SERIALIZATION: Episode 3 of "The Doom of Innocence"

WELL-NIGH AN HOUR later, Urathane sat in his study, slumped over Jerushin’s enigmatic letter at his desk. He had spent some time poring over its contents, and he was still utterly confounded as to what the correspondence pertained to. No matter how hard he tried, Urathane felt that he was no closer to the seeming verity contained therein, than where he had been when he first began. Clearly, Jerushin was endeavoring to impart some consequential information, something that he wanted only Urathane to have knowledge of, something so indispensably crucial that he had been compelled to create a cryptic paradox that called for Urathane to somehow elucidate. Undoubtedly, Jerushin believed Urathane would have the sagacity to construe the indicators straightaway, thus enabling himself to ascertain the real message; but even so, Urathane remained at a complete loss as to what Jerushin sought to convey. So he read the first line again. To Those Whom it Might Concern. Plainly, that was an impartial reference to himself. There was naught to be discerned here. He perused the next section. Friend, it might be of interest to you to thus discern that there are certain persons in certain places that are performing certain deeds at a certain time with a certain approach for certain people of a certain travesty. “Why seven uses of the word ‘certain’?” Urathane thought. This was where he had first gotten stuck. No matter how hard he tried, he could still not determine the meaning of ‘seven’ and what it pertained to. Could it perhaps be a reference to the seven prophecies of Lemuel, the olden sage? He did not know; nor could he discern how it stood in relation to the sections proceeding. It is Certain, that after reading this you will have bound together your assessments for the resulting judgement. It is elemental, that you keep safe your precious wherewithal, using all Instruments necessary to retain that which was bequeathed to your friends and enemies from falling into the hands of a Thief and a Deceiver. It was clear that Jerushin was exhorting him to safeguard something that, at all costs, must be preserved from falling into the wrong hands. He was, however, altogether perplexed in settling on whether it was some relic or information. Yet, although he was undecided as to how ‘Thief’ stood in relation to ‘Deceiver’––whether they were one person or two––he knew beyond any doubt that ‘Deceiver’ was a clear and obvious reference to Surentûr; it was a frequent watchword that they used whenever referring to him. Beyond this, however, Urathane could glean nothing further. He turned to the final paragraph. In doing so, you may yet preserve many fates told and the old tales and lays of past times may be sung yet again in portents of a Lustrous Shadow. Show not your ignorance by disregarding the slight blade when beginning the allotment of bread. Betake yourself to preserve that which may be lost forever, if let rest in soiled hands. Scour the Monuments of Memory and make to sing the Song Reborn of Ages Past. Urathane slumped back in his chair. For some reason that he could not determine, he was utterly stumped, unable to understand Jerushin’s intent in the slightest. Likely there were others besides himself who, when merely sparing a glance at it, would be able to pick up the meaning forthwith; Urathane, however, was not blessed with such an aptitude for cognizance. In desperate need for a change of scenery, he stood, letter still in hand, and departed from the room. Passing through the hallway to the sitting room just beyond, he entered therein and seated himself comfortably into the folds of his large, high-backed armchair which was positioned appropriately beside the fireside. Placing his feet atop the footrest, he settled back and once again, began to re-read the letter. At that moment, Indra bustled in, her slight frame passing through energetically and her hands holding a tray whereon were set nourishments and provender concocted for the day’s end. “Here now, just you fix yourself there, Master Urathane; enough worrying about the winds of the world for today: there’s naught you can do to stay them at the present.” She set the tray down on the small stand neighboring Urathane’s chair, while simultaneously sweeping off two books to make room for it. Expressing his utmost gratitude, Urathane momentarily set down the paper to take a small draught of the tea she had so conscientiously prepared and to sample some of the food alongside it, so as to satisfy her probing eyes. “Simply delectable, my dear woman,” he said. “Now where is your good husband? It has been some time since I last saw him walking about. I hope he is not ill?” “Nay, lad,” she said in her usual, genial fashion. “The man is out in