Chapter 1
Scribal Tales
Epilogue - Prologue
The Pool of Life
(A Metaphorical Tale by Daniel Olarnick)
Painting by Dan
Mills
Odan the Scribe walked confidently toward his terminus.
He paused for a moment to look at the beauty of this vast
and mystical valley, the dark blue waterfalls, the mysterious
brooding forest, the incomprehensible breeding grounds of
a simmering natatorium. He breathed in deeply, cherished
the fragrance of this unsullied world, smiled, and silently
thanked the gods of creation for their magnificent achievement.
Then the visions came -- as they always had -- and Odan
saw unfolding perceptions reflected upon the sides of the
still rising mountain range. He envisioned a sealed cavern
and within it he witnessed himself aiding in the birth of
Talos the Dragon-God.
Images flooded into his mind filling it with faceted visions
of the future.
He saw Talos' rise to power, among his own kind, winning
conflict after conflict, as legions of beings, humans, elves,
dwarves, giants, fought apocalyptic wars in his name, triumphantly
raising his banner victoriously in conquest after conquest.
The visions shifted, as Odan peered deeper into the multi-faceted
future. He observed the dragon-gods make their demands upon
mankind for veneration and virginal sacrifice; the establishment
of jeweled kingdoms; the pockets of freedom-loving warriors
that roamed the lands seeking their independence; the rebellions;
the slavish worship of the dragons-gods' supplicants; the
holy worship of the dragon-gods as rulers of mankind; the
coming of the day when the dragon-gods' worshippers were
freed from their yoke of tyranny -- then the thought flashed
into Odan's mind, "I might not be there to inscribe
it."
Odan peered deeper into the veiled and misty future, forcing
himself to look where he knew he should not gaze. Visions
unfolded of Talos vanishing, of the chaos that follows his
disappearance, leaving his worshippers defenseless, as they
learned to live in fear of the other dragon-gods; of Talos'
long-awaited return; of the war that inevitably followed.
Odan's resolve mounted within him. He wanted to see these
events occur, to live through them, to inscribe these illustrious
triumphs and defeats. But, first, the completion of the
task at hand, the most dangerous conveyance of his immortal
lifetime.
Odan understood what had to be accomplished. He had planned
well, aided by arcane knowledge secured from BeNob the Benevolent
Being. Still, the thought of facing "them" sent
a shiver down his body.
"I will do what has to be done." He laughed softly
at how self-righteous that sounded and awaited his fate.
*
The Cloud appeared over a sun-drenched horizon, a living
nebula on earth. Only the eyes of an immortal could behold
and comprehend what it contained. Odan studied the Cloud
with a mixture of fantasy and loathing. Sunlight filtered
through the Cloud to reveal a quartette of mythical riders.
Their mounts raced head-to-head against each other, straining
to escape the nimbus that had transported them from realm
to realm, battle after battle, victory after victory.
Odan the Scribe, about to face the Four Horsemen of the
Prophesies, sensed the finality of it all, then smiled at
the very thought of it.
"Finally, the event of a lifetime to inscribe,"
he said, aloud, to himself.
*
Odan grasped the crystallized pouch that he carried on
his waistband. The pouch was golden in color, semi-transparent,
intermingled with traces of ebony and crimson luminescence
that flashed throughout its external covering. Contained
within the pouch were live gemstones, entities that waited
to be liberated or imprisoned for all eternity.
The gemstones were Odan's bargaining chip. All immortals
hungered for them, above all these harbingers of death,
those immortals in the service of The Enigmatic One, would
do almost anything to possess them - almost anything - Odan
reminded himself.
Odan envisioned how he would inscribe these events. He
would use an Enigma Stone, one that he carried with him
for these very moments.
Again, a strangely human thought entered his conscious
mind. The thought pleased him for the fleeting instant that
it lasted: "If I live, that is."
*
"The Four Horsemen swept down into the valley, four
ambassadors of destruction, infinite in their power. They
embodied Conquest, Fury, War and Death."
"The first rider appeared on a snow-white mare, the
second on a red stallion, the third on an ebony stallion,
the fourth on a pale horse."
"I looked up, and behold -- the pale horse appeared
in front of me -- and his Rider was Death."
(Fractional inscription … Scribe Unknown.)
*
"Visions of glorious victory or ignominious defeat,
Scribe. What is it to be?" challenged the Rider of
the Black Horse. He brandished an ebony sword, its enormous
blade poised to thrust through Odan's heart.
