Shaygan
Joshua Dyer
Published by Joshua Dyer at Smashwords
Copyright 2004, ebook edition 2012
Joshua Dyer
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Chapter I
The wind blew out of the East into The Del on this night, and it brought with it a stranger.
The blue light of Sicon’s larger moon combined with its smaller yellow satellite gave the land
below an eerie pale green hue. Layol, a thin muscular man, sat next to his small fire atop a hill
overlooking the small village below. The forceful breeze whipped his long graying brown hair
and the thin tan sleeves of his tunic like pennants. A searing pain radiated from his left forearm.
It seemed to the mage as if his inner torment was beginning to manifest itself through his skin.
Layol found it difficult to cope with the death of his only sibling, Kristos -- his little
sister. Especially, since he was the very person responsible for her demise. The mage kept trying
to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault – and to a point, he was correct. How was he to know that
this strange virus had mutated his kid sister into some horrid creature?
Again the pain radiated from the large gash in the outer flesh of the mage’s left forearm.
The searing laceration forced him to recount the occurrences of the previous night which would
be forever burned into his memory.
He had been in another small village then. The mage was in to visit with his sister. She
had taken ill with an unknown virus. The whole village had for that matter. Layol didn’t know
much for certain about this illness that had befallen her or her neighbors. Save the fact that
whatever it was – this virus was unlike any he had ever seen in his years of study in virology. He
knew that it started out as a fever… then progressed in pitch to the extreme of boiling its host’s
mind. This place was no different from the other cities across Sicon. People wailing from their
beds and homes, and some in the streets – the orbs in their eye sockets blackened. What he found
when he got to Kristos’ farmhouse would resonate in his recurrent nightmares.
Layol had approached the front door of the house with his long staff-like weapon in hand.
He pressed the end with the blade of an axe on it against the cracked wooden door.
“Kristos… Kristie?” he had shouted into the abandoned house.
The front room was in shambles, and she or her family were nowhere to be seen. He
made his way into the empty room – the green light of the moons washed through the side
window across the wooden floor boards and overturned furniture. No sooner had the mage up
righted a small stool when he was frightened out of his tan outfit by a high pitched shriek. When
he turned, he found the source of the painful scream. Standing on the other side of the front room
stood a creature as tall as the doorway he entered through. Clear streamers of mucus maneuvered
their way down the beast’s sleek black hide. Layol followed them like rivers to their sources, and
was met with a mouth full of razor-sharp incisors shouting in challenge again. The mage gripped
his impaler and tried to look his adversary in the eyes. The trouble was – it had no eyes. The
monster’s face was like a clear polished dark stone that wrapped around its head.
“Kristie – kids?! Get out of the house, now!”
The beast charged the mage’s position. In one swift motion, it swiped its huge slender
handful of blades at Layol’s head. The mage ducked the attack and swung his wooden staff-like
weapon at the monster’s left kneecap. A loud crack was followed by another cry from the
creature. It staggered backward a step, but quickly retaliated with an open-handed slap that
connected with Layol’s temple. The force of the blow spun him on his stomach and threw him
three feet across the floor. The mage could hear the heavy steps of the monster as each one
splintered the flooring beneath its massive feet. The monster shrieked once more before lifting a
thick muscular leg above the mage’s spine. As Layol rolled out of the way, the monster thrust its
paw through the floor. The mage jumped up and swung the axe end of his impaler at the head of
the beast. He could feel the tendons in the side of the monster’s neck give way as the blade sunk
in. A gush of black mist erupted from the wound in the beast’s hide. The acrid foul vapor forced
Layol to cover his nose and mouth with his arms.
That gave the monster the opening in his defenses that it needed. The towering terror
swiped its massive hand again. This time, a long dark claw tore a gash into the flesh of the
mage’s forearm. Layol cried out in pain. This sensation was unlike any other wound the mage
had felt before… like a blade that paralyzed the very tissue that it raked in half. Layol fought
through the pain gathering his bearings, and took in a deep breath. As the creature lifted one of
its hands to feel the crevasse in its neckline, Layol swung the bladed end of his impaler again at
the monster’s wound. He only felt the brief resistance of the beast’s spine before his weapon
severed its head. The Nightcrawler’s lifeless body fell with a thump to the dusty floor. Its head
was sent bounding out the front door and into the high grass. The mist radiating from its neck
died out and faded into nothing, clearing the air in the small dust-covered room. Then, right in
front of him, the beast began to shrivel… until it resembled the decapitated body of a petite
female. Layol, confused by what he was seeing, followed its head out into the grass. He fell to
his knees when he saw the long blonde hair and her frozen expression of shear fear and torment.
“No! Kristos! What have I done?”
The heat under his skin felt like it was about to melt the tattoos right off his forearm. The
mage, wiping back a few tears, took a small stick and stirred the contents of the little brass pot
simmering over his open flame. The wind was picking up even stronger now, tossing his mane of
hair and his small fire about in its wrath. A storm was eminent – that the mage knew for certain.
Whether or not it was going to rain on him tonight, he hadn’t a clue. Layol fished out one of the
thin strips of cloth from the pot and began to wrap it around his wound.
“Arghh!! Damn that virus!” he yelled.
Layol removed the steaming cloth from his wound. The laceration was gone, and the
tattoos on the outer face of his forearm were mended.
“Not perfect, but it’ll have to suffice for now,” the mage critiqued.
The wind blew hard again. This time it was coupled with a rumble of thunder that nearly
blew the small kettle off its perch. Layol peered out across the mountaintops on the other side of
the valley. There was a sheet of precipitation moving in fast on the small town… Rain, it would.
