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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 11) | Next (Epilogue)>
Do It Better
Byron led them out the doors of the monastery. The sun was low, but on the opposite horizon. Morning. They would make it without any risk from Byron’s strange Beast. At least, this is how Julian reassured himself as they walked on the rocky trail.
Julian found himself lagging behind the party, absorbed in thought. Henri fell in alongside him—didn’t say anything, just walked next to him.
After a few minutes of walking in this condition, Julian said, “Thanks for coming, Henri.”
Henri adjusted his bag on his shoulders. “Happy to come, Julian. This ordeal started kind of scary—but who could have guessed how it went? I’m glad we ended up not needed that letter you wrote.”
“Darby won’t believe we actually met the Blackpage. Imagine his face when we tell him!” They laughed at the thought. Julian turned to Henri, more gravely this time. “But, seriously, Henri, thank you. There’s only one person I could have counted on to help me on a lark like this, and I am grateful for what you’ve risked in helping me. Possible death, definite danger…”
“What are friends for, Julian, I’d do it again, and I mean it. We’re all supposed to be brothers in the Monastery. And while I know not everyone can mean it that way, but I’m glad we can.”
Julian and Henri shook hands, and caught up to the rest of the party as they rounded the corner out of the small canyon. Byron had called for a halt to help Varus rest his sore foot.
“There,” Byron said, “the other monastery is on that hill, an hour’s walk, or two. The path takes us by the forest, which I know to be a favorite haunt of the Beast. If we will see it one last time, it will be there.”
Manheim took a deep breath and stood. “Are we ready?”
As they approached the forest, Byron’s ominous warning loomed over them like a cloud, and they all seemed to hold their breath. They paused at the closest approach. Byron stared out into them for a moment.
“Manheim…do you see it?”
Manheim stepped forward, Julian noticed his hand was shaking at his side. “No,” he replied.
“Neither do I. You are lucky, maybe. It was here, or close to here, that Brother Amos was killed by this Beast. I don’t know why Amos was in my book, when he should have been working on his own. And then when I came in to see, and the book began to burn with me inside—have you ever seen reality burn, Manheim? Have you ever seen the ember edges of everything youve ever created? Looked out into nothingness?”
Manheim’s head drooped down.
“That’s what you did to me. I will live with the consequences. You’ve been hiding behind anger for longer than I have. Maybe the Beast exists because I can look at it head on, and maybe you’ve been hiding yours from yourself for all these years, Manheim. And now look at us. I am free. What are you, Manheim?”
Varus stepped forward, but before he could say anything Byron snapped, “Let him speak for himself, or not at all!”
Manheim looked up, and sputtered, “Forgive me, Byron.”
“You’re already forgiven.” He said, tersely. “Now go prove it in the Monastery.”
Manheim nodded, and sniffed.
“Here is where I must leave you,” Byron said. “The Monastery is not far, and I must return.”
Julian wanted to plead with Byron to come with them, to change his mind—Julian felt Henri looking at him, expecting something.
Byron continued, “I thank you for bringing your message of mercy, whatever the circumstances, and for a meal, and for conversation. Goodbye.”
Varus was, once again, stifled from speaking as Byron’s robe swooshed around and Byron stalked off back towards his monastery and his mountain.
“Well,” Varus said, “There goes Byron the Blackpage, we may never see his like again.”
They shouldered their bags and resumed walking—or, everyone except Julian. Julian watched Byron until Henri called after him. Then with a quick trot, Julian rejoined the party.
One last rush of the great wind landed them back in the camp where they had left Yan Dawil. They stumbled over the brush and trees and Julian quickly took his bearings—it was still daylight, they could be back at the Monastery before nightfall. Yan Dawil was sitting, cross legged, on the ground a short distance away from the camp fire, which smoldered in the center of their circle. He didn’t react to their sudden appearance, but as they organized themselves he slowly opened his eyes and stood up to his full height, towering over them.
“Ah, young ones! Back so soon!” he boomed. “And the impatient one yet lives! Have you accomplished your mission?”
Varus stepped forward, “Indeed we have, Yan Dawil. Thank you for your hospitality and aid in our journey. I will remember our agreement, may I ask that you visit our fair monastery soon so that we may begin work?”
“Of course,” he said in his ponderous manner. “Though I ask that you remember—I do not give you leave to trespass in my woods whenever you please. I will come to you, and we will negotiate. If you have need of the Blackpage again—I trust you made arrangements that suit you.”
