SERIALIZATION: Episode 2 of "The Doom of Innocence"

THE FOLLOWING DAYS passed without much to anything of importance occurring, and Urathane contented himself with various tasks to occupy his time; and when those ran out, he spent his time reading from some of the books or scrolls in his small study. Palisor visited here and then, though most of his visits were uncustomarily short; but still, he came, mostly it seemed to check upon Urathane and to see if he was in need of anything. The steward of his estate and his consort––Urathane’s housemaid––managed to keep him company some of the time when they were not otherwise occupied with the tasks pertaining to their functions. Their names were Alwen and Indra, and they had been availing themselves of Urathane’s comfort for nigh on twenty years. Long had he known them from before even that time and when he was still a young stripling, they had been young and the chief-caretakers of his father's house. Now, they were older and frailer than in past years, yet they were venerable: kindly and good-natured persons who still took pleasure in aiding and abetting Urathane in the maintaining of his house and the surrounding grounds. Now, it was on the twenty-seventh of May––approximately a fortnight after Irolas’s departure––that Urathane received several letters: the first of which was the first communication he had received from Irolas as of yet. When the dispatcher had taken his leave, Urathane opened the first one and read thus: THE SHIP-YARDS, ELGAROST. May the 26th, Yr. 4679, 2nd Epoch. Dear Father, All is going well here, aside from some few matters of small interest which I shall disclose here shortly. This new position provides me with a much more substantial income than the previous one had proffered to me. I have furnished a ‘small’ house: one that fits me quite properly for the time being. I hope that you shall be able to pass by sometime soon (take care that you inform me first, as I am often put out to small excursions at sea more and more these days) and thus see it in its full glory if it could even be called that. Among other matters that I find worthy of recounting is the news that was posted by Lord Surentûr (I hope that you are not displeased that I mention him here) some days ago. He wishes to greatly increase our naval arms and to change the way in which we build our ships. In this at all events, I conclude that he does ill. For he has ordered that we––using his designs and teachings––construct ships wrought of metal which have the capability of journeying over the waters without sailcloth or canvas. These, which we have already begun to build are hideous to look upon in my eyes; and in this, it seems to take away some of the glory that Ared’dor now possesses. And also for matters of more gravitas: I can only deem that he wishes to increase our already extensive fleet for the sole purpose of expanding our borders into those of the surrounding realms, and of this I disapprove also. I am glad that we can at least agree upon some matters concerning this contentious subject betwixt ourselves, though the ways by which this has occurred I wish would not have presented themselves as they have done so. Lastly, but certainly not least, I have some stranger and maybe darker tidings to infer: it has been reported that several of the King’s Ships in the Royal Armada have disappeared, along with the men who had gone abroad in them. This was first brought to our attention when they failed to arrive at the ordained time, and now we are beginning to suspect that fouler work is at hand. Naught has been found or heard of them since the onset of their voyages, and we have already sent out inquiries to other ports along the eastern seaboard, in hopes that they might have alighted there; but so far, we have heard no word concerning them. Nervousness and tensions are beginning to mount. But then again it may all be for no point: perhaps they have merely been delayed by foul weather? Winter’s arm is grown long this year, and though the cold begins to wane, the sun has not blessed us all too often with her amiable rays. We do not know. I hope that we shall meet again soon and that all is well with you. Your son, Irolas. The next letter was unmarked and showed no sign of an address, save for a single word which had been transcribed upon the envelope’s opening flap: Thiräelaiu. This was evidence enough to the fact that only one specific person could have transcribed it: Jerushin. Jerushin was one of the foremost progenitors from which the small sect of ‘fools’––as Irolas referred them to be––had initially been engendered. They were obliged to keep all of their doings and communications as cryptic and clandestine as they could make them be; for Surentûr was vigilant and ever-watchful for any suggestion of disloyalty. Wherefore, though they had not openly begun practicing anything akin to treason as of yet, they still had to carry out everything they did, in the most covert fashion available to them. Another reason for this, in part, was that not long ago, Surentûr had openly forbidden any form of ‘philosophy’ and had attempted to gather together and amass as many narratives as he could which pertained to a historical and philosophical nature concerning events of the past. Needless to say, Urathane and those of the same disposition as himself had been attempting to preserve and consign as many books and tomes as they could into more prudent hands, in an attempt to uncover and hopefully discern what Surentûr’s over-reaching intent was, in addition to their shared goal of preservation and eventual restoration. Hence the reason for all the secrecy involved. Quickly unfolding the single sheet, Urathane scanned the slanted script that appeared to have been written in much haste: To Those Whom it Might Concern, 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. 