The Golden Scrolls


Tavis J. Hampton



Copyright © 2006 by Tavis J. Hampton. All Rights Reserved. 



For Zahra and all children who dream:
Let the Universe be your sea and imagination, your ship.





The Task






The village fair was alive with the sounds of children playing, chickens pecking here and there, and women laughing over cups of tea and sweet-smelling bread. Travelers came from afar to purchase rare jewels and trade their goods with each other. A single man would leave married, and an empty-handed child would leave with pockets full of trinkets and knickknacks from faraway lands. 

When Fuad arrived at the fair, however, none of these attractions tempted him into abandoning his goal, which was the Storyteller. To all young people of Cor, Fuad’s kingdom, it was the Storyteller who was the heart and essence of the fair. 

The Storyteller perched on his wooden stool like an old owl searching for its nightly prey. It was not the field mice, however, that drew the attention of this wise storyteller, but the children who were his prizes of the evening. As he ran his aged and wrinkled fingers through the strands of his gray beard, he held out his other hand in a slow waving motion over the crowd of children and youths. 

Fuad, mindful of the crowd that was gathering, quickly moved to the front so that he was sure to hear every word from the lips of the Storyteller. As always, every word was crucial to understanding the true meaning of the story. Many great men had heard the words of the Storyteller and changed their lives completely because of his wisdom and insight into the lives of the people of Cor. 

The wise Storyteller began, “Spirits and men alike have searched for the Golden Scrolls. Wretched beasts and beautiful maidens, tiny farmers and giant wrestlers have all trekked through the deserts and jungles, only to find despair and agony, but the Golden Scrolls have eluded them. Death and misery can they end; hatred and persecution can they remove; loneliness and depression can they cure. Evil hides its face from them; wise men give their lives for them. But no one has seen their glistening letters. No one has felt their delicate pages. No one has experienced their blissful treasures. Ah but I, my friends, have seen them with my eyes as clearly as you see this hair on my chin. But now my eyes have failed this old body, and I can no longer see as I once did.” 

“Who?” shouted the Storyteller as he rose from his perch like the owl preparing to strike. 

“Who will rise and search for the missing Golden Scrolls? Who among you will claim these scrolls and return happiness to this Cor of yours? Who?” 

Fuad immediately rose from his dusty seat and exclaimed, “I will, Storyteller!” 

The storyteller squinted at Fuad’s tiny frame, but he was unable to see him clearly. He ran his withered hands over the boy with gentleness and for a moment saw clearly the sparkle of the evening sunset in the eyes of Fuad. 

“Sit down, boy,” said the Storyteller. 

Fuad slowly returned to his seat, unsure why people around him were beginning to chuckle. He knew he was small, but he also knew that he could find the scrolls. His mother always told him that the Hadra would protect even the weak, and that anyone could achieve what he desired, if it was done with the power of the Hadra. He took these words to heart and often dreamed of bringing back the prosperity and ease of life that was once enjoyed by the people of Cor. Poverty was now commonplace among the Corian people. One might ask why such poor people would have a fair, but the people of Cor held their traditions dearly to their hearts and would not give them up, even in impoverished and destitute conditions. 

When the storyteller had finished and all of the people began to leave, Fuad again stood before the Storyteller, this time with sadness on his face. “Why do you tell stories like this if no one will do what you say?” 

“Ah,” said the old man, “Many will do as I say, and many more will perish trying.” 

“Then tell me where I can find these scrolls,” replied the boy, who was then beginning to raise his voice. 

“Calm yourself boy. You are too young for such a journey, and I am too old to guide you there myself.” 

“Just tell me where. I will go there when I am older, if the Hadra permits it.” 

The Storyteller thought for a moment and then said, “All right. I will tell you how to reach your destination, but beware. The path which you have chosen is arduous, and very few have returned alive.” 

“I will not fail the people of Cor,” Fuad insisted, with a new wave of confidence flowing through the inside of his body. 

The Storyteller handed Fuad a golden key. On the key were engraved the words, “Qalb” on one side and “Fuad” on the other. Fuad thought that it was rather neat that this key had his name on it, but he paid it little attention, as his mind began to race with excitement about his pending mission. 

Before Fuad left, the Storyteller spoke again, “Listen to me, boy, for I do not know if I will see another fair. Death is approaching me, and I am unsure if I will see the Golden Scrolls again before I am laid to rest. Heed my words carefully, and what I do not tell you, do not question, for I am old, and my words must be few.” 

The old man continued, “There are three mountains beyond the valley of Cor. On the top of each mountain is a house made of wood. Go to the first house and ask the man for a bronze key. He will not want to give you the key, but show him your golden key, and he will give it to you. On the next mountain, ask the woman in the house for a silver key. Tell her that I have sent you. She will give you warm clothes and supplies so that you can make the journey over the last mountain, which is snow-covered and filled with obstacles that I struggled to overcome even when I was young like you. Finally, when you reach the third house, you will meet a Guide who lives alone, if he is still there at all, and he knows where to find the keepers of the Golden Scrolls. He will ask you for the three keys and then will ask you three questions. When you have answered the questions, the scrolls will be…” 

The man began to cough violently. He held his chest and grasped, with his other hand, Fuad's shoulder, in order to balance himself. He looked at Fuad and said, “Take me home please. I am sick and need to see my wife while I am still able to talk.” 

“I will,” said Fuad, “but what are the three questions?” 

“I told you boy, do not ask that which I refrain from telling you. I was never able to answer the questions and have forgotten them. Answer from your heart, and perhaps your answers will be correct.” 

Fuad took the old man home and then parted ways with him, not knowing if he would ever see the old man alive again. As he lay in bed that night, Fuad envisioned his journey. He had read of the adventures of many great men and women from Cor. He smiled at the thought of being remembered among them. How he would manage to succeed in such an adventure and how he would convince his mother to allow him to go had not yet entered into his mind. 

As the sun rose and the smell of fresh porridge emanated from the kitchen, Fuad was already awake and still pondering over his meeting with the old man. He entered the kitchen, greeted his mother, and began talking immediately, “Mother, I have something to ask you.” 

His mother, with her warm smile and affectionate voice answered him, “Please Fuad, sit down and ask me while we eat.” 

When they had begun eating, Fuad paused to stare out of the window. He could see the three mountains, surrounded by fog, from their house, which was at the edge of the valley, just past the foothills. “Mother,” he said, “I wish to take a journey to find the Golden Scrolls.” 

His mother continued to smile in the way that she always did when Fuad asked for something. This surprised him greatly. It was as if he had asked for a pet lynx or a wooden wagon. His facial expression changed as he set down his spoon next to his bowl of half-eaten porridge. “Mother, did you hear what I said?” 

His mother reached for his cheeks with her soft hands, which seemed to hardly reveal the amount of work that she actually did in the field every day. She held his face close to her own and stared into his innocent eyes, which always seemed to perfectly reflect whatever was in front of them, more so than any other eyes. 

“Fuad, my child, I have known that this day would come. When you were born, our people's elders told your father and me about the scrolls and told us that you would be the one to find them. It was foretold, and it is your destiny.” 

A sense of honor filled Fuad, as he realized how proud his mother was that he had reached this point, but his mind immediately shifted to the task that was ahead of him. He then knew that the porridge before him may be the last meal from his mother that he would ever taste. Fuad kissed his mother and then set off to the shed to collect supplies for his journey. 

When he reached the shed, Fuad’s father was already hard at work preparing supplies for his son’s journey. This again took Fuad by surprise, but he was, by then, too excited to slow down his pace and ponder over the events of the past two days. Instead, with a pack on his back, a map in one hand, and a walking staff in the other, Fuad hugged his parents and set off on his journey that afternoon. 

As he passed over the foothills of Cor Valley, and his house slowly became a distant speck on the horizon, Fuad’s eyes caught their first real glimpse of the mighty mountain in front of him. The fog had cleared from the first mountain, and he could see its peak from the foothills. Unlike the next two mountains, the first one was low, and the hike to the top of it was rather easy. 

Every step was taken by Fuad with such enthusiasm that several times, he nearly tripped and fell due to his reckless march up the steepening hill. This first mountain was covered with fresh spring grass, and the smell that drifted over it tickled Fuad’s nose and made his journey pleasant and relaxing. 

Before he had time to get tired, Fuad found himself at the doorstep of the first house. The house was made of wood, but grass and vines had grown over it, as if it was no longer inhabited. Fuad now realized that he had seen this house from the foothills, but it so resembled a large stone covered with moss, that he had not realized what it was. Fuad knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He entered the house and was immediately seized by its darkness. It had no windows and only one room with a table and a small bed made of leaves. 

A hand reached for Fuad and spun him around with relative ease. There standing in front of him was a small bearded man whose size easily concealed his true strength. “Several men much stronger than you have come, boy,” the man said. “Why do you think that you will succeed?” 

“I have faith that I will succeed,” said Fuad confidently. 

“Faith is good,” said the old man, “but what you say and what you believe may not be the same. Death is formidable, and those who meet with it often turn away from the path that is true. None can escape his destiny, but even men of valor still flee from it.” 

Fuad was puzzled by the man’s discourse, but decided against debating with him. Instead, he simply turned towards the man with a stern but youthfully amusing look and said, “I have brought with me the golden key.” He pulled the key from his backpack and held it before the old man’s hazel eyes. 

“Indeed you have,” said the old man. “Take then this old bronze key that is tarnished and tired, like the one who possesses it. Perhaps it will be of more use to an innocent youth, such as you.” 

Fuad smiled, as he thought to himself that this was too easy. Already he had completed the first task and was soon on his way to the next mountain. In his excitement, he forgot his manners and did not speak another word to the old man, as he bolted out of the shack and down the mountain. 

The old man, sensing the boy’s haphazard attitude, called out to him, “Be careful boy, the mountain is deceiving, watch your…” 

Fuad let out a scream, “Ahhhhhhh!” 

Bum-de-bum-de-bum-de-bum-de-bum, was the sound he heard as he tumbled down the lumpy mountain. Fuad saw the world spinning around him, and he began to imagine that he might reach the bottom of this mountain and meet his end. Before he could finish his prayer, however, he landed with a splash in some muddy water that lingered at the bottom of the first mountain. 

In front of Fuad was a foreboding swamp. The stillness of the water and the silence of the surroundings gave Fuad a chill, and he began to wonder why the Storyteller had not mentioned the swamp in his description of the journey. Fuad, trying to regain his confidence, thought that perhaps the swamp’s journey was so easy that it was not worth mentioning. 

As he began to walk, he brushed off the grass and leaves that had stuck to him on his less than graceful descent of the mountain. Every step that he made was accompanied by a squishing sound of the mushy marsh beneath him. The more he walked, the more Fuad began to wonder if he was even going the right way. From the top of the first mountain, the second mountain seemed so close. Now, he could not even see either mountain from the dark canopy of trees that hovered over the swamp. 

Nevertheless, Fuad continued squishing over the marsh and splashing through the pools of muddy water. He carried on this way for at least 20 minutes when something no longer felt right. He stopped but heard nothing. Then, he began to walk again and could hear the sounds of squishes beneath his feet, but it sounded different. He stopped again, but this time the squishing did not stop. He was being followed. 

Fuad’s knees began to tremble. Should he run or turn and fight? Since he had no idea what was following him, he decided to run. Now running in the swamp would be no easy task. He tripped several times and nearly fell flat on his face. After a few minutes of running, he no longer heard the footsteps. 

“How ya doing?” a voice suddenly said. 

Fuad’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest as he turned around to see what was behind him, but he saw nothing. He turned back around and jumped at the sight of the large rodent in front of him. “A rat?” Fuad asked, puzzled. 

“Actually, I’m a nutria,” clarified the brown furry creature. 

“Um, you, eh, well, you talk?” Fuad said, trying to think of the right words to say to a nutria. 

The Nutria stood up on his hind legs and turned his head sideways, as if to size up the boy, “Of course I talk. Now what are you doing down here in my swamp?” 

“Your swamp?” asked Fuad. “I’m on a journey to find the Golden Scrolls. This swamp is just in my way.” 

“You come into my swamp and then have the nerve to say it’s in your way? You homans are always so rude!” 

Fuad laughed. “That’s humans, not homans.” 

“Whatever!” said the nutria in a perturbed voice. “The point is, this is my swamp. If you want to get out of it alive, you’ll need my help.” 

“Oh, yes, I wouldn’t want to get eaten by another nutria,” Fuad said, with a childish grin. 

“Listen funny-boy, those steps you heard behind you, the ones that made you run like a white-tailed deer. Those were the footsteps of an alligator. You came mighty close to stepping on her eggs.” 

Fuad was speechless. 

The nutria grinned, that is, as much as nutrias can grin. He said, “Look, my name is Miftah. I’ll be your guide through the forest. The keeper of the second house sent me to fetch you and bring you to her.” 

“Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?” asked Fuad, who was now feeling a little safer. 

“I thought I’d have a little fun with you first. Homans make me laugh.” 

Fuad was tempted to kick the nutria for scaring him like that, but he figured that he had better not risk losing his chance at finding the second house. Instead, he picked himself off of the ground, to which he had fallen when the nutria startled him, and followed Miftah through the darkest and most frightening parts of the swamp. 

The eerie silence of the swamp was occasionally broken when Miftah would stop to tell a silly joke. Fuad could tell that Miftah did not have many friends. Despite this, he would smile at every joke, even though they were not funny. 

Before long, the two companions came to the end of the swamp. The canopy of trees served as a door to the clearing ahead of them. When Fuad stepped into the clearing, amazement immediately overcame him. There before him was the second mountain, which possessed splendor like Fuad had never before witnessed. The hillside was adorned with flowers of every breed, trickling springs of crystal clear water, butterflies of every design, birds singing the sweetest song, and blades of grass that seemed to dance in the wind to the rhythm of the birds’ song. 

Fuad began to wonder if perhaps he had died when he stumbled down the first mountain and was now entering the gates of Paradise. He could have stood for an eternity, in the same spot, gazing at the beautiful mountain, before his moment of clarity was cut short by the bothersome nutria. “Come on, boy,” said Miftah. “I haven’t all day to be gazing at butterflies.” 

Fuad again contemplated kicking the nutria but instead asked, “Do you not ever ponder over the beauty of nature, Miftah?” 

Miftah gave no answer and scurried up the mountainside, the way nutrias do. 

When the two arrived at the second house, it was, like the first house, nothing impressive. This house, however, had a very inviting aura about it. One could tell that it was inhabited by someone who welcomed visitors. The house was made of dried mud covered with palm fibers making up the roof. A long wooden pipe rose from the back and puffed out steam like a tea kettle. 

Miftah stood by the door and waited for the boy to catch up. When Fuad reached the doorstep of the house, he looked down at Miftah. “Well go ahead,” said Miftah. “Knock.” 

The boy knocked on the wooden reed door. The woman who opened the door took Fuad by surprise. He had expected an elderly lady. Instead, he was greeted by a middle-aged woman, whose radiance was immediately captivating. She was a beautiful petite woman with high cheek bones and mahogany eyes. She tightened the scarf draped over her head and stepped to the side so that Miftah and Fuad could enter her cozy abode. 

The woman looked down at Miftah as if he were her long lost husband, “How are you sweetie? I’ve prepared some grub for you. You know, I was not expecting such a young boy.” 

“Yes,” said Miftah. “He is younger than usual, but he has high spirits.” 

The woman flipped one end of the shawl that was draped over her shoulders over her neck so that she could reach down into her pot without getting her clothes wet. Fuad noticed that her hands almost had a glow to them as if she kept them in a glass case and only used them once a year. She reminded him of his mother and how her hands never revealed that she was a woman of the field. 

“So, please, tell me. What is your name, young man?” the woman asked with a smile on her face. 

“My name is Fuad, son of Abbas." 

The woman then stared at the boy as if she had lost something and had now found it. “Your name is on the key?” the woman asked, although she was well aware of the answer. 

“Umm, yes,” said Fuad. “It is the key that the wise Storyteller gave to me. He said that you would give me the silver key.” 

The woman smiled and turned her head to the side much in the same way that the nutria had done when it met him. “Oh, but young man, you already have the silver key.” 

“No, you’re supposed to give it to me,” argued Fuad, who now began to think that the woman may not quite be sane. 

“I already gave you the key, my child.” 

Just then, Miftah stood up on his hind legs and pointed to his chest. “Take a good look, baby,” he said, as he ran his paw over the silver stripe that ran down his chest and belly. 

“I don’t understand,” said Fuad. “You are the key?” 

“Miftah means key, boy. I’m Miftah, so I’m the key." 

The woman could sense the confusion on Fuad’s face. She took his backpack and set it on the floor next to the door. “Let us not trouble ourselves with these matters now. You will eat with us, and then you will stay the night. Tomorrow, you can begin your journey to the third house.” 

Until now, Fuad never considered whether the woman was trustworthy. He was then still a boy, only reaching 12 years of age several months ago. Would it be wise to stay with a strange woman and a talking nutria? Fuad’s uncertainty dissipated when the woman put a piece of bread into his mouth. The immense flavor of the bread was uncanny. Ever since Fuad had emerged from the swamp, his senses seemed to be magnified tenfold. 

The woman took a ladle and collected a healthy portion of stew into a bowl, handing it to Fuad. She also took a spoonful of rice and dropped it into the bowl of stew. The smell of the stew was almost intoxicating to Fuad. Later, he would come to regret such indulgence. 

When Fuad had finished the stew, he began to tell the woman about his journey. She sat in a rocking chair with her shawl now draped over her legs. She reached for a dusty book that was on the shelf behind her. She smiled at Fuad and began to tell him what would happen on the rest of his journey. 

“Tomorrow, you must leave before sunrise in order to meet with the Guide. He spends the dawn hour in meditation, after the Morning Prayer. Afterwards, he starts his daily routine. You must catch him at the 10 minute interval between the meditation and the daily routine. If you miss this time, you will have to wait until the next day, as the Guide will not see anyone after his daily routine begins.” 

The woman turned the dusty deerskin pages of the book and continued, “When the Guide sees that you have come for the scrolls, you must show him the three keys. He will ask you three questions. If you answer them correctly, he will tell you where to find the Golden Scrolls.” 

Fuad began to ask the woman what the three questions were, but his eyes became heavy. He struggled to stay awake, but the woman’s face soon appeared blurry. His lips felt as if they were too heavy to open, and Fuad soon fell into a heavy sleep. 

Just before dawn, Fuad awoke in the bedroom of the woman’s house. The entire house was dark, and there was no sign of anyone else inside. Fuad arose from bed, still wearing the clothes from the previous night. As he began to prepare for the morning meditation, he noticed that Miftah was tucked into his backpack and fast asleep. He tried to wake Miftah, but it was as if he was hibernating. 

With a loud crash, the window was violently blown open by a freezing shot of air that hit Fuad’s young face like a ball of needles. He quickly closed the window, but curiously looked out to see from where such cold air had come. To his surprise, the mountain was covered in snow. The flowers, the butterflies, the birds, everything was gone. Only the whistling of the harsh wind could be heard. 

Fuad was frightened and confused. Where had the woman gone? Why was the mountain now covered in a snow storm when it was, only yesterday, alive with spring? Why was Miftah in an uninterruptible sleep? How would Fuad find the third house without someone to guide him? 



Two




Shahzanan






Darkness blended into light, as the old man's eyelids slowly opened. In a modest, dimly lit room, was a bed, with fresh white linens, an armchair next to a reading lamp, and a tray containing various objects. The old man ran his large course hands over the outline of his face as he attempted to gather himself and determine how long he had been unconscious. 

To still be alive was good, he thought, but another day of life also brought another day of worries. His entire life, however long it had been, for he no longer remembered his age, was endured only for this day. He had hoped and prayed to see the time when Cor would once again arise from darkness and once again be the light of civilizations. He had dedicated the latter years of his life to telling the stories of fallen heroes and great sages from Cor's past, so that they might not be forgotten in the bustle of market sales quarrels or the physical demands of raising children, with barely enough to eat for oneself. 

Was it right to trust all of this, the fate of these people, the fate of the known world, in the hands of a child? Could the elders have been mistaken in their prophecy? Could he have sent an innocent child on the journey in search of his own demise? He struggled to lift himself into a sitting position, and the sunlight from the scantily shaded window pierced through and illuminated his sculpted facial features. Each crevice in his face had a story to tell, more powerful than any of his own fables. Each silver strand from his immense beard was a reminder of the trials that his life had endured. 

"Oh great! You're up, just in time for lunch!" A young girl, no older than 15, had entered the room unnoticed, until her rather startlingly cheerful announcement. 

"Somehow hunger has escaped me," said the Storyteller, as he still shuffled back and forth, trying to reach his sitting position. 

The girl scampered to the bedside. "Let me help you, Uncle." 

Her hands were small and feminine, but they were strong and weathered, like those of an older woman. She carefully maneuvered her arms around the Storyteller and guided him to his now greatly appreciated sitting position. 

He was not her uncle, at least not any more so than any other old man in the town would be. Her name was Shahzanan, daughter of her father. On one of his many trips to other lands, the Storyteller had encountered a great caravan of wealthy merchants, who had more than their fair share of just about every worldly pleasure, from the kingdom of Qamariya. 

Storyteller noticed a particular carriage lined with exquisite gold trim, the finest elembur tree wood, curtains of fine red brocade, and a certain auburn glow that could not be explained, even by an eloquent man such as the Storyteller. The horse stepped with determined steps, as if running from something, but not wishing to appear as though it were running. Whatever secret that was held within the owner of the carriage, was also held within that horse. It was, undoubtedly, an eyewitness. 

It was from the window of that carriage that the Storyteller first saw the hand that was now adjusting his pillow. It was, if only for a moment, the most beautiful hand he had ever seen. Expecting a princess of great regard to be seated within the carriage, the Storyteller rode closer, on his black thoroughbred. 

As per Qamariyan custom, Storyteller approached the driver and inquired, "To what honor are we to bestow upon the occupant of this carriage?" 

The driver, with a thinly trimmed mustache and a certain crooked snarl of a smile gargled his words, "The prisoner is the slave girl of His Highness, the Crown Prince Melkemind of Qamariya." 

"Argh!" The old man's flashback was urgently interrupted by a stinging sensation from his right arm. 

"You must have your shots, Uncle. Sorry. I thought it would be less painful if I did not warn you." 

"It's alright, my child," he said, now relaxing back to the sitting position. "Have I ever told you the story of how I found you?" 

"Only five hundred times, Uncle." 

"Ah yes, so I have." 

He raised his head slightly in contemplation and then glanced at Shahzanan askance with one eyebrow raised and a half smile upon his face. 

She giggled in recognition, "But please, Uncle, tell me again." 

"Oh well, if you insist. On one of my journeys to a far off land, the name of which I can no longer remember, I came upon a caravan of merchants, on its way back to Qamariya from an expedition. 

"It was there that my eyes fell upon the most beautiful hand in the Known World and desired nothing more than to know who was the owner of such a perfect hand. 

"I was informed, by the slimy driver of your carriage, that you were a slave girl of the Crown Prince, and that he was particularly fond of you. At the time I thought little of it. After all, why should a princess or a slave girl be any concern of mine? I only wanted to know, out of my own foolish curiosity. 

"I saw you peek from the window of the carriage with your saddened emerald eyes. I could feel the intense energy emanating from you, but do not, till this day, understand the cause of it. It was as though you called out to me, despite being only a child of 4 years. 

"Still, I had no business with the slave child of a prince, and any further dallying on my part assuredly would have incited a scandal. I departed, but I never forgot that look, that energy, or those hands. 

"In the year of celestial harmony, the kingdom of Orisay, whose people worship the stars, raised an army against Qamariya, in an effort, once and for all, to conquer them and dominate the western savanna of the Known World. Although the two kingdoms had been at war time and again, the people of Qamariya enjoyed a level of serenity that blinded them from the impending danger. 

"The city was ravaged, libraries burned, men slaughtered, and women and children sold into slavery. Qamariya, your home, was no more. 

Until then, I had forgotten about you, but on the night after hearing news from Qamariya, I became haunted by nightmares of seeing your soft, innocent hands violently torn from your adopted mother's. The next morning, I knew that I must find you. 

"I contacted four of my closest associates, and, together, we mounted that afternoon and rode, with speed, to the kingdom of Qamariya, or at least what remained of it. 

"For three weeks, we traveled from hut to meeting hall, from farm to stable, searching and inquiring about your whereabouts and about the fate of your master, the prince. Finally, when it seemed all hope was lost, I met a fisherman named Yarfu, who said that the prince was alive and that he had aided him in his escape. He told me this, only after I had promised him sack-loads of gold. 

"As we set out to the town that the man had mentioned, it was only then that I realized how much time had passed. It had been seven years since I'd seen you. How would I recognize you? I knew then that the only way to find you was to focus all of our attention on finding the Prince. 

"Fortunately, the prince was not hard to find. The people of Orisay still recognized him as royalty, despite the cruelty that they had shown his people. And Prince Melkemind did not seem to mind the attention, in spite of the dire situation of his once loyal subjects. The Orisay`i people kept him hidden in the house of one of their wealthy maids, whose name I cannot remember. While the people still revered him, the king of Orisay wanted his head. 

"The prince, therefore, lived in secrecy, but received tributes and finery from all over Orisay. You might find it hard to believe that so many people could and would keep a secret from their king, but I would say to you that you do not know the Orisay`i people. 

"Anyway, upon arriving at this house, which, mind you, was more grand than anything you would find in Cor, we tied our horses and were greeted, almost too eagerly, by the maid. My, what was her name? What struck me as odd about this woman was that, with all her wealth, and, as I immediately discovered, striking beauty, she chose not to marry. She had servants waiting on her hand and foot, and yet she herself came out to greet us. Then again, you will find almost everyone in Orisay has some oddity and some mystery about them. 

"She led us through seven corridors of her house, apparently to confuse us as to how we arrived at the final destination where the prince was hidden. As the mahogany double doors opened, there, seated upon a finely woven sofa, was a ten-year-old boy. Only then did I understand the extreme lengths to which he was always hidden from plain sight, even within the walls of Qamariya. Only then did I realize that you were chosen as his slave-girl so that you might be a childhood playmate for him. 

"He informed me that you had been sold to a hermit, who had emerged only for one day, the day of his annual harvest, and happened to catch a glimpse of you at the market. He thought it to be some divine providence and decided to buy you and take you as a wife." 

Shahzanan shriveled, "Ew! How old was he?" 

"Let's just say, he was not a young man. The prince said that all of this had just occurred that very day and that we could still rescue you before the hermit returned to his unknown house beyond the limits of the savanna. Melkemind agreed to guide us to the location of the hermit's shop where he, once a year, sold enough produce from his harvest to last him the whole year, on one condition: that we take him with us so that he and you might once again be reunited. 

"I make no exaggeration when I say this, for at the very instant that I nodded my head in agreement, the maid of that house removed the wooden post from the bed, as though it were a twig from a tree, and began swinging it at me and screaming curses in Orisay`i. Now, anyone who has heard the Orisay`i language knows that most of their words are at least four syllables long, and the woman had, perhaps unknowingly, been swinging her post to the rhythm of her recitation of Orisay`i vulgarities. 

"After a few swings, I timed the syllables of her words and was able to snatch the bed post from her without causing her any harm. I could have shot her, of course, but I truly understood her sorrow at the prospect of losing the great prince from the kingdom her people had just degraded and conquered. Actually, I have no idea why it upset her so, nor why she did any of the things she did. 

"At any rate, she then lunged at me with her hands raised. I dodged her attack, and my men grappled her to the ground, tied her up, and left her in that very bedroom. We fled that town with the prince and have never again returned. 

"Now, the hermit was not a nice man, as well he should not be, having no practice at the daily manners of social interaction. But this hermit was particularly mean, even for a hermit. Nevertheless, he was also a miser, who cherished his money even more than his own well-being. He happily sold you to us, after we named the right price. Had the prince not been with us, we would not have afforded you, but the King had sent the prince away with most of the kingdom's wealth, knowing full well that the boy would have a better chance of survival. 

"It is in that way that you and Melkemind came to be under my guardianship. Strangely, I still have not determined why you do not remember any of this firsthand. I assure you that you were there." 

Shahzanan playfully nudged him, "Oh, Uncle. I'm sure it was a traumatic experience that my mind filed into my subconscious." 

"Ah, my daughter the mind doctor." 

"My Uncle, the flatterer. If I had been a mind doctor, we would live in much better conditions that we do now..." 

"Now, dear, you know..." 

"Uncle!" Shahzanan vaulted from the bed. "You are the Storyteller! The wealthiest men and the most inquisitive students from every land come to hear your words. They cherish your knowledge more than their own lives. Why cannot the Republic afford you the fine houses, expensive clothes, and servants that all government officials enjoy?" 

The Storyteller placed his coarse, experienced hand in Shahzanan's trembling, delicate palm. She could feel the warmth from his hand transferring into hers, as though all his experience and wisdom flowed through it. 

"Shahzanan, they have offered. They have never stopped offering." 

"Then, why?" 

"The great elder, Saditikun, once said that the wealth of the world is like the water of the sea. The more you drink of it, the thirstier you become, until it kills you." 

Storyteller pulled the girl closer to him so that her now teary eyes could catch a glimpse of the light that emanated from his immensely luminous eyes. He continued, "My flower, by the Hadra, we were chosen for this life that we live. It is not an accident that we find ourselves in this situation." 

"Don't you mean the Hadra has chosen you? I am only a slave girl." 

"No!" At this, the Storyteller, rose from the bed. Shahzanan was unaware that he could sit straight up. Now he was standing over her with fire in his eyes and visible redness upon his face. She was now in full flowing tears, and she cowered a little and pulled her hand away from his. 

"You must never think that," he whispered. "Never. You are also here for a purpose. Melkemind is here for a purpose. Fuad is not here because he also has a purpose." 

He paused and turned towards the eastern window and fixated his gaze on the foothills of Cor. He could see the mist tumbling down from the mountains. His face crinkled as an old parchment does when it has been used for many years. He turned his head towards the floor, as though he were suddenly entering a deep meditative state, or as if he were trying to listen to a faint, barely audible sound. 

"Have Melkemind prepare my horse," he announced. 

Shahzanan quickly objected, "Uncle, you are sick!" 

"You are neither my mother, who is long passed, nor my wife, who is much older. Now, you will do as I say!" 

"I am your nurse, and I believe you are unfit to go anywhere farther than the garden! If you go after that boy, Uncle, you might die." 

"If I do not go after him, we will all die." 

"Then I must go with you." 

He grumbled, half smiling, "Out of the question. I need you to care for your aunt. She will need you more than I." He coughed loudly and gurgled his throat. 

Shahzanan threw her arms into the air, "What you need is rest and medicine, but since you have chosen not to listen to me, you must take me with you." 

"Do not argue with me child. You will stay here. Now, tell Melkemind to prepare my horse and call on Albiyun, the woodworker. He will accompany me, and we will assemble a team of men." 

Shahzanan rolled her eyes, men, what good will they be without a woman to keep them stable? 

As she began to leave the room, the Storyteller said, "I heard that!" 

"I didn't say anything, old man," she yelled through the closing door. 

After the door had closed, Storyteller nearly fell to the ground, catching his balance with the bedpost. Had the girl remained any longer, he would not have been able to continue to hide his weakness. Pain crawled through his body like a creature trapped in a space too small, trying to escape. He situated himself on the edge of the bed and entered into meditation, focusing on removal of pain, but also distracted by thoughts of Fuad and his whereabouts. 



Three




Upon the Circle






Albiyun was a simple woodworker, who lived near the center of town, in a house above his shop. All of the tables, chairs, shelves, and any other wood furniture came from his or his workers' wood-roughened hands. He was a massive man, with arms larger than small children, a chest as hard as a boulder, and legs shaped like the trunks of trees. Complimenting all of his powerful limbs was a large, bowl-shaped gut that protruded out from the bottom of his shirt. 

He was once a decorated soldier for the Qamariyan army, several years ago. With a muscular stomach, a sharp mind, and extreme dedication, he had climbed the treacherous ranks of Qamariyan military all the way to “Brigadier General," only one rank lower from the top position, "General." Now, a retired woodworker, he could not believe his ears when he heard the proposition from Prince Melkemind that had been presented to him, while he was applying the finishing touches to a school desk. 

"Absolutely not!" said Virgianna, his wife, as she glared at him across the dinner table. "You are retired from the army. I will not have you traipsing around the mountains like a wild man, searching for some legend." 

"Legend?" he asked, in a bit of shock, "what of the boy, then?" 

"The boy's father should be the one to go searching for him. You don't even know their family." 

Albiyun, being a man of strategy, loved a good challenge and could see that his wife was poised to present quite a difficult one to him. He carefully sliced the fowl in front of him and continued, "We are talking about the Storyteller here. He is our guide and the strength of our kingdom. I cannot allow him, in all of his frailty, to travel into the wilderness alone." 

As their discussion continued, Melkemind was already on his way to the house of Yar, the Hydra, whose house was not in an ordinary place. In the lake, not far from the Celestial Gardens of Cor, there lived a small community of Hydroa, from the underwater city of Hydrodollin. 

When Melkemind arrived at the shore of the lake, Yar was already rising from the water, shaking his fins dry and taking a moment to adjust to breathing air. The Hydroa normally breathe water, but can also breathe air, for a limited amount of time. 

"Great Prince of humans, have they reduced you to the role of a page? Why has the Storyteller not come to see me himself?" 

Melkemind, who was still panting from the running he had done to reach the lake so quickly, clutched his chest and plopped onto a nearby stone. "Storyteller is ill, and he is in need of your help." 

"What could I offer him? You know we have nothing in our lake besides fish. We do not have many of the luxuries some humans enjoy." He cast a shaming look at the boy's fine royal shoes. 

"All of Cor has struggled since the fall. I am now a Corian. My days as prince are over. Now, will you help us or not?" 

Melkemind was beginning to wonder why the Storyteller sought the help of a water-dweller anyway. 

Yar's breathing, which sounded like a bellow, sucking in and blowing out, increased in rate, as though he had been insulted. "Human boy, you have no way of comprehending the struggle of my people. So, I will forgive you for that ignorance, but I will not stand here and pretend you do not enjoy some privilege for being Prince of Humans. What is the task for which the Storyteller requires my assistance?" 

"A young boy has gone out on a journey into the mountains. He is in grave danger and needs our help." 

"A human boy is lost in the mountains, and I am supposed to show interest? Why?" 

Melkemind rose from his rock and stared directly into the perfectly round, glossy eyes of the Hydra. Although he was only a boy, he was as tall as Yar, whose people do not normally stand erect. He now spoke with power in his voice, as a prince might speak to his people, "The boy's name is Fuad. He has gone in search of the Golden Scrolls." 

"A myth," Yar chuckled, "even if the scrolls existed, no one would send a boy to retrieve them. It is hardly an afternoon errand." 

Melkemind began fumbling in his pocket for a piece of paper, "Storyteller said that you might not believe me. Please listen carefully, Magbutan zelzeliya ma'unun telfarshan rahmatina." 

The jewel on the forehead of Yar, just above and in between his eyes, began to glow. He lowered his head, as though he felt the weight of this heating sensation grip him and refuse to release him. From the lake on either side of him emerged two female Hydroa, hovering above the water, with nothing holding them up. They glowed, as though the sun was shining from inside of them, and they became translucent, much to the amazement of Melkemind. They began singing a melody of such beauty, that Melkemind was struck to his knees. 

With their arms raised to the skies, the females harmoniously echoed, "Magbutan zelzeliya ma'unun telfarshan rahmatina." 

They repeated the phrase seven times, each time louder and with more beauty and harmony until woodland animals, birds, and fish gathered around them. Even the plants began to turn towards the females, who were rising higher above the lake with each repetition. Yar had fallen onto the mud and was weeping profusely. 

After the seventh and final verse, the Hydroa females drifted back into the lake and disappeared under the water. The animals and plants returned to their routines, as though nothing had occurred. Melkemind was still on his knees trembling. He finally regained some composure and noticed Yar, crying on his hands and knees. 

"Wha...What was that? I've never seen or heard anything remotely similar." 

Yar wiped the tears from his face and glanced up at the prince, "These words were sang by my people for 21 days after the Golden Scrolls were completed. Every year, on the anniversary of the completion, our best female singers would perform the ceremony you just witnessed. I do not know if you can understand or believe this, but they did not sing of their own volition. Our females have primal instincts that direct their harmony and determine what and when they sing. After the scrolls disappeared, this song never again graced their lips. They sang all other songs but this one, until today. The two women you saw were my daughters. No human has, before this day, seen them. They are the best singers in or outside of Hydrodollin. They and I are at your service, my Prince." 

Yar knelt before Melkemind and bowed his head in reverence. He then removed his achket blade from his sheath and held it out in front of the prince. "You can smite me for my earlier jest, but if you spare me, this blade will serve you as long as I live." 

Melkemind wiped the sweat from his face, while also wiping the stunned expression that had been sculpted upon it. He was barely a man and now had a Hydra kneeling before him. It was too much to comprehend. What had he witnessed? It happened so quickly that the details were still foggy in his mind. He distinctly remembered the eyes of those singers, completely auburn, sparkling like nothing he had ever before witnessed. 

"Your Majesty?" Yar lifted his head, wondering if Melkemind was intending to respond to his gesture. 

"Where?" Melkemind violently swung his head around, searching for his father like a child who had been caught stealing. 

Yar rose with smirk upon his face, with gills starting to reappear. "You. You are the prophesied prince who will come and return Hydrodollin to its glory. It is written that you would come here and speak those words and that the greatest Hydroa singers would once again proclaim this most significant expression of felicity." 

Melkemind's expression had shifted from shock to bemusement, "Felicity over what? What do these words mean anyway? Storyteller did not tell me, and I was afraid to ask." 

"In due time, my prince. We mustn't dally. Even now darkness is descending over the foothills of Cor. Our hero needs us. We must prepare." 

Melkemind spoke no more words. He was used to hearing this confusing prose from the Storyteller. What darkness? Fuad is the hero or did he mean another? How will a water-dweller travel on land for so long? It is at least a day's journey to the second mountain. 

Questions beset his mind, but he could not lose focus of his mission. He had three other people to recruit for this journey. He bade the Hydroa farewell and began running swiftly towards the ancient Corian temple of Qu`baj. 

Laced in a veil-cloth of mystery, Qu`baj was once the main meditation chamber of the Circle of Elders. It had become a museum and tourist attraction because every table where the Golden Scrolls laid, every napkin used by a handler of the Scrolls, every wall-marking, every cup, every speck of dust that might have fallen from the Scrolls, is cherished and considered sacred. It is, in jest, often called the "Hall of Relics" by some Corians. 

It spooked Melkemind to go there, for he had seen enough to do with relics from the people of Orisay. There was not a thingamajig or doohickey that they had not saved, preserved, and glorified. Qamariyan battle shields, Kelteriyan cloaks, Hydroan water instruments, hair follicles from ancient kings, and even footprints from someone believed to be from the lost, ancient city of Solistia. 

The walls of the old temple were only mud and straw, yet they possessed a grandeur that spoke of the wisdom that had once cascaded through its corridors. It was, in a sense, a tribute to mud-brick architecture. It surpassed all Corian expectations of what a building should be. It was well lit, with Tezentian night vines that grew along the ceilings, glowing bright green. A natural musk-giving plant, with three distinct scents, was strategically positioned in the central common area, under a domed-shaped glass ceiling. The center of the building was round, with twelve corridors pointing out from it, in each direction. 

In every corridor were the quarters of the Elders. An elder lived a simple existence, with one straw bed on the floor and a shelf for a few sacred books. The floor in his quarters would be composed of unfinished, hardened mud. 

As Melkemind crept through the 8th corridor, leading to the sanctified meditation chamber, he located a man, and figured him to be the next listed appointee. 

A young voice echoed, "The sitting mats of the elders are mathematically positioned at equal intervals along the circle, which represents the continual cycle of life. The elders rotated along these positions of the circle every year, with the northern-most mat representing the leadership of the Grand Elder." 

Melkemind carefully entered the chamber, and inconspicuously joined the party of tourists who were being led by a professional guide. 

The guide continued, "The Elders are able to communicate with each other through their meditation. It is often times the only communication that they have with one another. This "conversation of the hearts" as it is called by the believers, can sometimes last 12 hours straight. It is very exhausting for the elders, and it takes decades of training to perfect." 

The guide was a petite wide-eyed girl with shoulder-length pink hair, crystal sparkles under her eyes, pink earrings, and a silver Hydra-made, knee-length jacket. Although the tourists had not noticed him, she was well aware of Melkemind's presence. As the crowd turned the corner to exit into the courtyard and into the next corridor, two dark-clothed giant-like men snatched Melkemind by the arms and dragged him quietly away into an unmarked room. 

The room was similar to an elder's quarters, except there was no straw bed or a bookshelf. There was only the dirt floor. Melkemind had tried to explain to the guards why he was there, but they seemed to pay no attention to him. At first, he thought that this room would be a waiting room, but after two hours of drawing dirt portraits, he began to lose patience. 

As he was beginning to formulate his plan to dig his escape tunnel, the pink-haired guide unbolted the wooden door, casually trotted in, and closed it behind her. 

"Who do you work for?" She scowled as though she believed her face to look more intimidating than it actually did. 

"I am a servant of the Storyteller." 

"I don't believe you, boy!" 

Taking him by surprise, she slapped him across the face with the back of her glittered left hand. "Now, tell me who sent you. Why were you spying on us? Answer me!" 

Melkemind, still stunned from the slap, wasn't sure whether answering would warrant another slap, but he also suspected that not saying anything would undoubtedly bring down her right hand. "I was not spying," he mumbled. 

"Then why are you here? You're obviously not a tourist." 

"I am looking for someone." 

"Who?" 

"A man." 

Slap! 

Melkemind was beginning to think this whole journey was a bad idea. None of the people that he had encountered had been exactly agreeable. Now he was being held hostage by a pink-haired girl with a crystal sparkled face and two ogres for bodyguards. He decided to tell her the truth. "I am looking for Ahsan Seeing Wind Hildus, champion of the Known World and Seer of the Unknown World. He is believed to be hiding here. I believe one of your tourists to be him, but now he is probably long gone, no thanks to you and your apemen.” 

Slap! 

"Why must you continuously slap me?" He now, for the first time, used his prince voice to address her. 

The girl took three steps back, twisted her hair with her finger, and grinned. "Quite a bit more spunk than I would expect from such a privileged boy, Prince!" 

"You know of me? Then why am I insulted like this? I demand to speak with Ahsan!" 

"You are in no position to demand anything. I am in charge of this temple. It is sacred to the people of Cor, and you have defiled it," she said, taking two steps forward. 

Stepping right in front of her, touching her glittered nose to his, he questioned, "Defiled it how? I know all of the sacred rites of the Circle of Elders. Do you think a prince would not study such things with his tutors? I am well-versed in Qamariyan, Corian, and even Orisay`i. In which custom have I offended the master dervishes? None, I am sure, for there are no master dervishes here today. There have been none here for years! This is a museum, not a temple. Now, if you even know who Ahsan is, I demand you bring him to me!" 

The bolted wooden door creaked and opened, and the two giant-men stomped into the room, one after the other. 

"Shall we dispose of him, Master?" one of them grumbled. 

"No, take an early lunch. I can manage the boy myself," she snickered. 

"Boy?!" 

Slap! 

"You are presumptuous, arrogant, fool-hearted, and heedless. I cannot understand why the Storyteller would send you, royalty. I am the one you seek. I am Ahsan," she exclaimed with her soft high-pitched voice that very much revealed her youthfulness, even in its assertiveness. 

Melkemind's face flushed with crimson, "I...I'm sorry, but..." 

"But you expected a man? Duh! I didn't stay anonymous all of these years by looking like my buddies, Glut and Vlut. Look, we can save the pleasantries for later. I know why you're here." 

Melkemind was still fumbling his words, "So, so, if you're the Seeing Wind, then you..." 

"Knew you were coming? Yes. Prepared for your arrival? Yes. Loved every minute of it? Yes." 



The warmth of the red sun drifted away, as it glided under the horizon, giving way to the twilight sky. Fog crawled down from the mountains, as it had done every night since the Darkness first covered the Known World. The stars did shine, but their luster was depleted, like an old lamp flickering outside of an abandoned building. 

The pebbles crunching under his feet was the only audible event one could notice in the still, dead night, as the Storyteller hobbled towards the center of Cor. His aged, dry hand gripped his wooden staff firmly, and he moved with slow, yet determined steps. For his mission to be of any consequence, for this quest, with which he had entrusted the boy, to be of any benefit to Cor, he had to seek the guidance of the Circle of Elders. 

There was no fence surrounding the Hall of Light, where the Elders resided; no courtyard, fountain, or statues. It was plain and simple, like the mystics who had spent their lives within its walls, never venturing into the open world. Vines of nearly every breed scaled the cracked, majestic stone walls and entwined the six front columns. A thick, twisted, frizzled rope hung from overhead, just beside the middle-most column. The rope swayed teasingly in the evening wind, as the fog shifted about the stone floor leading up to the main entrance. 

The Storyteller rested his staff against the left inner column and firmly grasped the old rope with both of his hands. The rope made a straining sound, as though it knew it was about to undergo the stressful tugging that had become too familiar to it. With whatever reserve energy he had managed to discover in his seasoned body, he pulled the rope, causing the old bell from the rooftop to ring enchantingly and echo throughout the halls and stairways of the ancient structure. 

No answer. 

The old man pushed back the ends of his ankle-length cloak over his thighs, like a master about to perform a martial arts technique; he bent his knees slightly and pulled the rope with twice the force that he had used the first time. The vibration shimmied down the rope and stunned him to the ground. Dust and small chips of stone from the columns fell onto his head and onto the ground around him. 

An opaque window in the center of the massive iron door opened, and the head of a young, well-groomed boy appeared. The boy looked to the left and saw nothing. Then, he looked to the right and saw nothing. He shrugged, and began to close the window. 

"Down here," grumbled the Storyteller. 

The boy's eyes widened, "My word! Dear Storyteller, what on earth has become of you? Have times truly become so hard that you arrive at the Hall of Light disheveled and dusty?" 

"Open the door, boy." 

"Humph," the boy raised his head slightly, no longer looking directly at the Storyteller, "Please follow the identification protocol, Sir." 

"This is absurd. Have you come unto such hard times that the order and protocol of your bureaucracy outweighs your compassion and kindness? I am Mustafa, the Storyteller and guardian of the secrets and history of Cor. Now, may I have your assistance?" 

The small window was slammed shut, followed by an unpleasant silence, as the fog crept in between the limbs of the Storyteller, nearly engulfing him in their waves of mist. Several chains, bolts, and latches later, the iron door creaked open, and the boy emerged and ran to the aid of the Storyteller. He carried with him a brush made of yak hair, with which he dusted the Storyteller thoroughly. 

"Please forgive my manners, great Storyteller. We are indeed upon difficult times, and I am only a servant in this great Hall." 

"Never mind that, Murid. My matter is pressing and must be heard by the Elders at once. I fear that great danger has visited Fuad in the mountains," the Storyteller spoke as he walked briskly, while also straightening his cloak and mandarin collar. 

The Hall of Light lived up well to its name. Putting Qu'baj to shame, the Tezentian night vines lit every inch of the walls and ceilings of the Hall of Light. The glow was mesmerizing, and many who came to visit the Elders were bewitched by the vines for hours, only to leave without ever making it to the Eternal Room, where the Elders converged. The Elders themselves were light-based beings, known as luminaries, unlike any other creatures in the Known World. Although they began their lives as normal species, from all of the various provinces, including Kelterya, they transcended beyond their original forms through their mystic connection with the Hadra. 

In this state of gnosis, they resided, forever, in the Eternal Room, called so not because it is everlasting, but because it is the only room in existence that possesses perfectly circular walls. More precisely, it is one wall that never ends. 

Murid stopped just outside of the entrance to the Eternal Room, and whispered, “Please be patient with them. The inner war has consumed most of their days. They no longer see common visitors from Cor. They remain in meditation most of the day, stopping only for brief rest.” 

The Storyteller twisted the end of his beard with his finger, “Then, it truly is a difficult time in which we have entered. I fear that an outer war is upon us.” 

Murid looked puzzled. “With the Kelteryans?” 

“No. There is a much greater danger that has entered into our midsts. I do not understand it or know what it is. I have come here for answers to my questions and guidance on the matter of the boy.” 

The lift arrived at the doorway, just as the Storyteller finished his words. The doorway was several cubits above the floor of the Eternal Room, and those who entered were carried by the wooden lift into the center of the Circle, where the Elders all faced each other. Murid had already shifted into the shadows and vanished before the Storyteller could say anything else to him. 

The Storyteller, with staff in one hand and the long end of his cloak in the other, edged onto the platform. On its quiet, smooth descent, the night vines, which powered the lift, flickered, as if greeting the old man upon a return from a journey. Before he had even reached the bottom of the Circle, the collective voices of the Elders spoke. 

“We must not interfere,” the voices resonated throughout the cylindrical room. 

As they spoke these damning words, the lift crashed into the ground, knocking the Storyteller off balance into one of the support rails. 

Using his staff to regain balance, he turned once around the room, looking at each elder. He then cast his gaze to the ground and said, “We must help him. He is but a youth.” 

“He must complete the quest on his own,” the voices replied. “It is not in the prophecy that one will assist him.” 

The Storyteller grimaced, “The prophecy does not forbid our assistance. There is nothing written to prevent us from helping him. We will not stop him from completing the quest on his own, only assist him. Even the greatest of generals and kings had assistance.” 

The Circle was silent. The Storyteller knew they had made their decision and were firm in it. He turned to an individual elder, and although most humans cannot tell one luminary from another, he had become accustomed to their subtleties and recognized one of them. He pleaded, “Idris, old friend, my companion. Grant me this one last mission. This boy is our last hope. Do not let this fall behind us because of our failure to understand a prophecy.” 

Before Idris, the Elder, could reply, another elder from behind him, with a particularly luminous face, moved closer to him. “Why do you think you can help the boy? How will you even find him?” 

“We have assembled a team of brave and well-trained men who will accompany me on this mission. And,” he paused for a moment, rubbing the silver hair on top of his head, “we are hoping to bring the Seeing Wind with us.” 

The inquisitive elder floated in even closer, examining the eyes of the Storyteller. “Why do you believe the Seeing Wind can help you?” 

Surprised that the elder would not be aware of her powers, the Storyteller held out his hands and replied, “She has the ability to predict future events, the skills of a champion warrior, and the intuition to sense an approaching enemy from many miles away.” 

“Indeed,” answered the female elder, “but she is undisciplined, untrustworthy, untrained...a rebel. She is dishonored.” 

“What?” The Storyteller now turned looking again at each elder. 

“How could this be? Why was I not informed?” 

The elders again spoke in unison, “All matters do not concern you, Mustafa. You will be betrayed by one of your own. We have seen the future. The Seeing Wind cannot be trusted.” 

“So, you do not know with certainty that she is the one who will betray me, yet you are willing to sacrifice this mission to make it so?”

The Storyteller's face was reddened, and perspiration glistened on his forehead, as he looked up at the entrance and cried out, “Lift!” 

The lift descended back to the floor, with a crash, in front of him. He firmly gripped his staff and climbed back into the lift, taking a cloth from his pocket to wipe his brow. He turned back to Idris, askance and announced, “We will leave tomorrow at dawn. May the Hadra be with you all.” 

The circle continued to reprimand him as his lift ascended the Eternal Room. “Do not ignore your destiny, Mustafa! You will be betrayed! You will not return from your mission. We have seen the future...” 

The voices became only whispers as the Storyteller ascended to the entrance and left the Endless Room, limping more than he had before he entered. 

Murid appeared from a nearby room. “Allow me to walk you home, Storyteller.” 

The Storyteller gently laid his arm over the shoulder of the boy and smiled, “Thank you, lad. It is nice to know that mercy is not all lost in this world.” 



Four




From Beneath Me






Fuad's rations were low. His feet ached from his constant walking. The tips of his fingers were numb from the cold wintry air, for which he was not at all prepared. He had never experienced such cold in Cor and was not aware that the mountain winter could come so swiftly and suddenly. As he trekked higher into the arctic air, he found it increasingly difficult to breath and so stopped frequently to rest. 

He thought of his life back in Cor, of his mother's warm touch, the soothing warmth of her porridge. Porridge. How hungry he was! Every daydream always brought him back to food and how he wished to be at home in comfort and ease. Why had he agreed to such a journey? He was a boy. Why risk his life for some words on a page, words that many Corians called only legends and myths? Had he gone insane? Why were his parents so eager to help him leave? Did they truly love him? 

Tears began to stream from his eyes, and for the first time, Fuad thought about returning. But he was not even sure which way to go. Nothing looked as it did when he began his journey, and his so-called guide, Miftah, was now of no use. He was lost, hungry, frightened, and alone. 

“The Hadra is everywhere, Fuad,” his mother would say with her soft warming voice. 

It seemed so distant now. It was not warming him to know that some “presence” was with him but did not come to his aid. As he continued to move up the slope, it began to level off, and the snow that was knee deep gave way to lower snow patches that only reached his heels. Fuad was hoping that the snow would soon disappear, but he saw nothing but miles of whiteness in front him. Hope seemed more distant with every step that he took. But after several minutes of seemingly endless walking, he saw, ahead of him, a cave. 

There were many reasons to avoid the cave, to never even consider peeking his head into it; bears, wolves, trolls, ogres, rats, and spiders, just to name a few, but he was tired and cold. The cave could provide him some level of comfort for the evening. Darkness seemed to set in more quickly in the mountains. For Fuad, it made little since that he felt as if he was closer to the Sun and yet colder than ever, and moving ever closer to perpetual darkness. 

Darkness, however, was not what Fuad found in the cave. Lights of every color: red, green, blue, orange, and even colors for which he had no names, gave the cave an amazing glow. As he entered it, he could clearly see that Tezentian night vines seemed to crawl the walls, in their glowing stillness. When Fuad entered, their glow increased, and heat filled the cave, causing a tingling sensation through Fuad's fingers, as the feeling that he had lost in the cold slowly returned to them. 

He sat down, by one of the walls, to be as close to the vines as possible, and he felt a tugging at his back. He looked to the vine behind him with an innocent suspicion. “Did you touch my back?” 

The light of the vine dimmed to indicate a negative response. 

“Then what?” Fuad stood, looking behind him. 

The vine wiggled loose from the wall, reached out to Fuad's backpack, and carefully, as though quite experienced at this sort of thing, opened each latch and lifted the flap. Before the vine could even finish opening the flap, Miftah's head popped out of the backpack. 

He reached for his throat and gasped, “Air, oh thank you, air!” 

Fuad's eyes glowed like the vines all around him. He lifted off his backpack, pulled Miftah out, and squeezed him, crying, “Miftah. I thought I'd lost you!” He spun around the cave, still hugging the nutria as tightly as possible. 

Miftah gasped again, “Fuad. Fuad.” 

“What, what?” 

“I can't breath.” 

Fuad released his grip, and still in amazement, he said, “What happened to you? I was almost sure that witch had put some type of spell on you.” 

Miftah's furry eyebrow raised. “Witch?” 

Fuad pointed his thumb back towards the direction of the last mountain where they had met the old woman. “I'm pretty sure she poisoned me and nearly did you in permanently.” 

“What?” Miftah jumped out of Fuad's arms and folded his own. “Boy, that woman is the sweetest flower left in this world. She would never harm anything; certainly not me, anyway. What did she say when you awoke? Did you even ask her what happened?” 

Fuad turned his gaze to the ground, kicking the dirt with his foot. “She was gone.” 

“Gone? What do you mean gone?” Miftah moved closer to Fuad and looked up directly into his eyes. 

“The snow had covered everything. The fire was out and the lights had burned off.” 

Fuad could now feel the urgency in Miftah's voice. “And Hanieh?” 

“Hanieh? Is that her name? She wasn't there. Miftah, I...” 

Miftah turned and started towards the entrance of the cave, “We must find her immediately.” 

Fuad ran to catch him, “We can't go out into the darkness. Miftah, something is terribly wrong. I do not know how I know, but I can feel that something awful is happening. I'm scared.” 

Miftah stuck his hand into Fuad's backpack and pulled out a spyglass. He focused it on the second mountain, where Hanieh lived. 

He sighed, closed the spyglass, and turned back to Fuad. 

Fuad broke the silence. “Wait a minute, if she didn't poison us, then what happened to you? Why were you comatose?” 

“I don't know. I felt sleepy, so I went to sleep. I didn't plan on sleeping for...” 

“Four days,” added Fuad. 

Miftah carefully placed the spyglass back into the backpack. “Can you remember anything else strange on the day you woke up?” he asked, then whispered, “Wait, what was that?” 

“What was what?” Fuad whispered back, as he looked behind him. 

A light hiss emanated from the rear of the cave, which was covered in darkness. 

“That sound,” said Miftah. “How did you find this cave?” 

Fuad found the question puzzling, “It was just there. I was walking, and it was almost as if it appeared right in front me.” 

The hiss grew gradually louder and could soon be identified as a whisper. Miftah picked up the backpack, gathered all of Fuad's things, and grabbed Fuad's hand. He gestured, looking up at the boy, and then to the rear of the cave. “We should go. We must go.” 

“Listen, Fuad. Listen. Do you hear me, Fuad?” the whispering voice called out to Fuad, who now heard it quite clearly. 

He paused, releasing Miftah's grip from his hand, and then glanced back at the rear of the cave. It began to glow a dark purple tint, brighter, and brighter, so much so that the night vines completely stopped glowing, assuming it was daylight. Fuad turned his whole body towards the light, entranced by the glowing pulse and the whispers, “Listen.” 

“Fuad! No!” Miftah cried, as he noticed a raven had landed just outside of the cave and was curiously observing Fuad. 

Miftah quickly shoved his paw into his fur and pulled out a slingshot. He loaded it with a pebble from the ground and launched it at the back of Fuad's head.” 

“Ouch!” Fuad yelled, distracting him from his previous enchantment. He glared at Miftah. “Why did you go and do that?” 

“You were right, boy,” said Miftah, “something has happened. We're being followed. The Kelteryans are here.” 

“Kelteryans?” 

Fuad had not heard that name except in the legends of ancient Qamariya. Kelterya was believed to be a large kingdom on the edge of the Known World, surrounded by an impregnable wall, and guarded by sentries day and night. The Kelteryans were once members of the Qamariyan Federation, but they were also known for their dark magic, a mystical obsession with the prophecy of the Golden Scrolls, and their inner-war with the Circle of Elders. Fuad remembered how most of his school teachers had said that such a Kelterya was a legend, only a fragmented myth of the real Kelterya that existed so many years ago. 

As the two exited the cave, Fuad faced Miftah and asked, “Why would Kelteryans follow us? Aren't they allies of Cor?” 

Miftah shook his head. “Fuad, we are not in Cor. Whatever diplomatic rules you thought applied in your nation are no longer of use to you. My kingdom was destroyed because Kelterya sat by and watched as the darkness consumed it. Their likes are certainly not my allies.” 

“I think you're wrong, Miftah. What good would it do them to see your people destroyed helplessly? You cannot believe that they are responsible for this unspeakable evil.” 

“Why not let them speak for themselves,” Miftah replied, as he stopped and turned toward the glowing cave. 

Ravens descended all around them, until the boy and the nutria were surrounded by at least fifty of the birds, all forming a perfect circle and creeping closer. All they could hear were the sounds of claws pressing against the snow. 

The lights from the cave began to swirl around each other and the collective ball of light rushed out of the cave towards the raven-encircled boy and nutria. Fuad took a step back, but Miftah, still clinging to his hand, held firmly to prevent him from falling into the ravens behind him. The light was now directly in front of them, whirling in a spherical rainbow of light. Fuad's fear once again turned into fascination. He intended to reach out and touch the sphere, but it again started to change before he could move. 

The ravens launched into the air, dispersing as quickly as they had arrived. The colorful lights extended and swirled with more velocity, and Fuad noticed that a figure had appeared inside of the rotating sphere. With each revolution, the light trails grew closer to the figure until they entered it with force, nearly knocking the cloaked individual off balance. 

