Into Forbidden Lands
Malco

Illiom fell.

She heard screams.

The wind roared in her ears as it rushed past.

She was hurtling towards her death. If it was to be at the bottom of this pit, then so be it. Better than falling into the hands of the Bloodrobes.

The fall was interminable.

She managed to right her body, stop it from spinning, and could now see the light of Irrsche far above. It had shrunk to a red pinpoint, the only visible light.

No, not the only light, she realised. A phosphorescent pallor emanated from the walls of the shaft.

Illiom twisted until she faced the direction of her fall then sparked her werelight, sending it into the darkness ahead.

We must meld! Now!

She could feel the presence of the others just above her, as they responded to the urgency in Azulya’s sending.

Wordlessly, they sought for ways to slow down their descent.

Malco wove the air, making it denser, but it was still not enough.

They worked frantically.

Illiom saw the bottom of the pit rush into view far below.

They plummeted towards it like stones.

We are out of time! Illiom screamed silently.

No, we are not, Elan stated calmly.

Instantly, Illiom felt everything slow right down. She turned towards the priestess, but even that action seemed to take an eternity.

When did Elan learn to alter time?

Azulya’s wind raged ferociously, buoying them further.

Undina was forcing the water of the Onceland Sea through the mountain stone to cascade down the walls, and Sereth’s fire warmed its icy flow.

Scald softened the stone floor.

Illiom braced herself for a bone-shattering collision as they

slammed into the water at the bottom of the pit, but as she hit the ground, it yielded like sea sponge.

Long, interminable moments passed as the floor regained its normal hardness and the water drained away. Time returned to normal.

The Chosen came shakily to their feet, looking at one another in astonishment.

Sereth burst into laughter and whooped with delight.

“How did we manage that?” Malco gasped, looking at his hands and then at his companions.

“I really do not care,” Scald laughed. “It worked. We live!”

Illiom’s light burned bright, illuminating the eons of debris that had built up at the bottom of the pit. She turned towards the only exit, the dark opening of a drain, and sent her light ahead.

Malco took the lead and the others followed.

They reached a juncture where three identical drains converged to spill into a wider shaft.

“I am not jumping again,” Elan stated.

Illiom could not have agreed more.

“There is something over there,” Sereth said, pointing to the drain across from them.

They followed him for a few hundred spans to where the floor had caved in.

The collapsed section opened onto darkness and Illiom’s light revealed a cavernous passage, one that was natural in origin.

The uneven floor was strewn with rounded stones and boulders, shaped and smoothed over eons by the tumbling waters of a once great underground river. Yet the river had long since abandoned its handiwork and the passage it had left behind was as dry as a desert.

The Chosen lowered themselves onto the ancient riverbed and followed its meandering path through the mountain.

The passage expanded dramatically, but soon its slope dropped away to vanish steeply into the bowels of the earth.

Here a slender stone bridge crossed the vertiginous chasm to end at the base of a gigantic stairway. There, steps that might have been carved for giants climbed between two rows of pillars that stood at least a hundred spans in height.

At the top of the stairway a dull, round object hung suspended from the cavern’s ceiling.

They crossed the bridge and climbed the stairs, helping each other up one enormous step at a time. Everything around them – stairs, pillars and even the smooth, blank wall beyond – had been carved out of the mountain’s bedrock.

The circular object turned out to be a tarnished bronze disc, twice as wide as the reach of Illiom’s extended arms. At its base rested a weighty mallet.

Malco lifted it, measured its weight, and after a gleeful glance at his companions, swung at the disc with force.

A tremendous note boomed and echoed through the cavern for quite some time before gradually ebbing into silence.

Nothing happened.

A few moments passed before the Blade raised the mallet a second time but, before he could strike again, the wall behind the disc shuddered and dust fell in great sheets from the ceiling.

A vertical fissure appeared in the centre of the wall, dividing it into two enormous doors that swung ponderously inwards.

An incandescent sliver of light lanced through the opening, growing in intensity as the fissure widened. Simultaneously, the age-old layer of dust that had sat undisturbed for eons outside the entrance was swept up by a gust of wind that blew through the widening gap.

They averted their eyes and held their breaths.

The doors came to a halt with a deafening crash. The entrance was wide enough to admit them all walking abreast. Its height was easily ten times its width.

The Chosen gaped, squinting as their eyes adjusted to the brightness within.

“Holy mother Sudra,” Elan whispered.

There was no discernible source of illumination and yet the enormous empty space was flooded with light. Two rows of pillars continued inside the hall, stretching far into the distance.

Drawn like moths, Illiom and her companions stepped into the chamber.

“Is this…?” Sereth began, then left his question hanging.

The floor sparkled and was free of dust, as though it had been recently cleaned.

