Of Times Lost and Found (An Epilogue)

[Judas D'arc]

The night that damn bell broke ...

The purplish portrait depicted a woman in the prime of life; a raven-haired seer with a bemused smile, a clever twinkling to her dark eyes. Whenever she uttered a word, her mouth remained inert, an image fixed in oils and canvas, yet the painting itself flickered and glowed with every word.

“What knowledge do you wish, o’seeker?”

Except it was a facade. Her reality was far and away, elsewhere, Everywhere -- a lone prisoner, confined perpetually behind the walls of a cell, cold and dark. Visitors were infrequent, typically a stuttering, bespectacled librarian in service to the almighty queen. But there was another who often called upon her knowledge, a woman whose name and face were cloaked in green and masked in emeralds, and the seer preferred this petitioner above all the others. For they spoke only through the portrait, and from behind her portrait, she could pretend to be what she once was. A raven-haired seer with a bemused smile, and not a lone prisoner, cold and dark.

“I thought I had more time,” said the Emerald Empress, “but I’ve failed.”

“Aye, little escapes my sight, even here in this place I dwell. The time shades linger no longer, but you fear you paid too hefty a price.”

The Empress nodded. “Not just me alone, but the whole Fist. Ezekial’s magic is gone, Sergio’s lost his brother again, Kalanna’s disappeared, Faeryl’s still asleep, and Chanticleer is …” Her voice suddenly broke, a stream of tears and sobs muffled by her mask. “I don’t know what to do, and I don’t think the others do either.”

“Do not try to deceive me. This may not have been your desired outcome, but still you planned for its possibility. You know now what you must do.”

She sighed heavily as she considered the words of the seer. “It was always the last hope, and I’m still unsure about it. Can you at least promise it’ll succeed?”

“I shall promise you nothing. Only that it is a necessity for any chance of success.” The portrait then gleamed brightly. “It is time to return to the beginning.”

********

[Judas D'arc]

After walking that windy path of oblivion ...

On that night, Spiritwood reacted to her sudden return: a shifting of the cool autumn breeze, the scurrying of creatures large and small, and frantic whispering in that most secret language of trees. Before her unnatural demise, the Keeper was like one of them; afterwards, she was just one of them. Yet haunted by human concerns that still set her apart, the burden of betrayal by defiant children. Then she no longer stood among them, replaced by something that looked and sounded and smelled of her, but younger and reminiscent of her life. And then too, her time lost simulacrum disappeared, and with that, her sudden return on this night.

The Keeper walked a familiar path, her destination a marble shrine elevated above a small pond in the eastern reaches of Spiritwood. To the breeze and the creatures and the trees, this place was indistinguishable; it was part of them. But humans had a name for it. <Spirituality>

A white-robed figure awaited the Keeper’s arrival, and his hooded face greeted her with a small nod. In his right hand, he carried an ancient-looking sextant, “As promised, you have been sent back to where and when you belong.”

“And what about Katalin and Rhys?” The ghostly ranger paused near the shrine’s base, her feet planted firmly at the center of a large green tile adorned with the symbol of the ankh.

“Aye, Katalin is at peace. Rhys, I am afraid, history repeated itself.”

The Keeper shook her head disapprovingly. “It’s bad enough that you used my past for this, but you shouldn’t have touched them. In my life, I loved them like they were my own.”

“It was the only way to set things right, Corinna, and you three were of great help. Without you, Hawkins might have persuaded the Fist, the Rangers, and the others, and achieved a victory for one of my rivals.” He tapped at the sextant with his free hand. “If you desire, I could still grant a boon for your loyal service.”

“You’ve done enough, and my tale’s over.” She then stepped towards the shrine and recited the mantra OM three times in succession. Vanishing for a brief moment, Corinna reappeared above at the center of the elevated shrine. “When I re-established the Rangers of Spiritwood, I chose to accept the covenant of the White Stone and suffer the consequences. My choice -- ”

“ -- it’s forever.”

********

[Judas D'arc]

Following the events at the Abandoned Abbey ...

When the virtuous failed to keep watch, the influence of the unvirtuous was allowed to spread. When librarians ceased their vigilance, depraved acts were permitted to occur between their bookshelves. On this occasion, the Lycaeum of Felucca was no exception, and Renthar and Jolicia were not meek about taking advantage of the robed scholars’ inattentiveness.

“I’m glad you’re safely back, Jo Jo.” As they lay naked together in a pile of disorganized books, the strange-eyed sorcerer stroked his lover’s cheek.

Closing her blue eyes, she nestled indulgently against his pale chest, and said quietly. “Me too.” When standing, his height towered over hers by more than a foot, but during moments like this, she found comfort in this disparity. “I was one of the lucky ones.”

Renthar nodded, “It certainly does seem like it.” He reached towards the nearby heap of books and retrieved a copy of one entitled: Ethical Hedonism: An Introduction by Richard Garriott. Without a drastic change of his position, he started to tear out some of its pages. “The Empress won’t be pleased about Not-My-Boy-Knight, and it sounds like Zeke’s in for the opposite of fun. I tried to warn Sergio about his brother, but alas ... ”

“Some people want to be suspicious instead of happy,” she smiled at him.