Before them stood a Kelteryan, rarely seen in any part of the Known World, fully cloaked and motionless. Although the figure was hooded, Fuad could see the silhouette of a face inside of the hood. 

“Amazing,” were the only words Fuad could think of to say. 

Miftah shook his head disapprovingly, “Sorcery. Trickery. Nothing more.” 

The Kelteryan's hands were tucked into the opposite arm's sleeves, so that no part of the actual person could be seen. The cloak was black and simple. It did not flow in the wind or glow, like the magical lights that had transported him. 

Finally, as if its breath had just come to it, the Kelteryan uttered, “Listen, Fuad. You hear it. Listen.” 

“This is absolute rubbish!” said Miftah, “Why are we standing here listening to this...this thing?” 

But Fuad did not move. He was entranced by the words of the Kelteryan. 

Miftah looked at the Kelteryan and then back at Fuad, “He is evil, Fuad. Do not trust him!” 

Fuad, who had ignored Miftah, responded to the Kelteryan, “Yes, I do hear it. I have heard it all of this time, but I do not know what it is.” 

The Kelteryan moved closer, almost seeming to glide across the snow. “Listen. Listen to the darkness...” 

“Oh my...Fuad! You aren't buying this, are you? He's trying to lure you into darkness,” argued Miftah. 

It was as if Miftah was in a different place, watching the two from afar, for they ignored his words and continued with their own mysterious dialog. The Kelteryan, revealing his gray, scaly hand, reached into his cloak, and pulled out a small silver tube, no bigger than Fuad's pointing finger. 

Miftah dove to the ground and yelled, “Duck!” 

The Kelteryan continued, “You hear the darkness, Fuad. It is coming.” His voice was muffled, as though his face was covered with something, but his words were clear and had no accent, as though he had spent his life training to speak to Fuad in Qamariyan, a language never spoken in Kelterya. “Follow those beneath you. Listen. Follow the ones below. The darkness is nearly here, Fuad. Your family...” 

“My family,” Fuad was shaken from his trance, “What of my family?” 

The Kelteryan poured a clear liquid out of the silver tube and waved his hand over the small patch of snow between him and Fuad, and it instantly melted into a pool of water. Fuad looked down into it and could see his village in Cor, along with the town market, the Hall of Light, and his house. The image faded into a line of thousands of Corians walking through the desert, one after another, with camels and all of their belongings. 

“Where are they going?” Fuad looked up at the Kelteryan. “What is happening to Cor? Has the darkness entered Cor?” 

The Kelteryan waved his slender hand again, and the water turned back into snow. He began to back away from Fuad, whispering, “Listen, Fuad. Listen to those beneath you. Their voices must be heard. Listen. The darkness, the darkness, the darkness...” 

The sea of lights that had transported the Kelteryan to that spot emanated from all parts of his body, encircling him much more quickly than they had previously. He was lifted several inches from the ground, and his body arched backwards causing him to let out a shrilling cry, like a tortured vulture. In an instant, his body was sucked into a point inside the sphere of color and the lights started pulling back into the cave. 

Fuad ran after the lights, calling to the Kelteryan, “Wait. What will happen to my family? What will happen to Cor? Wait!” 

Fuad followed the lights all the way to the back of the cave, where they disappeared into the shadows. He turned and collapsed to the ground, and Miftah came running to help him. 

When Fuad awoke, the sun's rays glistened on the sparkling, night-vine covered walls of the cave. The cool morning wind crept under his blanket and crawled up his back. While he had intended to stay in his makeshift bed for a while, the chill sent him up to his knees, and he quickly wrapped himself in a fur coat that had been placed next to him. It was only after he had warmed himself that he looked around to his left and right. He was in another cave, a larger one, with animal fur rugs, strange wall hangings with unfamiliar writing, and the smell of freshly cooked food of some kind. Fuad really didn't care what kind it was. The smell of food lessened the shock of everything else. 

“I thought you would never awaken,” a voice said from behind him. He turned to find a green-skinned boy perched on a wooden chair. 

“Where am I? Who are you? Where is Miftah?” 

The boy chuckled. “Slow down, Fuad. Everything is OK. Come with me.” 

The boy hopped off of the chair and ran to the entrance of the cave, without waiting to see if Fuad had followed. Although Fuad was most interested in the food, the boy had sparked his curiosity. He rose to his feet, nearly tripping over a lion-skin rug, and ran after the boy. 

The boy now looked back at Fuad as he approached, “By the way, my name is Aneelio, and this,” he said, as he pulled back the yak-hair curtain, “is Jabali.” 

Fuad nearly fainted as he stepped out of the cave and realized that he was a few edges from a cliff. Beneath him was a cavern so deep that the bottom was not visible. He looked up around him and found thousands of cliff dwellings, rope bridges, cliff trees, children swinging from dwelling to dwelling on vines, and the sound of exotic music in a distant cave, much larger than the small dwellings. Fuad felt the warmness in his heart. Before his unexpected nap, he was trapped in a frozen wilderness. Now he seemed to be in a place where the air was filled with summer, and the people were filled with joy, good food, and songs. 

“Is this...am I..dead?” He asked, looking to Aneelio. 

“Ha! Not even close, friend. Come, come with me.” 

He grabbed a nearby vine and swung across the cavern onto a nearby wooden platform. Fuad could not help but to again look down into the cavern. 

Aneelio glanced back at him, “Come on, Fuad. Time's a wasting! Miftah has been asking for you.” 

“Well,” Fuad sighed to himself, “if he can do it,” he said, grabbing the vine and swinging, clinging on as tightly as he could, “so can I! Ahhhh!”

Fuad crashed into one of the poles of the platform and fell onto its wooden floor. 

“You need to work on the landing,” Aneelio giggled. 

“It is my first time, you know.” 

Fuad could hear the music and laughter growing louder as he regained his balance, and the platform shook loose and at once speedily descended into the cavern. It changed directions suddenly and whipped around towards the larger cave. 

Fuad brushed mountain leaves from his head and asked, “Where are we going, Aneelio?” 

Aneelio pointed to the large cave, “That cave ahead is our village meeting center. There is a party in your honor.” 

“My honor?” 

“You are the Chosen One, Fuad, surely you knew.” 

“Well, I mean, yes, I suppose, but how did you know?” 

Aneelio's green skin faded into red, reacting to the red glow coming from the village meeting center. His skin color must change 

according to his environment, thought Fuad. 

“It is written in the prophecy,” replied Aneelio, pulling a large rope and causing the platform to halt as suddenly as it had commenced. Fuad again nearly lost his balance. 

The music blared from the cave, and the red lights danced in all directions. The air was filled with the sounds of hollowed wooden trunks being beaten, cans full of rocks being shaken, sheep horns being blown, and laughter from hundreds of people. Fuad entered behind Aneelio and expected to see more people with red skin from the lights, but found them to be all different colors: red, green, blue, orange, yellow, and even purple. His earlier hypothesis was obviously wrong. Despite his plainness compared to everyone else, very few people noticed him as he spun around observing the multitude of colors. 

He turned back to ask Aneelio about the colors, but he was gone. Fuad was now lost in the crowd of partying Jabalians. He decided to sit rather than to get himself more lost than he already was. A large bear-skin covered duffle was nearby. He plopped himself upon it with a hopeless sigh. No sooner had he sat than a Jabalian climbed the wall like a lizard onto the ceiling and fell right in front of him. He stood, on all fours, in front of Fuad and gazed at him. His eyes were large and glass-like, and his eyelids closed from the side rather than the top. He crawled closer to Fuad and his split tongue protruded in and out of his mouth like a snake smelling its prey. 

Fuad felt compelled to break the silence, “Um, hi. I'm Fuad. I'm kind of new here.” 

The Jabalian rose onto two legs and yelled out at the top of his lungs, “The boy has arrived!” 

The people all stopped their music and dancing and then called out in unison, “Jabali, Jabali, Jabali!” 

A white light from the ceiling clicked on and was turned onto Fuad, still sitting on his bear duffle. The crowd gasped, and then silence fell over them. They stared at Fuad for several minutes and then began to whisper to one another. Fuad could make out the words of some of the closer Jabalians. 

“He's so small. How can he find the scrolls?” whispered an old woman. 

“I've never seen a boy like that. He's all brown. No colors,” remarked a small boy. 

“He's kind of cute,” snickered a teenage girl. 

A much louder and more authoritative voice bellowed, “King in the building! Open a space! The king is here to see the boy!” 

Row after row of Jabalians parted, as the tapping of a cane inched closer to Fuad, and the authoritative voice continued to order people to part. Despite the variety of skin colors, the Jabalians had surprisingly simple clothing. Most men wore brown shirts and waist-cloths made from lion skin, while the women wore long lion-skin dresses. But the king, who appeared before Fuad after the last row had parted, wore a magnificent coat, made of some material Fuad had never seen. It shimmered in the light and reflected everything that beheld it. It seemed almost golden, yet it was cloth made of the softest material. Atop the king's head was a golden helmet with the spiral horns of a ram on either side. All over his chest were badges, possibly from battle, and hanging from his waist Fuad noticed the hilt of an enormous sword. 

The king himself was rather short and old, and it was doubtful that he had seen any recent combat, but the respect that the people of Jabali had for him was apparent. They did not kneel, but their heads were all turned to the ground as the king had walked past them. Fuad followed this action when the king approached him, but the king immediately pushed Fuad's chin up with his cane and snapped, “No!” 

The king then laid his golden cane, with an orb on top of it, down in front of him. He looked Fuad in the eyes, and tears began to trickle down his scaled face. He crossed his arms over his chest, bent to one knee, and bowed his head before Fuad. One by one, each row of Jabalians turned to Fuad and knelt, until the entire room of 400 was kneeling before him. 

Fuad turned behind him to make sure he wasn't supposed to be kneeling for someone. He then turned to the king and said, “Please rise. I do not deserve this. I am only a simple boy from Cor.” 

The king did not move, but spoke humble words, “Great deliverer, Chosen One, our kingdom is in great need. If you do not save us, we will perish. Our fate rests in your hands.” 

Fuad fell to his knees and looked directly into the eyes of the king, “Your Highness, I am nothing! I nearly perished in the winter out there, and had it not been for Aneelio, I would have. Please, do not place this burden on me, for I cannot complete this task, or any other.” 

The people rose to their feet, and the crowd again parted, as a young woman approached Fuad carrying a baby in her arms. “Chosen One,” she said to him, “my baby is dying. All of our children are dying. The darkness did not touch us, but it has made our children sick. If you do not help us, our people will cease to exist.” 

Tears rolled down Fuad's face and soiled the wooden floor beneath him. How had things come to such horror so quickly? In Cor everything seemed to be fine. He played with his friends everyday, went to school, bought candy from the market, and lived a normal happy life. How could there be such suffering in the world, while he had never known it? 

Fuad felt powerless. He could now remember the words of the Storyteller, being told that he was too young, but insisting that the Storyteller send him on this mission. But the Storyteller did not refuse him, and his parents had already prepared his journey. He then remembered the key with his name on it and how every person he had met had already known he was coming. He was indeed powerless, he thought, but this world was certainly not without power. He knew his mother would tell him to rely on the Hadra for all strength. He looked down a second time at the sickly child. 

Fuad faced the king with a new determination in his eyes and said, “I will fulfill the prophecy. I will help your people, so long as the Hadra keeps me alive; I will succeed.” 

The king reached for Fuad's hand and kissed it. At once, the music began again and the people danced harder and with more joy than they had before Fuad entered. He felt a new sense of purpose in himself, that he was indeed chosen for this task, but he still could not suppress the feeling of immense fear, nor the feeling of deep concern about the safety of his family and the people of Cor. 

Fuad had just seated himself again upon the duffle when Aneelio and another boy approached him and said only one thing, “We are ready to take you beneath.” 

Before Fuad could ask them what “beneath” was, they motioned for him to follow them and hurried out of the cave onto the platform. Fuad had no way of knowing what awaited him beneath. 



Five




The Darkness






Melkemind peeked into the crack left open in the Storyteller's chamber. Beside the bed was a straw mat, on which the Storyteller had knelt, laying prostrate, with his forehead touching the floor. He stayed in this position for several moments before raising his head and sitting for some time. He finally wiped his face and turned his head slightly to see the door from the corner of his eye. 

“Enter, Melkemind,” he said, well aware that the prince had been watching. 

“Please forgive me for disturbing you, Storyteller.” 

“Think nothing of it. In fact, you should have joined me.” 

“Master, my heart is not so pure...” 

The Storyteller smiled. “No one's is, son. That is why we cannot do this alone. Promise to join me next time. Once you experience the Presence, you will never wish to be alone again.” 

“Very well, sir,” Melkemind replied, not sure if he would actually take him up on that offer. “I have news.” 

“Please sit.” 

He motioned to the bed and moved some of his books so that Melkemind would have space. 

Melkemind did not move, “Master, there is no time. I have assembled your team, save one. Yar, Albiyun and the Seeing Wind wait for your orders.” 

“My orders? No, son, you are their prince. You will lead this journey.” 

Melkemind stepped closer to the Storyteller. “They will not listen to me. They respect you. They need your leadership!” 

The Storyteller ran his fingers through his long gray beard, “Son, please sit. I must tell you something.” 

“And I have something to tell you,” Melkemind replied. 

The Storyteller glared at him, and Melkemind quickly sat on the bed. 

“Son,” he began, “our future has been foreseen by the Circle of Elders. I will begin the journey with you, but I will not complete it. You were brought to me for a reason, and that reason is not simply to be an exiled prince. You must be my representative. You must lead these men on this journey in my absence.” 

“Uncle, how can you be certain?” Melkemind whispered, as his eyes became watery. 

“I am not certain,” Storyteller mumbled, “but we must be prepared. Please promise me that if I should...if I should die, you give me a proper burial. If you have doubt about the ritual, ask the Seeing Wind. She has knowledge of the old ways, even if she does not follow them.” 

Melkemind leaned his head on the Storyteller's shoulder and asked, “Does Shahzanan know? Have you told her?” 

“I do not need to tell her. There are things you should know about your adopted sister. She has certain powers that are not fully developed. In our absence, I expect that those powers will become greater.” 

Melkemind then remembered why he had come to see the Storyteller. “Uncle,” he said, “a crowd has gathered in the center of town. They are not just from this village. People from all over Cor have come to protest.” 

“I was afraid of this,” replied the Storyteller. “Please grab my staff for me, son.” 

Melkemind fetched the Storyteller's staff and then held up his burlap cloak . The Storyteller carefully placed one arm in at a time, and the two of them slowly made their way to the door, with the Storyteller leaning on Melkemind for support. Before they had made it to the door, Shahzanan opened it. 

“Uncle,” she said, as she wrapped her arms around the Storyteller, “You should not go out there. I am afraid the people might become violent. Not everyone is from this village.” 

He gently rubbed his hand over Shahzanan's head. “I must face them, Shahzanan. They are my followers. They depend upon me. Please, my love, come with us.” 

He placed his staff into a hidden strap behind his cloak so that part of it stuck up behind his head diagonally. He preferred to use his two adopted children to lean on for support. With Melkemind on one arm and Shahzanan on the other, they crept down the short corridor leading to the entrance of his modest house. Already, they could hear the chants and cries of the people. 

When they finally reached the entrance of his house, someone from the crowd noticed immediately and yelled, “Storyteller!” 

The entire crowd of people rushed speedily to the yard of the Storyteller's house. Men, women, and children, some holding signs, and others carrying gifts, all had come to see the Storyteller. 

A middle-aged woman, with two children by her side, apparently their leader, stepped forward and spoke, “Master, great Storyteller, it has come to our attention that you intend to leave Cor.” 

The Storyteller stepped down from his porch and sat on the bottom step so that the woman now looked down at him as she talked. He then said, “It is so.” 

“No!” someone screamed from the crowd. 

The woman turned, looking disgruntled. “Silence!” 

She then turned back to the Storyteller. “Master, for years our scholars have told us that the presence of an enlightened one, a saint, was the only protection from evil. No charms, idols, or spells can protect a nation. Only a pure soul, such as yours, can save an entire people. Master, the darkness is approaching. We all know it. Solistia, Maleshua, Eldgen and Balkh have all fallen. Some say that even Ardramo and Jabali were destroyed as well. We are next in line. I have heard of the horrors of this darkness, that the king of Solistia was found in his house, turned to stone, still sitting in his old chair looking at a picture of his long lost would-be wife, the great queen of Cor, Avencieh.” 

The crowd gasped at this news and became even more agitated. 

The woman knelt before the Storyteller, “Master, only your faith and wisdom can protect us from the darkness that advances ever closer to Cor. You must save us. We cannot allow you to leave.” 

A baby from the crowd began to cry as she continued, “Master, our children need you. We need you. The Circle of Elders have abandoned us. The Hall of Light is empty. I went there this morning seeking their protection.” 

“What?” The Storyteller rose from his seat. “They wouldn't!” 

A man carrying a hatchet ran forward from the crowd, but he was held back by the front row of protesters. He yelled to Storyteller, “Where is your Hadra now, Storyteller? What good are your prayers and meditation to us now?” 

The Storyteller climbed back up to the top step of his porch, without the support of his children. New energy filled him, as he prepared to deliver his final speech to his people. 

He pulled out his staff with one hand and leaned on it for support. A glow seemed to pulse from his eyes, and he seemed much younger and more alive, as he always did when he was about to tell a story. 

He began, “For nearly 7,000 years, the people of the Known World lived in peace, harmony, and justice. The rivers were full, clean, and sweet smelling. The skies were clear, the air was refreshing, our crops were abundant, and our children were plentiful. We enjoyed security under the Federation of the Known World. All of the kingdoms you know of were under one leadership, the 13 princes. A prince from each kingdom ruled equally in this Federation. 

“Over the years, certain kingdoms became more prominent than others. Of all of them, Solistia rose to greatness as a center of erudition, commerce, scientific advancement, and philosophy. Cor became the center of the Known World's spirituality, and the Circle of Elders were the spiritual advisers to our queen, the magnificent Avencieh. Please understand, my people, that she was not of this world. No one knows what her lineage was or how she ruled for so long, but for 2,000 years, she ruled over Cor with complete generosity, compassion, and justice. No one ever sought to seize her power because she was just and loving. 

“Similarly, the king of Solistia, Einar, ruled his people benevolently. A wise Knower, the last of our world, came to Solistia and taught people the old ways of the Hadra. The people of Solistia quickly fell in love with him and followed everything he taught. As such, their kingdom had no crime, no injustice, and no violence. Over the years, his teachings were collected, preserved, and dignified. They knew and were told that, as long as these words remained in Solistia, even if the Knower himself had died, all of the Known World, the entire Federation, would be protected from any evil. 

“Solistia has a rare material, not quite metal, not quite liquid, but somewhere in between. It is called solyra. My people, the stones made from this material are not of this world. Many thousands of years ago, our world had two suns. When the first sun finally grew old and darkened, golden stones fell from it. They are not gold, like the metal that we have in our world. They have power to them, and solyra is derived from these stones. The Solisti people pressed long sheets of paper from the solyra, using 700 stones in total, almost all of their reserve supply that had been mined over the years. They rolled all of this paper into scrolls and started the task of writing down the words of the Knower, under his dictation, so that no mistakes would be made. 

“Finally, when the task was completed, the Knower died, suddenly, as no one expected that he would, but his mission was complete, and he had no desire to stay in this world a second longer. The people of Solistia feared that the Golden Scrolls would be taken by someone who wished to use them for evil, for while in the hands of good men, they bring health, life, and justice, in the hands of evil, they bring unimaginable power. 

“Two dervishes from Solistia committed the scrolls to memory and forever left their kingdom, never to be seen or heard from again. The remaining scribes took to copying the scrolls, but before they could complete their copying, the darkness descended from the mountains. Although it was still several years away from them, attacking Maleshua first, they knew that the scrolls would not be safe. They packed the scrolls in a sealed chest, loaded a caravan, and left Solistia. No one knows where they went, but the Circle of Elders had instructed them to entrust the scrolls with the two dervishes, the keepers of the scrolls, until the time should arrive for the Chosen One to retrieve them. 

“The king of Orisay feared the worst. He withdrew his kingdom from the Federation, despite the pleas of the other princes, especially the Triumvirate of Kelterya, which enjoyed much prosperity under the commerce laws of the Federation. It was no use. The 13 princes met for one final time to decide the fate of their kingdoms. They agreed to a treaty, that they would become independent kingdoms, but that they would respect one another's borders and never attack one another. That was 300 years ago. 

“In what would become his final act as king, Einar of Solistia, proposed to the beautiful and wise Avencieh, and she accepted to become his wife and unite Cor and Solistia, forming what would be the strongest independent kingdom. They were to be married on the eve of the summer solstice. 

“But darkness descended over the mountains, and Avencieh fled into the Unknown World. No one has heard from her ever since. The king, Einar, was devastated. Being no longer capable of leading his kingdom, he resigned and never again left his house. Solistia was overrun by the mysterious darkness. Everything in the province was blackened and destroyed. No trace of the golden kingdom remained. The king's city, Bryggen, was frozen in its place. His body was found in a small cottage, hunched over the picture of his would-be queen. 

“At least three other provinces have been destroyed since then, and now the darkness moves towards the north mountains, where, on the other side of them, we reside. Orisay has taken advantage of this. That is why they are occupying Qamariya, and I fear that they wish to occupy Cor as well. And that is why you must leave.” 

Exhausted, the Storyteller, leaned with both hands now, clutching his staff. “My people, even if I were to stay with you, I suspect my days in this world are now but a few. But I leave in my absence one who is stronger, more powerful, and purer than I. I leave you my light and my strength, my sweet Shahzanan.” 

Shahzanan, until that point, had her gaze fixated on the eyes of the Storyteller. The crowd now turned their attention to her as though she would say something. She glanced at them and looked back at the Storyteller, hoping that he would say more. But he did not. 

The woman leading the crowd of protesters spoke again, “Master, you expect us to leave our homes, our lives, everything we've known?” 

“Your homes yes, but your lives are what you will be saving. This darkness has not come for you. Do not let yourselves be caught in its path, simply out of coincidence.” 

The Storyteller rested his arm on Shahzanan's shoulder. “Pack up everything of any use to you on your desert journey. Split into three groups: one should head to the west, towards the sea, the other, head to the southwest into the forest, and the last of you should enter the desert and travel to Qamariya. Fuad's father, Abbas, will lead this expedition. Take soldiers with you and prepare to fight the Orisay`i upon your arrival. We must take back Qamariya. Shahzanan will lead those of you who will enter the forest. And my dear wife, Rabi'a, will lead the rest of you to the edge of the sea. There, you will be greeted by the people of Hydrodollin, and they will escort you to safety. The darkness will not touch these three places.” 

The people all began talking loudly amongst themselves. There was disorder and disagreement about who should go where. Many of the people in Cor, even in distant villages, were related to one another, and no one wanted to leave their family members. By this time, all of the great chiefs of each village had joined the crowd and were beginning to pair off and decide who would go to the sea, who would go to the forest, and who would prepare for war. 

While the people discussed their next move, the Storyteller returned to his chambers and spent two hours meditating, without coming out to see what the people had decided, or to prepare his journey. Having originally planned on leaving at dawn, it was now approaching noon. He sat motionless, cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, hands upon his knees, contemplating what the Hadra had in store for his people. 

At exactly noon, someone knocked on the door. Rabi'a, the Storyteller's wife, rose from the pile she had made just outside of the closet, trying to prepare for her journey, and attended to the visitor at the door. She expected to see the young mother who had rallied the people earlier, coming to announce that the people were preparing to leave. Instead, upon opening the door, she saw an older woman with a scarf over her head and a bag in her hand. She was remarkably beautiful, and Rabi'a immediately took notice of that fact. 

“Greetings, dear sister in Presence, I am here to see the Storyteller,” the woman whispered, barely audible. 

Rabi'a now examined the woman from top to bottom, “You are? I don't recall him having any appointments. Please come in. I am his wife, Rabi'a.” 

“Oh of course,” said the woman, “I have heard so much about you. Mustafa has mentioned you many times.” 

Mustafa? Who called him by his first name outside of his family, Rabi'a thought. 

“Well, we have quite a long history together, the two of us,” Rabi'a searched for proper words, “I suppose our story is his most favorite of all.” 

“Indeed,” replied the woman, “only a woman such as you could compliment his piety and wisdom. By the way, my name is Hanieh.” 

Rabi'a blushed, “I'll go and fetch Mustafa,” she said, with a grin. She yelled down the hallway, “Shahzanan, prepare some tea for our guest!” 

The Storyteller was still preoccupied by his deep meditation. Rabi'a tied her waist strap, brushed off her dress a little, flipped back her hair, and carefully crept into the Storyteller's chambers. His eyes opened, but he did not look behind him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and whispered into his ear, “Mustafa, it's me, Hanieh.” 

“Rabi'a!” he exclaimed, a bit surprised, “Am I so old that I cannot recognize my one true love?” 

Rabi'a laughed. “There is a woman in the sitting room who is quite captivated by your piety and wisdom.” 

“I'm glad you've had some fun with this,” replied the Storyteller, “but I can assure you that she is here for very important business.” 

“So, you knew she was coming? Well, of course you did. What a silly question. My husband, always planning in secret. Perhaps what she meant to say to me was that only I could tolerate someone with your piety and wisdom.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing, dear,” she sighed with a smile, “Please come at once. Your guest is waiting.” 

She pulled with all her might trying to help the Storyteller to his feet, but he did not budge until he grabbed the middle of his staff and propped himself up. They walked arm-in-arm out of his chamber and down the hallway. To their utter shock, they saw Hanieh in the sitting room, floating in the air with her arms thrown back and her eyes shut. To the right of her stood Shahzanan with her eyes closed and her pointing fingers from each hand pressed firmly against her temples. 

Rabi'a screamed, “Shahzanan! What...” 

The Storyteller waved his hand in a half-circle in front of Shahzanan, causing her to open her eyes and Hanieh to slowly lower to the ground, standing as if nothing had occurred. The Storyteller draped his arm over Shahzanan's shoulder. 

He peered into her eyes as if checking for damage. “What happened?” 

“This,” Shazanan pointed at Hanieh, who still appeared dazed, “woman tried to invade my brain. She violated me!” 

Hanieh tried to move closer to Shahzanan, but Rabi'a stepped in front of her saying, “Keep your distance from my daughter, woman. What is the meaning of this?” 

“Sister, let me explain,” Hanieh answered apologetically. 

“Sister? Some woman, who knows my husband by his first name, enters my home and tries to brainwash my daughter? No, you let me explain how things work around here.” 

The Storyteller pulled his wife back from Hanieh, before she could finish her thought. “Allow me to explain. Please, everyone be seated.” 

The three women stared at the Storyteller as though they were in disbelief of his calmness. 

“Sit,” he said firmly, but with a kind tone to his voice 

Shahzanan sat with her mother in a chair adjacent to the Storyteller's, holding her hand. Rabi'a held her daughter closely and was still glaring across the room at Hanieh. 

The Storyteller began, “Many moons ago, when I was still a young man in Hadratiya, I met Hanieh in one of my classes. She was very sharp and wise, unlike many of the other students, and we often studied together and debated various philosophical matters.” 

Rabi'a's eyes widened as if she could predict where this story was going. “Why have I never heard of this...encounter?” 

“Please let me continue, my love,” replied the Storyteller. “Events, which I will not mention here, occurred that caused Hanieh to leave the university. Before she did, we each promised to help the other if we were ever in need. Over the decades, we have both kept that pledge, even when we have not had direct communication with one another. 

“Such was the case a few years ago, when I called on her to assist me in the present matter of the Golden Scrolls. Hanieh, you see, possesses mental powers far greater than my own. She is able to communicate telepathically, move objects with her mind, and even alter someone's perception of reality. Although it is a gift given to her at birth, she also received extensive training at the university for this task. 

“You see, you, Shahzanan, and Hanieh are linked on a realm beyond this world and are able to communicate with each other using your minds. Hanieh was not invading your mind. She was merely communicating with you, perhaps even by accident.” 

“Actually,” interjected Hanieh, “Shahzanan was communicating with me. I only answered her call.” 

The Storyteller placed his hand on his wife's, which was still clutching Shahzanan's. “Well then, I hope that is all cleared up.” 

“Not quite,” said Rabi'a, “Why was Hanieh floating in the air?” 

Hanieh smiled and answered, “Apparently, our communication caused Shahzanan to tap into some of her powers. She activated some type of defense mechanism that repelled any further communication from me.” 

Melkemind entered the front door, trailed by two extremely large men, Glut and Vlut. Behind them was Seeing Wind. 

Melkemind stopped near the entrance. “Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Is this a bad time?” 

“Actually,” answered the Storyteller, “I was expecting you. Are you prepared to leave? We have a detour to take before heading for the mountains.” 

“Certainly, Uncle,” Melkemind replied, dropping the large bag that was strapped to his shoulder. “Ahsan would like to speak with you.” 

“Welcome, Ahsan,” bellowed the Storyteller. “Everyone, this is Ahsan, the Seeing Wind.” 

The three seated women immediately stood and bowed slightly to Ahsan, as though a royal dignitary had entered the room. 

“Whoa, what is this? Can I, like, get a handshake or a hug or something?” Ahsan said, placing her hands in the air with palms facing up. 

“Of course,” answered Rabi'a, who jumped up, becoming the first in a line to greet Ahsan. It still seemed regal and artificial. 

Ahsan rolled her eyes, “OK, look, I'm just a normal girl like her,” she pointed at Shahzanan. “I don't need the honorary royal greeting. I had enough of that in the army. Anyway, I'm here because I wanted to ask the Storyteller about this journey thing.” 

“Certainly, old friend, what concerns you?” he answered. 

“Glut and Vlut have to come with me,” she demanded. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“But..” 

“They will accompany my wife to the sea. She will need their protection. Have you any other requests?” The Storyteller did not appear to be in the mood for compromise. “We are quite behind schedule. Let us go.” 

Ahsan, turned and left the house with a huff. “Whatever!” 

Melkemind, Glut, Vlut, Hanieh, and Shahzanan followed behind her. Rabi'a took both of her husband's hands firmly in her own. She studied his dark, umber face, his beard, his wise eyes, and each line and wrinkle upon his face. 

He smiled at her, “Why do I feel as though you are looking at me like you will never see me again?” 

“Will I?” she asked with seriousness. 

“Rabi'a, please look after Fuad's mother, Asieh. She is extremely worried about her son, and she will be even more worried about her husband, when he goes off to fight. You are a stable and strong woman. She will need you for support. You must demonstrate your leadership to these people, who will be doubtful about the journey into the sea. You cannot let them think that you are vulnerable.” 

She looked up into his eyes, her own glistening on the verge of tears; her mature face only was illuminated by the outline of her black scarf. She held him closer and whispered, “But I am vulnerable. I am. Please return to me, Mustafa. I will not despair over our separation, but I will hope and pray for your return.” 

He hugged her tenderly. “We will meet again before long, my love, so long as the Hadra keeps us both.” 

A caller yelled from outside the village square. The Storyteller and his wife exited the house to find thousands of Corians hugging each other, saying goodbyes, loading their camels and mules, and examining maps to plot their courses. 

Albiyun had climbed up to the top of a watch tower and began a speech to the people. “Corians, fellow brethren, we might not meet again in this town, in this square, in a place called Cor. The darkness is coming from the East, while a war-mongering king lies to the West. Look after the affairs of your families, as they are your first priority, but do not forget the fidelity that you have pledged to your kingdom of Cor, that you have vowed to sacrifice your hearts for your beloved queen! Fear not the day that this great kingdom might be covered in blackness, for I can swear to you, that if only one Corian remains in this Known World, if only one breath remains in him, and if only one stone remains standing, we will rebuild this city, this kingdom, and this federation!” 

The crowd screamed and cheered with veracity. 

Albiyun continued, “So, go in the presence of the Hadra, go. Spread the good nature and compassion of Cor wherever you find yourself, and when the call is made, return! Go, all of you, with the Presence!” 

The roar of the crowd slowly dwindled, and people began to disperse towards their destinations. There were not enough camels for everyone. Most parents walked, while their children rode. The journey for each group would be arduous, and the Storyteller was not certain that everyone would survive. But if they stayed in Cor, it seemed as though their demise was inevitable. 

Albiyun climbed down from the tower and was greeted by an eager Ahsan. She kicked her heels together and saluted him. “Sir, Seeing Wind reporting for duty. What are your orders, Sir?” 

He smiled at her. “As you were, soldier. My orders are to report to the prince,” he answered, motioning to Melkemind. 

“What? No way. This was not in the deal. It's one thing to have to go on a trip with him, but taking orders from him? Uh uh. That's out.” Ahsan ran her fingers through her pink hair in anguish. 

Storyteller comforted her. “Ahsan, we need you on this journey, and the boy needs the leadership experience. We can all advise him along the way, so there is nothing to fear. Trust me.” 

“How many times have I heard that line?” she snickered. “Well, we had best get moving.” 

The last family had just exited their house when the ground began to shake. The Storyteller held onto his staff with both hands and looked to the sky. Black clouds were forming above them, and the sun, still close to its zenith, was no longer visible. The last family caught up with the end of their caravan, heading for the sea, but as they turned to look back at their house one final time, a stone fell from the sky towards it. A child from the family turned and started to run back to the house, yelling, “My room, my toys!” 

His mother tried to stop him, but he quickly gained speed and left her trailing behind. Shahzanan noticed the boy and darted into the town square towards the boy. 

Melkemind yelled to her, “Shahzanan, no!” 

As the stone fell closer, its speed increased, and fire rose and crackled on its surface. It was smaller than the house, but would be enough to destroy it. The boy approached the yard of the house, still running full speed. 

“Run! Get away from the house. Little boy, run!” Shahzanan pleaded with him as she ran closer and closer to him. 

The stone's rapid descent caused it to scream, like a tea kettle about to burst. The flames around it grew in intensity, so that it no longer looked like a stone but only a ball of fire. The boy's mother had collapsed and was screaming in horror. 

Shahzanan screamed for the boy, stretched out her hands, and closed her eyes. The impact was devastating. The stone crashed into the house, flattening everything near to it and causing fire and smoke to shoot hundreds of feet into the air. Melkemind and the others could no longer see Shahzanan through the smoke. He ran into the blaze and smoke searching for her. 

“Shahzanan! Shahzanan! Are you there?” 

Yar raised his sword into the air, swinging his arm in a circular motion. Droplets of water started to spin around him, more rapidly every second. Finally, he threw his arms forward in front of him, and an enormous stream of water ejected from the vortex and splashed into the base of the fire, extinguishing it almost instantly. 

To Melkemind's shock, he saw Shahzanan standing perfectly still, with the little boy in her arms, and they were neither burned from the fire nor wet from the water. “Shahzanan!” he called. 

Shahzanan fell to the ground, and the little boy ran from her, back into the arms of his mother. His mother kissed him all over his head and face, while the boy's father searched his body for any scratches or burns, in a bit of amazement himself. 

Melkemind lifted up Shahzanan and walked back to the watch tower, but the ground was still shaking, and Shahzanan's party had not yet fully departed, waiting for her to take the rear position. Storyteller gingerly hobbled as quickly as he could up to Melkemind to help him carry Shahzanan. 

“Quickly, boy,” the Storyteller yelled, “help me carry her to the wagon. 

“To the wagon? We cannot send her off in this condition! Hanieh can lead the people into the forest!” 

“Boy, I do not have time to argue with you! Now, help me load her into the wagon. She is not hurt, only exhausted from using her powers to protect the boy.” 

Melkemind was not convinced, but he had no choice but to trust the Storyteller. Other stones of fire were falling from the sky and obliterating houses all around them. Melkemind and the Storyteller carefully laid Shahzanan into the wagon, and Albiyun smacked the rear-end of the horse, sending it racing to the South. Only a few horsemen from Shahzanan's party remained, and they sped off into the distance, following the wagon. The only remaining souls in Cor were the Storyteller, Albiyun, Ahsan, Yar, and Melkemind. 

The Storyteller gazed at the dark clouds above him as the shower of fire stones continued. With the help of Albiyun and Yar, he mounted his camel and spoke three words to Melkemind, “It has begun.” 



Six




Eternal Light






The cavern seemed to be bottomless. Fuad noticed stones and gems of every color, shape, and size decorating the walls, as though an artist had placed them in a specific manner. He also saw creatures crawling in and out of holes in the walls. Some of the creatures stopped and watched the fast moving platform zoom by, while others ignored it, for they had seen it many times. 

The deeper the descent, the darker it became. Eventually, Fuad figured they would reach complete darkness, but as they descended farther, he noticed that night vines grew along the walls. The deeper into the darkness they moved, the brighter the night vines became. The colors were astounding to Fuad, who had seen them in the cave in medium darkness. Now he was seeing them in pitch blackness. He could no longer see the platform below him, and it felt as though he was floating in pure light. 

The platform gradually slowed its descent, and Fuad noticed the dead silence of the deep cavern. The creatures that had climbed the walls, chirping and squeaking, did not reach these depths. There was nothingness. Only the vines gave any indication of life, and they made no sounds, for they were too accustomed to being alone that they had nothing to say, even in their silently glowing way of communicating. 

Aneelio untied the flimsy safety rope from the edge of the platform as soon as it hit the bottom of the cavern. He looked to Fuad. “Please follow us. We haven't much time. By the way, this is Roderick, my brother,” he said, motioning to the young Jabali man who had joined them. 

They had descended into a large circular room, and around the entire circle there were doors. Fuad counted at least 17 doors leading in completely different directions. None of them were labeled. Without hesitating, Aneelio and Roderick chose one of the doors and started down what seemed to be an endless tunnel. The night vines decorated every inch of the tunnels, and Fuad passed the time admiring their colors and variations of glow. Then, he realized something. Where was Miftah? 

“Excuse me, Aneelio.” 

“Yes?” replied Aneelio, without turning to look at Fuad. 

“Have you seen my friend, Miftah?” 

“He is waiting for us above.” 

“Why didn't I see him above?” Fuad inquired. 

Aneelio turned his head slightly, without stopping his march. “Fuad, we haven't time for this. You must trust us.” 

But why should he trust them? They had given him no reason, other than the whole kneeling scene at the party. 

As they continued, the silence gave way to eerie echoing sounds; the type of sounds one might hear from whales in the deep ocean. They were low, moaning groans. It chilled Fuad to his fingertips, and he felt the hairs stand up straight on the back of his neck. It did not scare him in the same way as the Kelteryan had, but it was, nonetheless, frightful to once again not know what would happen next. But this time, he was not taking any chances. 

“So,” he stopped and interrupted the silent march, “where are we going?” 

“Fuad!” Aneelio shouted, “we must keep moving.” 

“Look,” argued Fuad, “I don't know how your usual guests are, but I'm not one to go traipsing through caverns without being told anything. Now, answer the question!” 

Roderick, who had not spoken since he joined them, stepped forward and answered, “We are going to the Orb of Eternity.” 

The moans that had been mellow and methodical, grew louder, to the point where the walls shook and the night vines dimmed. Roderick looked around from right to left, as though his statement had caused the disturbance. 

“Quickly, keep moving,” he insisted, noticing the disappointed look on Aneelio's face. 

Fuad felt afraid to ask what the “Orb of Eternity” was, at least by name, but he still had unanswered questions. “Why are we going there?” 

“It is just as our king told you. We need your help. We will tell you more when we arrive. It is not safe in these tunnels.” 

Until that point, Fuad had not noticed the large bladed weapons that Roderick and Aneelio were carrying on their belts. The handle was in the middle, and on each side was a curved blade pointing in the opposite direction. It looked deadly, and Fuad began to wonder why they had not offered him one. With that realization, his suspicion of these two increased. 

Fuad thought of another question, “What are those...groans?” 

This time, Aneelio answered, “They are from the people beneath. They are suffering far worse than our people. These are their cries, their screams. They normally use their sounds to see, but these sounds that you hear are cries for help. When they heard, and they do hear everything; when they heard that we were going to the, uh, you-know-what, they must have all cried out to us in unison. It is not they who are dangerous to us. There are others down here.” 

“Others?” Fuad asked. 

Roderick looked surprised that he did not know. “From the Unknown World, Fuad. They are here. We do not know why, but we thought you would.” 

“Me? Why would I know?” 

“You are the Chosen One. It is written that you will free the people beneath from those of the Unknown. Chapter 12, verse 5. I have read it since I was a child.” 

Fuad did not want to ask any more questions, and he did not bother to tell Roderick that he knew nothing about people from the Unknown World or what his role as “Chosen One” meant. He knew that he was supposed to find the Golden Scrolls, but this talk of freeing people and healing them, frightened him more than the Kelteryan and the groaning people beneath combined. He was tempted to turn and run, but he had no idea where to go. Even if he made it out of the cavern, he was unconscious when they had brought him to Jabali. He could be days away from the path on which he was traveling before he had entered the cave, and he was already lost then. He had no choice but to continue with Roderick and Aneelio, and to trust them. 

With that thought, the tunnel ended, and before Fuad was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. Suspended in the air, in another circular room, was what can only be described as a sphere of light. The glow was like a sea, swishing and swirling within itself. It was intensely bright, and Fuad could feel its warmth. He walked all the way around it, looking for some sort of imperfection or mechanical device that powered it. He found only more light, more glow, more warmth. It was as if a sun had fallen into a hole in the ground and decided to stay. Was it magic? Was it an illusion? Was it the Hadra? Fuad was awestruck. 

“This,” announced Aneelio, “is the Orb of Eternity.” 

“Where,” asked Fuad, still staring at the orb, “where did it come from?” 

“What do you mean?” asked Aneelio. “The Orb of Eternity has always been here. All that you see formed from it. All that exists in the Known World began here.” 

“So, it is the Hadra?” asked Fuad. 

Aneelio chuckled, “No, it is not that old, but it was the first thing to exist in the Known World. I suppose that means that it came from the Unknown World. Like everything else there, though, it is Unknown. Well, until now.” 

Roderick added, “Until they came here.” 

“Who are they?” Fuad asked. 

“You should probably have asked, what are they,” answered Aneelio, “Look around you, Fuad, on the walls.” 

Fuad finally turned his sight away from the orb long enough to notice shadows all over the walls, moving quickly, running into each other, and circling the orb as though to reach out to it, to no avail. But there were no creatures making the shadows. They seemed to exist on their own, but as though they were not really there. 

Roderick explained, “The shadow crawlers. That's what we call them. We don't know what they actually are, and they do not say anything to us. They came to this Orb a year ago. They encircled it, as you see now. We used to have regular curators, priests, if you will, who kept this room clean, decorated it, and who visited the Orb. As you see, this room is now dusty and unkempt. Our curators vanished, and the people beneath, who also used to visit the Orb, no longer approach it. When the shadow crawlers arrived here, the darkness began to spread.” 

Fuad now understood. “So the darkness began here, in this room?” 

“I don't know,” replied Roderick. “I think maybe the darkness always existed, but as I said, it began to spread when they arrived. We know they were sent from the Unknown World, and I am sure that the one who rules that world sent them here.” 

“The one who rules the Unknown World. Yes, I think I remember it from my school studies,” said Fuad, “It has no name...” 

“Finally, he remembers something,” remarked Aneelio. “It had a name, Sawad. He was a man, like you, who lived in Solistia, hundreds of years before Qamariya or Kelterya even existed. He was a scholar of philosophy and science. Over the years, his wealth, fame, and respect increased, and he became known as the wisest man in all of Solistia. That was, until the Knower arrived. People believed the Knower had come directly from the Hadra; even though no one knows what the Hadra is, they still believed this. 

“Sawad hated this and hated that people now turned their attention to the Knower. They sought all of their knowledge and wisdom from the Knower. Sawad became an anachronism, a relic. Sometimes, people would even talk about him in the past tense, as though he were no longer alive. School books mentioned him only as, 'the one who came before the Knower.' 

“Sawad decided that the only way to reach greatness again was to destroy the Knower. He confronted him, but soon realized that the protection around the Knower was too great. The Knower had mental powers, to move objects with his mind, to control the very atoms in the air. Sawad left Solistia for many years. At this time, the Golden Scrolls were being written and no one paid much attention to his absence. 

“He traveled deep into the desert, where no one had ventured. He traveled past what is now known as Kelterya, until he reached the edge of the Known World, a place called Balkh. There is a gateway there, a dimensional portal, I suppose, into which one can travel to the Unknown World. People had traveled through it, to explore, but no one had ever returned. 

“For years, Sawad studied the dark arts, black magic, until he became a master. His powers were far greater than any human being before or after him. Finally, when he had gained enough strength, he set out to return to the Known World, through the Gate of Balkh, but it was closed. Like the others who could not return, Sawad was trapped. He then devised a plan to bring darkness to the Known World, as it existed in the Unknown World, but he would need the help of men. He contacted men from Solistia, in their dreams, promising them power and glory, wisdom and knowledge of the unseen. Those who heard his call left Solistia forever, and formed a new kingdom called Kelterya. These Kelteryans worshiped Sawad, like he was their god, like he was All-Powerful. Three Kelteryans, trained from birth, spent their entire lives preparing to battle the Knower. Three, Sawad figured, could certainly take one man, no matter how powerful he was. 

“When they did battle, however, the Knower crushed them, mentally. He never lifted a finger. He simply closed his eyes and vanquished them. The three recoiled back to Kelterya. They became the leaders of Kelterya, despite their defeat, and they are known today as the Triumvirate. They pledged their allegiance to the Knower and became the first to join the new Federation of Kingdoms. 

“The Knower spared them under the condition that Sawad be stripped of his name, power, and honor. They would cease their worship of him, for he was a false god. The Kelteryans agreed, and for thousands of years it has remained so. But it seems that the Kelteryans had deceived all of us. They must have been secretly plotting to bring power back to their nameless god, who lives in perpetual darkness. We do not know how he was able to pass the shadow crawlers into this world. The Gate of Balkh was sealed. Somehow, they destroyed Balkh. I can only assume that the gate must have been destroyed too, but we need to be sure. We must travel there and seal it if it is broken. That is why we need your help. These shadow crawlers are attacking the Orb. If they destroy it, we will die, and nothing will prevent the darkness from taking all of the Known World.” 

Fuad took several minutes to digest what he had been told. He sat upon a stone bench that was near the Orb and absorbed its warmness and light. It had an attraction to it that made it difficult to leave. He could understand why the people beneath would wish to be close to it, even if it meant living under the ground. 

Fuad rose slowly and spoke to his two companions, “I must speak with the people beneath. I will listen to what they tell me.” 

“Very well,” replied Aneelio, who was beginning to feel a little more confident in the Chosen One. 

They hiked all the way back down to the end of the tunnel, from which they had entered, and then down another tunnel that lead to the underground kingdom of Ardramo, which most people believed had already been destroyed by the darkness. Fuad was surprised to see how well the Adramoans had lived. They were underground, yet they had green grass, trees, flowing streams, mud brick houses, livestock, and all of the niceties of the people above. But there were no children playing, no people working in their fields, and no sounds other than the moans of a dying race. 

“We will visit the elder prince, who rules over Ardramo. He is ailing more than his people, but he can still speak. He has the power to absorb some of their suffering so that they can carry on their normal lives,” said Aneelio. 

“Then, why do I not see them out working or doing anything at all?” 

Roderick responded, “It is their resting period. Until Spring returns, they will continue to rest, but many fear that they will not come out of rest, that this is their final journey.” 

They arrived at a small mud hut, with a straw roof, no larger than the others. Aneelio knocked on the door, made of bamboo shoots. A woman, shorter than Fuad, opened the door. She wore simple clothes, made of burlap, much like Fuad remembered the Storyteller's clothes. Her dress was a dark reddish color, and she wore a brown scarf that was long and draped over her head and shoulders. Her face was small and ovular, with sparkling freckles on her cheeks. Her nose was almost animal-like, similar to a mole. Her eyes, Fuad had finally looked up at her face; she had no eyes. 

“Great Chosen One,” she said to Fuad. The Elder Prince is expecting you. He is in his bedroom. I will show you the way.” 

They followed her into the hut, and as they rounded the corner of the hallway (there were only two hallways), Fuad heard the jingling of silver beads on the woman's scarf. 

Aneelio whispered to him, “They cannot see. They listen to the echo of their beads to know where to go.” 

“You needn't whisper,” rebuked the woman, “for I can hear you perfectly well, and it is no secret that our people are blind.” 

“My apologies, miss. I meant nothing by it.” Aneelio turned from red to yellow. 

“Aneelio,” Fuad remembered to ask, “What's with the color changing?” 

“All of our people can change colors at will. It takes practice, but once you get good at it, it kind of changes with your mood. Actually, our whole kingdom can change colors according to the mood of the majority of people. That is why you saw the colors at the party. It can be an asset, except when we're fighting enemies. That's why all of our clothes are plain brown, and our battle armor covers our bodies completely.” 

They arrived at the end of the hallway, and the door leading to the prince's bedroom was closed. The woman opened the door and slipped inside, then poked her head back out and said, “Just a minute, he wants to look presentable for the Chosen One.” 

Fuad was tired of hearing himself referred to as the Chosen One, but there was little he could do. These people, in their simple lives, not unlike the people of Cor, had come to rely on their beliefs and superstitions, no matter how outlandish they might be in Fuad's mind. He decided that he should make himself look presentable, so he took out a comb from his pocket and styled his hair. Then, he brushed off the dust from his beige cotton tunic and straightened the legs of his pants. 

The woman appeared again. “You may enter,” she said, pulling the door wide open to reveal an elaborate bed, covered with every sort of fine pillows and blankets. Propped up in the center was a frail old man with no eyes and a crown upon his head. Fuad, of course, was not used to being around royalty until he began this trip. Cor had made the transition to a government of elected representatives ever since Queen Avencieh fled into the Unknown World. Fuad then remembered how corrupted those elected officials were and wondered if these kings resembled them. After all, the leaders of Cor had convinced the majority of people that the Golden Scrolls were a myth, that the stories of the “Chosen One” were legends, that magical powers, both good and evil, were all make-believe. Places like Kelterya and objects such as the Orb of Eternity were laughed at by the common Corians. 

Now here was Fuad, standing before the great prince of a forgotten kingdom, on the brink of death, at the hands of some unspeakable evil sorcery. The prince raised his shivering wrinkled hand towards Fuad, signaling him to approach. Fuad looked to Aneelio and then to Roderick, who gave him a nudge. To avoid falling, Fuad had no choice but to take that first step toward the prince. The king of Jabali had not been quite so old and intimidating. The only comfort Fuad had was knowing that the nice-looking woman was standing on the other side of the bed next to the prince. 

When Fuad had reached the side of the bed, a few paces from the prince, the great old leader spoke with a tired, fearful voice, “Chosen One, great liberator of the Known World. We are at your service in this battle against the unspeakable evil. My people depend on the power of the Orb, but those shadow crawlers have cut us off from it. 

My people now draw their strength from me.” He paused and coughed loudly. The woman placed a cloth over his mouth and then handed him a wooden mug filled with water. 

The prince sipped from the water, and drops trickled down his wrinkled chin onto his exquisite royal robe, made from some type of fur. He handed the mug back to the woman and continued, “What is your name, Chosen One?” 

“My name is Fuad.” 

“And your parents?” 

“Abbas, father of Fuad, and Asieh, mother of Fuad.” 

“What are your parents' full names?” 

Fuad paused, for he truly did not know what to say. “Erm, my parents' full names? No one has ever called them anything else.” 

“Yes,” the prince rasped, “that is because you are more than just a son to them. From your birth they have prepared you for this mission. It...Fuad, I am not an old man. I am close to your age. I am only 16 years old, but this dark force has aged me, and the energy my people take from me brings me closer to death every second. Fuad, when I die, the darkness will destroy my people. They do not have powers to fight it as I do.” 

“What can I do? I want to help, but I do not know how.” Fuad glanced over to the door to see Aneelio shaking his head in disapproval. 

The prince sat up. “Fuad, you can stop this evil. I do not know how, but I know you can. You must force the shadow crawlers away from the orb. It will not be easy, and you do not have the power alone to destroy them, but with your superior intelligence and skills, you can find a way to drive them out of here, to send them above.” 

The prince began to cough more violently than before, and the woman aided him as he laid back against his pillows. She waved her hand at Fuad and the brothers. “That is enough for now. He must get his rest. If you have any other questions about Ardramo, you can ask me. Please go now.” 

“Thank you,” Fuad said to her, as he ran after Aneelio and Roderick, who were already leaving the house. 

“Aneelio, I need Miftah. I need to talk to him. Please take me to him.” 

Aneelio looked over to Roderick as if to gain his approval. Roderick nodded once. “As you wish,” Aneelio said, “but do not delay too long. More of the shadow crawlers are entering the chamber. It would be to your benefit to make your move quickly.” 

“I don't even know what my move is going to be. That is why I must speak to Miftah.” 

“Of course, Chosen One.” Aneelio had not called him that until now, and his mannerisms seemed more distant and coarse than when they were above. 

The three left Ardramo, exiting down the night-vine covered tunnel, with Aneelio in the lead, Fuad behind him, and Roderick at the rear. When they arrived at the circular room, however, Aneelio began to walk into another tunnel. 

Fuad stopped. “Guys, I thought Miftah was above? That is what you told me earlier.” 

“Did I?” snickered Aneelio, “I must have said that by mistake.” 

Fuad slowly backed away from him. “Come to think of it, you originally made it seem as though I would see Miftah at the party, yet this whole time you've been delaying it. Now, you expect me to believe that he's happily waiting at the end of some dark tunnel underground? Why would he be down here?” 

Aneelio quickly walked up to Fuad, standing only a few steps from him. “You know, Fuad, Roderick told me not to believe you were the real Chosen One. For a while it seemed like you were, but the more you run your mouth about that...animal, the more I'm starting to believe him.” 

“Aneelio, calm down,” Roderick, who was standing several paces behind Fuad, finally interjected. 

“Calm down? Why should I? We wouldn't be in this mess if you had put the nutria where I told you to put him!” 

Fuad's forehead cringed, “What?” 

“Don't listen to him, Fuad,” Roderick interrupted again, “I think the sickness is getting to him. We have a group of soldiers down here doing some investigating, and Miftah said that he would help them. He was above, but we received word that he wasn't.” 

Fuad wanted to believe Roderick's story, but it did not fit. “But we were never separated. When could you have received word from above?” 

Roderick sighed, “What I mean is, I received word of Miftah's descent while we were still above, but I forgot to tell Aneelio.” 

Aneelio pulled out his weapon from his belt. “Enough with the games, Roderick, it's time little Fuad learned the truth.” 

He spun the double-bladed sword in his hand as though it were a toy, swinging it within inches of Fuad's face. Fuad quickly backed farther away from him until he bumped into Roderick, who grabbed Fuad by the arms. Fuad shook loose from Roderick, but then felt immense pain from his shoulder. Fuad fell to his hands and knees. Aneelio kicked him in the face, sending him flying back into Roderick, kneeling behind him. Roderick squeezed Fuad hard this time, wrapping his arms all the way around him and locking his hands. Fuad struggled but couldn't move. He felt the air leaving his lungs, as a drop of blood trickled down from his lip. 

Aneelio took a rope from his belt and tied Fuad's feet together. Roderick released his grip, and Aneelio pushed Fuad, who was now unable to run, to the ground with his two fingers, chuckling, “Not so tough now, are ya, Chosen One?” 

Fuad, lying on his back, held back his tears and yelled at Aneelio, “Why are you doing this?” 

“It's nothing personal, Fuad. Trust me, we're on the same side, but you're slowing us down, and there is lot of work to do.” 

He reached for Fuad's hands, but Fuad closed his right fist and struck Aneelio on the side of the face with the little energy he had left. 

“Savage!” Aneelio screamed, holding his face. He lunged his knee into Fuad's chest and held one of the blades of his sword up to his neck. “Roderick, tie his hands!” 

Roderick squeezed several knots into the rope that he had tied around Fuad's hands so tightly that Fuad feared it would cut his wrists. The brothers hoisted Fuad into the air. Aneelio held his arms and Roderick held his legs. 

“We haven't much time,” Aneelio urged, glancing back at Roderick, “We must hurry. Our master does not approve of tardiness.” 

They hiked through the long tunnel, which led into a dimly lit brown stone room, with slimy moss and mildew on the walls. Chains decorated many of the walls, and Fuad could see several cells with prison bars along two of them. He saw dingy hands with cuts all over them, extended out of one of the cells. Against another wall was a large wooden bed with no mattress, only a wooden board with holes in it. Instead of a canopy, it had another wooden board above it with sharp spikes extending out of it. There was a large wooden wheel attached to one side, and there were chains with cuffs at the each of the four corners of the bottom board. 

A spider crawled onto one of the hands that Fuad saw extended from the next cell, but the hands did not move, as if the person did not notice the spider at all. From another cell, a woman screamed in agony, repeatedly calling for help. Aneelio and Roderick stopped in front of one of the cells. They dropped Fuad to the ground. Aneelio opened a small pouch attached to his belt and removed a pair of keys. He opened the gigantic cell door, and the rusted bars squeaked and clanked. They untied Fuad's hands and feet and hurled him into the cell, tossing him against the wall, as though he were a light child to them. 

The cell door slammed shut, and the two brothers walked casually out of the room and back down the tunnel. 

“If ever you felt like praying, my friend, now would be the time,” a voice said, from behind Fuad. 

Fuad looked up to see Miftah standing over him. He tried to stand, but the pain in his back dropped him back to the ground. 

“You'll get used to the torture after a while,” Miftah said, grinning. “How are you, lad?” 

“How do I look? What is going on here?” 

Miftah pulled Fuad over to a straw mat in the corner of the cell saying, “Here, lie on your bed for a while. It would seem that your two friends there are working for the Kelteryans.” 

“The Kelteryans? Why do you think that?” 

“Take a look around,” Miftah answered. “Who else would make such a place? This is a dungeon, Fuad. Did you see that bed of spikes over there? Do you know what they do to people in that? They...” 

“I can imagine what they do with it. No need to explain.” Fuad felt his wind returning to him. He sat up against the wall. “How long have you been here?” 

“When you fell unconscious, after the Kelteryan warlock left the cave, I felt a prick in my neck. I reached for it and found a small dart stuck in it. Seconds later, I too fell unconscious. When I awoke, I was here.” 

“But it doesn't make sense. Why did they take me to their king and have a whole party in my honor?” 

“Probably because they're working alone. I know the king of Jabali. He believes in the prophecy to the letter. They probably had to convince him that you were down here trying to save them, since he already knew that you would be coming.” 

“I don't know,” Fuad said, nursing his wounds, “Something just doesn't add up. Anyway, we have to get out of here and stop them.” 

“Now you're talking, lad. So, what's the plan?” 

Fuad rolled his eyes, “I was hoping you had a plan.” 

“I hate to disappoint you, but there seems to be no way out.” 

“There has to be,” Fuad replied. “They kept us alive for a reason. I mean, if their goal was to stop me from saving these people, why not just kill us?” 

“Because you're the Chosen One,” an approaching voice explained to them. “You are the one who will find the Golden Scrolls.” 

A man in brown and green military clothing stood just on the outside of the cell, peering in at them. “And when you do, you'll give them to me.” 

The man grimaced and cracked his knuckles as though he was proud of the statement he had made. His pants were brown, with a black and yellow stripe down the side of each leg. His round belly formed a bulge from underneath his light green shirt, decorated with at least 15 medals, Fuad estimated. His head was covered by a skull cap with no brim or designs, except for a flap that extended down the back of it onto his neck. A tattoo decorated the right side of his neck, formed in the shape of a Z with two dots underneath it. 

Miftah leaned over to Fuad and whispered, “He is from Orisay.” 

“I don't know what you just said, furry animal, but I can imagine what the two of you are thinking, and you're wrong. I am not evil, and my associates, Aneelio and Roderick are not evil either. You see, Fuad, we all want the same thing: the scrolls in the hands of those who will take good care of it. We just differ regarding whose hands those should be. Orisay is the only stable nation left from the old Federation. We can protect the scrolls from the evil darkness that approaches. I would imagine that it has already swallowed your dear Cor by now.” 

