From Falls a Dark Shadow: Arcania Rising - Book Two

An abandoned village is an eerie sight, even in broad daylight. Though the Hunter was for the most part immune to fear, the scene was still somewhat disquieting. A hot evening breeze blew through the main street of the small village, stirring up dust and blowing dead and dry foliage. A door creaked somewhere in the distance as it swung on rusted hinges. The sun’s dying light painted the withered village in a haunting red glow that seemed almost hellish.

Though he’d spent hundreds of years now among humans and their brethren, the Hunter still found it difficult to understand some of their more esoteric ways and customs. At that moment, it was their buildings that perplexed him the most. Though they were all different in their own subtle ways, each one seemed to serve the same purpose. But this appearance was deceiving; each place served a specific function within human society. Some were homes where people lived, while others were shops or other places where people practiced commerce. The idea of money and possession had at first seemed strange to the Hunter. Slowly he’d gotten used to the idea and had even begun to see why it held such an appeal to the denizens of this world.

The pair were halfway through the village when the Hunter finally stopped and admitted to both himself and his companion that he had no real idea where to find the house they were looking for. He swung down off of Stalia’s back, studying each structure in turn, trying to discern one from another. What constituted a home, or a shop? That these constructions were dilapidated and falling apart did not help the matter.

“Well, now that you mention it, perhaps I might admit we may very well be in the wrong place.” The Hunter scanned the village by the last light of the sun. “But my instincts say we aren’t. He, it, was here.”

Stalia pawed the ground and turned, looking both ways down the wide lane.

“Perhaps we should just begin searching each one, until we find right place.”

The Hunter’s companion pawed again, and he turned to face her.

“I know, but he might have left some valuable advice, or clue. He was here with it, for centuries. Come.”

The Hunter proceeded to the nearest building. It was a small place, no windows apparent on the front or sides, merely a gaping rectangular maw where a wide door once stood. Darkness stilled within, darkness penetrated by the Hunter’s intense stare.

Broken furniture occupied most of the floor space here. Signs of centuries of neglect were everywhere, from the thick layers of dust to the rotting of wood on every appointment, wall, and ceiling. Some of the items the Hunter recognized, others he didn’t. But after a quick scan it became obvious the object of his search was not here. He glanced at his impatient companion by the light of the rising moon as he emerged from this building to move on to another.

The moon was high in the night when the Hunter at last found the place which he sought in the haunted village. It was a small place, smaller than most of the other buildings in the village that had obviously housed one merchant or another. The Hunter was well inside, scanning the interior when he noticed the long line of bookshelves and knew he was at last in the right place.

Reading these books in darkness was indeed a challenge, even for his incredible eyesight. One book after another failed to yield the clues he was looking for, but the Hunter knew they’d be here somewhere. Maxxal was simply too thorough not to keep at least some notes. Just as despair was beginning to set in, the Hunter picked up a small book with the word ‘Diary’ on the cover. After thumbing through a few pages, he knew he’d found what he was looking for. At first, none of the pages he read seemed to have the information he needed. Then he came across what he was looking for, a passage that filled him with hope, and dread.

'The whole village has gone insane, everyone is chasing one another with all manner of weapons and tools, anything sharp they can find. I went out when I heard the commotion, and that's when I saw it, the cause of what was happening. The boy from yesterday was out on the steps of his house, watching the carnage with some kind of sadistic smile. Then I noticed the black glow over his head, and that can mean only one thing, he's been possessed by the Revenant. Gods and heavens, help us all if that is true. I can't take it alone; I have to get out of here and...’

The Revenant. So that’s what people had been calling it. The Hunter paused a moment to consider what the word meant, if anything. To him, it was the Destroyer, a very descriptive and literal name.

This must have been when it escaped. After centuries of captivity, the Destroyer would have been considerably weakened, and probably not even able to manifest itself on its own. How sad and unfortunate that a child had to cross the path of this monstrosity. The Hunter’s heart went out to the child in that moment, while grief and regret began to assault his soul. Damn those humans anyway. If not for their desire for revenge, this all could have been averted.

A sudden calmness came over the Hunter, soft words relaying peace and harmony. Stalia once again righted him when he began to go wrong. The Hunter smiled, inwardly as well as out, and emerged from the old shop to glance at his beloved companion.

“What indeed, would I do without you? I think we both know the answer to that. You have been my comfort and my solace, the enduring rock upon which I may lean. If ever any one creature has truly loved another, then I love you.”

The Hunter smiled as Stalia answered his sudden pronouncement with solemn and heartfelt words of her own.  Presently, his grin grew wider.

“Of course. And we shall speak of it again, when the time is right. But you are correct, we have a duty to perform just now.”

Stalia was mentally offering him some sound advice when they suddenly felt another presence in their midst. The Hunter turned quickly, his right hand ready in case his weapon was needed.

Before him, with its wings still widespread from its sudden landing, outlined in the moonlight stood one of Aeonith’s more unusual creatures. It had the long stout body and lengthy tail of a lion, with four legs and wide paws to match. The wings were leathery and bat-like, but long indeed when unfolded. The creature drew them up alongside its broad shoulders as it stared at the Hunter and his companion with a calculating stare. Its eyes were human-like, as was its entire face. The head and neck were a man’s, a human man, with thick black hair upon its head, and a long square beard falling from its chin. The Hunter knew the creature as a manticore, a being from long ago in Aeonith’s history, and one of the last of its kind. He knew its name as well, having met the creature centuries earlier. But it had been years since the two had seen one another, and the manticore  regarded the Hunter almost as a stranger for a moment. Then suddenly the creature’s face relaxed somewhat, and small grin appeared on the manticore’s face.

