Spilling of the Heavens: Third and final part

Placed around the peak of Kekur were six stone slabs twice the height of Cassar. Between the stones was a flat marble platform where one would have expected a jagged, pointed top. The same craftsman who had built the stairway likely had arranged the stones and laid the marble at the peak of Kekur. To his knowledge, only Tarek Grandar and he had been to the peak and seen this wonder. Standing at the center was another small wonder, one that Cassar had not expected despite his wealth of knowledge and understanding of history. The small wonder was a tiny being, only slightly taller than most dwarves, but frail and wispy.

The being lived out of frame, as Cassar’s father would say. For instance, Cassar knew the stairway to the peak, the stones, the marble top, were all relics leftover from at least a hundred lifetimes past, perhaps a thousand. For the being dwelling between the stones, shirtless and with his bony, hairy arms crossed behind his back, that time was like a blink in a day.

He was known as The Dreamer, and any other truths about the being, Cassar’s father had once said, could only be found at the edge of dreams and center of nightmares. Cassar was living a nightmare of late, and perhaps only now truly understood what his father meant.

Tarek Grandar did not hesitate upon seeing The Dreamer. Why should he, Cassar thought? Tarek likely knew he’d be there the entire time. Cassar followed close enough to hear. Smyth was at it his elbow.

“I dream of agony rolling on the lips of the sea like thunder on the wind,” The Dreamer spoke, his voice hollow, as if it started somewhere in a deep cavern of the mountain. “Paw and claw and hand.”

The Dreamer crooked his head, which was covered with frazzled gray hair, so that the clear white pupils of his eyes could peer up into Tarek’s face.  Of course, he was not really studying Tarek, for Cassar knew that The Dreamer was blind. His sight was another casualty in the forging of the sword Lunar. Yet, the being’s mind still saw things, what exactly, no one was sure.

“Your dreams are poison sweetened by sugar, but poison, still the same,” Tarek spat.

“He who never dreams lives a nightmare,” The Dreamer shrugged his shoulders and held his arms out with his palms up.

“I never dream because I never rest,” Tarek screamed. “I stand at the doorway to the heavens and can not open it, can never enter. You’ve made sure of that.”

“Nor shall you rest, at least not here, not now,” The Dreamer rebuked. “Now is the time to square the debt and move on.”

Tarek’s shoulders slumped, and Cassar heard the king weeping. The Dreamer’s placid expression never changed as he moved past the king to address those behind.

“The world was broke, so the heavens mended it,” The Dreamer said. “It gave forth a man born of the elements of life. They scarred a favorite son in the sky to provide a weapon to throw down the dark. In return, the heavens asked that you stay on bended knee.”

Cassar spun to see the terror enter Smyth’s eyes.

“That bond is broke.” The mountain below their feet moaned at the statement. Behind The Dreamer, Tarek drew the sword of Marek, named Kekur for the great peak whose shadow the kingdom dwelt. Tarek lifted the sword and drove it into the marble platform. The mountain moaned louder, before it cracked.

The crack started small from where the sword pierced. Across the air came the sound of shattering stone and rock. Farther below, trees fell and, where the mountain met valley, the earth split. The rift spread south taking with it the bulk of the kingdom of Besa, which fell in the ever-widening sore. They could not see all this from the peak, but felt it in their minds. Cassar was sure that The Dreamer planted the vision.

“Oathbreakers be damned!” The Dreamer and Tarek roared as the king drew his other sword, Lunar. A high-pitched siren accompanied the sword as it left its sheath. A blinding white light burst forth.

When his vision returned, Cassar met Smyth’s witless gaze. The only emotion left in his cousin’s face was terror. Smyth and his allies began to squeal like frightened pigs then turned and started to run down the stairway at a breakneck pace.  Many, he thought, would do just that. It would take only one misstep and they’d tumble thousands of feet in seconds. Tears stung at Cassar’s eyes. Smyth had been a prodigy, a brilliant speaker, and despite his poor choice to betray Tarek Grandar and Marek, a beautiful being. If Smyth survived the descent, he be no more than a dimwit savage stumbling around in the shadows, his only thoughts being the memory of his former gifts and his one poor choice.

“I hope he meets a quick end,” Cassar whispered before turning back to The Dreamer, Tarek Grandar, and the sword. Both beings eyed him, curiously.

“Do you still bend your knee, mighty Cassar,” Tarek asked? The Dreamer watched.

“You’ve divided our world,” Cassar said. A frown crossed Tarek’s face at the words.

“Not only our world,” Tarek said, and, for the first time, a look of worry crossed The Dreamer’s face. Tarek cut into the sky above his head with Lunar, a single, sharp beam of light went up. A clean, clear wound tore the fabric of the deep blue sky.  

“What have you done,” The Dreamer asked?

“I’ve fulfilled your dream,” Tarek said. “If I am denied the heavens, denied the light, yet entrusted to guard them both, then I shall not have them forget that debt.” 

From the wound flowed a stream of water that fell into the crack created in the mountain by Kekur. It gushed down forming a great river, a river known from hence forth as Belnor. Cassar could hear voices in the water, screaming out names and prayers. Those voices echoed in his head the rest of his days.

The Dreamer studied the forming river as Tarek laid Lunar on the marble platform. He then pulled Kekur from the mountain, and placed it next to the other sword. A burden seemed lifted off his shoulders, and a smile crossed his face, and not a lunatic’s smile, but a genuine smile full of cheer and good will.

“My days dwelling here are past,” Tarek said, as much to Cassar as The Dreamer. “I shall visit the witch and her door and move on to another world.”

The Dreamer’s eyes dropped to the two swords near his feet with a troubled look furrowing his brow.

Tarek approached Cassar, and put his hand on the gargola’s shoulder.

“Your heart betrayed me,” Tarek said. “I am sorry for this. It is as much my fault as yours.”

“I’ve followed you everywhere,” Cassar pleaded.

“But you did not bend your knee when I asked,” Tarek said. “You broke the bond just as your other brethren. You failed your king. I am sorry friend.”

“What’s to become of me and mine?” Cassar stepped back. “Are we doomed to the fate of the traitors then? Shall I stalk around stupidly for eternity?"

“No, that is for the Shadows of Marek,” Tarek said. “They will live in the forest of the foothills, and their incessant wails will be a reminder to all. You and yours have a different fate.  You are the Keepers of Marek. You shall live quietly outside of the palace and wait and watch for the return.”

“You’ll return then?”

“No, another man will rise and carry those swords. You shall wait for him and serve him no matter the task. That is your curse."

With that, Tarek left, passing those that had escorted him to the peak. He walked out of their life, visiting the witch in her cave and the mysterious door that only a select few dared to open. Tarek opened that door and never returned.

Cassar dropped to his knees and wept for a very long time. The other members of his party joined him.  Night approached when they finally rose. When they did, The Dreamer was gone. So were the swords. They descended the mountain, arriving home late the next day.

Cassar and the other Keepers of Marek lived quietly, solemnly outside of Metahischoo for an age until a boy was born of a woman and the wind.

But, that is a dream for another day.