They had only gone a short distance when the doors began to close behind them. As if this was not disconcerting enough, the stone floor ahead of them began to ripple like liquid.

Alarmed, they halted.

The floor bulged as a stone giant began to emerge, gradually separating itself from the floor almost as if it was stepping out of a pool of water. Its granite eyelids opened and obsidian eyes fixed them where they stood.

Moving ponderously, the living statue finally rose free of the floor and loomed over them.

Who disturbs the Guardian’s rest?

Its voice sounded like the rolling of boulders. The silence that followed was filled with echoes.

“We are the Chosen,” Azulya answered in a steady voice. “Who are you?”

The creature ignored her question.

Chosen by whom?

Azulya hesitated, so Scald answered.

“Chosen by ancient prophecy.”

What prophecy?

Sereth recited the prophecy that Metmus had revealed to them.

Whom do the Chosen serve?

They exchanged glances.

“We serve the Draca of Theregon.”

The Giant’s expression was as uncompromising as granite.

Whom do you serve?

“We serve Âtras!” Malco stated.

The voice rumbled.

Whom do you serve?

Elan took a step towards the Guardian.

“We serve the Goddess Sudra and the Light!”

What do you seek?

Scald groaned.

“How many questions do we have to answer? We have crossed half the world to get here and you question us?”

Despite their predicament, Illiom could not hold back a smile.

Nevertheless, you must answer the Guardian’s questions.

“The Orb of Sudra we seek,” Undina said, tentatively.

There was a pause before the Guardian spoke again.

Why do you seek the Orb?

Scald turned away, grumbling under his breath.

“Because we must,” Malco retorted defiantly.

Why do you seek the Orb? repeated the giant.

“At least it did not pulverise you for not getting it right,” Scald muttered.

Illiom searched her memory for the answer. She was sure it lay somewhere in the Seventy Third Fragment.

“We need the Orb to replace the Adepts of Light,” Elan offered, and just for a moment Illiom thought that the Guardian would be satisfied.

Why do you seek the Orb?

“What does it matter?” Scald countered with barely contained frustration. “The Illignment could be happening right now and you could be damning the whole world to darkness with these inane questions!”

Why do you seek the Orb? the giant asked again, unperturbed.

They were silent for a few moments.

“To prevent another Devastation,” Sereth offered tentatively.

Why do you seek the Orb?

Malco snorted in disgust.

“This is getting us nowhere!”

“Quiet, Malco!” Azulya admonished before addressing the Guardian.

“Because only through Sudra’s blessing can we hope to overcome the evil that is threatening the whole of Âtras.”

Why do you seek the Orb?

“The Orb we need,” offered Undina, “war to end, death to stop!” The Pelonui’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

Why do you seek the Orb?

Illiom felt a wave of despair wash through her. They were so close, and yet now they were floundering before the Guardian who had been placed here by Sudra herself.

She quashed her uncertainty and stepped forward.

“We need the Orb to fulfil the Prophecy,” she said, but the giant was not appeased.

Instead, it turned and walked away.

As if this was a signal, the hall around the Chosen plummeted into darkness.

It took Illiom a few long moments before she remembered to use her light.

The Guardian was gone.

Illiom searched the faces of her companions and did not like what she saw. Undina was downcast, her eyes red with grief, Elan looked dejected and lost, and Scald looked utterly bewildered. But Malco looked the worst: his face was drained of colour and his eyes were vacant. His mouth hung slack. He seemed to be in a state of shock.

“What in Hel do we do now?” Sereth asked.

No one spoke.

Malco suddenly shook himself out of his torpor, spun around, and headed back towards the entrance.

Azulya called out to him, but the Blade did not respond.

The Kroeni shrugged resignedly and a moment later they all followed him.

When he reached the entrance, Malco simply stood there, staring at where the door had been. The wall there was seamless and impenetrable.

“Well, I cannot remember the door being visible from the other side either,” Elan argued in a thin, unconvincing tone.

“What are we going to do?” Sereth asked again. He sat down on the floor with his back to one of the pillars. Malco emulated him. After a few moments he closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to his knees.

Illiom’s mind was frenzied; all her thoughts kept hitting dead ends. She kept coming back to just one thing, the Guardian was gone. It had abandoned them. It had asked questions and they had failed to answer.

Why did they seek the Orb?

What was the correct answer?

Every answer they had given had been true, yet it had not been enough. The Guardian required something more.

“We must get him back,” Azulya said, as if she was privy to Illiom’s thoughts.

“Who? The Guardian?” Scald asked. “And how do we do that?”

“We need to explore all that we know to try and replace the answer he requires.”

“We have already done that,” Sereth said. “Many times. The answer will more likely be found in what we do not know. And I am sure there is plenty of that!”

