Forgotten Ruins

The boy shielded his eyes as the burning desert sun pounded on his exposed neck. He possessed the dark skin of his people and the white rags of a slave. A tired breath escaped his lips as he looked down at the camp at the base of the rocky mountains. Many workers still struggled there to convince the camels to leave the soft sand and begin the long climb. Thousands of miles surrounded them, Golden dunes as far as the eye could see, expressing their journey from the great city of Al’asha.

But the boy could not linger. His master was all alone in the ruins at the summit. He was waiting for the precious equipment currently at the hands of the boy. Hugging the leather bag tightly, the boy pushed on. Step after step, he moved, not daring to stop and wipe the sweat off his brow. Until he finally reached the peak.

His master may have been on many expeditions before, but this was the boy’s first one, and he had never seen such a structure in his life. Partially carved from the stone of the mountain itself stood a great fortress. It had great broken pillars engraved with the letters of an ancient script. He could still make out frescos washed down by the sands of time. The door was long gone, but its lintel was at least three times his. Even in its ruined state, this citadel rivaled the University of Al’asha and the palace of the Spirit Queen of the south. However, it did look familiar, as if he had seen buildings with a similar design before.

The boy shook his head. He was a slave, and it was not his place to waste time thinking about architecture. He patted his master’s bag removing all traces of dust, and walked inside. The air became cooler, and he let out a sigh of relief that was quickly replaced by anxiety. He was standing in a grand circular hall with two paths to choose from. There was no way to tell which one the master took. To the left were stairs that led downward. The farther they went, the darker it became until the boy could see no more. To the right was the sunny path. Rays of light came down from the windows, casting square shadows on the walls behind them.

The boy paced around. He did not like making decisions as he usually made the wrong ones. But he also didn’t like yelling. Nobody likes loud slaves. When the sweat on his forehead returned, he turned right. The boy never liked the dark. Strange things always happened there. But then he stopped. He felt a breeze. A shiver ran down his spine as he turned around. It led to the dark stairs sucking grains of sand inside. He saw the darkness creeping forward.

The boy wanted to run away, but his master needed him, and his master did like strange things. That’s where he must be. The boy took a deep breath and forced himself to move forward until the darkness swallowed him. With his hand on the wall as a guide, he kept moving until he tripped and almost dropped the bag. Unable to see forward or back, he was stuck.

What should he do? His eyesight was useless, and his heart pounded in his ears. It was too loud. It prevented him from thinking. He tried to swallow and realized his mouth was dry. Should he go back? Give up? The boy shook his head hard. After all, the master would be very disappointed if he learned that simple fear was what stood in his way.

“Master, Master,” he tried calling, but no answer came.

Then he remembered that in his hands was the master’s bag. There was no choice. With a deep breath, he reached inside it. The master will forgive the transgression, he hoped. His trembling hand pulled out an orb that fit inside his palm. Like he saw his Master do once before, he blew on it whatever air his lungs could muster and prayed that that was the only thing he needed to do. It blinked twice and lit up in a bright blue light. The boy was so surprised it slipped between his fingers. Without thinking twice, he dove after it face-first into the cold stone. But it escaped him. All he could do was watch in horror as it tumbled down.

Every time the ball hit the stairs felt like a punch to the stomach. It made a loud clank that echoed between the walls. The boy fully expected to hear a snap followed by the light going out. But it never came. Instead, the ball continued on its path until it collided with something and reversed its trajectory, slowing down until it stopped. The sound it made was unlike anything the boy heard before, though it did remind him of the cry of a bird.

Ignoring his throbbing head, he breathed out. The ball was all right. It was still working. He dragged himself up and made his way down. He reached and grabbed the ball. A sigh escaped his lips when he examined it. It had no scratch. He looked ahead at the object the ball hit. At first, it seemed like any other wall, but no, it was a door.

It was cool to the touch, and the boy saw no difference between it and any other stone in the ruin. But the master always said first impressions are often deceiving. Upon closer inspection with the ball's light, the boy saw strange lines and symbols carved into it. He looked at the ball and tapped it against the door. The same bird sound echoed once more.