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. 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 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. Unremembered, Unsought, Unfound. Thiräelaiu. The script ended there. Urathane set aside the letter and leaned back in his armchair. “So a storm is coming then,” he muttered––half to himself, half to the letter. “Or is it all a feint? Who knows?” The air inside suddenly seemed stuffy and hot. He needed fresh air: a cool breeze upon his face and some time to clear his mind and process the abundance of information that had just been imparted to him. Alwen and Indra were out in the marketplace spending the afternoon at their own leisure, so he was alone. Standing, Urathane walked to the door, which led to the back of his house and was greeted straight away by a soft, cool breeze that flowed gently over the stone walls surrounding his garden. Almost immediately, he felt refreshed, although the burdensome weight which had fallen upon his heart still remained. Raising his eyes to the expansive clouded skies that stretched out far above him, he searched them with an uncertainty born out of many years of anxieties and hardships. Already, the day was beginning to wane, as all the while, the sun descended ever further into the horizon. Urathane felt as though he needed to move his abode of residence from within sight of Elgarost to someplace much farther away: a place where he might live in peace without the strains and encumbrances of disquieting news, troubles, and all the subsequent anxieties which naturally pertained unto these matters. But alas! Where in all Pergelion could such a place be found? He could think of naught. The wild, untamed regions of Pergelion were becoming more unsafe by the day. Since the onset of the Second Epoch, after Eldamír the Renowned had forever driven the Great Oppressor from the reaches of the world, thus bringing peace and security to all, order and solitude had fallen across all of Pergelion like never before and the peoples were content and no longer feared to betake themselves of the lands beyond, as they had in times past. But now, the mood of the people was grown dark, and a shadow of malice seemed to lie upon their hearts. This was one of the reasons why Urathane distrusted Surentûr so: as the years seemed to darken, so also did the hearts and minds of the people. Surentûr, for his part, seemed only to encourage this: spurring them to the desire for more and better things than they had already, so that if they were content before, now few abstained from putting themselves forth to these things. His deliberations were broken up by a rustle sounding to his side. Looking around himself so that he might discern the source of the racket, he beheld the old, nearly rotten back-door to his garden being pushed open on its hinges. It creaked noisily till it had made almost a full turn, to reveal Palisor. “Palisor,” said Urathane, turning to face him, “Whatever are you doing here at this late hour?” “Hullo, old man,” replied Palisor, with a seemingly-forced smile. In truth, however, he did not look particularly cheerful. “I knocked upon your front-door; but when you did not answer accordingly, I thought to find you here; and lo! I have guessed rightly, for here you stand. Oft is it that I find you here of late, it would seem. Yet, you look as though you are greatly troubled and weighed down by some great burden more and more these days, wherefore giving me cause to wonder.” “Wonder for what?” “Why, wonder for the way you conduct yourself, if not the reason for your troubled mind, of course. But I did not make my way hither for small talk on matters such as these. Would you mind if we sat alone for a time? I have some things upon which I would confer with you if you would be so inclined to spare me some of your time.” To this, Urathane assented, and he wondered at Palisor’s sudden if unusual forwardness; for this did not come across as the Palisor he had been acquainted with in years past. They sat on a long stone bench which lay beneath an alcove, surrounded by several stooping elm trees. Urathane waited in silence for Palisor to say whatever it was he wished to say. “So,” said Palisor, “have you heard the recent news? It is not long past.” “Nay,” replied Urathane. “At least I think not the kind that you speak of mayhap. I have not been the recipient of much news lately, and all of that has come only through letters or rumors spoken by those visiting me at my house, such as yourself. If I may so ask, what is this ‘news’ that you allude to? Does it bode good or ill for our welfare?” “We shall see, as some would say that it bodes both ways and maybe you would think it ill; but I am undecided.” Here, Palisor paused for a brief moment, then proceeded to say, “In the streets of Elgarost, they are saying that the King has been taken ill by some malady and now lies upon his deathbed, with no hope of healing. It is said that he has just weeks left at the most, ere it takes him.” “Poisoned, more likely,” Urathane muttered darkly under his breath. “What was that?” Palisor leant forward in his seat, lips twitching slightly. “Naught,” said