Azulya shook her head.

“No, I do not believe that. I feel we know more than enough, but perhaps we have not been looking at things in the right way.”

“The right way?” Elan intervened. “What do you mean?”

Azulya shrugged, then began to pace.

“I do not know, not yet anyway, but we could start by using our Keys, the answer we need might be revealed through them.”

She rummaged in her vest and some of the others did likewise. Illiom pulled the Key of Faith from her shoulder bag, yet even before she had unfolded the cloth it was wrapped in, she knew that something was wrong.

She had always felt its powerful emanations even before touching it, and yet now she felt absolutely nothing.

When she parted the last fold and touched the Key, it did not blaze. For the first time since the Firebrand had given it to her, its ruby stone remained dull and lifeless.

An uncomprehending, terrible dread arose in her heart.

She looked at the others and saw the same horror mirrored in their eyes.

“My Key dead is!” cried Undina.

“As is mine,” Azulya concurred. Her voice sounded distant and hollow. “I do not understand.”

A bark of laughter from Malco drew their attention.

The Blade was almost doubled over, but his eyes were empty of mirth and his mouth was a bitter grimace.

When he had recovered somewhat, he looked into their concerned faces.

“Why are you looking at me? Do you blame me for this?”

He pointed at them aggressively.

“You cannot face the truth! We have been tricked! All this is just a ruse, to entice us away from the truth, from our proper place.”

He spat the word with vehemence.

“Malco, what are you talking about?” Scald asked, perplexed.

The Blade shook his head, dismissing the question.

“I knew right from the very beginning when Grifor first approached me with that Iod-forsaken Key. I knew then that nothing good would come of this. I hated being cooped up with the rest of you; I hated being coddled by a bunch of Riders, my every move judged and controlled. I never, ever wanted to be part of this.”

Elan reached for him.

“Malco, Malco…” she said in a soothing tone, but the Blade leapt to his feet, and slapped away the hand she was offering.

“Do not touch me!” he snarled. “Keep away from me!”

He stood trembling.

“No more lies. No more tricks. No more Keys, Orbs, Adepts or Melds. I am done!”

The words caught in his throat as he staggered away. He began rummaging in the folds of his bag, pulled out his Key of Forgiveness and, to Illiom’s horror, hurled it with all his strength against the nearest wall.

The Key did not shatter, but bounced twice and then rolled back towards him.

“What is wrong with you?” Scald shouted in outrage and dismay. “What do you think you are doing?”

In response, Malco drew his sword from its scabbard and levelled it at his fellow Chosen.

“Stay back!” the Blade warned, his voice as cold as ice. “Do not tempt me.”

Scald blanched as he stared in horror at the weapon trained on him.

Suddenly Malco whirled around and bolted headlong into the darkness, in the same direction taken by the Guardian.

They listened to his receding footsteps.

“This bad is...” Undina whispered, as she stooped to retrieve Malco’s Key.

“Maybe,” Azulya said. “Or maybe it is just what was needed.”

“How can you say that?” Scald demanded. “The man has lost his wits.”

“Or maybe he is just replaceing them,” Illiom added. “We should go after him.”

“Then you go!” Scald snapped. “I did not come this far to get skewered.”

“Illiom is right, we should go to him,” said Azulya.

In that moment a clanging reverberated from the darkness.

They found Malco at the other end of the passage, sword in hand, assailing the wall like a madman. Sparks flew where steel bit into stone.

He hurled abuse with every blow as if the wall was the cause of all his misery.

Azulya raised her hand to forestall them from advancing.

“No closer,” she warned softly. “He knows we are here. That is enough.”

Malco’s onslaught continued until his voice grew hoarse and his blows weakened. His cries eventually gave way to silent sobs.

Illiom saw his shoulders heave as he struggled to stifle his emotions. He leaned against the wall and the sword finally slipped from his hand, clattering harmlessly to the ground.

At a signal from Azulya the rest of the Chosen gathered around their stricken companion.

“Malco,” Azulya whispered.

It was as if hearing his name was the sign he had been waiting for and Malco, the tough, quiet Blade of the Black Ward, raised his head and wailed.

They gathered closer around him and, as one, reached towards his broken spirit.

They held him until his distress eased and was finally spent, then sat with him silently for a time.

Sereth lit a fire.

It burned on the stone floor without the need for any fuel to feed it.

They ate and drank a little from their rapidly dwindling supplies.

Malco lay against the wall, head resting on Undina’s shoulder, eyes closed, lines of exhaustion etched across his face.

Yet Illiom perceived a lightening of his spirit, as though the Blade had cast off a terrible burden.

While he rested quietly, the others began to explore in soft tones the challenge before them.

