Athanasia Discovered
- Enekos
- Aug 15, 2023
- 12 min read
The Sands of Time whispered ‘Now?’ Voltumna responded in a hushed tone: “Soon…”
Tsarinaya was not a place to restock, relax and soak-up the local cuisine - more a place to leave behind. The people were shaped by the landscape – an unforgiving place where volcanoes erupted anew. A land being formed each night and day. Molten lava bubbled and mists of sulphur hung in the air. Each of the crew was given cloth that wrapped around their face, while the bottoms of bottles were carefully sawn off, ground down to a smooth-edge and laced together with a form of gum and leather to protect the eyes.
Lava flows incessantly from the Pashtarak, creeping and consuming in rivers that reach the sea with a violent hiss, killing anything worth eating in moments. Tsarinaya is a hostile place – a true wasteland. And with all such distractions the casual observer wouldn’t have noticed the steam that hissed from the cliff-face, but they would wonder what happened to the black and grey tall ship that was moored there a few moments earlier.
The cavern was deceptive, where thoughts of ‘there’s no way the Behemoth can make it through that gap’ were soon replaced with, ‘we could have an entire fleet of ships down here and no one would know.’ Plants clung to the rockface and glowed from a pale blue to sheer white light. Tsar IYI stood beside Jean Flint. “It is Mehopa. No eat.”
Pinpricks of this Mehopa-light massed together and seemed to flicker like a campfire. The alchemists aboard the Behemoth imagined the genus communicating and they yearned to study the plant. Jean Flint’s gaze passed to the waters and for a moment he thought the Mehopa reflected on the black waters beneath him. But as his eyes adjusted, he saw the waters anew – clear and deep, with the glowing plant everywhere. And there were signs of life, fish, and crustaceans. “Fish good food.” Tsar interrupted his thoughts. “Water safe. You not need this more,” he removed his own mask as he gestured to Flint, who reacted sharply to the acrid air. Tsar laughed. “Maybe a little longer you need this. You from nice place, not Tsarinaya.”
Soon the air was breathable, and his eyes stung less. “Water. You drink. No salt. Well, maybe some. But not bad. Look!” Tsar pointed to a section of the cavern ceiling, maybe 60 men high. It had caved in, exposing stars as wisps of gas floated away. “Gas goes. Fire too.” Jean Flint figured he meant ‘heat’ but nodded. In all his time at sea or on land, he’d never seen or imagined a place like this. “There. We make camp. Jean Flint.”
The journey through the Eldo-Uma was slow, but not unencumbered. There was a gentle wind and the water moved as lava pushed through from far-off caves. The days passed and the crew became happier, relaxed. There was merriment and no sense of the fights or struggles they often encountered in the west of the continent.
“Soon Eldo-Yara,” Tsar whispered to Flint. “We must prepare a drink. Potion. Made from Mehopa and this water.“
“But you said no eat?” Flint raised his head.
“Better Mehopa than Eldo-Yara. You will understand.”
In what passed as evening, Flint gathered the crew to share tales of Denaviim – both rumours and truths. Tsar did his best to dispel any myths, but he’d spent less than moon this side of the Pashtarak and one needed a lifetime to understand it. Tsar insisted that ideas of goblins or the monsters from the bed-time stories told to frighten children were imagined, but that the magic was very real. And the unscrupulous were too – in droves. It was also a dangerous place to be an outsider. They would be viewed with suspicion. But this was still a land for both man and mage, for traders and for warriors seeking an edge in battles to come. Denaviim was also home to forged artifacts which sold in quiet corners of the continent.
It was generally agreed that once in the Eldo-Yara, the Behemoth would anchor in the mists and two small boats would ferry a handful of the crew to the shore. Lady Euph, with her new protector Zandrilla, would seek Njal Ulf. They would pose as traders, James amongst them as the only member of the crew who had regular dealings with Denaviim from his shoppe on Whenutoo. Fenrir aka (insert any name you wish) wanted to tag along as he had travelled the continent already with Njal…
Flint would lead the other team, that included Tsar, Bia, and Balder Grimm. Of course, Flint expected others to arrive in Denaviim – the hooded ones who preferred the shadows and those with certain abilities. ‘That could include all of them’, he mused privately.
