Taerak's Void (Fantastica Book 1) Page 4

  Being an intelligent king, Anthony didn’t rush into his plan to move the Narvoza seat to Camberly. The design and construction of the new palace and its fortified inner and outer walls, grand halls, and wondrous monuments had gone on for some eighty years. Braxton hadn’t seen it, but he’d heard that the massive new palace, with its many sky reaching towers, had been finished just before King Anthony died. His son, King Maracos, moved the governing office and the royal family there.

  The gothican slaves used to construct the place had served as more than just strong labor. Using them symbolized the strength of the kingdoms will, as a whole, to conquer these lands. King Anthony had used them wisely, both to generate confidence and instill fear in all the races, but King Maracos used them foolishly, and sometimes cruelly, and was killed by an angry slave while inspecting the construction of the new palaces outermost wall.

  According to Master Finn, King Maracos, surrounded by his escort of guards, effectively berated and humiliated a young gothican woman who'd been born into servitude. She’d not known freedom or happiness and had done nothing wrong. As the story went, her lover was high on the wall, placing heavy stone blocks. Seeing his woman mocked in such a way caused his warrior instinct to take over. He hurled stone after stone down on the royal escort below and crushed King Maracos. A long, riotous rebellion followed, and young King Barden’s hate of the whole race of barbaric murderers who killed his father was born. His first order as king was to kill all the gothicans on kingdom grounds, including the slaves.

  The great outer wall was completed three years later, on King Barden’s eighteenth birthday, and the construction of the three great halls was finished not long after. Master Finn said King Barden then had the monument known as the Ancestor’s Dream redesigned. The original statue depicted a battle scene between three kingdom guards and two giant gothican warriors. The fight was set inside a glorious fountain pool surrounded by a hedge of several secluded benches and sections of turf for visitors to sit and enjoy the artistry.

  It had taken several years, and Master Finn, as well as dozens of area scholars, had given input on the new design. Ultimately, the gothicans were removed, and after sifting through many different ideas, the king finally found what he thought the Ancestor's Dream was supposed to represent. The icon he chose to stir the heart and inspire imagination while reminding people of the long, brutal struggle it had taken to survive in this land, was quite simple. Yet somehow, the monument radiated pride for the past, pride for the present, and pride for the future.

  It was before this monument that Braxton now stood, with his mouth wide open. His head was tilted back so his eyes could take in the full height and majesty of the awe-inspiring near-perfect artistry. The amount of engineering skill it took for the statue to even be possible was mind-boggling. That people could accomplish something of this magnitude was incredible, and what stunned Braxton the most about the Ancestor’s Dream is that it was a statue of him.

  A young man, as tall as a hundred men had been carved from white marble. He stood proud with his sword raised straight up in his right hand. His left hand was clenched in a fist at his side. His chest was out as if his lungs were filled with pride instead of air and, in his expression, there was glory, wonder, and determination. The monument was symbolic of a young man about to begin an adventure, or the look of one who had just conquered a great beast. In that moment, it was Braxton setting out to make the world his own. His dream was the Ancestor's Dream, and he had stood there taking it in for quite a long time. So long that Prism began to yank at his reins, worriedly trying to snap Braxton out of his trance.

  Braxton had spotted the statue a day earlier. It stood in front of the palace like a northward facing sentry. He was drawn to it so much so that he paid little attention to the massive iron gates and the towers, or even the people around him, when he rode through the outer walls.

  The crowded, shop-lined streets he spent most of the day negotiating were merely an annoyance. He passed through the inner gates, and the fact that he couldn’t reach the base of the monument in a whole day, only strengthened his need to stand before it.

  He spent the night at an Inn called The Dragon’s Claw. A stable for Prism was provided, and Braxton was served an excellent meal in the common room. It was followed by captivating entertainment that included songs and poetry by a bard named Hanison Prew, and then a story told by an old man whose name was never mentioned. The story was a well-known legend that came from the old world, but the old man told it like he had been there, and Braxton enjoyed it very much. It went:

  “Scarlee Scarlee the city by the sea, that’s what we called her. She was built into the very side of a cliff, she was. She was the last city of the old world, the city where, long ago, our ancestors fled the rising waters and the raging dragons to find a new land. A land like this one we are in now.