“It seems as though I’ll be forced into town sooner than expected,” he said.
The mage poured out the remaining contents of the kettle on the fire causing it to sizzle,
but the flame still lingered. He gathered up his belongings in the pack, tossed it over his shoulder
and leaned on his weapon as he departed for The Del.
The breeze was forcing its way through the high grass on the hillside and brought with it
the fragrant scent of the fresh rain still some miles off yet.
“Almost forgot,” he said.
Layol turned to face his fire and held out both hands. A low guttural hum grew inside the
mage’s chest and throat. Within moments, a gust of light-blue tinted wind flowed from the mage.
It vanquished the flame, and escorted its terrestrial remains over the hillside into the darkness.
He turned back toward the town and made his way down from his perch.
As he drew nearer to the town, a stench grew stronger in his nostrils. He recognized the
vaporous gasses of the swamp reaching like tendrils through the damp twilight air right away.
There was another odor that twisted the mage’s brow, though. He had smelt this odor before… in
fact it had been right after his sister’s death. An arctic prickle traveled up his spine. The mage
wrapped his hooded cloak closer to him. Layol knew his troubles were only beginning.
The mage reached a small embankment next to a fence stretching out toward the horizon.
He pulled out a thin clear strip from his side pouch and stretched it out on the plush fragrant
grass at his feet. Layol then pressed the green triangle in the lower right corner and the map lit up
showing three blinking red circles in the center of town. He scanned the rest of the map looking
for a way around the Nightcrawlers.
“No, no… the streets won’t do,” he said.
Layol pressed a blue square in the lower left of the map, and it changed to show a maze of pipes
and holes. A blue circle was flashing very near to his current position.
“Ah, underground it is, then.”
He looked to his left and discovered what his map was trying to show him. There was a
large culvert some fifty feet away that led to the water system below. The three circles were now
fanning out through the streets of The Del. He didn’t have to speak their language to know what
they were up to. The creatures were searching… seeking out the very same object that he was
here to make sure they didn’t find… a portalstone. There were two known portalstones in
Siconian history. They were rare gems that had been altered to act as links between this world
and another.
After his sister’s death, Layol had trailed these monstrosities for months trying to
understand the virus. In his encounters and observations, the mage had developed a few theories.
The first theory being that the virus was the cause and the Crawlers were the effect. Furthermore,
these creatures weren’t out to maim people; they were searching for something. Layol noticed
that every time a new one appeared, the Crawler immediately began digging and tearing through
things. It had no interest in people… unless the people got in their way. Finally, the mage
observed that these monsters were mainly ravaging gem shops and rare stone brokers.
The mage placed his finger on the topographical representation of a building to the northwest. A
name appeared on his map where his finger had been that read “Falath’s Stones”. He then traced
the pipe work like he used to trace the solutions to maze games as a child on his map. A light
yellow line trailed behind his weathered index finger.
“That route will have to do,” he said.
The rain now fell upon The Del. A sprinkle at first and not too soon after, the downpour
commenced. Layol rolled up his map and crept along the embankment toward the culvert trying
to stay as low to the ground as possible. The opening to the water maze was guarded by a rusty
set of iron teeth. He closed his eyes and fell into a meditative state. Layol stretched out his
appendage as if he was searching for the knob of a door. Seconds later, the mage placed his right
hand on one of the bars, and instantly the bar and the bars adjacent to it melted into a molten
puddle in the stagnant pool of water below. He waited for no invitation, but slid through the gap
and into the decomposing grip of the sewers.
Layol pulled out his map again. As he walked forward the pipe on the map moved
forward with him. After about two hundred feet, he came to a crossing. He didn’t need to consult
with his map to see which way to turn. The magorgathcites, small slugs that fed on the minerals
in crystals, illuminated the cobblestone corridor to the right with their blue radiance.
“Thank you, my friends. Where there are crystals, there’s usually a gem keeper,” the
mage said.
He checked his map again on the way through the cobblestone passage. One of the
blinking red circles was right on top of his current position. He quickened up his pace down the
corridor until he came to a small iron ladder leading upward. Again Layol checked his diagram
and saw that Falath’s Stones was right above him. He slid his impaler into its sheath on his back
and climbed the stairs back toward the city streets. The mage gingerly opened the lid on the
manhole and tried to look through the pelting showers for signs of the Nightcrawlers. The
creatures weren’t in sight, but they were within earshot. There were sounds of loud pleas and
shattering glass erupting from the building.
“No time like the present,” the mage said.
He made a dash for the back door to the gem shop. When he arrived there, the mage
unsheathed his weapon and smashed its security grid placed to the left of the entrance. Layol
slowly opened the back door and looked inside. The monster was now gone, but the shop was in
shambles. He wasted no time in searching the showcases himself to see if the portalstone was in
fact there. His search was interrupted by a scuffling off just behind the main counter. The mage
crept in near silence toward the noise, his weapon ready for strike.
Falath lay huddled on the floor praying that the footsteps weren’t the creature changing
its mind and deciding it needed a snack after all. His train of thought was halted when a longhaired stranger leaped around the end of the counter wielding a long staff-like weapon with its
axe blade poised for a swat at his neck.
“No, no… please don’t take me!” the shop keeper pleaded.
“One false move, and I’ll send that plump extremity of yours rolling into the streets for
the Crawlers to gnaw on,” the old man said.
“Monsters! Th-they ransacked my shop!”
“Yes, so I see. Tell me, did they take anything?”
“I don’t believe so…” Falath said.
