New To Gibberish? Check out this Navigation Page!
SYNOPSIS: The ambitious monk Manheim and the callow novice Julian are unlikely traveling companions. Both would consider the circumstances surrounding their journey mere bad luck—yet, one way or another, they have been charged with a single, important mission: Find the Blackpage!
Twenty years after Manheim’s rival monk, Byron—now called The Blackpage—was exiled from the Order of Authors, this adventuring party will face dangers in the mysterious wilds of Daranna. Yet, all agree that nothing they could encounter is more dangerous than the man they hope to find…
INDEX | Chapter 1 | <Previous (Chapter 7) | Next (Chapter 9)>
A Step Forward
Another night around the campfire, another restless sleep at the birds and insects and other creatures of the night, not least of all the unnerving, sleepless presence of Yan Dawil. Another morning of uncertainty: Dawn, the beginning of the third day of their adventure.
Julian was the first awake, first to sit up and take in the surroundings. It was the blue hour—the sun was making it’s presence known in the woods, but had not yet stepped boldly down from the heavens to cast it’s rays over the earth. It was veiled behind the horizon, it’s coming heralded by the royal blue.
The night creatures had given way to dawn creatures. A different set of birds flitted to and fro in the branches of the pines, a different set of insects announced the start of their day. To Julian it was also a profoundly uncertain time. Being the first awake, it was just him and Yan Dawil—and Dawil had not yet acknowledged his presence. The others were asleep, that strange imbalance where people are around but not present.
Julian turned and faced the fire, where Dawil was cooking again, as he seemed to enjoy.
“Good morning, Yan,” Julian groaned.
He was silent a long while, though his eyes flicked up to acknowledge Julian. Eventually he grunted, “Dawil.”
“Oh, uh, Good morning Yan Dawil.”
“No, you may call me Dawil, or Yan Dawil, but you may not call me Yan. Yan is the name of my kinfolk. Dawil is what you would call my forename.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You young ones.” Dawil smiled. “Are you rested?”
“Not really,” Julian said. “Did you sleep?”
Dawil answered by shaking his head, and stirring whatever was in his pot. Julian lapsed into a sleepy trance, watching the fire, waiting for the companions to awaken.
Inquisitor Varus was the next awake. He seemed to always wake at the same time every day—Julian had attributed the habit to a life in the monastery more than age. He winced as he rose from his bedroll, and began packing without pausing.
Dawil flicked his eyes in Varus’ direction to acknowledge him, now. After letting Varus busy himself, he said, “The elder doesn’t waste any time. Are you in a hurry?”
“It’s the heroic minute,” he said. “Life for us is short—it is a way of wasting as little of it as possible.”
Dawil smirked, and muttered to himself, “To waste a life—such an idea! Elder of the young ones, when do you wish to depart for the Blackpage?”
“Whichever one of these two is up next, I’ll wake the other one. We’ll pack, we’ll eat, and then we’ll go.”
Henri rolled over, and raised a hand, groggily declaring, “I’m up…”
Varus kicked Manheim lightly in the back, “Time to raise the dead, then. Manheim!”
Manheim started, and sat up. “I’m awake.”
“Up! Let’s make ready. That goes for you too, novices.”
Julian rose, and began packing his bedroll. Henri took an opportunity to confer quietly with him.
“Had enough yet?” Henri asked.
“What do you mean?”
“With this adventure. We’re no more than a days walk from the Monastery.”
“Yeah but—that wasn’t the deal. Targand wanted to exonerate the Blackpage.”
“Targand wanted to recant the exile, I don’t know about exonerate. And after what we’ve already seen—is that still worth it?”
Julian didn’t respond.
“I just want to point out that the Blackpage’s test was only passed by luck, Manheim could have died even with what luck we had, and Dawil hasn’t killed us yet because of an open ended commitment for manual labor. I’m only here to keep you alive—we take this book, who knows what happens. There’s a beast of some kind? Maybe another trap?”
“Manheim lied!”
“And almost died for it—and he’ll still become abbot whether or not we find the Blackpage. Listen I’m just trying to give you a chance—what are we really doing here, Julian. If you’re going, I’m going. But I want to know that you’re sure.”
“Alright. I admit, the prospect of meeting the Blackpage is exciting. A little less so, now that I see what he has done and can do. But still, I’ve always wanted to meet him. I admit it! But it’s not only that. If Targand wanted to recant, doesn’t that count in the balance of things? Carrying out a dead man’s last wishes? And who knows—maybe the Blackpage is waiting to come home. He should know that he’s not banned forever.”