“But as we’ve proven more than once, they’re not mutually exclusive states of being.” Using the torn pages, he proceeded to wipe up the various love stains that covered their bodies. When finished with them, he casually tossed the crumpled papers into the corner of the room. “Still, I don’t think this was the most advantageous of outcomes.”

“What do you mean? We wanted the time shades gone.”

“Yes, but no doubt Haxley’s white-robed client has benefited from all of this.”

Jolicia opened both of her eyes and gazed unflinchingly at his face, divided as it was between metal and flesh. “Then what can we do? We know he isn’t going to stop.”

“We need to locate a viable Pathway,” said Renthar, “so we can leave here for good.”

“The Lycaeum?”

“No, this shard of Sosaria. It’s time to finish this.”

********

[Judas D'arc]

That day after order was restored ...

Guardsman Johnson suspected the end was near. After decades of service to Trinsic, dutifully protecting the majestic sandstone city like his father, his father’s father, and his father’s father’s mother before him, he was ready to trade his uniform for a small farm on the outskirts of Spiritwood. One or two more winters at most, and he would lay down his halberd for good.

On his way towards a mid-morning inspection of the docks, the tall, swarthy guard traversed the perimeter of Trinsic’s Market Square, a familiar leg of an uneventful and routine patrol. Until he passed the unimpressive, single floor structure that housed the Governor’s office, and caught a flash of brilliant white light through its windows, akin to the effects of a powerful spell.

Johnson readied his halberd and sprinted across the market square like a man three-quarters his age. With a loud grunt, he yanked open the front door of the office and rushed inside.

“ -- for me to reclaim what is rightfully mine.” The words belonged to Governor Haxley, who sat cozily behind his large, wooden desk. His thick lips pouted slightly in response to the abrupt entrance. “Guardsman Johnson?”

“Governor!” The elderly guardsman tone reflected his concern. “You’re under attack?!”

“Nonsense,” he smiled politely. “I was just conversing with a client of mine.”

The bewildered Johnson hastily surveyed the room, but saw no one else. “But -- ?!”

“He is gone now.”

Satisfied no danger was present, the guardsman reluctantly lowered his weapon. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Governor, but I thought something was wrong.”

“Not at all,” Haxley shook his head, his tight smile spreading into a mirthful grin. “If anything, for the first time in far too many a year, everything will soon be just right.”

********

[Judas D'arc]

Two nights after that damn bell broke ...

There was an old man who lived in a lonely tower. But he was not just any old man, he was an old bard. And it was not just any lonely tower, it was his prison cell.

At first glance, his room atop the small tower did not resemble a place of confinement. It was well-furnished and spacious, with numerous candles and wall sconces counteracting the lack of natural lighting. His hunger and thirst were always satiated, he possessed enough books for a small library, and there were all kinds of musical instruments at his command. Yet, during these past three years, the old bard had come to despise that lovely room, almost as much as he had learned to hate his mysterious, green-robed captor.

Until the night she visited him there for that final time.

He was partially asleep, half-drunk, and somewhat naked when she appeared, standing above him. The emeralds adorning her mask gleamed as she hovered silently, causing the old bard to stir from his unflattering position, pale flesh and dark, graying hair spread liberally across the massive bed. “Shit,” he muttered, more to himself than at her.

“I thought I had more time.”

The old bard shrugged and then reached for his dirty, alcohol-stained tunic that had become entangled with one of his pillows. He barely managed to put it on.

“I need your help.”

Her tone was deflated, deprived of the confidence it exuded when last they spoke. But still he laughed, and for the next full-minute, he would not let himself stop.

“He’s gone,” She sighed softly. “Chanticleer’s gone.”

“I would mourn,” said the old bard, “except I am too drunk to make the attempt.”

“I need your help to get him back.”

His smile was slight and inebriated. “After all you have done, making me your prisoner without a word of explanation, except to insult me?! Without any warning of when I will be released, if ever at all?! Why the fuck would I ever aid you?!” He asserted his annoyance by grabbing for one of the partially filled bottles of ale that occupied his night stand.

“Because of this” the masked woman said. She lowered her hood, whispered her secret word, and then removed her mask. “Because of this.”

At the surprise of her face, the old bard swallowed hard, nearly choking on his swig of ale. He recovered his breath, and his dark, blood-shot eyes carefully scrutinized her every feature. “Is that truly …?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

He exhaled, long and uneasy, and it smelled strongly of stale alcohol and yesterday’s supper. “Fine,” he nodded, more to himself than at her. “What do you want me to do?”

“You’re going to leave here, and do what you do best.”

“And what is that, Emerald Empress?” The old bard frowned at a memory, the similar exchange they shared nearly a year ago. He feared her answer might be the same as then.

“In your life, you’ve been many things, and failed at many. A flawed friend, a poor leader, and a terrible father.” She smiled sadly, her gloved finger gently wiping at the wetness forming around her eyes. “But not as a bard, you’ve always been the best I ever knew. We already have our beginning and middle, Judas. Now, I want you to finish this story.”

****The End****