  “Eons ago, we lived on the surface of the old world, but the dragons and ogres were fierce and thick as honey. I don’t remember who it was that found the cavern in the cliff, but thank goodness they did. Inside the cavern, we built a city and we used our heads to harvest the sea for the waves rolled right up into the mouth of her.

  “And big!

  “How big you say?

  “Three times bigger than all of Camberly, easy as you please, yes, sir. And the cliff itself, it was ten times taller than that statue out there.” He pointed toward where the Ancestor's Dream was outside.

  “There was only one way up or down, and that was hidden from the ogres with magic. It took a man a whole day to climb from the city up the tunnel to the surface, it did, but that is another story.

  “This story is about a crazy old man with a rope. Whiskle was his name, and one day he decided he wanted to know just how deep the sea was at the mouth of our cave. Whiskle tied a rock as big as a man to the end of his rope, rolled it to the edge and pushed it in. it sank and it sank and it sank some more. Before he lost the end of his line, though, he tied it to a bigger rock and went to find more rope. The next day he came back with more rope, and he connected it to the other one and let the rock sink some more. It sank and sank and sank until he was almost out of rope again, and he did as before and came back the next day with more rope. Now this went on for some time. Every single day for most of seven years, old Whiskle added a piece of rope until finally the rock stopped sinking. Now, after seven years of this rope business, everyone in Scarlee knew of Whiskle. They all thought he was crazy, and after seven years of the rope business, he might have been. But after word spread to the king that his rock had finally reached the bottom, the king sent for him to ask him some questions.”

  Braxton sipped mulled wine as the storyteller went on.

  “Old Whiskle put on his best clothes, which weren’t much, but they were his best and fine enough for the good king's modest taste. Whiskle bowed before his sire, worried he was too shabby for such a meeting, but the king quickly put him at ease, and after a goblet or two of royal wine, they got along like two old men do, talking about boats, the sea, fish, and things. Eventually, the king asked him how deep the sea was. While Whiskle hadn’t measured his ropes for many years, and he’d lost count of how many times he’d lost count of the number of ropes he’d added. But he answered his king as honest as he could. ‘Your highness, the sea is very, very deep.’

  “This answer seemed to satisfy the king, so he asked another question. He asked Whiskle what he’d learned over the years of doing this.

  “’Well, your highness,’ Whiskle said. ‘I’ve learned that rope is getting more expensive and the world is sinking into the sea.’

  “This alarmed the king.” The old man spread his arms wide, looking around the common room.

  “How could this old man tell that the world was sinking just by lowering a rock into the sea. The king dismissed Whiskle as being as crazy as the rumors purported, but being a cautious king, he had a rope hung from the top of the cavern and tied to Whiskle’s rope, thus creating a taut line that ran all the w
ay to the bottom of the sea to the top of their cavern.

  “A ribbon was tied to the rope as high as a man could reach up from the top of the water. The king was sure that if the land was sinking, the rope would eventually go slack, and if the water was rising then the surface would grow closer to the ribbon.

  “Word got around Scarlee that Whiskle thought the earth was sinking and, of course, this fortified the idea he had lost his mind. Whiskle didn’t care, though. He was so old he was sure he would die before the sea swallowed up Scarlee.

  “The king and the people soon forgot the old man and the rope business, even the ribbon, but then one day a few years later, the king was out and about and saw that the ribbon was so close to the top of the water that the waves had soaked it through. The rope was still tight, which meant although the earth wasn’t sinking, the sea was rising. This alarmed the king for a kingdom in a cavern on the sea would surely perish when the water rose too high. The king gathered all the great minds of his kingdom and measured actions were taken. Eventually, all of them agreed that in about fifty years, the sea would swallow Scarlee.

