The Forbidden Search

Armin stood proud on the deck of Widow’s Hope, letting the cool spray fall on his face, wondering if her old Captain would believe where she was headed now. The drunken old fool enjoyed cards too much, that was a dangerous thing when Armin came to sit at his table. It hadn’t even taken him a full evening to unburden the man of his gold, his ship, and his dignity, leaving him a poor lonely wretch slumped in the corner of his favourite inn.

Now Armin set her course for an unknown island located somewhere in the clear sea. Legend said it contains a portal the gods use to walk among the living. Most men said it was just a myth, made to keep explorers from getting themselves lost on the endless water. Either way the truth of it would be known to him and his fearless crew soon enough. 

‘Storm clouds gathering Captain’ a young sailor said to Armin. He pointed a calloused finger to the eastward sky.

Armin smiled at him. ‘About time we had a wash eh lad?’

‘Aye sir’ He moved off to the foremast, checking ropes.

These were a good bunch, not like the bloodthirsty louts he’d found in Takar. They’d have been drunk by noon and laying in a pool of their own blood, or worse, by sunset. Finding a decent crew had taken time, and meant he had a longer sail setting off from Jakai, but it would be worth it at journey’s end.

The northerly wind picked up filling the sales and urging them onward to their goal. Armin could feel the excitement tingling in his stomach as they bobbed gently over another wave. The anticipation of an imminent discovery always made him come alive with energy, like a higher state of being he could only achieve by plunging himself into the unknown.

‘Sir.’

Distracted from his peace, Armin turned around and came face to face with Annery, a tall thin man with skin cracked from a life on the ocean. He served as the ship’s navigator and Armin’s first officer.  

‘I think you should see this on the charts. We’re off course.”

There was no sugar coating anything with Annery, just straight to the point facts. This suited Armin, you couldn’t guess with navigation or delay adjustments, everything had to be perfect, or you could be leagues off course.

Armin led the way into his cabin and shut the door behind them. Annery unfurled a battered old piece of parchment and laid it on the table, weighing the edges down with an empty bottle and a spyglass he found.

‘We’re here.’ He pointed a long thin finger at an expanse of ocean on the map. ‘We need to be here’ a second finger jabbed at the yellowing paper.

‘If there’s a but, I need to hear it.’ Said Armin.

‘The but is, there’s a storm between. And it don’t look friendly sir.’

‘What are our options?’

‘First, through the storm. Second, we adjust this ways.’ He traced a curve with his finger. ‘Last, we wait it out, hope it passes soon then try the direct route.’

‘We don’t have provisions enough to wait. We packed light as we knew this would be a short trip. Onward with haste!’

‘Aye sir’. Annery bowed briefly, gathered his chart, and took his leave.

Armin settled into the chair at his desk and looked around the captain’s quarters. He’d not taken the time to decorate yet, his journey was pressing and with the risk involved his new ship might not survive the week. Neither, he supposed, might he. This was a dangerous part of the world he was in, not many weeks had passed since a dragon was reported in Myllyria. Even peace loving Shavan was suffering, their High Chancellor had only just survived an assassination attempt. As his father had always told him though, great risk means great reward.

He had just stood up to leave when the ship gave an almighty lurch, and he crashed hard into the wall. He slumped to the floor, pain paralysing his right side. Another lurch, and he was lifted off the floor and slammed straight back down, winded. Dazed, he tried to catch his breath, sucking at the air for his very life. Somehow, he rolled over and got onto his hands and knees, trying to steel himself to stand upright. Grasping the edge of his desk he hauled himself unsteadily to his feet. He stared at the leather covered top a moment gathering his wits. Outside his windows he could see the ocean swell rising and toying with his ship like a child with a rattle.

A wave thundered into the back of the Widow’s Hope, shattering the windows, and covering Armin in glass, shards stabbing and cutting his face, pain blinding him but still he clung to his desk for dear life. He wiped the salt water and blood from his face with the cuff, red smearing all over his favourite dark green jacket. Cautiously he let go of his desk and grabbed the counter which ran along the right-hand wall, almost to the door. Edging his way along his feet slipped on broken glass, water and who knows what else that covered the wooden boards.

