Glimmer of Hope

Book One - Of Ice and Death

Prologue

Written by Vladimir Efimoff

History had given the deserted ruin many names over the years. Once Shal'tara, Tristiam, and Azza, among others. Most recently Talgorath, yet even that name was ancient and mostly forgotten. Conquered and renamed countless times, it had always been the heart of the world, the seat of power, and the centre of knowledge. Once home to tens of thousands, it still housed that same number in death. Every house was a tomb, every building a crypt, the entire city a mass grave. Now the nearest form of civilization was hundreds of leagues from the place. Nameless, shrouded in mystery, rumours and superstition, no one dared come near the place. Given the choice, Sora would not have come within days of it's crumbling walls. Sorrow and madness still hung so heavy in the air she could taste it, and it clung to everything like a skin. Even without her special Talent, she would have been uneasy. Yet she had no choice, and the sun would be setting shortly. She felt no urge to be in those empty streets after dark, so she wasted no more time.

Walking quickly, she found herself trying to watch everything at once. Buildings towered on either side of the paved street like timeless sentinels. Empty windows like hollow sockets of a skull stared accusingly down upon her. The silence oozed from every crack and crevice, every dark and broken window. It thundered in her ears. The only sounds she heard were the echoing of her footsteps, her breathing and the pounding of her heart in her ears. For the first time she realized there were no animals here, no insects that she had seen. Not even the surrounding forest dared attempt to reclaim these cursed ruins. Mentally she shook herself, the man she was looking for was here, had to be here. There was no choice, and she could not falter now.

The Mad Prophet, as he was known. Like so many things, his true name had been lost with the years. She had been searching for him, following his nearly invisible trail for longer than she cared to remember. All for a hope. The Empire was a cancer choking the life from the world. Yet it was impossible to fight against something that so completely permeated everything, so she and her people had been waiting. For generations, waiting, and finally she was to be the one to discover the answer which they sought. An answer she would get from the lips of a madman. Perhaps Talgorath was a fitting place. A sound drifted towards her, a voice, interrupting her thoughts. Muttering and mumbling something indistinct. She changed direction and followed the direction it came from. It grew louder as she drew nearer, but she could still no better understand the words being spoken. They had a harsh and guttural quality that made her hair stand on end. They called him mad for a reason.

It took longer than she thought it would to find him. Sound seemed to travel far through the deserted city. He was in the largest square she had seen so far. An enormous fountain dominated the area, larger around than any three houses she had seen combined. It rose in tiers, and on the first three tiers there were small statues of men and women, all holding hands in a circle around the edges. Upon the fourth tier was a circle of children, and on the fifth was a huge carving of a tree, so lifelike she half expected the branches to sway in the wind. The man she sought sat cross-legged, gazing up at this stone tree muttering to himself.

Anticipation and a touch of fear filled her as she walked towards him. This man held the key to their salvation, or to their destruction. Before she could take two steps, though, the prophet spoke, his voice surprisingly lucid and powerful. “One more step, and I will not give you what you seek.”

She stopped immediately. It would not be wise to push her luck with such a man, certainly not at a time like this. “You know, then, why I chase you?” she asked.

“Of course,” he stood and faced her, “You come seeking hope. Hope that there might be a future. Hope that evil might be conquered forever.” He gestured grandly at this last. “You come here hoping for hope. And they call me mad.” The corner of his mouth raised in a half smile. “Is it madness to see and understand? I think not. Others simply cannot understand.” Despite his age, the man was formidable. Tall and broad shouldered, he had piercing grey eyes and a powerfully commanding presence that almost made Sora feel like a child again.

Sora had never met this man before, but had heard many stories about him. Many from her Order claimed him dangerous beyond reckoning, a man that needed to be brought in and killed for the safety of everyone. What would happen to her when they learned of this, she did not know. But they needed an answer that only he could give. “Do not jest, prophet, there's no time left. If you can help, then help, if not then I waste my time here. But surely not even you would wish for the destruction of this world.”

“No, not of this world,” he put an obvious emphasis on the word, “but of those within it, I'm not so sure. Nevertheless, I will share with you what I can.” Pausing briefly, he looked at the ground as he spoke, in a quieter voice. “He comes with a heart colder than the land of ice and death. He will arrive before this next fall. Look for him in the setting of the sun. He will be a man unlike any other ever seen in the Empire.”

She frowned at this, it was all too vague for her. “Can't you speak plainly, Prophet? I've not chased you all this time for riddles.”

“Disappointed, hm? I would tell you more, but you would not understand. Could you explain the colour red to someone who has never had the gift of sight? It is the same in this. You know what you need to, and that is enough. There is hope, though how certain I cannot say. He will be the one to spark the fight against the Empire, I hope only that he isn't too late to undo what was done.” He turned his back to her again, once more gazing up at the stone tree.

“What do you mean, 'undo what was done'? Something like that... surely you can say more?” Sora hoped he could. It was obviously important but she hadn't the slightest notion what he might be speaking of.

Looking down again, he seemed to frown at the ground for a moment in thought. “I'm sorry, but I cannot. You're a resourceful woman, Sora, else you would not have tracked me this far. Look to the past for that answer. And one more thing. You see that leaf, there at the top of the tree?” He pointed to it.

She looked, and saw the stone leaf. She had not noticed it before. “Yes, what of it?”

“When it falls so does the night, and my life ends with it. Tomorrow will bring a new dawn, and all the changes which that entails.” Looking back at her over his shoulder, he said “I would not wish to be here when night does fall, Sora. Leave now.” He returned to his study of the leaf. What he was thinking, she could not even begin to guess, knowing that his death was fast approaching. Yet he stood there, calm and collected. Not even a hint of fear or anxiety had entered his voice when he had spoken. She found herself coming to idolize the man, though she knew nothing of him. She no longer believed him mad, however.

“I am sorry for you, Prophet.” And she truly was.

He switched his gaze towards the ground, as though in thought once more. “I had a name once, you know. So long ago that I can't remember it. I've been alive far beyond my right, so don't be sorry for me. Death cannot come soon enough.” With a sigh, he looked back up towards the leaf, just in time to see it shake free of it's branch. With a shock, Sora realized that it didn't plummet towards the earth as a stone would. It spiralled slowly downwards, like an actual leaf. The prophet sounded content when he spoke again. “Leave, child. Run, if you would. Death rules this place at night.”

He stood there still, with his back to her, hands clasped behind him, now looking upon the fallen leaf. Without saying anything, she turned and fled. The dieing rays of the setting sun lit the sky afire, turning it into a magnificent display. The only sound she heard was the pounding of her foot steps, and the only movement was her elongated shadow, running with her. But she carried hope with her now, and she would not die, not when there truly was still a chance for the future.

Night fell, and the life of the last Prophet was extinguished with the daylight. Yet not before he could give one last hope to the world. Hope with a heart colder than the land of ice and death, from the direction of the setting sun. He who would change everything forever, one way, or another, and the world trembled at his coming.