Was his master behind it? He pushed and pushed, messed with the knobs, and pushed some more. But the door wouldn’t budge. Only after exhausting any idea that came to mind did the boy sit on the ground panting. He wiped a layer of sweat off his brow, taking deep breaths, until the light in his hand caught his eye, and he examined the ball for the first time. It was made out of some sort of transparent crystal surrounded by metal haloes engraved with strange symboles. At its center was a strange X-shaped letter that reflected light in all directions like a gem. The boy let out a sharp breath and looked once more at the door behind him. Right there, at its center, was engraved the same letter.

The boy shot up and ran up the stairs, with each step jumping over multiple stairsteps at once. Forgetting all previous trepidations, he yelled as he passed through the bright hallway.

“Master! Master!”

He found the man in a round room. The beads in yellow Kaftan glittered even in the shade despite being dirtied by the long travel, and the fabric of his head scarf hung loosely around his olive neck. He knelt before a wall and gently patted it with a soft brush.

“How many times have I told you?” said the man calmly, still focused on his task. “I am not your master. You are a free man. You can go wherever you please.”

The boy did not feel like a man.

“I have nowhere to go.”

“Then you can stay for as long as you please. Though I’d hate for you to waste your life on another man’s dream.”

“I don’t think I’m wasting anything worthwhile…”

“You’d be surprised. Tell me, isn’t there something you’ve always wanted to do?”

The boy didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have any dreams, not even when he was sleeping. But then he remembered a painting. It depicted a man wearing shining steel armor and riding a great white steed. He had heard stories about these men before. Inspiring stories. Souar, the master’s daughter, loved them too.

“I like knights.”

“The first southern knight, that be something to see.”

The boy smiled.

“Just do me a favor. Before you leave to become a knight, get rid of those rags.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Not now!”

“Sorry, Master.”

The master was the first to start laughing, and the boy joined him.

“I see you brought my equipment. Come here. I’ll show you some things.”

The boy obeyed and kneeled beside his master.

“See this thing here?” he said, pointing at the partially visible script on the wall. “This is the Language.”

The boy got up and stepped away in fear. These abandoned scripts were always unpredictable.

“You don’t have to worry. These letters have no essence in them, and I suspect this has been the case for quite a while. But do you know what’s strange? These are old, very old, older than they should be.”

The boy looked at the ball still in his hands and remembered.

“Master, I saw something strange.”

The master slowly turned towards the boy and examined him with wise eyes.

“What did you see? Show me!”

Surprised by the sudden vigor in the master’s voice, the boy jumped up and led him back to the great hall. Excited, he looked back, urging his master along, and bumped into a tall man.

“Watch where you're going!”

“Sorry, sir.” said the boy. Recognizing the deep voice immediately, he bowed down low.

This man’s kaftan was green and embroidered with a qalam dripping ink - the symbol of Al’asha. A matching green scarf covered his head and draped down on his neck. His face was adorned with a pointy, well-trimmed beard and proud eyes. A curved sword was attached with a belt to his hips. The boy had never seen him draw it before, and he secretly wondered if he even knew how to use it.

“You should train your dhim better.”

“My dear Fahrud, you know well I do not believe in dhim. This boy is my friend, and you will treat him as such.”

“An interesting friend indeed is one that does not tell you his name.”

“The boy simply hasn’t chosen it yet, but when he does, I’ll be glad to hear it. I’m guessing you are here because there is trouble with the camels?”

“Yes, the sun is setting, and it’s too dangerous for them to make the climb now.”

“Then we will just have to camp here tonight before the rest can join us.” the master said joyfully.

The boy did not look forward to this prospect, and it seemed he and the proud man in front of him agreed.

“Well, what got you both in such a hurry then?”

“The lad found something.”

“The dhi-boy… Well, where is it?”

The boy jumped at the sudden order and pointed toward the dark staircase.

“Interesting, I haven’t noticed it before, have you?”

“No,” said Fahrud quietly.

The master hurried to inspect it, and the boy followed, trying to hand him the ball of light still in his palm.

