
to his mother, already aware that everything was changing. “Do I have any talents?”
he demanded abruptly. “I need to know! I can sometimes feel--” The bells tolled
once more. “I -- I can feel something at times, but I don’t know how to use
it.” The urgency in his voice made him stammer. He looked back towards the
sound of the bells, and saw everything begin to grow transparent. A lurking
darkness awaited behind that transparency. Adrian looked to his mother
frantically.
Lysa’s face was full of dismay. “I cannot teach
you here, Adrian. We are running out of time. All I can tell you is to let the
Source come to you. It will come to you in time. Do not worry. When it comes,
accept it.”
Adrian felt as though he needed a more
definitive answer than that, but he let it go as he saw her begin to fade
before his eyes. Desperately he reached for her. Her arm was light as air in his
grasp. “Please, mother, don’t go! I need you! I can’t be all alone! I can’t do
this by myself!” By the end his sobs made it hard for him to hear his own
choked words.
“I know you will do what is right, Adrian.” She
smiled. “My son.”
Her final words hung in the air even as she
faded away. Adrian’s hand closed in on thin air. He collapsed to his knees, and
gave a loud anguished cry, as though it could keep the darkness at bay.
He felt a dazzling light beyond his closed lids
and opened his eyes to confront the glowing sun that now hung in pitch
blackness. The white light should have blinded him at once, but instead it
spread ephemeral warmth through him. Then it burst, and there was only the
dark.
Feeling cold anger at the injustice of it all,
Adrian closed his eyes and plunged himself into the darkness.
3
Connor became aware of the slight stirring in
Adrian’s body lying beside him before Alexis or Leah. It warned him to his
cousin’s waking. Adrian sat up with a hand to his head as if it pained him, and
looked around as though trying to recall where he was. The glow of the fire
drew attention to his wandering eyes. Somewhere in the dark a nightbird cried
once before falling silent.
“We’re far from the city,” Connor told him in a
painful whisper.
Alexis and Leah became aware that Adrian was
awake and left the fire to gather around him.
“Are you feeling well?” Alexis asked.
Adrian nodded. For himself, Connor didn’t much
like the distant look in his cousin’s eyes.
“We did not know what had happened to you,” Leah
said, looking genuinely concerned. “We decided it must have something to do
with the city, so we left quickly.”
“H-How long have I ...” Adrian began, and then
seemed to lose track of his words.
“For much of the day,” Alexis answered. “We’re
now heading back along the old road. Adrian, what happened to you?”
For a long time Connor didn’t think his cousin
would speak. He himself was glad to be away from the city, filled with death
even in daylight as it had seemed to him, but Adrian stared back along the road
with a longing that was startling.
In small bursts Adrian explained to them all
what he had experienced.
1
Connor had heard of the eccentricities of
Arcadia, but had never given credence to much of it until they actually crossed
into the country from the south. The contrasts from what he had seen in Sune
and what he knew from Grandal were subtle at first, but it seemed to him that
every mile that they rode inward displayed some new difference to them. Leah
and the Legionnaire didn’t seem much affected by the changes but Connor saw the
same wondering curiosity in his cousin’s eyes that he supposed was reflected in
his own. The travelers they passed on the road were dressed oddly. They wore
tight vests, often of bright colors, atop rich shirts with sleeves that were
puffy above the elbows and belled around the wrists. Their breeches were made
in much the same fashion, flaring out above their boot tops. The women were
dressed in much the same manner, but there seemed a strictness to their dress.
The collars of their blouses and dresses traveled up to beneath their chins,
and the slender sleeves covered as much of their arms possible. Their skirts
didn’t even show their ankles, of those who didn’t wear boots like the men. As
they traveled inland into the more urban areas, the fashion became ever more
peculiar. Large, round-brimmed hats often sat atop the heads of both women and
men, and more often than not there was a single feather poking out from the
brim. To Connor they looked like gallivanting peacocks.