“Beliefs won’t do. Do you or do you not have in your possession a portalstone?”
“Of course not!” the keeper said.
“But you publicized that did you not?”
“I know – it’s a fake. You know, to attract sight-seers,” Falath said.
“I see,” the mage said. “Which way were they last moving?”
“I –I don’t know. I’ve been behind this counter the whole time,” Falath explained.
The mage strode to the front doorway and peered out into the rain to see if he could spot
the party. A clash of steel on steel rang out from the veil of the stormy evening. Layol tossed the
hood of his cloak up over his head and ran out into the driving torrents to chase down his next
opportunity at a live sample of the virus.
The mage rounded the corner of the street to come face to face with another Crawler in a
melee with a tall muscular stranger wielding a large broadsword. The beast had the man backed
up against a large oak. The mage darted into the skirmish, and swung his weapon at the neck of
the creature. At that instant, the Crawler bent down to grip the throat of its adversary on the
ground. The blade of the impaler glanced the tree and tore through the empty air. The monster
looked up from its prey to see where the attack had come from. In an instant, it backhanded the
mage knocking him into a muddy puddle of water five feet away. In this window of opportunity,
the stranger crawled through the Crawler’s large legs and stood up behind it. The stranger
prepared to swing his weapon at the beast.
“No! Wait!” Layol cried through a gasp for air. “Don’t break the skin!”
The stranger turned his head to make a defiant remark, and when he did, the monster
raked the armor on his chest with one of its claws.
“Damn it, man! If you’re not going to help – leave me be!” he yelled.
“I am! If you cut their hides…” Layol began, but he was too late.
The stranger swung his blade and struck the slimy flesh of the Nightcrawler. A cloud of
dark vapor started to seep out of the beast’s wounded shoulder. The angry teeth of the monster
gleamed in a flash of lightening.
“Cover your mouth and nose!” Layol shouted. “Don’t inhale the vapor!”
“Then how am I supposed to..?”
The monster grabbed him by the face and flung him through a low hanging branch on the
oak tree. The mage rushed over and stabbed the blunt end of his weapon at the creature’s shin.
The monster’s leg warped and buckled causing it to slump to the wet grass. Layol flipped his
weapon around in a blur and swung the blade at the creature’s neck. Its head popped off and
rolled into the nearby bushes.
The stranger picked himself up, and walked over to thank the old man. When he got to
him, the mage had fallen limp to the soggy street.
Chapter II
The emerald light of Sicon’s moons blanketed the smooth crags and spires of the
mountain that guarded the cylindrical mass of Tallam’s Tower. A young man toiled away over a
small desk lit by only a small blue lamp in one of the tower’s highest chambers.
At the same time, a husky old man dressed in black made his way down the main corridor
of the first level. The odor of thousands of years of honor and work saturated his bulbous nose.
The main hall of the tower was adorned with oversized tapestries of immortalized Kanji masters.
To his left hung the likeness of Shonah the Great… standing proud with her left arm resting on
her hip to show the arcane tattoos on her outer forearm signifying her mastery of the lower levels
of the art. But that was the last thing on Gondar’s mind tonight. He had much larger issues to
ponder over; of the highest importance, the structural composition of the Siconian portalstone.
The other question that bit at his psyche was that of the location of the other portalstone. These
were what led him to the Library tonight.
“Ailian… ailian… I’m almost certain that they were made from ailian,” he muttered.
The mage’s long gray mane swung in time to his long strides, covering up the creases in
his face eroded away by wisdom. He moved toward the last set of double doors on the right.
They loomed over the mage. One door was adorned with the bust of a bird of prey – the other
with the likeness of a lizard. Gondar waived his hand in front of the carving of a one-horned
lizard embedded into the left door. The mawlgar opened its mouth to reveal a set of fangs. The
wood creaked as it opened. A small blue screen slid out of the deformed carving’s mouth with a
gentle bleep, and Gondar pressed a number of buttons in succession. The mouth on the
mawlgar’s bust creaked closed again. The doors to the Library swung open.
The perimeter of the Library stretched for what seemed like an eternity into the heart of
the mountain. Its height was equally as impressive – towering stacks of recorded word that
would make even a tall man crane his neck. Gondar made his way to the far front corner of the
room. He closed his eyes. A second later, a thin blue disc of light materialized beneath his
sandaled feet. Gondar raised both hands palms upward toward the high vaulted ceiling. The disc
let out a high pitched whirr and levitated the stout man.
“Let’s see…. Commerce… Kanji… Ah hah!” he exclaimed.
He lowered his hands to face the floor, and as he did, his disc slowed to a halt on the
fourth level of books and manuscripts labeled “History”.
“No, no… this is too recent.”
The mage raised his left palm out to his side. The disc obeyed and slid gently to the left.
“Ah… yes! Here it is!” Gondar exclaimed.
He pulled out the large leather-bound book entitled, ‘A History of the Portal War’. The
mage lowered his right hand toward the floor and the disc whirred to life descending to the
ground level once more. Gondar took the oversized book, and scuffled to a nearby table to
examine its contents. The aroma of centuries past flooded his nostrils as he opened the cover.
‘In the year 320, Ryllan son of Arnos the Great, ordered a summoning of the twelve
elders of the Order of Tallam. For their success in opening new trade with the other world, he
ordered a toast and a festival in their honor. Great feasts and festivities were abundant for all to
relish. However, in the coming days, Ryllan, High Conciliate of Rymon, became distant and
cold. In the months that followed, he proclaimed to them that he felt the Order had betrayed the
empire’s interests by forming an alliance with the High Council of Quina to systematically
eliminate his parents. As a consequence for these acts, Ryllan ordered all of the mages to be
annihilated. Five of the Order were burned alive within their sacred halls of Mount Tallam. Four
others were publicly hung in Melborne Square soon after. Bennagraf was caught months later
and exiled to a remote island in the Straits of Llyeuna. Selan was found on board a pirate vessel
in Volkar Bay, and was given a proper buccaneer’s burial. One escaped into the forest of
Deepwood, and was assumed dead after several years.
