The Ranger (Book 1) (36 page)

“Do you think that the Magi will simply leave the abbey alone if I leave?” Vincent replied, annoyed at Trent’s lack of judgment. “I’ve only know about the Magi for a few months and even I understand that.”

“He is right,” Auna said somberly. “I fear that we are nearing the end.”

“But there must be something we can do,” Lauren said, coming out of her trance. “I won’t accept that everything we’ve worked for was for nothing.”

Auna said nothing for a long time. He seemed lost in thought, as if debating something in his mind. Vincent could almost hear him muttering to himself under his breath.

“Yes,” he said at length, “that is what we will have to do.” Vincent looked at his former mentor with a sense of curiosity. “I must take you to see the Abbot. He has been very ill recently, but necessity demands that we interrupt his rest.”

“I don’t understand,” Vincent said as Auna started to usher them into the corridor, “you and I both know that he is going to tell me to stay here. Why bother him now, we should be trying to come up with a plan.”

“This is a plan,” Trent said as he hurried Lauren to catch up with Auna, whose long legs had already carried him to the stairs, leaving the others behind. “The Grand Abbot has the ear of Sandora. He can ask her for guidance.”

This thought had never occurred to Vincent. He had prayed many times, performing the ritual ceremonies, but he had never considered actually asking the Goddess for advice. The very idea of talking to a god seemed ridiculous to him. Yet here they were, going to ask the Abbot to speak with Sandora on their behalf. Things couldn’t be that bad yet, could they?

As they joined Auna at the top of the stairs they were quickly guided past the guard at the entrance to the dome. Vincent had only once before been allowed inside the dome, when he had received his token. Much of the space was dominated by a huge statue of the Goddess, with a much smaller statue of the first Knight of the Order, Breen, at her feet. Statues of the various abbots who had served at the Grand Abbey lined the walls. There was still an empty spot for Abbot Markov.

There was an aura of calm within the Dome. It allowed those who visited to feel closer to the Goddess. It also held its own defensive warding, independent of those granted by the abbot. Small wonder it was the most holy location for the Order of Sandora.

Auna led them behind the statue of the Goddess and opened an ornate wooden door revealing a steep spiral stair. Auna formed a ball of fire in his hand and started down into the darkness below, motioning for them to follow.

The ceiling was low going down and Vincent had to stoop as he went. Auna, in front of him, was almost doubled over, using the ceiling as a support as there was no railing. Vincent nearly tripped and fell more than once. He was surprised that the Abbot could even use these stairs considering his age.

The stairs seemed to continue forever, spiraling deeper under the abbey. The stairs ended in a white stone wall. The wall was smooth and looked like it was made of one piece of stone. The only marking on it was a small golden hand etched in the middle.

Vincent opened his mouth to ask what they were supposed to do now, but Auna placed his still glowing hand over the golden image and the wall started to glow. Vincent watched in amazement as the stone in front of them started to roll up like two pieces of parchment revealing a simple wooden door.

Auna knocked gently on the door before opening it slowly.

“Inside, all of you,” Auna whispered, “and be absolutely silent unless spoken to.”

They quickly filed into the room. It was large and spacious, though it had very few decorations. A full bookshelf stood against the far wall, with even more books piled on the ground beside it. A thick layer of dust covered most of the books; however there were a few on the tops of the piles that showed wear from frequent use. A single tapestry hung on the wall directly above the large bed in which the Abbot lay sleeping in. It was a finely woven image of the Goddess with her hands open in a welcoming embrace. While it had been well maintained, it was obviously very old, with edges starting to fray slightly. The room was dimly lit by an orb sitting in a strange holder on the ceiling directly above the bed.

Auna quietly moved next to the bed and gently placed a hand on the sleeping abbot’s shoulder. He looked a lot older than Vincent remembered. His face was white and his skin seemed taut and shrunken.

“My lord,” Auna whispered softly as the abbot stirred, “I’m sorry to disturb your rest, but we have urgent need of you guidance.”

Abbot Markov slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to survey the people standing in his room. A weak smile graced his face as his eyes rested on Vincent; eyes that no longer burned with the fire of youth. A sense of loss fell over Vincent as he looked into those eyes, which had once held so much life and energy. Now all they reflected was the weight of the world, pressing down on the frail old man.