Urathane. “What do they say is the cause of his…” He struggled to think of the word. “Affliction?” supplied Palisor. “Aye.” “From what I have heard tell, the royal physicians are thoroughly mystified as to what is causing it; but whatever it is, it’s burning him up frightfully quick.” Urathane nodded his head grimly. “That’s what I would have suspected.” Palisor cocked his head to the side, an eerie sort of look loitering within his pale eyes. “You believe his ailment to be the cause of some dark malice, do you not? I suspected that you might.” Urathane did not reply: his gaze was fixed steadily upon Palisor. Palisor paused before seeming to resolve something in his mind. “Lord Surentûr will preside in his stead for the time being until the Head Council reaches a settlement on who will succeed the throne, as the King has left behind no heir to receive it.” “You need not tell me of that which I am already apprised of,” said Urathane. “It has long been known unto me the uncertainty surrounding the heirship, though maybe that circumstance is not all as they say it is.” Palisor dismissively waved his hand. “Forgive me, I spoke more than was needed. For the other matter, there is also talk that Lord Surentûr wishes to break off all the ties and alliances that we have with the surrounding kingdoms and realms so that Ared’dor might advance its borders.” “And what think you of this?” said Urathane. “Do you think it good or bad?” “Ared’dor is one of the most prodigious and distinguished realms in all of Pergelion…” said Palisor, a small hint of caution entering into his voice. “So once was Asgalarion, ere it fell,” interrupted Urathane. Palisor looked at him, curiously for a small moment before continuing. “It once had ample room for its peoples; but as it has grown in affluence, so has the populace increased likewise. It has now become if you will forgive me for the vulgar usage: densely populated, unvaried, and to a degree, over-familiar. Dissatisfaction is growing: the people are murmuring not so quietly. The old is thrown aside for want of the new. Maybe it is, in my mind at least, a good thing for us to expand our borders. But I am not sure if you would approve of my assessment.” “Indeed, I would be at variance with you on this,” said Urathane. He was opening his mouth to say something further but then checked himself. “Again, that was the outlook I expected the more from you,” said Palisor. “However, this does not change my opinion. Lord Surentûr is wise, and he looks ahead to a future hitherto unknown. Where else can we grow but outwards? If we tarry within our borders, then we will erupt from within. These are the only choices laid before us: expand our borders, put restraints on how many offspring can be brought forth from each respective house, or another, more unfortunate option.” Urathane's eyes darkened, and he looked as though he might give voice to something, but again, he desisted from this resolve. “Surely you have some further sentiment in these matters which you would express, Master Urathane,” said Palisor, impelling him to speak. Urathane stared at the younger man for a hard while, before finally speaking. “What is it that you are endeavoring me to say, Palisor? Your apparent exertion has not gone by unnoticed by me, and I feel as though you are somehow trying to ensnare me within my words.” “It is known to an extent that you have expressed some enmity towards Lord Surentûr in the past, have you not?” As he said this, Palisor's eyes seemed to glint with some strange thought. Urathane studied Palisor's face with a small trace of thoughtfulness, as he tried to discern his real motive; then he nodded slowly in concurrence. “Aye. I have, and I still do at times, though in these dark days, one must be discerning with what they give voice to. Oft it is that we are more and more harried by restrictive and imperious ordinances which increasingly regulate our freedom; this is one such repercussion among a sea of many: no longer are we allowed to openly contend with the Royal House and any assertions made against it are considered of a fallacious nature.” “Indeed they are, Master Urathane. And though I am quite aware that you may think otherwise, you err in your reasoning. Lord Surentûr seeks to uphold the morale of the kingdom in these dark times: he endeavors with as much power as he has been granted, to deliver us of the petty grievances and affronts of the past. Quarrelsome contentions made flagrantly, only serve to darken the mood of men and stir up the insurgent and unruly emotions which naturally lie within them.” “You speak of freedom, my young friend; yet as with my son, in vindicating Surentûr, your words solely function to work against you and not for you. If you would only look to the past, to history, to our history: then you might not be so quick to flaunt the celebrated folly which Surentûr has instilled within you and those of your generation.” “You have become suspicious and maybe even foolish in your old age, Master Urathane,” said Palisor in response. His voice had grown cold and almost haughty now. “Folly you say? Many enervating worries may yet cloud a shrewd mind and thus become blind to the folly in its own perception. In bidding me not to flaunt my own supposed indiscretion, take care not to parade the seeming astuteness of your judgement.” Urathane laughed brusquely. “Do you not see how Surentûr has twisted your mind?!” His voice quickly took on a dismal quality, and he said half to himself, “But no: the young are naive