“Ho, I see you found my Glowglobe. There is truly nothing like the ingenuity of the dwarves. I can create my own light.”

Fahrud scoffed behind them.

“If you're done getting distracted by trivialities, I suggest we get a move on,” he declared, whispering something in a strange sound that reached deep and shook the boy’s very soul.

A bright yellow light appeared above his hand. He lifted it and banished the darkness from the staircase. With a confident step, he led the way inside.

“Forgive Fahrud. He always had trouble seeing anything worthwhile beyond the walls of Al’asha.”

“Then why did you choose to travel with him?” asked the boy before he could stop himself.

“Because a true scholar should surround himself with people who challenge him. That way, they balance him and keep him on his toes. Come on, let's get a move on before Fahrud makes all the great discoveries.”

With the same strange sounds the master also created light and indicated for the boy to follow. The staircase was a lot less intimidating now, and the boy was eager to discover its secret.

“Salih, come here and look at the walls,” called Fahrud from down below.

The boy and master looked at each other and hurried to catch up.

“Words of Power, engraved on the walls. Just like in other places in these ruins.”

“Not quite. These still have essence in them.”

“Interesting, then why aren’t they working?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Fahrud, tapping the master’s shoulder.

“But you know, this does prove my theory. The Language, the Words of Power - they predate the destruction of Ur. Don’t you see? Al’ash did not create it.”

“Be careful who you say that in front of!” whispered Fahrud as he glanced towards the boy. “You are already one step away from censure.”

“But the evidence is here.”

“Not quite. The great Al’ash might have carved them in during his campaign against Ur.”

“You know as well as I do that’s not true.”

“What we know is irrelevant. We are here to benefit Al’asha. What do you think will happen if the greatest university in the world is discovered to have been wrong about its own history?

“If Al’asha keeps refusing to look into this, we’ll be accused of worse things than being wrong.”

“It seems all the letters here are in good condition. Maybe your boy has an eye after all,” Fahrud declared, turning away to leave. “The scribes can copy it tomorrow. We should find a safe space to camp for the evening.”

“That's not! There is a door…” said the boy, pointing deeper into the darkness.

Without another word, the master moved down with Fahrud behind him. The boy struggled to keep up. The tapping of soft leather shoes on the stone floor echoed in his ears. As they approached the door, he looked down and saw the grain of sand being pulled toward it, like when he first saw the stairway. The light of the master seemed to grow dimmer and the air colder. A knot formed around his heart.

When he was little and still innocent, he remembered a story being whispered at night - Never go alone into the dark, or the evil djinns would get you and suck you dry.

But in the short time he had known the master, he had never seen him this excited. Each step was made with a fiery passion, and his eyes tried to look everywhere at once. The boy didn’t want to spoil everything with his silly superstitions and kept his mouth shut.

Then they reached the door. Now, with more light, the boy could see details he had missed before. It was indeed carved out of the mountain stone like the ruin. But the elaborate lines etched within it seemed to carve the stone into pieces that could be moved and rotated like a child’s toy.

He looked down and saw grains of sand gathering up at its bottom. What could be drawing them there? He was suddenly grateful the door was closed. He did not wish to pass its threshold and shuddered at the thought he might have gone through it alone.

“Torkin, you crazy old fool. You were right.” laughed the master.

“Hardly,” interjected Fahrud, “didn’t your dwarf friend promise these runes would be glowing?”

“Maybe they have to be activated first?”

“What is it?” asked the boy with a trembling voice.

“There is nothing to fear. This is a dwarven door. Another proof Ur was not what we claim it was.”

“Salih, you need to be more careful with your theories. People are starting to talk.”

“Let them. When we get back, you can be sure I will write long papers discussing their merits.”

“There would come a time when even I won’t be able to protect you from the repercussions of your actions.” sighed Fahrud.

“When that time comes, I will thank you for all you have done.”

What did the Master could possibly have Fahrud to thank for? From his kindness to his wisdom, he was ten times the man his colleague was. Not for the first time, the boy wondered what the true nature of the relationship between these two individuals was.

