The Calling

[Squeak]

Sort of inspired by the last one, but written differently and not as obtuse.


The Calling


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Aloisa sits by the pond in one of the many meditation gardens in the Tower's compound. She is sitting cross legged, with her chin resting on her hand, and is staring into the pond. It is not holding her attention. She is thinking of home. It is harvest time now. Her father, like his father before him, and his before him, would be working in the fields, bringing in the food that would prepare their table. Her mother would be in the home, preparing for the harvest festival, toiling day after day to prepare a feast that would rival any of the princes feasts. She could almost see them, and she smiled.

"Can you see them?" She looked up and saw another student, Alothé, standing beside her. "Alothé! You surprised me." Alothé was looking into the pond with a kind of hazy intensity. "I was thinking of home." Aloisa said, and Alothé smiled. Over the past months Aloisa had watched Alothé grow more melancholy. They said he was gifted, that he could see things that few others had the talent to see. Aloisa was not sure it was a gift. Since the loremasters had noticed his talent, and since he had begun classes to bring out this talent, there was a sorrow in his eyes that had not been there before.

Alothé crouched down beside her. "There are so many." He held his hand over the water, but was careful not to touch it. "The fish?" Aloisa replied "They are beautiful." Alothé shook his head "No. Not the fish." He frowned "They are not beautiful. They are sad. They are mourning. For us. For them. For everything." His voice trailed off. Before Aloisa could respond a clear bell sounded three times. Aloisa stared off in the direction of the Tower. "We must go Alothé." She reached out and grasped his arm with affection. "The Calling is taking place. It would not do to be late!" Alothé squeezed her hand, and removed it from his arm. He smiled again. "No, it would not."

They left the garden and hurried to the Initiates Hall.


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Loremaster Caladin stalked across the podium. Caladin, it was often said, resembled a warrior more then a scholar. He was gifted with broad shoulders and was uncommonly tall even for an elf. His arms were strong and it almost seemed as if he had a sword at his waste. He also possessed a sense of duty, of honour, and a parental instinct for the Initiates that made him ideal for his position.

It was the blood of Tethlis they said. Caladin was an, albeit indirect, descendant of the great warrior, and the fire that burned in his eyes when he scolded initiates was an imitation of the fire that had burned in Tethlis eyes. He did it for their own good he often told himself. They were children in his eyes, and unless someone took on the role of mentor, they would get lost within the Tower faster than he could click his fingers.

The reason he trod the podium with such vigor and passion today was his vexation with Alothé. The Calling often had him vexed but this time he was particularly vexed. Choosing which Initiates would begin their studies with which scholars was no easy chore at the best of times. A wrong choice could set a promising Initiate back tens of years in their training, and worse still, it could deprive the Tower of a source of strength. The Tower could ill afford such delays in these times.

Today was more troublesome than usual. Some of the Initiates were almost easy. Aloisa would go to Edelaen. Aloisa had a gift for healing, and a natural affinity with others that helped her understand their pain and suffering. Edelaen would guide her perfectly. Olrthar, a son of Caledor, would go to Talenthar. Olrthar may be a gifted mage but he also, like Caladin, possessed a warrior's spirit. Talenthar was affiliated with the Swordmasters, and he would guide Olrthar to become a valuable servant to the Tower in years to come.

But Alothé. Alothé vexed Caladin. Caladin was wary of the boy. Even before they had discovered his talent, a talent they were as yet entirely unsure of, Caladin had questioned the wisdom of allowing him entry in to the Tower. The boy was hungry, too hungry by half. He was the type of Initiate that would throw himself off a cliff if he thought there was a shred of knowledge to be gained from it. Or was it power that the boy was after. Would he throw himself from a cliff for knowledge, or for power? Caladin was not sure, and it worried him.

It was true that the lessons Alothé had received from Isolé had seemed to mute the boy, but there was still that hunger in the child's eyes that worried Caladin greatly. Caladin also did not trust Isolé. She was a talented mage it was true, a fine, patient teacher, and a seer to boot, but there was something about the woman that Caladin did not like. She was from Nagarythe. This, Caladin told himself, was not a problem in and off itself. Many fine mages had come from Nagarythe but still, it was not unproblematic. He had remarked to Edelaen that Isolé was eager to get her claws into Alothé. Edelaen had been scandalized that Caladin could think of Isolé in such terms, but the image was grafted firmly into his mind.

He had seemed to have no choice. Isolé it was, and Isolé it should be. Caladin could almost curse. He had always tried to remain aloof from the politics of the Tower and now he was throwing himself in to it head first. It was his right he told himself. He was tasked with the Calling. He was given the responsibility of the well being of these Initiates. It was his choice, his decision, and he would live by this decision. Others would not be happy, but they would have to live with it. They could wrap their claws around the boy when was he ready for them.

The last students arrived in to the Hall, and Caladin took his place at the center of the podium. He could feel Edelean staring at him. She could feel his unease, and no doubt wanted to help. A good soul she was, but perhaps a little too ready to interfere. As he began to speak, he caught Isolé in the corner of his eye. She was sitting bolt upright, her arms crossed, and with a slight smile playing across her face. Had he made the right choice?

