The Time of Our Glory

Vibrant green ferns tickle Kari’s khaki-clad legs as she treks behind Commander Rutherford and her mentor Dr. Lewis through the forest of Oichrean. Fallen leaves and pine needles muffle their steps. All around them, straight coniferous trees with trunks thicker than steam engines seem to scrape the sky with their uppermost branches. The forest absorbs the sounds of their group as they trek from the dilapidated dock where they left their ship to some ruins recently discovered by fishermen in the area.

Those fishermen subsequently died of an illness no one in Claiamean has seen for centuries but that Dr. Ackroyd, the epidemiologist traveling in Commander Rutherford’s band, assures them is a dead ringer for an illness linked to those branded as heretics in a bygone age. Kari had wondered about that herself as she studied late into the night, preparing for this trip. Many of the Vashruan records from centuries past reference a wasting plague, “the curse of Vashrua,” as a punishment for enemies of their sect. The symptoms exactly match what happened to those poor fishermen, according to what Commander Rutherford told the group over breakfast as he read from his manila folder, stamped “Classified.”

In that moment, Kari really felt the magnitude of being selected for this investigation. She’s the youngest person in the group, except for maybe the survivalist McClure, who seems ageless as he skulks noiselessly through the trees to her left. Even so, Dr. Lewis fought to have Kari included as a linguist and expert on the religions and mythologies of Lokva.

“What the fishermen described seems very much like a temple or other place of worship to me,” Dr. Lewis had argued. “You’d be remiss not to take an expert in such things, in addition to an archaeologist such as myself.”

And Dr. Lewis won, though whether because of his tenure at the Imperial University of Claiamean or because of his intense, quirky tenacity, Kari cannot say. But she’s proud to trek through what McClure tells them is a temperate rainforest at her mentor’s side, proud to be needed to investigate some long-forgotten ruins, even if they may pose a threat to the Emperor and Claiamean as they all know it.

Kari, at least, is not surprised that the ruins were discovered in Oichrean. One of Claiamean’s smaller islands, this remote place has been left mostly wild. In past centuries, those who fell into the Emperor’s disfavor were sometimes sent here instead of being executed. Among them have been a variety of those who worship deities other than Chuezoh–mostly Vashruans and cybrinn, followers of Cybara–as well as incorrigible petty criminals and disfavored courtiers. Some histories term such banishment as a fate worse than death, as well it might have been for some. But Kari has always suspected that others not only survived but thrived on the outskirts of the archipelago, free to worship as they pleased and live life by their own rules.

“Halt,” Commander Rutherford orders as they reach the top of a rise in the terrain. The whole company stops. Mariah Dunham, the petite blonde munitions expert, grumbles under her breath. McClure materializes out of the trees in front of Commander Rutherford. The survivalist’s leathers, furs, and long tangled hair make him look like he belongs here–a stark contrast with the rest of their motley crew. While Kari and Dr. Lewis are dressed in practical hiking gear, Commander Rutherford wears army fatigues, Dr. Ackroyd looks like she’s just stepped out of a chemistry lab, and Mariah’s wearing baggy overalls, a flashy gold crop top, and leather fingerless gloves.

“What’s the holdup?” she demands.

Commander Rutherford ignores her. “McClure. Report.”

“Straight ahead, down between the rocks,” McClure answers, pointing with one bronzed, brawny arm. The other hand holds a spear he likely made himself. A machete hangs from his belt.

Kari looks where he points. Through the trees, obsidian cliffs rise up towards the central Oichrean peak.

“Any signs of danger?”

“Footprints, a few days old. Probably the fishermen who found it first. What they were doing this far from the coast is another matter. No fishing spots nearby.”

A fair point, in Kari’s estimation. According to her watch, they’ve been hiking for at least an hour.

“They’ve more than paid the price for any treachery on their part. And we have a job to do, on orders from the Emperor himself,” Commander Rutherford reminds them. “Move forward. McClure and I lead.”

They all follow orders without comment, even Mariah, though she hangs at the back of the group. Kari finds herself next to Dr. Ackroyd as they pick their way down the slope towards the shining black cliffs ahead.

“Should we take any precautions, so we don’t also get sick?” Kari whispers to the willowy epidemiologist.

“None to be taken, from my research,” Dr. Ackroyd answers, shrugging her bony shoulders. Her long braid is almost the same color as her lab coat, which nearly blends into her skin behind her face shield. Her icy blue eyes regard Kari with something like amusement. “You might know better than I would, actually. The histories say it comes from a curse, rather than pathogens.”

Kari shakes her head. “I know. That’s what I’ve read, too. But there has to be a logical explanation.”

“You don’t believe in the power of Vashrua?” A slight smirk tells Kari that the older doctor is joking.

“In all my studies, I haven’t found much evidence in favor of any deity’s existence, whether Chuezoh or Vashura or any others.”

“Interesting, that the scholar of religion should be an atheist.”

“Perhaps. But not unusual,” Dr. Lewis cuts in.

“Silence,” Commander Rutherford orders. They’ve gotten close enough that Kari can see an opening between two obsidian walls. Some sort of glow seems to come from within. McClure is at the opening in the next instant. He examines the area, then makes a series of low whistles. “No danger. Proceed. Dr. Lewis, with me. And Dr. Ackroyd, if you have any equipment to set up–”

“I believe we will only need my services if we encounter any corpses. Or hostile persons,” Dr. Ackroyd interrupts. “The illness is spread through…direct contact.” She and Kari trade a sideways glance.

“You don’t want me to just blow it up?” Mariah demands loudly as she bounds past Kari to get in Commander Rutherford’s face–no mean feet as he stands nearly two feet taller than her.

