Silver Cathedral Saga (24 page)

It all
caused him to start shaking, his son still being held down on the
bed by one man and one woman.

“No,” said
his father. “We can not risk him being exposed to this blurriness
of life. The lie that has shattered his perception. Take him to the
dungeon and lock him in a cell. Make sure he is well fed; but do
not bathe him until the second day of his coming purity. Cleanse
his sins away when he is aware of them. And let him remember that
he can be reborn, that there is still hope in one’s soul. For a lie
is never easy to accept—but always harder to live with.”

The guards
both nodded and took him out of the bed, taking Etch to the place
where he would have to stay.

The father
finally let himself go; when they had left… he let it all go. All
of his tears; the way they formed on the ground made for droplets
of reality left within the shadow of a lie. The lie he let his own
son take too far. He shook so hard, never remembering himself
feeling like this before in his life.

Astorians

There
came a time in this world that the ‘Book of Creation’ was a known
factor for the religion of Edeolon, but it soon turned into reason
for that time to end and pass.

Too much
panic, hate and worry: The three all plagued the minds of the
people. Many of the people.

So much had
been trampled on, and little else was rebuilt—or built at all.

The tales
of creation scared the people on Astora; the second lot of
Astorians, the humanoids.

So the gods
and high priests decided to hide this one ‘Book of Creation,’ and
instead put the ‘Text of Edeolon’ on show to be read, to take its
place and not frighten the masses.

Although
only one book existed on each world; each being in the leader’s
domain, reminding him/her of where this person lived, and where
they came from and are.

The ‘Book
of Creation’ was written by the gods, as was the Edeolon book.
Though the rulers of the three worlds took it upon themselves to
control all the minds of the forthcoming ages… to not let them know
about the true creation. For that alone stood with a race on
Adalas, and few who witnessed such an act of power and creativity.
Thus, the gods took the ‘Book of Creation’—and it was never seen
again. Yet one crafty human before it was gone, hand wrote a text
very similar, hidden in a book that resembled very much so in every
way—a storybook.

* *
*

The
Ematay team came down to the Heart of the Mountain; they finally
saw the last of the steps.

“Thank the
gods for that,” said Christian. “My legs would have fallen off if
the stairs continued on much longer.”

“I think
all of ours would. It is saying something if it aches the bones of
a young one though, when we are far older. Yet clearly not wise
enough not to do this,” said Ematay.

They saw an
archway lap over a wall, attached to it, in front of the last few
stairs that finally went into a straight line; not a spiral like
the miles they must have travelled from the stairs, going down into
this rocky depth of the floating land.

“This is
where you come in,” said Ematay to Christian.

The boy
held his star-metal bracelet up to the wall that blocked the
archway to getting them to the other side.

“Can it not
be blasted open?” asked Eleanor.

“No, this
is protected by the oldest magick: Very set in its way, like an
ageing man or woman. Feel free to try, but when I tied last time
with my company… it did not nothing.”

The
Battle-caster stepped up to the wall. It was made of clean, white,
smooth stone that didn’t fit in with the rest of the surroundings,
even the dumbest of people could see there was something peculiar
with this wall staring back at them.

He
unsheathed his sword and raised the hilt, getting ready to strike.
The others taking several steps back.

Dak the
Battle-caster struck it with the hilt of his sword, and with his
strike a ringing noise emerged; coming with it the sound of an
explosion erupting briefly, that being the sound of the kinetic
power that he used to strike the wall with. There was a purple
energy that glowed around this white wall as he done so, protecting
it somehow, pushing the caster back—as if the energy he just put
out came right back at him.

Dak was
forced back two metres abruptly.

“Good job
we all moved back,” said Selphira, coyly. “The Swan Knight of the
team was the perfect fit. Since you people are so good at taking
damage, it was a good idea you executed this decision.”

“Knew it
would happen. I had to put up with it last time; learn from the
past; it’s all any being can do in the end,” said Ematay.

“True,”
said Christian. He looked to the Edeolon Warriors. “You Warriors of
Faith have been real quiet since you joined. Why so?”

“It has
been a rule to learn from those who choose to speak, than to get
involved ourselves. We learn much about people that way. Where they
come from, what they know, how it can all help,” replied
Oddius.

The words
that came out of Oddius seemed to sink deep with the children.
Alarming them with treacherous thoughts, but for no real reason. It
seemed the situation was making them both paranoid. By the
minute.

“So now
what?” said Adea.

“Now we
figure out the riddle,” said Ematay. “It is inscribed all the way
around the edges. It looks pretty long by the looks of it, longer
than the last.”

“They
change,” said Eleanor, surprised.

“A spell of
protection from the gods no doubt,” said Lauretta.

Christian
went to the wall whilst the Swan Knight put his sword back in its
sheath, and sat down, looking rather annoyed he was weak or
helpless in a moment like this.

The male
ten year old traced his fingers around the edges as he whispered it
to himself:

“The words
of the young are true to be told. They will balance an age, and
deem the old.” He stopped mid way, and pondered if this riddle knew
he was there reading this very thing. It talked about the youth,
him, as if this wall knew of the secret inside the circle of
followers. Christian tried not to think on it too much, or there
stood a chance that Dak the Battle-caster could read him all too
easy. Or maybe Dak had been reading him all along, and knew he knew
about him or the others having to do with this awaiting dark step.
Either way it would not help now.

“Well?”
said Oddius, confused in a way to why he stopped. Eleanor tried not
to look too suspicious or obvious at this time, but it was
something she was never really good at.

Christian
cleared his throat, then continued:

“Though the
ones of old will oppose a threat, there is a reason that has never
been treat. To those there, a choice will be paid. Yet a bigger
deal should have to be made.”

