R A V A G E S O F G L O R Y
Chapter Three -- Secrets
A long, deep shadow was cast over the great white city from the large tower which adorned its picturesque central plaza.
This was Mindova, the pearly white jewel of southern Sabylia. Long had the village stood as a crossroad for travelers and merchants and wanderers of the realm, standing at the foot of the valley road that led (some 40 leagues to northward) to Koltsgard. It was now a bustling metropolis, sporting an impressive architectural façade, comprised almost entirely of various shades of pale and white.
Mindova was also the intellectual heart of the kingdom, due to that same giant monolith that now covered a radian of the city in temporary nightfall, the Athenaeum.
The great library tower stood as a beacon to showcase Mindova's splendor and wealth and influence for miles around. But more than that, the Athenaeum was a center of learning and study for those crafts of very select interest in the kingdom. It was a tower of magic.
At the highest floors of the tower there was a large, spherical chamber where resided an institution of scholarly study dedicated to the world of magic, led by the punctual and somewhat eccentric Professor Ceyvus. A dozen young pupils comprised his staff of scholarly apprentices.
Now, all of the young scholars stood in the high central chamber, captivated by a strange, unworldly object, which up until now they had assumed to be little more than ornamental.
All, that is, save for one individual, who stood near an open window on the far side of the chamber, skimming through an ancient text. His name was Lethe, a tall, lanky boy just past 19, with a mat of frizzled dark brown hair, long sideburns, small circular spectacles that always drooped on his outwardly inclined nose, and sporting the traditional crimson-white robes that always seemed to fit him more awkwardly than the other boys.
"What do you make of it?" inquired one of the apprentices, gazing into the object as it spun. "It's been doing this all morning, so they say."
The object of the boys' bemusement was an oval shaped, crystal-like rock, about thrice the volume of an egg, which sat on a small table in the center of the chamber. It had been there, as far as the apprentices knew, since the tower itself had been built.
The stone was mostly green, with a definably red horizontal stripe running across its middle section. The professor had never disclosed to them what exactly the object was, but its stature among the relics of the ancient tower betrayed a position of much importance.
As of late (the previous night, to be exact) it had taken on some most peculiar characteristics (which was saying quite a bit, considering the plethora of unusual objects Professor Ceyvus had adorned the chamber with). The stone was now hovering a few inches off of its table, and spun counterclockwise in slow, methodic revolution. Occasionally, it could be seen to shimmer, as though it reflected some distant source of light.
"It has to be a sign," one of the pupils began, moving his head to examine the item more precisely. "We should probably look at the stars tonight—something is probably amiss in the cosmos."
"You dunderhead, astrology's got nothing to do with this," another stated bluntly. "This is all about magnetism… the rock must be some sort of compass that we've activated. Look, it's pointing north!"
"Astrology, no. But that's in the right direction," a third boy let out. "The professor never told us where this thing came from. It could be from the heavens, and it's trying to get back to the sky before some celestial catastrophe."
At this, a flurry of conversation erupted in hot deliberation of the mysterious crystalline object's origins. After the frenzy died down, Lethe stepped forward, text still in hand.
"Look, the answer to this riddle isn't going to be found by just speculating. We've got to turn to the texts for truths. Listen to this…" Lethe paraphrased the script as he translated it into modern tongue.
"Long ago… in the realm of the Goddesses…the creatures of magic were forged… each embodying—"
"Lethe, you're not going to lecture us about espers again, are you?" one of his colleagues interrupted. The others groaned.
"Look," he retorted. "We're scholars of magic, and this object has a connection to the old realms of magic, I'm sure of it. So we have to look at the origins of magic in order to understand magical processes still going on. Doesn't that make sense?"
The other pupils looked at each other briefly.
"So we're in agreement," one began again, "it's a moon rock."
"A moon compass."
"That predicts the future!"
"You know, guys, it could just be a petrified chocobo egg or something."
"That hovers and spins?"
"Maybe the poor bird's still trapped inside…"
Lethe sighed. He set down his text—resolve in his eyes—and approached the object. He cautiously extended his arm forward.
"Lethe! What are you doing?" one of the boys grabbed him by the shoulder. "Be careful, that thing could be dangerous!"
"Don't you all get it?" Lethe replied, his gaze fixed on the object as he continued to motion forward. "There's a life force to this thing."