and therefore do not have the weight of years which the old have, which in of itself brings wisdom, and through their gullibility, they are thus easily deceived and led astray.” Centering the whole of his attention back upon Palisor, he said, “Wisdom we debate, and on imprudence, we utter our sentiments. Yet none have demonstrated a greater display of folly than our king himself. And wherefore, from that folly has spawned all of the quandaries upon which we now exchange discourse in our wrangling words. The King was a fool to bring that sleazy, duplicitous rogue into his company. Surentûr befouls the hearts and minds of all who place great merit in the quintessence of their vanity and thus would they hearken unto him, just as the King has done. His forked tongue may speak of things high-minded and scrupulous, but Surentûr is a deceiver!” Urathane’s voice, which had at first been equable in its tenor, had slowly risen with the all-encompassing range of his wrath until at last culminating in a shout. Palisor's eyes glinted again. “It would be wise if you kept your words down,” he hissed in a snake-like whisper. “Lord Surentûr has ears everywhere. Sleazy or not, he is now the most powerful man in all of Ared’dor, and he will not be refused.” “Refused! Refused!?” Urathane laughed almost bitterly. “Tell me this, Palisor: when has he ever been refused?” Palisor began to reply, but Urathane cut him off. “Nay,” he said, “We both know he hasn’t been refused. Bit by bit, his ill counsels have prodded the King to some overarching goal of his. What that is, I know not; but I am enlightened enough to tell about things such as these, I think. He has not been refused ere now, and I deem that unless this kingdom is shaken by the roots of its foundation, then he shall not be refused again, even if it be the kingship.” “The kingship he could very well gain if indeed the King fails in his illness.” “And since the day Surentûr first arrived here, our fate has been sealed. While our body may look strong in appearance, inside, we rot like a corpse that has been left to weather the world's storms. As the hunted prey takes the bait laid for him, so did the King fall into the trap laid for him. Honeyed words are a snare for those who would thus be tempted to take them, and unwholesome company corrupts the good people.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Especially in the race of men.” Palisor's sharp ears heard him. “What of the ‘race of men’?” he asked. “Men are weak,” said Urathane, almost contemptuously. “Their most regrettable feature is their quick satiety with good. Throughout history, a continuous pattern has developed: whenever evil's day hand and the world is at peace, they become discontented and restless, eventually finding some way to stir the old evil back to life. Their hearts are easily corrupted and can be led to treachery on a mere whim. “It is like unto a tree, which can never be completely felled. For all our efforts, it continues to sprout forth dark fruit which falls like seeds into the hearts of men. It seems that no matter how many times we may fell the tree or hew off its branches, it grows swiftly anew and again spawns much evil with its darksome yield; maybe even so until the end of days when Oros returns and the Day of Doom* wreaks its path upon us.” Urathane desisted from his tirade as if becoming aware for the first time how contemptuously he was spitting out the words. “Much is upon your mind I see,” said Palisor. His face grew doubtful, though, beneath that benign demeanor, there seemed to lurk a loftful smile, sinister almost in its nature. “Maybe,” he mused, as if to himself. “But then again, maybe not. Perhaps darkness has more power than light, and your question is answered by the fact that light cannot fully overcome the darkness because of this. People speak of a ‘Final Battle’ or a ‘Day of Doom’ as you so purported it to be. A battle, where a final epic clash of Good and Evil shall take place: a struggle in which Evil shall at long last be overthrown. I wonder though if this is but a ruse: a fairy tale as some might call it; merely something perpetrated by those who would consider themselves of the Light. “Throughout the ages, Good and Evil have warred and still, after many thousands of years, darkness yet endures. Mayhap, in the end, it is the darkness that shall triumph, and it shall be the light that is overthrown, never to rise again.” As these last words left his mouth, a mad light came upon his face, like an eye into his very soul. And what Urathane saw there greatly disturbed him. For a little while, he eyed him warily. “I have grown weary of this discourse,” he said, at last, rising from his seat and turning to leave. Inside, his heart had grown cold, as if a raw iciness had crept into his body and now surrounded his bones, chilling him to the marrow. Palisor said quickly, “You speak of a ‘Dark Tree’.” Urathane stopped dead in his tracks and turning back midway, inclined his head to Palisor, a chary expression upon his face. “Aye.” Palisor’s eyes seemed to grow larger, and so did the strange leer which resided within their depths. Then, with a whisper as soft as night itself, he said, “Then you have heard of Malaketh?” Overhead, a cloud shifted in front of the sun, casting a dark pall about them. Something seemed to rumble tremulously in the skies above, and the very air stilled: a hushed quiet enveloping the garden as if all had been turned into stone. “Malaketh?” Urathane’s eyes momentarily widened in some