A Very Dim Light

Darmakaya was sitting in the dark. His dank cell was slowly becoming his tomb. He could feel it now. He had escaped the bottom of the sea only to rot within four walls, far from the open sky. Either way, his life no longer made sense. His wings were destroyed; no healer could adequately mend the holes in the delicate fibers of his large wings. And a life without skies was no life at all. No human could understand what it meant to have wings. None of them could grasp the true meaning of freedom. Darmakaya had experienced it all. He had soared freely in the sky, using his power to overpower entire crews and steal their treasures, their women, their dreams, and make them his own. There was no greater feeling in the mortal world than destroying your enemies and getting what you want, when you want it. He had tasted the nectar of the gods, and now he was a god too.

But why was there such a huge void inside him? It wasn't just his broken wings. Something else was broken, and he couldn't pinpoint it. Before, in the memories of his triumphs, Darmakaya could live happily. But now those memories seemed to have lost their glory. His name once frightened people, and his sense of power had begun to resemble mere rage, which was slowly turning into sadness and fear. Perhaps the time had come for Darmakaya to put an end to it. He had experienced it all; others would give their right hand for a piece of his memories. There was nothing more to expect from this world. He could turn to stone, he thought. He would remain as stone for years, even centuries, and either wake up in another age or never wake up at all, like his ancestors who now, like statues, adorn the cities of Goliath. Goliath, he thought. I would like to see my kingdom again. This thought had crept insidiously into his mind. Darmakaya had few memories of his homeland and no desire to see it again—until now. But why would such a thought sneak in like that? Perhaps moments before our death, various mysteries come to the surface. As he thought of the cursed guards finding his statue in the cell, he laughed a little at the wonder he imagined on their faces. Perhaps he was even a bit impatient to see it. He closed his eyes and began to empty his mind. Slowly, his arms and legs went numb, the blood began to leave them, and his color changed as the transformation began. At that moment, a noise was heard in the dungeon. The great latches of the heavy door clanked open, and the darkness was broken by the sharp flash of a lantern. Someone was coming, interrupting his transformation.

"Are you crazy, priest?"

The light of the lantern fell on the grimy walls. Nastal sat across from Darmakaya , explaining the events of the day to him.

"Why do you say that?"

"Do you want me to look for some fisherman's son?"

"He's a hunter, but yes."

"Then you mean to tell me that you will let me go free to seek the ghosts you mention, or whatever else you think is out there, and I will obey? That I will give you my word, do what you say, and not disappear once I set foot outside? You're not that stupid, old man. Start telling the truth."

Nastal nodded. "It is indeed sad to live in your world." He stood up and poured some of the wine he had brought with him. He passed a cup to Darmakaya , who accepted it without a second thought and downed it immediately. "It's all a plot. Everything is made up with a hidden purpose, and if something is too good to be true, then it isn't."

"Exactly. Isn't it?"

"Only in part, Darmakaya ."

Darmakaya began to believe him. There was indeed a chance that this naive man would let him out.

"And what makes you think I'll do what you want?"

"What choice do you have, Darmakaya ? Your wings are broken; you couldn't fly even if you tried. History has shown that you don't swim well, and even if you had the incredible luck to run into a ship, you'd be killed on the spot. Your figure is terribly recognizable, and your reputation is legendary. If I recall correctly, there are countless bounties of your name on the islands, right?"

"And not only," admitted Darmakaya , painfully.

"So you have no real options. Not for escape, at least."

"Again, what makes you think I'm going to make the slightest effort?"

"Because you have nothing to lose, my friend. Only to gain. When you've reached the bottom of the sea, you've reached the bottom of your existence."

A vein of anger throbbed on Darmakaya forehead.

"Be careful, priest."

"I meant no offense. It's only the truth. Look at it another way, though. From now on, you can only go upwards. Unless you want to continue, but further down, Darmakaya , there is only the Abyss."

The priest's words stirred something in Darmakaya . Abyss. As real as the air he breathed.

"Also," Nastal continued, "I know you feel what I feel. There is something around us, dark. It will swallow us all, Darmakaya, if we don't find out what it is and quickly."

Darmakaya was worried.

"And how do you know this is all about the missing child?"

"I don't. But my instincts are bothering me. I want you to investigate. I want you to look at Barhed's house for any clues he may have overlooked. I also want you to investigate the temple."

"The temple?"

"There's a temple deep in Spiritwood, desolate and cursed. The queen has forbidden any visit to the place, but I will give you special permission to go."

All this was beginning to seem too much for Darmakaya . Nothing he heard caused him anything but fear.

"I think, priest, I'd rather be a stone."