“That
doesn’t particularly make much sense,” said Eleanor. “Or not to me
anyway.”

Christian
scanned all along the outside of the white stone wall again. It was
straight to begin with, then had a semi circle at the top, then
went straight on the other side again. He sighed then scratched his
head and said, “you seem to be right from what I can see in a way
Eleanor. It makes sense, it’s just very abstract.” He hit his index
finger against his bottom lip. “Maybe the answer doesn’t lie in the
answers, but in the two abstract ideas behind them. Maybe combining
them would make some more sense.” He looked at everyone looking at
him. It made him feel and look uneasy. “Could everyone sit down. I
can’t work well with people looking over at me and staring.”

They all
looked away and sat down, trying to turn their attention to each
other by talking about occasions and experiences, to draw them out
of this time of desperation, their minds not being as patient and
as calm as they would like.

Christian
scanned the words yet again before he looked away and pretended to
see what was on the other side, but then he snapped his imagination
out of it and tried to focus. Yet this didn’t happen as fast as he
was used to. The pressure was on, and his mind was usually so
focused he could cut through riddles as if they were just simple
words with the meaning and answers whispering to him in his
ear.

The talking
the rest of the group were doing was distracting him. He kept
hearing stories of them and the pirates of old; of how they were
treacherous, but still an integrated, important part of the system.
Or how none of them could ever figure out why the king many
generations ago made a pact to use them. He became engulfed in the
story, yet he pretended to be working… until he eventually shook
out of anger and impatience.

“Would you
all shut up,” He shouted. “How on Astora could I concentrate on
anything with all your blabbering stories of old, stories I would
like to hear myself some day. Just please, don’t talk. I need to
focus.”

They all
projected a surprised expression on their faces.

“We are
sorry,” spoke Ematay for the whole group, looking at him before the
white wall. The rest nodded a little or said nothing, agreeing with
the apology.

Which felt
strange to Christian, because he had never seen Spell-casters like
this, or imagined them all those years to be like this either.

They were
all on the point of a sharp weapon, a jagged blade slowing pressing
into their skins. So Christian could excuse a few annoyances.

“That’s
okay,” he sighed, before continuing. “I think it’s not referring to
us, at least not directly. Youth is a symbol of innocence, which
means they are not corrupt, or not yet. Maybe this relates to the
last part, making some kind of deal. This is the hardest one I’ve
had to deal with so far, which is kind of exciting. Okay, a deal: A
state of give and take. A balance… between two or more people. A
deal of unity… between me and Eleanor? Come here Eleanor, quick.”
She got of the step several more above the Edeolon Warriors.

“Say
something about yourself which is not true to the wall. Something
that others could believe, but you know is false. A believable lie,
if you will. Say it out loud now,” said her long time friend.

She thought
quickly. “Erm… I am adopted.”

“No, no,
no. Something I don’t even know could be right or wrong. It has to
be something personal about you that fits within your personality,
but isn’t an actual part of you.” She looked somewhat worried now,
but spat out something again:

“My father
was killed in a war with the Shadows,” she said half hearted.

Christian
frowned, as he thought this was the actual truth—but as he did a
purple energy emitted around the wall, a one that glowed, though
not very brightly. The light that once attacked the Battle-caster
could now be seen, and stayed visible this time.

“It was my
fault my family died when the Shadows attacked Hiva Aura,” said
Christian, keeping up the pace of what he was trying to do.

All the
Spell-casters and Edeolon Warriors were flabbergasted at these
words from the children, and were drawing upon their own sentences
and stories of lies. Even though they had no reason to do so.

The wall
radiated even more purple light now, flowing like a curtain on a
windy day, if the window was open, fluttering wildly, as if
alive.

Christian
moved Eleanor and himself out of the way.

“The
Spell-casters need to stand before the wall. Because you are going
to speak to it.” They all moved as fast as they could, and it was a
little squeeze for all four to stand there; there being two rows of
two.

“Now,
Spell-casters. You must promise to treat Star-casters from this day
forward as you would yourself, but speak facing the wall.” They all
looked at each other uncomfortably. Ematay even more than the
others. “It is a matter of life of death. Put your inferiority and
power complexes aside, look past what it means to be a certain kind
of Spell-caster, and see what it means to be a Spell-caster
altogether.”

They all
cleared their throats. “What, all of us?” asked the Fire-caster
Lauretta, even though she knew the answer and didn’t like it. The
Warriors of Faith and Eleanor and Christian sat on the stairs
watching.

Christian
sat at the front, directing them like a director would in a play,
rehearsing for opening night.

“Yes,” he
said pretty annoyed that this person asked it. “And when you say
it, make sure you mean it. That is important. You need that for
this to work,” said Christian.

The
Spell-casters done as the child asked, except Ematay. Though none
were happy to be told what to do from a ten year old: To treat the
Star-casters, all of them, as well as themselves with the sentence:
“I promise to treat Star-casters as fairly as myself. As any other
worthwhile being.” They all repeated this one at a time.

It wasn’t
until the last one finished saying it that the purple light grew
darker. The Spell-casters stepped back and looked in wonder at what
was happening, exactly, besides Ematay, as he came to the step the
children sat on and near. He plonked himself down next to Eleanor
and Christian, and bashed against each of them playfully, as if to
say thank you, ending with a smile before he moved, yet again.

It took
several more seconds before this purple energy emitted enough light
to go into a frenzy—a vicious flash, releasing the wall from
existence.

“Woah,”
said the Battle-caster. “You were not kidding about Christian, were
you Ematay. I don’t think any of us would have figured that one
out.”

“He truly
is one of a kind,” said Eleanor as her and her friend started to
make their way to the gap where the white wall was before.

But before
they all moved on through the new entrance, Ematay asked out of all
of them what the riddle was about: