Caleb's Journey

Discovery and Duty

“

Brother Malachael! Brother Malachael! Wake up! Wake up! Master Summal wants you! Master Summal wants you!” The shrill voice of the pre-pubescent boy pierced the air of Malachael’s chambers and seemed to stab his resting mind like the rays of sunshine through the clouds on a stormy day. Groggily, he answered, “I will be there shortly. Thank you.” His other thought was, “That kid says everything twice.” He wasn’t the typical monk, but he always maintained aspirations of truly fitting in amongst them. Quickly he roused himself, tossed off his brown cotton blanket, exited his bed and clothed himself in his earthly colored breeches and sky blue long-sleeved robe. All members of the Order of Tears wore these colors as a symbol of the union of earth and sky, the only child of Uua and her unsought union with Barometh.

Tightening his brown leather belt he mused about the possible scenarios under which Master Summal, head of the order, would urgently summon him. He had last spoken with Summal on the eve of the red moon, for spiritual guidance. The athletically built man with midnight black hair worn shaved on the sides, mystic green eyes, thin lips, and a serious countenance that seemed chiseled from stone as if sculpted into a permanent mournful state walked quickly to the exit of his modest room and down the narrow stone hallway to his destination.

He sensed a chill in the air, not unlike a cool breeze, that tingled on the hairs on his arms and made them stand on end. “Something is seriously amiss,” he thought. As he marched with determined purpose towards the master’s room, the aroma of burning incense wafted into his nostrils and had a calming effect on his heightened tensions.

He rapped his sinewy hand on the wooden chamber door. A voice on the other side bade him to enter. The room, about twice the size of Malachael’s, was illuminated by torches, one hung in each corner. It was adorned with a simple wooden bed, a writing desk and chair, trunk, and a personal prayer shrine to Uua, the highlight of which was an oil painting of her lovingly looking down on her child, the world, Mithkre. The previously loosened knot in Malachael’s stomach tightened. Nobody visited Summal in his inner sanctum, ever.

He found the master seated on his prayer blanket, meditating, but aware of Malachael’s presence. “Brother Malachael, good morning. Come in and close the door.” Next, though his eyes remained closed, he motioned to the chair. “Sit, please.” Summal showed a supernatural awareness of his surroundings despite ignoring his sense of sight. “I have some salted pork in the bowl to your right.

I have water in a wooden pitcher on the shelf directly above the table. There is a cup next to the pitcher. Please, help yourself. I know I had you awakened and you have not had a chance to breakfast. Besides, it will help calm your nerves to put some food in your belly. Yes, I know, your suspicions are heightened, but you know not why.”

Malachael, who had seen and done much, shut the door and marveled at the abilities shown by Summal, who continued his monologue. “Malachael, friend, the unthinkable has happened.” He paused and emitted a sigh, “This morning while taking a walk in the grove I came upon the body of Mikale.” He paused again, to Malachael’s astonishment, to sob. “What I really found was what remained of my dearest friend. I grieve him, even though I know he rests with Uua and even now, sees us. Cleaved in two, a truly horrible sight to behold. It is only my mortal weakness that makes me mourn for his loss. Please, forgive me. Even worse than that for mankind, Uua’s Tear, stolen.”

Malachael sat speechless, his eyes transfixed on his narrator. “I have difficulty accepting that something such as this transpired since I normally sense matters as great as these and Mikale was our greatest warrior, entrusted with the ancient artifact. You know not what he guarded, few do.” Summal spoke as much to himself as he did to his visitor, “It’s an ancient tale, handed down orally from when the world was young. Our world, the living entity that it is, is the product of an unholy union between Uua and Barometh the Deceiver, greatest of all the demons.

How he tricked the almighty remains a mystery, but he clouded himself in the form of another divine being, a worthy suitor then forced himself upon her. Her brother, the avenger Mistacles, hunted Barometh among the heavens, found him, defeated him, and imprisoned him in the NetherRealmealm. However, his sister found herself with child and bore our world and named it Mithkre. It is said that she wept with joy at this birth and that part of that divine rain, her essence was captured by the children created by that rain, the giants, who roamed the planet before us. That essence was held in the vial worn round Mikale’s neck.”

“

Nobody knows about this theft except for us, which brings me to the point of your presence in my room. You came to us five years ago as a necromancer who forswore his previous ways and wanted to atone for the sorrow and misery that your life had created. Your great intellect made you a quick study and you have become an exemplary pupil. A man with your past best suits our necessary purpose. You must go to the capital and tell the Luminarch what has transpired. Tell him that I have given you orders to do whatever is necessary to retrieve what is lost. Request of him a retainer of knights to aid you in your quest. While you slumbered I prepared the necessary documents to support my requests. I have ordered a horse to be saddled, stocked, and readied for you. Tell no one of what has been discussed between us. This is your chance at redemption and much more my friend.”