The High Conciliate then ordered the invasion of all major ports on Quina. Members of
the Hall of Elders and the High Council were in great turmoil and protest… Tens of thousands of
troops were mobilized along with large numbers of heavy armored divisions – and thus began the
Portal War.’
“Yes, yes… but what of the Quinastone?” Gondar asked. He continued to pour over the
text’s many pages.
‘Ryllan then gained control of both portalstones and closed off the doorway to the
neighboring world for good. The stone is believed to be hidden in a secure location on the
continent of Riamos. It remains hidden to the date of this entry.’
“Hmmm… If he hid it, surely the good Councilate made a reminder for himself of its
location,” Gondar said.
The mage turned through the books aged golden pages toward its beginning.
‘The Siconian portalstone was forged deep in the heart of Mount Tallam out of the gem
ailian and the elixir, Syn.’
“Hah! See there!” he exclaimed to himself. “I was right! Therefore, we’ll need to use a
voltac system to allow for the flow of the elixir to the proper world gate.”
The mage closed the book and strode toward the doors of the Library once again. He
made his way down the main corridor, and stopped just beyond Shonah’s tapestry. Gondar
waived a hand in front of himself at eye level. A light blue (nearly transparent) thin screen
appeared in front of him. He pressed a few buttons in quick succession, and another light blue
disc appeared beneath his feet. It whirred to let the mage know that it was obeying, and lifted
him toward the ceiling above. He passed through the heavy stone material as if it weren’t there.
He continued upward through a thin cloud of sulfurous vapor in the virology lab above. The disc
carried Gondar through ten levels before coming to rest high in the tower in a small room that
was lit by a single blue lamp. A muscular man in a dark blue silk Kanji dogo toiled away over a
cylindrical object under the lamp; the sacred garb of the masters of this art were comprised of a
long silk tunic and a pair of matching slacks. The occasional fountain of sparks bounced out from
either side of his long blonde hair and filled the chamber with the smell of molten metal.
“Symon!” Gondar exclaimed.
“Yes, my Kanji,” the man said in a revered tone while continuing with his operation.
“It was as I thought. We must use a voltac system on the chalice to control the flow of the
elixir.”
“I anticipated your knowledge being accurate. That is why I have taken the liberty of
installing the system into your chalice,” Symon said in a calm tone, looking up from the welder.
“Well done, young apprentice!” the mage exclaimed.
“We will be ready for our test departure to Quina in moments.”
“Are our things packed?” asked Gondar.
“Yes, my Kanja. Both packs are over next to the door.”
The apprentice welded one final compartment door shut and handed the large object to
Gondar.
“The honor is yours, master.”
The old mage inspected his apprentice’s construction of his life’s crowning achievement.
The large light blue gem was nested among four talons of solid gold. The talons’ arms were
securely welded to the large reflective chrome body of the chalice. The matrix of twelve tetragon
buttons faced ahead… each button’s archaic symbol pulsed with a sky blue glow.
“Superior craftsmanship, Symon!”
“Thank you, master. All I learned, I learned from you,” Symon replied in a deep tone.
Gondar took his chalice and cleared off an area on the small table against the adjacent wall. He
set the chalice on the table and turned to face Symon.
“Do we have Pegran’s Journal?”
“Of course, master.”
“Good. Since he was the last of our kind to travel there during the war, its contents could
prove to be most useful. Gather our packs, Symon. We’re about to make history!”
The big man hoisted the two large packs onto his right shoulder with ease and awaited his
master’s next request.
Gondar pressed the button with two lines crossing north to south and east to west – each
terminating in a smooth curl on the eastern and southern arms. The gem began to rise out of its
nest amongst the talons and spin parallel to the wall. The depressed chalice symbol’s light
intensified as the ailian stone came to rest two feet above the table. A large fan of white light
radiated from the gem, and flooded the small chamber. A blast of wind blew the two men’s
manes of hair back from their necks. The scent of the air was crystalline. Its purity cut through
the dank air in the room like a blade through fresh bread.
“This is it! History in the making!!” exclaimed Gondar in a fever.
The air in front of the tower’s stone wall quivered like a light breeze blowing across a
still pool. As the rippling intensified, the tower’s wall disintegrated away to reveal a most
unusual scene beyond.
A large meadow of grass extended to meet a red setting sun in the distant horizon. To the
left, a forest thick of massive ribbed trees that stretched well above any tree they had ever seen
on Sicon. To the right some distance off, a large metallic structure that stretched up into the lowlying white cumulus clouds. Small specks were zipping to and from the gargantuan structure like
a swarm of insects.
Gondar stepped forward into the ripple waving his apprentice onward as he went. Their
silhouettes dissolved into the portal to a world that had not seen their kind in over thirty years.
Chapter III
“Old man!” exclaimed the stranger. “Are you alright?”
Layol’s eyes eased opened to meet the deep blue ones peering at him.
“I—I’m fine… Must have been the rush of the moment,” the mage said.
A dark gash opened up on the mage’s forearm allowing blood to trail to his fingertips.
“Ah!”
“Fine, eh?” the stranger asked.