The alchemist Fentanyl gave each person a vial with a milky liquid inside. Half to be drunk when the Behemoth entered the Eldo-Yara and half to be drunk when the boats were set to return. He’d followed Tsar’s instructions meticulously. Too few the measures of ingredients and the mists of the Eldo-Yara would confuse everyone, with imagined monsters and almost certain death. Too great the measures and acute poisoning would follow, with almost certain death on the cards. Of course, he kept both these facts to himself.
Rum flowed that evening as campfires sprung up on the shores of the Eldo-Uma. Tales were shared and Flint recounted the stories of Alfonso de Careno and his own journey into the man they knew as Jean Flint. He looked fondly at the flint knife that gave him his name and he silently remembered Janna Steel and Mearaithe. As he stroked the initials ‘JF’ carved into the hilt of the blade it began to shimmer purple. Those around Jean Flint gasped as a gentle metallic sound like a sail ruffling in the wind began to emanate from it.
When the knife jumped from Jean Flint’s hand and hovered in the air, their eyes grew wide: a mix of wonder and fear. Even Jean Flint became lost for words until Tsar place one hand on his shoulder. “Ah,” he began as he sat beside the captain. “You never told me. It home. It happy.”
“What?” Jean Flint’s mind raced. He was not used to being clueless, although this adventure would rewrite everything he knew.
“Athanasia.” Tsar pointed to the floating dagger. “It home.”
“What!?”
Lord of Eyes
“You cannot simply walk into Denaviim waving a bag of gold and ask for the Lord de Careno.” The man in the hat had a twang in his accent. Are you from beyond the Blue Sea? wondered Njal Ulf silently, his arms beginning to ache from being tied to the long beam. “We have protocols here. You need to earn our trust. There are tributes to pay, palms to grease, and quietness to observe. But no worries. Tomorrow, we take you to Eldo-Yara. We leave you there two days and you won’t remember you – never mind where Denaviim is, who we are, or what we do. Be thankful we don’t take your eyes too.”
Two* small boats quietly slipped ashore from the Behemoth and each party went their separate ways. Lady Euph noticed the eyes of small children dart towards them, before they scurried into makeshift homes. Fires burned outside, drying various clay pots and a menagerie of ceramic animals. Smoke lingered in the air as these small workshops gradually began to give way to larger factories. Here, James began asking discreet questions in a language neither Lady Euph nor her companions understood. James had two questions: have you seen an idiot from the west and, where the hell is my shipment of exotic figurines from the 9th century?
* Six small boats if you include the assassins, mages, and me
“We find Lord of Eyes. He help you understand Athanasia.” Tsar beamed a reassuring smile. This was a time before he would don his armour and ride with Tirke, Darth, Omni and others. Perhaps what he saw in this journey from the man in pink and black would prompt him to follow in the ways of Fedaloup.
“Lady Euph,” James had approached a little too close for Zandrilla to tolerate and she stepped forcibly between the two companions. “I mean no disrespect, but we have eyes on us.” This was true for not only were numerous “artisans” looking their way, but the soldiers had eyes on the strangers too. “It’s ok… Zandrilla?” Lady Euph confirmed before turning to James and asked: “Should we buy something?” James shook his head. It was enough for the artisans to know they were traders but pointless to spend gold on crap. Anyway, he had heard of someone from the west being arrested for waving around a bag of gold and shouting the name ‘de Careno.’
When a regional lord of the Pashtarak arrives with strangers from the Eldo-Yara, the Lord of Eyes takes personal interest – especially when it followed so quickly after the arrival of another stranger. And so, an informal meeting was hastily arranged in one of the many sitting rooms of the citadel: for even those in Denaviim wished for cordial relations with those from Tsarinaya. Especially those from Tsarinaya. And probably their friends. And if they could not be cordial, they had a rather warm basement where no one bothered to venture.
