The Old Man's Revelation

 The Old Man’s Revelation

By Dreamstar

It was a cold and snowy evening when the shriek rang out from the palace, echoing across the frozen lake to a pair of timeworn, weathered ears.

The old man crouched at the shore of the Sleeping Shallows, his coarse hair and beard billowing in the sudden breeze. Above his head, the sleepy dusk clouds changed from blue-gray to vibrant orange, framing the steep, black, snow-covered mountains. But to the old man kneeling in the deep snow, the overwhelming beauty of the sky was just another omen of what was to come. Although light is powerful, darkness may prevail, unless those who broaden their minds are willing to seek the sparks that remain.

The words of the Cheria ghost circled around and around the old man’s worn-out mind, stopping only when he pulled a small bottle full of golden liquid from the depths of his robes and downed it in one gulp.

The sensation that followed was the worst experience that the old man had ever had. Darkness swirled around his vision, blocking out the dusky light, bringing with it pools of innocent blood and the tears for those who had lost so much.

A rasp of a voice sounded in the old man's ear, its breath reeking of wine and raw eggs, and its voice echoing the words it spoke.

“You must find the sparks, sparks, sparks… darkness, darkness, darkness… must hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry…”

At last, the vision ended, and the old man could breathe again, deep, shuddering breaths. He wasn’t a fool; he knew why the vision had been sent: the Ancients were growing ever more insistent, and although the old man realized that his ancestors possessed wisdom beyond his wildest dreams, he still couldn’t understand why they should torment a decrepit elder like him, after all, he wasn’t too terribly far from joining them himself. The old man clutched his wrinkled head with his gnarled fingers when a voice called out from the Avalan Palace.

“Seer Darius! The Queen and King have requested your presence in the hospital wing!”

It was a soldier, looking very rushed.

Darius was not so hurried. He slowly got to his feet and stepped out onto the ice, reaching the palace one careful step at a time, trying hard to ignore the minuscule cracks that were forming behind him.

At last, he reached the vast ice-carved steps, where he took out a staff-like stick and used it as a cane to get up the stairs and into the great hall.

The vast hall was positively aglow with pinks and orange flecks on the ice, dancing in the setting sun, but Darius didn’t have time to enjoy this splendor. For what could the queen and king have called him to the hospital wing for, if not something bad? Suddenly more rushed than the soldier that had called him, he hurled himself up the spiraling pair of slippery steps on his left and burst into the equally sparkling hospital wing.

“You wanted to see me?” he panted, darting over to where Queen Letizia lay in her bed, cradling her newborn child in her arms.

King Magnus was sitting on a stool next to his wife and child, and he stood up just as Darius reached him.

“Indeed,” the king said seriously, but Darius noticed his eyes were twinkling. “We, the queen and king, have asked you to bless Prince Hayani this evening.”

It was worse than Darius had feared. How could he, a prophesying old man, possibly be expected to bless such a here-to-now harmless future monster? Was this the Ancients’ idea of a poor joke? He looked first at the King, so alight with joy and hope, then at the Queen, peacefully asleep, then at the Prince, that destruction-reeking horror that could bring an end to life itself.

“No,” Darius replied, standing his ground. “That baby is a danger to humanity.”

        The End