“Greetings old one. It has been a long time, has it not?” The manticore’s voice was deep and low, full of power and authority. A stark contrast indeed to the Hunter’s lighter and calmer speech. The Hunter allowed a long moment of silence to linger. At last he nodded slightly.

“Shagon. Greetings to you as well. Old one, you call me? Does that make you young?”

Shagon the manticore regarded the Hunter with a curious expression. “Nothing can make me young again, I’m afraid. You however, haven’t aged a day, have you not? An enviable circumstance for some, I should think.”

“Then they should think again.” The Hunter replied, looking sharply at the manticore. “How goes your new mission, as it were? You were going to join some new group of wizards as I recall.”

“Hardly new anymore, that was several hundred years ago.” Shagon’s expression suddenly turned dark. “It goes ill now, and grows worse every day. The Council of Archmages has turned from its noble roots to follow some dark purpose that I have yet to fathom.”

The Hunter allowed the surprise in his mind to show on his usually tranquil face. “Indeed. Have you no idea what that purpose could be?”

“Not as yet.” Shagon replied. “I do know however, they are working with some strange force, an incorporeal power that does not manifest in this world, yet it can see and hear, and speak.”

The Hunter kept the sudden dread off of his face. He prayed that his suspicions were wrong.

“Tell me everything.” The Hunter replied.

Shagon obliged, beginning at the beginning.

Centuries ago, after the Great Shadow War was over, the most powerful mages of the time gathered together to form a group that could control the burgeoning power of magic in the hopes of averting another disaster like the Shadow War. It was their dream and goal to steer young mages in the proper use and control of the arcane arts of magic. This new Council would teach young wizards to use this power wisely and with restraint, and to have a healthy respect for its effects on the people and world around them.

But as the years went by, and new wizards replaced the old ones, power’s corrupting influence began to be felt among the members of the Council. The elders of the Council began holding the most powerful secrets for themselves, and soon began closing the schools of magic they’d opened centuries earlier. The wizards became more restrictive about who could learn and use magic, teaching fewer and fewer students each year. At last all the colleges of magic were closed. In time the Council used its influence with the new Mytarian Empire to have the very practice of magic outlawed except within the Council’s own circle and those they deemed worthy. And now the wizards have turned to some darker purpose, some ambition that could only lead to more power.

It was only of late that Shagon noticed the elders on the Council interacting with some otherworldly power. Their conversations were often short and cryptic, but what little he was able to gather left him with a profound dread of what might be to come. The power of the Council was considerable now, both arcane and political. For quite some time now the Council had been advisors to the various Mytarian emperor’s through the years, until now they were the sole advisors, and they guarded this position fiercely.

“I do not yet know what the Council is planning,” Shagon said, after pausing a moment from his retelling of the past, “but I’m sure it is ill for the land and people. The Council is thoroughly corrupt, the elders seek only to empower and enrich themselves now.”

The Hunter failed to keep apprehension from his calm exterior.

“You’ve no idea what they’re planning, or what this dark power is they’re working with?”

“Not as yet,” the manticore replied, “but I do know that they’ve already set their plans into motion. Even as we speak, the Council is moving against the Order of Truth and Light.”

Surprise leapt onto the Hunter’s face at this revelation. The Hunter knew well the monks of the Order, and their pacifistic ways. Though well-trained in the martial arts, and possessing a mystical power of their own, the Order had maintained its dedication to peace throughout its long existence. The monks were formidable in their own right, but had never risen to the level of threat to any people or nation. And the Hunter knew well that if not for the monks of the Order, that terrible catastrophe known as the Desolation might have ended very differently.

A sudden realization struck the Hunter with the force of a severe blow. The escape of the Destroyer, the corruption of the wizards, and the attack on the Order could not possibly be a coincidence. And if the manticore’s information was indeed correct, and the Hunter had every reason to believe it was, then his worst fears were now confirmed, and the world and people he had come to love were now in great danger.

“You must discover what the Council’s purpose is,” the Hunter replied at last, “and who they might be working with. And you must discover it soon. If we do not act quickly, it may too late.”

“I must first save the Order,” Shagon replied, “or every other effort will be for naught. I have one ally left within the Council, one who still believes in the old purpose. He is endeavoring to find out what the true purpose of the Council is, and who they are allying with. When we discover this I shall find you. Until then, I must do what I can to save the Order.”

The Hunter nodded in agreement, knowing how important the monks would be should his instincts prove correct. “How will you help them?”

“There is one among them who can touch the purest form of their power, though he has just now regained the use of his abilities, and is not yet aware of his full destiny. He is the greatest hope of saving the Order. I have to reach him as quickly as possible to warn him of the dangers to himself and his brothers and sisters. Even now they are being killed, and he too may suffer that fate if I cannot reach him in time.”

Shagon unfolded his great wings in preparation to take to the sky.

“Where will you be, old friend, if I should need to find you again?”

“Pursuing the Destroyer. It is free once again, and if it remains free your world will suffer the consequences. I have the means to return it to our world, but I must first find and subdue it. I wish you well and, good luck, I believe, is the old sentiment. We should meet again, and soon.”

The Hunter paused, looked down, then back up at his winged companion from days gone by.

“By the way, there may be a new sorcerer-king in south very soon.”

The manticore raised an eyebrow at the profound revelation.

“Indeed.”

Shagon nodded and leapt, disappearing into the night air. The Hunter watched him go, much farther than human eyes could have seen. At last he turned to his strong and silent companion.

“So it is as we feared. They are returning.”