Finally Malachael had a chance to speak, “High one, you think too much of me. In the brief span of but a few moments I have witnessed you demonstrate wisdom and an innate ability to see what is unseen. I lack your talents. I was once the darkest and most destructive of souls. You don’t know what I’ve been.” He cast down his eyes, “Surely you are better suited than I to face what lies ahead.” Master Summal opened his eyes and his gaze met that of his modest disciple, “Malachael, from what I know of you, nobody is as well-equipped as you to successfully navigate the uncharted course ahead of us. Your past and your resourcefulness will both serve you well in your necessary adventure. You are too modest.” He walked across the room and embraced his friend and student. “Uua grant you success. You won’t disappoint me. I’ve felt that much.” He stood resolute as he proffered the previously discussed documents to Malachael, scrolls scrawled with a frantic hand, bearing the seal of the potentate of the temple.

Malachael took them in his hand and angrily clenched his fist. “Neither your cogent purpose or your words are not wasted upon me, master. I pledge every power at my disposal to the recovery of the divine essence! I’ll not rest until I have seen the article safely returned and placed directly in your hand.” The two shook hands and parted company. Malachael returned to his room and packed his bags as quickly as possible all the while pondering how it came to pass that a dark mage turned monk now set out on a quest to return a trickle of good divinity to the breast of its protectors.

Lighting his pipe he mused, “Why me?” He recalled how he came to the order as a confused, bitter, and feared necromancer who stole the life energies of the breathing world Mithkre to use for his nefarious purposes. Long had he held the notion that dark magic, so-called, held the key to understanding the meaning of life. Often had he struggled with the knowledge he possessed, an intellect that surpassed that of his peers, unbridled ambition, a feeling of unquiet, long periods of emotional emptiness and a general loathing of the gift of life, seeing it more as a burden than a blessing.

Stealing the life essence of others, he had extended his life for a period of centuries far exceeding the span of decades allotted to humans. In that time his studies alerted him to the presence of the sacred grove and after decades of research he discerned its secret location. On a personal pilgrimage he walked there and though the guards tried to detain him, for they thought him to be an attacker, they lacked the power to overcome his mighty dark powers. Arrogantly he marched directly to the high temple repelling all interlopers. Then, Master Summal emerged from his domicile

, and evinced no hostile nature towards Malachael. Rather, he hailed him peacefully and welcomed him saying that he sensed that Uua had called a wayward soul to them and that it must be him.

As Malachael exhaled a ring of smoke, he put his belongings into a brown cloth sack filling it with his prayer necklace, which he put to his lips before placing it therein. Gently he placed his personal journal in the aforementioned receptacle, a change of clothes, and assorted sundries. He slung the pack over his shoulder and thought about visiting the Luminous City.

Never before in his centuries of life had he had a reason or a desire to visit the capital of the mortal realm. Instead, he shunned it and loathed all of the king’s sycophants. In fact, he had never left the grove since the beginning of his seclusion. Slowly he walked to the door, took a final look about his humble trappings, wondering if he would ever see this place again and closed the door.

Having left his dormitory, he trod upon the lush, green grass and marched towards the stables. Like many of us he took for granted what he encountered in his daily life, but on this morning the grass seemed especially lustrous and rich as he walked upon it. He even stopped for a moment to stoop and run his hand through the soft blades, surveying the subtle way in which the tactile world affects a person. He marveled at how the dew on the morning lawn attached itself to the surface of his worn leather boots, that the birds sat calmly in the trees and sang their verbally indiscernible yet innately beautiful song, a song that seems to ring of peace and tranquility as it spread throughout the air.

Light from the morning skies served as a brilliant backdrop to the myriad color palette of the rest of the world. Flowers sit in colorful unmolested bunches and seem to spell out different messages as he passed them by. Yellow ones shouted, “AWAKEN!” Red passionately whispered, “Love and beauty.” The blues said, “All is well,” with a soft, cool touch.

Soon the pungent aroma of horses and their environs entered his nostrils ending his meditative march and returning him to the matter at hand. He saw his black steed, Nistor, tied to her post, saddlebags fully packed. “Summal thinks of everything,” he thought. “If I return, I’ll have to learn his secret of multi-faceted awareness. That was something to behold. Nistor, pleased at the sight of his rider, stomped his hoof as a means of expressing welcome. Malachael softly placed his head against that of his mount, “We are to have an adventure, friend.” Then, he patted him affectionately, mounted up and spoke to his steed, “Nistor, I thought I had left such times behind me and I truly enjoyed the tranquility I had come to know. Now it is time to repay the kindness I’ve been shown. We ride to see the world returned to its rightful and order and I’ll stop at nothing to see it done.” Mounting his steed he came to rest upon his saddle, seized the reins, and urged his mount towards the Luminous City.