"Welcome." He spread his arms wide, and looked around the Hall "Welcome to the Calling. Today you take your next step along the path of wisdom. I will not delay you, I want to allow you time with your new mentors as soon as possible. I will say each of your names, and who you have been called to. Please seek them immediately after the ceremony. Aloisa. You have been called by Edelaen. Olrthar. You have been called by Talenthar. Alothé. You have been called by Caladin."

Isolé stood up behind him "Caladin." Her tone, sharp as a blade, cut across the room "We must talk." Caladin turned to speak to her but Isolé was quicker "Now Caladin." Caladin rose his eyebrow in irritation. Who, Caladin wondered, did Isolé think she was speaking to? He looked back over the Initiates, and caught Alothé staring at him. Caladin frowned. The boy's eyes were empty. He had made the right choice. He was certain of it. The boy could not go to Isolé. Not yet.

He turned back to Isolé. "We will speak Isolé. After the ceremony. Please take your seat, and allow me to continue the ceremony." Isolé, her eyes sparkling, retook her seat. She had no right to demand Caladin halt the ceremony, and she knew it. She folded her arms and stared at Caladin with such icy intensity he thought she might freeze him to the spot.

Tonight, he thought, would be a long night.


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I am stuck. I cannot move my feet. I cannot turn away though I desperately want to. He is coming for me, and I cannot flee. He walks slowly towards me, emerging from the pine forest as a black shadow trailing down the snowy hillside.

He jumps forward. He is closer. I am panting. I can feel the tears running down my cheeks. I want to escape. I want to flee. I cannot. I feel frustration. I feel anger. I feel terror.

He is before me. His body is enshrined in black robes. He wears a vast crown of antlers upon his brow. He has no face. Instead he wears a skull. The skull of a horse. His mane of red hair trails behind him in the light breeze.

He raises his arm, and from within his robes a gnarled oaken hand, dripping with blood, reaches out. He strokes my cheek, leaving it wet with blood, and he begins to whisper to me. I know not what language he speaks, but I understand his words.

He speaks to me of Chaos. He speaks to me of Death. He speaks to me of the End of Times.

I am in a small village of men. I am standing on the bell tower of a temple. I can see all of the village. The tatched houses of these men, the well that they draw water from, and the picket fence that lines the borders of their village. I see men gathered around the fence. They are carrying bows, swords, axes, and scythes. They are scared.

Beyond those fences a freshly worked field stretches off to the hills in the horizon. The sun is setting, and in the orange glows of the end of day, I can see the shadows of creatures coming. They are leaping across the field, on two legs, on four legs, on more legs. At their head comes a demon wrapped in plague and death, ready to destroy this place.

I am at sea. I am standing atop a Black Arc, upon the very highest tower. A storm rages and the clouds are dense and angry. Rain lashes the sea, and it roars back at the sky with terrifying waves.

I hear a call. No. A shriek. From within the clouds a vast flock of winged beasts descends. Great behemoths of such a size that my mind almost recoils from comprehending them. Their wings span for miles, the great tails that trail behind them almost reaching the horizon, and as the first one swoops down upon us, its great maw opening up to swallow us all up in one, I see an eye, as large as the arc, and filled with more hate than I can stand.

I am home. In the streets of Lothern. I am in the belly of the city, and the great palaces rise up on either side of me towards the very roof of the sky. Bridges span the gap between them, and I remember the great joy as a child of traveling through a city so filled with wonders, noise, and the exotic smells of distant lands.

It is different now. The towers are crumbling around me. Bricks are falling from the sky. People too. They fall around me like so much rain. I look to the sky, the clouds seemingly stained with blood, and I see a great winged beast, an axe in one hand, and a whip in the other. It lashes out at the towers around it, roaring with furry, and bringing the city down around it with glee.

My eyes burst open. I exhale. I feel my body laden with sweat, as are the sheets and the bed I lie on. I stop breathing. I stare in to the eyes of a demon. My heart stops. It is standing over my bed on all fours. Fire is writhing around the creatures body and I can feel the heat as it burns my skin.

Its eyes hover over mine. They are blank, wells of darkness, almost unreadable, yet I can feel the incredible hatred of the thing. It screams at me, silently, and I recoil. I am helpless. I am as a child to this thing of infinity. But it too recoils. The roof above my bed is swirling with colours, and the creature is being drawn back in to it as if it is a whirlpool sucking it back to hell.

It tries to hold on. Digging its claws into my bed, it lifts me up towards the roof. The inferno around its body burns ever brighter, and it screams ever louder. Its breath is fire, it reeks of death, and I know I will die. It is being dragged ever deeper into the whirlpool. Only its arms now hold on to my bed, and my bed itself is far off the ground and almost touching the roof. I start to scream. It calls to me.

"I will drag you with me Alothé. You will be my toy. I shall play with you for all eternity. Come Alothé. Come with me."

Tears fall from my face, my screaming gets louder, and I thrash in my bed. I suddenly hear a voice, from where it comes I do not know, but I know it is Aloisa. Her voice is as a nightingale, cutting through the Chaos around me and speaking directly to my heart. She is whispering words that I cannot understand, but I feel peace. I feel calm. I feel as if I am saved.

The creature screams in agony. Its eyes pierce my soul, but I feel its gaze halt before my heart. There is a shield there that even this beast cannot pierce. It lets go of the bed, and is sucked in to the whirlpool in a flash. The whirlpool swirls to its conclusion. My bed falls back to the ground. I am alive.

I faint.

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