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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 8) | Next (Chapter 10)>
One Last Push
They walked in near silence for several hours—an unconscious agreement between them, or perhaps a state imposed on them by the unnatural silence of the place itself. It reminded Julian, vaguely, of the silence of the more hallowed halls of the Monastery—a sense of importance and propriety which made all who approached hold their breath, as though waiting. Maybe the Blackpage had those halls in the Monastery in mind when he wrote this book… he thought.
The two moons climbed behind them and the sun began its descent ahead of them; Their shadows stretched taut, while their pace forward slackened. Varus’ limp was beginning to take a toll.
Manheim imposed a general halt. “We need to rest a moment,” he said. “I can see the destination—there’s a monastery up ahead—another hour or so at least.”
“It will be dark before we arrive.” Julian said, looking around again. The mysterious eyes haunted his imagination—one moment he was sure they were real, the next he felt he was seeing things.
“What of it?” Manheim blurted.
“Yan Dawil said—”
“Are you still fretting about this so-called beast?”
“Yan Dawil hasn’t lied to us yet—he said it only hunts at night.”
“I’m sure his imagination only hunts at night, since he doesn’t sleep.”
“Brothers!” Varus interjected. “I am aware that I am slowing us down. If we proceed we need not experience more of this book’s night than we have to, beast or no.”
“What is wrong with your leg, inquisitor?” Henri asked.
“In that interminable cave, I landed on something, and turned my ankle—I can’t outwit age, unfortunately.”
“Can you make it? You can rest in your book while we carry you the rest of the way if you have to,” Manheim suggested.
“And miss all the fun? No—limp and all, I will walk with you until I can no longer. Come along now, time waits for no man.” Varus stepped forward at his limping pace. Julian and Henri quickly shouldered their bags, and Manheim sighed and walked after them.
The monastery they were headed towards was tantalizingly close, until it wasn’t. A turn in the road to go around a rocky hill took them out of sight of both village and monastery. The shadow of the hill fell over them like an artificial night, while a golden hour waxed and waned beyond their view. The sky was darkening quickly, and the sense that they were moving away from their destination was making Julian agitated.
“Julian!” Henri hissed. Julian snapped his head towards his friend, coming out of his thoughts. “Julian what’s going on? You’re acting nervous.”
“I am nervous. It’s getting dark.”
“There’s not a sound in this whole book, if anything is coming we’ll hear it a mile away.”
“How much longer? I thought we were closer.”
“There’s a turn up ahead, and it looks like we’re sloping back up towards the village. Can’t be long now,” Manheim interjected.
“You will soon find your fears are without—”
Manheim was interrupted by a long, low growl that echoed along the rocky scarp, seemingly everywhere and nowhere. The party froze in place.
“I think we ought to hurry.” Varus said. “Go forward, novices. Go ahead of us to the Monastery. Manheim, with your help I can walk faster.”
Julian and Henri rushed forward without hesitation, rounding the corner and seeing, blessedly, the Monastery waiting for them at the top of the hill. The growl echoed again. Julian paused to turn and make sure Manheim and Varus were still following. Varus shouted: “Run!”
Julian ran.
Henri’s footsteps and heavy breathing told Julian he was keeping pace. His bags jostled from side to side as he ran awkwardly up the hill, closer, closer to the Monastery. The last golden rays of sun disappearing quickly behind the trees, and a dark shadow descending over the sky like the closing of a lid over top of them.
The sonorous low growl told them they were still being pursued. It reverberated through Julian’s bones, deeper than the chill carried from the wind, darker than the night that was quickly enveloping them.
Straining, Julian and Henri reached the great heavy wooden double doors of the Monastery. Each grabbed one of the handles, and heaved to pull the monastery open. Within was a circular room, a stone lectern, and—a surprising relief to Julian—a book.
He turned back—Manheim and Varus weren’t far behind, but the hill was making it difficult. Julian dropped his bag. “Keep the door open,” he told Henri, and he rushed out to help the struggling pair.
Taking Varus’ free arm over his shoulder, Julian lifted. The growl echoed again, louder—closer. Julian heard the padding of heavy feet but dared not look around. Varus was trying to walk, but between Julian and Manheim he was barely touching the ground.
Something sniffed the air, something slipped on rocks, something fell echoing into the path behind them. Something padded heavily after them.
“Close the doors!” Julian called to Henri—but Henri already knew. His face was white, he pulled one of the two doors shut just as the Julian, Manheim, and Varus arrived. Julian grabbed the other door as he passed and heaved it shut behind them, Henri dropped a crossbar. As the crossbar slammed into place, behind the door came the sound of something scratching, sniffing. It let out a growl from just on the other side of the doors, the doors shook, and Julian felt it in his teeth.
Varus, taking heavy breaths, said— “Gentlemen, I suggest we be going.”
Julian caught a look at Henri, whose mouth was hanging open as he stared at the door. Varus said, loudly, “Focus! Gather here. Let’s go.”
Julian collected his bags and joined their circle. The scratching, scratching at the door—and Varus opened the book, began the incantation, and once more—they fell through.
Julian fell to the ground when they landed, and the great wind concluded.
“What was that?” he asked, incredulous.
“Presumably, the beast Yan Dawil warned us about,” Varus said, wincing through a pointed look at Manheim.
“Don’t look at me, old man.” Manheim said.
“Doesn’t this change things?”
“It doesn’t change that Brother Amos died. Whatever it was—is not creation forbidden by the ordinances?”
“The blackpage claimed he didn’t create it. Not intentionally.”
“Well how did it get there? He’s still responsible.”
“Forgive me for interrupting,” Henri said, “But—don’t we have to go back that way?”
Varus and Manheim were silent at this.
Julian finally took in his surroundings. It was early afternoon here, and mountainous. There was frost on the ground, everything had a drab grey color to it from cold or otherwise. “Is this the north?”
“Yes,” Varus said. “This must be the path to the Blackpage if Yan Dawil said he used it.”
“Look, there!” Henri said. “Is that smoke?”
Nearer than the smoke, Julian noticed a post driven into the ground. On it was a carved symbol— the sigil of the Blackpage.
“I believe we’ve arrived,” Varus said.
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!
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God bless!
AJPM
What did Henri see???
Also, the fact that Manheim's arrogance has not killed him is a miracle in and of itself. 🙄
I really like the whole thing you have going on with the books. In one sense they’re immensely powerful and useful, and yet you don’t overplay it. Even just little nuggets of info like Varus being able to rest in his book while being carried adds so much.