  “Being a good king, he didn’t panic. He did what any good king would do and made a plan. Ships were sent out in all directions, searching for a land that they could escape to. Back on the surface, the dragons and ogres were still at war, but groups of men ventured out, searching for a safe place for the people to settle. Years passed and some of the ships returned with the bad news that no other land had been found. Some of the ships didn’t return at all.

  The men who went out on the surface were never heard from again, surely killed by ogres or eaten by dragons.

  “On his deathbed, the king called for two people to attend him. One was his son, the other was old Whiskle, who was near death himself.

  “The king ordered his son to build three ships as big as could be built. They were to carry men and women, as well as cattle and seeds. Eventually, the prince did just that, and one of those ships landed here, carrying our ancestors.

  “Whiskle and the king sat and talked, and the king had to ask him how he’d figure out that the water was rising just by lowering his rock to the bottom on a rope. Whiskle laughed and told him that it had nothing to do with the rope or the rock.

  “’Then how did you know?’ the king asked.

  “‘Well, your highness, when I started lowering the rock on the rope each morning, the ledge I stood on was well above the waves. By the time I'd run out of rope each afternoon, I had to wade back to the shore in water that was up to my knees. I tried and tried to warn someone. Each and every day, but everyone thought I was crazy, and even you didn’t believe me until I went out there and lowered that ribbon down a little bit.

  “And with that the king died.”

  Braxton remembered the previous night's story as he rode back from the Ancestor's Dream to The Dragon’s Claw Inn. He wasn't sure if old Whiskle ever understood that the tide rising with the big moon was why his pants got wet each day, or if there was something he'd missed. Either way, he found it funny that a single man lowering a forgotten ribbon had caused so much to happen.

  It took a full quarter of the day of travel just to go from the Inn to the monument, and he’d spent at least half a day admiring the massive work of art from different angles while leading Prism around the road that circled the flat grassy turf at its base. He would have liked to venture up to the actual foot of the statue but horses weren’t allowed. He figured, maybe after he left the Hall of Scholars tomorrow, he would leave Prism in the stable and take a wagon.

  If he could get help from someone at the hall, he was sure they’d either know about the strange language marking the things he’d found, or not. He didn’t want to spend more than a day or two in Camberly, so if the scholars couldn’t help him, he decided he would ride south to Antole, or even further to Halden, if need be. But no matter what he decided to do, after viewing the Ancestor's Dream, he was confident he could do it.

  As he looked around, he realized he’d never seen so many people in his life. He’d seen hundreds of hawkers calling out their wares, and thrice as many ships along the river, just on the right end from the outer gate to the inner wall. Here, inside the second wall, it was full pandemonium. A hundred different smells assaulted his senses, some wonderful and delicious, some horrible and unclean. A kaleidoscope of color filled his vision. Dozens of different fashions, most of the like he’d never dreamed possible, were displayed on men and women alike. Some of the clothes were revealing, and some rigid and conservative and some were down right ludicrous.

  More than once he had to get aggressive to stave off pesky hustlers. He even had to smack a boy for reaching for his belt pouch. He threw a copper to a legless beggar only to find, moments later, a whole herd of them followed. The man he’d thrown the copper to led them on legs as good as his own. All in all, the metropolis was huge and beautiful, with amazing buildings and dazzling sights, but Braxton couldn’t help but feel as if he would suffocate in the ever-pressing crowd.

  On the road to Camberly, he’d felt wild and free, even though it was a little scary. He decided he’d rather be alone than packed in with all these people. He was sure he would feel better once he was back in his room at the Dragon's Claw Inn. It was small but private, and the food was great. Maybe the old man would tell another story tonight or the bard, Hanison Prew would sing a song. Braxton liked his music, but he would rather hear another story.

  He wondered if Whiskle was a real person. He remembered the lessons Master Finn taught about the sea rising, causing the people of Scarlee to go searching and eventually land here.

  Was there really a Whiskle?