“You’re rationalizing.”
“Yeah, I admit it. But I’ve persuaded myself. If I was exiled, I would be upset. If I was un-exiled, I would want to know. If I was un-exiled, and someone had the choice to tell me, and they chose not to—it would be worse than the exile.”
“If you found out about it.”
“Well even if the Blackpage wouldn’t know, I would know. And that would weigh on me. I don’t want to wait for my deathbed to make it right. He deserves to know.”
Henri sighed. “Alright. Listen, I’m with you. But the monastery is right there.”
Julian nodded gravely. “I know.”
“Great. I mean, ultimately that’s what I wanted to hear. This isn’t a fools errand—we’ve got a better reason than petty nay-saying. Let’s just get this over with so we can come home too.”
It didn’t take long to eat and pack. As Yan Dawil collected their dining ware, he said, “Remember, you are going into the domain of the Blackpage. Never rest easy. Always be on alert, especially at night. I have used this book many times, I can tell you the path is safe by day—but do not linger.”
“We thank you, Yan Dawil,” Varus said. “You’ve been a helpful and knowledgeable guide to us during this journey. We will remember your kindesses, and hope to repay you as promised.”
“I will keep camp until you return. Go forth, young ones!”
With that, Yan Dawil stood and stepped back again, to give Varus room to work with the book.
Julian and Henri shouldered their bags, Manheim and Varus both had their slings with their books in them. Varus opened the book to the front page, where runes and strange writing surrounded a central circle. Manheim, Julian, and Henri joined hands as before, with Manheim and Henri placing one hand on Varus’ shoulders. Varus changed a strange language softly, and once more Julian fell.
When the great wind subsided, they found themselves in the new book. Julian noticed Varus wincing and limping away from the stone lectern. They were in a circular stone room, and the lectern at its center faced a set of heavy wooden double doors.
Varus turned to Manheim and asked, “Do you recognize this place?”
Manheim looked around, his face marred by confusion. Varus opened the wooden doors, and a paved stone path led away from the structure, curving away to the right. On the left was a forest.
Manheim’s face lit up with sudden recognition. “This is the book!”
Julian and Henri exchanged a confused look. “What book?” Julian asked, following Varus and Manheim out the doors.
“This is where Brother Amos was killed by the Blackpage.”
Julian felt goosebumps travel up his arms and the base of his neck. “I’d always taken that as a rumor.”
Manheim scoffed. “Brother Amos was my friend. He went into Byron’s book and never came back. Superior Targand couldn’t find this ‘beast’ he claimed—neither could Brother Inquisitor Varus. Respectfully, inquisitor—but still.”
“Dawil mentioned a beast.”
Manheim shouldered the leather sling containing his book. “Dawil has only talked to the Blackpage.”
Varus paused ahead of them, and waited for the other three to catch up. “It looks like we follow this path over there, to the village. If we hurry we can make it by nightfall.”
While Varus, Manheim, and Henri peered into the distance at the inert village peeking over the hills, Julian looked up. Two moons crested the canopy of the nearby forest like a pair of watchful eyes. The sun was past noon, few shadows crossed over the stone path which bifurcated the grassy hills. It was silent—but not the same silence as the forest, encamped with Yan Dawil. It was a deep silence, an empty chasm. No birds, no insects, no frogs, no people—it was utterly, perfectly still, except for a cold wind.
Varus took a limping step forward. “We had better be on our way.”
Julian and Henri shouldered their bags, and followed. Julian chanced one last look back at the monastery they were departing from, and—in the shadows of the woods, he thought he could make out two glowing eyes.
He blinked, and the eyes were gone.
“Come along, Julian.” Henri called, ahead of him.
Julian turned, and hurried after them.
To be continued…
Thank you very much for reading! This is Find The Blackpage, a fantasy adventure serial set in the world of Daranna. This will be a serial publishing every week, for a tentative total of twelve episodes. Please subscribe to be sure you don’t miss an installment sent directly to your inbox!
If you enjoyed this episode, please let me know with a like or a comment! If you really liked it, please share it with a friend! If you would see what other stories I have to offer, you can START HERE and navigate to all my other fiction.
God bless!
AJPM
Yan Dawil did not offer them breakfast, thought Henri. Hopefully they wouldn't become someone else's. 🧿🧿
You know, Manheim being friends with Brother Amos could explain why he's against following through with Targand's wishes...
I still got my eyes on the beast!