Dreams of the Quill

by Flak

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TWO HEAVILY ARMED men walked by, talking loudly. Mana jumped behind a pile of steel. There was a clatter as he tripped over the metal bars, but the men were talking so loudly that they didn’t hear. He hid between two heaps and listened in on the conversation.

“So, we happed by the pub, and a man came forth and spake, wouldst thou believe what he said? He said, ‘My name is Nancy. ‘”

“Sayeth thee so, Art? Haha! ‘Tis a girl’s name! ” replied the other. ” ‘Tis as I said, brother! Pubmen art so mad nowadays. Hoho, but this one must be particular! ”

“Aye. ‘Tis a good point, but wilt thou harken? ”

“Sorry, brother.”

“Right. So I say, ‘ What’s thy job? ‘ and he replied, ‘I’m a recorder.’”

A small clatter came from the pile of junked steel. The second man raised his spear, but the man Art halted him.

“‘Tis not all. He said he was a recorder of Mana.”

” M’G’HAA!! Truly not! ”

“Absolutely.”

The pile of steel collapsed. Junk was no match for Mana’s sword. How dare they mock his name? He stood there, sword raised, eyes flashing, cloak blowing in the bitter wind.

The second man moved forward. Mana put out his hand as if against an invisible wall. The wind stilled and a frozen rain battered the men who had their spears out and forced them backward. There was a thunder clap, the whole junkyard lit up with a firefly glow, and the wind blowed back in whole heartedly. Then the second man threw down his spear. His brother followed suit. Art seemed jolted from all directions.

“Pick me up, Julien!”

Art picked up his spear. It was over.

Who is Julien? What do these men want? What am I doing here? Lanto, oh Lanto, I need your fatherly advice again! I’m sick of being a fool! Help me now! And is that the…

“Truce! ‘Tis truce!”

Mana reluctlantly sheathed his sword.

“What doth thou want?” he inquired ferociously.

“We wish to know thy name, my bold fellow.”

“Why shoudst I tell thee?’Tis none of thy proper buisness!”

“Mayhap thou shalt tell me if tell thee mine own?” asked the second man.

“‘Tis none of my buisness! And why, prithee, might I care a smidgeon of thy name?’Tis but a title of no importance.”

” A proper young gentleman, huh, Art?’ ‘Tis none of my buisness’ Haha!”

“Ah well, ’tis now! My name is Art, my fair brother’s is Boris. ”

Mana made a mental note. He smiled at the men.

“Thou wert correct, stranger. ‘Tis my buisness now. Thank ye. ” He strode off briskly, brown woven cloak blowing in the wind.

“Wait! ‘Tis what thy name?” Boris had caught up with him.

Mana turned round. He took off his hood, letting his red hair blow freely on the freezing cold breeze. He paused. Then he said hesitatingly, “My name…is…Mana. ”

Both Art and Boris were taken aback. The spear Art was holding glowed.

“”Mana…Mana…Mana…”

And it was normal in a flash.

“Come with us…Mana,” said Art. He looked exited, like a butcher with a pig and a chainsaw, but chainsaws weren’t invented yet, so back to the story. Art grabbed Mana ferociously. Mana broke loose, but Boris was behind him in a flash. No more tricks, he thought, I’m surrounded. Escape time. The steel trash-place lit up again and each seperate pile of junked metal bars, wires, weapons, armour, and planks was raised as if by an invisible hoist into the wind-broken sky. There was a thunder clap that shook the whole junkyard, and the levitated piles flew towards the men. Mana ducked under Boris’s spear handle and disappeared. The piles of weak metal fixed themselves around Art and his brother, confining them temporarily in the center of Mist Steelyard. That is, until they find out that junked steel is no barrier for two stout spears.

Art tried to console his brother. Boris was trembling all over. After all, they were cold to their bones, they would deffinitely starve, and were those wolves howling on the other side of the ring of steel?

Back to Mana. He just passed into the neighboring country, Crutomania. He stumbles his way along the Grand Pass. He is exhausted from the magical effort of his last ordeal. He trips and falls. He falls asleep instantly.

When he woke up, Mana was surrounded by wolves. Not just any wolves, they were huge and, instead of tails, they had giant scimitar blades. One of them had a gold blade. Another, obviously the leader, for he was larger than the others, came forward and spoke. Mana had a hard time picking it all up.

“Follow us.”