He reached the door, grasped the handle, and wrenched it open, hoping the rest of his crew were faring better. He was immediately assaulted by spray, somewhat less pleasant than he had felt earlier. His face was afire with salt and blood.

As he hauled himself through the frame and out onto the deck he noticed half a dozen men fighting to lower the main sale. Something was very wrong as it was stuck halfway up the mast. The ship lurched violently again, a man lost his grip and flew into the grey abyss over starboard side. The ocean goddess Vasdonna had him now.

The wind roared and buffeted the ship as the ocean tried to swallow her up. Water filled Armin’s eyes, stinging him and making him blind.

‘Annery!’ he roared, trying to make himself heard over the sea’s orchestra of death.

He heard nothing except the storm laughing back at his feeble attempt to assert himself as Captain again.

‘Annery! If you can hear me, get us out of here!’ Armin tried again. 

Suddenly the world was turned upside down and Armin’s feet left the deck, he flailed desperately, trying to grab something, anything. He landed hard on his back, and not for the first time today his breath was beaten from him. No sooner had he drawn breath again, the ship listed steeply to port, sending him sliding to the rail. His left arm brushed a rope, instinctively he grabbed it and held on to it with all his might. Lightning flashed in the sky, thunder pounded in Armin’s ears as he held on to his lifeline, trying to save himself from a watery demise.

Wet through and tiring, Armin’s grip began to fail him. The rope slipped an inch in his hand, he twisted desperately to try and grab with his right hand too. The ship tilted violently to starboard now, tossing Armin across the deck collecting splinters in his back and burning his hand on the rough fibres of the rope. Every part of him felt like it was screaming in pain.

A deafening blast filled Armin’s ears and rang inside his head just as he was irresistibly thrown high into the air, his rope torn from his hand taking layers of skin with it. For what felt like an age he flew through the air and the spray into grey nothingness, no sense of direction or time. He hit the water hard and knew nothing but blackness.

Armin felt water gently lapping at his legs as he awoke soaked and freezing, face down in wet sand. He lifted his head with great difficulty, his whole body felt like it had been trampled by a marching army. Rubbing the sand away from his eyes he saw a line of luscious green trees at the edge of the beach only a few hundred yards away. Gingerly he got up, checking he could move everything as he went. At least nothing seemed to be broken.

The sand was soft and fine under Armin’s sandals after long days of the hard wooden deck of the ship. The bright midday sun beat down on him warming him through and beginning to dry his tattered bloodstained clothes. 

The island was eerily quiet, not even the sound of birds singing found Armin’s ears. He grasped a tree trunk to steady himself whilst he caught his breath, drinking in the silence after the cacophony of the storm.

Urging himself forward he came to a small clearing in the trees where a tiny stream meandered around rocks and roots, flowing back towards the beach. Armin knelt and drank deeply; the water was cool and refreshing after days of being pounded with salt waves. He washed his face gently, removing sand, blood and even a small piece of glass that was stubbornly lodged near his nose. He also washed his hair free of blood, grit and slime.

‘May aswell look presentable if I’m to meet the gods’ he said to himself smiling.

Feeling slightly better he set off uphill following the stream towards what he hoped was mother and father tor guarding the path to the gods. The ground became rockier the further he climbed, some of the smaller stones jumped into his sandals and jabbed at his feet making his steps ever more painful.

The sun had sunk low in the sky by the time the trees thinned, and Armin cast his eyes on the great stone arch at the entrance to the path of the gods. Long shadows reached out to the path like gnarled old fingers clutching desperately to life. 

After taking another drink from his guiding stream Armin walked under the arch, his excited energy returning once more, pushing him forwards into the unknown.

The path rose ever upward, twisting like a snake between rocky hills and jagged stone outcrops. Still the silence deafened Armin, making him feel like an outcast venturing where he was forbidden. 

