|
The Revenant: Part 8 The Revenant: Part 7 The Revenant: Part 6 The Revenant: Part 5 The Revenant: Part 4 The Revenant: Part 3 The Revenant Part 2 The Revenant February 08 March 08 April 08 May 08 The Talisman Weekly is a series of Fantasy and science fiction short stories, delivered in weekly postings. 
RSS 2.0    |
|
|
Part 5: The Frozen Palace They lingered on the snow crusted steps for a moment, clutching at themselves in a useless attempt to block the wind. Some of the structure had been damaged by cannon fire, where some pillars were actually broken or lying toppled over on their sides. Some areas of the palace walls were shattered, as if by impact. Under the huge, decorated archway above them, near the shaded walls were life-sized statues of crumbling, forgotten Gods, ancient guardians of the carrion debris scattered over the steps and down various hallways, rolling and tossing about in the wind. Rusted, brittle pieces of Nocturne armor lay everywhere on the steps, the grayish stone forever stained dull red by rust and blood. Tattered flags, pale and ghostly, flew from heights of the palace above them. Behind the pillars, the doors of the palace were cracked open just enough to see the dark hallways beyond, open like gaping mouths. “This was once tall and proud Ilium Palace. Home of Aries Black.” Court said, lost in thought, “This was the seat of his power.” Cold and worn, Adan and Cael could only listen, their sunken eyes taking in the sheer grandeur of the place. Court closed his eyes, focusing his senses, forgetting his shivering body that begged for warmth. Then came the haggard sound of his two companions breathing, shivering. He could hear the sound of metal debris rolling in the wind, the screeching suck of wind through the cracks in the doors before them, the stirring dust within. He heard the crashing waves of the rift behind and around them. And then to his dread, Court heard a whisper, a stirring, somewhere deep inside the palace. “Quickly now, inside before we freeze to death.” Court nodded towards the doors. The doors were wooden, splintered and green from the weather but heavy, riveted with black steel strips and bolts much like the larger gate to the fortress. It took two of them to heave the door open on its rusted hinges, and they were already exhausted. It opened with a shrill wail. As they stepped inside they were startled to see Court examining the walls just down the length of the hall. He was running his hand down an engraving, thoughtfully. They looked back to where he had been moments before on the steps, seeing nothing but the expanse of the rift beyond. Adan could only shrug his massive wide tattooed shoulders and whispered,“Garai magic.” The palace hallways were made of smooth stone, well fitted with hardly a flaw. It was dry and dusty, with no wind biting at their already soaked bodies. A dim light filled the place, as if it were dusk. Lining the walls were large fresco engravings of the old Dukes of Nocturne, displayed at the head of their armies. Reflecting, Court began to wonder if long ago before the war, the Nocturne Empire had been rich in art and lore. Another scene seemed to depict a great battle at sea. That must be the first war between us, in the Archipelago of the Storms. Who could have foreseen our armies would be one hundred years at war, he thought.
“What do we do now?” Adan asked. He didn't respond right away, but rather walked further down and inspected each engraving carefully, respectfully. Court's soaked black cloak left a long trail of water, mopping the dust as he went. He looked back at Adan and Cael, who were still shivering. They had seemed stronger before; now they slouched and grumbled. Perhaps the rift has weakened them, as it has me. “There is a focal point for this disturbance, somewhere in this palace and I must find it, and stop it.” He said “But you don't know what it is exactly?” Cael asked, then regretted it.
“No.” Court said, turning back to the engravings, “But it is close now. I can hear the voices of the dead wailing; they call me by name.” “Well if you don't mind me saying sir, we can look at all this later...shouldn't we be moving along?” Adan pressed him.
“You're right, of course. It's just that I've waited my entire life to see the inside of these walls. We were so close that night. Now I am here in their palace, virtually abandoned.” Court said, a nostalgic gleam in his eyes. They moved forward, into the heart of the palace itself, toward the voices Court heard calling him to come, come closer, you belong here with us... To be continued... Previously:
Through the white, blurry snowfall there were the tall, massive pillars of a palace, where Duke Aries Black had once sat at the throne of power over his vast island nations. A small, dense city with houses of wood and stone where families and aristocrats had once lived surrounded the palace. It was now a city of the dead. And the rift was there too, shaking Court's mind and soul. Come to me Court, you belong here with everyone else, it seemed to whisper to him...