“Liar!” Fuad stood to his feet and ran to the cell door, extending his arm through the bars. He could not reach the man, but he pointed as he exclaimed, “The Circle of Elders would never allow the darkness to attack Cor. And they are the ones most qualified to guard the scrolls and protect its power.” 

“Interesting,” the man said, as he fiddled with his goatee, “You seem to know very little about your government. The Circle of Elders have done nothing for the past decade! They claim to be involved in some type of spiritual battle with the Kelteryans. More than likely, they're just too busy filling their stomachs and playing with the minds of poor boys like yourself. And your precious Storyteller, Mustafa. Did anyone ever tell you what Mustafa means?” 

Fuad looked at Miftah as though he wasn't sure if he should answer. 

“I'll tell you,” said the man. “It means 'Chosen One.' Yes, Mustafa was the Chosen One before you. The elders spent millions of gold pieces financing his expedition into the mountains searching for the scrolls. Cor sent a whole army, their last real army, into the forest, the desert, even the sea, searching for the scrolls.” 

Fuad turned again to Miftah. “Is that true, Miftah?” 

Miftah squirmed. “Yes, Fuad, it's true. But the Storyteller was an honorable warrior and explorer. It just wasn't meant to be.” 

“Anyway, and please tell your pet rat not to interrupt me again. Anyway, we cannot afford to let the incompetence of Corians keep us from the scrolls. If you are indeed the Chosen One, since your old friend obviously wasn't, the king of Orisay wants to make sure that you succeed. With our technology and our finances behind you, we cannot fail.” 

“Why should I do anything for you?” Fuad asked, stepping back from the cell door, “You have us locked in a dungeon. Why didn't you just ask?” 

“I could not take the chance that you'll run away, now could I? Besides, that rat has probably already convinced you that we're evil. But I assure you that we're not. The imperial security of the Orisay'i-Qamariyan alliance depends upon the success of this mission. Remember Fuad,” the man said, as he started to walk away, “We might be the only ones you can trust.” 

Fuad leaned against the back wall of the dungeon cell. He slowly slid down until he was seated on the floor next to Miftah. He wanted to cry, but he had changed. This journey had changed him into someone else. He felt as though he had aged by years instead of weeks. Miftah laid his head upon Fuad's lap, and Fuad snuggled against him with his arm around him. 

Fuad whispered into the dark, cold dungeon, “Shahzanan...” 



Seven




Eastern Wind, Silent Woods






The thumping of hooves on the ground shook the small wooden wagon as it bumped over rocks, pieces of wood, and lumps along the ground. Shahzanan was still asleep, but her head turned from side to side in agitation. Three horsemen galloped swiftly alongside the wagon. They would soon catch up with the rest of Shahzanan's party and with Hanieh. 

A leaf danced in the wind, swinging from side to side, tossing about, without a care in the world. It was high above the trees, as though launched from its once stationary home into a life of flight and exploration. Suddenly, a brisk wind from the east spun the leaf into a frenzy. It spiraled to the ground next to the wagon, and the force from the wind blew off the blanket that had covered Shahzanan. Startled, she rose from her sleep and whispered, “Fuad.” 

The lead horseman yelled back to one of the other horsemen, “Ride ahead to Hanieh and tell her that Shahzanan has awoken.” 

“No!” said Shahzanan, “Ride back to the Storyteller. I have a message for him.” 

“Miss Shahzanan, we have no way of knowing where the Storyteller is. There must be another way to get a message to him.” 

Shahzanan was now fully alert. She knew that there was another way to contact the Storyteller, but she was afraid that she would not be able to manage it. She would have to use her mind's power to connect telepathically with the Storyteller. 

“How far are we from the rest of the group?” she asked. 

“At least 7 hours, Miss Shahzanan.” 

“Send your horseman to the Storyteller. He is on his way to Hadratiya.” 

“Are you sure, Miss Shahzanan?” 

“I am certain.” 

“Shahzanan!” 

She heard her voice being called, but she did not understand where it was originating. 

“Did you hear that,” she asked the horseman. 

“Hear what?” 

“Someone calling my name.” 

“No, I heard nothing. Perhaps you are still feeling after-effects from that fire rock.” 

“No,” she said, “this is real. I can...I can sense it.” 

She then realized that she was being contacted telepathically. 

“Shahzanan. It is me, Hanieh. I sensed that you were conscious.” 

Shahzanan held her fingers to her temples and tried to block out the sounds of thumping hooves and wagon wheels bouncing over rocks and sticks. 

“Hanieh. I have received a message from Fuad. I do not know how. It was as if the wind carried his cry to me. He is in danger. I need to contact the Storyteller, but it is still difficult for me.” 

Seconds passed before Hanieh replied, “Tell me the message, and I will make sure that the Storyteller receives it. We have already reached our camp in the forest. I can send a scout who can reach the Storyteller quickly.” 

“Fuad is trapped somewhere in the mountains. I really do not know much more than that. I can sense that his location is deep underground and that he is in great danger.” 

“Very well. I will send the message to the Storyteller. Please be careful, dear sister. It is dangerous for all of us now. I will expect you in camp soon. Peace.” 

Shahzanan, slowly lowered her hands, and the sounds of thumping and bumping returned. She waved her hand to the horseman, and he rode closer to her. “I have contacted Hanieh. She will send the message to the Storyteller. Please tell your men to keep their eyes open. Hanieh said that there is danger along this path.” 

“Very good, Miss Shahzanan.” 

She draped her blanket over her shoulders and stared into the sky, wondering what sort of trouble Fuad had encountered. She thought of the game that all of them used to play together. The children of their village would hide in different places, and Shahzanan would sense where each of them were. They tried all types of mind tricks to block her senses, but somehow, she was always able to find Fuad. It was as if his heart was too big to be hidden from her. 

Even Melkemind sometimes avoided her detection, but Fuad could not. The three of them would climb to the top of the old watch tower, even though they were always told to stay away from it. They would hide up there for hours telling stories, counting the stars, and just talking. Fuad often said that one day, he would reach out and touch one of those stars, and travel to some of the planets in the night sky. She realized that she loved Fuad deeply and cherished his friendship. 

She had no friends with her now. The three horsemen riding with her were old soldiers from the long-retired Corian army. They drank fermented Tezentian fruit juice and told war stories from decades passed. They were respectful to her in her presence, but she could tell that they had to try so hard to be other than themselves around her that they had almost nothing to say to her at all. 

Back in Qamariya, her mother, who was really her master and queen, used to tell her stories of a beautiful princess who lived in a castle with her handsome prince, with a marvelous courtyard, an orchard of date palm trees. The name of the princess was, of course, Shahzanan, and the castle was real. The only thing that was not yet real was her prince. 

Outside of their palace, they had a crystal clear pond with goldfish as big as her feet. She would take off her shoes, stand in the knee-deep pond, and let the fish tickle her feet. 

In the summer months, she would go horseback riding with the king. This was the only time that the king ever spent with her. She never really thought of him as a father. He was a nice man, but he was always busy with some political matter. The queen would say that he was married to his job, and Melkemind would say that he had adopted the entire kingdom. They were a happy family, the king, the queen, Melkemind, his three younger sisters, who were triplets, and Shahzanan. They never talked of war, dark magic, or any of the sort of ills that now occupied her mind. 

When the Orisay'i invaded, Shahzanan's dream life crumbled around her. She had never imagined life away from the king's palace and could not remember a time when she lived somewhere else. She had been treated like royalty, even though most Qamariyans knew she was a slave. She was never forced to do chores or field work, and the servants that did those things in their palace were paid nice salaries. They had their own beautiful houses and families. It seemed as though everyone in Qamariya was happy. There was little or no poverty, very little crime, and only minor disputes settled in the courts. 

Now Shahzanan was in the grasslands, riding in the back of a wooden wagon with no canvas top, along with a bunch of half-drunk, foul-mouthed, retired soldiers on noisy, stinky horses. Her hair was a mess, her hands were rough and dirty, and she had not had a change of clothes since they left Cor. Yet somehow, Shahzanan felt good. It felt good to hear the wind whispering Fuad's words to her. It felt good to remember what she had done to save the little boy in Cor from the fire rock. It felt good to know she was going to learn how to use her powers and that the people in the forest were her people, her new family. She thought of Hanieh, her amazing powers, and she wondered what Hanieh was doing at that very moment. 

“Caw! Caw!” 

A raven, which had perched itself on a nearby tree, startled Shahzanan, and then flew off, darting high into the clouds. It spun several times, as though enjoying the fresh air and altitude before leveling off and gliding for several miles. Its dark inquisitive eyes studied the landscape below, as grass turned into trees, and trees gave way to forest. The raven slowly and gracefully descended into the woods and landed high above the ground on the branch of a Tezentian seasonal tree. It moved its head to the side quickly and leaned slightly towards the ground. 

Below, Hanieh stood in her tent holding a golden box made of fine solyra. She carefully opened it, revealing cloth made of the same material. Unfolding it with the utmost attention, she removed from the box a tiny flute-like instrument. Its glistening splendor reflected in her eyes as she gazed at it, like she was seeing it for the first time. And it had been many years since she had used it. She pulled back the flap to her tent and peeked out to see if anyone was nearby. She heard the sound of chopping and sawing in the distance, as the people in her camp were hard at work building permanent housing. She was alone, and the chance for her to once again place the glistening flute to her lips was upon her. 

She positioned her elbows slightly out to the right and left respectively and raised the tiny piece to her lips, placing the mouthpiece just slightly in between them. Then, she lowered it, took a huge breath into her lungs, quickly raised the instrument again, and blew with all of her might, so much so that the escape of air from her lungs nearly caused her to faint. No sound came, but the end of the flute was lit, like a torch, with a multi-colored flame. She took another breath and blew again, this time, moving her fingers in a pattern along the three holes on the top of the small flute. A spiral of colored smoke twisted and puffed as it rose into the sky, far above the canopy of the dense forest, and up into the clouds. 

It continued to spiral and twist, turning left, up, and around the clouds as though it had a life of its own and was searching for something. The speed of the colored smoke increased, and it seemed more determined and convinced of its direction. The spiraling reached a dizzying velocity, and the clouds passing by the colored smoke were only blurs of white. It still dodged and twisted to avoid each cloud, only now much faster and abruptly. Finally, ahead of it, high above the clouds, it set aim on its target. A disc, as large as a city hovered in the sky. No pillars, ropes, or devices held it in its position. It was suspended in the air, effortlessly floating above the clouds. 

The smoke flew closer to the city with every second, focusing on a particular area and then zooming onto a specific house. Just as the smoke was poised to strike the house, a single man ran to the door and opened it. He stared at the incoming missile of color spiraling towards him, but he did not flinch. Instead, he stood firmly challenging it with his trance-like stare. The smoke zipped past him, through his legs and spun around them several times before starting a twisting ascent up his entire body, until it had engulfed him in its whirlwind. He stood up straight and as still as he possibly could, although his hand trembled slightly. As the tip of the smoke floated towards his head, sweat droplets decorated his forehead, and his lips twitched slightly. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let out a squealing shriek, like a giant bird falling from the sky. 

The front point of the smoke entered his ear and violently sucked the remaining tail of color into his head. Calmness ensued, as the man wiped the sweat from his forehead, but did not move from his position. He turned his eyes upward as though searching for a thought. When he found it, his eyes glowed the same color as the smoke. The man's long hooded cloak fell to the ground as he flung back his muscular bare arms, revealing his chest and white waist-cloth. From his back, large, feather-covered wings opened and flapped once. The man had not taken flight in quite some time and seemed a bit disoriented at first. He flapped them several more times as he walked out of his house into the open street, where a few onlookers had gathered to see the commotion. A small boy ran up to the man and handed him a piece of paper. He tucked it into a pouch attached to his waist-cloth, smiled at the boy, and then dove off of the edge of the floating city. 

Head first, with arms at his side, he nose-dived through the clouds with a stone-cold face. After passing through the clouds, he leveled off, flapping his wings to maintain balance and wiped a few splattered bugs from his forehead. He sighed, “I always forget,” and pulled a pair of tinted goggles from his pouch, strapping them to his head and covering his eyes. 

The man glided through the sky, following the exact path of the twirling smoke that had inhabited his body. He approached the forest and extended his legs in front of him, arching his wings up behind him, causing him to float gracefully to the ground and land on his laced leather boots. He stood motionless before Hanieh, and she calmly placed the flute back into its box. The smoke that had taken residence inside his head exited from the opposite ear from which it had entered and slithered back into the flute. She closed the box quickly and dropped it into the pocket of her dress. 

The man bowed his head slightly before her and then looked into her soft, affectionate eyes. “Mistress of the Woods, I am at your service.” 

Hanieh giggled, “Oh please, Mezentius, haven't we been friends long enough to avoid such formalities?” 

“You still use a magic flute,” he replied, “hardly informal.” 

“Well, I cannot very well write you a letter, living in the clouds and all. How is Sama`a, by the way?” 

“It is tolerable,” he said, “the people are kind and the food is good, but sometimes I feel isolated from the rest of the world. So, I still come down for visits on occasion.” 

“You always were the restless type, old feathered-one.” 

“No one has called me that for years.” 

“Then, perhaps your visit was long overdue.” 

Hanieh sat on a large stone next to her tent. “Unfortunately, I have not called you for a reunion.” 

Mezentius placed his foot on the stone next to Hanieh's, seated his elbow upon his knee, and plopped his chin into his palm. “I did not expect that you had. Why, then, have you summoned me?” 

“I need a message sent to the Storyteller, as soon as possible.” 

“Why not summon his mind and implant an image as you have done in the past?” he asked. 

“Because the Storyteller is weak, and his journey is tiring. Also, this cannot wait until he sleeps. I am not even sure if he plans to sleep. Implanting a dream will not suffice. He must receive this message in the next hour. Only you can accomplish that.” 

He flapped his wings boastfully. “Indeed, you are correct. Very well, what is the message?” 

Hanieh stood and quickly stepped into her tent, looking back at Mezentius as she entered. He closed his wings and followed her. She removed a roll of papyrus from her bag. Over a fire, she had a jar of wax, bubbling. She flattened the roll with her hands and then poured a spot of wax onto the middle of the roll. She pressed her signet ring into the wax and handed the letter to Mezentius. 

He examined the sealed document, chirped like a bird, and inquired, “Too important even for me to read?” 

“It contains some personal information,” she answered, “but the Storyteller will inform you of the other contents of the letter when you deliver it to him. I have learned that Fuad, the Chosen One, is in danger. You have your orders, dear friend.” 

“Alas,” Mezentius lamented, noticing his own reflection in Hanieh's eyes, “we part again. Pray for an old soul in the sky, Hanieh?” 

“I always do.” 

She smiled and released her grip on the letter that she was still holding onto, despite the firm grip of Mezentius holding onto the other side. 

He turned and exited the tent, extending his wings. He gave out a cry like a hawk and soared through the canopy of trees into the clouds. Hanieh held her hand in the air as he gradually disappeared from her sight. When she was sure that she could no longer see him, she slowly lowered her hand and placed it over her heart. A Tezentian night vine lowered from one of the trees and wrapped itself over her shoulder, glowing affectionately. She placed her hand upon it and caressed it gently. 

The sun baked the soft feathers of Mezentius' wings as he coasted rapidly above the desert. The wind was still, and the heat of the approaching spring months seemed to have arrived early that year. The farther south he flew into the desert, the hotter and dryer it became. He saw many caravans along his way, but he had still not seen the Storyteller's party. The old man is surely still alive, he thought. 

He cut the air with his wings, turning westward toward Hadratiya. Perhaps the Storyteller's party was moving more quickly than he had imagined. The dry air cut at his face as he flew faster and closer to the ground. He did not want to pass over the party of travelers, if they were dressed inconspicuously. He could see the ancient city of Hadratiya on the horizon and still saw no sign of the Storyteller. The golden sands of the desert rose and fell over the seemingly endless sea of dunes. Mezentius spotted a small oasis ahead of him. He decided to stop and ask the local merchant, who was selling items there, if he had seen the Storyteller. It was also an excellent time to stop for a drink. He floated to a halt right in front of the merchant's tent. 

“Oh what honor! What honor!” exclaimed the merchant. “So rare it is for sky person to visit Aziz's One Gold Piece Or Less Discount Shop! How may I help you, fine sir. Perhaps cool refreshing drink? Tezentian glow-in-the-dark head light for those moonless night flights? Some moisturizer for your wings? A helment for...” 

“Just the drink, please,” Mezentius requested with a chuckle. 

The merchant opened a vat behind him, cooled by ice stones from Kelterya, and dipped a wooden ladle into it. The water was so cool that it was nearly frozen, and as he brought it out into the hot desert air, mist floated up from it. Mezentius' mouth watered, and the merchant poured it into a small silver cup. He handed it to Mezentius and smiled, twiddling his fingers together. 

The moment it touched Mezentius' lips, his entire body relaxed and he felt rejuvenated. He drank half of it and then stopped to converse with the onlooking merchant. “I am wondering,” he said searching for a shred of honesty in the merchant's face, “Have you seen a small party of travelers heading westward on their way to Hadratiya?” 

“Let me think,” Aziz answered, shifting his elbow onto his arm and scratching his head under his turban. “By the way, that will be 5 gold pieces.” 

Mezentius nearly spat out the last gulp of his drink but instead swallowed it roughly, as though it had turned into an ice cube as it crawled down his throat. “5 gold pieces?” 

He reached his arm across the table and grabbed the shirt of the merchant. “What happened to one gold piece or less?” 

“Please please,” the merchant exclaimed, shaking loose from Mezentius' grip, “it is one gold piece for the water, and four for four bits of information. It is quite deal in these parts, no?” 

Mezentius snarled, “Two gold pieces and I'll resist the urge to sink my talons into your back.” 

“Haggle with lowly land-dweller, will you?” Aziz smoothed the bunches in his crumpled collar. “OK, I cut you deal, but don't tell anyone. I have reputation to maintain.” 

Mezentius finished off his refreshing drink, removed two gold pieces from his pouch, and dropped them into the sun-dried hands of the merchant. 

“OK, friend. Let me see. There were five of them, yes, five. The old man looked very tired. He ask if there is inn nearby, and I tell him about my cousin Omar's Desert Palace Inn, for only 3 gold pieces a night. Ahem, anyway, he say to me that he is looking for old dervish from Hadratiya, but I tell him that that crazy dervish left months ago into the south desert. By now, he's probably gone mad or been eaten by vultures.” 

Mezentius raised an eyebrow, “So, they have headed south then?” 

“First a little to the east, at the inn, then to south if they're gone already. My cousin will tell you.” 

“I will hold you to this, merchant,” Mezentius said, tossing the silver cup at the merchant and lifting off into the air. 

The merchant half-smiled, “Please come again!” 

The inn was not far from the oasis, exactly where the merchant had said it would be. It was a rather small inn. It appeared as though someone had built five or six small shacks and then crammed them together into a makeshift hotel. Each shack was unique, with its own spots of dirt, broken doorknobs, clouded windows, and no running water. Several paces away from the collection of shacks was a respectable house with several rooms, an arched doorway, and cactus flowers growing in front of it. Mezentius knew immediately that it was the innkeeper's home. 

He knocked forcefully on the door five times. No answer. He knocked again, with both hands. Still no answer. 

“Innkeeper!” he shouted. 

He kicked the door, intending only to open it, but it fell into the house onto the floor. He then noticed that the lock was broken, and the entire house had been overturned. Lamps were shattered, drawers thrown onto the floor, and in the kitchen, lay the innkeeper, motionless. Mezentius noticed a strange odor in the house, not like anything of the Known World. 

He ran out of the innkeeper's house and into each of the shacks. In the third one, he found on the floor, a silver timepiece, still ticking, with a chain attached to it. He opened the round cover of the watch, and on the inside of the cover he saw a picture of a middle-aged woman. He closed the watch and pulled the sealed letter from his pouch. 

“Enough with this mystery. If I am to help these people, I must know what is happening.” 

He cracked the seal on the letter and unrolled the papyrus. It read: 

Peace and Greetings Storyteller, 

If you are reading this message, it means that you are safe, and Mezentius can assist you with whatever help you might need. If Mezentius, you are reading this letter, shame on you! But I know that, if you are reading this, the Storyteller has not been found. 

A Kelteryan raven was spying on me earlier today, and I fear that they are planning to interrupt your mission. They are searching for the scrolls as well, and their magic has grown very strong, using what they have of the teachings of the Knower to aide them. 

I do not know if they are responsible for the darkness, but either way, you must take great precaution. Also, I have received word that the dervish you are seeking has left the order of Hadratiya. The man who told me this described him as a drunk, hapless nitwit. Please do not waste your time with him. 

Beware, Hadratiya is not as you and I remember it. Kelteryans have gained high rank in the university. Many of the classes are taught by them, and I have no doubt that they are training many of the students in dark magic. 

Finally, I must mention that I am sorry for the awkward scene with your wife and Shahzanan. I did not realize that my presence would cause such a disturbance in your house. What once existed between the two of us is truly no more, but I can understand your wife's apprehension. 

You are in my thoughts and prayers, dear Mustafa. 

With greetings, 

Hanieh 

Mezentius rolled up the letter and placed it back into his pouch. “This will prove to be more difficult than I imagined, if the old man is indeed wandering the desert in search of a drunken dervish.” 

He laughed, raised his wings and took flight, headed for Hadratiya. 

The City of the Hadra, as it was known, was surrounded by an impregnable circular marble wall. Just as the Eternal Room of the Elders had a wall that never ends, the entire city of Hadratiya was enclosed in such a wall. It was too high and smooth to climb and too thick to be penetrated by catapults. The city itself had marble-covered roads and marble buildings with thousands of unique tiles, each bearing an inscription from a wise maxim of the Knower or quotes from the Golden Scrolls. Hadratiya also had beautiful streams of fresh water, gardens with every type of herb and flower, and a flock of exotic birds that mated there during the spring and summer seasons, before continuing their migratory patterns. 

But when Mezentius landed in the legendary city, all of that was gone. The marble tiles of the roads were cracked and weeds grew from between them. When Mezentius walked along the road, the weeds seemed to extend, scraping his boots with their thorns. At first he wasn't sure if they were moving, but then one of the longer weeds wrapped around his boot and scathed his leg. He pulled a knife from his pouch, cut off the weed and wrapped his body in his thick, brown, hooded cloak. 

The same odor, which he had smelled back at the innkeeper's house, lingered in the air. His nose twitched, and the odor became more onerous as he trekked further into the city. A dense black fog lingered over the city. If the darkness had not already taken Hadratiya, Mezentius was nearly certain that it soon would. A tower in the center of the city seemed to be the focal point. The fog was heaviest there, and ravens circled the tip of the tower. Mezentius could remember when the tower was splendid, adorned with a golden dome, and tiles, now covered with grime, were once the most resplendent. 

Fear gripped Mezentius like an owl gripping its prey. He no longer wanted to continue, but he knew that he must. If the Storyteller and his group were in Hadratiya, they were either dead or in need of his help. When he arrived at the front of the tower, he immediately noticed that the door had changed. While it had once been a door made of solyra, with an ancient Tezentian proverb written on it, it was now solid onyx, with a spiral and the shape of a raven's eye engraved in the center. He touched the door, and his hand sizzled. He quickly withdrew his hand, watching smoke rise from the door. 

“You could fry a...a fish on this door,” he thought. “Kelteryans.” 

He backed away from the tower, searching for a window. Night had fallen rather slyly in Hadratiya, since it was already quite dark during the day, but now it was impossible to see the top of the tower. Before he could devise a plan, a raven descended from the tower and landed near him. It walked around him, studying him like a science specimen. When it was finished examining him, it gave a single, “Caw!” Instantly, all of the birds that were circling the towers dove down to the ground and surrounded Mezentius. 

He opened his cloak and extended his wings. He tried to flap them, but several birds had taken hold of them with their beaks. They tugged on them, while other birds jumped onto his head and others poked at his chest. No resistance he offered stopped them. More birds came down from the tower, biting his arms and legs, pulling him to the ground. He slammed his arm into the ground, causing him excruciating pain but also knocking some of the birds off of him. He reached for his knife, but three more birds rapidly approached his hand and took hold of it. Blood dripped from his wings, and two birds climbed up to his head and stared into his eyes. Mezentius closed his eyes and squawked in agony. 

He heard some of the birds scream and the sound of wind zipping past him. He opened his eyes and saw the two birds that had been on his face, poised to poke out his eyes, on the ground, with arrows in them. More arrows flew from the foggy distance, striking the ravens down, one after another. He shook some of the dead ravens off of his wings, still searching for the distant archer. As more birds fell all around him and even some that were still descending from the tower were struck down, amidst the hackling last cries, Mezentius heard hooves thumping the ground, growing closer every second. 

Emerging from the fog was a white unicorn, with its mane flowing in the wind and a masked figure, dressed in silver approaching at an amazing speed. The legs of the unicorn moved so gracefully that the animal seemed to almost glide across the ground. The archer continued to send ravens to their demise, sometimes firing four arrows at once, in four different directions. Mezentius expected the archer to slow down as he approached, but instead the archer reached down, grabbed Mezentius with one arm, and threw him onto the back of the unicorn. They continued galloping out of the city courtyard, into alleys and past several houses. As they weaved in between houses and streets and under bridges, ravens unceasingly descended from above, and the archer never hesitated in striking them with arrows. 

After a labyrinth of a journey at a confounding speed, the unicorn slowed to a reasonable gait, and Mezentius caught his breath long enough to talk. 

“Thank you for rescuing me. Your archery skills are amazing. May I know your name?” 

The masked archer looked back at him and then turned and kept riding. They arrived at the wall of Hadratiya and the unicorn fleetingly turned and raced along the edge of the wall, until the rider was certain the ravens had dispersed. Then, the unicorn turned and galloped a while longer until they arrived at a small house near the wall. The archer removed the mask, revealing the sparkling pink hair underneath. 

“The name is Ahsan. Pleasure meeting you.” 

“Ahsan? As in the Seeing Wind? I should have known. The archery skills, the horseback skills, amazing!” 

She dismounted from the unicorn. “We need some help out here!” 

Mezentius looked around. “Help for what?” 

By the time he finished his sentence, he collapsed from the horse, crashing into the ground. 

“Darn it,” moaned Ahsan, “I was hoping they'd get out here before that happened. No way was I gonna catch a three hundred pound muscle bag bird-man.” 

Mezentius was covered with scratches, cuts, and holes poked into him by the ravens. “I did not even notice...the pain before.” 

“Yeah, I guess the rush from the unicorn ride kinda got to ya,” Ahsan replied. 

She placed a cloth she had pulled from her satchel upon the largest of Mezentius' wounds. 

After several minutes, Albiyun and Yar came out of the house and lifted Mezentius onto their shoulders. Melkemind greeted him at the door. 

“Prince Melkemind,” Mezentius muttered, trying hard to focus on the prince, as his vision started to get fuzzy. “Please take the letter from my pouch. It is for the Storyteller. He must read it at once.” 

“Good luck getting him to do anything,” Ahsan contended. 

The two soldiers seated Mezentius upon a duffle and began to apply medicine to his wounds. “What do you mean, Seeing Wind?” 

“Storyteller hasn't come out of his old bedroom since we got here yesterday. It seems like he's conjuring up some kind of spooky spell or something. He's been sending me on errands to pick up weird things like a snake's tooth and a Tezentian vine. I was out on an errand just now when I found you.” 

Melkemind interjected, “Well, good for him then. If you had not rescued him...” 

“Then I would have found a way to escape and vanquish the ravens on my own,” Mezentius boasted. 

“Right. Anyway, as Ahsan told you, we haven't heard anything from the Storyteller in several hours, other than requests for weird things. He'll take whatever new item we bring to him and then lock himself back in the room.” 

Mezentius glanced from right to left. “Did you the find the dervish?” 

“You mean Nestor? He's in the other room, drunk.” 

Yar and Albiyun were seated at a table, playing a Hydroa card game. Melkemind stood at the door, watching the fog drift through the streets, as though he was waiting for something. Ahsan paced nervously, flipping an arrowhead into the air with one hand and catching it with the other. 

“You know,” Albiyun declared, breaking the silence, “This reminds me of the time we were stranded on Mount Enersung in a dead-end cave. We were under attack from barbarian forces and were certain we'd be wiped out. There were only ten of us left in our platoon. The other 20 men died on the battlefield. With very little rations left, we had to eat cave beetles, and we passed the time by playing mind games. After two weeks, the barbarians decided to stop waiting on us and came up to the cave after us, even though they knew we had the advantage of the mountain. I swear...” 

“Not to cut you off but,” Melkemind interrupted, “perhaps we should plan a strategy for today, instead of reminiscing about bygone wars.” 

Yar rose to his feet and stood in front of Melkemind, “And what would you have us plan, Prince?” 

“Yeah, Prince,” retorted Ahsan, “What is the plan?” 

Melkemind rolled his eyes at them and turned his attention back to the fog. 

“Lay off of him,” Albiyun added, “When Prince Melkemind is ready to go, we'll leave. In the meantime, we can try to figure out what's going on in this city.” 

Mezentius chimed in, “Before you start solving mysteries, I should let you know why I'm here. Sister Hanieh sent me with a message for the Storyteller. It is private for him, but what I can tell you of it is that Fuad is being held prisoner somewhere deep under the mountains...” 

Albiyun, who had until this point still been studying his hand to decide his next move, laid down his cards and inquired, “Did you say under the mountains? As in beneath?” 

“Yes, that is correct.” 

“This is worse than I thought,” Albiyun gasped. “Prince, it is suspected that the darkness already rules the people beneath, that they have been infected with it. Unlike the people who live above who died from its destruction and poison, the people beneath are being sustained. Who knows what this dark magic has done to their minds. This is not something to take lightly. We should not dally. We must find the boy as soon as possible.” 

“If you're waiting for the old man,” Mezentius whispered, “you might be too late. I've known him to go days without food, sleep, or explanation of what he's doing.” 

“He's done this before?” asked Melkemind. 

“Many times back in our university days. People often believed that he was constructing some type of super-powered weapon to take over the world. Others believed he was just hyper-pious and spent his days in worship and meditation.” 

Yar spoke up, “Your Highness, I have to agree with the winged one. We cannot afford to wait for them to harm the Chosen One or to force him to use the great power of the scrolls for an evil plot. We must be swift and decisive.” 

“Ahsan,” Melkemind called. 

“Yeah, what is it?” she replied, as she caught her arrowhead one last time and then flipped it into her pocket. 

“How fast can your unicorn travel on foot to the mountains where the people beneath reside?” 

“To Adramo? I would say about three days.” 

“Prepare your unicorn to leave in thirty minutes.” 

“What?” Ahsan placed her hands on her hips. 

“We're not going with her?” Yar asked. 

“No,” affirmed Melkemind, “If we all go, we're sure to start a war. We cannot win in a direct battle with these dark forces, especially without the Storyteller. If whatever is causing the darkness is living in this town, we need to stop it here, before it spreads. It is way too close to Qamariya.” 

Ahsan smiled, “Wow.” 

“What?” 

“That was almost wise and mature sounding.” 

“So, you'll do it?” 

“Yes, to save the boy. I will go. In five days, meet me at this location in the mountains.” Ahsan handed a map to Melkemind. “Please come well armed, in case there is trouble.” 

She slid her arms through the leather strap of her quiver so that it rested diagonally on her back and pulled her mask back over her face. She then took a pinch of glitter from a small purse, held it over her head, and sprinkled it over herself. 

“Please Ahsan,” Melkemind reminded her, “try your hardest not to be detected by the Kelteryans or whomever it is we are fighting against. The longer we keep our plans secret, the better chance we will have of defeating them.” 

“Don't worry about me. Just try to keep the Storyteller out of trouble.” 

“Understood.” 

Yar stepped forward, placing his forearm across his chest to salute Ahsan. “Seeing Wind, may the Hadra be with you at all times.” 

She smiled from the corner of her mouth, the only part visible under her mask. “Sure, big guy, you too.” 

Albiyun followed Ahsan out of the house, and while she was untying her unicorn, he too saluted her. “Make it back safely, soldier. That's an order.” 

“Sir, Yes, Sir!” she proclaimed with a grin. 

She grabbed the rein of the unicorn and flipped her legs into the air, landing perfectly on its back. She called something out in a language unfamiliar to Albiyun and darted off into the fog and shadows of the night. Within moments Albiyun had lost sight of her. “She's a brave one, that girl. She's a brave one.” 

He slowly made his way back into the house and came in as Melkemind spoke, “We should all get some sleep. Tomorrow, we will investigate more of Hadratiya, and hopefully our dervish friend will be sober enough to tell us what's going on here.” 

“With all due respect, your Highness,” Yar replied, “I'd like to stand watch tonight, just to make sure.” 

“Thank you, Yar.” 

The house only had two bedrooms, one occupied by the Storyteller and the other by the dervish. Melkemind laid down on the floor close to the fire, while Mezentius was still propped up on a bench, holding his wound. Albiyun slept in the chair, with his head face down on the table, surrounded by the pile of playing cards. Yar could see ravens outside of the house, perched on houses and trees, watching them from afar. But they did not attack or even seem threatening. They watched and waited. 

Eight



Rebellion






The clanking of chains early in the morning had become a familiar sound to Fuad. He woke up in the same condition he was the day before, but each day he was hopeful that he and his companion, Miftah, would somehow escape from the Orisay`i dungeon. Two round creatures, known as sordes, came out of the darkness of the tunnel, into the dungeon, bouncing into each other and grunting. Their bodies were covered in dirt and slime, of the same kind as the dungeon, almost as if they grew out of the walls themselves. Their noses were amazingly large on their faces, while their eyes were extremely small, the size of push pins, and shiny just like them. 

Their arms were also longer than humans', more like apes, and they waddled from side to side as orangutans might do. They wore Orisay'i military uniforms, although they did not fit. The arms and legs were ripped so that it appeared that they had busted out of them. Worst of all, as Fuad had discovered some days ago, they smelled like rotting flesh. One carried a bucket and the other a spoon. As they walked past, each prisoner would hold out their small metal bowl, and the sordes would plop a spoonful of gray, sticky slop into the bowl. It was not Fuad's mother's oatmeal by any stretch of the imagination, and Fuad had definitely tried to imagine something besides reality. 

Miftah did not seem to mind the food as much. He had eaten worse in many of his adventures, and he was more concerned with the prospect of never again tasting freedom. And despite his travels, far and wide, he had never seen creatures like these two. They were exceedingly plump in the bellies, but their arms and legs seemed powerful, like they had trained for and experienced combat. 

“How can you eat this slop?” Fuad coughed as he tried to keep down some of the gray goo. 

“What choice do we have, Fuad? We must keep our strength, for I think I've devised a plan to get us out of here.” 

Fuad rolled his eyes. “I hope it's better than the help I'm sick and must have sweet pomegranates immediately scam you used to try to get us better food. They almost killed us.” 

“Hey, it was worth a try! Besides, they won't kill you. You're the Chosen One. And they can't kill me. I'm the key!” 

“What does the key do anyway?” 

“I...um...well, you see...actually, I have no idea, but I sound important. I was raised from the litter to be the key. It is all I've ever known. Our queen, may the Hadra encompass her, studied the prophecy for years before choosing our family to continue the quest...” 

Fuad interrupted, “So, there was another key as well?” 

“Yes, Fuad, our late queen was the first key who went on the journey with Mustafa, your Storyteller. She was too old to try the mission again herself, so she chose a successor: me. I was chosen from a total kingdom litter of 25 million nutria who were born that year. It was equally exciting when I learned how young and full of energy you were. For several years, I was sent to Hadratiya, along with a few of my relatives and some nutria from other tribes. They were to be my protectors and companions. Everything was planned perfectly, until the darkness came, crushing my kingdom and leaving us on our own.” 

“I'm so sorry, Miftah. This darkness is truly evil. But what happened to the other survivors?” 

“After I learned of the darkness, I left alone, under the cover of night, while the others slept. I did not want my companions to come into contact with the darkness. If our race was to survive this unspeakable evil, some of them must be kept alive. I could not risk endangering our future for my quest.” 

“This is insane. Everything and everyone is working against us. How can we possibly find the Golden Scrolls, and even if we do, how are we supposed to protect them from all of these Kelteryans, Orisay`i, Jabalians, and anyone else who wants them? How are we even going to survive this?” 

“I might have something to say about that,” a shadowy figure who had been listening to their conversation replied. Stepping out of the darkness, she pulled back her hood and revealed her sparkle-covered face. 

“Oh great,” scoffed Miftah, “A fairy!” 

“No, my name is Ahsan, I...hey, why do you think I'm a fairy?” 

Miftah examined her from head to toe. “Come on. The tight silver outfit, the hooded cape, the sparkles all over your face and hands, the pink hair...” 

“Look, we haven't much time, your servers think I'm here to examine the product before buying you.” 

“They were going to sell us?” Fuad held out his hands in shock. 

“Yep, so much for loyalty to their cause, which, by the way is pretty sick. Have you talked with that Captain Sick-O guy who locked you down here?” 

“Only briefly,” replied Miftah, “He didn't really explain everything.” 

“Well, we'll talk about it on the road. I'm busting you guys out. Move to the back of the cell, please.” 

The two quickly stepped back, while Ahsan affixed a type of clay to the lock on the cell. She then sprinkled some of her sparkles from her purse onto the clay, causing it to harden instantly. 

Miftah laughed. “You're breaking us out with chewing gum? Now, I'm convinced you're a fairy.” 

“Shut up, rodent, or I'll leave you with the slimy ogres.” 

She ran to the other side of the room, next to the tunnel entrance and pulled an arrow from her quiver. “Oh yeah, cover your eyes.” 

Just as they had raised their arms, Ahsan fired an arrow into the sparkling hard rock. It did not make a sound, but a puff of a sparkling cloud rose from the lock, causing it to sizzle like a fried yak steak. Then, the door slowly cracked open. Miftah and Fuad lowered their arms to see the sparkling dust still falling to the ground all around them. 

“Remarkable,” gawked Miftah. “I've never seen Fairy dust before!” 

Ahsan sighed, “Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret this?” 

“Garg! You will. You will! Garg!” The two sordes had just entered the dungeon, carrying spiked flails. The smaller one swung quickly at Ahsan, but she ducked and rolled over the insect-covered floor. A large chunk of the wall fell to the ground behind her. Fuad, still in his cell, quietly opened the door, picked up his metal bowl and launched it at the creature's head. It conked him on the side of the head and sent him back into the wall. 

“Garg! Obb madie yud garg!” The slimy creature lunged at Fuad, wobbling into the cell. It swung its flail, but Fuad ducked and then ran out from under him, leaving him in the cell. The other one ran after him, and Miftah dove in front of it, tripping it. The creature rolled into the cell, leaving a slimy trail behind it and knocking its cohort off its feet. They both lay motionless in the cell. 

“Do you have any more of that clay?” Fuad asked. 

“Hmm, no, but I do have some gum,” Ahsan replied. She took out a wad of gum from her mouth, closed the cell, and stuck the gum to the hole where the lock used to be. She sprinkled some of her sparkles onto the gum, causing it to harden. “I don't know how long that'll hold em. We'd better get a move on.” 

Miftah rose to his feet. “Hold on now. Who are you?” 

“I already told you! I'm Ahsan, and I'm the one who just saved your fur. Can we go now?” 

“Well, are you Ahsan the mythical fairy or Ahsan the even more mythical Seeing Wind?” 

Ahsan smiled, “There's no such thing as fairies, silly. I'm the Seeing Wind. Now, follow me.” 

Miftah was shocked. “But...” 

“Come on!” Ahsan grabbed him by the paw, and sprinted into the tunnel. Fuad ran close behind her but struggled to keep up with her uncanny speed. She ducked under night vines and dodged falling rocks, as though she had spent her entire life spelunking. Finally, they reached the clearing at the center of all the tunnels. 

She started down another tunnel. “This way.” 

Oh no, here we go again, thought Fuad, but what choice had he? Stay with the slime monsters or run with the fairy. 

He followed her relentlessly as she continued to jet through the tunnel. After several minutes of exhaustive running, they arrived at the room that housed the Orb of Eternity. There were more shadow crawlers than before, and they circled the orb more quickly and ferociously. 

“Quick, Fuad, open your bag,” Ahsan urged and tossed Fuad's backpack to him. 

“You found it! Thank you,” he said, as he held the bag open. 

Ahsan stepped directly in front of the orb and stared into it, piercing it with her gaze. “OK, big orb, let's see what you're made of.” 

She held both of her hands high into the air, closed her eyes, and began to slowly push her hands together. From behind her, it looked as though she was holding the entire orb, and as her hands grew closer together, the orb got smaller. Sweat dripped from her forehead, but she did not waver in her concentration. 

“I'll be a parrot, she's trying to steal the orb!” Miftah yelled, nudging Fuad to do something about it. 

“I don't think so,” Fuad retorted, “I can sense that she's good.” 

Finally, Ahsan's hands closed, and the orb disappeared. She spun around, facing Fuad. Slowly, she opened her hands, revealing the tiny glowing ball inside. It rose from her hands and hovered slightly above them. Fuad was even more amazed than when he had first laid his eyes upon it. He was again bewitched by its luminosity. Ahsan took Fuad's hands and slowly raised them up to above the orb so that his bag encircled it. Then, she quickly closed the bag and released Fuad's hands. 

“Take good care of it, Fuad. The people beneath will live in good health so long as you protect the orb.” 

Fuad grimaced, “I...I...” 

“No time to talk, let's keep moving.” 

“Wait! I completely forgot. There was a woman in the dungeon, screaming. We can't leave her!” 

Miftah kicked Fuad's shin. “You can't be serious.” 

“Miftah, we can't leave an innocent woman agonizing and rotting in a cell. We must go back for her.” 

“Wait here,” chimed in Ahsan. “I'll get her.” 

This time, she darted off so quickly that she disappeared from their view instantly. They felt a cool, pleasant-smelling breeze rush towards them as she vanished. 

Miftah placed his paw under his chin. “She really is the Seeing Wind.” 

“Miftah, let's walk back to the entrance of the tunnel. We'll meet her by the platform so that we can quickly escape...” 

Before Fuad could finish, Ahsan appeared in front of him. In her arms, was a frail unconscious woman with grayish skin and white hair, with chains still latched on her hands and feet. Her dress was a simple, one piece cloth that barely covered her. Ahsan pointed to a small hole in the wall, opposite to the tunnel entrance. “That is where I came in, and that is where we must exit.” 

“Are you insane?” Miftah asked. “The shadow crawlers are crawling the wall. They'll attack us for sure!” 

“Wrong again, furball. Fuad has the orb. They can't even come within ten paces of it. We're home free. The only real question is, are you sure you want to take this woman with you?” 

Fuad glanced down at the poorly dressed woman. “We must. Please, cover her with your cape.” 

Ahsan removed her cape and covered the woman with it. She then tied the woman to her back using the ends of the cape, and the three of them crawled into the hole in the wall. They crawled for hours, taking breaks along the way. 

“How much farther have we to go?” Fuad asked. 

“It took me half a day to make it all the way down. The exit will take us to a valley at the bottom of the mountain. I couldn't risk going into Jabali.” 

“Half a day on our hands and knees? Great.” 

Miftah smirked. “Oh, don't be such a poor sport. It can't be all bad. Of course, I'm not on my hands or knees, but I'm sure it's not that bad.” 

Fuad wanted to smack Miftah, but instead saved his energy as they trekked on. The tunnel was just big enough for one person, so Ahsan had to make it larger as she hauled the tiny woman on her back. The dirt from her digging fell onto Fuad and Miftah, so they kept their eyes closed and heads down for most of the crawling. Fuad truly felt like a mole. 

He could only bear it by making conversation. “Ms. Seeing 

Wind...” 

“Ahsan will be fine, thank you.” 

“OK, Ahsan, do you know the Storyteller?” 

“Yes, I do,” she responded, as she hacked at the dirt with her small gardening tool. 

“So, you have been to Cor, then?” 

“I lived in Cor,” she answered. 

Fuad stopped crawling. “Lived? You're not going back? Why?” 

Ahsan turned her head slightly to look at Fuad. “Look, Fuad, I don't think...” 

“What happened to Cor? My parents! Please, tell me! What happened to my parents?” 

“They are alive, Fuad. Most Corians are still alive, but Cor was destroyed by the darkness. I'm...I'm so sorry.” 

Fuad again could not bring himself to tears. Instead of sadness, he now felt pure rage. How dare these Kelteryans unleash this evil, destructive darkness upon the Known World. They must pay for this. 

They continued crawling, and it was not much longer until they came to the opening of the tunnel, where the light of day shone down onto Fuad for the first time in several days. Miftah flipped and danced as he made his way to a patch of green plants and began eating them. Fuad's face reddened as he stared angrily at Ahsan. 

“What good are you? What good are your powers? What good am I? How can I be a Chosen One when I cannot even protect my own people? I can't even save myself! I had to be rescued by a fairy! They must pay for this. I'll kill them. I'll kill every last one of those sick ghostly creatures!” 

Ahsan gently laid the woman she had been carrying onto a soft area of grass and then grabbed Fuad by his arms. “Fuad, stop it. Listen to me. We don't even know who is to blame for this darkness, or if anyone is to blame at all. There might be a scientific explanation for all of it.” 

“I know who it was! It was the Kelteryans. I have no doubt! One of their spooky warlocks came to me with his ravens.” 

“What? Fuad, what did he say to you?” 

“He showed me a vision in a puddle of water, of my people leaving Cor, abandoning their homeland. He knew! He knew because his sick, evil people planned all of this. Those shadow crawlers were summoned by their dark, nameless lord. They worship him like an idol. They disgust me.” 

“Fuad...” 

“I hate Kelteryans. I hate every last one of them!” 

“Fuad!” 

“What?” 

Ahsan glanced at the small woman, who was stirring, close to waking up. “She is Kelteryan. I thought you knew before you had me rescue her.” 

Fuad examined the woman closely. He had never seen any person quite like her, but she had a quiet, simple beauty to her face, and Fuad turned away from her, trying to channel his rage. But it was already starting to dissipate. 

“Fuad,” Ahsan placed her arm over his shoulder, “This is bigger than any one kingdom. You cannot blame an entire race for something one man or even one thousand men do. Besides, we have a much bigger problem. If there is any kingdom we should be worried about, it is Orisay.” 

Fuad shrugged. “Orisay? Why?” 

“So, you don't know, do you? Five years ago, Orisay invaded Qamariya, sending the king into exile and kidnapping the prince...” 

“Yes, I know that. I was friends with him and with his adopted sister, Shahzanan.” 

“Okay, well, three years ago, the king of Orisay declared war, under the banner of the new Orisay-Qamariyan Alliance, pledging to bring Cor and all of the other provinces under one united banner, commanded by Orisay, of course.” 

“Impossible,” Fuad contested. 

“How is it impossible?” 

“If that had occurred three years ago, I would remember it. I have lived in Cor all of my life, except for this year.” 

Ahsan stared into Fuad's eyes. “What are you talking about? Are you joking?” 

“What do you mean?” 

With her arm still around him, the two walked along a path, etched in the valley. “Fuad, you left Cor three years ago. The Storyteller left Cor this year in search of you because you had been gone for so long.” 

Fuad pushed her away and stepped back from her. “Enough of these lies! Why should I trust you? How do I know you are who you say you are? How can I trust anyone?” 

“Fuad, I have no reason to lie to you. If I wanted something from you, I could have easily overpowered you and taken it by now. And I am not looking for the Golden Scrolls. I'm not even sure I believe all of this magical mumbo-jumbo.” 

The Kelteryan woman, some distance away from them, rose from her slumber and sat, watching the two of them. “Where am I?” 

Ahsan and Fuad walked back down the path until they stood directly in front of the woman. 

“You are free now,” Ahsan said to her. “You may go wherever you wish, even back to Kelterya.” 

“Kelterya? I...I cannot. I must complete my assignment.” 

“Your assignment?” 

“My name is Za'adiyah. I am the Chosen One.” 

Ahsan placed one hand on her hip and waved her other in the air. “What? I don't know what you've been told or who told you that, but see this boy right here. He's the Chosen One.” 

“I have no reason to lie to you. I am certain that you have been told horrible things about my people, but we are not your enemies.” 

“You could have fooled me.” 

“Kelterya has observed all of the treaties of the provinces, and before the fall of the Federation, Kelterya was a loyal ally to Qamariya. We have never invaded any of our neighbors, despite their being much weaker than we. From the time I was a child, I was taught the prophecies of the Golden Scrolls and trained to be the one who would find them and bring them to Kelterya. Three years ago, I set out on my journey but was kidnapped by that Orisay`i officer. I have spent three long years of my life in that prison, barely able to survive without proper nutrients.” 

Fuad interjected, “So, you couldn't stand the slop they served either?” 

“You do not understand. We Kelteryans cannot eat such material. We can only digest live insects...” 

“OK, oh my gosh, that's so gross,” Ahsan whispered to Fuad. 

Za'adiyah continued, “I was only able to eat when a roach or two happened to crawl into my cell. But the beasts who served us the slop, as you call it, knew full well that I could not eat it. They needed to keep me weak so that I could not use my powers against them.” 

Ahsan, looked at the sun and then checked her watch. “OK, well, supposing you really are just an innocent girl who thinks she's the Chosen One, as I said, you're free to go. And if there's nothing else we can do for you, we'll be leaving.” 

“There is something you can do for me. I'd like to come with you on your journey. Together we can find the Golden Scrolls. I am certain of it. With my powers and your superior fighting skills, we cannot fail.” 

“Hold up there, Missy. Fuad is the real Chosen One. The way I see it, we're in a competition, and since you want the scrolls for yourself, we can't trust you.” 

“Please, Seeing Wind, listen to me. The guardians of the scrolls will not give them to a false Chosen One. The Orisay`i general knew this, and that is why he kidnapped both of us. He knew that only one of us would be able to unlock the scrolls.” 

“Unlock?” 

“Yes, the scrolls are locked with an impenetrable shield that only the right key can open. Each of us have a key that might open the lock. Many have tried before and failed, but I have faith that one of us truly is the Chosen One.” 

Ahsan pondered for a moment. “How do we know you won't double-cross us as soon as we get the scrolls?” 

“If your friend is the true Chosen One, nothing will harm him while he possesses the scrolls, and you have my word as princess of Kelterya.” 

“Princess?” Ahsan rolled her eyes and whispered to Fuad, “Great, royalty.” 

Then, she turned back to Za'adiyah, “Hold on just a second. We'd like to discuss this in private.” 

“I understand.” 

While Za'adiyah waited, she began to eat several insects that she had collected. She held her hands up in the air, and the chains that still bonded them together melted onto the ground. She then held her hands over her feet, and the chains on her ankles also melted. She stood, humbly, waiting for an answer. 

Ahsan moved close to Fuad and signaled for Miftah, who was still stuffing his face with herbage, to come over to them. “What do you guys think? Can we trust her?” 

Miftah burped. “Excuse me! No, absolutely not. She's Kelteryan.” 

“I don't know,” Fuad wondered. “I don't think she has evil intentions. I've learned to sense when people are genuine. I now know that the strange feeling I got from Aneelio was his secret plans to imprison me. 

“Who's Aneelio?” Ahsan asked. 

“It's a long story, but I really think we can trust her. And even if we can't, we outnumber her.” 

“But,” Ahsan retorted, “we have no idea what powers she might have. Did you she how she just liquefied her chains? I'm not sure it's worth the risk.” 

“Well,” Miftah disputed, after burping again, “...ahem, excuse me, I think I might have to side with Fuad on this. I don't trust her, but my old teacher used to always say, keep your friends close and your enemies even closer.” 

“That's nonsense, and you know it!” Ahsan scolded him, raising her voice. “But if the two of you think you can take her when she betrays you, go right ahead. Just don't expect me to waste my arrows saving you.” 

The three of them walked back over to the Kelteryan woman. Ahsan looked up and down at her, trying hard not to admire how nicely she fit her cape that was wrapped snugly around her. “Well, Ms. Za'adiyah, it seems that you are our new companion, but I swear on everything that is holy, if you so much as blink in the direction of betrayal, I'll unleash powers on you that will make the darkness look like a candle party.” 

Za'adiyah nodded her head. “I will not betray you, but also keep in mind, when it is revealed that I am the true Chosen One, I trust that you will not attempt to steal the Golden Scrolls from me.” 

“What? OK, let me tell you something...” 

Fuad stepped between them. “We agree, Za'adiyah. We will work together to find the scrolls, and then work together to help whichever one of us truly is the Chosen One. I hope that the treaty between our two nations will continue under the peace and prosperity that the scrolls bring.” 

“May the Hadra help us always,” replied Za'adiyah. 

“Humph!” Ahsan grumbled to herself and then whistled loudly. Her unicorn appeared from behind some distant trees and galloped over to her. “I'm afraid we do not have transportation for you, Za'adiyah.” 

“That is quite alright,” she replied. “I summoned my horse about an hour ago. She should catch up with us shortly.” 

“I didn't hear you summon anything.” 

“Of course not. I apologize for not explaining. One of my powers is telepathy. I can contact my horse from anywhere. I also contacted my brother to deliver a message to you, Fuad. I trust that you received it.” 

Miftah, who was running circles around the slowly trotting unicorn, ran to the side of Za'adiyah. “You mean that spooky cloaked wizard who got sucked into the cave?” 

“Yes, that was my brother, and he is a powerful sorcerer. I hope he did not frighten you too much. He practices the old ways of the Kelteryans.” 

“What about that dark unnamed overlord of the Unknown World? I've heard you people worship him.” 

Za'adiyah smiled and patted Miftah on the head. “It is true that some of our great sorcerers worshiped him for a time. But after the truth of the Knower was shown to them, they never returned to their old religion. They experienced his evil firsthand.” 

“But do you not believe that someone has summoned his creatures forth, breaking the seal on the gate of Balkh?” 

“Yes, someone has, but there is no evidence that anyone from Kelterya is behind it.” 

Ahsan glared at her. “Have you been to Hadratiya lately? Well, of course you haven't. You've been locked away for three years. I think a lot has changed since you last saw the world, Za'adiyah. Maybe you're sweet and innocent, but some of your people are completely whacked out. They tried to kill Mezentius.” 

“Mezentius, the man with wings?” 

“Uh, yeah, that's him.” 

“He is wanted for war crimes against the Kelteryan people. He is accused of killing many innocent men, women, and children. He was to stand trial in Kelterya, but some of his soldiers helped him escape from our prisons. Our scholars in Hadratiya probably learned of his presence there and attempted to apprehend him. It is true that we sent many of our scholars to Hadratiya, but they are only students of knowledge. They have done nothing to harm anyone.” 

“Mezentius would not harm anyone.” Ahsan stroked the neck of her unicorn. “I've known him for many years. It is true that war has sometimes been fierce, but we never fought against Kelterya, so how could he be wanted for killing there?” 

“I do not know, and I am not presuming his innocence or guilt. I am only explaining to you why our people might have attacked him. At any rate, there is a more pressing matter at hand. Orisay is planning to claim the southern desert as part of their alliance. Our troops have moved to intercept them.” 

“Are you certain of this?” Ahsan asked. 

“Yes, in my last communication with my brother, he informed me of it. We are aware of the Qamariyan rebellion that is taking place. The Triumvirate believe that by attacking them during the rebellion, the Orisay`i army will be too weak and thinly deployed to effectively counterattack.” 

Ahsan smiled. “Well, I have good news to add to that. The Corians have formed an army to aide the rebellion. In fact, Fuad, your father is leading the army.” 

“He is? I did not know he was a soldier.” Fuad stared at Ahsan in disbelief. 

“Your father fought for many years against desert raiders when he was young. I led a battalion with him as my first officer, at the Battle of the Pyramid. We were very successful, and your father was promoted to Commander. After you were born, he retired to a life of farming.” 

As they continued to walk through the valley, they heard hoof prints approaching. From the clearing ahead of them, a large black horse galloped into view. It had no saddle or reins, but as it approached, Za'adiyah floated into the air and landed softly on its back. It raised its front legs into the air, neighing wildly and then joined the unicorn, trotting along the valley path. 

Miftah, impressed, hopped onto the horse's back for a ride. “Quite a spectacle. Now do that with your eyes closed.” 

Za'adiyah laughed and patted the nutria on the head again. 

Ahsan looked at her three companions. “So, I guess you know where we go from here, right?” 

Miftah gazed out into the horizon, as the golden sun started its descent. “To the golden city...to Solistia.” 



Nine




Wall of Fire






The city gates flung open, slamming against the wall. Horse hooves beat against the ground in a melodic thump, as a lone horseman weaved through the narrow thoroughfares of Hadratiya, crossing bridges and leaping over broken columns. Ravens descended behind it, and those on the ground parted, making way for the urgently galloping horse. The horseman yelled at the top of his lungs, “Yah! Yah!” and the horse gained momentum, turning so fast that it nearly slid sideways onto the ground. But it maintained its balance and sprinted still faster into the outer rim of the wall of Hadratiya. It dashed for another 600 paces before making a sharp turn in front of a house just adjacent to the wall. 

The horseman immediately dismounted and greeted Yar, still guarding the door, with the traditional Federation salute, pounding his fist against his chest for emphasis. “Yar, warrior from the sea, master of the achket blade. Greetings, old friend!” 

“Xerxes, what an honor! I pray that you bring good news from the old city.” 

“Indeed. Please, I must speak with the Storyteller at once.” 

The Storyteller had emerged from his solitude that very morning and was sitting at the table with Albiyun, Melkemind, and Mezentius, enjoying breakfast. Xerxes entered and saluted the men at the table. “Great Storyteller, I have news from Qamariya.” 

“Speak, old friend. What is your news?” 

“Master, the rebellion has begun.” 

“How have you fared thus far?” 

“The Orisay`i have weapons, the likes of which we have never before witnessed. Arrows that can pierce the armor of seven men, swords that seem to spew poison out of them, large cylinders that launch fire bombs into the air at ten times the speed of our catapults, hideous creatures that have three heads: one of a snake, one of a lion, and one of a goat, and some of them wear a type of invisible armor that cannot be penetrated by any man-made device. Only our sorcerers, with their spells, have been successful at attacking the soldiers who wear such armor. Our arrows are depleted, our swordsmen are weary, and our cavalry is too occupied with dodging their firebombs to be of any use.” 

The Storyteller rose from his seat, resting his arm on the shoulder of Xerxes. “Has the Corian army arrived?” 

“Not yet. When I last received word, they were just outside of Qamariya, but reports indicate they have reason to believe the Kelteryans have made their way into the desert.” 

“Then we have truly come upon our darkest hour,” the Storyteller ran his fingers through his beard, “when man will fight against man and not know who he is fighting or why he is killing him, when beasts will be born out of vials instead of wombs, and when darkness will descend on every corner of the Known World and evil will pay allegiance to it. It is so written in the prophesy, in the Golden Scrolls.” 

Xerxes wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword. “Master, your orders?” 

“We cannot abandon the mission. We must continue with the boy.” 

“But Master, with Yar, Albiyun, and the Seeing Wind, we can vanquish the Orisay`i and the Kelteryans.” 

“That would not be enough, dear friend. You might despise the result of such an outcome. These days, there is evil in the hearts of even the wisest of men. Whatever becomes of this world must be achieved through the scrolls.” 

The Storyteller paused, glanced out of the window and then asked, “Has the king arrived?” 

“No, Master, we have heard nothing from him or his party. Our situation would be much improved if his knights came to our aide.” 

“Perhaps, but you must not despair. Good will triumph over evil. Tell your men to fill goat-skin pouches with water and attach them to their arrows. The water will break the shield-armor of the Orisay`i soldiers. As for their firebomb launchers, try firing debris into their barrels to block their line of fire. This will cause them to backfire and explode in front of their operators.” 

“Yes, sir. I will relate this news to Abbas. You are indeed most wise, Master.” 

“No, I am not. My knowledge comes from the Knower. He foretold that such weapons would be built and told me himself how to defeat them. Go now! And may the Hadra protect you all and bring victory to Qamariya!” 

Xerxes saluted the Storyteller and the other soldiers in the room and ran quickly out of the door to his horse. Within moments, the sound of his horse's hooves faded into the wind. 