Simple enough, Mana got up and followed them.

“Where are we going?” he asked, dropping old English. After all, why the fuss?

“Somewhere.” Okay that was obvious, but Mana had no time for jokes. He tried several different wolves, but got no response. Finally, he had the nerve to go strait to the wolf with the gold bladetail. He tried again. This time he got an answer.

“When a spear falls, a destiny joins,
Not in j’lry, nor in coins,
To Libra he shall return,
Like a Pheonix to forever burn,
Take the fameless, and the faceless,

Crystals to destroy,Bolt to depress,
Take friends, make good ends,
Rivers flow, this one bends,
The one called Julien,
The one called Mana,
Seek out the Aura Dust!
Find the answer to your fears,
Detroy the lust,
Suffer the bust,

Return to Libra,
Mana!”

Mana sat puzzled. Libra? Bolt? Crystals? Aura Dust? What was all this?

“Umm…excuse me, but where are we going?” he asked.

“Fort Crutom. The [Spire Fortress].”

“Right. Thank ye. What was that rhyme?”

“The Rune of Return.”

“What is Libra? Who is the’faceless and fameless’?”

However, the gold-tailed wolf seemed satisfied with his tellings. He loped up to the leader, whispered something to him, and returned to Mana.

“Who are you, though?”

“My name is Mana, and yours is what?”

“Frontello. If you are indeed Mana, you must enter the Spire. But first, change your name to Julien. At least for now.”

The party continued down the slope. They came to a fork in the road. The leader ran up to Mana and said,”Just over the ridge on the right fork is our destination. But to the left there is an excellent view of Fort Crutom. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes, thank ye,” replied Mana eagerly.

They went to the fork on their left, and found themselves on a cliff. Mana caught his breath. He was awestruck by the giant yellow-stoned castle. It was giant, a grand castle it was indeed. The top was covered by Mist, and that Mist was unlike any Mana had ever seen. It glowed golden, and obviously didn’t spew monsters all over the place like normal Mist.

“What is that?” asked Mana.

“Gaia Clouds,” responded the leader. Immediately, a thunderbolt split the sky. The gray Mist returned, clouds met, and it started to rain. A mile away, in the Lake of Leviathan, a golden head emerged. All the while, the Golden Mist glowed. Another bolt ripped through the now dark evening sky. It seemed attracted to the Gaia Cloud. The entire Fortress lit up with the same firefly glow that had meant the imprisonment of Art and Boris. It let out great series of bright electric blue rings. Several of them swept the whole continent before disappearing in a flash of yellow. There was a blast, another bolt, and the scene went quiet.

Frontello went up to the leader.

“We’ve never seen that before,” he said.” I’m not sure that was even from Gaia. Did you see how those rings turned oval, so that they hit Mana? I know that that was the Order of the Bolt, drinking in the power the Bolt reflected from Leviathan. But who could summon him? He is from Gaia, Bolt is from Gaia, Callers are from Gaia, even we are from Gaia. But that was clearly Libra’s mana energy.”

“It’s true. I’ve never seen that. And maybe you didn’t notice, but our bladetails, they lit up.”

He looked down at Mana, lying on the soft earth.

“Ah well, we’ll just spend the night here. Poor Mana, must be exhausted. No wonder, the way those rings hit him. Hehe, that fool thinks he is in safe claws!”

“Haha. You go, boss!”

When Mana awoke, it was late afternoon. He understood what had happened to himself, and looked back at the fortress. It was a dangerous moment in Mana’s life, but he never knew.He had his back turned on the wolves. Frontello got up.

“So, Gaia exists. I thought it was just Mythical Lore,” Mana said aloud to himself.

“You think to much, Mana. You should just relax and follow us,” said Frontello.

Mana relaxed. He sat down. Frontello rushed up behind him, to ram him into the chasm. The leader tripped him neatly with his scimitar blade and whispered viciously into the golden bladetailed-wolf’s ear.

“Not yet, you buffoon!” Frontello shot a venomous glance at the leader, who immediately sent the upstart cowering with a withering gaze and a nonchalant flick of his bladetail.

Mana turned back to the wolves, completely oblivious.

“Shall we move onward?”