your garden, studiously exerting himself in an undertaking to maintain some herb or another. Can’t he see it’s evening already? Supper is nigh on ready yet.” She clucked her tongue. “Honestly, that silly man! In all frank sincerity, I don’t know where he would be today, if not for me. Ah, well, what does it matter? I must call him in.” Then, in a brisk flurry, she had gone from the room, leaving Urathane alone. He smiled and simultaneously set down his mug of tea; other matters preoccupied his mind, and though his body hankered for food, he had a task before him that was unfinished: one that he knew should not remain so in such a state. He reread the letter again. The sun had nearly set beyond the uttermost extremities of the sea and eventide was nigh upon him, when Urathane departed from his house. Before betaking himself of the path that had heretofore been determined for him, he made his way to the waterside and took a moment to observe the sun, set in the west. A soft ocean breeze was blowing in; it ruffled his hair and calmed his unquiet spirit to a point. As the sun disappeared below the distant horizon, Urathane was struck by the beauty contained wherein the panorama before him. Slowly, the sun sank further and further, hovering above the water’s periphery, thus engendering a fiery blaze that lit the oceans with a ghastly, red hue, yet still glistered iridescently whenever he shifted his position. “A great storm is coming upon Ared’dor,” he said aloud to himself. For some reason that he did not know, the words came unbidden to his mouth, and it was if a sudden foresight had come upon him in that moment of verity. The sun sank at last, and then the gloaming of twilight was upon the whole land. Urathane sighed and left the tranquility of the opulent sea to take the path ordained unto him. As he trod down the trail that led to his journey’s end, doubt suddenly clutched at his mind, and he almost contemplated turning back; but then thought better of it and continued onward. Momentary caution ran through his mind like dark arrows of foreboding crashing against his soul with the breaking of the wave; some commanding in their plow, some deadened. For a moment, Urathane felt as though he were being followed, and indeed, it seemed to him that he heard the pattering of footsteps on the winding path behind him. Slowly, his hand came to rest upon the hilt of his sword, and he gripped it tightly, while glancing back over his shoulder. Not seeing aught, he relaxed, if only slightly. The Duar-Aranoth was placed in the very midst of the small settlement that existed only several miles downhill from Elgarost. It was called so for the great fountain that rose in the middle, sprouting forth great bursts of white water which then fell upon the undercurrent sustaining it, with a great splash that foamed thickly; it stood over three persons tall and four just as wide. Tarrying near the edge of the center, so as not to appear fully in the moonlight, Urathane peered into shadows which encircled about him, as he sought for a familiar face. At first, he could descry naught. Then, just for a second, he thought he observed a small movement in the shadows of an outcropping tree nearby. Peering into the shadows which seemed to cloak all, save for the very center of the small square, he was able to discern that someone was standing there. Stepping out of the darkness, he strode forward resolutely. Better to show courage than to show naught at all. From his new vantage point, it was become easier now for Urathane to see what lay within the enshrouding darkness. The figure in the shadows seemed to shift his weight. “Palisor?” whispered Urathane. The shadowed figure stepped forward into the moonlight. “I am here,” said Palisor. “Have you come alone as I asked of you?” “Aye.” “That is well.” Palisor’s face gave way to the same leering smile he had borne earlier in the day. “Then let us take a walk, you and I, Master Urathane; a pilgrimage you might call it, succinct though it might be in its replete veracity.” Urathane did not stir from where he stood. “To whither do we wend our way?” “To whither I say!” snapped Palisor, instantly breaking any reverie which might have once lain upon the commune. “Let us not tarry on the road set before us and depart from this place henceforth.” He made a move to absent himself down a nearby trail. Once again, Urathane refused to betake himself of the path Palisor had indicated. “I would know to where I was being led hither, ere betaking the road unto it. It is certain folly to walk blindly ahead and to place your trust in anyone and everyone who would durst to lead you down an uncertain path.” “Yonder and near the high knoll not far from us,” said Palisor in an even tone that still seemed fraught with impatience. Urathane sighed. “My heart is at a great unquiet, due to the sudden waywardness of you and your irascible words, and I cannot fully portend as to what your true intentions be as of yet. Be that as it may, I shall yield regardless and be led whither, you say; for I would not bereave myself of a chance to learn something of consequence yet unknown to my ears.” “Then let us be off,” said Palisor. And they departed. The path Palisor had evinced, was one Urathane had yet taken some times before; and for some time it appeared to be well-trodden. However, many other trails spawned from this one and snaked off in different directions. It was one of these which Palisor betook them of and the many marks and impressions of which the first path had been so privy to, began to fade away, or rather, be dispersed in their number. Darkness had fully descended upon Pergelion when Urathane perceived the hesitant flicker of light playing off the surrounding foliage about them and a faint chanting which echoed from some ways away. The intonations rose and fell in their tenor, and though Urathane was unable to make sense of the words at that time, he perceived that they were harsh and menacing: full of anger and hate. He had not walked more than a little ways further when the overhanging trees cleared away abruptly to reveal a great hall that seemed to be somehow built or ingrained into the stony hills that twisted and turned ever northward and away from Elgarost. In the murky windows inset within the enclosures, Urathane beheld the light of many flickering candles wherein were illuminated the silhouettes of many persons within. The settlement in which they resided was in fact, more undergrowth and foliage than aught else; the buildings that existed there, were merely a small cluster of brown scattered about in a sea of green. However, if one happened to withdraw from the central core of this community and venture far enough away, then there was a good chance that one might happen upon one of the abandoned halls and forsaken shacks that were strewn throughout the countryside. It was to one of these that Urathane found himself being led hither. Passing through shadow to the edifice, Palisor turned the door-handle, and thus they entered within. The hall was large enough to accommodate many people, and accordingly so, Urathane found himself to the backs of at least a hundred. They moved in a fluctuating fashion with the swaying and murmuring of those within, while the insides of the darkling chamber danced and glimmered with the red light of many burning candles. At their ingress therein, some few turned and spared a quick glance or two. However, many did not for some reason, instead, staying where they already stood. All in all, it was a rather eerie and most disturbing side to behold and almost at once, Urathane began to find himself again wishing that he had not taken up Palisor’s offer. Not content to be positioned by the door, Palisor strode soundlessly to the wall at their right, motioning for Urathane to follow him. He halted at an open place in the wall, and they stood shoulder to shoulder on the outer fringe of people that lingered at the very edge of the assembly, their backs to the engirdling walls. “What is this? What are we doing here?” asked Urathane in a furtive whisper to Palisor. He did not make any attempt to veil the dubious and chary expression which resided upon his face. “You shall be enlightened ere long,” breathed Palisor. “You have asked for answers, Master Urathane: this is my rejoinder. Be forbearing for a time and do not let your onerous irascibility show itself at a time such as this. Listen to the singing and be illuminated!” Urathane regarded Palisor darkly for a moment, then turned his eyes and ears to those before them. All had their eyes closed, and they swayed back and forth as one, chanting in an ancient language that had long lain in disuse. Though it had been many long years since Urathane had last felt it fall to his ears, he bethought himself again of it, and as the intonations washed over him, he knew the words for their true meaning. Here is it rendered as much as can rightly be remembered: On dark shadows rising to mar, we hear a sigh as if from afar. A murmur in the windless bay, a shudder in stone born of sunless day. The vale is swept; shadows gnaw and devour, the blade gleams in crimson light dour. A forest of masses gathering near; hearts beating with a wrenching fear. Thunder roars and lightning crackles, an austere voice laughs aloud and cackles. The Dread Lord rises from darkness enthroned; and makes to wield the dark blade honed. Urathane grimaced inwardly at the resonance of those sickening utterances. Averting his eyes, he looked to those around himself, his gaze finally falling upon those persons who stood at his side. Several of them did not appear altogether at ease; some shifted apprehensively, while others eyed the oscillating assembly with either disinterest or intrigue. However, there was one person who caught Urathane’s eye. He stood near the back of the hall, leaning against the innermost corner; one hand rested upon the pommel of his sword, while the other vaguely fingered the hairs of his ragged beard. Though he had a hardy look about him, he still appeared young. Broad-shouldered, yet tall, his bare head was overlaid with thick, golden hair that was shorn just past his shoulders; his beard was of the same hue also. His eyes were dark, and a small curl of his lip displayed the evident distaste for which he held the ceremony. Before Palisor could have time to react, Urathane left his place by the wall and silently crossed the other man and himself. Behind him, he heard Palisor grunt in slight irritation; yet he made no move to follow him. Without so much as a word, Urathane slid into an opening at the man’s right. For a moment, the other regarded him almost contemplatively; but eventually averted his gaze when Urathane did not exchange eye contact with him. After a time, Urathane said in a small undertone, “I see that I am not the only one ill at ease in sight of such an odious spectacle to which we are held privy.” For a moment, the man persisted in his silence. Then he said in a low voice, “It is indeed true that I hold this mindless susurration to be of an unsettling nature; but this I would ask: who are you and what is your interest in me? I am a hard man who has lived a hard life; and I would not hesitate to draw forth my blade or loose an arrow if any thing or person were to show the slightest of threats towards me or mine compeers.” “I understand well the wariness that you harbour towards those strange to you,” said Urathane, still not turning his eyes away from that which lay before him. “And I wish there were more of like mind to you and myself: chary and not one to be led so easily astray on feigned words.” “You speak then of the madness which has originated itself within the hearts of the Ared’doreans: that which has been fostered and nurtured by the Lord Surentûr?” “I do.” A hard edge had grown in the man’s voice. “You speak then of the lunacy which is ensuing before our eyes this very night?” “The one and the same.” “Then it is indeed true that we have an accord.” “Their ‘enlightenment’ is the subterfuge by which the full encompassing nature of their ken shall be depreciated. So do all things once held glorious fall into the rot of decay.” “Dark, are accounted the works of Agandaûr,” the man said. “But methinks darker still to come are the deeds of Ared’dor and its peoples, and wherefore, I deem that they have drifted too far astray for there to be a hope of renewal.” “I too, account all of these happenings to wholly spawned of the dark,” Urathane concurred. “They must be ended ere their roots are grown too strong for us to hew off.” “However many times you would cut off the branches, so then shall they grow swiftly anew,” whispered another voice at his side. In his pronouncements, Urathane had failed to mark the sudden arrival of Palisor, who had surreptitiously made his way back to Urathane’s side. “Palisor,” said Urathane in a decidedly equable voice. “You promised me answers, not the mere descrying of a multitude of muttering and babbling fools. What are the intents and ambitions of these mad rites to which we are witness? Answer me quickly, for my patience is at an end.” “The Dark Tree,” Palisor murmured softly as if he had not heard Urathane. “The Ascension of the Unnamed; the darkness descending upon men.” He turned and gazed suddenly at Urathane; a glazed look was borne in the gloaming of his eyes. “The Incantations of the Dead are the wherewith we avail ourselves of to bring forth our liberator.” Urathane narrowed his eyes at Palisor. “The Unnamed? What is––” He abstained from further words, as the enigmatic chanting came to a sudden, halting end. “It is ended,” said Palisor, the glazed look fading from his eyes. “And we are come nigh unto the very zenith of our rites.” At the far end of the hall, a man robed in drab black raised twain hands in the air to signify the end of the intonations. The room had gone dead silent. “Nataryã,” said the robed man. “This gathering of the enlightened has now come to full order. I, Verath, chief orator and ordainer of this assembly proclaim that the time has come.” Verath drew his hands together and then spread them outwards, bringing them at last, to rest upon the table in a clenched fashion. “Draw near all you who have heard the Call, for we have come now to the time when we suffer any would-be-initiate to join themselves to this assembly.” A small surge of