Varus looked uneasily around, “I understand, and yes—in our way, I believe we are all satisfied. We will hasten our way out of your range and back to our Monastery. You have our thanks.”
“Go in peace, young ones.” Dawil said. With that, he picked his knife out of a log, stuffed it into a sheath on his belt, shouldered his bag, and walked casually off into the woods.
“Not one for long goodbyes, is he.” Henri quipped.
“Can never quite feel at ease around him, I’m glad he didn’t follow us back.”
“Oh, he might still follow us—but solitude better suits his folk. Mind your tongue—and let’s hurry.” Varus said, stepping through the camp circle and back in the direction of the road.
The road back to the monastery was a relief. Even though it was physically uphill from the point where they stumbled off into the forest, it felt like it was downhill for their journey, with wind at their back. Julian walked confidently, with a smile on his face.
Behind them, Varus said, “Well, Manheim, I suppose now that we’re back I will make the necessary announcement that you will assume the role of Abbot?”
A chill rolled down Julians spine, listening to the conversation behind them. Henri turned and looked, searchingly, at Julians face to gauge how he would react.
Julian turned to Henri and whispered, as reassuringly as he could muster, “This was the deal!”
Yet after a moments pause, Manheim replied: “Inquisitor, I—no. No, let there be a proper election, as if I were not named.”
A shocked silence descended over them, filled only by their footsteps on the gravel path. Varus said, “Very well, if that is your wish, we will conduct the rites of election and then succession.”
Manheim did not respond. Julian and Henri tried to communicate with their eyes, afraid to say anything too loudly.
Varus eventually asked, “Superior Manheim, are you very certain? The condition of this whole journey was that—”
“I said what I said.” Manheim blurted. “Let the Election happen, whatever the results I will do my duty. Please, let’s speak no more of it.”
“Very well!” The inquisitor said. Julian felt he detected a smirking humor to the remark, but was afraid to look back.
Julian and Henri burst into the Novices’ dormitory. The other Novices crowded them at their return, looking for stories of adventure or intrigue.
Julian and Henri fought through the crowd of people and placed their bags down, and sat heavily on their beds. It was Darby who pushed his way through the crowd and sat heavily at the end of Julians bed, carrying the piece of paper. “Here’s your letter, like you asked,” he said.
“Thanks, Darby.” Julian said, taking the letter, and tearing it. “We won’t need it anymore—it did it’s job.”
“Did Manheim try to, you know—”
“No! No, he didn’t. I suppose I judged him too hastily.”
“Did you actually meet the Blackpage? What was he like?”
“Yeah, what was he like! Tell us!” Echoed another boy in the group.
Julian sat up in his bed, and said— “You know, I don’t think he’s all he’s cracked up to be.”
“Easy for you to say!”
“I’m serious! Most gifted of the Order of Authors, hunted up and down Daranna for three whole years and never found, single handedly stopped and stymied five companies sent to find him—while all those things are true, he’s…just a man. And because he’s not here at the monastery, he may as well not even be an author. What good is he doing, you know? He can’t teach us. We know he exists, but if any of us gets to be half as good it won’t be with his help. And I think that’s a real shame.”
“So what, just like that you drop him? You were the biggest Blackpage groupie of us all!”
“Well, I think he’s something to aspire to. I hope I can be like him, one day. Except I think I would want to help people. All that talent he’s got is going to no good. I don’t want that for any of us.”
The crowd nodded thoughtfully at this, before Henri interjected. “Thanks professor but they want to know what he was like, give the people what they want!”
“YEAH!”
Julian laughed, and began to explain. “Alright fine. So there he was, asleep in his cave, when all of a sudden he wakes up, and grabs me! And says ‘what world is this’ like he thinks he’s in a book!”
The crowd ooh’d and aah’d, and all the while, Julian remembered all that Byron is and was—and one thought repeated itself in his mind, over and over: I’ll do it better.
The End
(Epilogue to follow)
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!
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God bless!
AJPM
Thank you for reading and commenting on FIND THE BLACKPAGE! I really appreciate all of you who took the time to read and especially to let me know your thoughts in the comments.
I'd like to celebrate the conclusion of the serial! Would you like a Live Video? A post with a post-op debrief? Would you like to hear more about lore? Do you have questions you'd like me to answer? Let me know in the comments--I'd love to hear from you how best to celebrate the end of this serial!
Yan Dawil, slicer of bacon, hero of the dark elves.