Chapter Five: Task from a God
Jerrod
Father Jerrod's laughter filled the entire hut. Had the walls been metallic or stone, the laughter would have reverberated. The wooden walls only absorbed the Cleric's voice, however, but the effect was still the same.
The Cleric was sitting at the table in the center of his hut, reclined in his chair, his roaring laughter now quieting to a hearty chuckle. Sitting opposite the exiled Cleric was a thin, old, bearded man, swathed in simple blue robes. Though he seemed like a simple old geezer, the old man was anything but. He seemed to radiate energy--scratch that; he did radiate energy--and his presence felt like a humming, electrifying sensation in the air. He was Saradomin, the God of Order and Light, and one of the two High Gods of Gielinor—the other being Zamorak, his polar opposite.
Saradomin's brow furrowed in a hesitant frown. He was older than anyone could possibly imagine, having seen and done much in Gielinor over the past eon or two, and yet even he did not know why Father Jerrod was laughing. Gods were incredibly powerful, wise, primordial beings, but they were not omniscient.
"Pardon my ignorance of the inner workings of your mind," Saradomin apologized, "but what is it that you find so amusing?"
"The…the whole…" Father Jerrod managed to sputter before devolving into another bout of uproarious, almost crazed laughter. After another few seconds he managed to calm himself down, settling into a frosty silence. The spontaneous laughter was gone now, replaced with a look of bitter reproach. "Do you have any idea how long I've spent in this swamp?"
"Nearly eleven years," Saradomin replied. The God's frown vanished, as he now knew what the old Cleric was driving at.
"Eleven years…" Jerrod echoed, his voice briefly trailing off into a murmur. "I know that you know why I have been here all this time."
"We have not spoken since you were still on Entrana," Saradomin explained.
"Oh, believe me, I know," Father Jerrod grunted, sitting back up in his chair, his back ramrod-straight. "You let the other Priori, those high-nosed, tight-assed bastards in blue and white—you let them excommunicate and exile me from Entrana, even though I was speaking the truth. You know that it was the truth I was speaking, not heresy, and you let them do away with me anyway. You could imagine why I'm not exactly what you would call 'overjoyed' to see you again."
Saradomin's mouth curved in a light smile. The God had expected his most devout follower to react in this way. If anyone had earned the right to vent to him, though, it was the old Cleric. Saradomin had his reasons for allowing him to be stripped of his Priori status and exiled from Entrana, but the cold, hard fact remained that Jerrod's life had been effectively ruined.
Or so the Cleric thought.
"That's all you have to say? You're just going to smile?" the old Cleric asked, his voice still calm and apathetic, despite the subtle change in tone. "Well you can go right on ahead and do that; I know you'll just come out and tell me some earth-shattering revelation that made all my losses worth it… I'm not bitter about being ousted from the Priori, or even about being booted from Entrana; I've moved past that…this swamp is a very peaceful place…none of the bustling frenzy of Entrana to bother me here…" Father Jerrod cleared his throat and returned his gaze to Saradomin. When he continued to speak, his voice hardened and became noticeably icier. "What I have never been able to move past, however, is the fact that you did nothing on my behalf. You let them slander me and you let them suppress the truth that Zamorak was returning, the truth that I was saying, the truth that the other Priori sought to silence. After all I had done in your name, after years of devout, pious, faithful service to you…you stab me in the back and let those bastards toss me out into a swamp."
"Technically they did not toss you into a swamp; it was your own free choice to come to this place and not settle down somewhere in Centralia," Saradomin pointed out. When Jerrod's only response was an icy stare, the God continued. "But I can see why, from your point of view, flawed and mortal as it is, you would harbor ill will towards me. Allow me to explain."
"This should be good…" Jerrod muttered, settling back down into his chair in anticipation of a long and drawn-out story from the God of Light.
"I told you that I have a job for you, Faithful One," Saradomin repeated himself. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I cannot see directly into the future, as you know, but I am capable of reading Fate—how someone will die, what a person will accomplish, the sum of a man's spirit and actions; I am able to read any mortal, even followers of Darkness."
"Your point?" Jerrod asked lazily. This was old news for him.
"There is a prophecy, inscribed on the Stone of Jas, a prophecy that foretold the War between Zamorak and myself that has lasted these past few millennia," Saradomin explained. "It foretold its coming…it foretold everything that has happened since the Dark God turned against me after deposing his old master…it also foretells how it will end."