  What if there was? What if he really moved the ribbon down and tricked everyone into thinking the sea was rising. That would mean Scarlee is still out there somewhere. Master Finn had taught about the seeker ships that had left Narvoza in search of Scarlee. For more than a hundred years, the seekers combed the seas and never found another trace of land.

  Braxton remembered the seekers had mapped the coast to the northwest and all along the wildlands to the east. He hoped he could match one of the maps he’d found to what they had recorded.

  Excited by the sudden revelation, he hurried Prism along.

  Surely the Hall of Scholars would have copies of the seeker maps he could buy, or at least peruse. Tonight, he would make more copies of his own maps and hopefully be able to compare them to the ones he found in the hall.

  Anxious to get to work, he spurred Prism a little harder than he intended, and doing so, learned a valuable lesson about city traveling; if you’re on a horse and in a hurry, people will get out of your way. He noticed no one even got close to he or his horse when they were trotting down the road. As he entered the comparably peaceful stable yard of the Dragon’s Claw Inn, he vowed not to forget that.

  The lesson might have sunk in if he and Prism didn't nearly bowl over the most captivating looking woman he’d ever seen.

  She was tall with fiery hair, shining silver armor, and she was beautiful. He was about to apologize when something she’d swung cracked him in the head.

  He found himself looking up at her from the dirt. Her expression held worry, but the corner of her lip was curled into an amused smile.

  “You should watch where you’re going,” she said, extending a hand to help him up. “You could hurt yourself.”

  Once he was back on his feet, he knocked the dust off his thighs. He wanted to say something to her, but when he looked up she was gone.

  “Watch yourself around that one,” the stable master said as he took Prism’s reins.

  “Who was she?” Braxton asked stupidly.

  “Her name is Trenka Shawl. She runs a mercenary company that hires out to protect wagon trains on the North Road.

  Braxton remembered hearing something about how treacherous the North Road could be. It cut right through the heart of the Gothfol Forest. Giant bears, packs of wolves, and small, venomous leather-winged faldrones that
could swoop down out of nowhere and claw out a man's eyes inhabited the place. Not to mention rock trolls, feral crag giants, and gothicans. She must be brave and dangerous, Braxton thought. She certainly had no problem putting him in the dirt. But oh, how beautiful.

  He spent the time before dinner, trying to get Trenka Shawl out of his head. He made hurried copies of his maps with charcoal and parchment he got from the innkeeper. Then feeling quite hopeful about the morrow, he ventured down to the common room with the hope of getting to hear one of the old man's well told stories with his meal.

  To his great delight, the renowned wizard Barthalmuel had replaced the old storyteller as the night's entertainment, and Braxton got to see his first glimpse of magic.

  Chapter Seven

  The ornate pillared entrance to the Hall of Scholars had at least a hundred steps leading to the great arched double entry. By the time Braxton reached the top, he was breathing heavy, but not as hard of some of the other people who had taken the trek up to the entrance. Several were doubled over, with hands on knees, or leaning against the columns, exhausted and panting, and yet others made the top step and walked through the doors as if it was nothing. Self-consciously, he didn’t want to appear troubled by the arduous climb, so he scurried inside and walked around, inspecting the interior until he could breathe normally.

  After a moment, he decided they had aptly named the place, for the main space was twenty paces wide, twice again as tall, and seemed to go on forever. There was door after door spaced evenly on either side. The smooth marble floor looked like a sheet of ice, and on either side of each door was an ensconced lamp that created a diffused, yellow arc. Centered on the wall between the doors and their lamps was an intricately woven tapestry or a magnificent painting. As he walked down the hall amid the ever-increasing noise of echoing foot traffic and quiet conversation, he saw all the lessons of Master Finn's ancestry lectures portrayed in vivid detail in the artwork. There was a storm tattered boat that had made shore at Halden. A mother surrounded by her several blanket-wrapped children, huddled in a makeshift shelter before a dying fire while surrounded by a snow storm, was titled The First Winter. There were exploration parties represented by handfuls of hungry looking men carrying bows into darkened forests.