“So, what happened to him?” Lady Euph asked as she and her companions walked towards what passed as the city administrative district. Tall statues reviewed them and judged as they approached the citadel. James shrugged. “They saw him being taken to the citadel and maybe he was imprisoned, murdered or given all the pleasantries as a guest of state.” James smiled as he realised the second option was most likely.
“Also, we need to find this man,” Euph showed James a written name on parchment from her notes. “The Epumatara talisman was send to him. We need to take it to the forge and have it destroyed.” James looked at the name for a long second before turning to Euph and asking: “Pilsonator? What kind of name is that?”
“My lord of Tsarinaya you bring me guests. But I’m not expecting you.” The Lord of Eyes played on the diplomacy by spreading a smile before adding, “Why are you here?”
“My friend. It is good to be here. Denaviim has always been my second home.” Tsar smiled diplomatically. Two could play this game. “My friends from the west. They seek someone. Someone who cause problems with a de Careno. An Epumatara.” The Lord of Eyes nodded.
“They can be problem.” The Lord of Eyes wondered how much they knew about the disappearance of Eqbol Rhushi. The coincidences were mounting up.
Njal Ulf had had better days. He was now hanging upside down above one of the lava vents from the Forge of Denaviim. His bear skin coat, with pockets of hidden knives and bomblets lay crumpled on the floor some distance away. He was semi-concerned about the latter, given the heat and their propensity to explode.
“Warm isn’t it.”
Njal Ulf looked around in the darkness, illuminated only by the glow of the lava. There were metal pipes and steam and the slow rumble of the earth moving though this chasm. There was no sky to see and only what appeared to be a series of iron gibbet cages.
“Yes, here. How are you? Van Bastardo, isn’t it?”
Njal Ulf was genuinely surprised. One didn’t expect to hear one’s old name shouted to him from a cage in a dungeon suspended over a lava flow. “Maybe. Who are you?”
“It’s me VB. Pilsonator.”
“My lords, you must be my guests this evening. I will arrange a feast and we may discuss your matters in a friendly way.” The Lord of Eyes didn’t appreciate coincidences that showed up in Denaviim. He clicked his fingers and whispered something into the ear of a large metal-clad man, who regarded the visitors and nodded at his lord.
Captain Jean Flint had an inkling of what he didn’t know. He knew more about what he did know, and he knew there was no feast being planned. He stood, approached the Lord of Eyes, and found a sword at his throat from the same metal-clad man, and instinctively raised his hands. The metal-clad man winced suddenly with a warm and unexpected feeling in his abdomen. It felt like a sharp pain and seemed to be travelling towards his back. He looked at Jean Flint with wide and unfathomable eyes, before slumping to his knees.
A purple blade then emerged from the metal-clad man and hovered in the air. It was daring him. Jean Flint had entered into a state of not knowing, once more. But there was one thing he knew. “Mr Wick,” Flint began – sensing the mage,* “Find Lady Euph.”
Mr Wick appeared from the shadows, touched his ring and was gone.
* …or whatever the hell he was…
They had reached the market and James was now asking in broken Denaviim where Pilsonator might be. Such questions brought the eyes of the soldiers who decided to meet these strangers in a way that had Zandrilla swinging punches left and right until a fierce wind sprang up, sending plumes of dust into the air. All involved in the skirmish shielded their eyes and as the wind dissipated, they (James, Fenrir, Euph and Zandrilla) found the floor was no longer soft and sandy, but hard and stoney, and Marc Wick was asking them to follow him.
“Pilsonator? From Uog? What are you doing here?” Njal Ulf strained his eyes until he could focus on the gibbet cage.
“Long story VB. What’s the plan?”
“Put your fingers in your ears.”
