The DreamCaster

THE DREAMCASTER
PROLOGUE: In which the Ravaging had begun
Droplets of water to the hard, stone floor echoed in Arren’s senses. Hauntingly repetitive, forcing him to stay with his dark thoughts. The drops are systematic; making a rhythm that Arren could expect the next drop by counting in his mind. It was dull and it resonated within the dark cold walls of the dungeon, making Arren shiver though he’s pretty much used with the cold after months of desolation. Long, painful months with small crumbs of bread as his first and last meal and a stagnant half-filled waterskin with it. Months which seemed for Arren as eternity as his hope receded and his conscience eating him alive, leaving him with his dark, unpleasant thoughts. Months or perhaps years had passed and he was surprised at himself that he wasn’t dead yet. Surprised that he still had his weary senses with him and not ravaging like a lunatic like others who stayed before him.
Arren is leaning against the wall, a thin shawl hardly keeping his body warm and making him more miserable. His clothes have become dirty rags hanging on his body that the beggar’s clothing is better. In front of him is a wooden small bowl filled with spoiled porridge and the waterskin of dirty water enough to kill a man. Fortunately for Arren, wherever in Cirva this dungeon is, this place is occasionally visited by heavy rainfalls. There is a leak somewhere on his cell where he could collect the rain droplets. He wasn’t sure if it’s safe but its way better than the water they give to him. He had a straw-mat in the corner as a bed and a tiny lantern as source of warmth. Opposite the bed is a bucket of another stagnant water and a giant hole in the wall beside it; the bowel room or in Arren’s condition, the bowel hole.
Arren’s cell is not entirely made up of stone walls. Opposite the left wall where Arren was seated is a barricade of rusty thick iron bars so he could interact with the person in another room. But Arren has been alone for some time. His last companion was a poor plainsman like him, accused of stealing some important item Arren couldn’t remember. His friend never stayed long however and was brought to questioning one day. Arren had never seen him since then. The only indicator for Arren that it was day is the tiny window a near the ceiling. And the ceiling was far enough that even there’s a three of him standing in each shoulder is not enough to reach it. A metal door is only Arren’s entrance to the outside world but not definitely his escape. It never took long enough for Arren to give up and submit for his cruel fate. This is the Soul God’s punishment; his divine judgment to him. And Arren can never do anything to change it.
Ironically, the Soul God had been his only source of emotional support. Despite his body being battered, his hope fading like a candle to the gentle wind, his spirit is still alive or so he thinks. He wakes up in order to recite a prayer for the Soul God, reciting the verses he memorized at heart as a child. This was his only salvation. He can never escape but at least when he died, the Soul God had forgiven him and his soul can only be granted by eternal slumber. That alone made him slightly pleased.
Suddenly, he felt a strange presence within his cell. Looking up, he was not surprised to see Mont sitting across him. Mont was as weary and miserable as Arren is but the lad, in his period of blossoming youth is smiling an easy smile despite everything. The boy had inherited from his father his sloven brown hair and cheerful blue eyes: the eyes of an Iriander. From the looks of it, Mont seemed to have good news to share.
“Hullo, Father” greeted the amiable youth. Arren noticed that Mont, despite being dirty and filthy, was still wearing his favorite clothes. A leather tunic with a white long-sleeved shirt underneath and long brown breeches. The attire he’s wearing when Arrem had last seen him. The clothes he’s wearing when Arren saw him lying in the dried mud pit, bloody and lifeless, his dead blue eyes staring at the dark sky.
“Hullo Mont.” Replied the desolate father, looking at his son “Where have you been?”
Mont only grinned mischievously, like a child hiding something behind his back. “I visited Old dame Halley and her daughter today. Diane is still upset that I haven’t fulfilled my promise to her. She loves to see The Scar so badly that I feel bad I never showed it to her…before all of these happened.”
“We were all upset when you’re gone, Mont.” Said Arren quietly. “Even some of us went as far as beyond grieving” Like me. He thought. A father’s final act for his son.
Mont’s smile became weak. “You know, you don’t have to do all of these just because of me. You don’t have to kill them, Father. They are evil and they won’t stop even you vanquished half of them. At the top of that, it made things worse. Now, they have you. You’re life will never be the same again.”
“My life had changed since you died, Mont. I have nothing to live for.” Arren said and sighed, smiling faintly “I won’t let them get away after they killed you.”
“But the Soul God shall punish them, Father. You shouldn’t have to interfere with his divine judgment. Look at what it brought you. Nothing but pain and misery, worse than a dead man”
“What past is past. I have no regrets on what I have done” said Arren savagely. “I wait for my own death. Call me a fool if you want. This is my deed and I shall live by it.”
Mont nodded, his face solemn and understanding “ So I see.” And they were silent.
After a moment’s silence, Mont’s bent head perked up “I went to Voyar yesterday. It was really nice. I wonder why we never visit it often years ago.”