“Yes, I’m f…” Layol began, but the man cut him short.
“Anyone bleeding the same foul blood as those things is not fine.”
Layol looked down to find that in fact his wound wasn’t bleeding his own fluids, but
those of the Crawlers. Another stabbing sensation worked its way up his arm. The mage fell to
his knees in agony.
“You should seek out the help of a mage, old man,” the stranger said.
“What do you think I am, boy?” Layol asked – being very insulted and forceful. “Do you
think I wear these Master Kanji robes for nothing?”
“Healers don’t wear a uniform… Kanji?”
“No – healers don’t… but mages do.”
“But, I thought that the Order was,”
“Yes, disbanded. My instructor was banished and has never been heard from – or found –
since,” the mage interrupted. “I am Layol.”
“Layol,” the man said. ”I am Allek.”
“Allek? Then it is you?”
“I – suppose so,” Allek replied wearing a confused expression.
“The last time I set eyes on you and your brother --”
“Don’t mention his name. He is dead to me.”
“Well, at last I saw you, you were still in your mother’s arms,” Layol said in a solemn
tone.
“My,” Allek swallowed his pride like a large pill. “My mother is ill with this forsaken
disease.”
“The First Lady?” asked Layol. “Time is much shorter than I thought.”
“I don’t understand,” the boy’s tone was grave. “How do you know my family?”
“After your father ordered the systematic destruction of the Order of Tallam, I hid as a
soldier and served with him in the Portal War.”
“The only people my father killed were the ones that decided to invade Sicon in the first
place.”
“I see. Then there is much for you to learn about the true man your father was.”
“Look – I’m not going to stand here in the rain and listen to a batty old man belittle the
honor of my father,” Allek said. “I’ve got to find a cure for this.”
“I agree. We need to find a mode of transport and shelter for the night.”
“What makes you think I’m going anyplace with you?” Allek asked.
“You want the cure – I want the cure. Our motives may be different, but the results are
the same.”
The hulking young man said nothing, but grimaced and lowered his head. He knew the
mage was right.
“I recall seeing some horses in a field back to the south of here,” Layol said. “Let’s
double back and borrow ourselves a couple of rides.”
The two men dredged along through the soupy brown soil back toward the swampy end of The
Del.
The rain had let up – for the moment anyway, Allek thought. The deep blue luminescence
of Eros was now beginning to peek through the breaking clouds of the storm. He and this
mysterious old mage had been riding for what seemed to him like an eternity. The thin blades of
grass on the rolling hills to the northwest of Waylan’s Pass danced in the sporadic wisps of wind.
“Do you have any idea of where we’re going, old man?” he asked in a very annoyed and
childish tone.
“My name is Layol, and yes, I’m taking us to see an old friend of mine. She may have
found the cure we seek by now. Nola might also be able to do something with my wound as well
as give us further insight into these strange happenings.”
Allek leaned forward in his saddle and let out a long deep sigh.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting worn out. I’ve had an extremely long day.”
“We’re making camp on a hill just around the next bend in the Pass,” the mage said
paying Allek’s infantile remarks no attention.
Layol closed his eyes and drew in a deep chest full of the fresh air still laced with the
scent of nature’s wrath. He and his new companion made their way around the turn in the old
trade route. Riding the road again had brought several memories rushing back into Layol’s mind.
He had been down this road many times before – most of them had occurred during the dark
years of the Portal War. As he looked up on the knoll of the hill to his right, the sight of an old
rusted out ailian cannon tuned in his memories as if it all happened just yesterday.
“What in the world is that?” the young man asked. His question had snapped the mage
out of his daydream.
“What? Oh, that? It was once called an ailian cannon. They were used as a line of defense
in the war,” Layol recounted as he dismounted and led his horse up the shallow grade of the
grassy knoll. Allek followed suit and filed in behind the mage.
“Ailian cannon, huh? Looks menacing. What were they used against?”
“Please allow me to get us settled in for the night, and I’ll explain all that I can,” Layol
said in a revered tone.
The two men tied their horses off on the lone tree on the hill and unpacked what few
soggy belongings they had with them. After pitching a small tent, the mage wandered off toward
the twisted trunk of the tree.
“What are you doing?” Allek asked. “You seriously don’t think that we can ever get a fire
going on a night like this, do you?”
Layol continued on his search – gathering up small twigs and branches that had fallen
during the storm. A few moments later, he brought his finds back to the center of their camp and
stacked them in a small conical shape above the damp grass.
“You’re mad!” the young man exclaimed.
The mage shut his eyes and held his hands a few inches away from one another. Small
wisps of blue vapor began to drift back and forth between his open hands. A sweet smell that
reminded Allek of a fruit he used to love as a child tickled his nostrils. With a loud CLAP, the
small cone of kindling sparked to life. A healthy orange flame lit up the age on the old man’s
face. Allek sat on his haunches in complete disbelief.
“I – I don’t bel…” the boy began.
“To understand, you must first suspend disbelief,” Layol said.
The mage furrowed his brow at the large rusted cylinder some forty feet behind them. Its
trajectory was forever frozen toward the horizon. The four oversized prongs that once housed the
gemstone now grasped at an unseen foe in the thickening fog. Allek followed the old man’s gaze
toward the cannon.
“So – how did it work, exactly?” he asked.
The mage pointed at the distant hills and began to retell his nightmares of the war.
“They came from just over that range.”
“They?” Allek interrupted.