“At least this is as far as we go tonight. Dwarves are devious creatures, and their locks are not easy to crack.”

“Not quite,” answered the Master with a twinkle in his eye. He moved towards the door and started rotating the central stone piece, and the X-shaped symbole moved with it. “Another thing you learn from different people is how to open new doors.”

A clank coming from the door mechanism made the boy jump. The master lifted his hands from the stone, and the stone pieces started moving and rotating on their own. They create strange shapes that the boy couldn’t make out. When they finally settled the door slowly opened up. Behind it was darkness that even the light of the two men beside him could not penetrate. They talked, but the boy no longer heard them. He heard nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat. He tried to order his limbs to move, but they wouldn’t budge. A shadow moved in the darkness.

An arm grabbed his shoulder, and he jumped.

“Are you alright, my boy?”

He nodded, looking past his master into the darkness once more. But there was nothing.

“If I’m not mistaken, I believe these are the paths.” whispered the master in his ear, but the excitement in his voice was not enough to erase what the boy saw.

“You are certainly mistaken, ‘If one is ever lost, follow the light of the dwarves,’ remember? I see no light here, do you?

“This verse might just be poetic license. The light can just be a reference to the wisdom of the dwarves. Can’t you feel the essence that flows through this place?”

“I certainly can. I can feel the Language and the Wyld. We should close this door, collapse the ceiling if we can, and leave.”

The Wyld. The boy recalled the damage it had done to his unlucky friends. Bodies so mishapen, they no longer resembled anything human, and yet they were somehow still alive. Was that what he saw? He didn’t care what the paths were or weren’t. For once, he agreed with Fahrud. He wanted to leave and never look into this darkness again. Yet something was drawing him in, pulling him closer like a whisper just outside of earshot. If he’d walked just a few steps closer, he could hear what was being said.

Fahrud’s back was straighter than ever, and he looked down the path with narrow eyes. The master, on the other hand, seemed eager to take a step forward and explore this new secret. The boy wondered if they also had the same sense of dread devouring the pit of their stomachs and were just strong enough to resist it.

“Nonsens Fahrud I-”

“Please, Master, let’s go back, " the boy begged, surprising everyone, especially himself. He immediately felt shame—to contradict a Master—but he did not regret it. Something inside him said that Fahrud was right. Something was wrong with this darkness.

The master placed his arms on the boy’s shoulders and said, “It’s going to be alright. The Keeper isn’t here to prevent my light from banishing the darkness. I’ll lead the way.”

One step after another, the master walked towards the darkness, and the boy could do nothing but look on. The moment his foot passed through the threshold of the door, a thousand dead white eyes sprang to life, focusing on their prey. The master’s light went out, and a terrible scream escaped his lips as he fell to the ground. It rattled the boy’s bone and struggled his soul.

He felt his knees hitting the cold, hard stone as his hands grabbed his head, shaking as tears came down his eyes. Up ahead, he saw Fahrud catch the master by the arms, preventing him from being dragged inside. But beyond them, the shadow itself came alive.

“Boy!”

Woven from shadow and darkness, it swirled and swarmed like corrupted water. A mad beast waiting to be unleashed upon the world.

“Boy!”

The boy drowned in the endless pits of white eyes until that was all he was able to see.

“BOY!”

The boy snapped back to reality and stared at Fahrud. He was struggling to maintain his hold on the master.

“Take my sword, free him!”

The boy drew the shiny blade. It was cold and heavy, almost slipping from his hands as he tried to lift it. He looked everywhere for what was holding his master, but there was only the living shadow and its eyes. The boy knew that if he looked at them, he would drown once more and, this time, never be able to resurface. He swung the sword again and again, but it only went through the shadow. The horrible realization dawned on him - there was nothing he could do.

Closing his eyes, he wanted to disappear, to run, run, and never stop running. But then he remembered the master's daughter and the painting of the knight in his shining armor. The future he hoped to be worthy of having. He forced himself to open his eyes. There was only him, the sword, and the master's legs.

“Hurry!”

He took a big breath and swung the sword.