(Project) Draegoan: Chapter 1

The Elesharian Empire struggles to deal with one of the worst droughts in history, but perhaps the coming of a shrouded prophet may hold a sign for the future.

 

Emperor Ogdein Recanthus sat on his throne, his forehead beaded with sweat from the sweltering summer day. Before him, a scarlet carpet runner extended from the top of the platform on which he and his throne rested to the tall oaken double doors some thirty yards away from him. On either side of the runner were massive marble columns, with intricate statues placed at intermittent openings between the monolithic structures. Grandiose windows nearly twenty-five feet tall allowed the golden light of evening to play across the massive chamber.

                A single solitary knock rang out in the near silence, causing the two armed soldiers clad in the maroon of Eleshar flanking the closed entryway to jump slightly. Realizing then what was occurring, they stepped to the oversized golden handles of the massive doors. Pulling inward, the seemingly immobile walls of timber swung reluctantly open. Two more soldiers, more lightly armed than those who had been guarding the door, emerged from behind the arched entryway. Between then was a tall man draped in deep purple, black and blue robes with high cowled shoulders. Exaggerated shadows threw odd patterns across the marbled floor as they moved resolutely across the room. The slight hood of the man’s robes cast yet more shadows across his face, hiding most of it from view. From what Ogdein could tell, his skin was darker than most, but the odd lighting was deceiving.

                The man strode purposefully forward, seemingly oblivious to the soldiers on either side of him, or in fact anything around him. Though Ogdein could not see the man’s eyes, he could feel their piercing gaze on his skin like so many little needles prickling his skin. This man was dangerous.

                Dangerous, but necessary.

                A day earlier, a messenger had brought in an oddly robed man demanding audience with the Emperor. Ogdein’s aides had initially informed the man that audience with the Emperor was not something a stranger could simply demand and expect to get, and one had escorted the man out of the reception chamber. A few minutes had passed before the other aides had heard a loud gasp and the two men returned to the room. The aide had motioned for the strange newcomer to stand by the door while he approached the other aides. What he had spoken next, in a solemn whisper shocked them to the bone.

                “Prophecy has come to the Empire of Eleshar.”

                Prophecy was highly revered in Eleshar, believed to be divine messages of guidance from the Maker himself, and so was followed strictly. Emperors were believed to be chosen ones of the Maker, acting as his hand in the mortal world. When the man had spoken that he had received prophecy concerning the Emperor and Eleshar, Ogdein’s aides had cast all doubt or fears about the man away, immediately granting him audience for the following day. A runner had then been sent with all haste to Ogdein, who cleared his day to await the prophet.

                Although any prophecy would have been treated in the same manner, one concerning the Emperor and Eleshar was even more important, especially in dire times. A drought was plaguing the Elesharian farmlands, bringing widespread famine; even the palace was beginning to feel the effects. Eleshar was by no means a cool climate, but a summer this hot had not been felt in many years.

                Ogdein was without guidance in this matter, as none alive could remember such a crisis or how to deal with it. The prophecy in question might hold guidance towards a solution or predict the outcome of the drought. Either way, the Maker himself had chosen to bring word to his children, directly to his aid in the world.

                The Emperor, though supporting the beliefs in prophecy, was a practical man. This prophet was an outsider, and so needed to be dealt with carefully. Prophets did not come around often, and they were often reported to have mysterious powers that allowed them to receive prophecy; some claimed they could also use these powers to harm others. Because of this, they were often feared for their knowledge and power, and Ogdein knew to treat this man accordingly. There was no telling what he could do if crossed.

                Even then, Ogdein could not be sure the man was actually telling the truth. The Emperor was a skeptical man, for he had dealt with man false prophets. Each one had claimed to bear some prophecy, but in reality was a disgruntled citizen using prophecy as a false pretense to complain directly to the Emperor.

                Regardless, a little part of Ogdein always held the possibility of a true prophet, and so treated the occasions with care to avoid disaster. This man was certainly mysterious enough to fit the part of a prophet: enigmatic and intimidating. Simply his indiscernible and uncomfortable gaze told Ogdein that.

                The man reached the base of the pyramid of stairs upon which Ogdein’s throne sat, and bowed deeply, his shadowed face almost touching the ground. He held his bow for several seconds before rising up slightly and taking a knee in a soft beam of golden sunlight. The guards continued to stand at rapt attention beside him.

                “Great and worthy Emperor, I come bearing words of power and guidance from leagues beyond this land. I have traveled far to reach you. I was given these words from above and knew I must tell you.”

                Odgein’s harsh eyes scrutinized the man. His head was bowed, and Ogdein could only see his long black hair hanging limp around him. Now that he was closer, the Emperor could discern his attire more clearly. Odd patterns and runes were emblazoned in gold thread on the deep purple cuffs of his sleeves. The cowled shoulders of the robes had similar runes upon them, although they were red upon blue fabric. The rest of his robes were pitch black, so black that they seemed to make the area around him darker. A gold cord was tied around his waist; a number of small bags and pouches were slung around it.