Melkemind, who had been in the back room during their conversation, came out with a sword and sheath on his hip, leather armor over his chest and a battle helmet. 

Storyteller chuckled, “Boy what are you doing?” 

“Uncle, I must go and defend my country. For all we know, my father is dead. I will go to Qamariya and take my rightful position as king and supreme commander of the army.” 

“Army? Melkemind, they are rebels, guerrillas, fighting an impossible war.” 

Melkemind stepped closer. “But you said they could be victorious. You told them to continue fighting.” 

“I know what I told them, but that doesn't mean it will be a glorious victory. Many people, thousands, will die. Most of what you remember from your homeland will be destroyed. Melkemind, if you, the heir to the throne of Qamariya, die on the battlefield, what have we left?” 

“But Uncle, I cannot run like a coward while my people are killed. I must defend their lives, their honor! What difference is it if I die in the battlefield or in the quest for the mythical scrolls...” 

“Melkemind...” 

“Uncle, I know that you went searching for those scrolls many years ago and found nothing. Maybe they exist; maybe they don't, but this war is real and it is here, now. If I help my people, perhaps we stand a chance. I've been trained to fight since I was a child, and I have been given command of my army before, in skirmishes on the outskirts. I must, Uncle. I must.” 

The Storyteller sank into his chair. “So too must this inevitable moment come to pass. You are right, Melkemind. You must. It is your destiny, but I am afraid you will not like what you discover. Beware of whom you trust, my son.” 

Melkemind nodded and dashed out of the house. As he rushed through the streets of Hadratiya, the ravens parted for him as they had for the horseman. 

Albiyun yelled to him, “Melkemind, you can find a stable of horses to the north of the city! Take one!” 

Melkemind glanced back at him, unsheathing his sword and waving it in the air. “For Qamariya!” 

Within moments, he too faded into the mist and disappeared from their sight. Albiyun and Yar sat at the table with the Storyteller, waiting for his orders. From behind them, the dervish entered. He was dressed like a gambler, with flashy silver pants, a buttoned silk shirt, and a sparkling purple vest. But all of his clothes were torn and ragged, as if he had worn them for several years without changing. He stumbled at first, nearly falling to the floor before finding the convenient doorway to lean against. 

“Well well,” snarled Albiyun, “the pathetic reason for this waste of an expedition has finally woken from his beauty nap.” 

“Taste my boot, Colonel!” 

Albiyun rose and stood ominously over the small dervish. “That's General, and the only reason I don't drop your filthy, flimsy body to the floor right now is that the Storyteller seems to think you are of some use.” 

“Enough!” barked the Storyteller. “We haven't time for this senseless barbaric drivel. Nestor, you are a long time friend and a seed from my wife's sister. What has become of you? Why have you cast off your robe?” 

Nestor, the dervish, driveled for a few moments longer before speaking. “Such eloquence, oh great wise Storyteller; a shame it won't do you much good soon.” 

“Nestor, I haven't time to waste. Tell me what became of you, of Hadratiya.” 

He took a seat at the table next to the Storyteller, almost missing the chair on his way down. He reached into his vest and pulled out a small bottle. Albiyun reached over the table and slapped the bottle out of his hand, sending it crashing into the wall, where it shattered into thousands of pieces. 

“Answer your master!” 

“That was my last bottle. Do you know how much that slithering merchant, Aziz, charges for this stuff?” 

Storyteller raised his staff and slammed it onto the table, striking both of Nestor's hands and turning them red. “You had discipline, knowledge, wisdom, powers, now look at you! Answer me!” 

“Storyteller, it is not as you think. All hope is lost. If you knew what I knew, you would be as I am.” 

“Rubbish! What do you know, Nestor? Tell me.” 

“It's all a lie, Mustafa. All of it...” 

Albiyun, grabbed the dervish by the throat. “You dare call him by his first name?” 

The Storyteller reached for Albiyun's arm and pulled his hand away from his neck. “Let him speak.” 

He looked deep into Nestor's eyes, searching for the truth. “What is a lie? Who lied?” 

“It's all a lie!” Nestor began to cry, cowering over the table with his head in his hands. 

“Storyteller, we haven't time for this,” argued Albiyun. 

Nestor rose his head. “None of us have time. It will all be over soon. I've seen it, with my own eyes.” 

“Seen what?” The Storyteller seemed now to be begging Nestor to speak. 

Nestor looked around from side to side, then under the table and whispered, “The Unknown World. The Unnamed One. I've seen it. I've seen him, and I came back.” He broke into tears again. 

Albiyun sat in the chair next to him. “How is that possible? I thought he was there because no one can return?” 

“No, he could return, if it were not for the energy the queen holds over him.” 

“The queen? Avencieh?” inquired the Storyteller. 

“Yes, still as beautiful as ever. She sent me back.” He cried again, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. They made me break the seal on the Gate of Balkh. I didn't want to. I was the only one with the power to do it. They searched all of Hadratiya. They killed many of our brothers and sisters. I lied and told them I couldn't do it, but they read my mind.” 

He wiped some of the tears from his face, “They said they would kill me, and I told them to go ahead, but...” 

He cried uncontrollably for several minutes before again lifting his head, “They tortured so many of our brothers. I couldn't let it go on. I broke the seal to save them, and now we're all going to perish! There is no Hadra. It is not all around us or in us or in the Unknown World. There is only more darkness, more emptiness. I found no Knower, no light, no hope...” 

The Storyteller turned away from Nestor. “I have heard enough. You may leave, if you wish.” 

Albiyun looked up at the Storyteller with surprise. “You let him speak such lies and then let him go?” 

“They have affected his mind, Albiyun, but I do have one final question, Nestor.” 

“Yes, Master. Ask me anything.” 

“Who are they? Who did this to you?”

“You know who it was. It was they who still occupy the tower till this day. It was the Kelteryans.” 

“I was afraid of this,” remarked the Storyteller. 

He placed his hands on top of Nestor's and moved his chair closer to him. “Old friend, do you remember our days at the university when I was your professor? When I used to call all of you together for our meditation circles?” 

“Yes, I remember.” 

“Do you remember the energy, the warmth, the light that we used to feel when we were together, how it was as though we were connected and our thoughts were one?” 

Nestor paused for a long time, searching for that memory. 

“And where do you think your powers came from? Are you so arrogant to think that your power came from your own genius?” 

“No, of course not. I am nothing, and my power is minuscule.” 

“Then, you know what gave you the power to destroy the seal on the gate of Balkh. Your only real question is why.” 

Nestor fell from his chair onto his knees, bent over, and kissed the feet of the Storyteller. “Master, forgive me. I've been blinded for so long.” 

“It is not I who can grant you forgiveness, Nestor. You must make right what you have done.” 

“Then, allow me to come with you on this quest. I will help you.” 

The Storyteller smiled. “I thought you'd never ask.” 

Albiyun interrupted, “But, Storyteller, he is still a drunkard.” 

“Indeed,” replied the Storyteller, “but he is a drunkard without any wine to drink.” 

Albiyun smiled and patted the dervish roughly on his back, nearly knocking him onto the ground right after he had just stood. “Storyteller, what shall we do about the Kelteryans in the tower?” 

“There is nothing we can do for now. We must stick to the mission. Prepare my camel for departure. We shall leave at once for Solistia.” 

Nestor's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Solistia? It truly exists?” 

The Storyteller nodded. “You will see what is left of it with your own eyes, my friend.” 



Melkemind poked his head up from the bushes. Just as Albiyun had said, there was a small farm with a horse stable in front of him. He sized up the horses and noticed a particularly nice brown one with a white diamond shaped spot on its forehead. It had long white hair extending from its ankles and a beautiful white mane. 

Just as he was about to rise and claim his stallion, a patrolling Kelteryan sentry came into view. His armor was pitch black with sharp spikes poking out at the forearms, head, knees and ankles. He held a large, black, curved sword, with a split tip, almost like a giant fork. Melkemind remembered what he had been told about Kelteryan sentries, who normally guarded the Wall of Kelterya that stands between the kingdom and the desert. 

They have never been defeated in battle, so no one knows if they are even human. They do not leave remains of their prey, and there had been rumors that they were cannibals. But as Melkemind studied this sentry, he did not even see an opening in its helmet. They would have to remove it to eat anything. It was completely black and glossy, with a large spike sticking straight up from it. The sentry himself stood well over 5 cubits, and he had a chest like a gorilla and arms like tree trunks. His steps were perfectly in sync, like a soldier marching to an imaginary drum beat, but he was alone. 

Melkemind knelt close to the ground, contemplating how he could possibly get a horse without getting caught by the sentry. He needed a distraction. At that moment, he noticed a rock on the ground next to him. 

If I can just throw this rock over the other side of the barn, the sentry will think something is over there and go check it out. That plan always works in the Storyteller's stories. 

He carefully picked up the rock and gently climbed onto his feet, but then SNAP! 

His foot broke a small twig on the ground behind him. 

He couldn't have possibly heard that. 

The sentry turned his head in the direction of the bushes. Melkemind tried to remain as silent as possible. This sentry obviously had incredible hearing. Melkemind did not move. He even held his breath, but the wind, which had been blowing a gentle breeze halted like a Tezentian night vine at sunrise. The sentry leaned his head in a little and heard, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, the rapidly beating heart of the young prince. The sentry raised his massive sword and started running towards the bushes. Melkemind intended to run, but somehow his knees fell into each other, and he stood there motionless. The sentry shoved the tips of his blade into the bushes and it came out of the other end onto Melkemind. One of the blades came through under his arm, and the other came through just outside, enclosing his arm but not cutting it. 

Melkemind finally released his breath, and his knees came back to life. The sentry swung again, this time over the top of the bush, chopping it in half, but Melkemind ducked and rolled out of the way. He unsheathed his sword, jumped to his feet, and held it steadily with two hands, staring at the blank, expressionless mask of the sentry. 

The sentry swung to the right, and he dodged to the left. He swung to the left, and he ducked to the right. The sentry raised his blade up swung it straight down over his head, and Melkemind held out his sword sideways to block the swing. A spark flew into both of their faces, as Melkemind's sword blocked the blow, but broke in half, falling to the ground. The sentry reached out with his enormous steel glove and wrapped his fingers around Melkemind's neck. He raised him off of the ground and then raised his sword, as though he were about to skin an animal. 

There was nothing left Melkemind could do. His life hung in the balance, and his choice had brought him to this point. The sentry began his final swing slicing violently through the air, and Melkemind yelled out, “Wait!” 

To his utter shock, the sentry's sword stopped within inches of his waist, just as he was about to be sawed in half. “Please,” he said, “just...just let me explain.” 

The sentry lowered his blade but still held Melkemind high off of the ground. In a deep, muffled voice, he said, “Why are you here, human?” 

“OK, you see, what happened was, Orisay invaded Qamariya and...” 

“I know that, human. Why have you come to steal a horse from our stable?” 

“Oh, well, I thought this was a public stable. You know, two-hour ride, kinda thing.” 

The sentry shook his head and raised his sword. 

“OK OK, wait. Really, I'm a warrior from Qamariya, on my way to fight against the Orisay`i in the rebellion, but I need a horse.” 

The sentry lowered Melkemind to the ground, releasing his grip, but he again raised his sword. “You have ten seconds to prove you are a warrior of Qamariya, or prepare to perish.” 

How am I to prove it? 

Without thinking he held out his hand, hoping to make the blow hurt less, if it sliced through his hand first. The sentry again lowered his sword. “Your ring. Let me see it.” 

Melkemind closed his fist and pointed it at the sentry. Engraved on the ring was the coat of arms from the clan of the king of Qamariya. The sentry tilted his head to the side, as though he did not believe what he was seeing. “State your name, human.” 

Melkemind lowered his hand, still trembling. “My...my name is Melkemind, Crown Prince of Qamariya. My father is missing. I am on my way to claim my rightful position as acting king.” 

The sentry examined Melkemind for several minutes as though he were trying to determine if he was indeed a prince or merely someone pretending to be. Finally, he spoke, “You intend to fight the Orisay`i to the death?” 

“Yes, to the death.” 

“Then you will need a sword, great King.” 

The sentry held out the hilt of his sword for Melkemind. He was unsure at first if he should take it, but the sentry was right. And his sword was halved, lying on the ground. He grabbed the hilt and attempted to lift the massive split-bladed sword, but it crashed into the ground. 

The sentry waved his hand over the sword and Melkemind's arm, causing both to glow a bright shade of red. Melkemind felt the energy surge through his arm, as though the sword was becoming part of it. It then felt light, and he raised it high above his head, as it glistened in the early morning sunlight. 

The sentry fell to his knees. “Great Prince, I have wronged you. I should have asked who you were before attacking you. You may take your revenge upon me. Strike me down with my sword.” 

Melkemind reached out and laid his hand upon the thick black armor, which was surprisingly soft. “Rise noble sentry. All I request of you is a horse for my journey.” 

“Choose any you prefer, Prince Melkemind.” 

“The brown one, with the white diamond on his head.” 

“A fine choice. Ride with speed, young King. The battle grows fierce. I can hear the explosions from here. The Orisay`i have built a wall of fire around their fortress. If you are to defeat them, you must penetrate that wall. Take this, and use it when you approach the wall.” 

He handed him a small bottle of water that fit snugly into Melkemind's pocket. He didn't bother to ask the sentry how such a small bottle would put out a wall of fire, not after what had just happened with his arm and the sword. 

Melkemind had seated himself on the horse and adjusted the saddle, given to him by the sentry. He looked down at him, as a kind king might look to his knight. “Noble sentry, tell me your name.” 

“Sentries have no names. I am Sentry 47. Do not delay, mighty King. Go with the Hadra before you and behind you.” 

The horse lifted its forelegs high into the air, kicking them, as though the sentry had instructed it to do so. Then, with speed unlike anything Melkemind had ever before witnessed, it carried him off into the wind. 



Ten




And From the Fire, Water






The sea parted. Waves crashed into one another, as a massive opening of land appeared from beneath the water. On either side, walls of water formed thousands of cubits into the sky. The ground where water once was dried instantly, and a path leading to a distant city lay in front of Rabi'a, Asieh, and the thousands of Corians behind them. 

A sudden rush of wind came through the newly created passageway, forcing the party to stop and brace themselves until it passed. Rabi'a wrapped her outer shawl over her, folded her arms and proceeded onward. She and Asieh, who was much younger, walked side-by-side touching against each other, as though they were joined as one. Asieh wrapped her arm around Rabi'a. “We are almost there, Auntie. Please, if you need to ride one of the horses...” 

“I am fine. With the Storyteller, I have traveled on much more difficult journeys than this. Just please do not be alarmed.” 

“Alarmed at what?” 

No sooner than Asieh had spoken those words, the water that had been suspended as though they were walls on either side of them before they started on the path, came crashing down around them, giving everyone the sensation that they would be drowned instantly. But the water did not touch them. As if a glass tunnel had been carved into the sea without them realizing it, they could see the water to the right, left, and above them, but it did not touch them. A boy, the same one who had run back to his house when the fire fell from the sky, reached out with his finger and touched the water. It rippled, as it might when one touches a pond. “Amazing!” he said, as his mother snatched him up and scolded him. 

Rabi'a glanced over at the stunned Asieh and smiled. “Sorry, I couldn't resist. Every time, it still is amazing. I did not want to ruin the surprise.” 

A jellyfish, glowing red, squirted gracefully overhead, and Asieh was too captivated by it to reply to Rabi'a's apology. Ahead of them, a small boy was approaching quickly to greet them. A woman joined Rabi'a at the front of the party and pointed to the boy, “Isn't that interesting, Aunt Rabi'a? Why is a human boy coming to greet us? Where are the water people?” 

Rabi'a could not see as well as the young inquisitor, so she squinted and crinkled up her nose trying to make out his face. “I am not sure. Perhaps they are trying to help us get acclimated, being received by someone like us. 

Sharks, fish of every kind, octopuses, and even some Hydroa people stopped along their swim to stare at, wave, and in the case of one Hydroa boy, reach out and touch the Corian people, as they continued through the tunnel. An old man's arm dripped with water from the boy's touch. He chuckled and waved at the boy. Only the most senior men accompanied Rabi'a. The younger men went with Hanieh into the forest, and the men of fighting age accompanied Abbas into Qamariya. The elderly women, and women with children, along with their youngest boys and girls, formed the great crowd that marched solemnly behind Rabi'a and Asieh. 

After several minutes, the approaching boy, who had started to run, was now in Rabi'a's view. “That is interesting,” she declared. 

Asieh, who was still preoccupied by the onlookers who floated by, did not waver in her stare, but answered, “What is interesting, Auntie?” 

“That boy. He is one of the servants of the Circle of Elders. I believe his name is Murid.” 

Now Asieh was more interested, and she released herself from the trance that had captivated her long enough to look at the boy. “Yes, you are right, but why would the Elders' servant boy be here, unless...” 

Rabi'a finished her thought, “...unless the Elders themselves are here. Very intriguing.” 

Murid, who had finally reached them and was panting with his hands on his knees, looked up at Rabi'a and greeted her, “Aunt Rabi'a, great wife of the Storyteller and senior of all Corians, greetings to you and your followers. Welcome to Hydrodollin.” 

Immediately after he finished his greeting, several Hydroa women entered from the water on either side of them and began an enchanting melody. As they sang, their bodies grew translucent and shimmered all of the many colors that were around them. For those Corians who had never witnessed such a thing, they were amazed. 

Murid bowed slightly and extended his hand forward. “Please follow me.” 

As they walked the last few paces into the domed city that awaited them, on the bottom of the sea, the Hydroa women continued their enchanting tune. Murid, as though he were a tour guide, pointed and explained various aspects of the city before they had reached the main gates. “This city is referred to as 'The City of Man.' There are some 300,000 humans and other land-dwelling creatures who live in Hydrodollin. This city was built specifically for them, so that they might live permanently down here, and breathe the fresh air, pumped in from above. It is quite the technological achievement. 

“The Circle of Elders have traditionally visited this city to meet with the leaders of the mystic order of the Hydroa, and for their annual retreat. However, now the Elders have made this city their home and requested that you be sent here with them. My fellow Corians, I present to you, the City of Man.” 

He opened the gates of the city, and the female Hydroa increased the volume and tempo of their song, calling out into the ocean, causing many more Hydroa to surround the city, watch, and wave as the Corians entered beneath them. The Corians were awestruck by this hidden underwater city. Buildings hundreds of cubits high, made out of stone, wagons that flew through the air, with birds pulling them along, a ground made of solid clear crystal lying beneath their feet, and a crowd of people of every race stood before them, some smiling, and others simply waving and cheering. 

The two singing women were joined by more, who formed a chorus on either side of a long elaborate row of flower petals leading up to a platform, where the Circle of Elders hovered, awaiting them. This was perhaps even more of a shock to many of the Corians, who had never laid eyes on the Circle of Elders. These luminaries, whose shapes only loosely resembled those of humans, floated above the platform, flashing in excitement at their approaching followers. 

A young girl came riding into view on a large lizard creature, strapped with a saddle and reins. She removed her hat and waved it into the air, as the crowd of onlookers cheered. Asieh had never seen such a city, with hundreds of the tall stone buildings pointing into the artificial sky. A large glowing ball hovered in the sky, and it appeared, to anyone who beheld it, to be some type of sun. “Auntie Rabi'a, is that a sun up there, underneath all of this water?” 

Before Rabi'a could answer, the group had reached the platform where the Circle of Elders waited. They answered Asieh's question in unison, “Mother of the Chosen One, what you see high above is the Orb of Light. It is one of five orbs that exist in this world. It provides all light, heat, wind, and sustenance to the people, plants, and animals of the City of Man and all of Hydrodollin. “ 

They then addressed all of the people, “Fellow Corians, we know that this journey has been difficult for you, that you are troubled by the destruction of Cor, our sudden departure, the welfare of the Known World, and the well-being of the Chosen One. We are here for your protection and to reassure you that what is written in the prophecy will come to pass. The Hadra provides all that is around you, including the orbs, and we will maintain a connection with the Hadra forever. So, do not despair your current condition. The light from the Golden Scrolls that once shined over our Federation of Kingdoms, will once again guide us and protect us. 

“Nevertheless, we must remind you of the dangers that currently inhabit this world. You are, under no circumstances, to leave this city, until the great struggle has ended, the Chosen One returns to you, and the scrolls are found. Raise your children and establish your lives as though you were to stay here forever, but please be hopeful that one day we will return home and rebuild the greatest kingdom that ever was, Cor, the heart of all lands.” 

The crowd of onlookers cheered and chanted various honorable slogans to the Corians, but most of it fell on deaf ears. They were still in shock from all that had occurred. Each family was calmly escorted away with a host family who would help them choose a home of their own and also help them find their way around the city. Murid personally escorted Rabi'a and Asieh to one of the closest stone towers. The doors, a cubit thick, slowly opened, grinding against the marble floor. Inside the building, one could see all the way to the top, where a glass roof allowed light from the orb to shine into it. Around them was a spiraling ramp that extended up to the top, and along it were thousands of apartments. 

Murid pulled a crystal from his pocket and waved it into the air. Immediately, an enormous bird arrived in front of them. It squawked, flapped its wings and then knelt before them. Rabi'a, for the first time, seemed surprised. Murid smiled at her. “You did not think I would make the wife of the Storyteller climb the ramp to her new apartment?” 

“If you did, Murid, I would think no less of you.” 

He held out his arm to assist her onto one of the seats that was strapped tightly to the back of the bird. She protested, “I might be old, but I am still quite capable of mounting a Tezentian bird. In my day I used to ride these all the way from Hadratiya to a Sama`an outpost hovering over the eastern mountains.” 

“Well, my apologies madam. Would your companion like my assistance.” 

Asieh smiled shyly, “I'm quite alright, thank you.” 

Rabi'a plopped into the back seat, with Asieh next to her, and rubbed the feathers of the bird. “Murid, what floor do they have us on? You know I get dizzy on anything above the 50th.” 

“You're on floor 37.” 

The bird flapped its wings a few times, squawked again, and then soared up into the air. Asieh was amazed to see that some of the floors had indoor gardens, playgrounds for children, and restaurants. At the 37th floor, the bird hovered close to the guard rail, which Murid unlatched. He laid down a wooden crossing platform between the bird and the floor. It swayed and bounced slightly as the bird continued to flap its wings. Asieh held onto Rabi'a's cloak for balance, as they crossed the platform. Murid led them into their new apartment. “I haven't much time, for I am wanted in the meditation room. You have food, furniture, and books. If you need anything else, you need only ask. There are three bedrooms that you can use as you see fit.” 

He exited and left the women to explore their new home. Asieh immediately ran to choose her bedroom. When she had entered the room of her choice, she pulled a small photo out of her pocket. She gazed longingly at the small picture of Abbas and Fuad, with their arms wrapped around each other. 

Rabi'a walked over to the window to check the view. She could hear raindrops beginning to fall inside the city, and she could easily forget that they were inside a closed space underneath an entire sea. The City of Man had water pumped in from a river and sprinkled evenly on certain days, to simulate rainfall and maintain the lush grass and trees. Rabi'a opened the window of her new apartment and felt the drops fall onto her hand. Those very drops that comforted her worried and lonely hand had fallen into the sea from a rain cloud. That rain cloud had traveled from the south, through the desert by way of Hadratiya, where it had first rained on Qamariya, where the rebellion was taking place. 

Leather boots pounded the roadway in rhythmic thumps. A company of three hundred Orisay`i foot soldiers marched into the Qamariyan city of Lunaria. As they traveled through the city, headed for the capital building, not a single one of them turned to notice the onlookers peeking out of their windows and doors. As they approached each section of the city, mothers called their children inside from playing, and all activity in the city ceased. The people of Lunaria knew that this day was approaching. They were the farthest eastern city in Qamariya, on the edge of the great desert and the last to be occupied by Orisay`i soldiers. 

Unlike most of Qamariya, the people of Lunaria lived in modest conditions, with small mud and straw houses, simple lifestyles, and close families. But in the city hall, where the governor, who had already surrendered the town, once held office, seventeen young men waited cautiously. They sat around a table on the second floor of the building, with a map of the city spread over it, and an assortment of weapons spread all over the floor around them. Xerxes entered the room and stood in front of them. 

“Men, I have brought news from the northern cities. We have achieved victory in two of our battles, using the strategies taught to us by the Storyteller. My troops have moved into the desert and are just to the east of the city, on the other side of the sand dunes. When you are ready to begin your offensive, we can strike. After we have achieved victory, we can establish a fortress in this city.” 

A young man from among the group stood and saluted Xerxes. “We have learned other news that might interest you, Sir.” 

“Please do tell.” 

“Sir, the king has arrived.” 

“The king? Here? Excellent. Have his knights come with him?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Xerxes briskly walked over to the map and held his hand over it. “Can you show me where they are?” 

The young man pointed to the east of Qamariya. “They are approaching the sand dunes as we speak. They should join your men before noon. What are your orders?” 

“We will proceed as planned. When the Orisay`i reach the city square, attack.” 

The group of men all stood and saluted Xerxes, and he marched confidently out of the room. 

On the southern side of Lunaria, Melkemind, riding upon his prized brown and white stallion, trotted into the city. The streets were covered in filth of every kind. Pigs and chickens roamed freely. As Melkemind rode, he saw a small boy standing on the side of the road with no shirt and severely dirty skin. Everywhere he rode in southern Lunaria, he witnessed more destitute and impoverished people, lying in streets or begging him for food as he rode by them. 

This cannot be Qamariya. I have never seen such conditions. Our nation is wealthy, and our people are prosperous. 

Few people had even noticed him, as his horse galloped about the city, but one man recognized his armor. He was an older man, with most of his teeth missing and balding gray hair. He placed his worn, discolored, wrinkled hand on the neck of the horse. “Sir, are you of the royal family?” 

Melkemind smiled at the old man, “Yes. Yes, I am.” 

The man released the neck of the horse, took a few steps backwards, and spat on the ground in front of it. He then turned and walked away. 

Melkemind stopped the horse and dismounted. “Excuse me, elder, have I wronged you in some way?” 

“You are not welcome here, Prince,” the man said, still walking away, “I suggest you leave.” 

Melkemind rushed after the man and walked beside him. “Leave? Why would I leave my kingdom?” 

“Your kingdom? What is your name?” 

“I am Melkemind, sole heir to the throne of Qamariya.” 

“There is no throne, boy. All of this is Orisay`i territory. I am amazed that they did not seize you on your way into the city.” 

“I am here to fight in the rebellion,” Melkemind answered proudly. 

“You? Fight in the rebellion?” The old man cackled hysterically until his laughter turned into a gagging cough. 

Melkemind did not smile. The man frowned “Oh then, you are serious?” 

“I will defend my country against these invaders.” 

“Very well,” replied the man. “The rebels are planning their next attack in Lunaria. General Xerxes' troops are stationed in the desert, just outside of Qamariya. I am sure he will be happy to see you.” 

The old man grinned, displaying clearly the three teeth that he had left in his mouth. 

Melkemind patted the old man on his shoulder and ran back to his horse. His horse, faster than any he had ever ridden, sprinted quickly to the north, towards the desert, where he would join Xerxes' troops. He was moving too quickly to make out any of the scenery around him, and even the words spoken by people he passed were gone before he could interpret them. Within minutes, he was in view of a series of tents to the east of the sand dunes. His horse slowed without any instructions from him and galloped into the camp. 

Xerxes, upon hearing the approaching horse, emerged from a heavily guarded tent. “Melkemind? I mean, my Prince,” he called out, kneeling before him. 

His guards and other soldiers, who were standing around, also bowed. Melkemind dismounted, and the crowd of soldiers rose. Xerxes approached the prince and saluted him. “Dear Prince, you have come at a perfect time. We have received news that your father lives.” 

Melkemind's face beamed. “And my family?” 

“They have been sent to Hydrodollin, to a secret city under the sea. They will be safe there. The fighters from Cor are also stationed here at this camp. They will be happy to see you.” 

He paused and noticed the large Kelteryan sword strapped to Melkemind's back. “That is rather unique. I cannot say I have ever seen a sword like it.” 

Melkemind blushed, “There is a story behind it that I can tell later. Now, I would like to meet with Abbas.” 

“As you wish, Your Highness.” 

He followed Xerxes into the guarded tent and found Abbas lying on the ground in chains, with large swords pointing down at him. 

Melkemind turned but found two soldiers behind him. “What? What is the meaning of this?” 

Xerxes called for his guards to step away from Melkemind, and he placed his arm around him. “Your Highness, the Corians came here to betray Qamariya. This father of Fuad was their ringleader.” 

“Impossible!” Melkemind looked down at the pleading eyes of Abbas, with two swords still being held at his throat by guards. “He is the father of the Chosen One and a dear friend of mine. I cannot believe he would betray us.” 

“He has disobeyed the orders of your king, and for that he must face the ultimate punishment. Death.” 

Abbas struggled in his chains, rolling over and nearly knocking down one of the guards, but the other guard kicked him and cut his right cheek with his sword. 

“Stop!” yelled Melkemind. “Put away your swords.” 

The guards looked at Melkemind, but did not comply. 

“That is an order from your Prince!” 

They looked at Xerxes for approval. He waved his arm at them. “Do as His Highness commands...And leave us! We have much to discuss. Take the prisoner back to his holding cell.” 

The guards exited, dragging Abbas's feet on the ground behind them. Xerxes sat on a duffle near a small table with two tea cups and a plate of bread. “Please sit with me.” 

Melkemind sat, suspiciously eying the general. “Can you please explain now?” 

“Of course. As you know, there is a rebellion taking place in Qamariya. What was left of the army joined that rebellion and successfully captured two cities, thanks to your Storyteller's wise advise. Shortly after that, on our way to Lunaria, your father, the king, approached us with his knights. He reprimanded us and told us to setup camp in the desert to await his orders. He then privately told me the truth of what happened when Orisay`i first occupied Qamariya.” 

Melkemind moved to the edge of his duffle. “And what is the truth?” 

“The truth,” Xerxes said, “is that it is in the best interest of Qamariya to remain in the Orisay`i-Qamariyan Alliance.” 

“What?” 

“Your Highness, please let me continue.” 

“You've joined them? You? You betrayed the Corians. They didn't betray you.” 

Xerxes stood. “Melkemind, they were sent here to help Qamariya, but instead they chose to fight against us. We counterattacked and subdued as many as we could.” 

“As many as you could? What are you saying?” 

“I'm saying that we had a large number of Corian casualties.” 

Melkemind stood abruptly. “Xerxes, how could you?” 

“Melkemind, they are the ones who attacked us.” 

“Because you've joined our enemies!” 

Melkemind reached behind him for his sword, but it was gone. Two guards grabbed his arms from behind him. They lifted him from the ground and turned towards the opening of the tent. 

Standing in the doorway was the king. The guards threw Melkemind onto the ground, prostrate in front of him. He looked up at the face of his aging father. “I...I...cannot believe this. Father?” 

“Melkemind, I'm sorry. Politics are complicated, son. You will understand one day.” 

“Those destitute people in the south, Father, you knew about them, didn't you?” 

“Son, no kingdom is without its...untouchables. Those people are wretched. Even if we gave them our wealth, they would probably squander it on liquor and foolish merriment. Not everyone is as important to our kingdom as you are, my son. I had you sent to stay with that woman in Orisay for your safety. I never imagined that old fool Storyteller would kidnap you.” 

“Kidnap me? The Storyteller is the only one who ever acted like a real father!” Melkemind tried to stand up, but the guards behind him shoved him back to his knees. 

“Son, you do not mean that. You are angry and confused. I understand. Your mother supported me in this, Melkemind, and you know how much she loves you.” 

Melkemind's face dripped with tears. “No, I don't believe you. Mother would never betray her people.” 

“Betray? Son, the future hinges on this alliance. We were united once under the Federation. Why can we not be united now?” 

Melkemind shook his head in disbelief. “Because the Orisay`i have become evil, Father. Can you not see that?” 

“What is good and evil? I see survival and defeat. I've chosen the winning side, my son. You can stand and fight with us, taking your rightful position as heir to the throne of the greatest combined kingdom in the Known World, or you can join Fuad's pathetic father in the holding cells. The choice is yours to make. You are now old enough to choose. I will not force your hand.” 

A soldier entered the tent. “Your Highness, the rebels have attacked the Orisay`i company. They are calling for us.” 

“Good,” the king replied. “Then we will answer their call.” 

“And betray them...” Melkemind added. 

“Make your choice, Melkemind. Xerxes will see to whatever decision you make.” 

The king strolled casually out of the tent. Outside, troops were running to their positions and preparing to march. The king, assisted by two knights, mounted his horse and was fitted with armor. Twenty-four knights in full armor lined up with horses behind him. The Qamariyan knights were known for their bravery, valor, fierceness, and fortitude. They had never been defeated in battle. When the Orisay`i invaded Qamariya, the Storyteller was told that the knights had all been drugged by a secret spy and captured while they were unconscious. Melkemind now suspected differently. 

Xerxes helped him to his feet and stared at him with determination, “Now is the time to decide, Your Highness. Will you join your kingdom in victory or relish in the daydreams of a few peasants, to your own peril?” 

Melkemind wiped the wetness from his face, straightened his armor, and stared convincingly into the eyes of his general. “My...my loyalty is with Qamariya. Fetch me my sword.” 

Xerxes smiled and slammed his coarse hand against Melkemind's back. “Excellent! Like father like son, then. We will fight these hapless rebels to the death?” 

Melkemind paused for a long time, staring at the ground as though he had lost something before turning his sight back to Xerxes. “To the death.” 

Xerxes and Melkemind mounted their horses and assembled behind the cavalry of knights, as the march began into the city. The rebels were stationed on top of buildings, in alleys, and even underground, throwing cocktails, firing arrows, and in some cases, meeting the Orisay`i soldiers with swordplay. 

As the substantial and valiant-looking Qamariyan army rose over the sand dunes, the rebels cheered and fought even more fiercely, driving the Orisay`i troops back towards the dunes. Xerxes rode to the front of the troops and waved his sword into the air. From the rooftop, the soldier who had planned earlier with him could see him and yelled out at the top of his lungs, “Now!” 

Xerxes smiled at him and then turned to his troops. “Soldiers of Qamariya! Defend your king!” 

The crowd of soldiers erupted with chants and grunts. The archers spread out just over the dunes and began firing their arrows at the rebels. Taken aback, the rebels who were involved in sword fighting retreated into buildings and alleys. Xerxes lowered his sword, and the swordsmen advanced and ran into the city after them. 

The knights had not even moved from their position. Melkemind watched from afar as the rebels fell, one after another. He lowered his head and turned away. A large army of rebels from the south made a surprise charge into the city, firing arrows and attacking the Qamariyan swordsmen. The Orisay`i troops regrouped behind some of the sand dunes, and the Qamariyan knights began their advance. 

The rebels, despite their numbers, only had ten horsemen, who rushed forward to battle the knights. Before they could, however, Orisay`i messenger birds descended from the sky dropping firebombs upon them. The city of Lunaria burst into flames, as every one of the rebel horsemen fell, and their swordsmen were pinned between the fire and the knights. Melkemind pulled his sword from behind his back and advanced to the front of the knights. He raised his sword high into the air, and a red light shined from its tip, to the east, beyond the sand dunes. 

A horn, louder than any Qamariyan had ever heard was blown, and the sounds of heavy drums began to pound, shaking the ground. The pounding grew louder and louder, with an entrancing rhythm that caused the fighters to lessen their intensity, anxious as to what was approaching. The ground shook immensely until one of the already burning buildings collapsed. Then the horn blew again, and the drums stopped. Melkemind lowered his sword and looked behind him, and a raven landed on his shoulder. 

Over the dunes, on black horses, sentries from Kelterya speedily approached the knights from behind. One after another, the Qamariyan knights were sliced to the ground, and the Orisay'i troops were belted with arrows from archers they could not even see. The rebels, confused but determined, continued their defense. Melkemind turned to the knight next to him and raised his sword. The knight blocked his blow, knocking his horse off balance. Melkemind cried out in agony as his horse fell to the ground. The knight dismounted and swung his sword at the fallen prince. 

Melkemind raised his sword to block the blow, and the knight's sword shattered into pieces. He kicked the knight; the armor clanked, and the knight toppled to the ground. Melkemind quickly stood, pointed his sword down and held the hilt firmly with both hands over the knight. 

The knight shouted, “Please...no, my Prince.” 

The sword glowed red again, as did Melkemind's eyes. “Those who spread injustice shall perish in the flames of their own evil, and the Scrolls will bring light to whoever beholds them.” 

He thrust his sword downward, falling to one knee. The knight laid motionless on the ground, and Melkemind felt the surge of the sword that had given him the strength to lift it, travel through his body again. He pulled out his sword from the knight and ran after the others. He released a roar, the type one might hear from a beast. Time seemed to stop all around him, and he moved so quickly that the knights did not even see him, as he slashed each one of them with his sword. They all fell to the ground at the same time, leaving Melkemind standing in the center of them. 

The rebels advanced towards the Orisay`i soldiers, surrounding them with their southern troops, and Kelteriyan sentries crept up behind each Qamariyan archer, stabbing him from behind. Xerxes yelled for retreat, and the Orisay`i army, those who could escape, followed him north deeper into Qamariya. The king was engaged in a sword fight with a sentry, who fell to the ground after he landed a deadly blow. His horse stood onto two legs, as he waved his bloodied sword into the air and yelled, “Qamariya will never surrender!” 

Melkemind noticed this and answered him, “Father!” 

Before his father could even locate the sound of his voice, Melkemind launched his sword into the air towards the king, striking him in the chest and sending him to the ground. The Kelteryan horn blew again, and with haste, the sentries, archers, and horsemen all withdrew, taking any fallen bodies with them. Melkemind was left standing among the rebels with his armor ripped, his sword soiled, and his faced blackened from the smoke that still spewed from the burning building. Some of the rebels rushed to fetch water, while others tended to the wounded. 

The remainder of the rebels encircled Melkemind. The man who appeared to be their leader stepped forward and addressed him. “You are the son of the king, and yet you have killed him?” 

Melkemind was in tears, but wiped his brow and replied, “He betrayed his people. I am sorry I did nothing sooner.” 

The man looked into his eyes. “You are but a boy. How could you fight as such? Are you allied with the Kelteryans?” 

“I don't know,” replied Melkemind. “What I do know is that the Orisay`i will return, and anyone who fights our enemies will be our allies. If you are the leader of the rebellion, I will serve nobly under you. 

“No,” the man knelt, “You are Melkemind, son of Rainar the Traitor, inheritor of the Kingdom Under the Moon and rightful guardian of the Orb of Reflection. And now, you are our king.” 

The others all knelt around him, chanting, “Long live the king!” 



Eleven




Orb of Mercy






Fire cracked and sparked in the cool desert air. The flames danced to the beat of the wind in a carefully choreographed waltz of light. Albiyun held a stick over the fire, with meat dangling from it. He turned it slowly, making certain not to burn any part. “One of the many downfalls of this lifestyle. What I wouldn't give for a steak dinner with potatoes, carrots, and my wife's soft, fluffy bread.” 

Mezentius groaned, “You are not helping my appetite at all. Do you really plan to eat that desert lizard?” 

Albiyun chuckled. “Hey I need meat. I have standards to uphold.” 

The Storyteller's dry, sand-dusted hands gently turned the pages of a tattered leather-bound book. Many of the pages were loose, with some even filled with holes. He ignored the chatter of the two warriors and did not concern himself with food. 

Yar laid still on the ground, wrapped in a blanket. Mezentius tapped the Storyteller, waking him from his self-induced trance. “Is Aqua-man okay over there?” 

“I believe he will survive,” he replied, returning to his page flipping. 

Albiyun pulled his roasted lizard from the fire and joined Mezentius in his concern for Yar. “So, is there a chance he won't survive then?” 

The Storyteller did not look up from his book this time, but mumbled quickly, “He is conserving his energy. We will need to reach water by tomorrow afternoon, or he will dehydrate.” 

“We are still a full day away from Solistia.” 

The Storyteller closed his book. “I am aware of that, but I do not think we will find water there anyway. We must locate an oasis.” 

Mezentius flapped his wings haughtily. “That won't be necessary. I'll fetch water for him.” 

He rose from his warm fireside spot on the ground and leaped into the air, spinning as he ascended into the star-filled night sky. Albiyun grumbled, “He's such a show off,” and he chomped off a chunk of his roasted lizard. 

“Storyteller, what are you searching for in that book?” 

“Ahsan believes that Solistia holds the answers to the location of the scrolls. I tend to agree with her. This book is an ancient text from the golden age of Solistia. It details how they used solyra to build and fortify their city, heal their sick, and eventually record the Knower's knowledge onto pages made from it, thus creating the Golden Scrolls.” 

Albiyun took another bite and spoke while still chewing, “So, solyra has some type of magic power?” 

“No, my friend. All power emanates from the Hadra. Even what the Kelteryans believed to be magic was merely a manifestation of the Hadra.” 

Nestor lingered up to the fire and sat across from the Storyteller. “If anyone needs the toilet,” he jested, “it's free now.” 

All of them laughed, including the Storyteller. He then opened the book to one of the loose pages and began to read loudly, “A pyramid, from which the light of day is evident even at night, holds in it the secret names of the travelers. Each of the two travelers carries a set of scrolls. They are obligated to protect them, and only he who is the Chosen One can retrieve it. Only he who possesses the Orb of Mercy can unlock its mysteries, and only the Key can unlock the Orb of Mercy.” 

Albiyun interrupted, “The Orb of Mercy?” 

“There are five sacred orbs,” replied Nestor, “each containing some of the inner secrets of the scrolls. Several thousand years ago, dervishes from our order mastered powers from the Hadra. They used this power to aide their people and bring health and safety to them. They knew, however, that when they died, no successors of theirs would be able to master those powers as they had, through their meditation and discipline. As such, they needed a way to permanently contain the power, for the benefit of all people. 

“They commissioned the finest scientists from each of their lands, Ardramo, Qamariya, Cor, Balkh, and Hydrodollin. They created five spheres, fashioned from refined solyra and watched with amazement as the five dervishes, from five different lands sat before those spheres and meditated for two years, stopping only to eat and take care of their basic hygiene. Over time, the spheres started to glow, hover above the ground, and take on lives of their own. It was as if new life was being witnessed right before the eyes of any who beheld it. 

“Each orb contained different powers, according to the strengths of the dervish who created it. In Ardramo, they placed the Orb of Eternity, which sustains the life there. It can heal life, and, as some believe, can grant the possessor and master of it immortality. 

“The Orb of Reflection is housed in Qamariya. It can see into the souls of men, and those who stare into it are shown their true selves. No hypocrite is safe near this orb. 

“The Orb of Light hovers over the City of Man in Hydrodollin, serving as their sun and sustenance. Every year the Circle of Elders traveled to the City of Man to meld with it. Every Elder from that special suborder relies on its power for the light that sustains them. With this orb, they begin the first stages of their transformation and continue to use it always. 

“The Orb of Destiny, which can reveal the future, was in Cor, under the protection of the Circle of Elders. 

“Finally, the Orb of Mercy, which was in Balkh...” 

Nestor placed his head in between his knees and did not continue. 

The Storyteller sighed and finished for him, “The Orb of Mercy is the key to ending all of this strife and civil upheaval. When all of the orbs are in place and are protected, the Orb of Mercy sends its pulses through all of the Known World. Compassion, loyalty, justice, and love prevail over apathy, treachery, inequity, and hatred. The Chosen One, who is undoubtedly the boy, Fuad, is the only one who can release the power of the Orb of Mercy into the world, and only through his study of the Golden Scrolls will this occur. All of the other orbs can be seized and controlled by evil, but the Orb of Mercy is immune to impure hearts. So long as that orb remains missing, all of the other orbs and we who depend upon their secrets, are in danger.” 

The Storyteller closed the book and slid it into the right pocket of his cloak, and, grabbing his staff firmly, rose slowly. “It is late,” he announced, walking into his tent. 

Once he had entered, he turned and stuck his head out from between the flaps, “I advise the two of you to sleep. Mezentius will probably not return until tomorrow. We have a full day's journey ahead of us.” 

Nestor walked solemnly over to his tent. Before he entered, Albiyun stopped him. “Listen. It's not your fault, lad. You hadn't a choice in the matter. You did what any good soldier would do. You made a sacrifice to save your men.” 

Nestor continued into his tent, replying, “I haven't saved anyone. Whoever has called this darkness upon the world is seeking the scrolls and the orbs. When they find them, the Known World and Unknown World will merge, and life, as we have come to know it, will cease to exist.” 

Albiyun shook his head and kicked some of the sand over the fire, causing a flash of sparks to fly up above it. He laid a blanket out onto the ground and stretched out on it, staring up into the stars. After pondering their fate for as long as he could, he drifted off to sleep. 

Far across the desert and over the mountains, those same stars gave little comfort to Fuad. He sat on a large rock, gazing into the night sky and wondering about the future of his people and of the world. 

“Why aren't you asleep? I thought after today's hike you'd be knocked out for sure,” Ahsan said, as she climbed up onto the stone seat. 

“I don't know if I'll ever sleep again, knowing what I know about our future.” 

She sat down close to him and turned her gaze upward as well. “Fuad, do you know how old I am?” 

“Uh, well, my mother told me to never try to guess a woman's age, so I'm going to leave that one alone.” 

She flipped her pink hair back, causing sparkles to float off into the night, and giggled. “It's OK Fuad, give it a shot. I'm sure you won't guess right anyway.” 

“Oh? Is this a challenge? Well, in that case, judging by your looks, I'd say you're about 20 years old or so.” 

“Ya think?” She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Fuad, I've seen this world go through many changes, things you could not even imagine. Sometimes it seemed as though everything was perfect, like paradise, and other times it was like living in that dungeon I rescued you from, pure sorrow and despair. But, despite all of the good times and the bad times, life continues.” 

Fuad laughed. “So, how many times exactly have you seen an unspeakable evil darkness cover the world and destroy entire nations?” 

“Okay, so this sorrow and despair is a little deeper, but my point is that, in all of my 553 years, I've never once seen it get really bad without someone brave and heroic like the Storyteller, Avencieh, or...or you, saving the world and restoring justice and peace.” 

Fuad sat motionless with his mouth hanging wide open. 

“Fuad? Um, are you all right?” Ahsan shoved him, nearly knocking him off of the rock, but breaking his daze. 

“Yeah yeah, I'm fine. Did you say 553 years? Is that like slang for 'a really long time' or something?” 

“No, if only it were. I truly am that old, Fuad. But compared to the Storyteller, I am a child.” 

Fuad stared at her with perplexity, searching for a sign of age. “How can that be? I've never known anyone in Cor to live beyond 150.” 

“Well, I'm not entirely human.” 

“So, Miftah was right? You're a fairy?” 

“Ahem, as I said before, there are no such things as fairies,” she replied, tossing a pinch of sparkle dust into the air. It floated in front of her, and, using her finger, she quickly traced out the shape of a miniature woman with wings. Then she blew her drawing away into the wind. 

“Then what? What are you? A mutant? A highly intelligent extraterrestrial creature with superhuman powers?” 

“Whoa Fuad, I think you've been listening to a few too many of Storyteller's fables. Anyway, I am half human. My father was a regular man like you, but my mother was...is an Elder.” 

Fuad sat up attentively as though someone had called his name. “An Elder? As in the Circle of Elders?” 

“Yes, she and my father met in Hadratiya at a conference on levitation...” 

Fuad laughed hysterically but then noticed that Ahsan's facial expression did not change. “Oh, sorry. You were serious?” 

“Yes, anyway, my mother was there to give a lecture to a group of traveling female ascetics from Balkh, when she noticed another lecturer hovering many feet into the air above his students. Now, for anyone who knows anything about levitation, you should know that it's nearly impossible to levitate more than a cubit off of the ground, but somehow he did this. She was a sucker for that type of man, I suppose. Anyway, she had only taken human form for the conference, and she was sure that he would freak out if he found out she was an Elder. But fate has a way of catching you even if you run from it, and in her case, it not only caught her, it seized her. 

“Despite his height, he noticed her immediately, and it was too late for her to turn away and act as though she didn't see him. He was captivated by her beauty, having no idea that it was only an image of her former self, before she became a luminary. After her lecture was over, she was browsing the bazaar, and he was following behind her. She, of course, sensed him and said, 'Do you often follow behind women in public places, or should I be honored?' 

“This time, he was close enough to look into her eyes. He could see who she truly was because of his gifted powers of insight. 'Yes,' he said, 'I mean, no. I mean, I was just wondering...' 

“'Yes,' she said. 

“Anyway, they got married that very day, secretly.” 

Fuad interrupted, “Secretly?” 

“Yes, the Circle of Elders had taken a vow to never marry non-luminaries. It was not some type of prejudice necessarily, but they had no way of knowing whether it was safe or what type of child such a union would produce. My parents, however, were willing to try. 

“But over the years, my father became weary of the secrecy, as anyone would. He begged my mother to go public with it, so that the other Elders would see that there is no harm in it. By that time, I had been born, and my parents were, at least at the time, convinced that I was perfectly normal and healthy. 

Ahsan stopped as though the story were over. Fuad held out his hands. “Well, what happened?” 

Tears began to form in her eyes. “I guess love is not as strong as some people say. My mother chose her position, her responsibility, over her marriage. She handed me, still only a toddler, to my father and asked that he never see her again and never tell me who my mother truly was. 

“I was raised as a normal child. My father never remarried. He raised me all alone, but by the time I reached the age that I appear now, about 19, I stopped aging. By the time I was 30 years old, it was apparent to my father that I was not going to age. He decided that it would be wise to find out if I had any powers. I already knew I did, but I had kept them secret. I knew he would send me away to Hadratiya if he knew. Until I was 53 years old, I stayed with him, until he breathed his last, exactly 500 years ago today.” 

“Ahsan, I'm...I'm sorry.” 

She laid her head on his shoulder. “You would think something like that would get easier over time, that eventually the pain would go away, but it doesn't. But I cherished the time that I spent with him, and I would not trade that for anything. My point to you, Fuad, is that we have no way of knowing what will become of us, so we must cherish the time we have and do as much good as we can with the tools and gifts that we are given. That is the whole point of this life, as I see it, anyway.” 

Fuad smiled and found himself wiping tears from his eyes. “I suppose you are right.” 

“Of course I'm right. I'm your elder.” 

They chuckled, then Fuad turned to her. “But what of your mother? How did you find out she was an Elder?” 

“Well, when I met up with the Storyteller, he taught me many secrets of the unseen. Finally, feeling that I had excelled his capacity to teach me, he sent me off to Hadratiya. I studied there for many years and was the picture-perfect pious mystic woman. Can you imagine me wearing a long cloak and spending all day meditating? I did, though, until my powers became more astute and I was able to detect that one of the Circle of Elders was not as she seemed. At first, I accused her of witchcraft. It seemed logical to me at the time,” she laughed softly to herself. 

“Anyway, the Circle did not take kindly to my accusation, but when I presented my evidence to them, they had no choice but to hold a trial. Avencieh presided as judge over the entire ordeal, which took two years. It took so long because I was still learning to control my powers. Finally, after I had reached the realization stage, which is only one below illumination, I revealed the unseen visions of my mother that I had been haunted by since I first began to experience my inner powers. 

“That is when my problems began. If the Elder woman was truly evil, they would have then been able to sense the same thing I sensed. But they did not. That meant, to them anyway, that I was the evil force and was polarized from this woman because of her goodness. They were going to imprison me in a power-dampening chamber indefinitely, until they could figure out what evil possessed me. That is when my mother revealed herself to me, secretly at my dormitory one night. She explained everything to me, but she did not apologize for any of it. Instead, she said that I must uphold the honor of an Elder, meaning her, and distance myself from her, just as she had done with my father many years ago. In return, she would see to it that Avencieh sentenced me to exile rather than imprisonment. 

“I was excommunicated from the Circle of Elders and banned from studying at Hadratiya. The Circle still wished and intended to strip my powers from me, but, for whatever reason, Avencieh denied them. She wanted me to keep my powers. Eventually, she would become a mentor to me. She trained me in many of the arts that would be forbidden in Hadratiya. She showed me glimpses of the Unknown World and entered me into the world of illumination, without taking away my humanity. I became truly enlightened...for a time. 

“When the barbarians invaded the Federation, and in the 150year-long war that followed, I gave up any connection with the Hadra, exchanging it for the battlefield. I called myself doing it for my people, to protect the lives and honor of the Federation, but now I wonder if I did it only as a release for my anger, to quench the thirst I had to retaliate for my mother's cruelty. I was an asset to the army of Cor. I became a legend, known as the Seeing Wind. My true self, Ahsan, and my innocence faded away. My faith also faded with it...that is, until I met you.” 

Fuad's face became ruddy. “Ahsan, I...” 

“Please Fuad, don't say anything to hurt me. I've been hurt so many times in all of my years. All I know is that, when I am around you, I believe. It is as if truth manifests itself through you. I can see the presence of compassion and mercy...” 

Ahsan paused and turned her head. “Someone is coming.” 

Za'adiyah came out of her make-shift tent and looked around suspiciously. 

Ahsan stood, climbed down from the rock, and asked, “Do you sense it too?” 

Za'adiyah nodded. 

“Fuad, wake Miftah. We must leave now, while it is still dark.” 

He searched for several minutes and found Miftah behind a patch of shrubs, lying peacefully on the ground, with a leaf hanging out of his mouth. “Miftah, wake up. Miftah. Come on, Miftah.” 

Fuad sighed. He knew how difficult it was to wake his furry friend. He tapped Miftah on the shoulder, but the nutria did not move. 

“Fuad, come on,” Ahsan yelled to him. 

Fuad thought hard, trying to think of a way to wake him. “Hey, I've got it!” 

He reached over and quickly pulled the leaf from Miftah's mouth. 

Instantly, his eyes opened, and he stretched his hind legs. 

“Hey, I was eating that!” 

“Miftah, get up. We have to leave now.” 

“But it's night time. I want to sleep.” 

“You're nocturnal.” 

“Oh yeah. Well, I was taking a nap!” 

“Come on!” 

Ahsan, who was already mounted on her unicorn, rode over to Fuad and lifted him up onto the steed, seated behind her. Za'adiyah, who had sewn a pouch for the side of her horse, scooped up Miftah and dropped him into it. 

They sped off quickly, in the opposite direction from which they sensed danger. The horse and the unicorn each rode faster with every gallop, as though they were competing with one another. But then both Ahsan and Za'adiyah called them to a halt. 

“Za'adiyah, do you still sense it?” 

“Yes, I do, but I sense it in front of us now.” 

She looked around with a terrified expression on her face. 

They rode back closer to their camp, and Ahsan dismounted. “It is all around us.” 

Za'adiyah floated up off of her horse and glided to the ground. She, being quite creative, had also carved a sharp-ended staff for herself that was strapped to the opposite side of her horse. She held out her hand, and the staff lifted out of its strap and flew over to her. 

Ahsan pulled her blade from her sheath and tossed it to Fuad, who, not expecting her to do so, nearly cut himself trying to catch it. 

“Fuad, we must stand and fight...here. They have surrounded us.” 

“Who has surrounded us?” he asked. 

But then he did not need Ahsan to answer, for he heard the growls of dozens of wild beasts slowly beset them. Miftah lowered his head into his pouch and closed the flap over him. The horse and unicorn became restless. As the growls, howls, and panting grew louder, each of them eventually ran off in opposite directions. 

The three of them stood in a circle with their backs facing each other and their weapons ready. Crawling out of one of the bushes was the most hideous creature any of them had ever seen. The front portion of it was that of a lion. From the middle of its back sat the head of a goat, and then its rear was green covered with scales and the head of a serpent poking out like a tail. Each of the three heads echoed grotesque sounds into the night. Saliva dripped from the mouth of the lion onto the ground and singed the grass. 

Fuad trembled. “A chimera.” 

Ahsan glanced at him. “A what?” 

“A chimera. I thought it was just a myth, a fable told to me by the Storyteller.” 

From another bush, a two-headed wolf came out, with searing yellow eyes. From behind a third bush, a gorilla-like creature emerged with six arms, two of them carrying large clubs. With two of its free fists, it beat its chest and snarled. 

Wasting no time, Ahsan pulled three arrows from her quiver and shot them at each of the heads of the three-headed beast, staggering it but not knocking it down. The gorilla moved into attack Za'adiyah, swinging its clubs wildly. She dodged its initial blow and then struck it on the back with her staff. It fell forward, but did not even seem stunned; however, her move created an opening for the three of them. Fuad took off climbing up to the top of the rock and the two others quickly followed him. The three beasts surrounded the massive rock and stared up at them. 

Ahsan clutched her bow. “Okay, Fuad, obviously the Storyteller's chimera myth wasn't a myth. So, how did he defeat it?” 

“Umm...” 

“Fuad!” 

“I'm sorry. I was a child, and I probably fell asleep before he finished the story.” 

“Okay, we're gonna die.” 

Ahsan fired more arrows at the beasts, trying to keep them from advancing. Then she pulled sparkle dust from her pouch and blew it onto them. They froze momentarily but then shook off the dust and continued towards the rock. Za'adiyah lifted up both of her hands. Stones from all around her rose into the air. She threw her hands in the direction of the beasts, and the stones began to strike them, one after another. Still, the beasts did not waver. 

“Wait! I think I remember. The Storyteller said that a spear with a lead tip melted as it entered the beast and killed it. 

Ahsan looked at him strangely. “Melt? Why would it melt?” 

No sooner had she said that when the lion head of the beast blew fire from its mouth. Ahsan threw down some of her dust, blocking the heat of the fire. 

Za'adiyah removed a piece of her necklace from her neck and bent it, coiling it around the end of her staff. “This should be sufficient.” 

She cocked back the staff and hurled it towards the beast. It blew its fire at the staff as it entered its body, letting out a howling cry. It fell over to its side, twitching on the ground. 

“Quickly,” pleaded Ahsan, “see if you can heat up the tips of my arrows.” 

Za'adiyah pushed her hands together on the arrows, making them glow bright red. She then fell to the ground, exhausted. Ahsan fired three arrows at the two-headed wolf. It whimpered like a scolded puppy and ran away, trailing blood behind it. After several paces, it skidded to the ground. On Fuad's side, the gorilla started to climb the rock. “Uh, girls, we have a problem over here.” 

Ahsan fired her last heated arrow into the chest of the gorilla, but it did not stop. It quickly made its way up the straight side of the rock until its head was just at Fuad's feet. Ahsan tossed more sparkle dust onto it, freezing it for a few seconds longer than before. Fuad closed his eyes, raised the blade up in the air with his two hands, and drove it straight down into the head of the gorilla. It did not scream at all, but fell straight backwards onto its back, crashing into the ground and shaking the three of them off of their feet. 

After catching her breath, Ahsan hollered, “This is insane! What in the name of Tezentian soup were those things?” 

Za'adiyah looked weak but still had a calm expression on her face. “Apparently,” she explained, “Our Orisay`i friends are still pursuing us.” 

Ahsan raised an eyebrow. “And how can you be so sure it's the Orisay`i?” 

“I am not completely certain, but some of our spies had reported to us that the Orisay`i were experimenting with genetic manipulation of animals. Apparently, they have succeeded.” 

Ahsan started to climb down from the rock, but as she did, the serpent head on the back of the chimera detached and started slithering on the ground towards her. It lunged forward into the air and bit her leg, before falling to the ground, dead. A stream of blood dripped down her pants from her knee, and Ahsan fell over onto the ground. 

“Ahsan!” Fuad shouted, jumping down from the rock. 

“Fuad, I'm sorry. I thought it was...” She shivered. “I'm so cold...please, hold me.” 

Fuad held her head in his lap, as he looked up at Za'adiyah. “Please, help her!” 

“Fuad,” Ahsan whispered. “Please continue this quest. You must find the scrolls. I'm so happy I met you, Fuad. You...” 

Her eyes closed slowly as she drifted away. “Ahsan! Ahsan! Please wake up,” Fuad cried. 

Za'adiyah examined the wound on her leg and shook her head. “The snake had extremely powerful venom. We must get her medical attention immediately.” 