"Must be a pretty lengthy prophecy," Jerrod grunted.
"It is not written in the words of mortals," Saradomin said, debunking Jerrod's interpretation. "It is not 'written' in a way mortals could comprehend."
"Fascinating," Jerrod mumbled. The Cleric gave a passive shrug and decided to get down to brass tacks and cut through the fluff. "How does the war end, then? My money's on Centralia winning; Warmaster Athellenas runs a tight shift in its army."
"Only the coming of the end is prophesized, not the outcome," Saradomin sighed. "And even then…prophecies such as this must be interpreted; they are not plain and direct. It does not state that I will be victorious, or that Zamorak shall claim victory for himself, or even if it is a stalemate…again, it is incomprehensible to mortals."
"Well, that's not a great help, is it?"
"For you, I'm afraid not," Saradomin agreed. "The end of the prophecy is…elusive. I am unable to divine its meaning, or even what it entails. I have been trying for thousands of years to read it, but it is beyond my grasp. It's maddening, sometimes…"
"What do you know?"
Saradomin was silent for a moment, hesitant. He cleared his throat finally and began to speak again, saying, "Let me show you." The God leaned forward even further and extended a hand, laying his palm flat over Father Jerrod's forehead.
A sharp pain lanced through the Cleric's skull, but the older man did not cry out. His mind was suddenly assaulted with a series of images and experiences, memories that were not his. It was almost like a flashback, only the images were quick and somewhat discombobulated.
Sand. Wide, rolling sand dunes. A desert.
A city in the desert. Fires. Smoke. The city was burning.
A boy. Running through the streets of that city. He had pale skin.
Fireballs streaking through the sky, flaming arrows accompanying them.
A monster; deep red skin, gleaming horns, teeth, and claws, tall as a city wall. An elder demon. It roared and lunged.
An explosion of white light.
Another city, this one surrounded by grasslands and hills. Bathed in golden sunlight. A bird chirped.
A flash of red light.
The same city, surrounded by hordes of darkness and chaos. Fire and brimstone rained down upon it. The city began to burn, its central square cracking and smoking, its magnificent scarlet palace crumbling to dust, its walls, strong and proud, toppling like plague victims.
Lightning.
The pale-skinned boy surrounded by darkness and shadow, manipulating streams of blinding white energy. The energy swirled around him, thickening into a vortex. The vortex of white light grew brighter and brighter. The boy opened his eyes and they began to glow; fierce orbs of white burning in his skull. The boy let out a guttural shout and the energy swirling around him was unleashed. The brilliance of the explosion whited everything out.
A dark palace; a looming black fortress. The land was blackened, broken, cracked, barren. The Wilderness.
The apex of the fortress. Thunder and lightning rent the skies and rain pelted the ground. Two hazy figures on either side of the fortress roof; one red and one blue, both surrounded by auras of shimmering, crackling divine energy. Their features were obscured by the brilliance.
The two figures charged each other. They met in the center of the fortress roof. A deafening, crashing boom. Another colossal explosion of light.
Darkness.
Father Jerrod was still lying on the ground when he regained consciousness. "What the…" the Cleric mumbled, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the daylight.
Saradomin supported the Cleric as he got to his feet. "I am very sorry," the God apologized, "I did not anticipate your body to react in such a way."
"No, it's…it's fine…I…" the Cleric's voice trailed off into a low, inaudible mumble as he sat back down in the chair. He rested his head in his hands, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the dull ache in his cranium. "What was all that?"
"That," Saradomin explained, sitting back down opposite Father Jerrod, "was bits and pieces of the prophecy I found on the Stone of Jas…I presented them to you in the form of visions which you, as a mortal, are able to interpret."
"Did you see what I saw?" Jerrod asked. The older man was still regaining his breath from the ordeal. The images had assaulted him so fast; he was still trying to piece them together.
"I did," Saradomin nodded.
"Was that the future?"
"It was…" the God paused, searching for the right words. "It was…yes, and no. The parts of the prophecy that I showed to you depict events that have yet to happen…but it cannot be conveyed accurately to a mortal, nor can I accurately explain it to you. You would not comprehend it."
"I think I understand…" Father Jerrod said to the God, lying through his teeth. "I saw destruction…chaos…" the Cleric remembered the city with the scarlet palace and realized that he knew where that place was. "Tethys. The capital of Centralia…I saw it burning. I saw a city in the desert burning as well…then there was a dark place, a city of shadows...a dark citadel; it was raining…I saw you and Zamorak fighting, but I did not see who the victor was."