"Sword of the Ebon Prince, isn't it, War," smiled
Odan, infuriating War with his taunting display of arcane
knowledge.
"Answer the question, Scribe. Answer me wrongly and
you'll taste the fierceness of my weapon," retorted
War, frustrated by the handsome scribe that stood so defiantly
in front of him.
"What choice has man but to strive for glory,"
said Odan, his gray eyes never straying from the haunting
quartet, each phantom wielding weapons of gleaming, glistening
death.
*
Odan held his hand out to the pale horse, stroked the fiery-eyed
beast's forehead, gently blowing warm breath into the horse's
flaring nostrils. He reached into his black cloak, withdrew
an apple from a pocket secreted within the lining of his
scribal cape, and fed the apple to the pale horse. Its rider
smiled beneath his death mask at the offering.
"What have you to offer us, Scribe?" asked Death.
"These," said Odan, as he untied the drawstring
of the gleaming pouch, displaying the radiant presence reposing
within the satchel. "The living gemstones of an entire
world -- nearly an entire world -- if you allow me to take
The Others with me to regenerate in this world," said
Odan.
"The Others!" exclaimed War, in anguished disbelief.
"The Others, they are with you of their own free will?"
asked Death, amazement in his timbre.
"Yes," said Odan. "All are with me of their
own free will --"
"-- We can destroy you quite easily, you know,"
interjected Fury.
"Perhaps," replied Odan. "However, did you
listen to the Prophecy Stone I sent to you while you traveled
within The Cloud of Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow? It sang
its song for you when it spun, did it not? Remember its
words."
Instantly, the four riders reheard the crystal's song,
its words repeated in their minds, "...Battle the Scribe
and one of you may die..."
A collective thought flashed through their minds, "The
stone could not lie!"
Odan looked up from the pale horse to observe a disquieting
look on the visage of Conquest who reached for his glistening
double-headed battle-axe.
*
Odan turned his hands upward towards the riders displaying
their emptiness. Two emerald gemstones emerged from beneath
his palms. The stones glowed, elongated and transformed
themselves into an Angelwood staff. The staff glistened
and transmuted itself into a shadowy weapon of destruction,
a glistening, gleaming Naginata.
Odan twirled the weapon over his head and then about his
body, signifying an age-old tradition of defense. The elongated
stave slide effortlessly about him, almost as if it had
a will of its own. He gripped it lightly, taking a step
backwards, conscious of keeping the sun against his back,
as the riders began to spread out to surround him.
*
"Give us the White Beast and we'll call it a bargain
made," offered the Rider of the Red Horse.
"Bijou?" laughed Odan warmly. "Bijou is
free to come and go as he chooses."
"Where is the Howling Beast now, Scribe?" asked
the Rider of the White Horse, shifting anxiously in his
saddle, rising himself up on his stirrups to survey the
surrounding landscape.
"Where he always is, nearby, or at my side, or where
you would least expect him," pointed Odan towards the
western ridge, where an immense shimmering dog-like creature
had suddenly appeared, outlined against the setting sun.
Bijou, The Terrible Howling Beast, appeared atop the western
perimeter, his woeful reverberation heard throughout the
valley, deep and piercing in its pitch.
The riders' horses reared high with fright. Only the whites
of their eyes were visible. Their faces displayed a wild
and frightened expression. They neighed with dread at the
mournful sound as it echoed throughout their equine minds.
"The Beast is wasting his powers remaining at your
side. Tell him to come with us. We'll make him a symbol
to be feared by all living beings, as are we," said
Conquest.
"Feared?" repeated Odan, as if unable to comprehend
the concept. He shook his head in feigned astonishment and
disbelief. "The Dog is Man's best friend," Odan
added with finality. "Do we have a bargain, Death,
or shall I withdraw from the valley and prepare for battle
--"
Death gestured no. He held out his skeletal hand out towards
Odan, grasped the scribe's arm, and then drew Odan closer
to him. Death whispered in Odan's ear. He pointed his glistening
sickle down towards the ground. He said, aloud, as if to
bind his allies in agreement. "Keep the gemstones that
you wish to remain with you. We'll take the rest, including
the world they have left behind, now and forever."
"A pact," said Odan. He extended his hand in
agreement. Odan placed the darkening pouch on the tip of
the apparition's sickle.
Death lifted his sickle, expertly flipping the pouch into
his open skeletal hand, unfastened the pouch, looked in
and smiled. Odan heard soulful moans escaping from within
the pouch, as Death emptied the contents of the pouch into
a satchel attached to his saddle and tossed the emptied
pouch back to Odan and watched as the scribe place the gemstones
he had chosen back into the glistening parcel.