“Vincent,” the Abbot whispered, “I am glad you have come. I wished very much to see you one last time before the end.”

“That is why we have come, my lord,” Auna said uncertainly. “The Eresians march against us, and we need the guidance of the Goddess. There are those who feel that the abbey would be safer if Vincent were to leave and seek shelter elsewhere. I, however, believe that there is little hope for the Order either way.”

The Abbot turned his head and looked at Auna, as if staring into his soul. He held that gaze for some time before he spoke.

“You speak truth,” the Abbot spoke solemnly. “There is little hope. It has been so since Vincent was brought to us. I foresaw this day long ago.”

“Then what are we to do?” Trent cut in abruptly. “We cannot simply lie down and accept defeat.”

“No, we cannot,” the Abbot agreed. “We must hold our ground here. It will be a desperate battle, but so it must be.”

“What of the boy?” Auna cut in. “Should we send him away, or should he remain here?”

The Abbot paused, staring hard at Vincent. He almost seemed to be debating something in his mind, his mouth moving slightly as though he were talking to some unseen, unheard force. Finally he seemed to reach a decision.

“The Chosen must remain here,” he said, sitting up. His voice echoing faintly around the room. The voice almost startled Vincent as it was much stronger than he had expected from the frail man. “The Great Goddess has decreed that he must lead us against our foe. So long as Vincent lives there is hope for the Order, and as long as Lauren lives there is hope for the restoration of the Old Kingdom.”

The Abbot dropped back to the bed, drained. He was once again the worn out old man. He struggled to keep his drooping eyelids open as he whispered into Master Auna’s ear. His voice was too weak for Vincent to hear, but Auna seemed to be agreeing with what he was saying.

“Vincent,” Auna said after the Abbot had finished speaking, “We have one more task for you. You already hold two of the sacred relics of the Order. We would entrust you with one more.”

Abbot Markov started struggling to remove a long golden chain from around his neck. Auna quickly intervened, gingerly lifting the chain from the weak old man’s shoulders. The chain held a simple golden pendent in the shape of a cupped hand. There was nothing outwardly unusual about this trinket, but Vincent recognized it for what it was. He had seen the pendent before, he had even worn it. He had no idea how it worked, but it somehow enabled the wearer to receive their token from the Goddess.

“As you know,” Auna continued, “this is a very sacred relic. There are only two still in existence. The other was recently captured by the Magi just before the destruction of the Earth Tower. To our knowledge, they have not discovered the workings of it yet, which is fortunate. The use of the pendant has been a close guarded secret for centuries. As guardian of the pendant we will share the secret with you. It is your duty to ensure that this secret does not fall into the wrong hands.” Vincent nodded, understanding the gravity of the thing he was about to receive.

“Excellent,” Auna continued. “The use of the pendent is simple, almost too simple. However, one must be able to wield a token in order to command the pendent. Anyone who has the potential to receive a token will feel the pendent warm to their touch. If that is the case, you must channel a small amount of energy from your token into the pendent. The pendent will start to glow as the wearer clears his mind of thought. When the mind is adequately prepared, the token will be granted.”

Auna dropped the pendent into Vincent’s outstretched hands. It was cool against his skin, but he remembered the first time he had worn it. It had felt so hot that he was surprised that it hadn’t burned him.

The Abbot smiled as Vincent placed the chain around his neck, hanging next to the fire stone. The Abbot’s head fell back to his pillow. He was obviously exhausted. Auna gestured for them to leave and allow the Abbot to rest. They gathered just outside the door and the stone wall once again took its place in front of the door.

“Well,” Trent said quietly, “it has been decided. You stay here. For better or for worse the future rests on your shoulders.

An hour later, Vincent and Lauren sat alone in their room once again. The events of the last day still whirled in their minds. Vincent was absently turning the pendent over in his hand, the weight of responsibility settling over him like a cloak.

“What do we do now?” Lauren asked, her voice was little more than a whisper, but it cut through the echoing silence.