Part 4: The Rift
The rift looked something like an ocean, rolling into the distance, growing vast and deep as it reached across the bleak horizon, though at first its waves were more like the shimmer of heat off a hot tin roof. Court looked into the pearlescent distance to see the snowy horizon filled with it. He glanced down, noticing that he was standing in the tide of the rift, just the very beginnings of its waves slapping and gurgling around his heels. A few more steps and he would be willingly walking into the rift, would feel the first pulling of its rip tide, as powerful and deep as the waters of any real ocean. And this rift, this immense phenomena of psychic pain and twisted reality, was for the time being completely invisible to all save Court.
“Nightfall's coming.” It sounded like Adan. With each step they took towards the palace, the world itself changed slightly. The closer they got to the palace, the more it sunk down into the rift, and the ruins of the homes sank with it. Soon they had the disorientating feeling as if they were marching down a slope, the invisible plasma rising up to the level of their chests, their feet sticking in mud. They could feel there must be a thousand broken swords and pistols beneath their feet as they walked the uneven ground. Surely a thousand brittle skeletons still clung to those weapons beneath the snow and the mud. The weather grew ever heavier, thick cold dampness seeping rapidly through their clothing. It was difficult to walk, or to move at all. Their boots were now sinking down into the mud. It became more like swimming than walking, as the daylight grew dim. The rift had become a mist, rippling over everything, cold and damp. And now the palace was closer, close enough to see it was a half sunken, broken place. Its pillars rose up from the frothing tide, like thin white arms coming out of the waves, to support cracked palatial domes and archways now frozen over with snow and ice. The fog slowly lifted, blown away by the snow-speckled winds, and with mild shock they all realized they were wading through real water. Only the cracked rooftops of the houses remained above water, and some of the gate wall surrounding the fortress. Beyond that in all directions, gray snowing skies and an endless dark ocean. It was impossible, and yet here they were, fighting to stay afloat. Court struggled through the water, tucking his silver pistol into the folds of his hood, which hung dryly at the back of his neck. His black cloak sprawled out in the heaving tide, ten times heavier in the water. The others fared only mildly better, poor swimmers all. “Get to that house over there!” Court motioned, already on his way. They reached the crumbling stone walls of a house, dark and watery within. They floated, grasping the frozen stone ledges of the walls for protection from the breaking waves. Looking around at the dark unnatural water, it seemed as if the entire bottom had dropped from under them and was a thousand miles deep. The snow was ceaseless, melting as it touched the misty water. “What in the name of Hell is this place?” Adan asked, catching his breath. This is what I feared Court thought, hesitating before saying to them, “It’s a rift...we've crossed Worlds just now. Look back, you see that fog?” Turning to look back, they could see only rolling fog where the borders of the rift had yet to swallow their living world. The fortress gate lay behind that shroud, in another time and place. “That’s the gate where we came in.” “Where did all this damn water come from?” Cael asked. “I'm not sure. Listen,” Court said impatiently, “It’s like we're drifting in loathing and despair, the froth of war. This is why we're here, to stop it from growing any further. If left alone it will eventually wash over our entire world. You wouldn't want your loved ones drowning in this foulness would you? I think not. So, let's just keep moving.” “I want to see my wife again, sir. Please.” Adan pleaded between heavy breaths as he clutched at the crumbling stone ledge of the house. “We'll never get out of here alive.” said Cael through chattering teeth, shaking his head in horrified disbelief. To be continued...
Previously: Court glanced down at them, silently hoping the money was not all that was motivating them. Still, he wondered if they had an inkling of the hell waiting for them just above. Worse yet was the evil fact that no one knew, not even Court, what had happened to the enemy forces, or even Aries Black himself after the rift had opened up...
Part 3: The Fortress
Court's dirty, scratched hands found light, and grasped the final ledge of the crack as he pulled himself up from darkness. A black dusty tangle of cloak and limbs, he flopped down and rolled to his side to catch his breath. His eyes were squinted, as he peered at the dim halo of the sun burning behind the curtains of cloud overhead. By the Gods it's freezing, Court grimaced, and pulled his arms over his chest. He felt a cold, sharp tingle on his face, and opened his gray eyes to the gray sky. Here the wind whipped, and snowflakes danced hypnotically beneath the low, somber clouds. A fresh dusting of snow was falling like powder onto him and the entire upper shelves of the island.
To be continued... |