"Is that all you saw?" Saradomin prompted the Cleric.
"Yeah, I…no…no, wait," Jerrod stopped, pausing to scratch his head as he remembered something else from his visions. He struggled to remember for what seemed like hours, but was, in reality, only minutes. "The boy!" the Cleric proclaimed triumphantly after a minute, snapping his fingers as the memories flooded back to him. "The pale-skinned boy…I saw him twice—once in the desert city, and again on the dark citadel on which you and Zamorak were fighting."
Saradomin nodded, his faint grin returning to his face. "The boy is something of an enigma to me," the God admitted. "His Fate is shrouded from my sight; I cannot read him. This is most unusual for a mortal child…I have never before encountered a mortal whose Fate I was unable to read."
"Any idea why he was in the visions?"
"That boy is inscribed on the Stone of Jas," Saradomin explained. "This is the first time I have ever seen a mortal inscribed on the Stone as well. This boy is full of mystery…he is a question that must be answered. I want you to be the one to answer it."
"Say again?"
"I know not what role this boy will play in the end of the War, which I have no doubt will come soon," Saradomin said, drumming his fingers on the tabletop absent-mindedly as he spoke, "I do, however, know that his role, whatever it may be, will be pivotal. Of that I have absolutely no shred of doubt. This boy has a destiny ahead of him; he has a part to play in the coming storm."
As Jerrod considered the God's words, he remembered another thing about the boy from his visions. The boy had been manipulating a type of magic in the form of brilliant white energy, energy that was none of the four elemental powers. "The boy…in my vision…that couldn't have been the Fifth Element he was invoking, could it?"
"I believe that is exactly what he was using," Saradomin replied. "This boy seems to be very special. He must be, else he would not be inscribed on the Stone of Jas."
"But how is that possible?" Father Jerrod nearly spluttered. "The Fifth Element is impossible to control with simple willpower, or even with the assistance of runestones…and besides, you need control over all four elements to be able to even think of using the Fifth…and no one in Gielinor has control over all four elements."
"The answers you seek; I possess none of them," Saradomin shrugged helplessly. "You must find them on your own."
Jerrod remained silent for a full minute, processing everything he had learned. The Cleric was a practical man; he did not like not knowing the answers to important questions, or not knowing the reasons behind important actions. He did not know how or why a boy in his vision was able to invoke the Fifth Element, the same primordial energy that had shaped Gielinor as a world. He did not know why this boy was so important, nor how he was capable of such a level of magic, and the Cleric did not like that ignorance; not one bit.
"Okay, let's just say that you're right, and that this kid, wherever and whoever he is, is going to play a big part in ending the War between you and the Dark God," the Cleric hypothesized, playing along to an extent. "What is there that says that he won't end up falling under Zamorak's influence and ending the war for him?"
"Unlikely, seeing as Zamorak seeks to have this boy killed. All the more reason to reach him first, before Zamorak and his minions can sink their foul, unholy talons into him," Saradomin asserted. "If we do not, then they will. That is the job I have for you, Faithful One. You must find this boy."
"So what, now I'm a babysitter?" Jerrod grumbled. "How do we know that this boy is even alive right now? What's there to say that he hasn't even been born yet?"
"You shall have to 'trust me on this one,' as you mortals put it," Saradomin replied. "You shall find him. Finding him will be easy because I know where he is."
"Oh, really?" the Cleric chuckled. "The plot thickens, I see. You didn't mind not mentioning that until now?"
"The boy is in Ullek, the largest and most prosperous of the Menaphite cities," Saradomin revealed. "He arrived there through a series of unexplained and strange circumstances…but that topic of discussion is for a later time. You must hurry, though; the Menaphite Empire has a storm of its own coming, just like Centralia. Find the boy. Find him, bring him back here, and train him."
"Train the kid?!" Jerrod exclaimed. Had he been drinking anything, he would have spat it halfway across the room. What the God was suggestion was preposterous; how could an old has-been from Entrana, who was never a magic specialist to begin with, possibly train a boy who was supposed to bring about the end of the War? It defied reason.
"I have observed you here, in the swamp, for the past ten years," Saradomin said to Jerrod. "I do regret the circumstances upon which you arrived here…but your time here has sharpened you, edged you, defined you. You have found yourself out here in Nature."