about twenty people pressed forward and formed themselves into a line. To each one, the chief orator said, “Wilt thou take an oath to forever conform thine mind and life to the well-being and furtherance of this assemblage, and wilt thou pledge thy forevermore loyalty unto the Lord Surentûr and the Unnamed?” And each said yea, and they were thus made to recite the words of avowal in the harsh, grating tongue which those persons already joined together had been chanting in. Then, the chief orator took forth a ceremonial knife which he used to make two long lacerations upon their left palm; while at the same time holding beneath it a silver chalice in which to accrue the blood loss. Then it was ended, and the new acolytes took their place in the assembly. “Are there any more who wish to be joined to Us?” asked the chief orator. With birdlike eyes, he scanned the room, probing each and every corner. When none came to step forward, he said, “Then, let us come and––” “Wait just a moment now!” said Palisor at a sudden, seizing Urathane’s arm and thrusting him forward aggressively. Verath’s eyes darkened at the disruption. “Palisor, son of Saëgor, do you have an explanation for this unseemly behavior?” “I do,” said Palisor, undaunted. “This very night, I bring before you one Urathane, scion of Neldoreth, last sovereign of Asgalarion and a direct descendant of Eldamír himself.” A collective gasp ran through the crowd and Urathane, who had wrenched his arm away from Palisor, stared at him, eyebrows arched in surprise. How has he discerned this? he wondered to himself. In all of his years, Urathane had never spoken of his ancestry to anyone, save his own son, Irolas. How then had Palisor found him out? “Is this true?” asked the chief orator, eyes widening. “If it is not so, then I proclaim my own life to be forfeit,” said Palisor in return, his voice ringing with assurance. “How?” Urathane asked Palisor in a low voice. “How did you know of this?” Palisor gave Urathane a disparaging smile. “Do you think I am blind, Master Urathane? You may hide your traditions and your lifestyle in favour of parading yourself as someone else; however, you can never fully shroud the inherent nature of your upbringing. There are other ways from which I was able to discern this verity, but now is not the time or place for them.” Palisor turned back to the chief orator. “Yea! This man is a direct descendant of Eldamír himself. As such, you then know what this portends for all our efforts and now at last, we can see if they have all been for naught thus far. Let us make the trial: either by that of a willing acolyte or by way of the other, more unfortunate route.” “Willingly and agreeably would we accept this, if we had but one certitude: where is your proof?” Without hesitation, Palisor reached within his trouser-pocket and brought forth a small, gold ring. The ring had a bezel, upon which was an engraved design––like a stamp. “I have here, his very own signet ring. No further evidence of corroboration should be required.” “Let me see this thing with my own eyes,” said the chief orator. Confident and self-assured, Palisor passed the ring to one who stood nearby, who then subsequently presented it to the chief orator. “Not only have you intruded into my own personal affairs and concerns; but you have also managed to bereave me of one of the few possessions that I was able to preserve from the fall of my house,” Urathane said angrily. “I am wroth at you and your deceptions. Never again, shall I be taken so easily! And I say this to you Palisor, son of Saëgor: a bane and plague be upon you and your house forever!” For a moment, Palisor looked stricken; but then the same lofty leer which seemed to have become an ever-pervading feature of his face, returned and he regarded Urathane with a haughty expression. “This does indeed prove beyond any reasonable doubt the true nature of our guest,” said the chief orator, who had been turning over and scrutinizing the signet ring. He laid it gently upon the small table before him and looked up, fingers crossed at his belt. “Have him brought hither to me.” Urathane immediately began to step backwards; but halted mid-stride, when he saw that the mass of people had begun to form a circle about him and Palisor. He had no other choice but to go forward. Peering quickly over the heads of those that encompassed him at all sides, he managed to catch a glimpse of the man who had appeared to share his sympathies, yet he could glean nothing from it; for the man’s face was become inscrutable and abstruse. The sea of people swarmed towards him, pushing him to the forefront of the room––and the robed man who stood in somber bearing behind the table. Then, as he had done to the others before him, Verath asked Urathane thus: “Wilt thou take