Seemingly mesmerized by the item's mysterious beauty and intransigent self-orbit, Lethe reached his hand out and touched the tips of his fingers to its polished surface. Almost immediately, he felt an intense pain, as a large flash of blue light emitted from the object, throwing Lethe backwards onto the floor and shaking the entire chamber violently. The stone continued in its rotation cycle.
"Are you okay?" The entourage of pupils ran over to where Lethe lay, and helped him to his feet.
Lethe felt dazed, but otherwise unhurt. He noticed the fingers of his right hand (where he had made contact with the stone) twitching sporadically.
"I feel… fine," he let out at last, knowing the worst would come when the professor found out about the incident.
For this he did not have to wait long, as the large oaken doors of the chamber entrance were swung open almost immediately, revealing the shape of a shaken old man in fine scholarly robes.
"You know, I think I feel kind of queasy."
Professor Ceyvus was a small, stout man, nearly bald except for a few dozen white hairs combed over the crown of his head, in what seemed like a futile attempt to cover his alopecia. His face was slightly chubby, but always carried a look of defiant resolution, sporting a pair of darkened ovular glasses that shimmered in the light. His robes were much like that of his pupils, only with more radiant colors and fine silk lacing.
The professor only gazed around the room briefly, at the stone, at the boys, and at Lethe, before seemingly deducing precisely what had taken place. He nodded and made his way quickly down the central staircase into the main floor where the others stood frozen in fear.
"Professor, I—" Lethe began, but the old man silenced him with a wave of his hand as he continued towards the where the stone resided.
He examined the object closely, and, not shifting his glance, spoke out at last.
"Continue your explanation, young Lethe."
"I'm truly sorry, Professor. I know I acted foolishly but—" His apology was again cut off.
"No. Continue your explanation of this stone. And of the origin of magic."
"Oh," Lethe was surprised by this request (and unsure how the professor had been listening to the boys' deliberation). "Well, as I was saying, the goddesses created magic as an ethereal life force of the world, one they used to create beings of immense power, called espers."
"And what does that have to do with this stone, my wise young apprentice?"
"According to the texts," Lethe swallowed as he tried to remember what he had read that morning. "The magical energy of an esper after its mortality had expired, needed a way to manifest itself."
"So," Ceyvus turned and looked directly into Lethe's eyes. "What," He motioned toward the stone. "Is this?"
Lethe hesitated for a moment, and then spoke.
"It's a dead Esper."
The boys stared, mouths gaped in varying heights of awe at the spinning corpse before them. Ceyvus only laughed and turned back to the shimmering crystal.
"I believe that will be an excellent segue to begin our lesson today. Lethe, once again, your academic prowess has proven both impressive and incredibly foolish." Lethe wasn't sure how to take that, so he only nodded his head in recognition.
"This morning I received a letter from Koltsgard, of which I can now confirm the validity by virtue of our most animated esper corpse." The professor motioned again toward the stone. "Within the next few days, a truly historic meeting will take place in this very kingdom; one that I, and you too, my young ones, should watch very closely."
The apprentices appeared only further confused, but were by now accustomed to Ceyvus' equivocations.
"This… Magicite." the old man put his hand directly over the stone, and closed his eyes. "Even after death, they can sense the presence of their own kin. But there is only one among the esperkind who would inspire such exertion." The stone began to glow and pulsate.
"Yes… all the signs are quite clear to us now." The professor's spoke as if not with his own voice, but almost as though we were a medium for the magicite stone.
"She is coming."
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The red glow of dying sunset pervaded on the western sky, falling below the valley wall as dusk set upon the land below. Along the wide valley flat ran a small, but surreally impressive brook. Scattered trees and bushes dotted the landscape, and the grass grew short as the days grew warmer.
The valley was quiet and unmoving, save for a small fire burning near the edge of the brook, and the occasional squawks of a large, pale chocobo.
Treskyn knelt by the stream and filled his carton. He then bathed his hands and face with the cool mountain water, stood and returned to the camp.
The boy started to unload the supplies from the pack on the great bird. Food, blankets, an old map, all strewn about the camp as the fire picked up in intensity, crackling against the darkening sky.