Father Jerrod gave a grudging shrug. Though he would never admit it to anyone, he had somewhat enjoyed his time alone in the swamp. The hectic, stressful life of being a Priori in the Church of Saradomin on Entrana had left him with little time to pursue his inner journey. Spending a decade alone with the light creatures had given him more peace and satisfaction than he had ever felt when he wore the blue and white of a Priori on Entrana.
"Though you do not know it, your craft in the art of magicks has surpassed even the most skilled craftsman on Entrana," Saradomin said. "I have watched you perform the Prelucean light greeting with your friend Helios; creating light with your own inner life energy. Very few wizards are able to accomplish such a feat, and you perform it without even breaking a sweat. This swamp has also helped you discover your own inner energy. You are capable of great things, Faithful One; things you would not be capable of now had you spent the last ten years squabbling in a chamber with the other Priori."
"Damn it all…" Jerrod sighed to himself, grumbling under his breath.
"Something wrong?"
"You did exactly what I thought you would do," the Cleric said. "Pulled a good excuse out of your ass for letting me rot out here…and now I can't stay angry at you, because, God help me, I agree with you. Now I have nothing to be bitter towards until I wither and pass from this life."
Saradomin chuckled lightly, rising from the chair he had been sitting in. "Of all my followers, Cleric, you are by far the most intriguing."
"Heh…" Father Ferrod grunted, getting up from his chair as well. "That's what they all tell me…though they never come out and say it directly like you do, and they never mean it as a compliment like you do. Their loss, I say."
"Indeed," Saradomin nodded in agreement, moving to grab the back of his chair.
"So, what's the catch?" Jerrod asked suddenly as Saradomin pushed his chair back under the table.
Saradomin was caught off guard by the seemingly random, out-of-the-blue inquiry. "Come again?"
"What's the catch?" Jerrod repeated himself. "I'm just supposed to traipse into Ullek, find a boy, and bring him back here; no harm, no sweat. It sounds easy. Too easy, if you catch my drift. You also told me that I had to complete this task with all possible haste, and you would not ask that of me unless there was something else that I was racing against, so I ask you now: what's the catch?"
Saradomin pursed his lips for a moment, considering what he should say to his loyal follower. Finally, he decided to speak. "Do you know who Thammaron is?"
A cold pit of unease settled into Jerrod's stomach just at the mention of the foul name. "The Thammaron?" the Cleric asked in a strained voice.
Saradomin nodded reluctantly. "The Great Scourge, Lord over all demons in Gielinor, last of the elder-demons in this world; currently one of Zamorak's most trusted subordinates."
"The Thammaron…" Jerrod murmured again, though this time his voice was a quiet whisper, confirming his last statement.
"Indeed; the Thammaron," Saradomin nodded again. The God of Light took a deep breath before he continued to speak. "I am not the only one who has seen the Prophecy on the Stone of Jas…Zamorak has also seen it. He seeks the boy as well…though he seeks to kill him, not capture him. Or if he does capture him, the first thing he will do is kill him if the boy does not turn. To accomplish this…he has sent Thammaron to destroy the Menaphites. The Scourge has invaded the Menaphite Empire with a colossal army."
"Uh-huh…" Jerrod grunted, nodding slowly. "The plot thickens even more, eh?"
"Thammaron has orders to capture or kill the boy from the prophecy, the child you saw in your visions," Saradomin explained. "You must get to Ullek before the Great Scourge does. If Thammaron captures the boy, all will be for naught. Thammaron will not be able to attack Ullek directly; first he must move through the northern regions of the desert, and then he will have to break through Shantay Pass. The Menaphites will keep him bottled up there for a time…but he will break through, and when he does, only Uzer will stand between his horde and Ullek."
"Surely Uzer cannot fall…" Jerrod murmured, but even as the Cleric spoke he knew that his statement was hollow. He painfully recalled the burning desert city in his visions; it had been Ullek—Jerrod recognized the great Plaza in the center of the city. In the vision it had been filled with blood, corpses, and hordes of foul, unspeakable vermin from the deep places of the world. Ullek was going to be attacked, and that meant that even Uzer, the great bastion of the Menaphite Empire, was running on borrowed time.
"Unless the Menaphites receive assistance from Centralia, it will fall," Saradomin declared. "Now, Faithful One, you must make for Port Sarim with all haste. There, you will find transportation to the desert. I give unto you my blessing for a safe journey."
"Great," Jerrod muttered, slipping his traveling cloak on over his shirt and britches. "From what you're saying, though, the journey is going to be the easy part…"