“Yes, the Quinii. They opened a portal into this region of Sicon using a stone your father
constructed. There were swarms of them! Tens of thousands of troops on the ground – mounted
regiments on great two-legged beasts that moved lightening fast across the plains! For the first
few hours of combat on those fields below, we had them overpowered. Our steel and size tore
through their front lines like a giant shredder. Then – then the real terror struck.”
“What happened?” the young man asked leaning forward on his haunches with
anticipation.
“It was almost like a dark cloud -- only it wasn’t. An entire army of airborne troops on
flying v-shaped sleds rained down on the battlefield. We had no line of defense against such an
assault. How could we have known? Their liquid laser-like weapons vaporized human targets
into smoke. It tore huge holes into our armored divisions. It felt like only a few minutes until this
swarm had eliminated half of our foot soldiers. We were forced to scatter and take refuge under
the canopy of the dense forests over there.” The mage pointed to the dark thicket to the east.
“How did you survive?” asked Allek.
“One of my colleagues, Nola, and I took refuge in a large cave in the forest. We spent the
next few weeks developing a weapon that could counter the Quinii air strikes.”
“The cannons!” Allek exclaimed.
“No. Not quite. We developed the MAG – magnetized ailian gun. A small hand held laser
shooter. Nola and I bode our time in the caves and awaited a moment of weakness in the
occupying force. In the coming months, as reconnaissance flights took to the skies just above the
canopy, we picked them off two by two. This gave us enough time and space to cut larger stones
and attach them to hollowed tree trunks. Using chants, we could activate the energy of the ailian
and magnify the shot by a thousand fold. In time, we forced the occupying forces back through
the rift from which they came. That gave us enough time to make the likes of what you see over
there.”
“Wow!”
“Indeed! That was the turning point in the Portal War for our world. Eventually, we
captured their stone, closed off the gate, and have never been back since,” Layol said.
“So, how did my father start the war? I mean, I don’t understand how he was
responsible.”
“The actual start of the war may never be determinable,” the mage began. “However, I do
know for certain that Ryllan called for the death of all the mages of the Order.”
“How do you know it wasn’t the mages that deserved it in the first place?” Allek asked
accusingly.
“What?” Layol shouted. “The Order was a group devoted to the betterment and
protection of the people of Sicon!”
“They betrayed my father!”
“No, boy!” Layol exclaimed, now angry. “Ryllan was betrayed by someone or something
else! Why would a group of mages and clerics want to betray the son of one of their own? You
like your father were brainwashed into believing a lie of convenience.”
“I don’t understand,” Allek began. “Then who or what would deceive my father like that?
Better still, why?”
“I can’t even begin to speculate at this juncture. Right now, we have to concern ourselves
with this virus. It’s sweeping through our world like a fire out of control.”
Allek stretched out under the blanket of thickening fog and pondered for a moment.
“Do you think that those people on the other side are dealing with this too?”
“Great Creator, I hope not!” Layol shouted. “If this bug stretched into another world, we
could potentially have the worst pandemic ever known.”
“You never mentioned why it is you fight these creatures, Layol.”
“And I did so for a very good reason.”
“Well, if we’re going to be on the road together for a while, then I feel that I should have
the right to know.”
“Right to know?”
“Yes,” Allek replied.
“Listen, Allek. I’d rather not talk about it right now. Maybe some other time.”
“Fine. Then can you tell me about this Kanji? What is it?”
Layol sat up in excitement at the prospect of sharing his decades and endless volumes of
knowledge with someone new.
“Ah, yes! Now that is a subject that I am very willing to discuss with you! Kanji – is most
importantly not only an art, but a way of life. Through the practice and meditations of Kanji, you
can tap into an unseen and unknown sea of energy and understanding. Your senses become
elevated above those of a typical Siconian.”
“So, it’s magic?” asked Allek.
“No, not exactly. It’s a symbiosis with the natural energies and elements around you. You
feed and borrow from its energy, and it in turn feeds and grows on the resonations of those
energies given off by the borrower.”
“Then, it’s more of a science, right?” Allek asked.
“Not really.”
“Now I’m really confused!” the young man tossed his forehead into his hands.
“Listen, Allek. Kanji is an art. It is composed of elements of both magic and science. You
will find that not everything you encounter in this vast universe fits into a perfect container.”
The young man hung his head in anguish. A low garble radiated out from his waistline.
“Well, then can you conjure up something to eat? I’m about to chew myself in half!”
“I only have a few of these wafers and some fruit for the moment. You are welcome to
them. Perhaps at some point tomorrow on our way to Nola’s Cavern, we can spear a few fish
from the stream that winds through the forest,” Layol said.
The mage unfolded a fair-sized cloth and laid it next to his fire. He handed Allek a large
wafer and a few pieces of fruit. The boy dove into it like a predator to its catch. The wafer was
made of the softest and sweetest bread he had ever tasted. The fruit was bigger and teeming with
more nectar than any he could remember eating back home.
“Slowly! Go easy on the wafer. It will fill your belly up faster than you realize,” Layol
said.
“So, Layol – tell me more of this art of yours,” Allek said through the half-masticated bits
of bread and fruit in his mouth.
“I will do one better than that, my boy!” the mage said with excitement. “I’ll give you
your first lesson.”
“Lesson?” Before the boy could argue, the flood gate opened.
“When you lay down to sleep tonight, clear your head of every thought. Focus on your
breaths. Take deep breaths and empty out your lungs. Relax your entire body and try to feel the
energy flowing through you. It should feel warm and enveloping, like the day’s rays of The
Suul.”
“What’s that got to do with conjuring flames?” Allek asked in a disobedient tone.
“In order to reach those levels of the art, you must first realize that you have its energy
within you. If you can’t get in touch with this raw resource, then you won’t stand a prayer,”
Layol replied with force.