“Yes. We must reach the [Spire Fortress] before nightfall,” the leader wolf was back in his prime, and they were soon moving at an alarming rate. Halfway there, Mana asked for a brief pause. He took in the beautiful countryside. It was far more cheerful than the Mist-ridden country on the other side of the Great Pass. It’s shortness on random attacks by Mist-spawn monsters was overwhelming. For the first time in Mana’s memeory he felt uncomfortably safe. Soon Mana was lying down, snoring. Frontello took the oppertunity to go to the leader.

“Now can I make my report?”

“Yes. Tell me everything.”

“Okay…

“A chilling wind rent the Steelyard…Over half the country was covered in rain…winter held barely at bay by a bitter autumn…but none of these, none, was as cold as the fear that gripped Boris, Art’s brother. He had been weeping at their situation…Art tried to comfort him, but to no avail…Art was no fool, he knew they could destroy their prison walls…but Boris would not hear of being consoled…when he saw a savage pack of Fangs leap over the barrier of metal! A band of barbarian slayers, but Boris was quick…shielding Art’s unprotected back with his body, he hurled his spear…and took a wolf who’s mate had leapt over and slashed out with his bladetail…and Boris fell heavily, slain by the Fangrat…his brother was in them, his blood boiling…berserked, spear like ten, of the twenty Fangrats that attacked, only twelve were left…the remainder fled…And Art ran up to Murkwater…he went to his castle, and dropped his spear. He then returned to the Steelyard, buried his brother, and-”

“Enough! I need not hear of the wretched ‘Art’.Excuse yourself for losing half of my detachement…I need more Fangrats! Do you understand? Go to the Marshes near Murkwater. No wait, don’t. Send four of my best scouts and get another forty Fangrats. Such is the word of Ridarto!” yelled the leader.

“Yes, sir!” said Frontello, and went off to rouse four wolves. The leader, or Ridarto, woke up Mana.

“We must press on.”

The group kept on, going toward the fortress. Twoscore and twelve wolves were the complete complement that now accompanied Ridarto and Mana. They reached the fortress by time the sun seemed to fall behind the mountains. Ridarto turned to Mana.

“Welcome to Fort Crutom.”

Mana faltered, wondering why the wolves did not follow Ridarto into the Castle.

“Come, Mana,” said the leader. He went into the [Spire Fortress]. Mana followed him.

The Gate opened slowly by some unseen force. There was a blast of blue light and they were through. They arrived in a magnificent courtyard with a gate to the east.He felt a strong urge to enter that gate, but Ridarto stopped him.

“Befor you may enter the Spire you must veil your identity…otherwise your dangers ahead are to numerous to mention.”

“But…but..” Mana stammered.

“You could try Julien, that is a fair title,” Ridarto said.

“Sounds good…”

“Very good. Go on. Take a look around. Enter the Spire when you will. I would take shelter in the Gatehouse if I were you.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I shall be fine in the rain that might come. Don’t forget, I’m not a human being.”

“Yeah, but what is thy name? What kind of beast art thou?”

“My name is Ridarto. We are Fangrats. We might meet again.”

“Farewell, Ridarto of the Fangrats! May your pack live long!” and with that Mana drew under cover and fell asleep.

The storm was long and violent, many a poor man in the fields got drenched before he could get to his house. At the Marshes south of Murkwater, forty-four Fangrats of Ridarto’s pack waited to break cover and head for the Port, where they had been told to go by Frontello’s scouts.

In the Mist Steelyard, the freshly dug earth on Boris’s grave grew fertile. As a single tear from Art’s eye fell on the grave, a tree began to grow there that gave life to whatever was put on the top bough. It is said that pheonixes roost there on midsummer eve.

Back at the fortress, Ridarto sat in conference with his brother, Ridartello.

“He fell right into it, like a fly in a venus fly trap. Liked Julien, he did.Haha!”

“Wow.Everything you do works like magic, brother, like magic!”said Ridartello.

“Yes. Wait until tomorrow to make our move, then head for the Ports.”

“Boss, I’ll wager ole Brantello raised fourscore,twice as much!”

“Yeah, tell me ’bout it! He is a good recruiter. A good fighter, too. I should have sent him instead of Frontello to see what was up near the Steelyard. Let us rest now, we must be up and about early tomorrow to defeat Cranelletto and her ShadowFangs.

Ridartello’s eyes gleamed.

“You go, bro!”

“You mean Boss!”

“You go, Boss!”

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Chapter Select Chapter One: The Veil Chapter Two: The Fortress Chapter Three: The Battle

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