Relieved of its load, the chocobo nestled into the grass and tucked its giant head on top of its left wing. Treskyn tossed the bird a scrap of dried meat he had in his pack. It was poor sustenance considering how worked the creature had been, but the food was devoured speedily nonetheless.
The boy examined the crumpled map briefly, and then looked up, gazing upon the figure of the mysterious girl with the ravishing blue-lavender eyes and skin as fair as the moon in the night sky. He swallowed hard.
"You know, you haven't said a word to me all day," Treskyn let out, chewing on a piece of bread as he spoke.
The girl turned around to face him, her golden hair waving in the wind.
"I'm sorry," she said at last. "I don't know how to thank you for what you did for me back at the castle."
"Don't mention it," Treskyn responded proudly, standing and walking to where she stood near the fire. "But you could start by telling me your name. Mine's Treskyn," he extended his arm. "But you can call me Tresk. Everyone else does." She smiled at him.
"I'm Chrissa," the girl stated. She looked at his outwardly extended hand awkwardly, not aware of the custom of handshaking.
"Chrissa… that's a pretty name."
Realizing her confusion, the boy put his arm down, embarrassed. He tossed the remnants of the bread into the fire.
"What were you doing scaling the castle wall like that, anyways?" He couldn't help but stare into her eyes as he spoke. They seemed almost to bewitch his senses with their radiance.
"I wanted to see the Esper."
"Esper? How did you know about that?" She turned away.
The boy realized he would have to tread cautiously if he was to get any answers out of her.
"Er—I mean… where did you get the idea that there was an esper in Koltsgard?"
"Oh, there isn't one. Not yet anyways. But she's coming! That's what they say." The girl turned back for a moment. "I just had to see it for myself. I've never actually seen one before."
"Few have," Treskyn replied, more to himself than her.
The fire crackled as it began to fizzle out from lack of fuel. The first stars of the night could be seen appearing as the last dying rays of light from the sun faded behind the mountainous horizon.
"Chrissa…" the boy began again. "Why did you ask if I was going south before riding with me?" The question had perplexed him since their journey had been undertaken the previous night.
"Because," the girl turned around and looked deeply into his eyes as she spoke. "I had to be sure it was you."
"What?"
"I was told that I would meet a boy heading southward from Koltsgard. That he would rescue me from danger, and that he was to journey South to the caves of Tyr to speak with the Oracle."
Treskyn's confusion was only furthered by her answer.
"Who told you this?"
Chrissa turned away. Then spoke once more.
"The same person who told me the Esper Freyja would visit Koltsgard."
"Who!" His tone was harsher than he had intended, and his query was echoed across the valley.
"All will be answered when we reach the caves." She smiled and put a comforting hand on the boy's arm. He was caught off guard by this gesture and thus found her reasoning hard to argue with. "But I must accompany you. I'm not entirely sure why either, but I know that it is my destiny to do so."
"You… you're something else." Treskyn laughed and stooped down next to the fire. "I guess I can't convince you otherwise." The girl smiled at him, and nodded.
"We've made good ground so far, riding all night last night and all day today." Treskyn studied the map before him, unsure exactly whether he was reading it correctly. "We should be able to make it to Tyr by this time tomorrow if we push ourselves come daylight."
At this the great chocobo snorted, as if knowing that he was the one who would be laboring for their expediency.
The girl wrapped herself in one of the blankets and fell to sleep on the grass almost immediately. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful in the moonlight, Treskyn thought to himself. The boy tossed a handful of dirt onto the dying fire, snuffing it out for the night, sat upon the grass and held his sheathed sword across his lap, knowing he would sleep very little that night.
Many strange and unfamiliar noises echoed through the valley as the night wore on.
"This is what I get for wanting to leave the castle," Treskyn mused to himself.
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"Ha!" "Ah!" "Ow!" accompanied sounds of armor and swords clanging, soldiers grunting and egos bruising.
Rain clouds began to gather above the great stone city, as the rising of the morning sun was blotted out in gloomy overcast. Nevertheless, the exercises continued.
In the main courtyard of the inner wall of Koltsgard, some several dozen soldiers now sparred in mock battle with one another. They fought in full battle attire, taking to their business with the utmost seriousness.
From a balcony ledge above, the watchful eye of Sir Drake supervised the morning drill. He had decided to pit the newly knighted soldiers of the king's army against some of the older, more seasoned knights—both to test the potential of the newcomers and determine the obsoleteness of the more archaic members of the soldiery.
A few raindrops could be heard pattering off the old knight-general's glimmering armor.
"Ha!" came the cry of one particularly daring young soldier as he felled his opponent to the ground with a quick sword thrust across the midsection and jab into his chest plate. He placed his sword to the fallen soldier's neck.
"Gah! I've had enough of you," the old warrior bellowed as he knocked the blade aside and stormed off.
The rain thickened slightly, and the young swordsman smiled as his shaggy blonde hair was wetted by the morning drizzle.
"How many's that? Four now?" Garo smiled at his ease in taking down the older soldiers, all of whom outranked him.
Drake cocked an eyebrow as he watched the unfolding scene, made for a nearby spiral staircase, and emerged on the sparring grounds in a matter of seconds. The field fell silent and motionless as the general approached.
Now the rain began to poor much harder.
"That's enough, all of you!" Drake let out, and ordered the lot of them back into the castle barracks. "Wouldn't want to rust the king's armor in this downpour. Everyone inside… except for you there."
To his amazement Garo found Drake pointing directly at him.
"What have I done now…?"
Garo found the general an imposing, intimidating figure, and was quite surprised when he found the old soldier's armored hand firmly gripping his shoulder plate. He was smiling.
"What's your name, son?" Drake inquired, tightening slightly his grip on the young soldier's shoulder. Garo was almost caught off balance by the strength of his hand.
"Garo, Sir," he replied, trying to maintain a posture of dignity, as well as his equilibrium. Drake let loose his grip at last.
"Well, Mr. Garo, you're quite handy with the blade, I see." The general began walking towards the barracks and bade Garo follow.
"Thank you, sir…" was all Garo could let out in reply, still shaken by the general's approach.
"Damned good, in fact." Drake stopped, adjusting his silver hand-plating as the rain continued to drench the both of them. "Mr. Garo, we're going to need tough, young soldiers with your ability in the near future. These days, it's hard to tell whom to trust anymore. Even in your own army." He paused.
"Can I trust you, Mr. Garo?"
"Unconditionally," the proud young soldier let out. "I would follow you into certain death without hesitation if you so ordered it, my lord."
Drake smiled and patted Garo on his armored back with forceful strength.
"Good then," he began. "As of tomorrow, you will be receiving a promotion, Mr. Garo."
Garo stopped in his tracks, nearly fell backwards over on the wetted cobblestone.
"B—but sir, I've only been on the force for two days! Not that I'm questioning your will, but—"
"That's just it, Mr. Garo," Drake interrupted the anticipated objection. "You're young, full of potential, full of ability and loyalty to this kingdom and all it stands for." Garo followed intently his every word. "It would be a great loss if you were allowed to become so aged, and worn, and slovenly, and cynical as so many of our veteran soldiers."
"I'm just not sure that I'm ready for—"
"Time is a luxury, Mr. Garo." Drake stopped him and stared directly into the young soldier's eyes. That stare was incredibly intimidating. And terrifying. "And this order is not open to debate. As of tomorrow, you are to join the elite guard known as the Order of the Blue Shield, operating directly under my command." Garo listened in silence. "Right now, I need you Mr. Garo. This kingdom needs you. This is your opportunity to prove your loyalty. I sincerely hope my trust in you is not misplaced."
"It is not, sir." Garo replied directly.
"Excellent." Drake began to walk away from the youth as he spoke. "You'll find a more appropriate uniform in the barracks. Your duties and your destiny begin tomorrow."
The young soldier jogged back into the castle hall, both shaken and elated, while the old general ascended an outer staircase onto the balcony ledge where he had stood previously. Waiting just inside a doorway near the ledge was a shadowy, blue-cloaked figure.
"Are the arrangements made?" the cold, raspy voice of the wizard let out.
Drake reached the balcony ledge, removed his helmet piece and shook his black rain-soaked hair. The two of them walked into the main torch-lit chamber of the upper barracks. They were alone.
"They are made," the general let out in a drone. "Two dozen of the finest, young, idealistic soldiers have I impressed to our cause. They're as naïve as they are loyal, and they won't ask any questions if I tell them not to."
The sorcerer removed the cloak from his hairless head, which shimmered in the dim light of the chamber. He looked far more youthful than the tattered, worn general, but Drake imagined him to be much older. He had never been so bold as to ask.
"That is the least of our concern," Murdock stated poignantly. "This is to be an operation of delicacy and swiftness. Blunt soldiering will not do."
Drake sighed.
"Murder is hardly what I'd call a delicate operation," the old soldier retorted, laughing.
"This is no joking matter." Murdock lowered his voice to stress the severity of his tone. "The fate of the entire kingdom rests on our discretion in this matter. To kill an esper is akin to a declaration of war in their realm."
"Well, I don't see why we couldn't have avoided the whole incident in the first place!" Drake stated bluntly. "If you had stood with me, in the dining hall, we could have convinced his majesty to cancel or delay this idiotic meeting!"
"The king was resolute in his purpose. I doubt we, even together, could have dissuaded him," the mage replied calmly. "And it is no matter… for we are now given a momentous opportunity. To refuse it now would be madness."
"But as you said," Drake began again, unconvinced of the severity of their actions. "The espers will retaliate after the murder of their emissary, will they not?"
"Of course they will," Murdock replied, almost in delight. "In fact, I'm counting on it. They will send the fairest among them, the Esper mistress Freyja to Koltsgard, and upon discovering her death, they will no doubt be launched into a vengeful craze.
"But it will be of no consequence. For we will have the magicite of the most respected and influential among them once she is dead. She is their sense of reason, of balance and passivity. Without her, they will lack a cohesive effort. We will easily defeat their hordes and thus acquire more power until the entirety of the esper race resides in magicite form. Can you imagine what that would mean? Do you have any idea how the force these espers carry within their spirits can be wielded? We will be gods."
Murdock was breathing heavily and small bullets of sweat could be seen streaking down his forehead. His hands shook slightly. Drake was watching silently and wide-eyed. He had never before seen such a display of emotion from the usually stoic sorcerer.
"And what about his majesty?" the general inquired at last. "What will be his recourse when he discovers that two of his closest advisors have been conspiring against his will?"
"He will have but one recourse," Murdock stated slowly. "When the espers attack, the king will be bound by his oath to defend the kingdom.
"We are all but cogs in the great machine of war."
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By dusk that day the rain had subsided as the great gray clouds blew steadily northward. The sky again began to turn brilliant shades of red and crimson as the sun dipped below the horizon of jagged mountain ridges to the west.
Making quick tracks across the firm but still moist grass of the southern hills, a lone chocobo carrying two travelers jaunted along, picking up speed as the day wore onto night.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" an increasingly concerned female voice asked. "These hills look awfully familiar…"
Her concern was, at least, partially merited, considering the monotonous and often redundant geography of the southern foothills. Also, the trio had earlier spent that morning navigating successfully around one particularly large hill a total of four times before discovering their error.
"I sure hope so," an increasingly uncertain voice replied. Treskyn glanced up idly as the first stars of the evening began to appear.
"You hope so? I thought you were supposed to be my guide!"
"That's funny," the boy began, "I thought you were supposed to me mine."
They both laughed, trying to belay the growing sense of doubt on both their minds.
A few moments later, the great chocobo stopped, glanced around and let out a piercing squawk.
"What is it, Jodo?" Treskyn patted the creature's neck, trying to comfort the agitated bird.
As if guided by some external force or avian intuition, the chocobo took off at a full gallop toward one of the far hilltops. The two youths held on for their lives.
The bird stopped again at the foot of the hill, glanced around, squawked again (with much lower intensity this time) and began jogging towards its peak. As the hill crested, the pair gazed upon a truly surreal scene before them. Not much further southward, the foothills ended and the valley spanned wide and far as it flowed towards the sea. In the distance, the great library toward of Mindova could be seen, standing as a lone, white pillar on the mountainous backdrop. Just to the west, an equally impressive façade was visible, comprised of jagged boulder protrusions, jutting out of the earth with unnatural ferocity.
The three of them stood motionless for several minutes, breathing in the scene before them. To the southwest, they knew precisely what lay before them, and no doubt lingered as to their location.
Treskyn spoke, his words calm, slow—and with the slightest hint of fear—but nonetheless, resolute.
"So lie the Caves of Tyr."