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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 3) | Next (Chapter 5)>
Trespassing
Julian watched Henri wake with a start. “Have I overslept?” he asked.
“No,” Julian said, turning back to the window. The first light of morning was only just cresting the distant horizon beneath the low rolling mountains upon which the monastery sat.
“What’s left to do?”
“Get ready—one last meal before the road. We were told to meet Inquisitor Varus by the north gate. I’ve already eaten—I managed to snag some bacon for you, in case they were out by the time you got to the main hall.”
“Thanks,” Henri said, finding the bacon wrapped in a cloth. “I won’t need more than this, I’m too nervous.”
“Me too. You ready?”
“I suppose I have to be. Let’s go.”
Julian’s bags were uncomfortably heavy—he imagined what it would be like to carry these bags for a month, maybe more, and sighed. The thought was exhausting already.
He and Henri arrived at the north gate and found Inquisitor Varus and Brother Superior Manheim already waiting, standing coolly, unburdened by any bags, only carrying their books in a leather sling around their shoulders and long crooked walking sticks in their hands.
“Hey, where are your—”
“In the books, Novice.” Manheim sneered. “Everything we need is in the books. You’ll have to carry your wares, it will be good discipline.”
Varus raised an eyebrow and glanced at Manheim. Despite his age, with the walking stick in hand he appeared to Julian to be much more full of life. Julian wondered who would be first to tire—he resolved to not rest before Manheim.
Varus said, “We will get started and if the bags become a hindrance perhaps we can stow them. But nevertheless this is intended to be a penitential pilgrimage for both of you. Speaking of—again, no oaths have been laid before you. Either one of you may recant your testimony and we can return.” Varus searched Julian and Manheim for signs of faltering resolve, and found none. “Once we begin, we will not return until we have found the Blackpage. This is your final chance.”
“Let’s go.” Julian said, and began marching forward. He quickly realized he heard no footsteps following him, and turned around to see Varus and Manheim looking after him, and Henri stifling a laugh.
“It may be prudent to first discuss our route, novice.” Varus said.
“I imagine we’ll follow this road to the King’s Road, and proceed to Latham’s Ford?” Manheim offered.
“Not that either,” Varus said. “I would like to find Yan Dawil first—he can give us the best report of the movements of the Blackpage.”
“Yan Da—the ELF?” Manheim gasped in disbelief. “This venture is a foolish one if you think you can survive much less negotiate with that scoundrel.”
Varus simply shrugged.
“He will kill us before we ever see him. The rumors say north, we should go north to Latham’s Ford! Surely there are sightings and reports of the Blackpage there, and more the farther north we go.”
Varus shrugged again, and stared at Manheim.
“I have family—a cousin in the Northern Kingdom. We go and he will give us lodging and it will be a base from which we can search the mountains for the Blackpage.”
“Before you waste any more breath, superior, we are going to take my route and my road. If you dislike it, you are free to withdraw your testimony and return to the monastery, and spare us all the long and dangerous road.”
A conversation transpired silently between Varus and Manheim. Henri—between them, looked between their faces, and then at Julian. He gave a look which Julian understood to mean some variation of look what you got me into.
“Very well—but, please inquisitor, answer me this: if we are wrong about the rumor of the north, and we find that the Blackpage is in the south, we shall criss-cross Daranna for months with nothing to show for it. How will we find him and return in time?”
“In time for what, pray tell, superior?” Varus smirked.
“I—I only say, that Abbot Targand of blessed memory will be a skeleton before we come back, and the Monastery will have gone too long without a leader.”
“There are more ways to our destination than one, Manheim. Our first step is Yan Dawil—then we will see.”
Manheim relented. “Very well. Lead on, inquisitor.”
Varus looked briefly at each of Henri, Manheim, and Julian, and then decisively set his walking stick in the earth and began to walk north.
They trekked in silence for several hours. The sun grew in intensity as it crossed the sky behind them, Julian’s bag grew heavier, Manheim’s casual air grew more infuriating. Every step, Julian thought about Manheim’s lie, and what he was willing to do to become abbot. I wonder what he packed, he thought. Will he retrieve a dagger and kill me in my sleep on the first night of camping? ‘Oh no,’ he’ll lie, ‘A wild beast killed Julian and only Julian in the night, and no one heard it!’ Maybe Varus will force him to finish the journey anyway.
While Julian was fuming, Varus came to a bend in the road, and called for a halt. “Here is where we will turn from the road, into the wilderness,” he said.
“Why here?” Manheim was quick to inquire.
“If memory serves, at this bend we will begin to walk east towards the kings road, which will take us further from Dawil’s range. Here we turn west, and begin to go deeper. There are no paths in the range, it will go slowly until Yan Dawil finds us.”