“Emperor’s orders. It could be a valuable archaeological find. We only destroy it if absolutely necessary,” Commander Rutherford tells her for at least the forty-ninth time since they departed from Vestersted, the Claiamese capitol. Kari thinks that it would take the slightest of provocations for an all-out brawl to start between Mariah and Commander Rutherford. Despite the size difference between them, Kari suspects it would be an even match.

“This is…astonishing,” Dr. Lewis remarks as he approaches the gap in the rock. Kari hurries to join him, and her jaw drops at the sight before them.

While the opening in the rock is natural, caused by some split in a lava flow in ages past, two steps in the rock changes to layers of sandstone and limestone that has clearly been carved. Squared pillars seem to mark the entrance to some sort of holy place. Kari knows at a glance from the blocky, monster-headed figures carved into the pillars that it belonged to followers of Vashrua. Beyond the pillars, the cavern opens up so that even Commander Rutherford does not have to duck. Within, crystals reflect and refract sunlight in glowing blues and greens. The only sounds are their footsteps on the smooth stone floor.

“No water dripping in,” Dr. Lewis murmurs. “And these carvings are centuries old. Maybe dating back to the times when witches were burned on the continent, or even older.”

“Definitely a Vashruan temple,” Kari adds as she moves into the cavern. The back wall shows weathered remains of a painting: a female silhouette, painted in black with serpentine hair, hands posed to cast some sort of spell. Streaks of green emanate from her hands and eyes.

“This is creepy as fuck,” Mariah grumbles. Kari ignores the munitions expert and turns to her left to find an alcove framed by more pillars. A crack in its ceiling lets in a shaft of sunlight from outside, but she takes out a flashlight to provide further illumination. Here, paint has been worn away in many places by wind and rain and perhaps fingers of worshippers long ago, leaving just slithers of green and black–remnants of a mural–on the stone wall. Although the mural is indecipherable, line after line of clean-cut runes scar the rock face.

“Dr. Lewis!” Kari calls. “Come look at this.”

“Great find, Professor Creighton!” Dr. Lewis commends Kari as he rushes to join her. “A pity the mural isn’t in better condition…”

“I know, but these runes are near perfect.”

“Can you translate them?” Commander Rutherford demands behind them. “Doesn’t look anything like Claiamese.”

“Because it isn’t. This is written in Arshvautan.” Kari is met with blank stares from everyone except Dr. Lewis. She stifles a sigh–why isn’t there more general interest in Lokva’s fascinating history? “The sacred language used by followers of Vashrua for their revelations, worship, spells…”

“Great. Can you translate them?” Commander Rutherford presses.

“Yes, given a bit of time and space…” She settles herself on a rock across from the rune-covered wall, aims her flashlight at the text, takes a deep breath, and begins to read aloud.

“At’netruyu Vashrua kha’thyn dra’kohn–

When Vashrua reaches her fullest power…

Vesplukhen Chuezoh nazyakh varohn–

Chuezoh will meet his final hour…

Zeviste chazakh’ahn varukh chyekey

A new age dawns in blood and fire…

Espohlzeh–” Kari stops short, eyes widening in horror. This can’t be–

“Well? Keep going,” Commander Rutherford prompts.

Kari shakes her head frantically. “I can’t say it.”

“Kari? Are you all right?” Dr. Lewis asks, his voice soft and compassionate.

“This is…I’ve read too much aloud already.” Kari is trembling all over, even as she continues to read the runes on the wall without speaking them. Images of death and destruction, pestilence and natural disasters, flash through her imagination with the mystical Arshvautan verses.

“What do you mean? It’s just a bunch of religious mumbo-jumbo,” Mariah scoffs.

“It’s more than that. A spell, or a prophecy…I’m not sure which. But this is describing…the end of the world as we know it. Further down…I think these are instructions, or a prayer, to summon Vashrua for a final showdown with Chuezoh.”

The petite blonde laughs. “What are you so worried about? They don’t exist.”

McClure shakes his head as he rejoins the group. “Mind your tongue. The Old Ones hear.”

“Where’ve you been?” Commander Rutherford demands.

“Scouting ahead. As instructed. We need to go, before–”

“Shhh!” Kari hisses, spine ramrod straight, eyes fixed on the cavern to her right. Chanting in Arshvautan greets her ears, sending chills down her spine as she realizes that they’re reciting part of what she’s been reading. “He’s right. That’s–”

“A problem.” McClure jerks his head towards Mariah. “Let her handle it. Quickly.”

“You can’t just blow up a historical site like this!” Dr. Lewis protests. “This could be so valuable to the university, to the history of Claiamean–”

“All of you, take these!” Dr. Ackroyd urges, giving each of them a small tablet from a bottle she’s pulled from her pocket. “The plague–”

“Came from them!” Kari squeaks, pointing to the back of the cavern with her flashlight. The chanting has gotten louder and more intense, and now several dark figures are visible. A woman in a black fur robe with bones in her hair and blood and charcoal painted in streaks on her face stands between them and the cavern entrance.

“Time to fight our way out,” McClure hisses.

“We can’t kill civilians!” Dr. Lewis argues.

“There is nothing you can do to save yourselves now,” the woman at the cavern entrance tells them. Her blood-stained lips curve up in a cruel smile. Around them, the other dark figures, all dressed in skins and furs painted with blood and charcoal, are chanting softly, their hands moving in strange figures. Kari wants to run, but her legs won’t listen. Whether from fear or magic, she is frozen in place. “Vashrua’s new world shall be ushered in with your blood. The Time of Our Glory Is at Hand.”