The two said nothing more but sat in the quiet embrace of the lifting fog, and finished
their meals. Later that night when he went to sleep, Allek did as the old man had suggested. The
sensation of a small torch being walked up his body was the last conscious thing that he
remembered before the young man drifted into a strange dreamscape of a world with shifting
pools of color and light.
Chapter IV
The scarlet rays of the large setting sun pierced through the massive trunks of the trees to
meet Symon square in the eyes. In the distance, four large metallic legs came together and
sprouted upward into a great disc thousands of feet into the orange horizon. What looked like
small insects were actually people zipping to and fro on bizarre devices that Symon had never
seen before. One of these single-manned devices came swooping out of the heights to brush the
very tops of the trees a short distance away from his and his master’s current location.
“It’s even better than I imagined,” Gondar said.
“Most peculiar,” Symon said.
“They’re called shantu.” The old mage was now thumbing through Pegrin’s Journal
scanning its pages.
The shantu curved around in a semi-circle above them before halting in mid-air. The air
current flattened the thin green grass and rustled the pages from Gondar’s fingers. The long jet
black hair of the man (or woman, Symon couldn’t tell) flowed out behind the v-shaped object as
it descended toward the ground a short distance from the mages. Symon gauged that the being
stood at eye level with him. Dark solid brown eyes, two thin slits for nostrils (the apprentice
imagined) and an even thinner slot for the mouth. The Quinii being’s exposed skin on the arms
and neckline was a deep bronze. The rest of its body was covered by a matching white vest, sleek
pants and boots. The being maneuvered two separate levers forward and back with the skill and
finesse of the finest of Siconian sailors and heavy armor commanders. The reflective chrome
chevron came to rest with a whine.
The being turned its back to the men and strode toward the nearby body of water – not
even noticing them. The slender being knelt next to the pool and began to dig in the soil. The
blades of grass next to the Quinii were still fluttering toward him on a gentle breeze. He peered
back toward his shantu, sure that he had shut it off. The being’s eyes followed the dancing turf
back to two strange creatures standing in front of an oval of rippling air.
“Shaygan! Shonee tee-ghee shaygan!!” The Quinii was now on his feet and stammering
toward his shantu.
Symon panicked and snatched Pegrin’s Journal from Gondar.
“What’s it saying… what is it saying?!”
“The gate. They have opened the gate,” Gondar said calmly.
The light blue crystal was still spinning above the chalice. Gondar quickly released the
button on its face, and the ailian began to recede back into the grasp of the gold talons. Symon
turned to watch the large oval portal shrivel to the size of a small stone, and then flashed out of
existence.
“The gate! Help – alert the Draga!” the being shouted.
“We need to capture him, now.” Gondar’s stare was lean and hard.
“Yes, my Kanja,” the apprentice said.
Symon charged the Quinii and cut it off as the being was running for the shantu. The boy
grabbed the being by the wide part of its four-fingered hand gripping the gelatinous flesh tight.
“I have hihh…” the young mage started. Symon’s hand had its wrist for a split second.
He looked down to see that the being’s fingers had sunk into its wrist leaving only a stub.
As the Quinii turned and started again for its mode of transport, his fingers re-emerged in a fluid
motion.
“Damn!” Symon shouted.
The boy took three steps and tackled the man from behind around the waist. The man
began to convulse and struggle against Symon’s weight.
“Alert the Draga! They’ve come back!” the man shouted.
“Master,” the apprentice managed over the bucking body. “Please, shut it up before I snap
its wretched neck!”
“You would be best advised to remain quiet and do as I say,” Gondar said in the Quinii’s
native tongue.
“What do you want with me?” the man asked.
“I am Gondar, a Siconian. That is my young friend Symon,” the old mage said.
The man began to fight Symon again.
“Please, help me!” He shouted.
Gondar now impatient, walked toward the man – his right hand raised above his head.
The acrid smell of decomposing bones filled the air around them. A dark blue sphere of energy
grew in Gondar’s open hand. The grass around his feet began to turn brown and shrink. As the
sphere of light grew larger, Chayoan’s body began to shrivel. The Quinii gasped for air in fright
as he watched his own skin and tissues disappear.
“You will be quiet, or my young friend there will snap your neck like a twig. If that
doesn’t finish you, then I will.”
“Please, please,” the man groveled.
“Your name,” Gondar said.
“Don’t kill me, I beg you.”
“What are you called, wretch?”
“Chayoan – they call me Chayoan!”
The blue ball above Gondar diminished. The Quinii man’s body inflated back to its
normal shape, but the earth around the mage remained dead.
“How did you know this was a man, master?” Symon asked.
“The females have wings that they use to evade predators. According to Pegrin, the males
were forced by evolution to create their own means of flying. First simple pulleys, then those, ”
Gondar said pointing to the shantu.
“What do you barbarians want from me?” Chayoan asked.
“Barbarians?” Gondar chuckled. “We are far worse than that. You will take us,” the
mage’s gaze slid up toward the huge towering structure in the distance, “there.”
Symon and Chayoan both turned their heads toward the city in the clouds. Thousands of people
were still flying in and out of the city. Some droned in single file while others buzzed in a
random swarm.
“Why?” the Quinii began.
“I will ask the questions!” Gondar exclaimed.
“Fine. I will gather two more shantu and…”
“No. Not tonight. My colleague and I have other business to attend to this evening,” the
old mage said interrupting the man.
“We do?” Symon asked.
Gondar said nothing, and turned his attention to the lake next to them.