In the corner of the chasm dungeon, a bear-skin coat began to rumble and growl. The irony wasn’t wasted upon Njal Ulf as his hidden bomblets began to yawn from the intense heat of the of the lava chamber.
“Look I just want to know about the knife,” Jean Flint was looking squarely at the Lord of Eyes. So was the knife. “I gave Alfonso de Careno some drawings of an Athanasia and commissioned him to build one. Several hours later there’s, music, a purple wind, and this knife buried in his gut.” He told the Lord of Eyes a shortened version of our tale, while Bia tended to the man-in-metal’s wounds.
The Lord of Eyes listened intently until he wasn’t. Something else had happened. Something else was in the citadel. His vision extend beyond the realms of mere men. He’d already seen the return of Mr Wick and more uninvited guests and was aware they were headed for this chamber. He knew his own guards were heading toward the same confrontation point, but there was something else: something much more powerful – made of darkness and light and everywhere his eyes feared to look. And it was coming. He glanced around and caught a shadow emerging from the walls. Its own eyes burned with a purple fire, and they were focused solely upon him. The Lord of Eyes took a deep breath and his voice trembled with some fear: “You have returned?”
Escape
The Sands of Time whispered again, ‘Now?’. Voltumna responded in a hushed tone: “Yes…”
Several things happened in quick succession. Balder Grimm turned to the hooded stranger and managed to say “Volt,” as the chamber’s external-facing wall began to crumble. A fierce wind erupted, and the Lord of Eyes cowered in terror and Flint swore he heard him say ‘My King’.
Deep below the bearskin coat roared with explosive force that snapped the beam holding Njal Ulf in place, sending him and the gibbet cages crashing against the chasm walls as lava began to bubble ferociously. The dungeon’s integrity began to fail and high above a fleeing Euph found sections of floor disappear around her. The hooded stranger turned to Jean Flint and called above the wind, “Take everyone to the Behemoth. It’s outside.” Jean Flint was clearly in the territory of not understanding anything and shouted back, “But we’re in a city!” The response was more forceful as a boom of “Go now” filled his ears, and the Lord of Eyes came to his knees and pleaded for his life. None of this made sense to Balder Grimm, and even to this day the memory of what happened haunts his sleep.
Njal Ulf was free from his restraints and ran to each gibbet in turn and smashed open the locks. A section of wall had crumbled and through the dust and smoke and hissing steam, he saw daylight up above. He and the other prisoners began to climb ever faster from the dungeon, until they sucked in extremely warm, yet dusty air.
Balder Grimm, Bia, the returning Marc Wick, and others now made way for the newly created hole in the citadel wall and stopped momentarily on a wide parapet – the end of which was a bloody large ship that floated in the air with what looked like Mr Leaf throwing ropes and hooks over the side accompanied by shouts of what sounded like “Geyeassesmuvin” and seemed to be pointing at the Pashtarak which was erupting. With so much chaos, fierce winds, and lightning erupting from clouds of rock and gas, Marc Wick touched his ring and opened a portal directly to the ship. With the citadel collapsing behind them, they hurled themselves through the portal and sod-it if they puked on the other side.
“Are we all here?” Yelled Flint making a quick check of the bodies now coughing up the morning’s food onto the deck. His eyes settled on four strangers. “Who the hell are you?” A genuinely happy face looked back at him, but it was Fenrir who spoke first. “Njal?”
“Hello Captain. Please allow me to catch my breath. I am Njal Ulf, and this is my good friend Pilsonator. From Uog. Well, from beyond the Blue Sea really.” Lady Euph and Flint exchanged glances. “And these two, well we’ve only just met in the dungeon, and we haven’t been introduced yet. Does anyone have any water. And can we leave please before they come after us again?”
Flint stared: his mind processing the past 10 minutes and he half-heard himself shout “Mr Leaf, Mr Chief set sail for anywhere but here.” Then thought about this for another long second. “Um whatever you do to a ship that’s in the sky and in over a city.”
“Does anyone know what’s going on?” he added.
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