“I am certain it has something to do with the Keys,” Azulya said. “The fact that they have lost their light in this place is no coincidence.”

Sereth nodded.

“You are right. I always thought that we were simply their keepers, but I no longer believe it is that simple.”

“Maybe Keys us keep,” Undina said.

Elan pressed the palm of her hand against her forehead.

“We did not heed the teachings of the Seventy Third Fragment well. Certainly the Keys are needed to open the seven Doors, but is the physical Key enough? I am beginning to think not. My Key is not just any Key, it is the Key of Courage – something that has been mostly lacking in my life.”

She turned to Illiom.

“You have the Key of Faith. How do you feel about it?”

Illiom considered the question for a while before replying.

“To speak truly, I felt disappointed when it was given to me.” She smiled a little. “I would have much preferred your Key, Elan. Courage has always held more meaning for me than Faith. Or even yours, Azulya, the Key of Union is so mysterious and exciting.”

Elan looked at Illiom with surprise.

“You preferred my Key to yours? Why, that is incredible! Because that is precisely how I feel about your Key, Illiom! I cannot imagine a better Key to receive than that of Faith.”

“I Sereth’s Key prefer,” Undina exclaimed. “Passion I better like – Clarity less like.”

“What about you, Scald?” Illiom asked.

Scald shook his head.

“Same for me. Discernment does not light a fire under me. Now Passion would have done it for me.”

“I thought Discernment was the perfect Key for you!” Elan remarked and received a scowl for her trouble.

“Watch yourself!” Scald muttered, but there was little energy in his tone.

Azulya looked around the group with an alertness Illiom had come to recognise by the excitement that sparkled in her friend’s eyes in the wake of some realisation.

“This is really interesting. I always felt that your Keys matched each of you perfectly, but I too was unsure about the suitability of my own.”

“I hate mine,” Malco said in a quiet voice.

They all turned towards him, but he lay still, eyes closed.

“I would have chosen Passion or Discernment, if given a choice. Or preferably none at all.”

They were all silent, knowing that Malco had more to say.

Sereth offered him some water.

Malco accepted it and drank deeply from the skin.

“You know, I was perfectly happy with my life as a Blade.”

He glanced at them, maybe to see if they were listening.

“I had attained the life that I always wanted, good friends in the ranks, not always liked, but usually respected. I was content just being a Blade and I looked forward to a good long life in the Ward. I had my eyes on a wench, a buxom peasant girl with good, broad hips. In fact, I was just preparing to make my move…”

He took another swill of water.

“I had no great ambitions, either. Sure, life as a Blade is not luxurious - the coin is certainly never enough. But I had a good prospect of becoming a Rider, one day.”

He paused, musing.

“When the time would come that I was of no further use to the Ward, I was planning to replace myself a room in The Squat and spend the rest of my days drinking in taverns with old friends and walking the streets of Kuon with my wife and kids. Perhaps teach them a trick or two with the blade, if they had a mind for it. I would have been happy with my lot.”

He laughed.

“But now all that is gone! What are my prospects now? When this call came, I knew immediately that it was going to bring about an end to those dreams. I never asked to be a Chosen. Never wanted the job. But I had to do it! Could not very well say ‘No!’ to the likes of Menphan Tarn, could I? The order came from the Queen herself – how could I say no?”

Fresh tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his face.

Malco shook his head and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

“But I wonder if we have failed because of me…”

He choked on his emotion momentarily.

“…because my heart was never in it and I resisted and bucked every step of the way. The war that has been raging inside me, between what I wanted and what I had to do, has torn me apart!”

His voice broke again. Breathing heavily, it was a few moments before he was able to speak again.

“If we have failed, it is because I have failed. I see now that this could have been an opportunity for greatness, and I have thrown it away. I have destroyed it and maybe destroyed us all.”

They melded again, and this time they were attuned to each other like never before.

Malco, your Key take, Undina invited, holding out the Blade’s Key of Forgiveness. Now more than ever, your Key you need.

An explosion of knowing burst from Azulya, bathing them all in an exuberant and shimmering glow.

Undina! You have it!

She did not have to use words to explain this knowing, it washed over all of them in an exhilarating wave.

The Keys embodied the qualities that each of them needed the most. It was that simple.

And as each of them felt the full impact of this new awareness, they immediately recognised its self-evident, fundamental truth.

They had been asleep, ignorant of their most essential need, even though it had been in their possession since each had received their Key.

And as each Chosen flowered with the full recognition of this need, the seven Keys – of Faith, Passion, Courage, Forgiveness, Discernment, Clarity, and Union – began to glow with renewed fire.

In the nimbus of light that ensued, none of them saw the eighth presence that had joined them, until the golden light that had illumined the hall was rekindled.

Why do you seek the Orb? asked the Guardian.