“You mean, until we find Yan Dawil?” Julian ventured between deep breaths.
“No one has caught him unaware yet—he will find us.”
Varus looked around, awaiting further comment. Seeing none, he said, “Follow me.” And turned into the woods.
Julian turned to Henri as they passed off the road and into the woods. Henri shrugged and said “From this point on, if I die it’s your fault. I will haunt you. Just remember that.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Julian couldn’t laugh under the exertion of walking but appreciated Henri’s unflappable good humor.
As they picked their way silently across the branches and leaves of the forest, Henri broke the silence. “Inquisitor, why are the ever-folk so dangerous? Have you met one?” he paused, and before Varus could answer, continued: “I think if I was immortal I would be serene and you know, generally cheerful.”
“Ahh, you novices. Full of spirit, empty of knowledge. We have a copy of the Histories back at the monastery, have you not investigated yourself? Have you not studied in your history lessons?”
“I…” Henri was caught, and flushed red. “I’m just asking. Never thought I’d meet an elf.”
Varus was ahead, but Julian could tell he was smiling. “Never fear, novice. Plenty of time for study when we return. The Ever-folk were once a serene and aloof people. At the Cracking of the Cosmos, they were cursed—or perhaps they simply remember something we do not. Now any time two Ever-folk meet, one must die. They fight to the death then and there.”
“Fight to the death!” Henri gasped. “Have you ever seen them fight?”
“No,” Varus said, “and few have ever even seen the ever-folk in the flesh; certainly even fewer have lived to tell it. Time and trial have sorted them into these ranges, and so few are they that there is little cause for them to cross paths. The histories list the remaining ever-folk and chronicle their known battles.”
“How many are left?”
“I haven’t counted—perhaps less than a thousand.”
“Can’t they set aside their differences and work together?” Julian ventured.
Varus laughed at that. “You really must read the histories, young one. We really don’t know what happened at the beginning, but we are sure it must have been unforgiveable.”
With that, the party passed into silence once more. The woods seemed to Julian to be that much darker, that much more mysterious. Somewhere, out there, perhaps Yan Dawil was watching them.
What sky was visible through the canopy was a deep blue, but the shadows were long and the forest floor was dark. It was getting late. Varus brought them to a modest clearing and instructed them to set up camp.
The Novices Julian and Henri set down their bags, stretched their backs. Their robes were hot from walking, and the trees stifled any wind that may refresh them. Julian began unpacking his bedroll while Varus began clearing out a space for a fire.
Varus and Manheim had some kind of conversation, Julian heard Varus say “you first,” and turned to look. Manheim had opened his book, sat down and put it on his lap, began whispering. An unearthly light began to shine from the book, he leaned forward, and with a rushing wind and a snap as the book closed—he was gone.
Julian was entranced. “Where is Manheim?” He asked.
“He’s gone into his world to get some supplies. I will do the same when he returns.” Varus said distractedly, as he was organizing little twigs and leaves for kindling.
Julian hurried over to Henri and whispered, “Henri when do we tell him about the…letter we left.”
Henri struggled with untangling his bedroll. “Not a second before we need to. If he doesn’t mess with us, he’ll be none the wiser. But if he does—that’s a reason to make him pause at the very least.” Henri whispered back. “Hope for the best, plan for the worst, as my mum used to say.”
Another rush of wind and a green glow flashed their clearing, when Julian looked back Manheim was sitting down and had his bedroll and a small bag in his arms.
While Manheim tended to his camp setting, Varus went over to his book and sat down with it.
Julian’s heart pounded in his ears—this would be Manheim’s first opportunity. He was suddenly acutely aware that he didn’t have a weapon—not even a walking stick.
Varus whispered something, and his book glowed a different color—a light blue, and when the wind rushed Varus didn’t lean forward, but rather held his hands over the book—when the book snapped shut, Varus’ bedroll was in his hands.
“How did you do that?” He couldn’t help himself.
“There are many uses for books, novice. This spares me a trip. It is an…advanced method.” Varus smirked, and Julian looked to Manheim, who was pretending not to notice.
Varus was able to quickly start a little fire, and cooked a modest meal of sausage and bread. Julian may once have called such a meal boring, but he was so hungry the thought quickly passed.
They lay down in their bedrolls around the fire, listening to the crackling of the flames and the insects of the night, birds and bats flitting about the quickly darkening sky.
Julian wondered, briefly, if he would hear the footsteps of Yan Dawil—but after a long day’s march, sleep took him quickly.
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
Okay, book-magic is COOL.
It looks like Varus isn't taking Manheim's bs either. Is it bad that I want them to meet the elf soon, just to see what he's like?