Arren looked up at Mont’s wistful eyes “Your aunt is well, I hope?”
Mont nodded “Very. She’s still wondering where you are all these years. Did you know she was already married to a Minion Raiser?”
“I know. Jebhard Hamscott is a good man. And his daughter Dara is a charming lil’ girl. Mysla deserves the both of them. How about your cousins?”
Mont smiled at the memory of his journey. “They are fine. Zogg is turning 14 this week and I’ve never seen another good lad. Nat and Dara are growing up well. But its Sarnha whom I wanted to get to know better.”
Sarnha…yes, Mysla’s eldest daughter. Last Arren saw her is when she’s cuddling a baby Minion in her lap, her freckled face smiling like a bright sun, her candid green eyes shining like jade under the sun. How old is she now? Sixteen? Seventeen?
Mont stood up, breaking Arren’s reverie. His blue eyes gazed down at Arren’s, silently telling him he should go now. Back to where he truly belongs. If Arren isn’t numb at tears and strong emotions as he had back when he was first imprisoned here, he would break into sobs.
Instead, he merely nodded and bent his head at his knees again. Seconds later, he knew Mont is gone. All he could do is to wait for the next visit of his delusional phantom son. He stopped thinking if Mont really visits him at times like these. If Mont is a product of a pathetic, hallucinating mind of a soul who had lost everything. It doesn’t matter anymore. He had stopped caring.
A few minutes passed and Arren heard faint footsteps coming out from outside of his cell. They are distinctive, faint but clear. Occasionally, unnamed guards change their shifts on guarding him. One would guard him all day while the other guards him in night. After murdering the son of a powerful deacon, they wouldn’t let him get away just as easily.
Imagine his surprise when he heard a loud ringing sound of steel brushing against the stone floor. He looked up and saw the cell beside his, the cell which was separated from him by long steel bars, was filled with bright light coming from outside with its door open. He saw in slow motion how the guards threw a man to the floor as if a sack of grains. The unfortunate prisoner groaned painfully at the fall and tried to sit up without success while the guards only laughed viciously at his efforts for nothing. At that and the door closed again, summoning the haunting darkness again. The only source of illumination is Arren’s lamp. It was already night for the window was dark.
But Arren’s eyes are pretty much used to the darkness. It had been his companion for a long time. He can see that his new cellmate is leaning in the wall, panting heavily, looking directly at him. For a moment, Arren didn’t know what to say. This is his first encounter from the outside world since he was imprisoned. They only sat there, staring at each other, the other wondering at what crime the man did and the latter recharging his lost energy. He was “interrogated”, that Arren could understand. He received the same treatment before being dumped in this place. He wondered if he’s also a victim of social injustice like him and was driven half-crazy by the cruelties of it. He wondered if he had become blind as he was. Blind and mad that he had forgot the Soul God and his life.
Arren decided to start the conversation “Why are you here? What have they done this time?”
He sensed that the man hesitated. After a moment, he spoke: “They have the right to bring me here” was all he said. The voice was deep but Arren could hear the almost voice of a youth very similar of Mont’s. He limped closer, coming slowly at Arren’s view.
A young man seemed like not reaching his twenties stared back at Arren, studying him curiously as Arren studies him. He had a strong, chiseled face like carved from granite with sapphire piercing blue eyes, like does of Mont’s but held no ambience and sincerity and a prominent nose with nostrils flaring. His eyebrows matched those of his hair: dark-blond. The kind of face ladies will easily fall for. Despite the bruises and wounds, he still holds an aura of authority and importance, making Arren think if he’s part of the noble circle that was his enemy for a long time now. But why would they do the things they had done to Arren, a simple farmer to him? Surely even in the nobles, there has to be a different punishment they shall implement to that part of their class.
The man’s intelligent blue eyes held Arren’s as if reading his soul. Nothing can escape that critical gaze, not even Arren who was known as the toughest of all farmers at Lyonshire. At that moment, Arren is convinced that the man in front of him is no ordinary prisoner.
Arren remembered the formalities and introduced himself “My name is Arren Dawnson, a farmer from Lyonshire.” He paused, considering if he tells him why they have him here then decides against it.
The man nodded. He seemed friendly enough but Arren wasn’t sure if he used this to mask his own personality. He looked like a man never to trifle with. “Kendrick. I came from Alzanta. A traveler.”
“Well then, Kendrick,” Arren ventured slowly “Might I dare ask why you are here?”
The young man only shrugged, his eyes roaming his cell “They said I am a part of the army of outlaws which attacked their citadel last night.”
Arren was mildly surprised at this. He knew that his own captors had powerful enemies of their own. “Caught in the incident?”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t done anything. They ambushed the inn I was staying in. Unfortunately the inn I was resting in after days of traveling is indeed a place for delinquents and renegades. “
“And your sentence?”