ancient horror; before they quickly steeled over. He said in a low voice, “You should not speak of that darksome name with such flippancy. The mere utterance brings a black shadow upon us all.” He paused. “Tell me Palisor, where do all of these prodding and probings of yours lead to? What is it you are trying to gain from me? Do not believe that I have not noticed your offhanded manipulation. You have slowly guided our wandering words to some hidden purpose of yours.” “You run from the past, Master Urathane; however, eventually, that past will catch up with you. So it also is with the world. More so even, you could say. That which was hidden ages ago now seeks to regain that which was lost.” “Why speak you in riddles?” said Urathane. “Still does your purpose remain unclear to my mind. Speak that which is upon your mind and bedim not that which you would.” Now Palisor stood. With some abruptness, he took some steps away from Urathane and gazed outwards at the cloudy sky, shifting slightly. He said, “A growing number of people are not content. This, you have undoubtedly already noticed. The old look backwards, searching in vain for the past: in this, they have blinded themselves. Us that are young instead look to the future and that which lies ahead. Lord Surentûr was sent as a sign: a portent and preamble to that which will return. We look now for the fruit of that preamble's promise; for we know that the time of its coming draws nigh. Do not be naive, Master Urathane; if you merely make to look into the innermost depths of your heart, you will know of that which I speak.” He turned and shifted his head to look full on at Urathane, a knowing simper on his face. Urathane leaned forward, his eyes searching Palisor's. “What does this growing animosity plan to accomplish?” “Animosity?!” Palisor shook his head. “Nay, not animosity, but aspiration eternal.” For a time, both men stared at the other, their eyes locked in a silent battle of determined will, each waiting for the other to give. “Neatly have you spurned my attempts for answers,” Urathane said, finally breaking the silence. “Why do you evade my question, Palisor? I would believe that you had something to hide, were it not for the fact that you dangle small morsels that promise fruition; yet at the last instant, you snatch them away. Why?” Palisor paused, then said slowly, “I will tell you all that you wish to know if you join me at the place of the Duar-Aranaoth at the first hour of night, clad in black. However, you must come alone; otherwise, your questions will remain unanswered.” Having said these things, Palisor finally took his leave of Urathane's garden. For a long while, Urathane stood still as a statue, gazing into the grey sky, yet seeing naught. Palisor’s words profoundly disturbed him––so much so that it took him great strength of mind to even begin wrapping his head around the matter; he also felt the considerable unease of some unsettled dread swirling about within himself. He knew that all was not as it seemed in Ared’dor––he had known this for some time––however, his conversation with Palisor had managed to radically heighten his fears and suspicions. If one such as Palisor was apart of it, then how many more were there also to be figured in? All of them? Palisor had seemed to hint that something of the sort was close to the truth. And indeed, though his words had a profoundly disturbing effect on him, Urathane could not help but think that deep down inside, there was some truth to them. While the older generation looked back to the past, the younger generation––goaded and manipulated by Surentûr’s duplicity––looked forward: to things that were better left unsaid and let be for all of eternity, if that could be. Their dabbling, whatever they were, would only bring forth evil if left alone. This sudden change in Palisor’s character seemed so abrupt, so sudden, so unexpected, and so unlooked for that he wondered how many others were hiding a darkened heart beneath a fair facade, just as Palisor appeared to have done. Again, his heart went cold as he thought of Irolas. Perhaps he was wrong, maybe he was so burdened by worry that he saw darkness where there was none; and in doing so, had wrongly discerned Palisor’s motives. “Yet the mere blithe with which he had mentioned that dark name, the leering gleam that had seemed to lurk deep within his eyes…” he said to himself. There was too much. Too much to go through. Whatever it was that was manifesting itself in Ared’dor, he did not know with any sure certainty what it was. In fact, he might never know––until it was too late––unless he accepted Palisor’s offer. Though he was wary of it and the prospective implications that might arise thus in such a venture, he decided after some thought that he would betake himself of this journey; though he would bring his sword hidden within the folds of his cloak, just in case things happened to take an unexpected or unwanted turn. Deep, down inside, Urathane suspected that something dark, secret, and deadly, was at work in Pergelion. Something evil was simmering under the fragile blanket of what people called peace these days. He resolved to learn what he could from Palisor––if he truly knew anything at all––then depart as soon as he was able. He did not wish to be about outside too long when night lay upon the land and when there was the chance for evil to be prowling about; the dark was no longer wholesome in Ared’dor anymore. TO BE CONTINUED: SERIALIZATION: Episode 3 of "The Doom of Innocence"