“Don't you have some type of healing power?” 

“Unfortunately, I do not, Fuad. Without treatment, I'm afraid your friend will die.” 

The unicorn galloped into view, with Miftah riding on top of it. Za'adiyah's black horse was right behind him. He jumped off of the horse and stood over Ahsan. “What happened to her?” 

“She was bitten,” Za'adiyah replied, “by the venomous snake-head of this creature.” 

Miftah looked up at the teary eyes of Fuad and then back at Ahsan's leg. “I know an herb that can stop venom, but it is found only in my former kingdom, in Eldgen.” 

“Eldgen is a detour from our current path,” Za'adiyah argued. “We must continue our quest for the scrolls.” 

Fuad screamed at her, “I will not let her die out here!” 

“Boy, you are not thinking rationally. If we do not find the scrolls, all of us will perish. In her last words, she herself told you to continue the quest.” 

Miftah intervened, “Eldgen is not that far from Solistia. We might be able to make it in time, if we hurry.” 

Za'adiyah shook her head in disapproval. “That is impossible. She will die before you ever reach Eldgen, even on horseback, and we will miss the rendezvous with your other friends. It is dangerous out here for us and them. We must make haste to Solistia now.” 

Fuad did not try to wipe the tears from his face. There were too many. He looked Za'adiyah directly in her eyes. “Perhaps I am not fit for this quest. I will not sacrifice my friend for it. If you are truly the Chosen One, you go to Solistia. I can make it to Eldgen faster without you!” 

“Very well, boy, but remember what I said to you earlier,” Za'adiyah warned, “If I find the scrolls, do not attempt to stop me.” 

“Miftah is going with you.” 

Miftah looked askance at Fuad. “I what? How...when did I decide that?” 

“Miftah, make sure that she is welcomed by the Storyteller and also watched closely,” he said, with a whisper. 

Miftah whispered back to him, “It is the chya weed that grows along the foothills. It is green, and each leaf has eight points. Follow the south-eastern valley along the river that we crossed yesterday. It will lead you to Eldgen. Be careful.” 

Fuad lifted up Ahsan and laid her across the back of the unicorn. He then mounted and looked back at Miftah as he rode off into the darkness. Miftah raised up his hand to wave, but Fuad was already gone. 

Twelve



Broken Dreams






Water flowed evenly over her delicate fingers, and Shahzanan used her other hand to rub her arm, hand and fingers thoroughly. She repeated the same step with her other hand, holding her left arm underneath the fountain's water stream, allowing the water to caress her arm and trickle down her hand and in between her fingers. Carefully, she wiped the top of her head with the water on her fingers. Then, she bent over and ran her hand over her foot, but she was seized with a paralyzing jolt. She fell from the stool on which she was seated and gyrated on the ground next to the fountain. Her eyes rolled back into her head, but she could see perfectly clear. 

She was standing in a fog-filled graveyard. All of the gravestones were empty. She checked every single one, thinking she would surely find one with a name on it, perhaps her own name, but nothing. She turned to walk away from the graveyard, but as she did, a dark cloaked figure appeared in front of her. It pointed to a gravestone several paces away that Shahzanan must have missed. She crept slowly up to the gravestone, and found that it was covered with dirt. She placed her hand at the top of it and began to wipe away the dirt, revealing the words underneath, “Fly with the spirit of truth, always, Seeing Wind.” 

“Ahsan!” she shouted. 

To the left of her, she saw Fuad, huddled over himself, kneeling on the ground, crying. Shahzanan stood up and walked over to him. 

“Fuad,” she said, as she reached out to touch him. As soon as her hand touched his shoulder, he turned to dust. Behind the gravestone appeared a chimera. It blew flames over the gravestone, destroying it, and in the mouth of the serpent tail, Shahzanan could see the lifeless body of Ahsan dangling from her leg. Shahzanan screamed out to her, but the body did not move. The chimera dropped Ahsan face down onto the ground and ran off into the fog. She rushed over to the body, knelt down, and rolled Ahsan over. A tear fell from her face onto Ahsan's forehead. Shahzanan wiped her still sparkling pink hair away from her eyes and held her face between her hands. Suddenly the eyes opened, and she spoke, “Shahzanan, save me!” 

Then, she vanished into dust, pouring through Shahzanan's hands. 

A rush of water fell over her face, and she gagged in horror. Hanieh stood over her still trembling body. “Shahzanan, are you okay?” 

She wrapped a blanket around her and helped her sit up. Shahzanan's clothing was soaked, both from the water and from sweat. She shivered and looked at Hanieh the way a frightened child would look at her mother. “I don't know what happened to me. I was preparing for contact with the Hadra when I fell. The next thing I knew, I was...” 

She paused, unable to continue, and then began crying. Hanieh hugged her and gently helped her to her feet. “Please come with me, my child. We will discuss this after you have changed into dry clothes and had some of my famous tea.” 

As they walked back to their camp, which was quickly becoming a forest village, with houses and gardens, Shahzanan was frightened by every sound she heard. Birds chirping, leaves crunching under their feet, and even a woodpecker pecking on a tree startled her and made her tremble. A fresh rain had passed through not more than an hour ago, and the smell of the still moist trees was the only consolation Shahzanan received, aside from Hanieh's kindness. 

When they finally reached their cabin, which the two of them shared, Shahzanan changed into a nightgown and robe in her room and then sat with Hanieh on the floor of their living room. By then the tea was already brewing, and Hanieh had set two wooden cups on their small table. She moved closer to Shahzanan and lovingly brushed the side of her face with the back of her hand. “You have progressed very well with your training, Shahzanan, far better than most students your age. I am concerned, however, that we might have to accelerate the process. Your mind seems to be passing through some of the stages on its own. We must keep up with it.” 

“Hanieh, I was so frightened.” 

“I know, sweetie. Tell me what happened today.” 

Hanieh poured some tea and honey into Shahzanan's cup, who stirred it nervously, nearly spilling it on herself. She took a sip of the tea and then closed her eyes. “I was completely alone in a cemetery. Fog was everywhere. It was very difficult to see. I was standing in front of a gravestone that had no markings on it. None of them had any markings on them. This man...or woman, I couldn't see the face...” 

“Describe him,” Hanieh replied and sipped from her teacup. 

“A completely black hooded cloak. I do remember the hands. They were scaly and gray. The person seemed extremely old. He pointed to a gravestone I had not noticed. When I look at it, I saw...I saw 'Seeing Wind' written upon it. It was the grave of Ahsan.” 

Shahzanan could barely continue, sniffling and wiping her tears. “I saw Fuad. He was on the ground crying. I went to touch him, but he just turned into dust right in front of me. Then I saw Ahsan in the mouth of some hideous beast. It had three heads, a lion, a goat...” 

“And a snake?” Hanieh interrupted. 

“Yes, a snake. Ahsan was being held from her leg by the snake. It dropped her, and I went to look at her, thinking that she was dead. But she woke up and asked me to help her.” 

“I want you to think deeply, Shahzanan. Try to remember the voice of Ahsan, her features, and how she felt when you touched her. Did you sense that it was truly her?” 

Shahzanan shivered and set her cup on the table. “I never doubted it for a second. It seemed so real.” 

“I'm afraid at least some of it was real, my dear. Our friends need us. They need you.” 

“But what can I do? I don't even know where they are.” 

“Shahzanan, you have the power to reach them. Now is the time when you must learn to use that power. You know that Fuad contacted you before, and now you must contact him. Turn facing towards me and place your hands in mine.” 

“Hanieh, I don't know if I can do this.” 

Hanieh scolded her, “There is no alternative, child. This is not a game or part of your training. Someone's life hangs in the balance.” 

Shahzanan nodded and faced directly towards Hanieh. Both of them folded their legs so that their knees touched, and Hanieh held out her hands with her palms facing up. Shahzanan slowly moved her hands over Hanieh's. Her hands were sweaty and it startled Hanieh momentarily, but she then held Shahzanan's hands tightly. The room darkened as both of them closed their eyes. 

“Empty your thoughts,” Hanieh instructed, “remove all distractions from your mind. This will be just like your meditation training, except that I want you to concentrate completely on Fuad. Try to remember what you felt when he contacted you. Concentrate on Fuad...” 

Hanieh's voice grew quieter, until Shahzanan could no longer hear her. She opened her eyes and could no longer see her. Black clouds loomed overhead, and the hollow sound of wind blowing over empty land haunted the location in which Shahzanan found herself. The ground everywhere was covered with black soot and ash. No sun shined above her, and the only thing she could see were the mountains on the horizon. So, she looked down and found hoof prints beneath her, leading towards the mountains. She followed them earnestly, sensing Fuad, as she continued to track down the trail of prints. Her fast moving walk turned into running, and she could feel her heart pounding inside of her chest. 

Finally, the hoof prints ended, but she found no one. She turned in a circle, searching for something. She fell to her knees, covering them in black sand. She ran her fingers through the ash, and lifted up her hands, watching the dark grains flow through her fingers. She slammed her hands against the ground and cried out, “Fuad! Where are you?” 

Then, a light appeared in front of her. At first, its distance from her was immeasurable, and she did not think to approach it. But slowly, it inched closer to her and grew larger. It was spinning faster every second and growing closer to Shahzanan and larger with every rotation. She sat up straight on her knees and lowered her head, allowing the approaching sphere to encompass her. It spun her around inside its core of light, and she watched the emptiness around her slowly fade out of view. She rose quickly into the sky, above the clouds and then was thrown, as though a giant had tossed her like a ball. Although completely inside of the sphere, she could feel the wind blow harder against her face, as the speed of the sphere increased. It eventually slowed, and she felt it begin to descend through the clouds and into a mountain valley. 

The unicorn neighed loudly and stopped in its tracks. Fuad could hardly believe what he was seeing. It appeared as though the Orb of Eternity was spinning down from the sky in front of him. As it landed within his view, he could see the form of someone inside of it. He jumped down from his unicorn and ran up to the orb. The figure inside extended a hand to the wall of the orb, and Fuad placed his hand on the other side, but they could not feel each other's hands. The orb spun faster until its golden color started to dissolve, and Fuad could see Shahzanan floating inside of it. Her voice echoed out to him, “Fuad!” 

“Shahzanan, Ahsan has been poisoned. I am on my way to Eldgen to retrieve a an herb that can save her.” 

Shahzanan paused for a moment. “Fuad, is Eldgen to the west of here?” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“I'm sorry, Fuad.” 

“Sorry for what?” he urged, taking a step closer to her. 

“Fuad, Eldgen is no more. There is nothing there at all, only black ash.” 

Fuad fell to his knees and cried out. “Then, what am I do? Let her die here? Is this the plan that was laid out for me? Is this the prophecy? Shahzanan, please help me.” 

The orb started to lift into the sky, and the color started to return, fading the image of Shahzanan into a silhouette. She called out to Fuad, “What you have with you is more powerful than any herb, Fuad. Use the orb.” 

“Wait! I don't know how to use the orb! Shahzanan, don't go!” 

But it was too late. She disappeared into the clouds. Fuad climbed to his feet and slid off his backpack. He opened the flap, and the Orb of Eternity lifted out of it and hovered in front of him. He reached for it, and it moved to the right. He reached over to the right, and it slid to the left. He tried to jump onto it, but it dipped down and went through his legs. He stood up straight, feeling foolish and yelled out, “Orb of Eternity, I am the Chosen One, Fuad. Come to me!” 

The orb glowed a little, as though it had acknowledged him, but it did not move. Fuad yelled again, “Come to me!” It backed away from him and lowered itself closer to the ground. He struck his hand against his head and whispered to himself, “Think Fuad. Think. What would the Storyteller say?” 

He held out both of his hands, stared at the orb with fixed eyes, and called out, “By the power of the Hadra, over which nothing else has authority, I command you, Orb of Eternity, come to my hand.” 

The orb's glow increased, and Fuad could feel a tug on his arms as though someone were grabbing his hands and pulling him. The orb raised from the ground and slowly began moving closer to him, and he felt himself move closer to the orb. He took small steps towards it so as not to fall. It was as though there was a magnetic attraction between him and the orb. It raised itself just above his hands and finally rested itself in them. He rushed over to the unicorn and carefully pulled Ahsan off and lowered her to the ground, with the orb tucked under his arm. He could feel its heat flow through his chest and warm his heart. 

Laying Ahsan out flat on the ground, he held the orb over her and released it. It dropped momentarily, but caught itself before landing on her, and hovered just above her head. Its glow grew brighter to the point where Fuad could barely stand to look at it. The orb rolled across the outline of Ahsan's body, as though it were searching for something. It hovered over each part of her body, stopping and examining. Finally, it moved to her leg, near the bite. Fuad watched in amazement as the blood faded away from her pants, and the wound vanished. Her chest raised slightly and she gasped for air and coughed violently. Her eyes slowly opened. Fuad touched her hand. “Ahsan!” 

“Fuad, what's happening?” 

“You're alive Ahsan. The orb saved you.” 

“No,” she cried, “Something is happening!” 

The orb grew larger, pushing Fuad back from Ahsan and rapidly enclosing her inside of it. Fuad touched it but could not penetrate it. He pounded his hands against its outer wall, but it did not relent. He peered into it and saw Ahsan's body being lifted with her hands and head thrown back and her legs dangling in front of her, like a puppet on display. The orb lifted higher into the air and began to spin at dizzying speeds, although Ahsan did not move inside of it. It then slowed its rotation, and the translucency of it faded into silver, until Fuad could no longer see Ahsan inside. At last, the orb shrank to its former size, lost its glow, and fell to the ground. 

Fuad stood for a second, in shock, unable to move. Then, he ran over to the orb and lifted it above his head. “Orb, release her! I command you to release her. By the Hadra, release Ahsan...please,” he cried into the air, but there was nothing to answer his call. The orb did not glow, hover, or move. It had become a lifeless stone sphere. 

Why would the orb take her? There must be a way to make it release her. If there is, the Storyteller will know. 

He placed the orb gently back into his bag and pulled himself back onto the unicorn. It dashed forward, but turned quickly and galloped off into the direction of Solistia. Fuad could not contain his anxiety as he rode swiftly through the valley. It was difficult to maintain his grip on the reins because of the sweat dripping from his hands. As he rode, he realized that he had no idea how to get to Solistia. He had imagined returning with Ahsan and was now lost in a valley crawling with chimeras. High above, he heard the sound of an eagle. He looked up and saw the shadow of a bird circling above him. 

He sensed danger and recalled how the Kelteryan who met him outside of the cave on the mountain had been proceeded by ravens. He thought for sure he was about to encounter another Kelteryan, but as the creature descended in a spiral, he could see that it was no bird at all. It was a man with wings approaching. “Another genetically altered beast,” he said to himself. 

“Fuad!” the man cried out. 

“How do you know my name, beast?” 

“My name is Mezentius. The Storyteller sent me to guide you to him.” Fuad halted the unicorn and looked up at the creature hovering above him. He landed in front of him and closed his wings. 

Fuad looked at him suspiciously. “You know the Storyteller?” 

“All of my life, I've known him. I can help you get to Solistia. 

But, where is Ahsan? He said that she would accompany you.” 

Fuad hung his head. 

“Oh no,” said Mezentius, “Is she...?” 

“I don't think so,” replied Fuad. “I used the orb to save her, but then it swallowed her whole and shrunk into a little ball.” Mezentius frowned, “So, you're saying that you have her trapped in a little ball?” 

“Yes, that sounds about right.” 

“And where is the ball?” 

“In my bag.” 

Mezentius flapped his wings, grabbed Fuad by the waist and lifted off into the air. “Come on, boy. We must hurry to the Storyteller.” 

“But the unicorn!” 

Mezentius flew higher into the sky. “It can catch up with us. We must hurry!” 

Fuad was in awe. He saw the mountains below him, and all of the trees, houses, and fields appeared as dots, specks, and lines. A river from the valley branched off into two, one heading east, and the other flowing beneath the path of their flight. It weaved through the trees and meandered left and right, but continued its course. The fields and trees gave way to ruined buildings, toppled towers, and black sand all around them. Mezentius began to descend quickly, as Fuad continued to observe the quickly nearing civilization. They sped through the fallen city, passing pyramids and ancient statues. Mezentius slowed as he approached a large shed that was still standing, although slightly slanted. He landed in front of it, set Fuad down next to him, and closed his wings with a stretch and a yawn. “Quite a journey! I'm ready for a nap. How about you, Fuad?” 

Fuad just looked at him. 

“Okay, suit yourself,” Mezentius mumbled, “The Storyteller is inside.” 

Fuad pushed open the bamboo door, and it creaked and popped as it opened. Inside, on the floor, sat Yar, Albiyun, Nestor, Miftah, Za'adiyah, and the Storyteller, who had begun to stand. Fuad's eyes lit up. He ran to the Storyteller and wrapped his arms around the old man. The Storyteller placed his hand on Fuad's back. “My dear Fuad, I was worried I would not see you again.” 

“Storyteller, I've...I've failed.” 

“Nonsense child, you have done well.” 

He stood back from Fuad, holding his arms, “Well, I suppose I cannot call you a child anymore. You've grown in the past three years. When I last saw you, I looked down at you. Now we see eye to eye.” 

“Storyteller, Ahsan...” 

“We know, Fuad. When you did not arrive on time, we suspected as much. That is why we sent Mezentius to find you.” 

Mezentius interrupted, “Master, I think you should hear him out.” 

The Storyteller looked into Fuad's bewildered eyes. “Fuad, what is it? She was dear to all of us. We will miss her.” 

Fuad shook his head, “No, no, she's not dead. I saved her.” 

“With the herbs?” Miftah asked. 

“No, I'm sorry, Miftah. There were no herbs in Eldgen. There was nothing left...nothing at all.” 

Miftah stood, said only “Excuse me,” and walked out of the shed. Za'adiyah followed him. 

The Storyteller pointed to the ground, “Please sit next to me, Fuad. Tell me what happened.” 

Fuad helped the Storyteller to the ground and then sat facing him. “I used the orb to save her.” 

“The orb? You have one of the orbs?” 

“Yes, the Orb of Eternity. It was in Adramo, but these shadow crawlers from the Unknown World were trying to take it. The people of Ardramo were dying. Ahsan took it and...” 

“Ahsan harnessed the power of the orb?” 

“Yes, and she put it in my back pack.” 

The Storyteller rubbed his beard. 

“What is it?” 

“Fuad, it takes years of discipline and practice to be able to even look into the orb, let alone control it and shrink it so that it could fit in a bag. This is no light matter. Ahsan, as far as I know, does not possess such power.” 

“She did it with certainty. She did not seem surprised.” 

The Storyteller looked at Yar, Albiyun, Nestor, and Mezentius. “Leave us.” 

They reluctantly stood and left the shed. The Storyteller sat up straight and asked Fuad to continue. 

“Anyway, I held the orb over her body. She seemed to already be dead, but the orb searched her entire body and then breathed life back into her.” 

The Storyteller looked even more perplexed. “The orb cannot bring back the dead. Wait, how did you even think to use the orb?” 

“Shahzanan told me.” 

“What do you mean, she told you?” 

“I don't know. I mean, I had a vision of her. She appeared in front of me and told me to use the orb. I never actually made it to Eldgen. She warned me that there was nothing left there.” 

The Storyteller nodded. “Hanieh must have helped her contact you. Very good, but Ahsan must have still been alive. So, please continue. What happened to her after she was revived?” 

Fuad started to breath heavily. 

“Please try to relax, my son. Breath deeply. Whatever happened, we can fix it, with the Hadra.” 

Fuad took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “So, the orb began to grow. It would no longer respond to my commands...” 

“It responded to your commands before?” 

“Yes, I told it I was the Chosen One.” 

“Something is not right. The orb...Fuad, it does not understand words. There is a certain method of communicating with it. Are you sure Ahsan was not conscious, controlling it telepathically?” 

“I do not know, Storyteller. All I know is that it seemed to respond to my commands, but then it stopped. It encompassed her, swallowed her inside of itself, stopped glowing, and fell to the ground.” 

“Let me see it,” the Storyteller said, holding out his hand. 

Fuad took off his back pack and opened the flap. The orb did not float out or glow. It was still solid and lifeless. He lifted it, though it felt heavier than before, and handed it to the Storyteller. Suddenly sparks flew out from it and traveled into the Storyteller's arms. He dropped it to the ground. He leaned over and examined it, but when he moved closer, more sparks surrounded it. 

The Storyteller backed away from it, and it began to glow. Slowly, it lifted itself from the ground. Fuad moved closer to touch it, but it zipped away from him. It flashed several times and then darted out, straight through the door, leaving a hole in it. Fuad ran out of the house, and the Storyteller hobbled behind him. Their companions were sprawled out on the ground, and the orb flew off into the sky. 

Albiyun held his head. “What type of wicked sorcery? That ball attacked us!” 

“I think I understand now,” whispered the Storyteller to Fuad, “The orb is under the control of someone else. Once someone controls the orb, it will continue to obey his orders until either the person dies or he releases power over it. Whoever was controlling the orb before you took it most likely planned all of this.” 

“But why?” asked Fuad. 

“With the Seeing Wind inside of the Orb of Eternity, its power is seemingly limitless. It now holds more power than the other orbs, thus giving its possessor a decisive advantage. Miftah told us that an Orisay`i general captured you?” 

“Yes, he said that he wanted us to get the scrolls for him for the good of everyone, that Orisay would rule justly over the entire world.” 

“Then it is now more important than ever that we find the Orb of Mercy. That is the only way you can defeat this evil. This is bigger than the Orisay`i. I fear they are only pawns in a larger game.” 

He looked deeply into the vast sky. Although his eyes were worsening, he imagined the path of the orb, where and to whom it was heading. 

As it began its descent, the orb's glow lessened. It aimed for the entrance of a cave and fell from the sky. A scaly green hand, with pointed claws on each finger extended and caught the orb. That hand belonged to Aneelio, who dropped the orb into a satchel and smiled. He ran out of the cave and then fell to all fours, dashing out into the forest. With incredible speed and agility, he dodged some trees and bounced off of others by jumping, sticking his feet to them, and then repelling off to the ground. He continued like that until he came upon a wooden shack, nestled in the thick of the woods, so much so that one might mistake it for a bear's den or something that naturally grew in the forest. It was covered with moss, vines, and grass. 

Aneelio opened the door of the shack and found Roderick and the Orisay`i General, named Jaha, standing around a shadowy figure in the corner of the room. The lighting in the shack was poor, and Aneelio could only see the outline of the person, seated in an old wooden chair, but with the mannerisms of a king, seated on a throne. 

“I have the orb,” Aneelio boasted. 

He tossed it into the air to General Jaha. 

“Boy, be careful!” the general said, catching it with both hands and holding it close to him. 

He then held it out in front of the shadowy person and proclaimed, “Master, the Orb of Eternity.” 

In a muffled, bass voice, he replied, “Soon, what is promised will come to pass. The Known World and the Unknown World will become one, and the darkness will consume all.” 

The general finished for him, “And then everlasting life, supreme power, and limitless wealth?” 

“Certainly,” replied the shadow, “and then our dark lord will return, and all will worship him.” 

The shadow stood and stepped into the light, revealing a small bearded man with one eye missing. His clothes were tattered, and his face excessively wrinkled. He smiled, revealing several silver teeth inside of his mouth. He held the orb above his head, and it glowed bright red before them, lighting the entire room. 

General Jaha cackled, “Now the second part of our plan begins. Aneelio, Roderick, prepare our horses for departure. We have a war to win.” 



Thirteen




Acacia






Dirt fell onto the shroud. Melkemind buried his father and watched as his body, wrapped in white fabric, disappeared under the soil. Abbas stood by his side and placed his arm on his shoulder. “He was not an evil man, Melkemind. He was only the victim of the corrupted people who surrounded him.” 

Melkemind nodded, although that actually gave him very little reconciliation. He had been the one who killed his own father, and he had done it without hesitation. How could he ever live with such a thing, something he did not even fully understand? When the Qamariyan cleric finished his long prayer, the dirt had completely covered the former king. Only Melkemind and Abbas had attended the funeral. The rebels were busy planning their next assault, and perhaps they felt no need to recognize the king who had betrayed them. 

As they walked back to the camp, where their new fortress was already being constructed, the rebel leader, Darius, approached Melkemind and bowed. “King Melkemind, we have discussed our plan of action and have come to a decision. It only needs your approval.” 

“Friends, please walk with me,” Melkemind asked them. “I loved my father, and none of you should doubt that for a second. I would have done anything he asked of me, except betray my people. 

Remember that and take it, all of you, with you to your graves. I am not with you today because I care for your rebellion. I am with you because I stand for what is right, and if I ever turn from what is good and just, I trust that you will not hesitate to do to me what I did to my own father. Now then, what have you concluded?” 

Darius smiled slightly and touched Melkemind on the shoulder. “Your Highness...” 

“Please just call me Melkemind.” 

“Uh, yes, well, we have determined that the best course of action is to go directly to Acacia and take it back from the Orisay`i.” 

Abbas cautioned, “But Acacia is in the center of Qamariya, the home of the royal family...of the king. Surely the Orisay`i will have it heavily guarded. I suggest we take the smaller cities, one by one, and then mount a decisive assault on Acacia.” 

“We had considered that,” replied Darius, “but our supplies and rations are low. If we can take Acacia, we will have the most fortified stronghold in Qamariya. We must eventually take this to Orisay. We cannot continue to fight on our own soil, while they constantly drop firebombs from the sky, destroying our cities. We must drive them out now.” 

“But how?” asked Abbas. 

“We have formed new alliances. The Kelteryans have assured us that they will support this expedition, and we have come in contact with the Jabalians and the Sama`ans.” 

Melkemind frowned, “If we bring them into it, we will start a worldwide war. Nearly every surviving kingdom will be involved in our dispute. Does that not trouble you? And why have you formed alliances without consulting us?” 

“Your Highness, I mean, Melkemind, these nations contacted us. They sent us letters offering their support. We have not yet replied to them. We are seeking your permission.” 

They arrived at Melkemind's tent and entered. Melkemind sat on the floor along with Darius and Abbas. He stared at Darius' eager face and then turned to Abbas. “Uncle, you are our elder, what say you of this alliance?” 

“Well, there is little doubt that the Orisay`i will form their own alliances. Actually, I believe they already have.” 

“How so?” 

“I thought nothing of this earlier, but when we were traveling here from Cor, we encountered a band of Tezentians in the desert.” 

Darius' eyes widened. “Tezentians? They attacked you?” 

“Yes, and they came in large numbers. Granted, they are known for raiding caravans, but this time they seemed much more organized. They destroyed many of our wagons, but did not plunder them. It was they who captured the few of us who survived and brought us to King Rainar. At the time I suspected it to be for a mere bounty, but now I wonder if they have not allied themselves with the Orisay`i. After all, if they truly intend to extend their kingdom into the desert, they cannot do it without the Tezentian support.” 

Darius sat up on his knees and leaned forward. “If those who control the desert are working against us, then we cannot afford to keep our fortress here. We must take Qamariya now, decisively, in Acacia.” 

Melkemind's forehead wrinkled. He pressed his fingers against his temples and massaged his head, as though he were trying to squeeze out his decision. “I do not like it. Acacia is heavily populated. If the Orisay`i bomb it, we will have a disaster.” 

“Melkemind, we, you and I, grew up in Acacia. We know the terrain better than the Orisay`i. There are underground bunkers where the people can hide.” 

“And Xerxes knows all of them.” 

“Xerxes will not attack his own people. He is crazy, but he is not a fool. If he were to harm even one Qamariyan noble, his own troops would rebel against him. This is a war between us, the lower class, and the Orisay. Our war is not against the nobles. We can ally ourselves with the royal family, with you as their king.” 

“But the royal family is guarded by a hundred knights.” 

Darius smiled. “One hundred knights who are loyal to them and to you, not to the Orisay`i, and not to Xerxes. And even if they do side with Xerxes, you vanquished their best twenty-four singlehandedly. Together we can take them and Xerxes' army.” 

“Very well,” said Melkemind, “but if I see disaster on the horizon, you will pull out on my orders. Understood?” 

“Certainly, Your Highness. Tomorrow, Acacia will be returned to her king, and Prince Melkemind will be crowned in the throne room of his castle, as it should be.” 

Melkemind smirked and shook his head. “Darius, you would have me become a tyrant with all of your lofty ambitions and praise.” 

“I want what is best for Qamariya, my King.” 

“We shall see. Prepare the troops.” 

Darius pulled a map from his coat and unrolled it on the ground. “We will send five men ahead into Acacia to scout the locations that we have predetermined. They will also investigate our alliances to see if we have allies among the nobles. They can then send word to their families to take shelter in the underground bunkers.” 

Abbas clutched his sword. “I will go. I will lead them into Acacia and gather the necessary information.” 

“No,” answered Melkemind, “You are Corian. If they see you, they will suspect something. I should go.” 

Darius disagreed, “You are the king. They will surely recognize you.” 

“No. It has been several years since I last stepped foot in Acacia. They will not recognize me at all. I was only a boy when I was taken to Orisay.” 

“But...” 

“Furthermore, I can speak the noble dialect better than either of you. Besides, I can...” 

A man entered the tent and handed a letter to Darius. He unrolled it and studied it for several moments. He then shook his head in disbelief, “The situation is far worse than we could have imagined. Xerxes is already in Acacia. He has imprisoned the entire royal family and declared himself king.” 

Melkemind stood, “But how did he get past the knights?” 

“Orisay sent troops to support him. They completely surrounded the castle. The knights surrendered without a fight. There are Orisay`i soldiers positioned at every gate and an army prepared to march on Lunaria.” 

“We should have known they would prepare another attack,” concluded Melkemind, “but I would not have imagined it to be so soon.” 

Darius looked at the letter again. “There is more. They have declared you an enemy of the state. There are signs posted everywhere with your picture declaring that you murdered the king and must now be brought to trial. They're offering a bounty of 500,000 gold pieces.” 

Melkemind's heart sunk into his chest. “They are leaving us no choice but to fight them to the death. They won't surrender, will they?” 

Abbas lowered his head. “I don't think so, but I have a plan.” 

The afternoon sun slowly descended, nearing the horizon. Messengers were sent from Lunaria to intercept traveling Jabalian troops and inform them of the agreement to form the alliance. The Kelteryans were already aware and had arrived. Most of them arrived on black horses of the finest breed. Others rode upon wooden carriers, strapped to the backs of giant lizards. Each carrier seated four archers. 

Seven hundred sentries stood at attention. They did not talk with one another or move out of position. They stood, patiently awaiting orders. The lead of the army was a particularly large sentry, riding upon a black elephant with enormous tusks that curved upward and were decorated with gold rings. It wore a mask over its face, with holes on the sides for its eyes. An earring decorated the left ear. The lead sentry's helmet was different from the rest. His deeply set, intense red eyes were clearly visible through a slot in the front. 

Five wizards also accompanied the army, but they had taken seats on the ground and were busy in discussion and planning. Two of them argued with the other three, but they spoke in Kelteryan, and Melkemind could recognize only one word that they mentioned repeatedly: Acacia. He passed by them, approaching the giant black beast, and greeted the sentry still seated upon it. “Greetings, friend. Is this your army?” 

At first the sentry had intended to ignore him, but then he noticed the ring on Melkemind's hand, the only indication that he was the prince. He flipped down from his seat upon the elephant and landed inches away from Melkemind. He studied his features carefully and then noticed the Kelteryan sword strapped to his back. “You have killed a sentry?” 

“Oh, you are referring to this sword? No, it was a gift given to me by Sentry 47.” 

The piercing red eyes mocked his answer, “Sentry 47? Ha! He died over 300 years ago. He is a legend among our people. Whoever gave you that has lied to you.” 

Melkemind rolled his eyes. “Well, whoever it was or whatever the reasons, it is what brought us together here today. We stand here with you, prepared to fight the Orisay`i.” 

“We have only one objective, Prince; that is to find the Golden Scrolls and to recover the orbs stolen by the Orisay`i.” 

“Indeed,” retorted Melkemind, “but the Orb of Reflection belongs to Qamariya.” 

The sentry pulled out his sword and shoved the point of the blade into the ground. “All orbs belong to the Hadra! If the Orb of Reflection can be safe in Qamariya, we will allow it to stay here, but if your nation continues to crumble, we will take it to Kelterya.” 

Changing the subject, Melkemind turned his vision to the north. “We are planning to lay siege to the Orisay`i stronghold in Acacia. We will take back that city and reestablish our independent kingdom. Are you with us?” 

“Yes, but be forewarned that they are already aware of your plans and have made the necessary preparations. Someone among your ranks has betrayed you.” 

“How can you be so sure?” Melkemind whispered. 

The sentry pointed to the wizards. “They have been listening to the telepathic waves throughout our journey. There is much dialog between someone from your people, someone who knows you well, and the Orisay`i priestess. Her powers have weakened in her old age, and she is relying upon one of yours for most of her strength.” 

“I know of no one here with such powers.” 

“I did not say they were here,” replied the sentry. 

Melkemind pressed his fingers to the side of his head. Could it be Nestor, the dervish? He is the least stable among those with telepathic powers, and he was the one responsible for starting this entire mess. 

“I think I know who might be responsible, but he said that he was working on behalf of the Kelteryans, that your wizards instructed him to break the seal on the Gate of Balkh.” 

“Obvious lies,” argued the sentry. “Why would we break the seal that imprisons our nemesis. I am sure your storytellers have an alternate version of the truth, but the Unnamed One enslaved our people and forced us to worship him. The Knower liberated us from his tyranny and gave us the strength to imprison him. The seal is Kelteryan. If we had wanted to remove it, we would not need some human wizard.” 

“Dervish. He is a dervish, and I think he has a lot of explaining to do. I will contact the Storyteller immediately and inform him that we have a traitor in our midsts. If you will, prepare your troops. We will march on Acacia within the hour.” 

The sentry boasted, “Our troops are always prepared!” 

He then yelled several unintelligible words to his troops, causing them to roar and grunt. They were the first sounds they had made since arriving. 

The rebels were not nearly as well armed or equipped as the Kelteryans. Those of them who had armor only wore leather or chain mail. Most possessed only their tattered clothes and brave spirits. Their swords were poorly crafted, and their arrows were dull, but still sufficient enough to do damage. Their asset was their numbers. Two thousand had joined the troops in Lunaria, and every moment, more arrived from the surrounding southern cities. Noticeably absent, however, were the nobles from the north. 

At the front of the charge were 150 Corians, led by Abbas. They were the most experienced in combat and best equipped. 

Melkemind unsheathed his sword and waved it into the air, signaling Abbas to begin the march. Abbas called out to his troops, “People of Cor, Qamariya, and Kelterya. We stand here before the presence of the Hadra, on the soil of our ancestors. Their blood is our blood. Their fight is our fight. Their victory will be our victory! Now, brothers. To Acacia!” 

They marched only for a few hours before their scout informed Darius that the Orisay`i troops were in view. The sun had set, and the moonlit night gave the seed-top grass a shimmer as it waved in the wind. The grass was taller in this part of Qamariya, and Abbas disliked to have to fight in it. He ordered the troops to turn into a clearing, near a watering hole. The animals around the hole dispersed quickly to avoid the approaching army. Just as they had arrived near the water, the front line of the Orisay`i army rose over the far hill. The front line alone stretched as far as the eye could see. There were thousands of them. Those in the front wore steel armor, but Melkemind was sure those in the rear would have the impenetrable invisible armor that Xerxes had mentioned. 

Chimeras, six-armed gorillas, and two-headed wolves stood restlessly in between every 200 or so Orisay`i. Darius counted at least 50 of those creatures. Over the hill, ten albatrosses rocketed into the sky, carrying firebombs. Acacia would be spared from any harm, for the moment, but the rebel troops were outnumbered and were forced to fight in an open field instead of the hidden alleys of a city, as they were accustomed. Their guerrilla war had turned into an epic battle, one that seemed impossible to win. 

The Orisay`i commander called out in some obscure language, neither Orisay`i nor Qamariyan. The giant birds glided above the middle of the battlefield and turned in opposite directions, dropping a wall of fire between the armies. The wall was so tall that the Orisay`i, even on the hill, were no longer in view. Darius shrugged. “Why would they do that? How do they intend to fight us if they cannot reach us?” 

Melkemind turned to the rear. “You're right, Darius. Something is terribly wrong. Tell the Kelteryans to turn around.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Do as I command!” 

Darius yelled at his horse, which turned rapidly and sped off to the Kelteryans, standing at the rear. But before he could reach them, the sky behind them began to glow. 

Darius' horse stopped and would not advance. He fell from the horse and looked up at the sky. “Oh no. It cannot be. Tezentians” 

The light grew in intensity as the Kelteryans turned in shock. Quickly coming into view were horsemen, thousands of them, riding upon brown horses with horns sticking out from the sides of their heads. Each rider carried a staff, with an ax blade on the end of it. The staffs glowed in the night so that the entire approaching army appeared to glow. They rode quickly, straight at the Kelteryan army, which was prepared, with archers taking aim. The Kelteryan battle horn blew, but as soon as it did, the lead horsemen of the approaching cavalry raised his axe, and all of the lights went out. 

It was completely dark. The Kelteryans could no longer see them at all, and they no longer heard the hooves of their horses beating against the ground. The sudden silence crept through Melkemind's body like an unexpected guest. He now questioned his decision to fight, but it was too late. He pulled out his sword and held it above his head. 

The lights returned, and every Kelteryan archer was immediately struck down. The horsemen were upon them, riding through the Kelteryan ranks, chopping off whatever they could hit. Kelteryans were falling quickly, and Melkemind could see a charge of the horsemen moving closer to him. The five Kelteryan wizards lined up in front of him and raised their hands into the air. Melkemind's sword started to glow red, as he still held it in the air. A wide red light beam shot out from the sword in front of the approaching horsemen, causing the ground in front of them to open. Their screams made Melkemind shiver as they fell into the newly formed trench in the ground, which then closed, swallowing them inside of the earth. 

Arrows began to rain down on the Corian battlefront, from the other side of the wall of fire. Abbas cried out to his men, “They can see us. Fall back!” 

Darius rode back to Melkemind and pointed to the wall of fire. “Your Highness, the Corians are being attacked by the Orisay`i. 

They must have something that allows them to see through the wall of fire, even though we cannot. We must do something to take down the wall. 

“I have something in mind,” replied Melkemind solemnly. 

He looked up into the stars, for they appeared to be moving through the sky. “A meteor shower in the summer?” he asked Darius. 

“I don't think so, sire. Look!” 

As the stars descended closer, Melkemind could see wings flapping and heard the sounds of swords being unsheathed. The Sama`ans, each with two swords, fell quickly from the sky onto the attackers. Half of them struck the oncoming Tezentian horsemen, while the others crossed over the wall of fire and descended onto the Orisay`i, who were completely taken by surprise. Their blades cut through the Orisay`i armor with precision, but the archers were quickly taking out the wings of the Sama`ans and sending hundreds of them crashing to the ground. 

Melkemind dashed forward, passed the rebels and Corians and dismounted directly in front of the wall of fire. He stood before it, like a mountain climber about to conquer a peak. From his pouch, he pulled the small vial of water, given to him by the mysterious Sentry 47. When he opened it, a stream of liquid grew out from it and hovered in front of him, attached to the vial, like a sword attached to a hilt. He waved it from side-to-side, and it moved like a wavy sword. He smiled, pulled himself back onto his horse, and galloped to the edge of the watering hole, where the wall of fire ended. He yelled at the top of his lungs and stuck the liquid sword into the wall of fire. It split, like fabric, and, still holding the sword inside of the wall, Melkemind rode along it, slicing it open. 

The water climbed up the entire wall, eating away at it, until it disappeared into the air. The Corians and rebels let out exaggerated battle cries, and ran into the open field. The Orisay`i soldiers did not move. Instead, they stepped aside, letting loose their deformed beasts. The chimeras were the fastest, running quickly into the sea of soldiers, biting heads, arms, legs, and whatever else they could take. One chimera could attack three soldiers at once, and nothing they shot at the creatures slowed them. When an Orisay`i archer had shot down the last of the Sama`an flying attackers, their commander lowered his sword, and their army began to advance down the hill. 

The gorillas were even more capable than the chimeras, killing dozens of fighters with single swings of their massive arms. The wolves, however, seemed more interested in eating. They would find single victims and feast upon them. 

In the rear, the Kelteryans were completely occupied with the Tezentians, who seemed to have an endless stream of horsemen. No matter how many the Kelteryans killed, there seemed to be more. Their wizards were exhausted, with their magic having little more effect than serving to delay the oncoming attackers. 

Melkemind swung his large, twin-blade at an in-coming chimera. To his surprise, it sliced in half. No other sword had done anything to them. Some had even broken off inside of them. His eyes glowed and turned red. Just as before, time seemed to slow down for Melkemind. He could see every beast slowly approaching more victims. But he was still moving at full speed, and he sliced and chopped each beast as he darted around them, leaving a trail of them littered over the battlefield. Those Corians and rebels who expected to be eaten momentarily were shocked to see a flash of light and then watch them fall to the ground. 

Abbas and the Corians engaged the Orisay`i troops. Swords clanked into the still night, and arrows flew through the sky like winged messengers of death, destined to meet with someone on the other end. Many could barely fight without tripping over fallen soldiers around them. As Melkemind continued his ride, slicing through the Orisay`i front line, his mind emptied. He felt nothing besides hatred for his enemy. The more he fought, the more effortless it became. 

The Kelteryan troops were being pushed closer to the rebel fronts, until, seemingly out of nowhere, bolos started flying in, clipping the Tezentian horses to the ground. Spears and arrows fired through the air decimated the Tezentian troops. Then, finally, as though announcing themselves, unarmed Jabalian soldiers, whose skin had turned dark blue, leaped several cubits into the air, landing on top of Tezentian horses, digging their claws into their riders and tossing them to the ground. 

Melkemind passed through the clearing of the fallen Orisay`i front line and spotted their commander, in plain view in front of him. His horse ran quickly to intercept, and Melkemind pointed his sword forward, staring into the eyes of the commander, but the commander smiled back at him and shouted, “Enough with these games!” 

He removed from his pocket an orb, glowing bright red. He released it into the sky above him and at once, fire fell from the sky, exploding all around the rebel troops. They fell in droves, too quickly to even cry out in pain. Melkemind's eyes watered, as soldiers he knew and loved fell to the ground. He turned to his right and left but did not see Abbas or Darius. 

He turned his horse back towards the Orisay`i commander, this time, riding so swiftly that time seemed to stop completely. He shoved his blade into the commander as he rode past, leaving it stuck inside of him. As the commander fell, Melkemind extended his hand, and his blade raised up into the air and floated back to him. The orb fell from the sky and landed in his other hand. It did not glow or move at all. Melkemind shook it, but nothing happened. The fire that had been raining down from the sky ceased. Both the Orisay`i and rebel fighters stopped fighting and watched Melkemind intensely. It was a moment before he realized that all eyes were on him. 

One of the Orisay`i soldiers, who had taken charge when their commander fell, stepped forward, held his sword with two hands and laid it down in front of him. He yelled across the field to Melkemind, “We offer you our surrender!” 

The rebel forces cheered. Melkemind beamed with excitement. A Kelteryan wizard, whose leg had been cut badly in the battle, inched closer to Melkemind. “Young Prince, we must finish the task. Destroy the Orisay`i.” 

Melkemind glanced down at the wizard, trying hard to maintain his smile in front of his troops. “But we have defeated them. They've surrendered. The battle is over.” 

“They only think you can control the orb, boy. When they discover that you cannot, they will kill you. Give me the orb. I have been trained to use it. I will serve by your side as your advisor, if you will allow it.” 

“I will not give you the orb and let you kill these people. We will offer them amnesty and send them back to Orisay.” 

“They will not return to Orisay. They will deceive you and turn against you. I've spent my life studying their twisted logic. They will justify any whim their king desires. They cannot be trusted...none of them. Give me the orb.” 

“Wizard, stop where you are. We will accept their surrender.” 

He faced the Orisay`i army. “We accept your surrender!” 

Row after row of the Orisay`i laid down their weapons, as the word spread throughout their troops, but a single arrow was launched into the air from the rear row. Melkemind, watched as it soared over his head and landed in the arm of a young Jabalian boy. The Jabalians screamed and beat their claws against the ground. Their front-men hurled spears into the air, striking hundreds of the unarmed Orisay`i. Melkemind yelled to them, “Stop this at once! We will have a ceasefire!” 

Some of the rebels, including Darius, cried out, “Victory is ours! Vanquish the enemies!” 

The rebels advanced across the field, attacking the Orisay`i before most of them could grab their weapons. The wizard grabbed Melkemind by the leg and called out, “Baltakh!” 

Melkemind's eyes glowed red, and he bent down, handing the orb directly to the wizard. He looked into the wizard's glowing red eyes, hidden under his hood, and replied, “Baltakh! Baltakh Sawad!” 

The wizard held the orb to his head for several minutes as the fighting continued around him, and Melkemind felt faint. His vision blurred, and he could only make out the streaks of light zooming past him while the battle raged on without him. He tried to lift his sword, but it felt too heavy, the way it had when the sentry first gave it to him. Several arrows hit him in the back and legs, knocking him to the ground. His vision had blurred so much that he could now not see at all. The ground shook, and he could hear the fire raining down from the sky and exploding all over the field, but the sounds began to grow faint as well. Soon, he could no longer feel the ground beneath him. He could neither see, feel, nor hear anything. Expecting to die, he closed his eyes and laid his head on the ground. 

A bird pecked at Melkemind's leg. He opened his eyes and found it to be daylight. He slowly raised his head from the ground and found it covered with slain soldiers, but he did not see a single living person in sight. He waved his hand and yelled; the bird took one last peck and then flew away. Melkemind tried to stand, but his leg ached horribly. From behind him, he heard footsteps on the ground. 

“Melkemind. I thought you were dead. Thank God you survived!” 

He slowly rolled his body onto its side so that he could see Abbas standing behind him. “I am much happier to see you alive, old man. What happened?” 

Abbas rolled Melkemind back over onto his stomach. Two arrows were still stuck in his back. Abbas touched them. “Does this hurt?” 

“No, not at all.” 

Abbas smiled. “It looks like your royal armor was a little thicker than our chain mail. It didn't penetrate. Let me help you up.” 

He extended his hand to Melkemind, who grabbed hold of his wrist and painfully came to his feet. Melkemind surveyed the battlefield, able to grasp it better from a standing position. “Is...Is everyone dead?” 

“We have some who survived, but not many. The others are in a panic. Most Qamariyans are preparing to leave. I came back to search for survivors.” 

“Darius?” 

Abbas shook his head. “He didn't make it. I watched him fall.” 

“We had a ceasefire. How could this happen?” 

“What do you mean, Melkemind? You did this.” 

“What?” Melkemind shook his head in disgust. “I ordered all of you to cease fire.” 

“And we did, except for the Jabalians. But then you used the orb to destroy the Orisay`i.” 

Melkemind looked down on the ground searching for the orb. “No...No, I did not. The wizard must have taken it from me. What became of the Kelteryans?” “As far as I know, they all perished in the battle,” replied Abbas, looking puzzled. 

“Have you found any bodies?” 

“Any what?” 

“Have you found any Kelteryan bodies?” 

Abbas shrugged. “Well, I was not looking for any, but no, I don't recall passing any, now that you mention it.” 

“I think that wizard...” Melkemind paused, hitting himself on the head, “That wizard took the orb, used it to destroy the Orisay, and then teleported all of the Kelteryan troops out of here. It was a setup. This had nothing to do with us at all.” 

Abbas cracked his knuckles. “Are you saying that we sacrificed all of our troops for some type of Orisay-Kelterya power struggle?” 

“More than that, Uncle. I think their power struggle is at the heart of the darkness that has been destroying all of our cities. That sword the Kelteryan sentry gave me must have taken over my mind somehow, and now it's gone.” 

“But that doesn't make sense,” replied Abbas. “If this was about 

Orisay and Kelterya, why include you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“That orb attacked Acacia, Melkemind. Xerxes is dead. The 

Orisay`i have retreated. You are king.” 

Melkemind's facial expression did not change. He was tired of being declared king. “What of the people of Acacia? What of my cousins, uncles, and aunts?” 

“I do not know. I was not going to go to Acacia until I found you. The remaining rebels are preparing to take the castle and declare a republic. They want to hold open elections.” 

“Let them.” 

Abbas nodded and smirked slightly. “I understand, son.” 

Melkemind continued, “Let them do as they wish. Qamariya belongs to them, not to the Orisay, and not to my family. My father was corrupted, albeit secretly, and for that corruption, our family paid the price. This is no longer my fight.” 

“A group of us are going to the City of Man to join our wives and daughters. Will you accompany us?” 

“No, I have to finish what I started. I owe that to the Storyteller. I owe that to your son.” 

“But you have no horse. It will take weeks for you to find them, even if you knew where they were.” 

Melkemind pointed to the north. “That is why I will first go to the forest and meet with my adopted sister, Shahzanan. Together, we will find Fuad.” 

Abbas placed his hand on Melkemind's shoulder. “Take care of my son, and yourself.” 

Melkemind smiled and started off away from the battlefield. Abbas watched the young man walk, as he passed fallen soldiers, friends and enemies. Soon Melkemind became a distant shadow and then a speck on the horizon. Then finally, he was gone. Abbas shook his head with a smile and then looked down at the arrows he was still holding. He tossed them to the ground and walked away. 



Fourteen




The Betrayal






Albiyun hacked away at vines and cobwebs, as he combed through the overgrowth of the pyramid ruins. “What exactly are we looking for, by the way?” 

Yar, whose achket blade was much better at clearing the path, stepped in front of Albiyun and answered, “We are looking for evidence of the scrolls and for clues as to the whereabouts of the Orb of Mercy.” 

They dredged through the descending tunnel of the pyramid, as Nestor examined the writing on the wall. “This is odd.” 

Albiyun chuckled. “Don't tell me you have to go to the bathroom.” 

“Um, no, Major...” 

“General!” 

“Right, sorry. Well, judging from these writings, which oddly enough are written in Tezentian, not Solistian, the scribes of the scrolls never intended for them to leave Solistia. Apparently, there was some type of struggle, even while the Knower was still alive.” 

Yar remarked, “You mean a conspiracy?” 

“Well,” Nestor looked up at the ceiling, “maybe not a conspiracy, but there were definitely people who wanted the scrolls for their own personal purposes. In other words, Sawad wasn't the only one with a chip on his shoulder. This pyramid was built to be a secret hiding grounds for the scribes.” 

Albiyun hacked at one of the vines Yar missed. “Wait, let me get this straight. They wanted someplace to meet secretly, so they built a pyramid?” 

Nestor shrugged. “Yeah, well, as you saw, the main chamber of the pyramid served as a temple. Dervishes from Hadratiya would visit it. What they didn't know was that there was a secret chamber beneath them where the scribes compiled the scrolls and apparently planned their big escape. That is, assuming they made it.” 

“And they wrote all of this on the wall?” Albiyun inquired, still not convinced. 

“No no. The Tezentians wrote this. That means that they must have discovered the underground chamber hundreds of years ago and wrote stories about what occurred here. After all, the Knower himself was believed to be Tezentian. They are the most ancient civilization, so it only makes sense.” 

The tunnel opened into a room, which, on the opposite side, had one stone door, with a round enclave in the center. Albiyun tried to push the door open with no success. He continued with his questioning, “So, this ancient civilization as you call them, what happened there? Because they certainly do not seem very civilized now.” 

Nestor, too busy to look at Albiyun, examined the enclave. “Of course not to us. Civilization is much different for us. They were once a great nation. It was only within the past several hundred years that they became travelers and desert pirates. One could say that they lost their way, but then again, haven't we all?” 

Yar placed his fist inside of the enclave. It fit nearly perfectly. “It would appear as though one of the orbs controls this door.” 

“Looks like we'll have to steal the Orb of Eternity back before we can get in,” added Albiyun. 

“That won't be necessary,” a voice echoed from behind them. 

The three of them turned to find Aneelio and Roderick pointing weapons at them. Aneelio spoke softly, “Now, gentlemen, drop your swords, nice and slowly.” 

Albiyun laughed at him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't remove your head and hand it to you instead!” 

“Actually,” argued Aneelio, “I'll give you two.” He and Roderick stepped aside to reveal two sordes holding Fuad and Za'adiyah. Their hands were bound with a sticky substance made from their slime. 

Fuad yelled out to Nestor, “Don't do anything he says. He can't get what he wants unless we help him.” 

“You know, Fuad,” Aneelio glanced at him spitefully, “I am really getting tired of your mouth. Perhaps you should close it.” 

He snapped his fingers, and the sorde holding Fuad brushed his hand against Fuad's mouth, painting a coat of the sticky slime over his face, sealing his lips. Fuad moaned and shook his head from side-to-side, trying to break the bond, but it was no use. 

“Now, your cute little Kelteryan friend is quite the opposite. She won't tell us anything. So, maybe she'll talk to you. Tell her that if she'll just do what we want, we might give her a beetle to nibble on, but if she doesn't, the three of you, and your bumbling Storyteller, who's upstairs with a couple of our gorillas, will die.” 

Za'adiyah closed her eyes and sighed, “I will help you. Just, please do not hurt anyone.” 

Albiyun whispered to Nestor, “Why does he need their help? Can't he just stick the orb into the enclave himself?” 

Nestor shook his head. “According to the prophecy, only one with the purest of hearts, meaning the Chosen One, can unlock any of the secrets of Solistia. He who is not the Chosen One will face a horrific and unimaginably painful death.” 

Albiyun cringed. “Ouch.” 

Nestor nodded. “Yep, it would not be a pretty sight.” 

“Wait,” whispered Albiyun, “doesn't that mean if Za'adiyah is not the real Chosen One...” 

“Then I will die,” she interjected. “I am aware of the risks involved, but I am also positive that I am the true Chosen One.” 

The slime monster removed the sticky handcuffs from her wrists and shoved her in the direction of Aneelio. He held out the orb. “Don't try anything funny.” 

He carefully laid the orb into her hand, and their hands touched slightly. She reached farther and grabbed his hand more firmly. Her hand began to glow brightly. Aneelio howled in agony. “Roderick, shoot her!” 

Roderick flipped a switch on his weapon. A beam of light fired from it straight at Za'adiyah. She held up the orb towards it, and the beam bounced off of it, returning to Roderick. His entire body sizzled and smoked, and then he fell to the ground. 

Albiyun looked at Yar. “OK, which fat slimy blob do you want?” 

“I'll take the ugly one,” Yar answered, charging at the one still holding Fuad. 

The beast tossed Fuad to the side and pulled out his flail, spinning it. 

“No!” cried Aneelio. “Take the boy!” 

The beast gurgled, “Oh yeah. OK, I got him.” 

It turned to run after Fuad, but Yar flung out his hand and water issued forth onto the floor in front of it, and its slimy legs slipped into the air sending it crashing to the ground. Bits of slime ejected from it, landing on everyone. Then the slime creature dissolved into the puddle of water. 

Yar turned his glance towards the other creature that was running after Za'adiyah. When the creature saw him, it tried to run, but bounced into the walls and rolled onto the floor, right into the puddle of water, dissolving on contact. 

Nestor wiped a chunk of slime from his face. “Well, then, that was...interesting.” 

Yar splashed some water onto Fuad, causing the slime on his mouth and wrists to dissolve. Fuad wiped the excess goo from his mouth and spat onto the ground several times. “Thank you, Yar.” 

“You are welcome, Chosen One. Now, Albiyun and I will go to the surface and dispose of the six-armed gorillas.” 

“Good idea. Hey, take lizard-boy with you.” 

Yar lifted Aneelio, who was much smaller than he, onto his shoulder and carried him to the surface, with Albiyun following behind him holding Roderick's light-ray gun. 

Nestor knelt over the body of Roderick. “That weapon killed him instantly. I've never witnessed such sorcery.” 

“It was not sorcery,” Fuad explained. “The Orisay`i have developed highly advanced weapons. They've also genetically engineered all types of strange creatures, like those slimy fellows.” 

Za'adiyah interrupted. “I believe we have a more pressing matter here. Which one of us should try to open the door?” 

Fuad giggled and Nestor smirked, pointing at Za'adiyah. “Um, how shall I put this? You have a little bit of...residue in your hair.” 

Za'adiyah shrieked, shaking her hair out with her fingers. It was the first time she had shown any level of excitement about anything. 

With her frizzled white hair covering her face, she asked them, “Is it out?” 

“Yep,” replied Nestor, “I think I saw it ooze on the ground next to you.” 

Za'adiyah shivered and stepped away from the slime. “Ahem, as I was saying, if the prophecy is correct, one of us might die trying to open that door.” 

“Then, we must do it together,” Fuad decided. 

Za'adiyah nodded and the two of them held up the orb with both of their hands, carefully setting it into the enclave in the door. The entire pyramid began to rumble. Nestor leaned against the wall to balance himself. “I didn't read anything on the wall about the building collapsing.” 

The enormous stone door started to move, shaking loose rocks from the ceiling. Fuad and Za'adiyah both quickly backed away from it, as the massive stone moved back, unveiling a large room. Water trickled from the ceiling of the room onto the floor, splashing in a methodical rhythm. Ancient tools and devices from Solistia covered the floor. Fuad noticed a large device in the center of the room, covered in cobwebs. He brushed away the dust and realized what he was viewing. “Guys, you might want to take a look at this.” 

It was a stone table, shaped like a pentagon, with an enclave at each corner. Nestor pointed to one of the enclaves, “One for each orb, I believe, and in the center of the table, that stand must be for the scrolls.” 

Elaborate Engravings covered every inch of the table. Fuad ran his fingers over the words underneath one of the enclaves. “Nestor, what does this say?” 

Nestor turned his head sideways, as if he was not sure of what he was reading. “It says Azal, or Eternity.” He walked slowly around the table, identifying each enclave. “This one says Munir, which means Reflection. The next one is Nur, meaning Light.” He paused and studied the one after Light. “The engraving has become a little worn, but judging from the pattern, I'd say this one is Qadr. That means Destiny.” 

“And this one?” asked Za'adiyah. 

“Rahma. The word for Mercy.” 

Fuad was amazed by the beautiful calligraphy, the likes of which he had never seen. “What language is this, Nestor?” 

“That of our ancestors, those who founded our kingdoms thousands of years ago. It was the language of the first man and woman and all people for many years, until...” 

The Storyteller entered the room. “Until the Known World and the Unknown World split.” 

Fuad ran to assist the Storyteller over to the table. “Why are you down here? It is too much for you to crawl through tunnels.” 

“I am old, Fuad, but I've been old for a very long time. I think I can manage. Besides, I am safer down here anyway. When, you left me on the surface with that nutria of yours, we ended up in the grip of two six-armed gorillas.” 

“He has a point there, lad,” Albiyun added. 

The Storyteller's eyes sparkled, like a child receiving his first toy, when he beheld the pentagonal table before him. “Astounding.” 

He pulled some eyeglasses from his pocket and, fumbling for a moment, he finally got them on correctly. He squinted at the engravings and the detail of artwork around the enclaves. 

“If you have spectacles, why do you not wear them always?” asked Albiyun. 

“My friend, when you have reached my age, the mind's eye is of far more use to you than the physical ones. As I was saying, the ancestors followed a code of morality, a path of righteousness, laced with the fineries of true existence.” 

Fuad inquired, “What is true existence?” 

“To know oneself, the true self, not that which is flesh and bone, but that which is beyond the physical. To experience the Hadra, not to read about it or believe in it, but to actually experience it firsthand. To manifest that experience outwardly, so that every thought, intention, and action is a manifestation of the Presence. 

“Our ancestors knew of this because knowers, just like our Knower, came to them, one after another, and they learned from them, studied them, and followed their teachings. To be a real knower, to know what is real and not be deceived by the world around you that only appears to be real, is the highest level of existence. In other words, the ultimate existence is to realize nonexistence, to enter the realization that you and everything around you is but a perception, a reflection of the Real. 