an oath to forever conform thine mind and life to the well-being and furtherance of this assemblage, and wilt thou pledge thy forevermore loyalty unto the Lord Surentûr and the Unnamed?” “Nay,” said Urathane. “I will not.” For a small moment, Verath simply regarded him with a pensive and humorless expression. Then he said, “And are you sure of this?” “I am,” Urathane replied defiantly. “Naught will sway me in this matter.” “Then you must forgive us for the actions which we must take forthwith.” Swiveling about on his heel, the man pointed towards two acolytes who stood nearby. “Bind him unto this table.” The two acolytes drew their swords and advanced upon Urathane, eyes callous and hard. Without taking time to further contemplate the situation, Urathane leapt away and, snatching up the knife wherewith the chief orator had used to draw forth blood from the newly-initiated, turned to face the advancing men. In answer, they both raised their blades to block Urathane’s expected thrust. But Urathane did not thrust at them. Instead, he brought the full force of the knife down to bear upon the long rope which stretched lengthwise down the center of the room. Upon this was strung many candles that lighted the room. The line slashed in two, and the entire length came whipping down: ending with the crash of the candle-holders upon the stretch of rug which ran synchronously down the hall. For a moment, a diaphanous darkness settled over the room. Then, with a loud whoosh, the rug ignited in a flash of red flame. Urathane seized the opportunity granted to him by the chaos and ensuing panic, to reach within his cloak and draw forth his sword, Durendurl. The two acolytes who had been drawing near to him, rushed now upon him, to disarm him before he could wreak any further havoc. With one easy, underhanded blow, Urathane sent one sword flying, while using the short knife to pierce the shoulder of the arm holding the other blade. With a loud cry, the pierced man fell to his knees, hand clutching at his arm where the cloth was already darkening from the blood flowing forth. Urathane had seen more gravely wounded men cry far less. The acolyte whom he had disarmed, stumbled backwards as Urathane advanced upon him and then fled in the other direction. Some men had grabbed flasks of water and were now trying to engulf the fire with it. The water managed to dampen it somewhat, and they might have been able to utterly extinguish the flames if it had not been for the attempts of one man to dump the contents of his ale flagon upon the fire. With a loud roar, the conflagration leapt back up, completely eradicating any chance there had once been of quenching it. Urathane vaulted away on his heel just in time to see the man with whom he had been conversing with earlier, rush past him to the blanketed table and reach beneath it for something. Then, before he could see what was being drawn forth, he found his view obstructed by the chief orator. Snarling savagely, the man bounded towards him, sword drawn and raised high over his head. Urathane deftly blocked the blow, only to find that his assailant had deliberately allowed him to do so, while he brought about a hitherto concealed knife, which then he drove into the lower part of Urathane’s torso. Urathane gasped in surprise and with a small jerk, pulled the knife free. Yet he did not take fright at the small stream of blood that came flowing forth; for the blade that had pierced him was short in length and he knew that the wound was not mortal. Growling viciously, the man heedlessly brought his erstwhile blade down to bear on Urathane’s side. Recovering quickly, Urathane stepped backwards half a step, parried away the blow and then––when the man fell back from the force of Urathane’s lunge––hewed the man’s sword-hand from his arm with one clean stroke: cleaving flesh from flesh and bones from bones. With a piercing scream, the chief orator collapsed to the ground, crying out for aid as he did so. No respite was Urathane to get, for three young acolytes, having heard their master’s plea of help, swiftly took his place and set upon him without delay. Urathane had barely enough time to turn aside an oncoming blow before another was upon him. He fended it off, twisting and spinning out of the way of impending strokes while blocking those that he could not avert. Then, while he deflected a slice aimed at his shoulder, a scornful voice said from behind him, “Fool. So engaged is your mind in that which is before you, that you fail to behold that which is beyond you.” Urathane didn’t have time to accost the cognizant voice. Something hard slammed against the back of his skull and the whirlwind of shouts and cries surrounding him, faded away as a torrential darkness overtook him. He fell forever. TO BE CONTINUED