“We must make camp soon – somewhere that will conceal our whereabouts. Any
suggestions?” He looked toward Chayoan.
“The other side of the lake – there are trees there that will make nice camouflage,”
Chayoan said.
“Very well,” Gondar said. “Symon?”
“Yes, master?”
“Gather our belongings. I’ll make sure that our guide doesn’t wander far.”
Gondar relit another tiny dark sphere above his shoulder. Again, Chayoan felt the choking
grip of the stranger’s powers.
“Of course, my Kanja,” Symon said in reverence.
The two followed their guide across the damp undergrowth lining the lake. Symon was
weighed down with several packs of supplies. Gondar surveyed his new surroundings with the
sphere perched just above his right shoulder.
The air around the water was cool and fresh. The large red star sank behind the tiny peaks
that Gondar assumed must be a mountain range. The grass was spattered with small groupings of
violet colored flowers. Their petals danced in the wind. Then Gondar noted that there was no
breeze at the moment. The old mage bent down and inspected the flora closer. The flowers’
petals were in no hurry to curl out and then close once more.
“They’re breathing,” Gondar whispered.
“I’m sorry, master?”
“Nothing, Symon. Nothing.”
The mage rose off the ground and continued on after the others. Symon followed the
Quinii single file as he ducked underneath a large branch that jutted out over the lake’s shore.
Symon almost fell over into the water when a big gray fish flopped across his foot.
“Sweet Creator!”
The fish floundered on its side for minute and then ceased breathing quick and labored.
Symon bent down to pick it up and throw it back in, but stopped short of the creature when he
saw its belly start to form a small knot… then another on its back… and another under its gills.
Thin mahogany cones began to protrude from each knot like the fish was giving birth to its
young. The cones grew into jointed legs – six in all. The fish raised itself up on the limbs and
scuttled off toward where the water met the land.
“What is that thing?” Symon asked.
Chayoan turned his head long enough to confirm his thoughts.
“A juunu.”
“Juunu?” the young man echoed.
“Yes. They are a type of creature suitable for eating most of the time,” Chayoan said.
Symon shook his head in disbelief and trailed after the Quinii. Fifty feet ahead another
juunu bounded out of the water and scuttled off after the other.
“Unbelievable!” Gondar said in a frenzy. He had not felt this sort of exhilaration since he
was a child.
The three made their way through the thicket of high grass and brush to the far corner of
the lake. The red sun was nearly dissolved behind the distant mountains. Symon dropped the
packs and fished out a thin semi-circular tube which he unfolded. As the boy placed the large
ring on the grass, a dome of thin yellow film materialized over it.
“The tent is set, master,” he said.
“Very well. Fetch some kindling for our fire.”
The apprentice brushed his blonde mane back over his ears and strode off into the
underbrush.
“You – wretch. See if you can manage to catch a few of those juunu for our meal,” the
old mage barked.
Chayoan began to stand up in defiance of his treatment, but was quickly put in his place
by Gondar’s orb. The Quinii slumped his torso and slouched off in the direction of the lake.
The fire had reduced itself to a pile of bright embers. Its flickering light cast long
shadows over the small pile of juunu carcasses near the lake. Symon and Chayoan were both in a
deep slumber. Gondar was on his back peering off through the boughs of the forest into the pitch
sky. Two long swatches of stars and celestial gases crosshatched the heavens. One lone blue star,
looking the size of the mage’s fist, sat in the far southern sky.
“Gondar…” a serpentine voice whispered.
Gondar shot up at the waist startled by his master’s voice.
“Yes, my Lord. By what honor do I owe you your presence tonight?”
“I have come to make you a proposition.” A vaporous apparition had materialized just
above the flickering fire. Only its glowing white eyes could be seen from beneath its deep
hooded cloak.
“What be your bidding, Darklord?” Gondar asked in a solemn voice.
“You hunger for control over Sicon, do you not?”
“Indeed, I do, my Lord,” Gondar said.
“I yearn for the opportunity to walk its shores again,” the voice whispered.
“I am listening, Taeligan.”
“Continue to nurture my Dark Army on this world that I might take it as well.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Find The Tome, so that I might walk among you once more. My abilities are weak… as
you can see. Only by taking human form might I regain all my strength.”
“Yes, Lord. Where might I find this..?” Gondar was cut off.
“Journey north past the city of Quantas. In the mountains known as the High Range, you
will find The Tome. Do this for me, and I will not only give you rule over your world, but all that
you have on your precious chalice,” Taeligan said.
“As you wish, my Lord.” The mage’s eyes lit up. The lust and greed dripped from
Gondar’s face.
“Find me a suitable host that I might live again.”
With that final word, the figure in the flames evaporated leaving behind a pair of glowing
eyes which too, disappeared soon thereafter. Gondar bowed his head and began setting out a
cluster of tubes and clear containers. The mage mixed the various fluids into a separate bowl. As
he poured one after another, the bowl’s contents boiled and changed from green, to brown, and
then to black. Gondar lowered his open hands over the bowl and recanted a low guttural phrase.
Small wisps of purple vapor snaked out from the boiling contents of the basin, and the closer
shrubs crumbled and died. The mage shifted his hand toward the Quinii man still asleep on the
other side of the embers. The pungent fumes bent to his will and drifted toward Chayoan. They
snaked into his nostrils causing the man to shuffle in his sleep. After all the fumes from his
Shining Path ritual had succeeded in entering Chayoan, Gondar tossed the contents of the bowl
into the embers causing it to blaze back to life.
Look for the full length novel “Shaygan” coming soon to e-readers everywhere!