“These orbs that you must collect, are no more than portals into the Real Realm. They are like cheat sheets, quick fixes, instant mix devices. Normal realization takes years, even decades to attain and a lifetime to master. But with the orbs, people were able to gain glimpses, at least, of the realm beyond the realm. For a traveler on the path to enlightenment, this is a marvelous splendor that increases his wherewithal, and encourages him to continue his toilsome journey. And for the one who has renounced the path, it is a portal directly into evil, quick access to all that is damned and despised. 

“The dervishes who created the orbs knew of their danger, and took every precaution to ensure that they could not be used by those in whose hearts was disease. The first safeguard was that an orb could not have two masters. If one man was in charge of an orb, it served only that one man. This Orb of Eternity was hidden for many centuries. The king of Ardramo was said to control the orb and use it to sustain his people. Somehow, whoever now controls the orb must have deceived him into handing over the power.” 

Fuad stared at the orb, desperately wishing he could at least catch a glimpse of Ahsan. “Storyteller, is there anyway around the safeguard?” 

“Perhaps, my son. The dervishes knew that, if the orbs did indeed fall into evil hands, they would need some mechanism to counter that evil. That is why they requested the Orb of Mercy...” 

“Requested?” inquired Miftah. 

“The Orb of Mercy emanated from the Hadra, without human intervention. The mercy within it is completely pure, not limited by human mental capacity or understanding. Thus, only the most righteous and pure can even gaze upon the Orb of Mercy, and only the Chosen One can wield it. If we are to save the Seeing Wind, we must locate that orb. It can control the other orbs, regardless of who possesses them.” 

“What's this?” Nestor called out, digging through a pile of ancient devices. 

Yar walked over to him and examined the circular brass dial with dash marks around it. “It is only an astrolabe, a device used for navigation, on land and sea.” 

“Yes, I know,” Nestor replied, as he brushed off dust from it and tried to rub away some of the varnish with his shirt. “But this astrolabe has writing on it, ancient Solistian. It reads, Seek what is hidden in the hearts, and treasures you will surely find. Seek what is hidden with the Hadra, and leave nothing but Mercy behind.” 

Miftah rolled his eyes. “Fantastic! A riddle!” 

“What is hidden in the hearts?” asked Yar. 

Za'adiyah answered, “Secret desires.” 

Fuad added, “And what is hidden with the Hadra?” 

They all paused, issuing a long silence. Nestor shrugged. 

“Perhaps there are other clues among these things. Look through them and see what you find.” 

Miftah lifted from the ground a small hourglass. He turned it upside down, and to his astonishment, the sand traveled upward. He turned it again and the same thing occurred. Albiyun reached into a basin and removed from it a sword, made of pure solyra, with jewels and gold on the hilt. He held it out in front of him, level with his eyes and examined the blade. “Exquisite,” he gawked. 

Za'adiyah pulled from underneath a book, a necklace made of solyra, with gemstones of every color hanging from it. She held it up to her neck and then looked around, “Is there a mirror in here? Oh yes, Fuad, let me see the orb. She held it up in front of her and screamed, throwing the orb to the ground. 

“Za'adiyah,” Fuad shouted, “be careful. Why would you drop it?” 

“I saw myself, but I was growing older, until my face decayed, and...the necklace stayed the same.” 

The Storyteller found a small pair of eyeglasses on the floor. He removed his own and placed them in front of his eyes. He stood there, staring at Fuad. 

“Storyteller, what is it?” Fuad asked. 

“I can see you perfectly, absolutely perfectly, and it feels as though I do not even have the glasses on.” 

Yar found a bottle of crystal blue liquid. He slowly untwisted the cap. 

“Wait!” cried out Nestor. “Everybody stop. Put down the items you've found.” 

Fuad argued, “But you told us to...” 

“Forget what I said. Think about what you have in front of you. These are your desires, your secret material desires. When Za'adiyah looked into the orb, it showed her the truth, the reality of what her desire truly would bring her.” 

Yar nodded. “Then, that is what is hidden with the Hadra: the Truth.” 

“Precisely,” confirmed Nestor. “Za'adiyah, hold the orb out in front of me.” 

She walked over to Nestor, stepping over the various objects on the ground and held out the orb in front of him with both hands. Nestor turned the dial of the astrolabe until it pointed towards a small circle engraved into it. He held it up, facing the orb. In his eyes, Fuad saw the reflection of something from the orb, and Nestor stood motionless in awe. All of them gathered around Nestor to view the orb. 

“What is it?” inquired Miftah. 

“Where is it?” asked Albiyun. 

Storyteller touched his beard with his fingertips, “It is a place none of you have seen.” 

Za'adiyah smiled brightly, “Kelterya!” 

Suddenly the orb started to glow, flew out of her hands and shot up the tunnel to the surface. The room shook and the door started to close. 

“Quickly, we must leave,” yelled Albiyun, who stood at the door, brushing everyone out and then narrowly squeezing himself out before the door slammed shut. 

When all of them had climbed to the surface, they noticed Mezentius flying in from the west. He landed in front of them and brushed off his wings. 

Storyteller looked at him with a concerned expression. “Mezentius, what news have you from my children?” 

Mezentius did not waste time answering, “The war is over. The king is dead, and Melkemind has left Qamariya. I spoke to Abbas only an hour ago. He is on his way to Hydrodollin to meet with his wife. He sends his greetings to you, Fuad.” 

Fuad smiled, but secretly held back his tears. He missed his parents dearly, but did not want to show weakness in front of his companions. 

The Storyteller turned to the side and coughed violently and then asked, “Melkemind does not intend to claim his throne?” 

“Negative,” answered Mezentius, “The people of Qamariya are forming a republic. Melkemind has renounced the throne.” 

“This will not stand. Qamariya has been a kingdom for thousands of years. The nobles will not agree to a republic. They'll start a civil war, and if the queen still lives, she will claim the throne for herself.” 

“What are you suggesting, Storyteller?” 

“I am suggesting that Melkemind stand as king and gradually turn power over to the people.” 

“There is more,” Mezentius interrupted. 

“Please continue.” 

“Melkemind said that, during the battle, the entire Kelteryan army vanished, taking the Orb of Reflection with them.” 

Fuad glanced at Za'adiyah, who quickly lowered her gaze to the ground. Fuad pleaded, “That does not necessarily mean anything. Perhaps they have taken it to protect it.” 

Mezentius shook his head, “Perhaps, but according to Melkemind, a Kelteryan wizard took the orb from him, using it to destroy all of the Orisay`i, after they had already agreed to surrender. Moreover, he used a Kelteryan sword in the battle, one that bewitched him and controlled his mind.” 

Albiyun and Yar moved closer to Za'adiyah, as though they were about to seize her. She folded her arms as though she were suddenly cold, staring at the ground. 

Mezentius continued, “The wizards told him that one of our own had betrayed us, using telepathic powers to communicate with the one who started the darkness. Melkemind would have believed them, but he now believes they were lying and that it was actually the Kelteryans themselves who betrayed us.” 

“Enough of this,” barked out Albiyun, who grabbed Za'adiyah by the arm. “We will take care of her.” 

The Storyteller grabbed Albiyun's arm and pulled it away from her. “No, the wizards spoke the truth. Before I left Cor, the Circle of Elders warned me that one of our own would betray us, but they suspected Ahsan.” 

Fuad shockingly replied, “Ahsan? Why her?” 

“I will explain another time, but it could not be Za'adiyah either. They imprisoned her. She nearly died at their hands, and when they captured us, she would have been successful. Why would she continue to help us?” 

Mezentius nodded. “There was another suspect on Melkemind's mind. The dervish.” 

Nestor stepped back. “What? No. I would not betray you, Master.” 

The Storyteller ignored Nestor's words and moved closer to Mezentius. “Explain this accusation.” 

“The dervish,” Mezentius began, “is the one who opened the Gate of Balkh in the first place. The Kelteryans have said that the seal upon it was Kelteryan, that they trapped the Unnamed One behind it themselves, and that they would not need a human to break the seal for them.” 

Za'adiyah, seeming almost surprised herself, unfolded her arms and said, “Yes, of course! That proves it was not the Kelteryans who started this. The dervish is lying!” 

The Storyteller rubbed his beard. “Continue!” 

“Yes,” continued Mezentius, “well, the dervish also killed the inn keeper in the desert.” 

“Outrageous!” cried out Nestor. 

Mezentius then pulled the watch he had found out of his pocket and dangled it in front of Nestor's eyes. “I found this at the scene of the crime. Recognize it?” 

“Okay, that is mine, but that does not prove that I killed him. Why would I? When I left, he was alive.” 

“Because the ones responsible for the darkness came to visit you that evening. There were signs of a struggle in your room, and I found slime there as well. At the time, I did not know what to make of it, but it is obvious now. The inn keeper must have seen you meeting with them and tried to stop you. Together you killed him and then placed his body in his own house to make it look like a robbery or a Tezentian raid.” 

Nestor took a few more steps back but bumped into Yar and Albiyun behind him. “Wait, I know how this looks. Just...just let me explain.” 

Mezentius continued, “Then, there is the matter of telepathy. The wizards told Melkemind that they had been listening to the telepathic communication and had heard one of our allies communicating with the Orisay`i priestess. She is apparently connected to this somehow. Only someone with telepathic powers, even more powerful than hers, could have been our betrayer.” 

The Storyteller held his forehead in his hand. “Nestor, explain. Please tell me you have not betrayed me.” 

Nestor shook his arms loose from Yar and Albiyun and contested, “Firstly, you should know that I did break the seal on the gate. I did not know that it was a Kelteryan seal. The people who made me do it were dressed in Kelteryan cloaks, although one was unusually short for a Kelteryan. They certainly wanted me to think it was them. As for the inn keeper, I admit it. I was there, and the Orisay`i General Jaha did come to the inn with those two Jabalians.” He motioned to Aneelio, who was still bound, unconscious on the ground. 

“They asked me a lot of questions about the orbs and the scrolls. I told them as little as possible, but then they caught the inn keeper spying us. They threatened to kill him if I did not tell them what they wanted to know, but after I did, they...they killed him anyway. 

“As for the telepathy, I can assure you I had nothing to do with it, but I also cannot explain it. Whoever has betrayed you has known your every move from the beginning. It had to be someone who started this journey with you. The moment you were ready to leave Cor, the darkness came. And Fuad, when you were in the cave on the mountain, that Jabalian boy knew exactly where to find you.” 

Mezentius added, “And Melkemind's army was setup. Xerxes was working for the Orisay`i, as was the king. Someone from the inside knew exactly what Melkemind and the rebels were planning. They had intended to invade Acacia, but the Orisay`i army was already prepared for them and met them in an open field, outside of the city.” 

Za'adiyah chimed in, “And the beasts that attacked us in the valley. How did they know where we were?” 

Miftah's eyes lit up, “And the orb that swallowed Ahsan. Someone knew you would have the orb and then knew you would use it to try to save her.” 

Fuad felt a tremor in his heart. “But there was only one person who could have known that.” 

The Storyteller shook his head in disbelief. “Shahzanan.” 

Fuad looked to the Storyteller desperately. “Please, there must be some explanation. Why would she betray us?” 

The Storyteller remained silent, as did everyone else, except for Miftah. “Fuad, she told you to use the orb, knowing it would trap Ahsan. She deceived you.” 

Fuad looked again to the Storyteller, who said nothing. “But I called out to her when I was trapped in the dungeon in Ardramo. She contacted you and had Ahsan rescue me.” 

Miftah countered, “Yes, knowing full well that you would take the Orb of Eternity and trap Ahsan in it. They did not want us locked away, remember? They wanted us to find the scrolls for them, and through your communication with Shahzanan, that is exactly what we've been doing. I mean, how did they know we were here? Did you contact her again?” 

Fuad lowered his head, but did not speak. 

Mezentius raised his voice at him, “Did you, Fuad?” 

“Yes. I've been talking with her the whole time, telling her everything that happens and everything we've planned. I didn't even know for sure if she could hear me, well, until she came to me and told me to use the orb. But I'm not even sure how not to communicate with her. It is as though we are linked.” 

The Storyteller finally spoke, “Then, we are all in grave danger. We cannot proceed with this mission until...Mezentius, where is Melkemind now?” 

Mezientius' eyes widened as he glanced up at the Storyteller. “He said he was going to visit her in the forest.” 

“Go there now!” 

He whispered something to Mezentius, and Mezentius answered, “Yes, Master.” 

Mezentius' wings blew dust up from the ground as he took off, much closer to them than he normally would. He rocketed into the sky and disappeared from view within moments. 

“Yar,” the Storyteller called out, “Take Fuad back into the shed. What we plan from this moment forward is not for his ears.” 

Fuad argued, “But...” 

Yar had already grabbed hold of him, yanking him by the arm, as he forcefully dragged him to the shed. Za'adiyah scoffed at Miftah, “Perhaps your Chosen One is not as pure and innocent as you had believed.” 

“Shut up, you...” 

“Silence!” the Storyteller demanded, as he paced, visibly agitated, trying to determine their next move. 

Nestor twiddled his fingers. “We cannot retrieve the Orb of Mercy without the Chosen One, and we do not know which of the two it is.” 

“Correct,” said Albiyun, “But it is still conceivable that some of the Kelteryans are working with the originators of the darkness, just as some of the Orisay`i and Jabalians had.” 

The Storyteller's face reddened. “This cannot continue. This uncertainty must be dealt with, if we are to be successful. Nestor, you and Za'adiyah go to Kelterya. If conditions are favorable, send a message to us, and we will join. Before we leave we must deal with Shahzanan.” 

The golden sun set over the once golden city of Solistia. Many more suns would set before the Storyteller heard from Mezentius. He spent that time studying his small tattered book and praying for the safe return of Melkemind, for the soul of Shahzanan, and for the future of the Known World. 



Fifteen




Sacred Wood






Playfully, a small fawn pushed aside his sister from the stream, rushing to drink from it. The female fawn shoved him back, knocking him into the water. Their intricately placed white spots ornamented their shiny brown fur. They tossed and turned through the water, joyfully enjoying their summer afternoon. 

Then, the smooth flow of the stream began to tremble and the ground began to rumble. The fawns heard thumping growing louder and approaching quickly. They dashed away swiftly. Birds flew out of sight and squirrels took cover in trees. The stomping was rhythmic and heavy, yet swift and almost graceful. The enormous feet thumping against the ground were gray and bare, covered on the top by thick black fur. Forty gorillas, all with six arms each marched in two rows of twenty, led by General Jaha. They marched through the forest, trampling anything that stood in their path. 

Orisay'i soldiers marched beside them and behind them, some holding leashes with two-headed wolves dragging them forward. Others carried the same light beam weapons that had vaporized Roderick under the pyramid. 

Hanieh had just finished her afternoon prayer when she first felt the ground tremor beneath her. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, for she knew what was approaching. She stepped out of her cabin and cast her eyes upward. “Do not abandon us. Please.” 

Shahzanan, hearing her outside and feeling the same tremors came out of the cabin, wrapping a shawl around her. “Aunt Hanieh, what is it?” 

Hanieh extended her arms and Shahzanan fell into them, although she didn't know why. Hanieh hugged her tightly and then held her at a distance looking at her, the way a mother might look at a child about to leave for a long journey. She could not hold back her tears as she looked into Shahzanan's innocent, uninformed eyes. “My sweet child, promise me that you will never lose faith. Do not give up hope, no matter what happens.” 

“Of course...I mean, I promise.” 

As the tremors grew heavier, young men swung down from the trees on vines, pulling swords, rushing women and children into their cabins. Some of them remained in the trees, pulling arrows from their quivers and arching their bows, ready to strike. Some of the younger boys attempted to pick up stones and stand alongside the swordsmen, but their mothers snatched them and dragged them into the cabins. 

Shahzanan did not ask again what was going on, for she knew also. She had sensed it long before the tremors started, but she was afraid to tell anyone the things she had been sensing. She did not understand the thoughts she had inside of her, the darkness that now consumed her dreams. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine Fuad, trying to contact him. But for the first time, he did not answer. She gritted her teeth and squinted her brow trying to concentrate on him, but she felt nothing. 

She opened her eyes when she felt Hanieh pulling her into the cabin. They then heard deafening thumping on the ground, as the frightening army grew closer. They could hear the gurgling breaths of the wolves and chattering of some of the soldiers. Then, at once, all of the noises stopped. 

Shahzanan stood in the corner, with her arms wrapped around Hanieh, who stood in front of her, whispering a prayer. The next sound she heard was like no other sound she had ever experienced. An explosion, causing the house to shake until the walls began to crumble, rocked their small village. Shahzanan heard the screams of children, as the battle began. The gorillas dispersed towards the cabins, breaking in every door, searching. They did not attack the young men. Instead, the soldiers released the wolves on them, and the archers from the trees could do nothing to stop them. Their arrows did not even penetrate the thick skin of the two-headed wolves. 

One swordsman jumped onto the back of one of the wolves and shoved his sword down into its neck. He then jumped off of it, tucking and rolling away, as it did not slow its pursuit of one of his comrades. It whimpered loudly and crashed into the ground. Two other wolves surrounded a group of the youngest men, all of them about Shahzanan's age, four in total. They stood with their backs facing each other and their swords ready. The wolves crouched, preparing to leap onto them, but flaming arrows flew into them from the corner of the camp in the distance. The wolves staggered trying to maintain balance, but then fell one on top of the other. 

The young men cheered as Melkemind emerged from the bushes holding his self-made bow. The soldiers who had released the wolves turned and ran. General Jaha yelled to them, “Turn and fight, you cowards!” 

The gorillas, who did not find what they were looking for in the houses, turned to fight the young men, pounding them into the ground with their giant fists. Many of the fighters fell unconscious before the gorillas even laid their hands on them. They would beat their chests and pound the ground. Finally, one of them busted through Hanieh's door. Shahzanan tensed up and squeezed Hanieh tightly. The gorilla overturned everything in their living room, smashing their table in half with one of his fists. He was too large to fit through Shahzanan's bedroom doorway, but he just walked straight through it, tearing apart the walls around it. 

He stood, staring at them, while they huddled in the corner. Then he turned his head to the side, trying to determine if he had found the one for which he was searching. Finally, he yelled out loudly, and all of the gorillas stopped fighting. The gorilla grabbed Hanieh with one hand and Shahzanan with another, effortlessly carrying them out of the cabin. He held them high in the air, like rabbits that had been caught by a hunter. 

General Jaha took a long hard look at the boys and young men staring at him, with swords in their hands, prepared to continue their losing battle. He chewed on a stick as he glared at them, occasionally spitting out pieces of it. “Women of this wood, do not lose your men and boys here today. Save yourselves. We have come only for this wretched girl, who brings darkness near to you. Do not let her be the cause of your destruction.” 

Melkemind called out, “Shahzanan!” 

It was like the feeling one gets when hearing her favorite song. The melody of Melkemind's voice was pure tranquility to the ears of Shahzanan. She had longed to hear his voice again, only not under these circumstances. 

Jaha had, until that moment, not noticed Melkemind. He quickly ordered the gorillas to seize him. Two of them grabbed his arms before he could do anything. One of the gorilla arms snatched his bow and snapped it in half with one hand. He struggled to shake loose. “Do you know how long that took to make?” 

“Silence boy,” commanded Jaha. “It will serve us well to have you with us also. After all, you are our king.” 

Melkemind spat onto Jaha's black combat boots. “You could not pay me to be your king, you foul, disgusting, motherless...” 

“Wretched boy!” He struck Melkemind with the back of his leather glove-covered hand. Then, he continued, “The rest of you! Leave now!” 

They all stood, looking at him. Soon the women and children emerged from their houses and stood next to their men. Hanieh sorrowfully pleaded, “No, we will go with you. Let them be.” 

“Very well,” replied Jaha. He signaled to twenty of the gorillas to form a line, blocking anyone in the village from following them. The rest of the gorillas stood at attention, as they began their march away from the village, carrying Shahzanan, Hanieh, and Melkemind. 

They marched to another camp, several miles away, where Orisay`i soldiers sat around small tables, playing cards or stood joking and laughing. When the General approached, no one stood to salute him. The gorilla holding Hanieh and Shahzanan tossed them onto the ground in front of Jaha. The one holding Melkemind threw him into a cage, locking it quickly. 

Jaha snickered, “Now...” 

A bird cawed loudly, high above the camp, drowning out the voice of General Jaha. He looked upwards but could not see past the canopy of trees. 

He started again, “Now...” 

This time several birds cried out, and arrows began to rain down on the soldiers beneath. Through the canopy of trees, twelve Sama`an soldiers descended, with a thirteenth, Mezentius, behind them, swords in hand. The gorillas were caught by surprise, and Sama`an swords easily fell into them. Most of the Orisay`i soldiers were unarmed and ran for cover. Mezentius landed in front of Melkemind's cage. He broke the lock with the hilt of his sword and then laughed. “I thought you were coming here to visit Shahzanan, not get yourselves captured.” 

“Not funny,” answered Melkemind, turning red. 

General Jaha ran after Mezentius with his sword held high, but moving rather slowly. Melkemind pointed to him, and Mezentius swiftly turned, raising his two swords. “Is he serious?” 

Jaha swung his sword downward, and Mezentius crossed his swords, blocking the blow. Mezentius' boot raised up and pressed against Jaha's chest, shoving him backward. Jaha screamed louder and charged again. Mezentius extended his sword straight out, and it pointed directly into Jaha's stomach, but did not enter. 

Jaha laughed loudly and sliced a deep cut into Mezentius' arm. He dropped the sword in that arm, and Melkemind quickly picked it up. Around them, ten of the gorillas still stood, fighting fiercely with the winged soldiers. Jaha played with his sword, swinging it about and slowly strafing from side to side in front of Mezentius and Melkemind. “You cannot defeat me. You have no idea what power you are facing.” 

Melkemind swiped down an overhead attack, which Jaha blocked, holding his sword with one hand. Mezentius swung at his legs, but the sword did not cut him. Jaha kicked Mezentius' sword, knocking it into the ground. Mezentius fell, clutching his arm, unable to continue fighting. Again Jaha played with his sword, staring into the eyes of Melkemind. But instead of attacking Melkemind, he looked down at the helpless Mezentius and let out a laugh, hurling his sword into Mezentius' chest. 

“No!” Melkemind cried out. He aimed straight for Jaha's neck, but he held out his hand, grasping the sword with it and bending it over until it curved completely. Melkemind dropped the sword and struck Jaha in the face with his fist, but it was like punching a steel barrel. His hand throbbed, and he bent over, holding it in agony. Jaha kicked Melkemind in the face, sending him flying into the air and crashing to the ground. He wiped his face, showing signs of exhaustion and looked around to notice his last gorilla fall to the ground. Two of the Sama`an's grabbed Hanieh and Shahzanan and took off into the sky. Another lifted Melkemind, and two of them carefully picked up Mezentius. 

Jaha cried out, “You cannot stop this, Melkemind! This is our destiny! This is your destiny!” 

Within minutes, the winged soldiers landed high above in a city, hovering in the clouds. The people were alarmed to see Mezentius, with a sword still in his chest. Women cried out and some covered their children's eyes. They rushed him into a large building, disappearing from sight. One of the Sama`an soldiers took Shahzanan away, despite Hanieh's protests, while two others took her and the still unconscious Melkemind into a house. 

“Where have you taken Shahzanan?” 

The soldier did not answer her. 

“What is this? We are rescued from one group of kidnappers, only to be held by others?” 

The soldier looked down at her with pity. “She has been taken to the prison.” 

“The prison?” yelled Hanieh, trying to push past the uncooperative soldier. 

“Yes. I'm afraid the girl has been accused of high treason by the Circle of Elders. In an hour, she will be transported to the City of Man, where she will stand trial.” 

“You're lying! Why can I not sense her? Why can I not contact her?” 

“She has been fitted with a telepathic wave-dampening necklace, to prevent her from having any further contact with the enemy.” 

Hanieh shook her head disbelievingly. “With the enemy? She is the purest soul I have ever met! What proof have you of this? Who has made these accusations?” 

“Ma'am, the orders came to us directly from Solistia, by the hand of Mezentius himself.” 

“And who gave these outlandish orders?” 

“The Storyteller, Ma'am. He told us to consider the girl a severe threat to all of us. She told the Orisay`i of your location in the woods. That is why we brought our soldiers. We knew that she would lead them to you, once she knew Melkemind was near.” 

Hanieh sunk into a chair behind her. “I must go with her.” 

“You may go with her, only if you intend to serve as her counsel. You must defend her before the High Court.” 

Hanieh waved her hand unenthusiastically. “Yes...yes I will.” 

The soldier left the small house, locking the door from the outside. Hanieh knelt over Melkemind and wiped the sweat from his forehead with her scarf. He moved his head slowly but did not open his eyes. “Mezentius,” he whispered. Then he cried out, opening his eyes and sitting up, “Mezentius!” 

Hanieh restrained him, “Melkemind, you are hurt. Please lie down.” 

“Mezentius! Hanieh, he...” 

“I know,” she said softly. 

Melkemind looked around the room in a panic. “Where are we? Where is Shahzanan?” 

Hanieh tried to calm him. “We are in Sama`a, apparently being held captive by their army. Shahzanan is in prison. They said they intend to have her stand trial for treason, Melkemind.” 

An eerie calm came over Melkemind as he heard those words. “Then...then it is true?” 

“What is true? What has she done to deserve this?” 

Melkemind slowly sat up and leaned against the wall. “We had suspected that one of our own had betrayed us, someone with telepathic powers. My prime suspect was Nestor, and Mezentius...may the Hadra shine eternal light on him, went to find him and investigate. If he returned without Nestor, it meant that someone else was responsible. Shahzanan was our second suspect. I prayed that it was not her.” 

“It cannot be her,” replied Hanieh. 

Melkemind shook his head shamefully. “I don't want to believe it, either, but the evidence...” 

“Must have been fabricated,” interrupted Hanieh. “I have been with Shahzanan non-stop since we arrived in these woods. I have experienced all of her thoughts and emotions. It is part of the training for a dervish to turn all of their affairs, both externally and internally, over to the master. The only way she could possibly have concealed such deceit would be if she had a micro-consciousness locked away inside of her own intellect. That type of concentration would take years to perfect. She is powerful, but still very undisciplined. The only other way to attain micro-consciousness would be for someone to implant it inside of her.” 

Melkemind smiled, “Then, that settles it. Someone invaded her mind and implanted the evil plot inside of her.” 

“It is not that simple, Melkemind. As I said, it takes years to achieve such a thing. The perpetrator would need to plan every step perfectly, knowing exactly what would happen, years after the implantation took place. It would take a powerful Seer, unless...” 

“Unless she aided it somehow.” 

“Yes, and if she did, she would have done it knowingly. Actually, even to allow someone to implant a micro-conscience inside of her, she would have to grant it explicit permission. Such a thing being done involuntarily is unheard of.” 

Melkemind scratched his head. “OK, so it would have to be someone she trusted?” 

“Exactly,” replied Hanieh. “Someone studied her and knew her inner thoughts; someone she would allow inside of her mind.” 

Melkemind gingerly climbed to his feet. “I will investigate this matter and meet you in Hydrodollin for the trial.” 

“But, Melkemind, I do not believe they will let you out of here.” 

“On what grounds could they hold me? I am still king of Qamariya and one of the sworn protectors of the Chosen One.” 

Hanieh nodded and placed an object into Melkemind's hand. “Take this with you. If you find yourself in trouble, call for me.” 

Inside of his hand he found a smooth, rounded violet stone, which shimmered in the light. He dropped it into his pocket and banged his hand against the door. “Excuse me, Mr. guard. Shouldn't the defendant's representation be leaving?” 

The guard opened the door and scanned his eyes over Melkemind's bruised body. “The woman is free to go. We have an escort who will fly her to Hydrodollin. You, however, must stay here. I will accompany you to the infirmary.” 

“Me? No, thank you. I'm fine,” Melkemind answered, nearly falling over. 

Hanieh caught him before he lost his balance completely. “Perhaps he is right, Melkemind,” she said, with a wink. “The trial might not begin for several days. Use this time to rest.” 

“Of course. What was I thinking? Guard, please take me to the infirmary at once!” 

Hanieh waved to Melkemind, as a winged courier whisked her into the air and dipped beneath the clouds. The guard walked slightly in front of Melkemind, leading him to the nearby infirmary, the same building into which Mezentius had been rushed. 

“May I...may I see him?” Melkemind asked, hoping to pay his last respects to Mezentius. 

“You may,” replied the guard, pointing to the end of the hallway. “Make a left at the corner. It will be the first door on your right.” 

Melkemind hated hospitals: the smell, the color, the extra-clean floors, the nurses who provided him with fake smiles as he proceeded down the corridor. Everything about the place seemed artificial, soon to expire if one waited long enough. As he turned the corner, he glanced out of the window, glimpsing nothing but clouds. He was in a strange city, so different and far away from the life he knew in Acacia. In their castle, they had a private medical wing, with a full staff of doctors. He only went to hospitals to visit the sick commoners, and that was only on occasion. 

Now, here he was about to enter a room where bodies were kept before burials. What were those rooms called? He could not remember the name, as he pushed open the door. 

“Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes.” 

Melkemind wiped his own eyes. There was Mezentius sitting up in a bed, covered up to his stomach with a white sheet. 

“But Mezentius, I saw you fall. I saw the blade...” 

Mezentius smiled and laughed a little, but stopped laughing when he realized it caused him excruciating pain. “I know. I not only saw it, I felt it. The blade just nearly missed my heart, but my lungs did not fair so well. Fortunately, they've provided me with a new one.” 

“A new lung?” 

“Yes,” replied Mezentius, surprised that Melkemind was surprised. “They grow them down the hall, in the bio-lab.” 

Melkemind half-smiled. “Anyway, I am glad you are alive, but I'm afraid I must go at once. Do you know a way I can get out of here without the guard noticing?” 

Mezentius pointed to the left, “Jump out of that window.” 

“What?” 

“Trust me, boy. Jump out that window. You'll find a vine encircling a large tree. Ride it to the bottom, and you'll be in the courtyard. Next, you'll need to steal a courier.” 

“Wait,” Melkemind argued, “Aren't couriers sentient just like you?” 

Mezentius grinned. “Yes, definitely, but they are loyal to the winged guard, of which I am a commanding officer. Present this card to him, and he will grant you flight to wherever you wish, for as many trips as you desire. When you are finished with him, send him back here to me. I should be ready to leave, with some assistance, in a few days.” 

Mezentius removed a small card made of steel from the drawer next to his bed. Imprinted on the card was a holographic picture of Mezentius. Melkemind turned the card slightly to watch the image of Mezentius turn with it. He did that several times before Mezentius interrupted. 

“Aren't you in a hurry, boy?” 

Melkemind's faced reddened. “Yes, yes. Farewell, friend.” 

“Hadra be with you.” 

Melkemind pulled up the window and glanced out of it. He could see nothing but whiteness of clouds in front of him. He looked back at Mezentius who was waving his arm, motioning him to jump out of the window. Melkemind shrugged his shoulders, climbed outside of the window, and stood on the ledge. He could see nothing but more clouds beneath him. “What have I gotten myself into this time?” 

He closed his eyes, bent his knees, and leaped into the air, holding out his arms, hoping he would grasp something. For a moment he continued to fall in that position, arms extended, until finally his hands touched something in front of him. He grabbed with all of his might at the vine touching his hands. His body swung forward, crashing into the tree that had only then become visible. He seemed destined to bruise himself completely before long. 

Carefully, he slid down the vine, around the tree trunk several times, until his feet touched the ground and he dared let go of the vine. The courtyard was quiet, with one guard standing at a doorway, facing the opposite direction. Melkemind quickly tiptoed out of the courtyard and down a corridor that led to the outside. He found himself in the middle of the city market, where hundreds of couriers stood at booths waiting for clients. Visitors from every nation perused the market, looking for rare treasures from the city in the sky or just common shopping necessities. Melkemind was surprised to see quite a few Qamariyans. As they passed, he turned his head slightly, hoping they would not notice him, and they did not. 

He traipsed through the market, carefully reading each of the couriers' signs: 

One-way Solistia Ruins Non-Stop 

Tour Nine Sama'an Cities in Nine Minutes 

Super Dipper, Cathartic Ride 

Desert Explorer. 

Finally, he came upon a promising one, Wing Guard Courier (Military Discount). Unlike the other booths that were only manned by the couriers themselves, this one had a small Sama'an woman seated at it, with paperwork in front of her. She did not notice him arrive and continued staring at the myriad of numbers laid out on the pages in front of her, twiddling a pencil between her fingers. 

“Excuse me, Miss,” Melkemind whispered to her. 

Without looking up, she called out in a monotone voice, “Scan your ID here, please.” 

She pointed to a black box next to her that had a long groove on top of it. Melkemind placed his card into the groove and slid it out to the other side. The machine buzzed loudly. Finally, the woman looked up at Melkemind, removing her glasses as if to inspect him. “Wrong way, Sir.” 

“Right, what was I thinking?” answered Melkemind, who then turned the card and slid it through again. It beeped softly, and an orange ticket popped out of the side. 

The woman grabbed Melkemind's hand, pulled a stamp out from under her table, and stamped the image of two wings onto his hand saying, “Unlimited travel pass. Return courier here when you are finished. Thank you. Have a nice day.” 

She released his hand and returned to her paperwork. Behind the booth was a curtain with a sign on it reading Couriers Only, Do Not Enter. Melkemind waited several minutes and then decided to open the curtain a little to see what was taking so long. He reached for the edge of it, but as he did, a large winged man popped out from behind it and towered over him. “Greetings, my land-dwelling friend. I am Skytor, Wing Guard Courier with over ten years of dedicated diplomatic service. What, may I ask is your diplomatic affiliation, friend?” 

Melkemind shook his head. “You may not ask. I am in a hurry to reach Hydrodollin. Can you please take me there?” 

The courier stared in disbelief. “Of course, sir.” 

“What is it?” 

“Well, it's just,” mumbled the courier, “No one has ever refused to answer that question. See, I have this little book, where I mark off every nation or tribe's diplomat, to keep track of the places I've been and people I've met. I just hoped that you would help me complete it.” 

Melkemind sighed, with a smile on his face. “Very well, Skytor, I am the king of Qamariya.” 

“What?” called out the woman at the desk, who stood, abandoning her paperwork. She fell to her knees in front of him. “Your Majesty, please accept my apologies for my rudeness. I had heard news that you had left Qamariya, but did not expect to find you here. She prostrated before him.” 

Melkemind looked around nervously. “Please stop. You're making a scene. I am trying to be as discreet as possible.” 

She bounced to her feet and saluted him. “Yes, Sir! I apologize again, Your Highness. Would you like some complimentary peanuts?” 

He glanced at Skytor. “May we leave now?” 

Skytor checked a mark off in his book and then dropped it into his pocket. “Right away, Your Majesty!” 

He started to strap Melkemind to his back using a special harness. The woman kicked him in the shin and whispered, “He is royalty, use the chariot.” 

He dropped Melkemind, ran back behind the curtain and returned with a seat attached to two hooked bars with golden ropes extending from each. He locked the bars onto his shoulder straps and stood, ready for takeoff. Melkemind could not believe what he was seeing but was in too much of a rush to argue. He climbed into the seat. Speedily, the courier launched into the air trailing the chariot behind him. He looked back at Melkemind, as he dropped through the clouds. “You know, in all my years, this is the first time I've carried a king.” 

“Good,” said Melkemind, “Then I hope you will not be disappointed if it is not your last. I have many places to go.” 

As he floated through the air with the wind in his face, he took a small piece of wood, which he had picked up from the forest earlier, from his pocket. He felt it with his fingers and thought of Shahzanan. He then vowed to himself to save her from harm, at any cost. 

Sixteen



Balance of Justice






“Seven gold pieces,” called out a merchant, “That's all it will take for you to own this one-of-a-kind Orb of Mercy replica, made of olyrium, which looks just like solyra, I might add.” 

As Rabi'a and Asieh strolled through the bazaar, they heard countless other attempts to lure them into deals. 

“Just rub a little of this two-headed wolf's bane anywhere you have aches and pains, and I guarantee you'll feel like a kid again” another merchant claimed. 

Asieh chuckled, “Who ever heard of a two-headed wolf?” 

Rabi'a raised an eyebrow, and they continued their browsing. They came upon a table of a fortune-telling woman, who smiled quaintly at them and examined their clothing, as if to size up how much she would charge them. 

“A fortune told for the two beautiful ladies?” 

Rabi'a's face reddened, and she leaned over the table, staring into the fortune teller's eyes. “How dare you claim to be a fortune teller here in this age. I should report you to the Circle of Elders.” 

The woman leaned back and folded her arms. “Ah, you must be a Corian. Your priggish laws have no weight in this city. I have a permit to tell fortunes, and what I do is not a claim, my dear, it is an art.” 

Rabi'a raised her hand to slap the woman, but Asieh caught her by the arm. “Aunt Rabi'a, we should not.” 

Rabi'a pointed her finger at the fortune teller. “If you truly knew what your future held, witch, you would abandon your deceit.” 

Asieh pulled her, with both arms, away from the table and deeper into the market. The fortune teller laughed from a distance, while Rabi'a only stared intensely at her. Asieh waved her hand in front of Rabi'a's eyes. “What was that all about?” 

“That woman practices a well-calculated profession of deceit.” 

Asieh nodded. “Granted, fortune telling is usually mere conjecture, but is it truly our place to reprimand them?” 

“Mother of Fuad, many have lost their lives, chasing after the capricious tales told to them by their psychics and fortune tellers. They offer false promises and bring despair to those who heed their words.” 

“Rabi'a, we've known each other for quite a few years now. I know there is something you're not telling me. Why do you really despise fortune tellers?” 

Rabi'a grumbled. “This is neither the time nor the...” 

A crowd quickly assembled in the center of the market, even causing the merchants to leave their shops unattended. A group of winged guardsmen landed onto the ground and were greeted by the Hydroa police. Rabi'a moved stealthily through the crowd, trying to politely nudge people aside. She tugged Asieh by the arm. 

When she reached the center of the commotion, the winged guard rose into the sky, through the protective dome, and out into the sea. Rabi'a pushed herself in between two of the Hydroa police officers and found, in the middle of the circle they had formed, a chained, frail, and shivering girl. “Shahzanan?” 

She lowered her head and did not reply to Rabi'a, who placed her hands on her hips and shouted at one of the officers. “What have you done to her?” 

The officer, following protocol, would not reveal his mission. “Ma'am, please back away from the prisoner.” 

Rabi'a stepped closer, placing her hand on Shahzanan's shoulder. “This prisoner is my daughter!” 

He grabbed Rabi'a by the arm and said, “Ma'am, come with us.” 

Asieh called to her, “Rabi'a!” 

“Don't worry, I will return. Please send my greetings to your husband!” 

Asieh felt upset and confused. First Shahzanan was brought to the city in chains and now Rabi'a was talking about sending greetings to her far-away husband. “But, my husband is...” 

“Here at last, my love.” Abbas said, sneaking up behind her. 

She burst into tears as she turned around to embrace him. He rubbed her back softly and whispered to her, “Much has changed since we last spoke. I imagine that Melkemind is on his way here.” 

“How is our son?” 

Abbas smiled. “Good, but he needs our help.” 

The armed Hydroa police led Rabi'a into a one-story stone building and into a bare room with a table, four chairs, and a small lamp hanging from the ceiling. Hanieh was seated at the far end. The police officers seated Shahzanan in between Hanieh and Rabi'a. They said nothing and exited, closing the door behind them. 

Shahzanan, still with chains around her ankles and wrists, lowered her head and cried. Rabi'a placed her hand onto Shahzanan's and spoke softly, “My sweet princess. Why have they done this to you?” 

Hanieh answered briefly, “She has been accused of High Treason and must stand trial before the Circle of Elders.” 

“Who would make such an accusation?” asked Rabi'a. 

“The Storyteller called the charges against her.” 

“What? I don't believe it. He would never...” 

Hanieh leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. “There is substantial evidence against her...” 

“Whose side are you on? Why are you even here?” Rabi'a lamented. 

“I am her counsel. I will represent her before the Circle. As I was saying, there is substantial evidence against her, but I believe most of it to be circumstantial. I think we can prove that she was under someone else's influence, causing her to betray the Storyteller unknowingly.” 

Rabi'a placed her hand under Shahzanan's delicate chin, raising her head to eye-level. “So, this is about betrayal?” 

“Auntie, I am innocent! I have done nothing...nothing at all! I swear by the Hadra!” 

“I know, sweet princess,” replied Rabi'a. “We will clear your name.” 

Hanieh scooted her chair closer to Shahzanan's. “Please, think back to your life before you left Cor. Did you ever have any mental connection with anyone?” 

“Well,” Shahzanan uttered quietly, “Fuad and I used to connect often, although I did not understand it at the time.” 

“Anyone else? Someone who might wish to do harm to you?” 

“No, well, I don't know. I don't remember everything.” 

Hanieh's facial expression grew stern. “What do you mean, everything? Are you saying that you might have or that you might not have?” 

“I'm saying that I...” 

“Did you do it, Shahzanan? Did you communicate with Fuad and tell him to use the orb on Ahsan, knowing full well that it would trap her?” 

“Yes,” she shook her head, “I mean, no. I...” 

“So, you did manipulate his mind and report all of his actions back to your master. Who is your master, anyway? Why don't you say his name for us, Shahzanan?” 

Rabi'a stood. “Stop it! I will not let you abuse my daughter like this!” 

Hanieh rose from her seat and walked over to Rabi'a, standing inches from her face. “This is exactly what will happen when she stands before the Circle of Elders, if she is not prepared.” 

“The Circle of Elders are kind and reasonable,” answered Rabi'a. 

“Perhaps, but not when the mother of the victim is one of the highest ranking judges. Her vote will determine Shahzanan's future, and I can guarantee you that she will take emotional interest in this case.” 

“Ahsan's mother is on the council?” asked Shahzanan? 

Hanieh returned to her seat. “Yes, she is, but do not worry. 

“Shahzanan, I will help you prepare to answer her interrogation. Now, Let's go back to the night that I helped you contact Fuad. Do you remember being contacted by anyone or anything else while we were in meditation?” 

“No, not that I can recall.” 

“Then, how did you know to tell Fuad to use the orb?” 

“I didn't think about it.” 

“You must have thought something.” 

“I thought about it, I mean, but it just came naturally. You know that little voice you have in your head that reminds you of what is right and wrong? Mine told me that using the orb was the right course of action. I did not have to think about it. I just knew it.” 

Hanieh leaned her elbow against the arm of her chair and rested her chin against her fist. “And yet you have no recollection of even being contacted by anyone other than Fuad?” 

“Well, no, not by anyone other than you, Hanieh.” 

“So, how do we know it's not you, Hanieh?” Rabi'a said accusingly. 

“Because,” replied Hanieh, “When Fuad arrived at my house in the mountains, he was already being followed. Even back then, Shahzanan was reporting to our enemies. They drugged all of us. I awoke on a strange mountain, several days' journey away from my house. I never heard from Fuad again.” 

Hanieh sighed, switching her chin rest to her other fist. “What of your childhood? Surely you must have had some experience with your powers when you were a young girl? Most people with our gift do.” 

“I was a servant-girl in the castle of the king of Qamariya. All other girls in the royal family overshadowed me, and I did not dare make any attempt to gain attention. I could hear and see things that other people could not, but I never made mention of it to anyone.” 

“And after you were taken from Qamariya? What happened next?” 

“I can only relate what the Storyteller has told me.” 

“And why is that?” 

Shahzanan looked up for the first time into Hanieh's eyes. “Because I do not remember any of it. I was sold to an Orisay`i hermit. I have no memory of what happened while I was with him.” 

“Do you know anything about the hermit?” 

Rabi'a interjected, “He was an annual hermit, coming out of his hut only once a year to sell and buy goods at the market. Shahzanan had only spent the day with him when Mustafa and Melkemind came to buy her. The hermit claimed to be taking her as a wife.” 

Hanieh shook her head disappointingly. “There is no way that he could have implanted the exact formula into your mind and then wiped your memory, all in one day. Such a task would take years for even the best of telepaths. It must have been someone else.” 

Rabi'a held up her finger. “Maybe not. If she has no memory of what happened from the time she left Qamariya up until the time after she was living with us, that would be at least a year.” 

“But how could the hermit have steadily connected to her mind, unless she unknowingly allowed him access?” answered Hanieh. “The hermit is certainly a suspect, but he could not have done this alone. I will contact Melkemind to have him investigate the hermit. The trial will not begin for several days, but I'm afraid that Shahzanan will be detained here until the first hearing.” 

Shahzanan turned away from Hanieh and pleaded with Rabi'a, “Auntie no! Don't let them keep me here.” 

“I do not think we have a choice, my love, but I will stay here with you.” 

Hanieh shook her head. “I don't believe they will allow you to stay the night, but you will have unlimited visitation rights during the day.” 

“Hanieh, how did you learn so much about trials?” asked Shahzanan. 

“I have done this before, many years ago, with Ahsan. She stood trial for a number of things, including blasphemy, which is punishable by death. Through our diligence, and divine grace, she was acquitted of all charges. I know we can do the same for you. Their case against you is much weaker than the case they had against her. She was defiant. You are humble and sweet. She was outspoken. You are calm and reserved. She was the excommunicated daughter of an Elder. You are the beloved only daughter of the Storyteller. Trust me, my dear, if it is within the presence of possibilities, we will be victorious. You will have your freedom.” 

As the afternoon settled into evening and that too gave way to night, Hanieh retired with Rabi'a to her apartment, while Asieh and Abbas were given a new private suite, on the same floor. Melkemind had arrived that evening and was given details of the hermit's possible involvement and instructions to investigate as carefully and as inconspicuously as possible. It was, however, quite difficult to go unnoticed with an inconceivably muscular winged courier named “Skytor” as his companion. 

They stood at the edge of the market, away from the city lights, under a cobblestone bridge, where a small stream trickled underneath, but not enough to get Melkemind's pants wet. Skytor wore traditional short pants with a white knee-length waist cloth, no shirt, and straps stretching up from his boots and wrapping around his legs to the knees. Unlike Mezentius, he had no cloak to hide his wings and made no attempt to be subtle about his courier status. Melkemind was fortunate to find the hiding spot under the bridge. Even though the market was closing, if people spotted the king of Qamariya with a winged courier, they would draw an enormous crowd from out of their houses. 

Skytor placed his hands, which were enormous, on his waist, which was tiny. “So, great King and noble warrior, what is our plan of action?” 

Melkemind sighed, having grown tired of asking Skytor not to call him King. “We must investigate the hermit. If he is guilty, I doubt we will find him still at his hut in Orisay, but it might be beneficial to return there to gather evidence. Unfortunately, I cannot go to Orisay without being noticed or possibly even captured by my old maid guardian, and you, well, there is no way you can be discreet.” 

“Then what are we to do, Your Highness?” 

“How fast can you get to Solistia?” 

Skytor flexed his giant arms, lifted his wings out to either side, and grinned, “If we leave tonight, we can be there before dawn, something no other courier could possibly accomplish.” 

Melkemind chuckled. “Very well.” 

The stars of the night sky were clearer than what Melkemind had become accustomed to, since the darkness started. As he rode his chariot, pulled by his mighty winged courier, with his head laid back against the soft satin pillow, for a moment, it felt as though everything was back to normal. He recalled the ease of life that he once had and suddenly desired to return to it. There was no doubt that being a king carried great responsibility, but it also held great honor and benefit. He held out his hand into the wind and felt as though his fingers were running through the clouds. 

Before long, the starlight started to blur, and the moon became an image of his dreams. Melkemind's eyes slowly closed, under the beauty of the night sky and the clear air of the open desert. 

THUMP! THUMP! “Your Highness, take cover!” Skytor called out, still flying through the air at full speed, with the sun just rising up over the horizon. Two arrows were stuck in his right wing, and Melkemind heard the thumping of more arrows hitting the bottom of his chariot. He carefully peeked over the edge to see five Tezentian horsemen speedily riding along, trying to keep up with the chariot. But they could not, and the injured Skytor rose higher into the air and increased his flight to unimaginable speeds. Melkemind gasped. The air was thin, and he had never in his life flown so high. 

“It will not be long now, Your Majesty.” 

Skytor reached over to his wing and yanked out the arrows, as if they were splinters, tossing them aside and momentarily shaking the chariot off balance. 

They began a rapid descent, as Melkemind tasted the clouds all around him, dazzled by the spectacle. The golden city still had some of its splendor, when one approached it at sunrise, despite the ash and ruins. Skytor glided to the ground, braking with the heels of his boots, and Melkemind's chariot bumped along the gravel and stone-littered ground. “This place is enormous,” complained Melkemind, “How will we ever find him?” 

Skytor smiled and patted the amateur detective on his back. “Fear not, young King. I spotted smoke rising from a building only minutes ago, obviously a sign of a wood-burning stove. Your friend is undoubtedly nearby.” 

“You know, Skytor, despite your insistence on referring to me as king, I'm actually starting to like you.” 

Skytor's wings perked up a little, and he pointed in the direction of a small building. “It was there.” 

Guarding the building was the ominous, scale-covered Yar, with achket blade in hand. “Perfect,” said Melkemind, as he carefully crawled out from behind the cover of another building and slipped over to Yar. 

With his back up against the wall of the building, he whispered around the corner, “Yar, psst! Yar.” 

Yar flipped his blade in his hand, preparing to defend himself, and quickly jumped around the corner, with his blade raised. He stopped within inches of Melkemind's neck. “Boy! What are you doing?” 

“Yar, I'm here for Fuad. We need to take him to Hydrodollin.” 

Yar lowered his blade and shook his head. “Fuad is currently detained, for fear that he will try to communicate with Shahzanan. The Storyteller considers him a danger to the mission until the trial is over.” 

Melkemind placed his hand on the side of Yar's arm. “You don't understand. Shahzanan has been manipulated by some evil force. She is innocent.” 

“I do not doubt her innocence, but that does not change the status of the boy. Releasing him could bring harm to you and him.” 

“Shahzanan is currently in jail, with a telepathic dampening brace around her neck. She is powerless. Don't worry. I will take care of Fuad. We will take care of Fuad,” Melkemind retorted, pointing to his buff courier. 

Yar's eyes scanned the city carefully, and then he cracked open the door to take a glimpse at Fuad. “The boy is asleep. Wake him quietly and leave from the direction in which you came. I will delay the news of his departure for as long as I can. Be safe.” 

He turned the handle of his blade towards Melkemind, gesturing to him to take it. 

“Yar...I cannot.” 

“There is no time to argue. By giving you this, I am obligating you to return it to me.” 

Melkemind smiled and took hold of the blade. It was light, but he could feel honor and power in it, as though it was somewhat organic. He slid it under his belt, saluted Yar, and crept into the house. He knelt over Fuad, who was sleeping rather peacefully. “Fuad,” he whispered, while tapping his shoulder. “Fuad...” 

Fuad's eyes slowly opened, although he did not believe what he was seeing. “Melkemind? Prince Melkemind?” 

“Who else?” Melkemind replied. 

“How did you get here?” 

“It's a long story. I have come for your assistance. You can help me rescue Shahzanan.” 

“Yeah right, Melkemind. What can I do?” 

Fuad rose to his feet and surprisingly found himself looking Melkemind directly in the eyes. “You shrank.” 

Melkemind smiled and rubbed Fuad's head. “No, you've grown. Anyway, I need your help. You can do plenty, but we haven't time to discuss it now.” 

“I should not go. The Storyteller wants me to stay here. I will only slow you down and possibly put you in danger.” 

“You still don't get it, do you?” 

“Get what?” 

“Fuad, this is all about you. It is you who are the Chosen One. You carry the secrets of the scrolls and the power to control these strange orbs inside of you, not me, not Shahzanan, not even the Storyteller. When we were younger, you always...knew people.” 

Fuad grimaced. “That's great, Melkemind. I think everyone knows people.” 

“Let me finish! You truly knew people, even when they concealed their true intentions. It was not just a connection with Shahzanan. You have a gift, Fuad. You can see into people's hearts. It is no wonder that the fate of the world has been entrusted with you. Now is the time to answer that call.” 

Fuad picked up his bag and flung it over his back. “Fine, but Miftah goes with us.” 

Melkemind's eyebrow raised. “What's a Miftah?” 

The flap of Fuad's backpack flipped open, and Miftah's head popped out. “You mean who is Miftah?” 

“Whoa! A talking rat? Fuad I...well, there's no time. Let's go.” 

As they walked out of the house, Yar patted Fuad on the back and gave him a thumbs up. “Wow, what did you tell my aquatic warden?” 

Melkemind laughed. “Let's just say, he owes me a favor.” 

“Greetings great Chosen One and furry little friend,” bellowed Skytor. 

Melkemind whispered, “Skytor, keep it down.” 

“Skytor?” asked Miftah, “You've got to be kidding me. He sounds like some type of superhero from some mythical land in a storybook.” 

“And what does a talking rat sound like?” Melkemind fired back. Skytor ignored Miftah's comment. “Buckle your safety harnesses, great travelers. Prepare for a trip into the balance of justice!” Miftah rolled his eyes. “Oh brother.” Fuad's eyes widened. “Balance of justice? Melkemind, that's it!” He leaned over to Melkemind's ear, just as their chariot lifted into the air. He whispered something even Miftah could not hear. Melkemind smiled and slapped Fuad on the back. “Yes! Now do you see why I need your help?” 

Miftah looked at Fuad and then at Melkemind. “Wait, what did I miss?” “Miftah,” announced Fuad, “we have a plan.” 

Seventeen



Drums of War






"All hail the Mightiest King of the Known World, the Monarch of the Ages, the Sultan of Sultans, the Commander of Men and Beasts, His Majesty, the Magnificent King Julius The Second, undisputed ruler of Orisay. Long live the king!" The announcer's voice echoed throughout the king's massive court, while tens of thousands of Orisay`i rose from their seats, and many thousands more filled the open-air courtyard. 

A prince arrived on a chariot drawn by three horses. A nobleman arrived on a throne, carried by four slaves, each holding an end of the wooden poles extending from it. Tezentian merchants poured into the area, striding the finest she-camels. Seven crown princes first emerged from behind the castle door and seated themselves on the thrones to either side of the king's, each one eying it with a degree of lust. The king himself came out rather humbly, with two advisors on either side. His robe was made of the finest silk. It was silver, with jewels highlighting the top and bottom, as well as the cuffs of his wrists. 

His crown was equally impressive, platinum, trimmed with solyra; it had eight points to it, with the front one being most prominent, and a “Z” engraved into it. He seated himself on the large red, jewel-covered throne, tapped his scepter on the floor, and the entire crowd chanted, “Long live the king! Long live the king!” 

The king, in a scratchy, aging voice called out, “All hail the High Priestess!” 

She was carried out by two men and sat into the remaining chair, just to the right of the king. Her body was incredibly brittle and thin. Her eyes were sunk into her head, and one might think she was not living at all, except that she raised her arm slightly towards the crowd, which chanted, “Long live the High Priestess!” 

The king coughed and then yelled to one of his guards, “Bring out the prisoners!” 

After several moments, a group of guards, all holding onto the chains of one man, came up from some steps out of an opening in the ground. He was a giant of a man, and they struggled to keep him under control, finally pushing him to the ground on his knees. 

Two more guards came up the steps from the hole in the ground and tossed a small young man onto the ground next to the giant. His eyes were darkened and his face had streaks of dried blood under his lip and nose. 

One of the king's advisors pointed to a noble-looking man in a black robe with a white curly wig on his head. “Read the charges!” 

The robed man eloquently exclaimed, “The royal court of the High Priestess and the Mighty King Julius hereby accuse these two foreigners of the following charges: Espionage, Theft, Sorcery, and Murder. The two individuals here before you are the accused. Their alleged names, Melkemind, former prince of Qamariya and Skytor, winged courier of the Sama`an army. If found guilty, the sentence will be death!” 

The crowd grew silent, as if feeling a sudden pity for the two who knelt before them, but then they erupted into a roar of cheers and chants. A guard ran to a wooden wheel on the wall of the castle and, with all of his strength, barely turned it. Another guard rushed to assist him, and slowly issuing forth from the wall, was a large wooden awning that covered the king and his court from the sun. Another guard came from within the castle and hung a cage on a hook, at the end of the awning, near a seat to the left of the king that was still empty. Inside of the cage was a sleeping red bird with streaks of orange and white feathers. 

The guards and royalty all started tapping and pounding their feet, staffs, and whatever else they could find to a melodic and foreboding beat. As they did, two guards flung open double doors leading into the castle. There, dressed in a vizier's robe, a long hooded black garment made of camel hair, was Fuad. He walked down onto the throne ledge, never looking up at the two accused. Then, he stood in front of the chair to the left of the king, and the crowd chanted, “Long live the Chosen One! Long live the Chosen One!” 

Fuad seated himself and the crowd fell silent. The magistrate with the black robe and white wig stood before Melkemind and Skytor and spoke so that all could hear him, “You have been accused of the charges mentioned. Do you wish to defend yourselves?” 

“Yes,” replied Melkemind. 

“Then, speak your claims, boy.” 

Melkemind looked to the guards on the right and left. They released his chains and helped him to his feet. He looked to Fuad, seated in his regal chair, but Fuad did not seem to notice him. He then turned to the crowd, with all eyes on him, awaiting his discourse. “People of Orisay, we are here because what you have been told is not as things truly are.” 

The crowed booed him viciously and a few people even called for him to be executed. But the king pounded his scepter against the throne and yelled out, “Silence! Let the boy speak!” 

Melkemind continued, “People of Orisay, you have been deceived by one of your own.” 

The magistrate interrupted him, “Boy, we have eye witnesses who saw you lead a battle against our army at what has come to be known as the field of lost souls, may they all rest in peace. You used the Orb of Reflection, which is the orb of your ancestors, to destroy our entire army, after they had surrendered. You murdered thousands of people!” 

“No,” argued Melkemind, who looked around at the crowd, trying to gauge their mood. “People, hear me out. Magistrate, do you have any witnesses who actually saw me use the orb?” 

The magistrate held up a silver rod with glasses attached to it and unraveled a scroll he had in his pocket. He looked through it for several moments before raising his head, lowering his glasses, looking Melkemind directly in the eyes, and saying, “No.” 

The crowd gasped. Melkemind went on, “So, then there is no actual proof that I am the one who used the orb. After the Orisay`i army had surrendered, someone from the rear of your army, undoubtedly one of your betrayers, fired an arrow. At first, I figured it to be an arrow of dissent, but now I realize that it was a distraction.” 

“A distraction from what?” begged the king. 

The magistrate looked at the normally paranoid and suspicious king, surprised that he was showing interest. 

“A distraction,” Melkemind said, “from the Kelteryan wizard that was approaching me.” 

The magistrate shook his head disapprovingly, “Be careful, boy. Are you suggesting that the Kelteryans are behind this? If so, this will undoubtedly start a war. Are you sure?” 

“No, I do not believe it was the Kelteryan government...at least not all of it. I had been entrusted with a Kelteryan sword that, much to my chagrin, was actually a mind control device. It was enchanted, and at the exact necessary moment, it rendered me unconscious. The wizard, who pretended to be hurt and unable to walk, seized the orb and used it to destroy the Orisay`i army and the Tezentians. I now have reason to believe that certain dignitaries among all of the kingdoms have secretly plotted together to bring about the chaos and destruction of the past few years. 

“Take for example,” Melkemind continued, “the one named General Jaha. He was excommunicated from your kingdom, no?” 

“Yes,” announced the magistrate, “but he repented and reformed his evil ways.” 

“Did he or did he want you to believe that? He was accused of practicing dark magic, of calling on the Unnamed One, and of plotting to overthrow the king. The first time he tried his military coup, it was unsuccessful. He then realized that he needed to have help from the inside, that his plan could not work if he appeared to be the enemy. He received his help, in greater numbers than he could have ever imagined. People of Orisay, the princes that you see seated before you are all in league with General Jaha. They secretly schemed to overthrow their own father and then fight each other for the throne.” 

One of the princes rose from his seat, “Outrageous. Guards take this slanderer away!”

“No,” insisted the king, “let the boy continue.” 

The prince, who wore all black knickers, tall black boots, and an equally black shirt with a waist-length cloak, fiddled with his thin mustache, glared at his father, and returned to his seat. 