Kendrick’s thin lips curled as if amused at the thought. For some reason, Arren thinks it’s not a big thing for him to be locked inside this rotting place, spending days with dark thoughts as you die slowly each day. “I believed that my trial shall never end soon as you expected. Those men longed for someone to beat and pound. Now, they have me.”
Arren didn’t know what to say. This man was too young to be here, lest in the hands of those men. At the top of that, he was accused on a crime he’s innocent of, at least that’s what Arren thinks. Kendrick looks like an honest, good lad any father could ever had. Why, he looked like he’s around Mont’s age when he died. He felt a certain pity for his relatives especially his parents. From the looks of it, there may be a very small chance that Kendrick might return to them alive.
“Do you have any family alive?”
“I became a traveler to search for them. You see, Arren, I am an orphan or so they told me.” Kendrick looked back at him, a faint smile on his face “I was worse than a Cyre unable to fly. Penniless and growing up in a big town with no one to look after you, I look after myself. They said I was a bastard and my mother killed herself after my father left the two of us. Been looking for him ever since.”
Arren smiled at the youth’s will. There can be no denying that Kendrick is very independent and mature for his age. “Any bastard I know despised their fathers as much as they loathe themselves. Now I met someone different. Your father must be reunited with you at all costs.”
In the bright light from the lantern, Kendrick’s smile widened. His feature changed gradually as if finding Arren’s words amusing and ridiculous. Arren glanced uneasily at him and it became evident that Kendrick is clearly being sarcastic. “I was never different, Arren, believe me. My father is very unfortunate as soon as I met him.”
Arren swallowed at what he said. Kendrick is certainly not bluffing. His hatred for his father could destroy him. “The Soul God does not wish for us to seek justice by vengeance. Let him rend asunder the people who had wronged us. Else, his hand shall fall upon us like a great tide. You must extinguish your anger, Kendrick before it destroys you.”
Kendrick leaned his head to the steel bars, his shoulders shaking slightly at silent glee. “The Soul God…does not lay a hand in His children if these bad children asked for his forgiveness. Justice does not exist in the Soul God’s divine laws. Justice exists in yourself and only you can bring retribution to what you have lost. Exactly what I will do and you have done.” He turned to Arren who was frozen at his spot. Kendrick plastered a boyish smile “Right?”
“Do not speak of such things to the Soul God!” Arren shot up suddenly, his breathing harsh, his voice echoing loudly within the cell. Kendrick only looked at him, arching one arrogant brow. If it wasn’t for the bars separating them, Arren will rush to him head-on. Not even Mont could say things like that. And Mont is one of those troublemaking boys of Lyonshire. His belief to the Soul God is definite and strong. In fact, this is the first time Arren heard someone could say such words to the God who had protected Cirva for as long as the creation of the world. “The Shines and Arcons shall have your head soon if you insist your blasphemous beliefs-“
“The Arcons and the Shines” Kendrick’s strong voice cut in like glaciers hardened by time. “The Soul God’s divine followers are destroying Cirva as long as you and I both lived! They are nothing but curse and the Soul God is nothing but a Daer’Mon pretending to be the savior of all mankind. That you shall soon see, my friend, for the Fourth Manifestation walked amongst us. The Fourth has arrived, and the Soul God shall soon end this world despite your prayers and love and sacrifices you made under his divine name. It will all lead to nothing”
“Blasphemy! Lies! “ Arren growled, his chest heaving with anger, the very same anger he felt after knowing the murderers of his son. His fingers clenched into fists by his side as he struggled to contain the dangerous emotion threatening to explode “Your mind is corrupted by it. The Destined Heir shall bring us salvation, not death! If anything shall be destroyed in this world, it’ll have to be the likes of you. You unworthy child”
“Call me whatever you want.” Kendrick calmly replied, his gaze cool and defiant “It changes nothing”
With those words, he limped back to the darkest corner of his cell, his voice staying inside Arren’s mind. Arren let his knees fall and settled into his favorite position, lost for thoughts and words. The world is getting worse than he thought. Perhaps, there are others like Kendrick out there, young and idealistic for their own good that they never cared about the divine entity who had guided their parents and grandparents.
The Destined Heir…the heir for the Soul God’s power and soul. The Soul God himself in flesh and blood, walking among them, talking and laughing with them. Arren can never wish for more if he had the slightest glimpse at the divine figure. The Destined Heir is not a destroyer but the long-awaited savior. Arren could still hear a popular song sung by minstrels in lively nights at the inn.
When the moons are one, when the stars are gone
When the lands are perished and the souls are born
When magic has failed and the wind had changed
When the day turns into night
And shadow enveloped the land
When the soil is toiled with blood
And the sea had shown its might
When the sky will go down
And the finger of God shall touch the world
Glory shall came to heal the ravaged land
And let his wings guide the fallen and down
Let his light envelop the darkness within our souls
And we shall no longer suffer and die
The unwanted seed
The king of the kings…..
And with that, the old farmer had finally fallen into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.