                “What is your name, Prophet, and where do you come from? I have not seen such clothing before.”

                The man kept his head bowed reverently as he spoke, “I am Elimon, great Emperor. I come from a distant land across the sea.”

                Ogdein shuddered. The man was from across the sea. It seemed impossible. No person had been able to cross the sea in centuries. Many had tried, but all had either mysteriously disappeared or floated back half dead, some of the crewmen grotesquely maimed. Occasionally there would be survivors, but they were unresponsive, their eyes glazed and dead looking, but their body still alive. Often times their skin was gray and clammy, as if the color had been sucked out of them. Such men would sit in a place for hours, shuddering as their eyes darted wildly about. They often cried out in pain or fear like frightened children crying for their mothers. No healer had been able to undo whatever had destroyed the men, and many were put out of their misery. If the man had really been across the sea, he would have been altered like the others, but Ogdein had never seen such attire anywhere. Being from that far away might explain his clothing, but there was no possible way that he could have crossed the dangerous waters. He decided the man meant that he had traveled the coastline by boat. It was said Prophets often warped their words to appear more shrouded in mystery.

                Of course, if the Elimon was sent by the Maker himself, he could have accomplished such a feat, for nothing was impossible to the Maker. Ogdein intended to find out.

                “Elimon, please tell me the Prophecy you bear. My country is starving and we need the guidance of the Maker.”

                Elimon finally looked up. When he did, Ogdein felt as if his blood had frozen solid on the spot. It was as if a rush of cold air had shoved itself down his throat and was freezing his body from the inside out. Ogdein tried to meet Elimon’s eyes, but he still managed to keep his face shrouded in the shadow of his robes. He couldn’t tell clearly, but he thought Elimon must be summoning up words of the Prophecy.

                As soon as it had started, it ended.

                The warmth rushed back into his body, and he felt as if it had never happened, although his heart was beating painfully against his chest, perhaps trying to escape the prison of his ribcage. Elimon was again kneeling low and staring at the carpet underneath him. Bewildered, Ogdein looked to the guards flanking the Prophet. Neither soldier looked as if they had experienced the same dreadful sensation. He shook his head, trying to alleviate his fears. Perhaps he just imagined it. But it had felt so real, so frightening. Ogdein shifted uncomfortably in his throne. He wanted this Elimon to say his piece so he could be rid of him. He did not enjoy having this man in his palace; he was far too dangerous to keep around.

                Ogdein began to stand up to address Elimon. Suddenly panic gripped his mind. He could not move. Try as he might, everything from his neck down remained immobile. Fear and anger flashed across his eyes as he glared at Elimon.

                “What have you done to me?” He growled.

                Elimon’s voice held a lilt of amusement as he rose to his feet. “All part of the process, dear Emperor. You see, my words are for your ears only.” The guards’ hands flashed to their swords, but they each froze as Elimon made eye contact with them.

                “We’ll have none of that, now,” He chuckled. With a sweep of his finger, the two men were tossed in either direction at the sides of the room, smashing with sickening thuds against the stone. They slid to the ground, a faint trail of blood smeared where their heads had cracked against the hard marble. Elimon rounded on the two door guards. He pointed a long bony finger at each, each one crumpling with a popping snap as he did so. They collapsed at odd distorted angles; their spines had folded in half. He turned back to an immobile Ogdein. Light played across Elimon as he stood at the center of a ray of evening sun. Ogdein could finally see the man’s face.

                His skin was gray and pallid, as if the life had been drained out of it, his eyes sullen and sunken in their sockets, they seemed to be dead, glazed and unseeing.

                “Remember these words I am about to speak, Ogdein Recanthus, and heed them well. The prophecy has already been set in motion. The Shade has returned to the world.”

                He raised his arms to either side like a minister in prayer as he bellowed out the prophecy.

 

“On the Solstice of Fire three thousand past the banishing, the Shade shall return Darkness upon the land, and the Emperor of the Sun will meet the Shadow of Night, and in doing so will deliver the Key of Light into the Darkness’ grasp.”

 

                “You would do well to follow the prophecy, Ogdein Recanthus, for it will bring you great power. I know prophecy. If you do not, the Shade will seek his vengeance upon you. I know prophecy. He will hunt you until the rest of the prophecy is fulfilled.”

                Without warning, Elimon seized up, his limbs going rigid. He began to shake uncontrollably. He brought his hands to his temples as he sank to his knees, his fingers raking at the sides of his head as he began howling anguished cries that echoed jarringly around the cavernous room. He screamed for his mother, for the pain to end. His eyes danced wildly in their sockets like an animal about to be slaughtered.