“We do what must be done,” Vincent replied. “We have faced danger before, we’ll do it again.” He finally looked up at Lauren’s face. He was surprised to see how fearful she looked. It was as though the tough outer layer had been stripped away, revealing a small, trembling child.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, moving to sit next to her on her bed.

“It’s over, isn’t it,” she said, holding back tears. “We worked so long and hard to try to restore Pallà, and now this happens. It was all for nothing and now we face destruction by the Magi.”

“It is not over,” Vincent replied firmly. “As long as I still draw breath I will continue to fight. I will give everything I have for our cause.”

“But what if that isn’t enough?”

“Then it will end,” he said solemnly, looking her in the eyes, “but it will be such an end that it will be spoken of for generations to come; even among the Eresians.”

Lauren forced herself to smile, but it was strained. He could see the despair in her eyes, and it hurt him. He hated seeing her this way. It was such a sharp contrast to how vibrant she had been at the camp. Even when they had been running from Frost she hadn’t lost hope.

“Come on,” Vincent said getting up, “let’s go see how the others are doing. Weston should be awake now.”

Lauren smiled - a real smile this time - the light returning to her eyes, even if it was faint.

“Yeah,” she said getting up, “that would be nice.”

They walked quietly through the corridors leading back up to the abbey. Very few people were in the dormitories now. Most were camped up around the walls, waiting. Even the cloister was deserted, apart from a few sentries meant to keep the refugees away from the Dome.

The entry hall was a little more crowded. Knights were running everywhere, with the occasional Ranger stalking about evaluating the most defensible spots in the building.

They tried to stay out of the way of the bustling troops as they cut across the entry hall and out the main abbey doors. The grounds were not much better. Shoddy tents were scattered around the walls where knights waited for their turn at watch.

Trent stood in front of the main gate, which was closed and firmly barred, barking orders to the Rangers that hurried past. Every now and then he took a disgusted look toward the scattered tents and shook his head. The Rangers had set up camp around the side of the abbey; their tents were in neat orderly rows.

Vincent and Lauren weaved through the knights. When they finally reached Trent he was shouting at one of the senior knights. Vincent recognized the mark on the shoulder of his armour which distinguished him as the captain of the guard, but Vincent didn’t know his name.

Trent noticed them approaching and turned his attention away from the knight just long enough for him to sneak away, leaving Trent shouting at the man’s back.

“That man just won’t listen to reason,” Trent grumbled. “Would it be that difficult to move his tents behind the abbey where they would be out of the way?”

“I’m sure he’s just trying to do the right thing,” Lauren said smiling at Trent’s antics, “his heart is in the right place.”

“Good intentions won’t help us when the Eresians finally march against us. They may be held at bay for the moment by the barrier, but that bubble is shrinking by the minute.” Trent hushed his voice, barely daring to whisper. “The Abbot grows weaker every day. I don’t know how long he’ll be able to maintain the barrier. When that falls, the very jaws of the abyss will gape open wide to swallow us whole.”

The smile faded from Lauren’s face once again. The weight of what Vincent had to do seemed to grow on his shoulders. The abbot had said that as long as he lived there would be hope for the Order, but what if he didn’t live? What if this battle would be his last? He didn’t want to think about that. Not now at any rate. He quickly changed the subject so as to dispel the solemn air that was forming around them.

“Have you seen Weston?” Vincent asked, knocking the other two out of their trances. “He should have recovered by now. Where is he?”

“Oh,” Trent replied distractedly, “he and David are watching the children around the back of the abbey.”

“Thanks,” Vincent said, tugging Lauren behind him as he turned to leave. “We’ll let you get back to your duties then.” He and Lauren rushed off as Trent went back to shouting at anyone who came anywhere near him, as though he hadn’t been interrupted at all.

The grounds to the rear of the abbey had been filled with the tents of the refugees, and there was very little space left. However, this did not stop the large and rambunctious group of children from running and screaming through the jumble of tents as they played. Most of the refugees were not around as they were huddling in the great hall to be out of the sun. The few that remained in their tents tried to ignore the games of the little ones, but every now and then one of the children would run into one of them, or trip on their legs sticking out of a tent. This would be followed by a string of curses from the resting refugee.