Chapter Eighteen - Hope

“So, you didn’t want King Wystan to create a tamtan. You said it was dangerous, but you let him do it anyway?” Adric had been asking Amos about the tamtan ever since he had mentioned it the night before.

They had been riding at a brisk pace for a while and had slowed down to allow the horses to catch their breath.

“I did my best to encourage Wystan not to make the tamtan, yes,” Amos answered.

“But why?”

“The history of the tamtan is bloody. In many cases, the recipient of a tamtan was killed. Many people who created them didn’t seal them properly or put too much of themselves into it. Sometimes the recipient wasn’t compatible.”

“What do you mean, compatible? Can’t a tamtan be given to anyone?”

“Anybody can use a tamtan, yes. But, a tamtan that has been filled and sealed by another person contains the life experiences, the wisdom, knowledge, and abilities of the person who sealed it. Take Verrik’ son, Daea for example. Imagine for a moment that you created a tamtan. Now, you intend to fill the tamtan with as much knowledge and experience as you can fit into it. Now imagine that Daea becomes the recipient of that tamtan. As soon as he activates the tamtan, he will begin to assimilate everything you put inside it. The tamtan will start to overwrite the Daea that we currently know and try to merge your two beings together into one. The two of you are vastly different people. Your knowledge, skills, wisdom, and many other characteristics are far superior to his. If he were to try and assimilate your being into his own all at one time, it would surely overwhelm him. That vast amount of change would undoubtedly be the end of him.” Adric thought about this for some time.

“So, Wystan turned this book into a tamtan, and that’s why it’s been handed down each generation?” Adric asked.

“Yes. In the end, I allowed the alchemists in Soceria to work with King Wystan in the creation of just one more tamtan. Wystan was the wisest man I ever knew. He knew the risks in creating a tamtan but insisted it was necessary. So, I assigned him a team of alchemists, and they began their work.”

Adric went silent, pondering the idea of transferring a part of yourself into another person. He thought of the risks of the tamtan and wondered if it was something he wanted to do. Soon, the sun was setting over the hills in the distance. They continued to ride into the woods and then followed a beaten, but obscure path that divided Meromar Lake from the sea to the east. Just as darkness began to fall, Amos stopped.

“There,” he said solemnly. Adric looked out into the distance where he saw a high stone wall. In the center of the wall was an arched doorway, which he probably wouldn’t have seen if he hadn’t known to look for it.

“Welcome to Gnostgate,” Amos said, and dismounted his steed. “The lost Rhodhinian city.”

“I thought we were going to have trouble getting in,” Adric said.

“And we may yet.”

“But the gate isn’t locked,” Adric said, wondering when the resistance would be showing up to offer their resistance.

“Seevus would not have set sentries on the outside.”

“What do you mean?” Adric asked.

“It isn’t his style,” Amos said simply, as he tied the horses to a nearby tree. “Seevus would first want to see what you planned to do inside the city. He would have ordered his men to let you wander, let you look around and get comfortable. Then he would kill you.” Amos’ tone was a little too casual for Adric’s liking.

“Do the Rhodhinians know you hid the Staff of Alldel here?”

“I think so, yes.” Amos was still speaking with great ease. “Are you ready?” Amos asked, pointing to the black gate. Adric followed. Amos pulled out the stark-white Staff of Soceria and touched the top of the staff to the surface of the gate. Without hesitation, the gate swung open obediently, and they stepped over the threshold into the lost Rhodhinian city of Gnostgate.

The city was in ruins. They were clearly in the center of what used to be a town square. The moonlight lit up the city with an eerie soft glow. Buildings stood half erected and gutted hollow. Chimneys were half broken and crumbling into the streets. There was evidence of what used to be a stone path winding its way around the square, but weeds and dirt had nearly reclaimed it completely. Amos proceeded toward the center of the square. Adric saw a look of great concentration on his face. For the first time, he was looking concerned.

“So, if they know you hid the staff here, what has stopped them from finding it?” Adric found that his voice was nothing more than an involuntary whisper. Amos did not answer immediately. He was watching the corners and alleys intently, his staff in one hand, a sword in the other.