                Suddenly Elimon stopped, frozen solid. His eyes rolled ineptly to Ogdein, his jaw hung slack. The sides of his head dripped blood where he had scratched away the skin. His breath came in slow, ragged bursts. His dead eyes were steeped in fear.

                “Please,” he gasped, gasping one labored word after another, “Please, stop him. It’s inside my mind. Run, get far away from-”

                Before he could finish speaking, he doubled over, vomiting blood. He fell to the side, dead before he hit the ground. Ogdein stared in horror at the man in front of him.

                The man who had crossed the sea.

                The man who had done what no other had done in centuries.

                Ogdein was suddenly aware that he could move again, though he was not so sure that he exactly wanted to. Five men had just died before his helpless eyes, and one of them had been controlled by someone or something. The “Shade,” Elimon had called it. Ogdein had no idea what or who this shade was, but it was apparent that it could control people. That was evident in the way Elimon had acted so strange so suddenly.

                But the shade had lost control at the last second. Ogdein knew that it was there now. What could he do though? He had no way to combat this shade, which obviously had some power beyond a normal person. His joy ended as part of the prophecy came back to him: “The Emperor of the Sun will meet the Shadow of Night.”

                He would be seeing the Shade soon, no matter what he did – shade was synonymous to shadow. He idly fingered the crest of Eleshar that was emblazoned upon his maroon tabard: a blazing emblem of a golden sun radiating outward. In times bygone, the Emperor was sometimes called the Emperor of the Sun. There was no doubt in his mind that it was referring to him.

                The Emperor of the Sun will meet the Shadow of Night. Shivers ran down Ogdein’s spine.

                He scoured his mind frantically for an answer. He had do idea what to do. The Shade had spoken through Elimon that it would be able to find him wherever he was, and the prophecy told him that he would be meeting it soon whether he wanted to or not. There was nothing to do but to wait for the Shade to reveal itself to him.

•••

                By breakfast the following day, news of the deaths had spread throughout the palace. No one knew that any prophecy had been delivered, but only that a man had attempted to kill the Emperor and failed in the process. Of course, every variation from the mundane to the radical was rumored.

                No one needed to know about the prophecy yet.

                Ogdein spent the day marching down the hallways of the palace with a mixture of fear, confusion and anger. He paced his bedroom, the throne room, and courtyards. He took any chance he had to contemplate the prophecy. It was unlike any prophecy he had heard before. Since prophecy was so revered in Eleshar, the vaults of the palace held a few accounts of prophecy to past Emperors which Ogdein had read in the past, but in all the cases the old prophecies had spoken of grand events and outcomes of the future. This one was somewhat archaic, ambiguous and explained little, referring to details as vague symbols and metaphors. What was the Key of Light, or this “banishing” the prophecy spoke of? The Solstice of Fire must have meant the beginning of summer, but the words revealed little else, except that Ogdein would be encountering the Shadow of the Night; the Shade that Elimon had spoken of.

                The other question that remained unanswered was Elimon himself. He had certainly been a man from across the sea. His physical appearance had told Ogdein that much. The fact that he had not initially suffered from the effects of crossing the sea puzzled Ogdein.

                Perhaps the Shade had been able to control and suppress whatever forces destroyed the man's mind when he overcame the forces while on his journey, allowing him to deliver the message. Elimon had not been Elimon until just before he died. Of that, Ogdein was certain. Up until those last few moments, the Shade had been in control of the man’s mind. Obviously, that was the only way to make sure Ogdein would receive the prophecy.

                But why him, and how would he deliver the “Key of Light” to the Darkness?

                Who or what in the good Maker’s name was the Darkness? Was it some confusing metaphor, or simply just darkness?

                Amidst the Emperor’s morass of questions, one thing was certain, however: he was hunted by the Shade, though he still had no inkling to what it was, except that it was most likely evil or sinister in nature.

                By nightfall Ogdein had accomplished nothing, and retreated to his chambers. He slumped exhausted into the oversized canopied bed. His head ached as if it had been hammered repeatedly with a blunt axe, and his eyes stung as though he had chopped onions for hours on end. He sighed as he leaned back against the overstuffed pillows, rubbing the sides of his aching head. He had received no sleep the night before, and would probably go another night without rest. He feared the Shade would come for him in the night. The prophecy had said that it was the Shadow of Night. Though he did not know when the Shade would come for him, he knew that it would be in the cover of dark.

                So in the darkness, the Emperor waited for the threads of prophecy to weave his fate.

Author's Note

This piece has not been updated according to the reviews, but restored as it was before the site crash.

Reviews

[Melissa M.]

Wow, I'm so mad at myself for waiting to read this till now. It's really intriguing so far and I can't wait to move on to the next chapter.There aren't any errors in the writing as far as I can tell. I would have liked a better description of the Emperor. Your descriptions of the palace and prophet are awesome, but you didn't give much on the Emperor himself.