Nastal stood up. "I shouldn't have expected anything more from you. You are a coward, a mere murderer who knows only how to prey on children and women."

Darmakaya lunged at the bars, snarling. "Be careful, priest, lest I find you in your sleep. You wouldn't have the same courage."

"The courage to speak the truth to your face? I've always had it. Have you? Can you say the same? Be a stone then; the only thing you know how to do is be a burden on the world."

Nastal turned his back, and Darmakaya thrashed about in anger.

"I don't care about your world, priest. I don't care about your island. I'll gladly see it all taken away by the Abyss," he cried, though his words rang false.

Nastal stepped back slightly. "I hope you have a good time in your oblivion. One last thing: Barhed said he heard the melody of a violin from somewhere."

Darmakaya shuddered all over. "Excuse me?"

Nastal approached again. "A violin from the depths of the sea. Does it mean anything to you? You know, we had someone here a few years ago who was washed out to sea. He carried a black violin with him. There was a lot of talk about him and his violin."

"Black violin?"

Darmakaya's mind drifted back. A flash of memory revealed long-suppressed images: he was flying over a burning ship, and below on the deck, an elf woman with black skin and long white hair was playing a black violin as the battle raged on. Another figure circled the woman, hazy and intangible like an aura, dark and dangerous as a curse.

"Damn you, priest," he said, tears in his eyes.

"I'm trying to help you, Darmakaya . Even if you don't see it. Even if you don't understand it."

"I will do it," he finally said coldly, and Nastal's face lit up.

"Thank the gods," he said aloud. "I'm glad to hear it, young man. You'll take two things with you, one of which you'll like."

"What?"

Nastal brought out of the darkness a tall object wrapped in canvas. He unwrapped it, and the trident from the depths of the sea shone in the dim light. Darmakaya's eyes glistened.

"How? Impossible..."

"You'll need it, I suspect. It was found by forces that want the good of our island."

Darmakaya scanned the weapon with his eyes; it was his only possession.

"What's the second one?" he asked with a smile.

"Ah yes, I'm sorry about that. Let's go outside. I'll introduce you to Maynar."

Darmakaya was enjoying the open sky with his feet in the water. Holding the trident in his hands, he reflected on how strange life was. From the moment he broke free, everything had happened so quickly, and now he found himself among strangers on an island he had never set foot on before, only seen from afar. A little further away, another young man stood opposite the priest.

"I just don't understand what I have to do with all this. Sire, I thought scrolls and books were the sacred work I was supposed to do."

"And they are, Maynar. But these are extraordinary circumstances."

"But I am not a warrior," Maynar complained. "I have nothing to contribute to this quest."

Nastal took him a little further away.

"No, you are not, Maynar. You are not a warrior, but he is. And Barhed was once for his son; he will be again if need be. But you have a more sacred mission."

Maynar seemed surprised.

"I want you to watch him. I want you to record his actions. You're a history buff, aren't you? What you are witnessing is history, Maynar, being written as we speak. For too long you've been rotting in the taverns, humiliating yourself and wasting your youth. If you continue on this path, you will end up in a dungeon."

Maynar bowed his head. "Where we are going," he said with difficulty, "there will be fighting. I will die, Nastal ."

Nastal smiled. "You are young. Have I seen you hit a target under difficult conditions?"

Maynar was surprised. "A target? Conditions? You mean throwing knives in the tavern for bets? And when you say circumstances, do you mean that I was very drunk?"

Nastal shook his head. "I'm sure that sober, you'll be most effective."

Maynar took Nastal's hand. "My lord, your holiness, O Nastal . Knives on a target in the tavern have nothing to do with a battle. I tell you honestly, I am a coward."

"I believe you, Maynar. But we all have our part in this story; it is the will of the Gods. You must trust me, as I trust you. Ayaton is counting on you, Maynar. You finally have a chance to do some real good for the land. For Barhed."

Maynar turned his head to where the beach met the rocks. Barhed stood there patiently, bandages changed, a tall stick helping him walk. Sadness and anguish were in his eyes. The sight affected the young man deeply.

"Damn," he said, leaning forward and searching for breath.

"Stay away if a battle arises and keep your eyes open. Sometimes good comes from doing nothing. You might discover something more about yourself in the process."

Maynar was convinced, though not that there was a real choice. The priest's words were law in the current regime.

"You win, Lord Nastal. If I die, please put in a good word for me when they put me on the raft and give me two coins for the journey."

"First things first, young man. The mission comes first."

So it was decided. Darmakaya , Maynar, and Barhed would seek Ian Joe in Ayaton and, with him, unravel the mysteries that had emerged on the island.