“The Rhodhinians never found the staff, because only the Staff of Soceria can reveal it.”

“But how is that possible?” He asked. Amos had just approached a rickety wooden structure, which still seemed to be intact. Amos grasped for the handle and pulled the door open. It whined in great protest, as though it hadn’t been moved in decades.

“The Staff of Soceria is the key to a lock in a hidden tunnel I dug just after I took possession of the Staff of Alldel.” Amos held the door open for Adric, who walked through. The building was stale and covered in dust. The floorboards squeaked with every step they took. Amos stopped somewhere near the center of the room and looked down at the floor. He seemed to be looking for something, but the floor was empty and free of anything except a solid layer of dust. He kicked the dust from the surface of the floor. The wood was so old and worn that the toe of his white boots scarred the planks.

“There it is,” he said after a minute or two.

“What is it?” Adric looked down, wondering what Amos had found.

“Just there,” he said and pointed to the floor. Adric bent down over the floor and peered through the dust. On the floor was etched an ancient glyph he recognized. He had seen it before but could not read it.

“What is it?” He asked again, hoping Amos knew the translation.

“It’s necraphymian. It means hope.”

“Who put it there?” He asked, knowing what Amos would say.

“I did. I put it there the night after your grandfather died.” Amos pulled out his staff, touched its tip to the center of the glyph, and spoke with a guttural, harsh voice, the word for hope in the language of the necraphym. At once, the floor around them began to fade. A straight, stone staircase began to appear, and Amos pointed to the hidden tunnel dug centuries ago.

“After you,” he said. Adric stepped forward and placed his foot on the first stair. He began to descend the long stairwell. As they went lower, the light faded. Amos held the Staff of Soceria out in front of them, and the gem on top blazed as bright as day, lighting the path before them.

“It isn’t much farther now.” His voice echoed in the narrow stairwell. They had descended so far that the hole above them was barely visible. And then, finally, the floor leveled out.

Adric stepped out onto a smooth surface, followed closely by Amos. The round underground room wasn’t large, but it was open. He couldn’t see all the way across the room until Amos had waved his staff out in front of them, and a series of hanging lanterns on the walls lit in a fashion similar to a series of cascading dominos. And then he felt a lurching in the pit of his stomach as the torches near the opposite wall came to life. There, at the end of the room, inside a pedestal on top of a stone plinth, sat a beautiful scarlet staff topped with a ruby.

“The Staff of Alldel,” Amos said. A look of great satisfaction crossing his face. Adric just stood there and looked at it. It was both beautiful and surreal. He couldn’t believe his eyes. After all the talk, all of the questioning, and all of the unknown, he was actually standing before the actual Staff of Alldel. It had waited for him for nearly six hundred years. Amos had successfully hidden it from the Rhodhinians for all this time, and he had done so on their own land.

“The staff has not been used since the great King Wystan himself,” Amos said.

“So, what now? What do I do?”

“It’s yours now. You are the rightful heir.”

“But how do you know it’s me?” Adric asked. He had been wondering this for some time now.

“Because you resisted the throne, but not the cause,” Amos said to him gently. It took Adric a minute to take in what he was saying. “I knew it was you because you did not seek the throne. But you did seek to destroy the evil that you discovered. That is the essence of what drove the wisdom I saw in Wystan. Now, take what is yours.” Adric stepped slowly toward the plinth, trying to process the gravity of the situation.

And then the drumming began. Footsteps could be heard coming from the stairwell. He turned sharply and looked at Amos. He had drawn the sword and the Staff of Soceria yet again.

“What is it?” Adric asked, unable to keep the fear from his voice.

“They’re coming,” he said in a whisper, and he too turned around. From the staircase descended a battalion of ghastly skeletal creatures. They screeched their terrible deathly cry and Adric clapped both of his hands to his ears. He watched as Amos took battle posture. Amos turned his head to Adric long enough shout,

“The tamtan! Do it now!” And then the band of wraiths charged.