Melkemind stepped closer to the princes, “You knew of your father's paranoia, so you did everything in your power to feed it, not in suspicion of you, but of everyone else. You convinced your father that conquering Qamariya was the only way to secure the Known World from the impeding darkness and save his people. He was in shock when my father, the king, agreed to an alliance, despite being at an obvious disadvantage of having the paranoid-driven Orisay`i army occupying his land. The truth was that my father and his General Xerxes were part of Jaha's own personal alliance. They setup all of the battles to end in their favor and even made secret alliances with certain traitors among the Jabalians. Two of them, named Aneelio and Roderick, became Jaha's right-hand-men. Our allies captured Aneelio and turned him into your police early yesterday evening. If you check your records, Magistrate, you will see that this is correct.” 

The magistrate again examined the document and then replied enthusiastically, “Yes, he is correct!” 

Melkemind could sense the awe in the crowd and smiled a little, feeling as though he was winning their favor. 

The prince in black stood and stepped down from the royal ledge, much to the shock of the crowd, for doing so was unthinkable. He announced himself, “I am Prince Titus, the heir apparent to the throne of Orisay. I am also a capable wizard, with telepathic abilities. I can assure you that this boy is lying. His own sister is the one who has betrayed us all. She is currently in Hydrodollin, one of our allies, standing trial for her betrayal. She deceived the Chosen One and led him to believe that he was being guided, while all along she was leading him into one trap after another. She is a dark witch, working for Jaha and his coalition of evil.” 

The king rose from his throne. “Are you suggesting that you knew of General Jaha's deceit and yet did not inform me?” 

“Father, if we had, we feared he would use his evil against you. We kept this from you to protect you, but I can assure you that we are not his supporters. We are loyal to the throne...to you, Father.” 

The magistrate signaled to a guard who opened the door to the underground dungeon. He went down the steps into the darkness. The magistrate summoned, “Aneelio of Jabali, come forth and testify before this court.” 

The guard pulled out the lizard-like boy, who crawled up the steps on all fours, but then rose to his feet and turned from red to green, bringing comments from the crowd. The king tapped his scepter against the throne again, and the crowd fell silent. 

“Aneelio, is this boy, Melkemind, your ally?” 

“I have never met him before in my life.” 

“And this prince, Titus, do you know him?” 

“I have never met him, either.” 

“Who did you work for when you imprisoned the Chosen One and stole the Orb of Eternity?” 

“I worked for General Jaha, as did my brother.” 

Aneelio burst into tears and did not continue. 

“And who is Jaha's master, Aneelio?” the magistrate asked. 

“I do not know. Even when I met him, I did not recognize him. He stood in the dark, covered from our view. All I can say is that he was a short...extremely short, bearded man. I wish I knew more, but I do not. I am sorry for what I've done. They made promises to us that they did not fulfill. My parents were very sick. He promised to save them, but he lied. My parents are dead and now so is my brother. I have nothing left. You can kill me if you wish.” 

The magistrate gave another signal to the guard, who walked Aneelio back into the dungeon. “Thank you, Aneelio,” he said, “your testimony will be noted on your trial record. Your Highness, this only leads us to more questions. The royal court has been accused of deceit, while little evidence has been corroborated to support those claims. Likewise, very little evidence has been presented to suggest that Melkemind or his friend Skytor have committed the crimes for which they have been accused. My suggestion to the court is to apprehend General Ja...” 

The magistrate paused at that word. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell to the ground. People screamed and ran in every direction. Melkemind scanned the crowd with his eyes, looking for someone who might have shot something at the magistrate, still shaking on the ground. Everyone was in a panic, except the priestess. She was still sitting, staring intensely. Melkemind pointed to her. “It is the priestess! Someone stop her!” 

Titus glared at her. She shrieked and waved her hand towards him, causing him to fly into the air and slam against the wall. She slowly stood from her seat and spat on the king, who was hiding behind his throne. Arrows started to fly in from outside of the courtyard, indiscriminately hitting anyone caught in their path. She stepped down from the ledge and crept closer to Melkmind and the magistrate, but Titus shook off his fall and jumped to his feet. He extended his hand and called out in Orisay`i, sending a lightning bolt from his fingertips across the court and into the priestess. She cried out in agony as her hair sizzled, and she caught fire. 

“Now, Skytor!” Melkemind yelled. 

Skytor effortlessly broke free of his chains and ran towards the other princes, who were still standing on the ledge. They attacked him, each carrying a sword. Skytor, with no weapons at all, tossed the princes about, smashing them with his fists. They flew in all directions, like children trying to fight a giant. 

The priestess started to spin, slowly at first, but then picking up speed until she became a blur. The fire went out, and she stopped, turning her attention to Titus, who was panting from the exhaustive power-draining lightning. Skytor knocked the last prince to the ground, picked up his sword, and tossed it to Melkemind. He picked up another and handed it to Fuad. 

Titus fell to the ground, as the priestess stood over him, pushing her hands together in the air, crushing him without even laying a hand on him. Melkemind dashed after her, sword extended. The wall of the courtyard crumbled, and the Orisay`i army, led by General Jaha, marched over the rubble, cutting down any of the innocent people still running for cover. “Melkemind!” Jaha called out to him. 

This distracted the priestess from Titus, just as Melkemind sent his sword into her back. She screamed, “Jaha! Save me!” 

A small bit of red light glowed from the wound, and Melkemind pulled out his sword, causing red light to surround her. Soon, the light consumed the priestess until it spun into a sphere, which compacted itself and vanished into nothingness. 

“Skytor!” Melkemind exclaimed, as he and Fuad ran quickly to him. 

“Take Titus and the magistrate to Hydrodollin. They will testify to what has happened here in Shahzanan's trial.” 

“And what about us?” asked Fuad. 

“There is one piece of evidence still missing that we must find in order to prove her innocence. Meet us back at the capital, Skytor. We will be there in five hours.” 

“As you wish, Your Highness...but please, be careful.” 

Skytor grabbed each man in either arm and lifted up into the sky, dodging arrows as he ascended. Melkemind glanced at Fuad. “Are you ready for this?” 

“Ready for what? To fight? No, and I do not think we should stay here. Remember what Jaha did to you last time?” 

Melkemind laughed. “I wasn't talking about fighting. I was talking about running!” 

He zipped through the door of the underground dungeon and down the steps. Fuad ran after him. “Hey, wait for me!” 

The steps of the dungeon were solid stone, but were clean, and the walls of the dungeon were equally spotless, nothing like the horrid place in which Fuad had been trapped in Ardramo. In the first cell, closest to the steps, Aneelio ran to the door, wrapping his fingers around the bars. “Fuad, please, don't leave me in here. Jaha will kill me.” 

Melkemind stopped when he no longer heard Fuad's footsteps behind him. “Fuad, come on! We don't have time for this.” 

Fuad looked into Aneelio's saddened eyes. “I can't just leave him in here.” 

“He tried to killed you,” Melkemind argued. “He could very well do it again.” 

“He could have killed me, but he never did. I'm not saying I trust him, Melkemind, but we can't leave him here to die. We'd be no better than he is.” 

Aneelio pointed to the wall. “That first red button over there. It opens my cell.” 

Fuad ran to it, pushing it quickly, and the door cracked open. Aneelio rushed out and galloped ahead of them on all fours. “Quickly, I know a way out of here!” 

Melkemind shrugged his shoulders and ran after him, with Fuad trailing behind. Aneelio turned through several corridors, bouncing off of one of the walls in order to make the turn, and the two boys struggled to keep up with him. Finally, they came to a dimly lit room with a ladder in the middle, leading up to a grate. Aneelio stood onto two legs and pointed to it. “Up there is an alley behind the courtyard. We can escape unnoticed from there. He climbed up the ladder with ease, barely using the rungs at all, pushed open the grate, and slithered through the small hole. 

Fuad climbed up next. When he reached the top and stuck out his head, he did not see Aneelio, but he felt him lift him up from behind out of the hole. “Thank you.” 

“It is the least I could do,” replied Aneelio. “I owe you my life and am indebted to you until I die.” 

Melkemind made his way out of the hole and gingerly climbed to his feet. 

“That is not necessary,” Fuad answered. “I would have done it for anyone.” 

Melkemind cleared his throat. “Well, not to interrupt this touching moment, but we should get out of here. The hermit's old house is just to the south of here, near the Qamariyan border. I suspect we will find our answers there.” 

Aneelio crept over the edge of the alleyway. “This is where we part, my friends. And thank you, Fuad, for my freedom.” 

He ran into the street and disappeared into the trees on the opposite side. A horse-drawn wagon filled with hay was approaching. Fuad pulled off his vizier's cloak and stepped out in front of it, and the driver halted the horse quickly. “Hey boy, you should be more careful! I nearly ran you over, right here in the middle of town.” 

“Sir, you wouldn't happen to be headed to Qamariya with that hay, would you?” 

“Why, actually, I am. Do you need a lift?” 

Melkemind slipped around the back of the wagon and crawled underneath the hay. He still had prisoner's clothing on and could not afford to be seen. 

Fuad smiled. “Yes, sir, we...I do.” 

“Hop on!” 

Fuad climbed up onto the seat next to the man, and they rode off slowly at first, but when the man heard explosions inside of the courtyard, he drove the horse to go faster. “What's going on in there? Do you know?” 

Fuad wasn't sure if he should answer but decided to be honest. “A general of the Orisay`i army is trying to overthrow the king. I'm afraid Orisay might be headed towards civil war.” 

“Is the king safe?” 

“I'm sure he is. He was taken away by guards very quickly, and he always has an exit plan, just in case some calamity like this were to occur.” 

“That is true,” laughed the man. “He is always prepared for disaster.” 

Hours passed while they rode through the countryside along a dirt path, with nothing but open green fields around them. Fuad had not realized how beautiful Orisay was when his father took him there as a child. There were hills of green grass, scattered with giant trees that had to be hundreds of years old. The air was refreshing and cool, but not cold, and the road was smooth enough for Melkemind to not get a headache from lying in the back of the wooden-wheeled wagon. 

They came upon a small shed, near a sharp turn in the road. It sat several paces away from the road, so as to suggest that visitors were not welcomed. “This is my destination,” announced Fuad. 

The man slowed the horse to a halt and squinted his eyes at the tiny shed. “No offense, but you live in that old dingy shack?” 

“No, I'm visiting someone. I just want to make sure he is okay.” 

Melkemind took several moments to get the hay off of him and then rolled out of the back of the wagon and ran off into the tall, uncut grass, where he dove onto the ground. 

“Well, okay,” the man relented, “If you're fine with being here, I'm fine with leaving you here. But I do wish you the best.” 

“Thank you, Mr...” 

“Elliot...J.P. Elliot. I'm actually from Qamariya, just doing some trading with the Orisay`i.” 

“Hasn't it been dangerous since the rebellion?” 

“Not really,” Mr. Elliot assured. “The Orisay`i have generally been respectful and kind. They admire Qamariya very much. Anyway, I must get moving. It was a pleasure meeting you...” 

“Fuad of Cor,” he announced confidently, climbing down from the wagon. 

“Fuad of Cor? Where have I heard that name before?” 

Fuad smiled. “It's quite common in Cor. Perhaps someone you know.” 

“Perhaps,” Elliot said suspiciously. “Take care.” 

He tipped the brim of his straw hat towards Fuad and yelled out a single, “yah!” to signal his horse into motion. Fuad waved, as the man gradually disappeared over the next hill. 

“Fuad, check this out!” Melkemind called. 

He stepped precariously through the waist high grass, as though he were wading through a pond, until he reached the back of the shed where Melkemind was standing over a small, darkened pit in the ground. It was about a hand's length deep and only as wide as a dinner plate. Fuad reached down and felt some of the black soot with his fingers and then smelled it. “A peculiar odor. I would say this is evidence of some kind of ritual, although I cannot say what.” 

“I bet we can find answers in there,” Melkmemind suggested, pointing to a door on the ground, leading into the basement of the house. “Although I've certainly had my fill of underground dungeons. Which reminds me, Fuad, next time you have a plan, it would be nice if it did not include me purposely getting captured by an enemy army, imprisoned, tortured, and standing trial.” 

Fuad smirked. “Hey, it worked, didn't it?” 

He grabbed the iron ring, which was bolted to the wooden door, and pulled upward until the door snapped open, as though it had not been opened for several weeks. There were only six steps leading down into the shallow basement. It was as dark as a moonless night, and Fuad could not find a lamp. But Miftah, who had been sleeping throughout all the commotion, popped out of Fuad's backpack and handed Melkemind Yar's achket blade. 

“Why give this to me now?” Melkemind asked. 

Miftah wiped his eyes. “Just think light.” 

Suddenly, the blade began to glow in Melkemind's hand, and dust fell from the ceiling. “Um, Fuad.” 

Melkemind shined the light up at the ceiling, where shadow crawlers scurried away from it, into the dark corners. He moved the light to the walls and saw more of them slithering about the room. He moved the light towards the floor, and one of them jumped back from his feet. Melkemind jumped back as well and then started up the steps. 

Fuad grabbed his arm. “Do not be alarmed. They cannot hurt you. Their powers have no effect in this world.” 

“This world?” asked Melkemind. 

“They are shadow crawlers, from the Unknown World. I first saw them in Ardramo, where I found the Orb of Eternity. They were lustfully attracted to it, but could not touch it. Something here must have sparked their interest as well.” 

Melkemind continuously moved the light to keep the creatures from getting too close to him. “I'd say they're interested in the unspeakable evil of this hermit fellow.” 

Miftah climbed back into Fuad's backpack. “This is a little too creepy for me. Let me know when we're back in the Known World. 

“That's it!” Fuad declared. 

“What's it?” asked Melkemind. 

“In order to manipulate Shahzanan's mind into betraying us, the hermit would have needed at least a year, right?” 

“Right, that's the problem. She was only here a day.” 

“In this world she was here a day, but what if she wasn't in this world?” 

“But how could that be, Fuad? The only entrance to the Unknown World is through the Gate of Balkh.” 

Fuad raised his finger. “The only entrance that we know of, but we can't exclude the possibility that he took her there.” 

“Even if he did, so what?” 

“Listen, the Storyteller once mentioned that time goes much faster in the Unknown World. What is only a day here could be years there.” 

Miftah popped his head out of the backpack. “I'm no supernatural expert, but I believe that, with the right mixture of chemicals and some really freaky mind stuff, it's possible to phase shift into the Unknown World. After all, those who have the power of teleportation actually move through a rift in this world into the Unknown World and then reenter at a different point, all in the blink of an eye.” 

“A blink of an eye to us,” added Melkemind, “but when they travel to the Unknown, it could take them weeks to reach their destination, only to arrive back in this world in what seems like a minute.” 

“Actually,” Miftah disputed, “a minute here would be a little over six hours in the Unknown World.” 

Melkemind flicked Miftah's head with his fingers. “Whatever, rat-boy. The point is that it would be longer for them. I think Fuad's right.” 

Fuad felt his bare chin, as though he were the Storyteller stroking his beard. “But how do we prove it? How did the hermit do it?” 

Miftah rubbed his own furry chin. “How did the Kelteryans do it when they vanished from the battlefield?” 

“Well,” answered Melkemind, “I presume they used the Orb of Reflection.” 

Fuad added, “And the hermit is probably the one who controls the Orb of Eternity. He ordered it to trap Ahsan. That means it would have been under his control when Shahzanan was here. He could have used it to phase shift her into the Unknown World.” 

Miftah shook his head in disgust. “And a year under the influence of the Unnamed One, himself, would be enough to brainwash even the strongest mystic, let alone a young girl who had not been trained. Look around for anything we can use to prove this: books, notes, medallions, potions, heck, even his pipe if he has one.” 

Fuad rummaged through the dingy shelves. Most of the books were philosophical, mystical, or filled with stories, many of which the Storyteller had told to the children of Cor. On the top shelf was a small tattered book that he removed carefully. He blew the dust off of it and wiped it with his hand. The cover had no words, only a small Z in the middle. Fuad opened it, but the words were in a foreign script that he did not understand. “I've seen this writing before,” he concluded. “Yes, I'm sure now. I saw this writing in the pyramid at Solistia. This is ancient Tezentian. Nestor can read this.” 

“The dervish?” asked Melkemind. “So, he finally sobered up?” 

“Yes, but now he is in Kelterya with Za'adiyah, the so-called Chosen One.” 

“Whoa, wait a second. Slow down here. Apparently I did a little too much talking on our chariot ride. You obviously have a lot of explaining to do.” 

“Don't you see? It's all here.” 

Fuad turned the book around and showed Melkemind a picture of the Gate of Balkh. Another page had a picture of the five orbs, and another had a picture of the double-bladed Kelteryan sword that Melkemind had used in battle. 

Fuad flipped through more pages but then stopped, standing motionless and staring at Melkemind. “What was that?” 

“What?” 

A door in the house above them creaked open and then shut abruptly. “That,” whispered Fuad. 

He closed the book and stuffed it into his backpack, snugly against Miftah. “We have to get out of here, now” 

Fuad and Melkemind huddled closely together, as they crept slowly up the six steps to the door. Miftah ducked under the flap of Fuad's bag and shivered. The steps were old and wooden, and as they approached the last step and Fuad lowered his foot, it creaked loudly. “Go!” yelled Melkemind, pushing Fuad out of the door. 

They rapidly climbed out of the door and closed it behind them. Night had fallen, more quickly than they had anticipated, and it was before the new moon, the darkest of nights. “Follow me!” whispered Melkemind. 

They ran through the grass onto the dirt road, and Fuad looked back to the house to see a shadowy figure chasing after them. They ran as fast as they could, but the figure grew closer with every stride. Fuad's heart raced ahead of him, thumping so hard that he could barely stand the sound, until a hand reached out and grabbed him. “Chosen One! Your Highness! Why are you running from me?” 

“Skytor?” Melkemind asked, stopping and stepping closer to the cloaked courier. “What's with the dark spooky clothes?” 

Skytor looked at himself, as though he had forgotten what he was wearing. “Oh these? I figured it might help to wear a disguise. I apologize for startling you. I waited for you in the capital circle of this city, but when the scheduled time for your arrival passed, I decided to search for you.” 

“But we were not gone for that long,” Melkemind insisted. 

“Unless...” Fuad and Melkemind both said in unison. 

They both looked at each other and then back at the shed. Miftah popped his head out of the backpack and also stared at the shed. Skytor glanced at the shed and then back at Melkemind. “Um, unless what?” 

Fuad responded, “The basement underneath that shed is not really a basement at all...” 

Skytor folded his arms. “What is it, a crawlspace?” 

“No, it is a gateway into the Unknown World. We were only in that basement for a few minutes, but several hours passed by in this world.” 

“This is bad, very bad,” warned Miftah. “If there is more than one gateway into the Known World, and this one is open, anything can come through it.” 

No sooner had Miftah spoken his words, when the roof of the shed blew off into the sky and shattered into thousands of pieces. A gush of wind poured onto them, knocking them to the ground, and then red light ejected hundreds of cubits into the sky. A dark cloud formed above it, rotating as though it were sucking the red light from the inside of the shed. The four of them took cover behind some bushes, but continued to watch the shed in awe. “I just want to emphasize,” Miftah uttered frighteningly, “I had nothing to do with that.” 

From the top of the house, a claw, covered with scales, draped over the edge, and then a lizard, about the size of Fuad, crawled out and slithered onto the ground. Several more identical lizards emerged, each following the first. They moved quickly, as though scavenging for something they had lost. After they had crawled off over the hills, a two-headed wolf jumped out of the house, blown by the steady stream of wind gushing out of the opening. It howled proudly and led the way for at least thirteen more wolves like it, if Fuad counted correctly. 

Fuad shivered at the thought of what would come out next, and then his suspicions were confirmed when a chimera, snarling and hissing, climbed out of the opening. The lion head sniffed, as though it had detected them, but did not move towards them. Instead, it bade twenty other chimeras to come out of the opening, and all of them ran off towards Qamariya. Bats flew out of the opening in droves, and even spiders and snakes were seen crawling through the shattered windows of the house. 

“Do you feel that?” asked Miftah. 

The ground trembled beneath them. They could feel the steady increase, as the tremble turned into a rumble, and the rumble gave way to quaking. A crack began to form on the ground in front of the house, seeping more red light, and then the crack widened into a rift and pulled apart the ground like a melon being ripped in half. The house crumbled completely, as an enormous claw raised up from inside of it and then slammed down on the ground. The rift split wide open, and a creature, ten times the size of the house crawled out of the red glowing rift. It had talons like a bird, but was covered in scales like a lizard. Its head was shaped like a dog's, with a large snout. 

As saliva oozed from its canine teeth, which extended out of its mouth, it dripped onto the ground and set fire to whatever it touched. Fuad stood completely in shock, but unmindful of the possibility of being seen by the creature. “Unbelievable. A dragon. A real dragon, standing in front of us.” 

Melkemind grabbed Fuad's tunic and pulled him down to his knees. “Are you crazy? That thing could swallow us without even chewing!” 

The dragon looked from side to side, as though trying to determine which way to go. Finally, it let out a hideous roar that sounded as though three or four different creatures were screaming at once. It perched itself up onto its hind legs and opened up wings made of thin skin that were hidden behind its back. It flapped once, which was enough wind to send Fuad and the others flying several paces back. Then the dragon flapped several times, slowly lifting into the air. It roared again, surveying the ground beneath it and then flew off into the darkness of night. 

Melkemind shook his head. “Miftah's right. This is bad. We can't fight that thing.” 

“Wait, look!” said Miftah, pointing to the rift. 

Creatures shaped like men began to crawl out of the rift, carrying maces, flails, swords, clubs, and bows. They were exceedingly muscular, light green in color, and seemed to glisten with the same type of slime as the sordes that had guarded Fuad in the Ardramo prison. The faces of these creatures, however, were much more grotesque. They had very little meat on their facial bones, so that they looked almost like skulls, and their teeth were more carnivorous looking than those of men. Spiny bones extended from their forearms, shoulders, and backs, as though they had natural armor. Each wore only a tight black suit that covered their legs to the knees. They hunched severely, almost to the point of being apes, but they did walk on two legs. 

They grunted, gurgled, and growled, as they climbed out of the rift by the hundreds, all headed in the same direction as the other creatures, towards Qamariya. Melkemind looked at Fuad's bewildered face. “Have you any idea what these creatures are?” 

Fuad stared at the creatures, still crawling and jumping out of the rift, forming a line that extended as far as the eye could see, and marching like an army, in rows of four. He seemed to be in a daze, watching the creatures attentively. 

“Fuad!” shouted Melkemind, pushing the side of Fuad's head. 

Fuad glanced over at Melkemind, but then turned his sight back to the rift. “Yes. Yes, I have heard of them. They are the children of the Unnamed One, but this is not...they should not be here! This cannot happen!” 

“Fuad, none of those creatures should be here, but they are. What are we going to do?” 

Fuad stared at Melkemind intensely. “What are we going to do? You ask me as though I'm supposed to know!” 

The last of the beasts had marched out of sight, and Melkemind stood. “You are the Chosen One. Use your powers or something.” 

Fuad still knelt on the ground. “I have no powers, Melkemind. I'm not even sure if I'm the real Chosen One. There is another, and there have been many before me. The Storyteller himself failed as the Chosen One, many years ago.” 

“What?” Melkemind stepped closer to Fuad. “So, this is all a guessing game?” 

“Well, not so much anymore. We now know that either Za'adiyah or myself truly is the Chosen One, but we do not know which one.” 

Miftah climbed out of the bag, placed his hands on his hips and scolded the two of them. “Look at you two, whining over who might be the Chosen One. Fuad, it is you, end of story. But even if it's not you, we still have to finish what we've started. We can't do anything about those creatures for now.” 

“But then Qamariya...” Melkemind pleaded. 

Miftah placed his paw on Melkemind's shin. “We will save Qamariya as soon as we can. Now, we must free Shahzanan, the only one who might have the power to stop those creatures. Then, we must get the Orb of Light from the City of Man and the Orb of Destiny from the Circle of Elders. Then, we go to Kelterya and get the Orb of Reflection, if Za'adiyah hasn't already retrieved it. Finally, we find the hermit and take back the Orb of Eternity from him, and then free Ahsan.” 

“And how do you suppose we do all of that?” begged Melkemind. 

“That is why we need Shahzanan. If the hermit had the power to do all that she did, he would not have needed her. Obviously, she is more powerful even than he. She must complete her training and then fight him. Then, we will find the Orb of Mercy and the keepers of the Golden Scrolls. I, being the key, will unlock the mysteries, which Fuad will interpret and use his new-found knowledge to defeat this evil, once and for all.” 

“Amazing!” added Skytor. “You have it all planned.” 

“It is not my plan,” answered Miftah. “It is so written in the prophecy...a prophecy which must be fulfilled.” 

“And when that beastly army attacks us and tries to stop us?” 

Melkemind inquired. 

Miftah stood proudly and glanced at the three of them, like a general giving orders. “The drums of war have been sounded. We will answer that call. If it is a war General Jaha wants, we will give it to him.” 

Eighteen



The Orb of Light






Steam rose from a pot and lingered in the kitchen. Bubbles danced along the top of the boiling water, as the fire underneath the pot, although small, raged fiercely, like a forest blaze. Hanieh took some mint leaves from a pouch and placed them into a sieve. She then seated the sieve snugly onto the pot so that the leaves soaked in the water. The aroma of mint in the air was immediate, and Rabi'a was drawn away from her spot by the window for the first time. She wrapped her wool robe around her and tied it at the waist, stepped into her slippers, and wandered into the kitchen, where she saw Hanieh standing over the stove, preparing breakfast. 

“Top of the morning,” Hanieh greeted her cheerfully. 

“Likewise,” replied Rabi'a, with not quite the same enthusiasm. “I will go again to see Shahzanan this morning.” 

“You have been every day for the past two weeks. You truly love her like a daughter, don't you?” 

“She is my daughter, Hanieh. We are the only family she has.” 

Hanieh pulled the pot away from the fire. “What of her parents? Do you know who they are?” 

Rabi'a seated herself on the floor in front of a small table. “No, but I suspect that Mustafa knew her parents.” 

“Yet you've never asked him to tell you who they are?” 

“My husband has lived hundreds of years and countless other lives before we met. I do not bother him with his past, and I know that certain...aspects of his past would not be to my liking. It is better not to know.” 

Hanieh poured some of the fresh mint tea into a small cup with no handles and placed it in front of Rabi'a. “Look, I know what you think, but I can assure you that...” 

“Save it,” Rabi'a interrupted, dropping a cube of sugar into her cup. “What you tell me would not bring me any comfort. I do not want my husband two hundred years ago. I want him now.” 

Hanieh placed her hand on Rabi'a's shoulder. “He will return to you. I pray for his safety everyday.” 

Rabi'a gently moved her hand onto Hanieh's. “Thank you. I should be leaving now.” 

She stood from her seat, without waiting for breakfast, but as she did, someone knocked on the door. “It is just past dawn. Who could that be?” 

A muffled voice yelled through the door, “It is me, Murid!” 

Rabi'a rushed to the door, unlatched several bolts and chains and then opened it. “Greetings, Murid. Please, come in.” “There is no time for that, I'm afraid. The Circle of Elders sense an urgency. They have moved up the start date for the trial.” 

“What are you saying, Murid?” 

“The trial begins today, in one hour.” 

“What?” 

Hanieh rushed to the door. “Why are they doing this?” 

Murid looked around and then stepped inside. “I am not to tell this to anyone, so I trust you will not either.” 

Hanieh grimaced. “Um...” 

Murid continued, “Well, I have to tell at least you! Surely that's what they meant. Anyway, the Elders meditated intensely last night. 

As you know, they perform mental battles every night. People of Cor have long believed that those battles were against the Kelteryan Triumvirate.” 

“Everyone knows this,” Hanieh said urgently. “What is your point?” 

“Well,” continued Murid, “there is now evidence to suggest that someone else, perhaps more powerful than the Triumvirate, is actually behind these attacks. For a moment, during their meditative battle, the attackers relented, and the Triumvirate contacted the Circle. They spoke of urgency and mentioned that they had entrusted the Orb of Eternity with the Chosen One.” 

“With Fuad?” asked Rabi'a. 

“Uh, no, with their Chosen One...no time to explain. They said that the orbs must be united with the Chosen One soon, because they detected a new opening to the Unknown World.” 

Hanieh's eyes widened. “An opening? Is that possible?” 

“Apparently it is, and evil is spewing out of it like a hole in a Tezentian melon.” 

Rabi'a rolled her eyes, “There's no such thing as a Tezentian melon. Now tell me...What does this mean for Shahzanan?” 

Murid nodded, “Of course, sorry. Shahzanan is a very powerful apprentice, and they know that she can defeat whoever is behind these telepathic attacks...that is, if she wasn't working for them. So, they are hoping to prove her innocence as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the Circle is not united in this desire. There are two of them who will work diligently to prove her guilt.” 

Hanieh leaned her head against the wall sorrowfully. “We need Melkemind here. Without his evidence, we have no case.” 

“Oh yes. I knew I forgot something,” Murid said, hitting himself on the side of the head. “The prince arrived this morning, with the Chosen One.” 

“The Kelteryan Chosen One?” asked Rabi'a. 

“No, with Fuad.” 

“What?” Hanieh and Rabi'a both said in unison. 

Hanieh grabbed Murid's small shoulders and shook him. “Where is he?” 

“He is in his parents' apartment, undoubtedly sleeping, on account of his long journey. 

Rabi'a ran into her bedroom. “Let me get dressed, I'll be there in a moment!” 

Hanieh looked down at her gown and then back at Murid. He smiled shyly, and she slapped him. “Ow! What was that for?” he asked. 

“You let me stand in front of you, at the door, in a night gown!” 

She ran into her own bedroom and threw on the first clothes she found, wrapping a shawl over her and sliding on some high-heeled sandals. She grabbed a notebook from the drawer next to her bed and slid several silver bracelets onto her wrists. 

Rabi'a pulled a loose fitting black dress over her, wrapped a black scarf over her head, and slipped on some flat black shoes. 

They both rushed out of their rooms at the same time and stood in the hallway, critiquing each other's clothing. 

“We are not going to a funeral, Rabi'a.” 

Rabi'a folded her arms. “Nor are we going to a dance club.” 

Hanieh opened her mouth in shock and then folded her own arms. “What? This old thing? I just threw it on.” 

“And yet somehow,” snapped Rabi'a, “it still looks a little inviting.” 

Murid looked back and forth as they continued, unable to get a word in for himself. 

Hanieh stepped closer to her. “You mean alive? Should I dress in all black like I'm going to cast spells and eat little children?” 

Rabi'a glared at Hanieh. “Yesterday, I gave Shahzanan the same style clothes as mine. So, if you don't want to look like an oddity, you should try to coordinate.” 

Hanieh sighed. “Rabi'a, nothing happened between us. I mean, there was never anything between Mustafa and me.” 

Rabi'a paused staring at Hanieh and then placed her hands on her hips, “I never said there was!” 

“But you thought it. People have always thought it. That is why we separated for many years, to curtail people's suspicions. We were partners in scholarship and good friends, but people always accused us of having more.” 

“Hanieh, I'm sorry. I...” 

“You reacted the way any wife would, and I apologize. I just wish you would have asked me.” 

A tear trickled down Rabi'a's face, “I was afraid of what you would say.” 

The two both burst into tears and embraced. Murid's eyebrows raised, as he stood there, unsure what to say. “Erm, I'll wait outside.” 

“No, no,” insisted Hanieh, wiping the wetness from her face. “We're fine. We just needed a little...closure. Let's go.” 

The two of them followed behind Murid, who led them out of the apartment and down the hallway to the apartment of Fuad's parents. He knocked thrice on the door, and after several moments, Abbas opened it and greeted them. “It is quite a surprise to see you three so early.” 

Murid shook Abbas's hand and explained, “The trial is starting today, earlier than we expected. We are here to see if Fuad would like to come with us.” 

Fuad's mother, Asieh, came to the door. “He left this morning to visit Shahzanan at the prison.” 

“Oh no,” remarked Hanieh. 

“Is that a problem?” asked Asieh. 

Rabi'a answered, “I would think not. She has the telepathic dampening device on her, right?” 

“True,” replied Hanieh, “but I'm not so sure that alone is what is stopping her from making contact. She is powerful enough to break that device if she wanted to, but she is using her own powers to help it. In the presence of Fuad, she might let down her guard and reveal his locat...” 

She was interrupted by the floor shaking violently beneath them. Every few seconds, they felt another vibration. 



Fuad sat in front of Shahzanan, unable to think of any words for several minutes. She twiddled with her fingers, looking down at the table, but then finally spoke. “Fuad, I just want to say that I'm sorry. If I had known that someone was controlling my mind, I would not have...” 

“I know. You don't have to explain. What is important now is that we get you out of here.” 

“Fuad, I'm not so sure you should be here.” 

“I am here to help you. My testimony will be valuable to your case.” 

Shahzanan suddenly felt intense pain and rubbed her fingers against the sides of her head. “You don't understand. I can't stop it with you this close to me. Fuad...” 

The pain increased and knocked her from her chair onto the ground. “You have to leave, now!” 

A red glow appeared all around her head, and she slowly lifted from the ground, hovering above Fuad and still holding the sides of her head. Her eyes reddened, and she lowered her hands, casting a horrific glance at Fuad, motioning him to leave. Fuad felt a force lift him from the ground. In a bellowing yet shrill voice, not her own, Shahzanan ordered him, “I said leave now!” 

Fuad flew into the air backwards through the closed door, smashed through it and catapulted down the hallway of the prison. He crashed into the wall of the main lobby, crumbling the inner wall. Rabi'a, Hanieh, and Murid were just entering. “Fuad!” Rabi'a cried. 

She rushed to his side, knelt next to him, and placed her hand on his head. “Aunt Rabi'a. I...Shahzanan.” 

The rumbling of the ground grew louder, and people on the street started to scream and panic. Murid, who was still standing by the door looking out, turned to Hanieh and Rabi'a. “Oh my. You might want to take a look at this.” 

Hanieh walked out into the street. “What? I don't see anything.” 

“Look up.” 

It was then that she saw the cause of the rumbling above her. An enormous creature, shaped like a snake, pounded against the outer shell of the city. Its dorsal fin was spiny, and it had five horns poking out of the top of its head. Its teeth were jagged, as though designed solely for tearing prey to pieces. It backed up, wiggled to the outer shell and pounded its snout against it, repeating the same motions relentlessly. 

“How long will the outer shell hold?” Hanieh asked. 

Murid shook his head. “Given the size of that thing, I'd say not long. If it breaks the shell, Hanieh, the pressure from the water will crush the city.” 

Rabi'a yelled to them. “Fuad is trying to say something.” 

She helped him rise to a sitting position and placed her hand on his back to hold him upright. He rubbed his head, trying to collect himself. “It's Shahzanan. She's making this happen.” 

Rabi'a insisted, “But the dampening necklace...” 

“Is too weak; at least it is now that I'm here. My presence has brought this upon the city. I will leave.” 

Hanieh said, “No, that will not be necessary. I will stop her. The three of you just get out of here. In fact, clear everyone out of this prison.” 

“Hanieh,” Rabi'a said, placing her hand on Hanieh's shoulder, “please do not hurt her.” 

“You should be more concerned about Shahzanan hurting me. Now, leave, before it's too late.” 

There were only three other prisoners in the entire prison. The City of Man is not known for crime. The security guard quickly moved them out of the prison, along with Rabi'a, Murid, and Fuad, who was carried out by two guards. 

Hanieh walked determinately through the hallway, wind blasting against her face and her shawl flowing behind her. The red glow from the prisoner-visitor meeting room illuminated the walls and floors like mating Tezentian night vines. As soon as Hanieh had rounded the corner and stood in front of the room, Shahzanan flung her against the wall. “Get out! Get out! You cannot stop the darkness. It will consume this city and this sea.” 

Hanieh, looking no less determined than before, brushed off the debris from her dress and cautiously rose to her feet. “Shahzanan, it is me, Hanieh, your guide.” 

Shahzanan's eyes sparkled with the red glow, as she floated into the air and hovered with her back against the ceiling and her hands pressing against it. “My guide is the one whose name you have cursed, whose honor you have betrayed. You betrayed the path of your ancestors, and for that, you must die.” 

Hanieh extended her hand lovingly. “Shahzanan come down from there. What you have said is not logical.” 

Shahzanan cocked her head sideways. “How is it not logical?” 

“Well, surely if darkness covers this sea, you will die too. Are you saying that you have also betrayed the path of your ancestors?” 

“This body is a vessel. She is disposable.” 

“I do not believe that,” Hanieh insisted. “I believe I am talking with Shahzanan, but one that has been confused by the darkness. Dear love, there cannot be only darkness.” 

“There will be!” 

Hanieh stepped closer. “There is no darkness without light.” 

“Liar!” 

“Think deeply about what I say, Shahzanan. Darkness depends on light and light depends on darkness. All depends on the Hadra. It is your darkness and your light. There is no darkness without light, no life without death, no peace without war, no good without evil. There is a balance, Shahzanan, and you are seeking to disrupt that balance. What you know as good will not improve; it will cease to exist.” 

Shahzanan flung her fists against the ceiling, breaking holes into it and causing dust to fall onto Hanieh. “Then our light will come from the Unnamed One.” 

“Shahzanan, you are a seeker on the path of truth. Search inside of yourself for that truth and find the Hadra.” 

“Where? Where is your Hadra?” 

“The Hadra is not where. The Hadra is not what. The Hadra simply is. It is the presence.” 

“Presence of what, great guide?” 

“The Hadra is Presence, Shahzanan. It is the presence of that which controls this and every universe, including your Unknown World. Nothing can escape that Presence, for it would cease to exist. Do not depend on your own self for reassurance, depend entirely on that presence. It is already there, so you needn't search.” 

Shahzanan snarled, “Then how am I a seeker if what I seek is already found?” 

“You did not find it. It found you. My guide, my teacher once said: It is the way that the knower seeks because he has found something, and it is not that he has found something through his seeking.” 

“That is impossible!” 

“And yet somehow you know it to be true, don't you? Come down from the ceiling, Shahzanan. Rise above your own lowly desires for greatness. Fulfill your destiny!” 

“I decide my destiny! I have the power!” 

She pointed her hand towards Hanieh, sending a pulsing red beam into her, spinning her several times against the wall, and then crushing her head into the ground. Hanieh laid there motionless, and Shahzanan lowered from the ceiling, her eyes filled with tears. “Hanieh?” 

She crept closer to her and called again. “Hanieh? Please talk to me.” 

“She is dead, Shahzanan,” a voice said from behind her. 

She intended to turn and look at the face of the familiar voice, but she could not take her eyes away from Hanieh. Where had she heard that voice? The calmness and certainty of it felt so familiar to her, like the nostalgia of a warm summer night or a cool afternoon breeze. She knew it like she knew her own soul. “Uncle?” 

He placed his hand upon her shoulder. “Shahzanan, you have brought death upon this world, destruction is imminent. My dear, thousands of people will die.” 

She finally turned to face him. She wanted, more than anything, to wrap her arms around him and cry, but she felt unclean, as though she would soil his purity. “Uncle, I cannot control this. That was not me.” 

“It was you, my child. You must face your inner darkness, not run from it. You are afraid of it, so it consumes you. No one is controlling your mind, but you have been instructed to allow your darkness to control your light.” 

Her tears were glowing red as they trickled down her still smooth, innocent-looking face. She still appeared small and harmless, barely an adult. She reached out to the Storyteller, to feel the burlap of his cloak in her hand, but her hand passed through it like air. “Uncle? Are you here with me?” 

“My child, the Hadra knows no bounds. The imaginary walls that we have placed for ourselves are not limitations, only obstacles. Once you free yourself, true liberation from your darkness, you will not be confined by walls, mountains, or even your own body. Power and possessions are worthless without intellect, and intellect is worthless without imagination.” 

“Imagination? I don't understand.” 

“That which is beyond this realm is unknown. Why?” 

“Because we have never seen it?” 

“But you have seen it.” 

“...seen it.” 

“...seen it.” 

“...seen it.” 

Another identical Storyteller appeared to the right of her, another to the left, and another behind. 

The four now spoke in unison. “Shahzanan. That which is unknown is so because it has not been conceived. Imagine it, and it will become whatever you conceive. Deny it, and its emptiness will consume you.” 

She understood. She concentrated on the giant sea snake that was still pounding against the outer shell of the city. Her eyes closed, but her pupils were still nearly visible through her eyelids because of the intense glow coming from them. She could see the beast, but could not affect it. She raised her fingers to her temples and focused more intensely. She then found herself floating in the water, tumbling through it, out of control. “I cannot control this, Uncle.” 

“Imagine whatever will help you, Shahzanan,” his voices echoed. 

Slowly her shirt began to rip on her back, and a fin grew up from it. Her feet turned into flippers, and gills slit through her neck. Her eyes grew larger and glossier, and her aimless tumbling through the water ceased. She looked down and could see the city and the beast below her. She wiggled her flippers through the water, rapidly approaching the sea snake. She fired beams of light at it, but they did nothing. It continued to ram the shell, which was starting to crack. 

A small boy, who was running in the street behind his mother, stopped and looked up, as a single drop of water fell from the crack and landed on his head. Shahzanan pressed her face against the shell, which was somewhat cloudy. Her pupils rolled into smaller circles, as she zoomed in on the boy. Then she remembered him from Cor. He was the one who had run back to his house, and Shahzanan had saved him from the falling fire rock. 

“Imagination,” the Storytellers' voices cried out to her. 

She turned to the sea snake, closed her eyes, and tried to concentrate on it. What would stop it? Perhaps something less dangerous...no, something harmless. 

The sea snake screeched and prepared for a final ramming of the shell that would undoubtedly crack it wide open and destroy the city, but its tail began to turn gray. Its jagged teeth rounded, and it quickly shrank smaller and smaller, until it was not much bigger than Shahzanan. It had become a dolphin. 

She smiled at it and moved closer to it to pet it, but it was startled by her and swam quickly away into the clouded mysteries of the sea. At once, Shahzanan stopped imagining and found herself back in the visitor's room, alone. There were no Storytellers surrounding her, and Hanieh was gone. The shaking of the ground had also ceased, and people were emerging from their houses. A group of Hydroa repair specialists were already fixing the crack in the shell, and the boy's mother was again hugging him thankfully, but also scolding him at the same time. 

Most of the building in which Shahzanan was being held had now crumbled, and she walked out one of the openings, without needing to use the door. Before her were Fuad and Melkemind. She stared at both of them longingly, as though she had been lost and was now found. 

Melkemind reached out for her. “Shahzanan, we are so happy to see you.” 

But she did not move. Her tears cascaded ceaselessly from her eyes, but they were crystal clear. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. “Hanieh...” 

“Yes, Shahzanan?” 

She turned in all directions, but did not see her. She then looked upward. “Hanieh? Are you out there?” 

Fuad and Melkemind stepped apart from each other, and Hanieh squeezed between them. “No, I'm right here.” 

Shahzanan ran to her, embracing her tightly. “Hanieh, oh my God. I thought you were dead.” 

Hanieh smiled brightly and rubbed her back. “I know my dear, but you have passed the trial. You are free.” 

“What? What do you mean?” 

“I am not crazy, Shahzanan. Granted, I might be a little eccentric...” 

“Definitely,” confirmed Rabi'a, who had just come out of one of the houses. 

“As I was saying,” continued Hanieh, “My going to you in the visitors' room was your trial.” 

“But, I killed you...or I thought I...” 

“Yes, but it did not bring you satisfaction. It did not fulfill your urge to satiate your lower self. Instead, you were humbled and shamed by it. Compassion filled your heart, and you saved the City of Man, thus saving man. You have passed the test, Shahzanan. You are as pure and full of light as I knew you were the first day I met you.” 

Fuad chuckled. “But that does not mean your job is over. You still have much to do.” 

Shahzanan sighed and wiped her forehead. “Man, don't I even get a break?” 

“I'm afraid not,” replied Hanieh. “Fuad is here for the Orb of Light, and it is you who must retrieve it. Look above you. What appears to be a sun, floating outside of the shell of this city, is actually the orb. Take it.” 

Shahzanan squinted and examined it. “But, it is the light and sustenance of this city.” 

“It is not. You must believe that there is a power greater than that light. The orb is only a device, clever as it may seem; it has no magical powers of its own. You can control it. The darkness has spread to nearly every nation and is encompassing Qamariya as we speak. The Orb of Light will be our lantern through the darkness. 

“Shahzanan, daughter of the Realm Before, repeat after me: Where there is darkness, there is Light. I am one with the light. I am the possessor of two lights.” 

Shahzanan trembled as she heard those words, as though all that was inside of her and all that she had known now blossomed and ignited. She whispered softly, “Where there is darkness...there is Light...” Her voice gradually intensified. “I am one with the light. I am the possessor of two lights.” 

She raised her hands above her, forming a cup shape, with her palms pointed upwards, and the Orb of Light floated through the shell of the city and descended gracefully towards her, becoming smaller and smaller, until it had fitted itself perfectly in her hands. It was hot in her hands, and she nearly dropped it. It sensed her discomfort and cooled itself. She brought it close to her chest, and it pulsed several times. 

Fuad grinned. “It likes you.” 

She petted it and giggled. It was still bigger than her hands; however, it again sensed that she wanted it smaller, so it shrank to the size of a marble. Then she dropped it into her pocket. 

Melkemind turned to Fuad. “We must go to Qamariya and stand against General Jaha.” 

“Yes, I know,” replied Fuad, “but we still need Za'adiyah, Nestor, Mezentius, and the Storyteller.” 

Shahzanan looked around inquisitively. “I am not positive, Fuad, but I think they are already here or nearby.” 

“She is right,” Hanieh verified. “They are already on their way here.” You will go with them to the rebel city of Lunaria and prepare for battle.” 

“Not Lunaria, anyplace but there,” grumbled Melkemind. 

Fuad shoved him. “What is it?” 

“My father died...and he is buried there.” 

Just as he had spoken those words, he noticed his mother and sisters, along with several Qamariyan guards coming out of a large house. 

“And now I must face my mother...” 

She walked briskly, without changing her stern facial expression, and her daughters imitated her march. “Melkemind, Prince Melkemind. You have come back to me.” 

She reached out to him and hugged him fondly, but with little change in her emotions. He did not hug her back, and after she had finished, he moved away from her. 

“Melkemind, why are you being cold towards me?” she asked. 

He stared at her with frightened eyes. “Mother, is it true that you supported father's alliance with the Orisay`i?” 

Tears filled her eyes. “Melkemind, no. Your father expelled us from Qamariya. He knew that we would try to persuade him to stop. He did not want a guilty conscience, so he moved us as far away as possible. It was not to protect us, only to silence us.” 

“Why should I believe you? You have come to me like you intend to arrest me, surrounded by old guards, loyal to my father.” 

“Melkemind,” she begged, “they are our knights. They are loyal to us...to you. I will make certain of that. It is not safe for us to move about freely, with General Jaha's spies undoubtedly hidden among the citizens of this city. My son, I am loyal to you. I always knew what your destiny was. I consulted the Circle of Elders, even before you arrived. You will be king of Qamariya. It is written...” 

Melkemind shook his head and turned away from her. Fuad leaned over to him and whispered, “Melkemind, I sense nothing but the truth coming from her.” 

Melkemind turned back and responded, “Mother, I have renounced the throne, and the rebels have formed a republic.” 

“The nobles will not obey them, son. They need their king.” 

“The nobles exploited the poor and kept the wealth for their own pleasantries, Mother, and you supported them!” 

“No, Melkemind. I taught you better than that. Did I not raise you to give in charity, to visit the sick, to treat even your own slave girl as your equal? We have always treated her as your future queen.” 

Shahzanan blushed uncontrollably. She had never heard the queen utter such words. 

Melkemind glanced up at her and also turned red. His mother reached inside of her cloak and pulled a silver sword from inside, holding it out before Melkemind. There was writing on it, not Qamariyan, but Tezentian. “It is the sword of the Knower, Melkemind. Wield it with honor. With the Hadra with you, it might be that it will be used to bring peace, rather than war. I would not let your father have it, and he did not dare take it from me. It is yours now, my king.” 

Melkemind had not realized, until then, the crowd that had formed around him. The Storyteller, Albiyun, Nestor, Za'adiyah, Miftah, Mezentius, Asieh, and Abbas had all joined the others, who were anxiously waiting for his response. 

He glanced at the Storyteller, as though seeking his approval, and he nodded reassuringly. Melkemind reached for the sword, held it high above his head, and then sheathed it on his side. “I will,” he proclaimed, as a sigh of relief fell over the crowd around him, “but not for Qamariya, not so that I might rule, but so that light might return to this world and the prophecy of the Chosen One, our leader, will be fulfilled.” 

Murid approached on horseback, along with Hydroa guards, all riding horses, each for one of the people standing around Melkemind, one riding Ahsan's unicorn. Fuad was overcome with joy to see something that reminded him of her. 

The Storyteller called out to them, “The time for justice to come to this world has arrived. We have now the Orb of Light, the Orb of Reflection, and here in my hand is the Orb of Destiny. You have one mission and one mission only: fight the army of darkness until they relent and return the Orb of Eternity to you. After that, fight them no more, for this is not our war. Those names that I call will go to Qamariya. Those I do not will stay here. Fuad the Pure-Hearted, Melkemind the King, Shahzanan the Possessor of Two Lights, Albiyun the Valiant, Yar the Honorable, Za'adiyah the Resourceful, and Mezentius the Truthful. A new age is dawning, and you young souls must issue it forth! Go, with the Hadra surrounding you, and do not return until the four orbs glow on the horizon of Solistia and announce your presence. We will await you.” 



Broken Seal






Fire rained from the sky. In every city of Qamariya, the houses burned. Even the castle of the royal family was not spared. Those who could, fled to underground bunkers, but the darkness followed them, even there. Shadow crawlers prowled the tunnels, searching for hiding women and children. When they did, it was only minutes before the offspring of the Unnamed One followed, bringing terror and death. 

The king of Orisay had once again excommunicated General Jaha and had even sent an army to stop him, but that army was vanquished completely, and Orisay now stood as defenseless as Qamariya. And so the darkness spread to Orisay as well. For seven nights, the dragon devoured anyone caught in its vision and burned anything that it could not swallow. Its ghastly wings fanned the ash and dust of the city, making it appear as though snow were falling, but there were no children to play in it and no houses left standing. 

Some prisoners were taken, and they were stored away in underground dungeons like the slime-covered torture den in Ardramo. There were thousands of such dungeons all over the Known World, as though this takeover had been planned for many years. The blazing heat of Orisay set aflame was enough to boil the seas. Most of the cities in Hydrodollin were no longer safe, and the Hydroa people retreated to the City of Man or other nearby cities in the water. 

But the beast was still not satisfied. It ascended through the clouds, its eyes glistening with Sama`a in sight, but it did not attack the cities. It would burn each from underneath and watch as the flames gradually engulfed it, finally shaking loose its defiance of gravity. The people of Sama`a flew from their cities as, one after another, each hovering metropolis spiraled into the ground, flattening anything beneath it. But when the dragon approached the farthest city, the Sama`an city of Qubah, a warning was sounded from its highest tower. The people, all but one, fled the city. That one remaining young man traveled into a cave, far into the ground, underneath the great city, where he unlocked a cage. 

He then fled from the city as quickly as he could, rocketing into the air, just as the flames began to creep into the streets from the city's underbelly. The dragon did not take notice of the young man, as he flapped desperately trying to escape. Its eyes remained fixated on the burning city, as though it received pleasure, even nourishment, from viewing the images of destruction. 

A day later, the air became cooler, but the ground still sizzled like an early morning breakfast. Melkemind led his new clan through uncharted highways of the Tezentian desert, until they arrived at the small desert town of Tus, just outside of Lunaria. Even from there, they could see the smoke still rising. Melkemind jumped down from his horse and greeted the first local Tezentian camel-driver he found. “Greetings and peace! I am Melkemind, and these are my friends.” 

Each one either nodded or waved at the wayward-looking old man, who flipped his hand into the air. “Yes yes, peace. What is peace, now? What do you want of me, city-dweller?” 

The man's tunic was tied around his waist by a frazzled rope, and underneath it, he wore a full-length cotton garment, brown and obviously not dyed. A thick white turban was carefully wrapped around his squarish head. Shahzanan, surprising everyone, dismounted and walked up to the old man. “My name is Shahzanan. My friends and I were just wondering if you could give us some information.” 

Albiyun rolled his eyes. “He is obviously not interested in chatting with us. Let's keep moving.” 

Shahzanan smiled at Albiyun and then again turned to the old man. “Sir,” she said, removing the front of her scarf that had been covering her face, “we are intending to join the army in the fight against the darkness.” 

The man finally looked at her, staring into her eyes and studying her golden brown skin, as though he had seen her before. “Shahzanan, you said?” 

“Yes, sir. That is my name.” 

“And who gave you that name?” 

“I...I believe my parents did.” 

“So, you are Tezentian, are you?” 

She glanced at Melkemind, who shrugged his shoulders and looked at the man disaffectedly. “Why do you say that, Mr...” 

“Bey. Wahid Bey, but most just call me Bey.” 

“Mr. Bey,” Shahzanan continued, “I do not know where I am from. I have been a servant in the house of King Rainar since birth. As far as I know, my parents too were servants.” 

“Yes, not surprising. Many of our people were enslaved by that tyrant. Half of the people of Qamariya trace their ancestry back to Tezentia.” 

Albiyun motioned to Melkemind, urging him to accelerate the conversation. 

Melkemind nodded. “Look, Mr. Bey. As much as we'd love to go over the entire history of mythical civilizations...” 

“Mythical, you say?” 

The man shrugged, lifted a small burlap bag onto his back and began to walk away. Shahzanan scowled at Melkemind and followed after Bey. 

Melkemind motioned to the others. “Let's go. She can catch up.” 

“No,” replied Fuad. “She needs this, Melkemind, and she needs us.” 

“Bey, please do not go,” Shahzanan pleaded. “I believe in your Tezentia.” 

He stopped, facing her, and ran the back of his dry, cracked, sand-worn hand down the side of her face. Melkemind reached for his sword, but Fuad held his arm. Bey then grabbed her chin and turned her head from side to side. “Mmm hmm. Most likely from the clan of Hamd. Your eyes, your nose, your complexion; you are undoubtedly full-blooded Tezentian.” 

Melkemind's face reddened and his brow wrinkled. “Enough of this! These is no proof of your claim, old man. Shahzanan is a distinguished member of the Qamariyan royal family.” 

“Perhaps the last then” Bey concluded quite casually. “The castle was destroyed, most of them in it, I imagine.” 

“Still,” Melkemind insisted, holding back his tears, “She is not a Teze!” 

Shahzanan snapped her head towards Melkemind. “A Teze? Melkemind, they are human beings, just like us!” 

“What? Everyone calls them that.” 

Bey chuckled, “Perhaps those foolish Qamariyans did, but now most of them are dead. Aren't they?” 

Melkemind unsheathed his sword. “Silence, you wretched...” 

Shahzanan stood in front of Bey. “No! Stop it! Melkemind, what has happened to you? I believe your mother now more than ever. Your sisters and I all knew how cold your father always was, but you championed him, as though he were the patron saint of Qamariya. Now it seems you are becoming just like him.” 

Melkemind returned his sword to his side. “I cannot believe you are buying this drivel. This man is obviously insane. The desert does that to them, you know. It's not their fault, but they are what they are.” 

Fuad climbed down from the unicorn. “Melkemind, the Knower himself was Tezentian.” 

“Ah, the Knower,” interjected Albiyun, “I half wonder if that wasn't just made up anyway. I mean, look what has happened to this world. What presence is there that allows such things to occur?” 

Yar lowered his head. “Of all people, Albiyun, I would not expect someone so honorable to lose faith so easily.” 

Za'adiyah distanced herself from Albiyun and stood at Fuad's side, while Mezentius, Melkemind, and Albiyun stood opposite them. Fuad raised his hands out to either side, palms facing up. “What is happening to us? Just a few days ago, we witnessed a miracle. Shahzanan was on the brink of pure evil, and she survived it. Now you are questioning the simplest of truths, such as Tezentia? Such as the Knower? These are not myths, Melkemind. They are historical facts. Surely you know this.” 

A bird interrupted Fuad's monologue and perched itself upon his right shoulder. It wore a set of golden feathers around its chest and head, with brown, white, and multicolored tips of its wings and tail. Most distinguishing of all, however, was the straight row of golden, brown-tipped feathers sticking up from its head. It leaned over to Fuad, as though it were whispering something to him, and indeed it was. 

“I've never seen such a bird,” Albiyun announced. “Do you know what it is called, lad?” 

“It is the hoopoe,” replied Fuad. “It said to me that you would even deny it, so I should not waste my time trying to convince you.” 

Za'adiyah trembled. “It spoke? To you?” 

“Yes, it particularly sends its greetings to you, Za'adiyah.” 

She shrieked and ran to her horse, folded her arms on the side of its back and buried her head inside, weeping uncontrollably. 

Fuad looked bewildered. “Wha...What did I say?” 

Yar explained, “One of the signs of the Chosen One is that the wisest of all birds will speak to him in the language of the birds, yet he will understand it perfectly and take knowledge from it, as a child does from its mother, innocently.” 

Shahzanan grinned brightly, “Fuad...” 

Fuad watched Za'adiyah crying and then lowered his head. “We should continue moving, unless you have something further to say, Uncle Bey. Uncle Bey?” 

Fuad looked around but did not see him, until he looked down and noticed him on the ground, prostrating. He rose from his prostration to his knees and then faced Fuad. “The prophecy has been fulfilled, right before my very eyes. Chosen One, forgive me for my insolence. I am your follower in any matter that you need.” 

“You have not been insolent at all, Uncle Bey. Please rise. It is Melkemind who has offended you with his haughtiness. I apologize on his behalf.” 

Melkemind felt quite embarrassed but did not speak. Instead, he mounted his horse and instructed Za'adiyah to ride ahead with him. 

“I do have news for you, Chosen One,” Bey finally revealed. “The one named Jaha came here, trying to recruit our warriors. When they refused, he killed most of them with his bare hands.” 

“Was an army with him?” Yar inquired. 

“No, he was alone, but he was an army in himself.” 

“And how is it that your life was spared?” 

“He needed me to lure you into his trap. Please do not follow him. His army is huge. He will crush whatever forces you have...if you have any.” 

Fuad shook his head. “We must find him and end this.” 

Bey grabbed Fuad's arms. “He said that you would say that. He is threatening you, but do not heed his threats. You will all perish.” 

Fuad placed his hand on Bey's shoulder affectionately. “Do not worry for our safety. The Hadra is with us. Now tell me. Where has he gone?” 

“He is heading to the Gate of Balkh, where he will meet his master, and...his master's master.” 

Albiyun protested, “We have no army. We do not even have enough weapons for everyone. How are we supposed to fight a legion of demons and a fire-breathing dragon? This is suicide. Do you realize what you're asking us?” 

“Yes,” answered Fuad. “I'm asking you to believe.” 

Za'adiyah and Melkemind returned moments later. “We believe, and we are with you...Chosen One,” Melkemind confirmed, “and if any of you are not up for the fight, leave now, and we will think no less of you.” 

Yar raised his fist. “I swore an oath for you to the death. I stand by it.” 

“Then you will need this,” Melkemind said, handing him his achket blade. 

Mezentius flapped his wings boastfully. “I've already died once with you guys, it would just be weird to not die with you this time.” 

Melkemind looked to Albiyun. “What say you, General?” 

“Well,” he started, “if I went home now, I'd never hear the end of my wife's I told you so lecture. So, I guess that means I'm in, just to prove her wrong.” 

Bey laughed like a satisfied hyena. “Good answer!” 

He waved his hand in the rippling heat of the desert, and, from every dune, emerged a Tezentian warrior, fully armed. Thousands stood at attention before Bey. 

“Allow me to formally introduce myself,” he said. “I am Chief Bey of the Hamd clan, the most renown warriors in the southern desert. My army is at your command, Prince Melkemind.” 