It was night-time when Armin reached the site of mother and father tor, standing tall on each side of the pass illuminated in the full moon’s light. All the legends were true Armin realised, from the island to the pass, mother and father tor and even the plateau. He couldn’t wait to tell his story to all who would listen. No more jibes about him being mad! 

Ahead of him the plateau of the gods stood mighty and proud above the rocky foothills, like a beacon of hope in a forlorn waste. The evergreen trees swayed slightly in a cool breeze, Armin was thankful for the small comfort of the sound. Picking his way carefully over moss covered rocks, he climbed ever closer to his goal. Armin felt weak after the long ascent, spots of colour were clouding his vision, making it difficult to pick his way upwards.

Finally, just as the stars were beginning to fade and the sky was more purple than black, the ground levelled out and Armin sank to his knees, panting. He couldn’t believe he was finally here, in the presence of the gods. He stared in wonder around the small expanse of grass he was on, just a few hundred yards in each direction.

A small tower caught his attention, round and built of smooth white stone. It looked very out of place on this very remote island. Climbing weakly to his feet, Armin set his course to explore this oddity.

The wooden door was painted red perfectly, not a splash touched the white stone it was set in, no single scratch, scuff or sign of paint peeling. A polished brass knocker in the shape of an eagle gleamed at eye level. Armin reached up a weak arm and knocked twice as firmly as he could with trembling arms.

The door swung inwards noiselessly to reveal a young, handsome man on the other side. Long blond hair pulled tight back in a ponytail, trimmed stubble covering his face and wearing perfect golden armour, the like of which Armin had never seen in all his years. He was the very definition of pristine.

‘Hello Armin, I’ve been expecting you.’ He smiled down at him.

Armin couldn’t help himself, he collapsed forward onto the stranger, darkness taking him.

He awoke comfortable and warm. Fine linen sheets covered him, and he was laid on a feather mattress propped up with soft pillows. Wearily he opened his eyes, the room he was in was large and bright, to his left stood a fine oak wardrobe adorned with carved vines and flowers. A matching desk and set of drawers stood on either side. At the far end doors opened outwards on to a balcony, letting in a light breeze. 

The door opened and the stranger walked in, still wearing his impossibly bright armour. He carried a tray laden with food and drink.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Horrible.’ He choked. This wasn’t a lie, Armin’s head pounded, his throat was dry and his whole body felt battered.

‘That’s not surprising after what you’ve been through. Here drink this, it will help.’

He set the try down on the nightstand and handed Armin a glass filled with a slightly grey liquid that smelled oddly sweet. He held the glass up to his lips, but he hesitated, unsure if he should trust this man.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to poison you.’ He laughed. ‘You men are a suspicious bunch.’

Armin lifted the glass to his lips and drank. The effect was instant. The liquid seemed to fill him from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair, reinvigorating him and curing his aching bones.

‘Who are you?’ he asked after draining the glass.

‘I am Heldus.’ Said the man simply.

Armin looked the man up and down. He had a passing resemblance to the paintings and statues of the warrior god he’d seen through his life. Surely a god was supposed to be huge and mighty? He looked very ordinary to Armin’s eye.

‘It’s ok, I don’t expect you to believe me. But I need you to know that your coming here is important. It is not by chance that you yearned to find this place, it is a path we had set for you long ago.’

‘Why?’

‘We now live in strange and dangerous times. We have come to your world to help you save it.’

‘Save it from who?’

‘That we do not know, only that your people are in grave danger. To save them you must go to the place that you call the waste. There you will find a chasm that is swallowing all around it. Climb down into it’s belly and you will meet a man, you must help him on his journey, guard him well as he may be our best hope against the oncoming night.’

‘Who is he? Why me?’

‘Forgive me Armin, but our time is short. You must trust the answer I have given you. The truth that you seek lies with this man. Now rest and eat, for tomorrow you have a busy day.’