Melkemind's eyes widened. “You knew?” 

“Of course, boy. I am old, but not senile. Now do you want to continue your senseless babble, or do you want to fight?” 

Before Melkemind could answer, the Tezentian army roared chants in their ancient language, all the time, forming ranks, preparing to march. From above, the shadow of large wings loomed. Mezentius looked to the sky. “Well, looks like old Skytor came through after all.” 

Hundreds of Sama`an winged guards flew into position overhead. The first five rows carried bows, while the remaining rows hovered above, poised with their swords in hand. 

“We have one stop to make along the way,” ordered Melkemind. 

“What could possibly be more important than this?” demanded Chief Bey. 

“Jaha's army will stop in Kelterya before they reach the gate of Balkh. They undoubtedly intend to cover it with the darkness. It will be the last kingdom to fall.” 

He looked over to Za'adiyah, who lowered her head. “We will defend the kingdom Kelterya as if it were our own.” 

“What?” Mezentius landed, as did his army. “Fighting alongside them is one thing, but what happens to their kingdom is their own internal concern. We owe them nothing. They are traitors.” 

Fuad petted the hoopoe, still on his shoulder, and stepped forward. “There is no time for this, Mezentius. Stand with us to defend Kelterya, or leave us.” 

Mezentius shook his head in disgust. “Then you will have to win without us.. We will meet you at Balkh, Fuad!” he said, lifting into the air, followed by his entire guard. 

Skytor hovered close to the ground, as the others flew into the clouds. “I...I must go with them. Orders. Surely you understand?” 

Melkemind waved him away. 

Chief Bey picked up a wooden staff from the ground and began marching, with his army behind him. “They are doomed, Chosen One. They should not have left your side.” 

The hoopoe whispered into Fuad's ear. He looked around, shocked at what he was just told. 

“What is it, Fuad?” Shahzanan asked. 

“Um, well, he said he needs to mate.” 

They all laughed at him, even the Tezentian troops. 

“Seriously,” Fuad exclaimed vehemently. “Chief Bey, he said that you were given a female bird, from the king of Orisay.” 

“Yes, of course. I completely forgot. It is in a cage in my tent over there.” 

The hoopoe flew into the tent, and the army continued its march. Fuad rode alongside Shahzanan. “I hope you are not too angry with Melkemind.” 

“Fuad, I'm disgusted by him.” 

He laughed, but then saw the seriousness on her face and covered his mouth. 

“He scoffed them like they were beneath him, as though they were...lowly slaves. Does he not see that I am just like them? That I am a slave? His mother is wrong. I could never marry him, not for all of the solyra in the world. No palace or stable or orchard or anything is enough to make me love him. He is a beast.” 

“Listen to me, Shahzanan. Melkemind is the prince...was the prince. He has much to learn about the real world. It will take time, but his heart is good. You know it to be true.” 

Shahzanan lowered her head shyly. “You are so confident and yet humble and pure. I should think you are trying to shove me off onto Melkemind so that I will not pursue you, who is more fitting.” 

Fuad's mahogany skin reddened like a ripening cherry. “I...I am not worthy of you, and...” 

“And you love another.” 

“Well, I didn't say that...” 

“Fuad, I can see it in your eyes. Every time you mention her name. Every time you look at an orb. You did not come to Hydrodollin to prove my innocence, but rather to save her. I understand. She is beautiful.” 

“Shahzanan, it's not like that. I mean. I am young. Until a few months ago, I thought I was still twelve. I am not even accustomed to being fifteen.” 

A Tezentian soldier called out, “Look!” 

The tent of the chief, which was now far in the distance, burst into flames, and a horrific squeal echoed into the air. The hoopoe flew rapidly in their direction and landed on Fuad's shoulder, again whispering in his ear. “The mating is completed, he said.” 

“Wow, that was quick,” mocked Albiyun. “Where's the lady?” 

“She perished in the flames.” 

“Whoa, wait a second. Are you saying your buddy there mated with her and then lit her on fire.” 

“No, of course not. She was a phoenix. It is the way they give birth.” 

“Give birth? They just mated.” 

“I'm sorry,” remarked Fuad. “I guess I mistranslated his birdish...” 

“Birdish?” scoffed Melkemind. 

“Careful, Melk, they're very sensitive about their cultural heritage. Anyway, he said that he had already mated with her, several weeks ago, and was going to check on the egg. It has hatched, and by the time we reach Kelterya, the new Phoenix will rise above it.” 

“And then what?” Melkemind urged him to continue. 

“And then...well, let's just say that dragon better get ready.” 

The night crawled over the horizon, drowning out the redness of the setting sun, and the massive army setup camp in the middle of the desert. Many of the Tezentian soldiers carried night vines, draped across their shoulders. They removed them and laid them on the ground. The vines slithered their ends into the ground and took root, causing them to glow bright green and warm the entire camp. 

Fuad, Shahzanan, Za'adiyah, and Chief Bey sat around one of the vines, eating roasted desert gazelle and sipping Hanieh's special tea that Shahzanan had learned to make from Tezentian vine leaves. Fuad looked at Za'adiyah's worried face. “We should reach Kelterya tomorrow. Don't worry.” 

Za'adiyah nibbled on a locust and then sat down the other half of it. “Fuad, there is something I did not tell you. Something important.” 

“What is it?” 

“When we went to Kelterya, Nestor was nearly hanged.” 

“What? Why?” 

She shook her head and bit off the wing of her locust. “Kelterya is divided. My father is one of the Triumvirs, and he is good. The stories of meditation battles with the Circle of Elders are not entirely true. His sister is the second triumvir, and she is also true to the teachings of the Knower. But the third, Esfandiar, says that we have abandoned the ways of our ancestors. The three of them formed the original Triumvirate. He has always held animosity towards the other two, for they voted in favor the Federation alliance, despite his protests. When the vote was finally presented before the Kelteryan people and they agreed to it, Esfandiar recanted his allegiance to the Unnamed One, and many believed that to be the end of it. 

“But I grew up in a house where the Triumvirate met for monthly dinners and where dignitaries of various desert tribes would discuss the impudence of their dealings with Esfandiar. He was absolutely horrible at diplomacy and even drove us into a secret war with the Sama`ans. That is why your friend Mezentius refused to fight for Kelterya. He is wanted by the corrupted police force, controlled entirely by Esfandiar. My father controls the army, but when I heard what you told me about Hadratiya, I knew that some of the army must be loyal to Esfandiar. I believe that Sentry number 47, who gave Melkemind his sword, is the real one. Somehow, Esfandiar has brought back ancient creatures and people who were believed to be long gone. 

“Chimeras, two-headed wolves, dragons...these are not mythical creatures, but they were extinct. No one has seen them for thousands of years.” 

Shahzanan ripped a piece of meat off of the large bone lying in front of her. “Why tell us now? Don't you think it's a little late?” she asked, taking a bite. 

“I am telling you now because it might not be safe to go to Kelterya. The mission is ultimately more important, even more important than my own family.” 

Fuad's hoopoe whispered into his ear. “He says that the prophecy indicates that the Kelteryans constructed the gate of Balkh, and it is only they who will again meld the broken seal. You must survive, he said. You and all of your family.” 

“Indeed,” added the chief. “The Kelteryans misread the prophecy. The Chosen One from Kelterya is the one who will seal the gate, before the Unnamed One can come through...indeed, yes...it is so.” 

Fuad smiled at Za'adiyah. “That chosen one...is you.” 

She swallowed her last leg of locust and then blew a few strands of her silvery hair that had covered her eye. She smiled. “I am eternally grateful to you, Fuad. You truly are the Chosen One. I see that now. Your compassion for me, even when I was competing against you, shows how pure your heart is. You are...so more than just a friend to me, Fuad.” 

Shahzanan picked up her gazelle bone, stood, and walked away quickly. Fuad began to stand and go after her, but the chief held him back. “Let her go, boy. She is confused. It will take time for her to realize how important you are. She still loves the child you once were.” 

“Well?” asked Za'adiyah.

“Well, what?” Fuad held his breath. 

“Do you forgive me?” 

He let out a big sigh. “Oh, yes yes. Of course, I forgive you. Think nothing of it. You know, I didn't understand his message then, but your brother told me to listen to you...the people beneath.I thought he meant the Ardramons.” 

The chief nearly choked on his food. “The Ardramons live?” 

“Yes, well...when I was there, they were alive, but with the Orb of Eternity in the hands of Jaha and this Esfandiar character, I'm afraid they might not have long to live.” 

“Yes,” confirmed the chief. “We cannot defeat their army, but we can retrieve the orb...we must.” 

One by one the people of the camp retired to their tents, and their vines also slept, dimming their glow to a mere twinkle. Fuad shared a tent with the chief, somewhat afraid to sleep in his own, even with the hoopoe by his side. As soon as he closed his eyes, he saw Ahsan before him, smiling and twiddling with her pink hair the way she used to. Fuad replayed that image a hundred times over in his head, until his thoughts faded, his eyelids got heavy, and he slowly fell asleep. 



Twenty




Day of Reckoning






Arrows ornamented the sky, like mayflies seeking their mates. The wall of Kelterya was formidable, impenetrable, and enormous. Fortified with thick iron and stone, sealed with pure solyra, every brick was a fortress in itself. Firebombs were catapulted into the air, but they bounced off of the wall like acorns against a tree trunk. The sentries towered high over the battlefield, firing their arrows from the watchtowers and lifts. 

As the unnamed creatures tried to scale the wall, they fell with arrows between their eyes, one after another. Still, they were replaced by hundreds more. A seemingly endless stream of them marched towards the wall. Jaha stood proudly, holding the Orb of Eternity, on a two-wheeled chariot, pulled by a two-headed wolf. A cape flapped in the wind behind him, attached to his shoulders by two golden clips. He wore his most decorated Orisay`i military uniform, even though he was officially no longer a general. He held up the orb and shook it, the way one might shake a glass snow globe. A glow came over the orb, the opaque color faded, and Jaha could see the tiny Ahsan rotating slowly inside, suspended, as though she were a figurine. He laughed sinisterly and set the orb in a bag that was strapped to the inside of the chariot. 

Sentries lit arrows on fire and launched them into the air at the unnamed creatures, while beneath them, inside the wall, their soldiers were preparing for battle, sizing up swords, fitting armor, and saying farewell to their loved ones. The wall was dark and gray, as was the city. Every step, roaches, scattering quickly, littered the walkways. Occasionally, a little girl with a covered basket would scoop up a handful of them and drop them inside of it. Although she was not supposed to, she would sneak a bite or two along the way, crunching them joyfully in her mouth. 

A tower in the center of town extended over the clouds. There, a lone man had positioned himself in a small window opening. In his hand was the horn of a ram, which he blew as hard as he could. It resonated throughout Kelterya, and those who were not already fighting or preparing to fight, came out of their houses to join the army. Both men and women donned armor and took up arms. A small boy opened the gate to a dark and dingy cellar, and a pride of lions emerged, fiercely growling and lining up, waiting for the wall's main gate to open. But the Kelteryans would not open it. 

Ten sordes, five on each side, lifted a massive tree trunk, and, in unison, they gurgled and snorted and heaved the trunk into the gate. It shook but did not budge. They slowly backed up, carefully trying to avoid rolling, which would have a domino effect on all of them. They rammed the gate again. Nothing. 

Jaha pointed forward, and thousands of spiders started crawling up the walls and into the city. They ignored the Kelteryan people, but instead, feasted upon their insects. Like hunters, they pounced onto any bugs they could find and devoured them. 

Melkemind, leaning over a distant rock, closed his spyglass and looked at Fuad and Za'adiyah. “They are sending spiders into the city, to eliminate the food supply. It is a cunning tactic. Eventually, they figure the Kelteryans will have to come out, or starve to death.” 

“We have one objective,” instructed Za'adiyah, “the orb.” 

“Don't you care about your people?” asked Fuad. 

“Yes, but we cannot lose sight of the bigger picture. Jaha is here, now, with the orb. It would behoove us to get it from him before he goes to the gate of Balkh, where Esfandiar is undoubtedly waiting.” 

Melkemind pulled his sword out halfway. “She's right. I will pluck the orb from Jaha's cold, dead hand.” 

Fuad pushed his sword back down. “No, we will steal it from him, without him noticing. We cannot afford confrontation. He nearly killed you and Mezentius last time. Remember? The Tezentians can attack them from the rear, creating a distraction. Then, we can move in and snatch it from him, before he even realizes we're here.” 

Za'adiyah squinted her eyes and held out her hand. To their amazement, her hand slowly faded until it was invisible. “I can do it,” she said. “Just make the distraction. I'll take care of the rest.” 

Chief Bey stood behind them. “When you give the word, our soldiers will attack. Do not fear Jaha. His strength comes from the Orb of Eternity. It has made him invincible, but when the orb is taken from him and brought under the command of another, he will weaken.” 

The giant lizards from the Unknown World appeared from over the farthest hill, swiftly running towards the wall. The archers from the wall fired hundreds of arrows at them, but they kept moving. The first to reach the wall jumped into the air, and its feet stuck to it. It slowly scaled the wall, licking its lips and eying the sentries. 

Melkemind nodded his head to the chief. “Now!” 

Chief Bey waved his staff in the air, and, from underneath the sand, the Tezentian soldiers all rose at once. Caught completely by surprise, the unnamed creatures were unsure which way to turn and fight. Some continued towards the wall, while others faced the Tezentians. They were easily killed with one swipe of a Tezentian ax, but there were thousands of them, and every second they multiplied. 

“They are still coming from the rifts,” Melkemind concluded. “I think more of them are being...born every second. How can we fight this?” 

“We must close the rifts and the gate,” Fuad answered. 

Za'adiyah was still standing next to them, stuffing her face with as many bugs as she could find from under rocks. 

“This is hardly the time for dinner,” Melkemind objected. 

She wiped some of the juices from the corner of her mouth. With it still half full, she replied, “I have to store up energy to stay invisible long enough to steal the orb. It takes a lot of concentration and inner strength.” 

“Well, we haven't much time before Jaha suspects something and flees.” 

“I'm almost ready,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Goodness!” 

She closed her eyes and held herself steady, as though she was in tremendous pain. Her hands faded first, then her feet. She slid off her shoes. Finally, her head slowly faded away, but they could still see her cloak, the one given to her by Ahsan. She sighed and slipped it off onto the ground. Melkemind and Fuad both dropped their jaws. Za'adiyah noticed their expressions. “You cannot see me, right?” 

Melkemind answered, “Not at all, but...it's just...you don't have any clothes on.” 

“What would you have me do? I think Jaha would notice a flying cloak stealing the orb from him. Just, please have my cloak ready when I return, before the invisibility wears off.” 

“Of course,” Fuad assured her. 

Za'adiyah entered the battlefield. She dodged swinging axes, maces, and flails. She ducked, as lizards leaped over her. She crawled through a trench and nearly exposed herself, having to brush the dirt off of her quickly. In the center of the battlefield, Jaha was surrounded, fiercely fighting off Tezentian soldiers. Za'adiyah slipped under the arms of one of the soldiers, just as he was swinging his ax at Jaha, which had no effect on him. Za'adiyah reached into the bag and felt the orb with her hand, but was too low to see it. Then she felt Jaha's side lean up against her wrist. She bit her lip, trying hard not scream, even though it felt like an elephant had sat on her hand. 

He continued to fight, leaning up against her hand for several minutes. The chariot rocked back and forth, and Za'adiyah felt as though she was going to vomit up her bug dinner all over the battlefield. Jaha continued swinging his swords at the soldiers around him, until the last one fell. Then he jumped down from his chariot and called out, “Is there anyone else who would dare challenge me?” 

Za'adiyah snatched the orb, which immediately sensed her invisibility and became invisible itself. Then she talked softly to it, in the ancient language of the makers of the orb. “Hear me, Orb of Eternity. I am Za'adiyah, princess of Kelterya. You have a new master now. Me. Obey me and remove all protection from the one named Jaha.” 

Jaha's chest began to writhe with pain, and a golden glow emanated from his body. The golden light lifted from him, spun into a spiral vortex, and then vanished into thin air. Paying little heed to it, he continued his call, “Is there? Is there no one worthy of me?” 

Melkemind stood up from behind the rock. Fuad tried to stop him. “Melkemind, no, don't.” 

He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Jaha. “I am! I challenge you, Jaha...to the death.” 

Jaha laughed when he saw Melkemind, still only a boy. “Well, then boy, you will die!” 

He rushed forward with both of his swords arched high above his head, screaming at the top of his lungs. Melkemind was shocked that Jaha would attack him so carelessly. He lowered his sword, but left it pointing outward, and Jaha ran straight into it, piercing his gut and sticking out of his back. He froze and stared at Melkemind. “This is...not...possible.” 

Melkemind shoved him back, pulling out his sword. Jaha moved more slowly, but still waving his swords wildly. “Killing me will not stop what has already begun, boy. You still have a chance to join us,” he yelled loudly looking around for Fuad. “You still have a chance to achieve immortality!” 

Their swords clanked and sparked as they swung and blocked blows. Melkemind wiped his face. “You know, it's funny how just a second ago, you were telling me I was going to die, and now you're trying to get us to join you.” 

“Do not be a fool, Prince. My master will destroy all of you. You cannot fathom the power he will unleash on this world!” 

He slashed his left sword diagonally, cutting open Melkemind's shirt. Melkemind, seizing the opportunity, elbowed Jaha in the jaw, knocking him off balance. 

Fuad peeked up over the rock, preparing to help Melkemind, but he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Fuad, Fuad!” 

He saw nothing behind him. “Huh? What?” 

“You dope, it's me, Za'adiyah. Cloak please? Hurry.” 

He quickly pulled out her cloak and wrapped it around where he thought she was. “Other way,” she said. 

He adjusted it and tied it closed for her. Within seconds, she reappeared. “Thank you. Now, here is the orb. Quickly, ride the unicorn to the Gate of Balkh. I will meet up with you there. Don't worry, the orb will protect you from any attackers.” 

“What are you going to do?” he asked. 

“I'm going to end this.” 

Fuad climbed onto the unicorn and sped off through the sea of warriors. Arrows flew at him, but bounced off harmlessly. An unnamed creature even tried to climb onto the unicorn, but he kicked its face and it tumbled behind him, screaming. The unicorn increased its speed, until he could no longer hear the battle behind him. 

Melkemind and Jaha continued fighting fiercely, crashing their swords together. Za'adiyah picked up her spear, which she had left hidden behind the rock. “I only get one shot...have to make this perfect!” 

She launched into the air. Jaha's face turned cold, but it was too late. The spear impaled him, toppling him to the ground. He squirmed onto his side, mumbling, “This...is not the end.” 

Melkemind, badly bruised, stood over Jaha, watching him. Za'adiyah called to him, “Melkemind, come on!” 

She then shouted to Shahzanan, who was firing arrows from atop another rock. “Now, Shahzanan, do it!” 

She nodded. “Well, boys...or creatures...or whatever you are, this is going to hurt you much more than it hurts me.” 

She waved her hands in a circular motion above her head, causing a whirlwind to form. Gradually, it grew into a tornado that spun away from her, sucking up anything in its path. The unnamed creatures scattered, but the tornado did not abate, sucking them into it. One of the creatures that had not yet been sucked up by it struck a match, with a solyra tip, and tossed it onto the ground. A wall of fire formed around the remaining creatures, and the tornado dissipated. 

From above the clouds, the dragon descended onto the battlefield, blowing its fire across the sea of Tezentians and killing hundreds of them. The sentries' arrows were of no effect. But the sky's black darkness turned red and then orange, and descending soon after the dragon was the phoenix. It screeched loudly and landed on top of the dragon, digging its talons into the thick scaly skin. The dragon breathed fire on the phoenix, but it absorbed it and grew larger. Shahzanan pointed both of her hands at the wall of fire, and a shield, just like the one she had used to protect the boy in Cor, formed around it. She turned her palms facing each other and slowly began to close them together. The shield, the wall of fire inside of it, and the unnamed creatures enclosed in the wall shrank slowly, until it turned into a ball of nothingness and vanished with a spark. 

The Kelteryan sentries cheered from the top of the wall of Kelterya. The sordes dropped their battering ram and ran after Shahzanan, but Yar raised his achket blade into the sky, sending forth a deluge that melted them into a small pond. The phoenix and dragon continued fighting, but the battle was already over. The Kelteryan army surrounded the police loyal to Esfandiar and arrested them in the streets wherever they found them. 

They unleashed their lions on the spiders, who hunted every last one of them. The horn sounded, and the gates of the wall slowly opened. The lions ran out and pounced on the wounded dragon, still caught in the claws of the phoenix. Archers came out and fired arrows into it, and Yar doused its breath with water, causing steam to rise up all around the fallen beast. 

Two Kelteryans, completely covered in black hooded robes came out of the gate and stood, surveying the battlefield. Za'adiyah ran over to them, stood motionless before them, and then fell to her knees. They removed their hoods and knelt down in front of her. The older of the two spoke, “Za'adiyah, you have succeeded. You truly are the Chosen One, just as we had suspected.” 

She wiped her tears from her face. “No, Father. It is not as it seems. I have been chosen, but not to find the scrolls.” 

“Then what, my child? Please rise.” 

She stood with them and hugged her father. “We must reseal the gate. Esfandiar is the cause of this darkness that has destroyed our world He is there now, preparing to welcome the Unnamed One back into this world. 

The other triumvir, a woman, shook her head. “He will fail. We have long suspected that he might return to the old ways, but we did not imagine he would go to such lengths.” 

Za'adiyah's father put his arm over her shoulder. “Call your friends. We will take you all to Balkh immediately.” 

Melkemind found the chief standing in the center of his men. “Chief Bey, we are honored to have fought alongside you in this victory. The spoils of war are yours.” 

“No, my son. When the darkness is lifted, all of these weapons and armor will vanish with it. It is not for us to take, for it is not of this world. We will return to the desert now. When the prophecy has been fulfilled, you will hear from us again.” 

They embraced, and the chief signaled to his men to begin their march back into the desert. 

Melkemind joined Yar, Shahzanan, and Albiyun, who had already found Za'adiyah. She smiled at him and then nodded to her father. Lights from every color of the rainbow encircled them. Everything around them started to fade, but before it became a complete blur, Melkemind noticed a single white feather stuck to one of the teeth of the dead dragon. He said nothing to the others, but knew well what it meant. The battlefield around them disappeared, and they saw nothing but darkness for at least an hour. They could not move from their spots and could not talk to one other. Finally, the darkness began to fade, and they reappeared in a barren land, filled with dunes of black sand. Yar looked around for anything, but found only more sand. “Balkh,” he concluded solemnly. 

“This way,” Za'adiyah said, pointing to a distant object. 

The sky was covered with dark clouds, and the only thing at all in the entire city was the gate. It was supported by stone ionic columns on either side, arched at the top. In the top center, in beautiful calligraphy, was carved the name of Avencieh, the queen who sacrificed her freedom for the protection of the Known World. In the center of the gate was a black rotating vortex. Albiyun stood in amazement. He walked to the other side of the gate, but found it completely transparent, as though the gate were just a normal archway from one side, and a portal to the Unknown World on the other. 

“Where is everyone?” asked Za'adiyah. 

“There was one final secret that we did not teach you before you left for your journey, Za'adiyah,” her father informed her. “We have shifted in time. Your friends have not yet arrived here, but Esfandiar is inside the gate, attacking Avencieh.” 

Fuad arrived, dismounted from his unicorn, and stepped forward. “Then, as the Chosen One, I must go in and stop him.” 

“No,” objected the Storyteller, who had just arrived with Nestor, Miftah, and Hanieh. “It is not your battle.” 

Shahzanan stood beside Fuad. “Then, I will go.” 

The Storyteller smiled. “No, I'm afraid it is not your destiny either. Fuad, now is the time. Unleash the Orb of Mercy.” 

A scream echoed from within the vortex, as though Esfandiar could hear every word. Fuad shrugged his shoulders. “Storyteller, we did not find the Orb of Mercy. We found the other orbs, but...I do not know where to look.” 

“Young man, kneel.” 

Fuad obediently dropped to his knees. 

“You were given a bronze key. Where is it?” 

Fuad removed it from his backpack. “It is here, Uncle.” 

“Do not call me uncle! You are no longer a boy, and I am no longer the Storyteller to you. You are the Chosen One! You will address me as Mustafa.” 

“But...yes, M...Mustafa.” 

The vortex rotated with increasing velocity. The winds around the gate whipped violently, and everyone who watched held their garments and squinted their eyes, trying to see through the flying debris. 

The Storyteller stood over Fuad. “Time is running out! We must continue! Insert the key into the Orb of Destiny. Unlock your destiny!” 

Fuad quickly removed the Orb of Destiny from his bag. “Where do I insert it? There is no hole!” 

“Do it! Fulfill your destiny!” 

Fuad held the orb out in front of him and pushed the key towards the orb. To his surprise, it inserted perfectly into it and began to glow. 

“Turn it!” the Storyteller yelled. 

Fuad turned the key without any difficulty, and the winds began to calm. The dark clouds subsided and gave way to blue skies. But the vortex continued to rotate faster with every turn. 

“Quickly” urged the Storyteller, “take the golden key, and unlock the Orb of Light.” 

Fuad slid the shiny golden key into the Orb of Light. It pulsed rhythmically, and the sun gleamed brightly onto Balkh. A ray from the sun seemed to particularly shine brightly on Fuad. He held out the two orbs, and they hovered in the air above him. The other two orbs came to life and floated out of his backpack, joining them. 

The Storyteller wiped the sweat from his brow. “Now, Chosen One. You have before you the Orb of Light, the Orb of Destiny, the Orb of Eternity, and the Orb of Reflection. Unlock the Orb of Mercy. Fulfill the prophecy!” 

Tears rolled down Fuad's youthful face. “I don't know how, Story...Mustafa. Help me!” 

“I cannot! You were given the silver key. Use it! Unlock your Mercy.” 

Fuad called for Miftah. He shyly walked over to him on all fours and then stood on his hind legs, so that he was at eye-level with him. 

Fuad whispered, “Now what? You're the key. Unlock the orb.” 

“What orb?” asked Miftah. 

The Storyteller's staff flew out of his hand and into the vortex, as its pull steadily increased. “Think, Fuad!” 

Fuad closed his eyes and tried to remember something, anything that would give him a clue as to where the Orb of Mercy was. He remembered the pyramid, when the others had all been tempted by the worldly objects and how he had resisted. He remembered when they accused Za'adiyah of treachery, and he did not believe them. When the others doubted and questioned the truth, he persevered. Everyone was now counting on him. Finally, he remembered Ahsan, her sweetness and kindness that no one else saw. He looked up at the Orb of Eternity, as it reflected in his pupils, and the answer came to him. 

“I am the Orb of Mercy.” 

Miftah's furry eyebrow raised. “Um, how do I unlock you? Open Sesame?” 

Fuad grabbed hold of Miftah with both hands and held him up in front of the orbs. He stood and shouted more loudly, “I am the Orb of Mercy!” 

A beam of light connected the four orbs together and then pointed out into Miftah, who became filled with it. His body seemed to dissolve, with only light remaining. Then the light entered Fuad, causing his entire body to glow. He let go of Miftah, who floated to the side of him, and then Fuad took hold of the Orb of Eternity. He caressed it and said only, “Open.” 

It grew larger until it was the size of Fuad, and then it cracked open like an egg. Ahsan was balled up inside of it, like a newborn, clutching her legs tightly. Slowly, her eyes opened, and Hanieh rushed to her, wrapping her shawl around her and helping her to her feet. 

The ash beneath them sprouted tiny blades of grass, and saplings grew out of the ground. Within minutes, they were surrounded by a lush field of green grass, and the saplings matured into trees. “I understand now,” Fuad explained. “It is not my fight, Ahsan. It is yours. You must go into the vortex and face your enemy, the one who has visited darkness upon you since you were a child.” 

Hanieh objected, “She can barely stand. There must be another way.” 

“There is not. I assure you, if there was, I would not ask her to do this.” 

A figure appeared from within the vortex, small at first, and then finally emerged. It was a small bearded man, who glared at Ahsan. “That will not be necessary. I will face her here, in this world.” 

Melkemind frowned. “The hermit?” 

“You evil, evil man!” Shahzanan cried. 

The hermit laughed. “I am no man, child. I am Esfandiar, and I will have dominion over this world. Your Chosen One has ensured that for me.” 

Ahsan handed Hanieh her shawl and stood upright. “Esfandiar? I know that name.” 

“As well you should,” confirmed the Storyteller. “He began planning this when you were a child, hundreds of years ago. He taught you at Hadratiya, assisted you in battles, and even spoke to you in your dreams, preparing you for this moment. Now you must resist him and overcome his force of attraction.” 

Ahsan flipped back her sparkling pink hair. “Not a problem.” 

She floated off of the ground and hovered a few cubits above everyone. Esfandiar laughed. “Levitation? That's so elementary, Ahsan. I taught you that during your first week at Hadratiya.” 

He too floated up, until he hovered in front of her. She cupped some of her sparkles into her hand and tossed them into the air. They fell slowly at first, but then changed into sharp spikes and sliced into the hermit. 

He cut his eyes at her, as though she had only shoved him a little. He formed his hands together and then pushed them forward towards her. Larger spikes flew forth from him, piercing her arms and legs. 

She pulled an arrow from her quiver, but as soon as she started to string her bow, Esfandiar snapped his fingers and the bow and arrow turned into dust. 

Hanieh looked at the Storyteller and then to the others. “We must help her. He is too powerful.” 

“No,” answered the Storyteller. “She is more powerful than you could ever imagine, but she must use her mind and her heart to overcome him. She must believe.” 

Esfandiar fired lightning from his finger, which made Ahsan convulse violently and fall to the ground. Smoke rose from her body, but she slowly sat up, pulling more sparkles from her bag. This time she blew on them, and a giant beast formed in front of her. It was translucent, but had sizable teeth like a bear, and claws on its hands and feet. It roared loudly and moved to attack Esfandiar. He shook his head, twirled his finger, and a dragon grew out of it. It snorted, causing smoke to bellow out of its nostrils. Then it coughed only a puff of flames, but enough to fully ignite Ahsan's beast. She looked to the Storyteller, frightened. He smiled at her and pointed to his head. 

Ahsan closed her eyes and saw the Storyteller standing before her. “Ahsan, the Hadra encompasses you. Believe, and you will see.” 

“I do believe,” replied Ahsan. 

“Then, prove it. This is your day of reckoning. Prove that your mother was wrong about you when she stripped you of your honor and banished you from Hadratiya!” 

She opened her eyes, climbed to her feet, and smiled at Esfandiar. His own smile faded from his face, and Ahsan charged towards him at full speed. As her speed increased, she raised her hands to either side of her, and the four orbs, two on each side hovered around her. She stopped inches from the hermit and held out her right hand. The Orb of Reflection fell into it, and she left it hovering in front of him. 

Esfandiar became entranced by his own reflection and gazed into the orb. His loss of concentration made his dragon vanish. The face in his reflection turned black and melted away, leaving only a skull. Worms crawled through the eyes and mouth, and the skull spoke to him, “The Hadra encompasses all. There is none other than the presence. Bow only before your true master.” 

Esfandiar squealed like a swine and cowered away from the orb, falling to his knees. Ahsan stood over him and held the Orb of Destiny over him. “Here is your Destiny, Esfandiar.” 

The orb began to rotate, and Esfandiar noticed his hands becoming more wrinkled. As the orb's speed increased, his face and hands withered, his hair thinned, and his beard turned completely white. He looked towards the vortex and cried out in agony, “This cannot be! You promised me immortality!” 

He heard only a sickly moan from the vortex in reply. His skin decayed, and his bones crumbled into dust and fell at Ahsan's feet. The dust spun into a sphere, collected around itself and then flew back into the vortex. 

The orbs all flew back to Fuad, hovered over him and then dropped, one by one, back into his backpack. The glow faded from his presence, but did not fade from Miftah. 

The darkness from the vortex turned white, and the image of a woman appeared in the gate. All of them looked on in astonishment. The Storyteller walked towards her. “Queen Avencieh. We have awaited your return.” 

He knelt before her. The others, following suit, knelt as well. She stepped out of the vortex. Her dress was of blue silk, covered in spangles, the type that Ahsan always carried. It was thin but covered her body modestly, with large sleeves and ruffles at the end of each wrist. A necklace of pure solyra hung around her neck, with a diamond dangling from it. Her crown was also made of solyra. It was a small tiara, with tiny diamonds decorating the front. Her hands seemed youthful, as though she had just left the world a day ago, and her face was majestic, like the sun at noon. Her lips sparkled as she smiled and placed her small hand onto Fuad's back. 

She motioned all of them to gather around her. “You have all performed well, within the realm of the divine presence, what you call the Hadra. It honors me to be known as your queen. You have defeated an entire army, spawned by the inner lowly desires of this world. Now, you must forever seal this gate, so that Sawad cannot return to this world. Where is the one named Za'adiyah?” 

She stepped forward and bowed slightly before the queen. “I am Za'adiyah.” 

“You will rule a united Kelterya one day, my child. Be mindful of your higher duty. In doing so, you will remove the cloud of mystery that has isolated your people from the world. At times, it will seem as if hope has been lost for your kingdom, but a new dawn is approaching. It has been written that there are two kinds of days, one favorable and the other unfavorable. If one day is good, do not lavish, and if it is unfavorable, be patient; for both are temporary. Now, my child, call on the eternal name of the power behind the Hadra, and request it to seal the gate, forever.” 

Za'adiyah stood in front of the gate and closed her eyes. She did not speak, but ancient Tezentian letters swirled around her, dancing to a silent melody. One by one, they positioned themselves on the gate, spelling out an unspoken word. Each letter flashed, as it engraved itself into the stone arch, above the name of Avencieh. When the last letter was engraved, the entire word began to glow, and the letters became golden solyra. 

Avencieh held onto Za'adiyah's hand briefly, but she started to move backwards into the gate. Ahsan called out, “Avencieh, no! We need you!” 

Avencieh's grip on Za'adiyah's hand slipped away, and she moved more quickly back into the gate. “My time in this world has passed, Ahsan. You will have a new queen very soon. Never forget why you are here. You have a purpose greater than yourselves.” 

She slowly disappeared into the mist of the gate, and then the mist disappeared. Ahsan ran to the gate, but the portal to the Unknown World had vanished. Avencieh was gone. 

The Storyteller looked shocked. “I cannot understand this. The prophecy. Where are the scrolls?” 

Fuad walked humbly over to the Storyteller. “Mustafa, the keepers of the scrolls have returned to Solistia. I sense their presence.” 

The Storyteller smiled and hugged Fuad. “You have made this old man proud, my son. We will go to Solistia, but all survivors must accompany us.” 

Melkemind looked confused. “By all survivors you mean all of us, right?” 

“No, Melkemind. I mean all people from the Known World must meet in Solistia. They must witness the return of the scrolls and Fuad's reading of them. This is the fulfillment of the prophecy.” 

Fuad nodded. “Then, we will give them seven days to travel and convene in the city of Solistia. Our destiny awaits us.” 

Twentyone



Illumination






Every brick of the Golden City was made of pure solyra. Any who walked upon the cobblestone roads saw their reflections in it. The giant phoenix circled high above the city, while ravens perched from treetops and buildings. Birds of every breed, color, and song encircled the city and waited. All of the buildings in Solistia were crafted from solyra and engraved with intricate geometric designs. Each was unique and yet choreographed in a splendid visual song with the other buildings. At the center of the city stood the largest structure, a building with 21 domes, the largest of which towered in the center, with smaller ones surrounding it. The hoopoe landed on top of the largest dome, and the other birds chirped and cheered his arrival. 

Murid, dressed in a freshly pressed beige tunic and pants, with a skullcap on his head, stood at the entrance of the city, greeting and taking record of all who entered. A group of older Hydroa approached Murid, wearing colorful coral jewels and clothing. “Please state your names and affiliation,” requested Murid. 

The leader of the group, and the oldest among them, carrying a silver staff with a crystal clear sphere on top of it, replied, “We are the Mystic Council of Hydrodollin.” 

Murid scribbled down their words upon a scroll. “And who accompanies you?” 

“Thousands of men, women, and children.” 

“Please enter and be seated near the bottom steps of the Great Solyrium. That is the domed building you see in the center of the city. If you have any weapons, please leave them with the guards, stationed along the outer walls. Restrooms are placed at every corner, and food vendors will be arriving shortly.” 

Chief Bey along with four other Tezentian chiefs arrived next, along with wagons full of Tezentian night vines. Murid greeted them, and Chief Bey replied, “We are the chiefs of the ancient Tezentian people.” 

“And who accompanies you?” 

“We bring seven hundred thousand warriors, travelers, and wise people. Oh yes, and the decorations.” 

“Welcome, honored guests. Please be seated in front of the Solyrium, and take the decorations to the organizing committee at the City Hall.” 

Murid was still looking down, writing briskly on his pad, when the next visitor arrived. “Please state your name and affiliation,” he said, not looking up. 

“My name is Abbas, father of Fuad. These with me are the Circle of Elders.” 

Murid froze and slowly looked up. “Uncle Abbas! Welcome! Welcome! Please, there is a special seat for you, near Fuad's. The Elders are needed inside the Solyrium. And, who accompanies you?” 

“With us are thousands of men, women, and children from the kingdom of Cor.” 

Murid smiled. “Welcome to the new Solistia.” 

An attractive older woman, with three younger women came next, with jewels on their necks and wrists, and exquisite sequined dresses. The older woman wore a golden crown. Murid greeted them and asked for their names. 

“I am the queen of Qamariya, and these are my daughters, Princess Rana, Princess Aliyah, and Princess Maleeha.” 

“Welcome, your royal highnesses.” 

She leaned over and whispered to Murid, “And the last one, Maleeha, is quite fond of you, young man.” 

He squirmed and straightened his back. “Well, ahem. Welcome. Who accompanies you?” 

She glanced at the crowd behind her. “We are accompanied by a caravan of the finest nobles, dignitaries and academics, as well as senators and council members. Behind them are thousands of men, women, and children, all equal to the nobles and their rulers.” 

“Very good, Madam,” Murid responded. 

The travelers after the Qamariyans were led by a group of four men, carrying a raised throne, with an aging king seated above it. Before Murid could greet him, one of the four carriers announced, “We present to you His Majesty, the king of Jabali, followed by thousands of Jabalian people, ready to party!” 

“Um, welcome,” Murid said, half-smiling. 

The next group all wore loud, jingling discs attached to their clothing. The first one to greet Murid was a small woman, wearing a modest dress. She had no eyes on her face, but wore the brightest smile. “I am Nyra, and with me is the prince of Ardramo and his devoted subjects. We bring fresh fruits and herbs for the feast.” 

“Absolutely marvelous,” remarked Murid. “Our ushers will guide you to your seats.” 

Murid heard the sound of an elephant, “Brrrrrrrrr,” and then the thumping of its feet growing closer. In front of the elephant, on foot, was a wizard, dressed in all black, with a small mustache. “I am Prince Titus of Orisay, and upon the elephant, fast asleep, is my father, the king, Julius, along with several thousands of men, women, and children.” 

Murid chuckled. “Greetings to you all!” 

Murid returned to his writing. 

“Excuse me!” 

He looked around, “Huh? What?” 

“Down here,” said a voice. 

He looked down to find five nutrias standing before him. One of them, with the largest orange teeth, a female, spoke softly, “We are the last survivors of the kingdom, Eldgen.” 

“Excellent,” he replied. “And who accompanies you?” 

She lowered her head. “You do not understand. It is only us.” 

Murid's smiled faded. “I see. Well, welcome to Solistia. Anything you need, we will provide for you.” 

She bowed graciously. “Thank you.” 

Two robed figures appeared suddenly in front of Murid. He jumped back, his heart pounding against his chest. “Dear God! Ahem, um, welcome to Solistia. May I have your names?” 

They removed their hoods, and the female spoke, “We are two of the Triumvirs of Kelterya. Our third, Za'adiyah, is already inside. We have brought delicious food with us, although I suspect you will not enjoy it as much as we.” 

Murid grimaced. “Right. OK, and who accompanies you?” 

She smiled eagerly. “We are joined by the brightest minds and mystics of the Known World. We also bring women, children, and men, all of whom are thrilled to meet with many of these different people for the first time in their lives.” 

“And I am sure they will greet you with open arms.” 

Finally, several winged guards landed in front of Murid and surveyed the area, checking for safety. They then signaled to more wing men flying above, who landed and saluted. Murid nodded. “Greetings, brothers. To whom do I owe this honor?” 

The only one with a covered chest, who wore a brilliant white toga, tied at the waist, with a golden robe and wings folded behind him announced, “I am the Premier of the Republic of Sama`a. These are my Winged Honor Guard. We have brought the wise hoopoe with us, as well as our senate, foreign minister, and cultural ministers. Our people bring glad tidings to you on this joyous occasion.” 

“It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Prime Minister. Please, make yourselves at home in the Golden City.” 

The Premier leaned over to Murid and handed him a sealed letter. “This is for the Chosen One, from one of our soldiers.” 

All of the nations, tribes, and rulers seated themselves in the massive open square, at the foot of the steep steps of the Solyrium. Nestor came up from behind Murid and whispered to him, “Have all of the guests arrived?” 

Murid shook his head disappointedly. “We have no reported survivors from the Kingdom of Maleshua and no representatives from Hadratiya, other than you, of course.” 

“Affirmative,” replied Nestor. “I will graciously represent Hadratiya and announce the sad news regarding Maleshua.” 

In the main interior meeting hall of the Solyrium, amidst tall marble columns, the finest Qamariyan rugs, and night vines that decorated the walls, the organizers of the gathering sat waiting. Shahzanan, dressed in a silk turquoise dress, with a colorful floral print, played with a small disc made of solyra, tossing it into the air. Ahsan was seated beside her. After Shahzanan had thrown it into the air several times, Ahsan caught it, snatching it from her. “You're making me nervous. Can you chill?” 

Shahzanan swung her leg back and forth underneath her chair. “I cannot help it, Ahsan. I'm so excited.” 

The Storyteller entered the room, and everyone stood to greet him. He whispered into Fuad's ear, “They are here.” 

Fuad faced the others. “Please stand accordingly. Shahzanan in the center, to the right of you, Ahsan. To the left, Hanieh, and then alternating right and left, Yar, Albiyun, and...where is Miftah?” 

The Circle of Elders entered, glowing brightly. They spoke, as usual, in unison, “The key has begun the path of illumination. He will return with us to Hadratiya and will be seated with us during the ceremonies. One day, he will replace our eldest luminary in the Circle of Elders.” 

Fuad's eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Miftah will be an Elder?” 

Anxiety covered Ahsan's face. “Which elder will retire from his position?” 

One of the luminaries floated forward and took the form of an older woman. “Actually,” she corrected, “you should say her position. It is fine time I do something that is long overdue: spend time with my daughter. Ahsan, I pray that you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I was wrong.” 

Ahsan wiped her sweaty palms on her cloak. “Mother, I've so many things to tell you.” 

“And I also, my child. What I will say now is that you are more worthy of honor and respect than I ever was. You are my daughter, but I admire you and am indebted to you.” 

Ahsan rushed over to her mother, and they embraced, for the first time in hundreds of years. 

Shahzanan's eye makeup started to run, trickling down her cheek. “Darn it,” she said, catching it with her finger. 

Hanieh laughed and wrapped her arm around her. 

Miftah waved his translucent, colorful hand at Fuad. “You have taught me the true meaning of friendship.” 

The Storyteller interrupted, “They are entering. Everyone get ready.” 

The giant double doors of the meeting hall opened, and two dervishes, wearing the robes of Hadratiya entered. Each carried a solid silver cylinder, with a shoulder strap attached to it. They removed their hoods slowly. One of them was an older man, with a short, nicely trimmed gray beard, golden brown complexion, and thick brown eyebrows. The other was an older woman, with high cheek bones and glossy, dark brown eyes. She lowered her eyes to the ground and then looked up again before speaking. “Peace be upon you.” 

It was not a greeting any of them had heard before, spoken in that manner. They all looked at each other, unsure how to respond. Fuad smiled at their fear of formalities and boldly replied, “And peace be upon you as well. I am Fuad of Cor.” 

The woman grinned at him affectionately. “I should have known you were the Chosen One. It is our honor to finally meet you. We have waited so long for this moment to come. My name is Sadiqah, and this is my husband, Ameen. We are the keepers of the scrolls.” 

The Storyteller, whose hand shook nervously, quickly said, “Good. It is a pleasure to meet both of you. Now, Fuad, the reading room has been prepared, if we can now proceed to take the scrolls and begin the reading.” 

“Please,” insisted Sadiqah. “We are tired from our journey. If we can rest for a moment, I would be most grateful. Also, we have some personal business to which we must attend.” 

“Of course,” answered the Storyteller. “Where are my manners. If there is any manner in which we can help you with your personal business...” 

Ameen answered, “We are looking for a girl named Shahzanan.” 

Everyone turned towards Shahzanan, and she looked from side to side, frozen in her spot and smiled nervously. “I...I am Shahzanan.” 

Sadiqah tilted her head to the side, as a single tear fell from her eyelid onto the marble floor. “Oh Ameen. She is so beautiful. She has your smile.” 

“And she has your eyes,” he assured her. 

The Storyteller clutched his staff tightly. “Do you mean...” 

Sadiqah nodded. 

Shahzanan's eyes rolled back into her head and she dropped to the floor. Hanieh caught her head just before it hit the floor. Fuad and Melkemind both rushed to her side and then looked at each other questioningly. Ahsan rolled her eyes. “Oh brother. Please, move aside,” she insisted, squeezing in between the two of them and fanning Shahzanan. 

Hanieh helped Shahzanan sit up, and Ameen and Sadiqah knelt before her. Sadiqah addressed her softly, “My sweet Shahzanan, I am your mother, and this man, Ameen, is your father.” 

“I have dreamed of meeting you, but now I do not know what to say? Why did you leave me?” 

“We loved you dearly, and we will always love you, but the Knower charged us with a great responsibility. We were the most qualified to take the scrolls into hiding. We did so for many years, separately, never making contact with each other. As you can imagine, such an existence can become quite lonely, after a hundred years or so. We finally decided to get married, secretly, with the help of Mustafa. We left his presence before you were born, but he knew that I was with child. 

“When you were born, I entrusted you with a nursemaid from the royal family of Qamariya, knowing that you would be raised well by the kind and generous queen. We wished to contact you, but knew that it would put you and the scrolls in great danger. We have waited patiently for this day to arrive, and now you have brought a coolness to our eyes and a calmness to our hearts, better than a thousand nights of meditation. You are a pure spirit, Shahzanan, the Possessor of Two Lights.” 

The most beautiful song echoed from outside on the steps of the Solyrium. Yar smiled, knowing that his daughters were performing the song they had waited so long to sing again. The crowd, even the Kelteryans joined in the song, which told of the Chosen One's victory and mercy that would be spread over the land. 

The Storyteller opened the door to an adjacent room, filled with books and a single shiny wooden table, with a single chair. “It is time.” 

Fuad nodded and began walking slowly towards the room. The keepers followed behind him. When they had entered the room, they closed it behind themselves and locked the door. Several minutes later, the two keepers exited the room, holding their empty silver containers, and locked the door again. Ameen sighed. “It will be several hours. We must wait.” 

While they waited, Shahzanan and Ahsan walked together through the corridors of the Solyrium. Ahsan examined the designs on the walls, intricate patterns carved into the marble. “It has been quite a family reunion, no?” 

Shahzanan smirked and nodded. “Yes, quite. I am somewhat afraid to accept my parents back into my life so easily.” 

“That is understandable, but they love you and want to be in your life. That is more than many people have. I waited hundreds of years to hear my mother say those words.” 

“Ahsan, are you immortal?” 

“Well, I...” 

“I mean, how does it feel having no idea how much lifespan you have remaining or if you will ever die?” 

“I know that I am not invincible, so I would say that I cannot be immortal. As to whether or not I will die of old age, well, that is another issue entirely. It is difficult, watching those around you come and go. Sometimes, it is tiring, but I do not feel like an old woman. I feel as I did when I stopped growing. I was eighteen years old or maybe nineteen. Anyway, in many ways, I envy you.” 

Shahzanan stopped walking and gazed into her eyes. “How so?” 

“You have a future, something to look forward to...someone to look forward to.” 

“You mean Melkemind?” 

Ahsan laughed. “Perhaps, but I was actually referring to Fuad.” 

“Come now, you don't think he fancies me, do you? He is in love with you.” 

“I don't think so. Besides, what would he want with an old maid?” 

Shahzanan giggled. “If he is like most men, he would probably like to marry both of us, as well as Za'adiyah.” 

Ahsan laughed and put her arm around her. “Whatever happens, Shahzanan, promise to keep in touch. Promise me that we will not let anything come between us.” 

“I promise...big sister.” 

Night fell over Solistia, but the people awaiting the speech of the Chosen One still celebrated, ate, and shared stories. Kelteryans and Sama`ans ate together. Jabalians and Orisay sang songs. But the rulers of those lands met separately and secretly in a small house, not far from the Solyrium. 

The king of Jabali spoke first. “If we are to form a new federation, there must be a centralization of taxes and funding...a common pool, so to speak. 

The Orisay`i king was suspicious of that suggestion. “And who will manage those funds? You, I suppose?” 

“No, not at all. I am just saying...” 

A Kelteryan triumvir interrupted, “The question of military control is also an issue. Should there be a centralized authority over all armies or not? 

Chief Bey questioned, “Why would we need a military if we all live in peace?” 

Abbas, Fuad's father, chimed in, “It might be that the barbarians from the unexplored lands will attack us, as they did many centuries ago.” 

Julius of Orisay snickered. “I am more concerned about the Kelteryans, honestly.” 

The female triumvir stood. “You should be most concerned about your own lunatic generals!” 

The elder prince of Ardramo pounded his fist against the round wooden table. “Enough! The Chosen One is our guide and leader in all matters, not just the spiritual. We will seek his counsel on this matter, after the reading of the Golden Scrolls.” 

The Triumvirate nodded. 

Julius echoed their approval. 

Chief Bey added, “Then, if there are no objections, we will retire until the morning meditation, after which, I suspect Master Fuad will be ready.” 

The singing and carnival gradually waned, as the moon ran its course through the night and people either sought shelter in houses or slept right where they had been waiting. There were special quarters for those in the Solyrium, and Shahzanan shared a room with Ahsan, rather than with their parents. For most of the night, she did not sleep. She stared out of her star-shaped window, watching the Tezentian night vines glow slowly brighter and darker, as though it was the breathing of their deep sleep. Before long, the moon set, and the sun rolled up the night in a blanket of sunshine that brought a glistening reflection into Shahzanan's room. When she turned to wake Ahsan, she realized that the glistening came from the sparkles on her face. 

A voice echoed throughout the city. It was melodic and spoke to the hearts of the people, like a fable told to the innocent ears of a child. Ahsan's eyes opened quickly, startling Shahzanan. “Good morning, big sister.” 

Ahsan sat up in bed and untied her hair, flipping it a few times. “That song. It is the call.” 

Shahzanan started pacing across the room. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God...” 

“Shahzanan, stop! Get it together, OK? Fuad needs us now.” 

“OK OK, I'm calm.” 

Ahsan's smile revealed her sparkling teeth. “Now, we're going to go out onto the steps of the Solyrium, and we're going to smile at the people, and sit quietly while Fuad gives his lecture, right?” 

Shahzanan took five deep breaths. “Right.” 

Most of the other guests had already gathered in the courtyard below the Solyrium and were sitting attentively. The keepers of the scrolls came out first and seated themselves on chairs opposite of the podium that was setup for Fuad. A hush fell over the crowd when they saw the legends of their childhood stories before them. Yar and Albiyun assisted the Storyteller and Hanieh to their seats, and then Shahzanan and Ahsan were seated as well. 

Melkemind, who was wearing a royal robe of Qamariya, red, with a silver sash on one shoulder and medals decorating the front chest area, stepped to the podium. He surveyed the crowd and then looked to the hoopoe. The hoopoe nodded its head, and Melkemind began. “Beloved people of the Known World. Never before have we all gathered together for a peaceful cause. We stand here today as a united community, in the shade of Hadra, with the guidance of the Golden Scrolls, and with the oversight of the wise hoopoe. 

“Dear brethren, the prophecy has been fulfilled. The Orb of Mercy has restored Solistia to its former splendor, as it is made of solyra, a pure substance of the earth. All other organic things have also been restored. But our man-made cities, our borders, our walls, and our houses lie in ruins. We must rebuild, not as nations, but as people, helping one another. 

“I am not immune to the cultural problems that have faced our people. For most of my life, I have lived with a Tezentian slave girl, although I never knew her true origins. I had insulted her people, not knowing that the purest and most intelligent girl I had known was one of them. I was a fool, the son of a fool. Now, I stand here before you, not as a king, but as a humble follower of the Knower and of the Chosen One. That Tezentian girl who lived in my castle is here with us today. Her bravery helped make all of this possible, and...and I love her...” 

The people in the crowd began talking amongst themselves loudly. Melkemind could hear some of the Qamariyans making comments about the baseness of royalty marrying slaves. The hoopoe chirped loudly, and commanded everyone to listen. 

Melkemind continued, “I know many of you still hold your ill feelings for each other in your hearts, and I cannot change that. But today, you will hear the words of the scrolls, and truth will be revealed to you. Brothers, sisters, and children, I present to you the Chosen One, Fuad, son of Abbas, out of Cor.” 

People in the crowd wanted to clap and cheer, but they feared the hoopoe's rapprochement, and thus remained silent. Melkemind sat on the seat next to where Fuad had been seated, as he nervously approached the podium. He did not hesitate in his speech. After praises on the divine presence and greetings to the people, he spoke firmly and yet compassionately. 

“Last night, I did what very few have ever done. I read the Golden Scrolls, the words of the Knower, who was sent to our people hundreds of years ago to guide them out of the darkness into light. As many of you know, we have returned to that darkness. That which consumed our villages, cities, and towns, had, long before, consumed our hearts. It, therefore, should not have surprised us. It was our own evil creation, from our own corrupted hearts. 

“I know many of you are expecting me to give you a spiritual remedy, to reveal a certain mysticism that has eluded most of us, so that we might know the realities of the unseen and be comforted by some miraculous wisdom. I will not...” 

The people in the crowd began talking amongst themselves again. Some even stood up, preparing to leave. 

“I will not,” Fuad continued, “because that is not what I found in the Golden Scrolls. We have lost our way, not because we lacked an understanding of mysticism, but because we turned away from the good nature that we have in us at birth. The scrolls remind us to treat one another as brothers and sisters, to love our neighbors, to give to the poor, weak, and afflicted, to love and respect our children and our parents, to take in orphans, to speak only good words to each other and remain silent when we have nothing good to say, to not speak ill of anyone when not in their presence, to avoid suspicion for most suspicion is evil, to encourage good behavior and discourage that which is bad, to share our wealth, deal justly in trade, and to not fight amongst ourselves. 

“Learn well what I say, and pay careful attention to what I teach you. There is no superiority of a Qamariyan over a Tezentian, nor a Tezentian over a Qamariyan...nor a Kelteryan over an Orisay`i or an Orisay`i over a Kelteryan. The best among you are those who are most conscious of the Hadra. It is better for you to teach one another than to fight, even against an enemy. So, learn the scrolls and teach them to those who have not learned. It should be that the ones who are not present today will know them better than the ones who are present. 

“I am the Orb of Mercy, but I cannot force you to be merciful. You have been given two choices, and your survival depends on making the right one. When you see some debris in the road that might be harmful to someone, do not pass it. Pick it up, so that the next traveler will not stumble upon it. When one of you is sick, the others should visit him. When one of you dies, the others should attend his funeral. Those who are young and vibrant should take care of those who are weak and sick. 

“I know that some of you have been planning to form a new political Federation and are hoping for my approval in this matter. But I studied the scrolls, and the Knower never approved of the original Federation.” 

There were gasps in the crowd, but the hoopoe squawked loudly, admonishing them. 

Fuad went on, “The Knower did come to unite you, but his purpose was not to feed your political ambitions. The borders that you have created are your own fancies and have nothing to do with any divine guidance. If you choose to form kingdoms, so be it, but do not exclude your fellow man because he is from another kingdom. Trade freely; be just and generous. Those of you who are kings, senators, and premiers, do your people's will. You represent them and should see to their needs. 

“Oh people, when you leave here, each of you will be given a copy of the scrolls in your language and in the language of the ancient Tezentians. I send you off in the universal greetings that I have learned from the keepers: Peace be upon you!” 

The hoopoe lifted off from the top of the dome and circled high into the sky around the Solyrium. Fireworks shot out from the domes, crackling in the air. The Hydroa singers continued their songs, and the people began to disperse. 

Shahzanan ran to Fuad. “You were great! I mean, it was great...I mean, your lecture..” 

“Thank you, Shahzanan. Thank you. So, where are you going from here?” 

She sighed and looked to the clouds, with a tear trickling down her cheek. “We have set up a village for ourselves in the forest. Hanieh wants me to return there to finish my training. Ahsan has agreed to go there with me as well.” 

Fuad nodded. “I understand. We will never be too far away from each other. My family and I wish to return to Cor to rebuild it.” 

“I figured you would,” she replied. “What of Melkemind?” 

“He is going back to Qamariya. His mother has already ordered the rebuilding of the castle, as well as the houses of any survivors. She will rule as queen until he is ready to take over the kingdom.” 

“Fuad, I...” 

“You don't have to say anything, Shahzanan. We are young and have much to consider and much more to learn. Keep good thoughts of all of us. If it is written, we will meet again.” 

Ahsan tossed sparkles into the air, and they multiplied, covering all of Solistia, and raining down on everyone as they left. As Shahzanan, Ahsan, and Hanieh left on their caravan, the hoopoe landed on Fuad's shoulder and whispered into his ear. He replied, “I know,” and smiled. 



The Storyteller closed his book that was positioned on his lap and looked into the eyes of the crowd of children that were seated around him. He smirked and said, “And so that is how this golden age came to us. Solistia was restored, Cor was rebuilt, and prosperity returned to the people.” 

A little boy raised his hand. “But Storyteller, there is so much that you haven't told us.” 

He removed his spectacles and examined the small boy. “Haven't I? What did I forget to tell you?” 

“Well,” answered the boy, “What happened to Yar, Albiyun, Nestor, and Za'adiyah?” 

Rabi'a joined the discussion and leaned against the Storyteller's shoulder. “Well, Yar returned to Hydrodollin and became known as a legendary hero. Albiyun returned to his wife and told her that he was right. She conceded. Nestor is the head professor at Hadratiya, and hasn't taken a drink since that day they found him in the desert. As for Za'adiyah, she returned to school in Kelterya, preparing to take her position one day as a triumvir.” 

A little girl stood and spoke very clearly for her age, “And Storyteller, what of Mezentius? Did he die?” 

“Oh yes, yes,” recalled the Storyteller. “I forgot to tell you about the letter. You see, the letter that Murid had received from the Sama`ans was a letter from Mezentius to Fuad. He said that, halfway to Balkh, he and his soldiers regretted leaving Fuad to go to battle alone. So, they headed back to Kelterya to help. On the way, they were attacked by the dragon and nearly all of the troops were eaten. He narrowly escaped with a broken wing, but was unable to make the rest of the journey. They rebuilt his city above the clouds, and, as far as I know, he has lived there till this day.” 

The girl did not sit. She was clearly not satisfied. “But what about Avencieh? She said that a new queen would come to the people. Where is the new queen? And did Shahzanan marry Melkemind? Did Ahsan marry Fuad? And what did the hoopoe say to him?” 

The Storyteller leaned forward and whispered, “That, my children, is another story, for another day.” 

About the Author

Tavis J. Hampton is a full-time Library Media Specialist in a major metropolitan school district. He has written hundreds of articles, poems, and short stories appearing in various magazines, newspapers, web sites, and books, mostly under the pen name “Tavis Adibudeen.” 

He lives in Indianapolis with his daughter, Zahra, and loving wife, Taubah. This is his first novel. 



The End