"Until we meet again, Scribe," smiled Death.
"Remember to write well of us," demanded War.
"I will," answered Odan, not knowing if they
heard his reply, but fairly certain that they understood
he would do what his scribal responsibilities demanded.
"My scribal crystals shall sing well of your generosity."
Then Death wheeled his pale horse up and away, galloping
out of the valley. His ghastly companions followed closely
alongside of him. Their laughter echoed throughout the glen,
filling the air with its mocking timbre.
*
"We should have fought him, Death," declared
War, as they rode away. "There are four of us."
His tone was annoyed and angry. The two other riders silently
nodded in agreement.
"And what about Howling Beast? Would you have fought
him, too? What of the prophecy, that one of us might perish?"
asked Death, distain in his voice?
"Then, perhaps, it was time to pass on," said
Conquest, as the collective vision of decapitation entered
the equestrians' minds in unison. They saw their bodies
crystallize and crumble into glistening dust.
They paused at the top of the ridge, reared their horses,
and bid Odan farewell, with taunting laughter, sending out
a collective psychic message, "Next time, Odan, perhaps
you might not be so fortunate. Next time, Scribe, Moultrance
the Scrivener will write the ending -- as he was meant to
do. Until then, Scribe, farewell. We will see you in the
future -- or the past -- it matters not to us."
*
Odan the Scribe knelt down, staring into the surface of
a subterranean pool, enjoying the gentle radiance and warmth
that came forth from its surface. The pool's color was a
deep mysterious crystalline blue. It was an ancient pool,
even for this freshly formed world, and life swam fiercely
within it.
Odan removed the remaining gemstones from the gleaming
pouch, holding them within his hands. They glistened with
the essence of life.
He held them up to the cave's eerie light, felt their fervor
and power for one last moment in time before tossing them,
one-by-one, into the sacred waters.
A tear fell from his eye. He brushed it away with the back
of his hand. He smiled at that part of his humanity that
still cared for the life-stones of friends long since passed.
Uttering a spell, or perhaps it was a prayer -- it mattered
not -- he gently dropped the gemstones into the bubbling
water, watching them sink out of sight, as globules of light
began to rise from beneath the surface of the Pool of Life.
Odan lingered over the last gem, smiling as he grasped
it within his clenched fist, feeling its strength and ardor
coming from within the gemstone. He held it up to see its
luminescence reflected around the cave. It was the stone's
purity he admired most, a stone finer and more distinct
than the other gems.
"You were the best, my friend. I'll see you again."
He tossed the blue-white gemstone into the waters, and watched
for a long moment as the pool bubbled with mystical froth.
*
Moultrance the Scrivener leapt out from behind a massive
stalagmite. He held a glistening razor-sharp scythe high
above his shoulders, his hands clenched together as he charged
toward the rising scribe, a maddened look upon his face,
as he swung the reaper in a perfect arc, and delivered a
death blow with its glistening metal, turning it crimson
in color.
*
Odan's head fell from his body -- miraculously his mind
retained thought -- the pain excruciating and dreadful.
The cave filled with an inner luminescence of life-rays
that escaped from Odan's headless form. His body crystallized
then shattered into thousands of pieces as it struck the
cavern floor.
Odan's mind forced his eyes to remain open, staring in
disbelief at Moultrance's treachery and betrayal. Then,
in an instant, Odan's head crystallized, morphing into a
gleaming skull. All that remained of his humanity were his
cold-gray eyes that shone like blue-gray sapphires.
*
Moultrance laughed aloud. He had done what even Death had
feared to do. He had killed the scribe.
Mockingly, Moultrance pointed his index finger at the crystal
skull. His laughter filled the underground chamber with
a merciless, unrelenting sardonic tone.
*
A long, wailing, savage howl filled the cavern. Moultrance
paused. He looked around the cavern in fear and trepidation.
Then, sensing the moment of ultimate victory at hand slipping
away from him, he leapt forward to grasp Odan's gemstone.
He would swallow it, possessing Odan's essence forever.
Moultrance held the glistening stone high above his head,
tightly clenched within his fist. "I've won, you fool."
His sentence cut off in mid-speech.
A flash of white brilliance burst across the cavern floor
with preternatural speed, its movements faster than even
the eyes of an immortal could behold. The Terrible Howling
Beast rushed forward - "The Feline had failed to kill
The Beast," Moultrance agonized inwardly for an instant.
*
In a point in temporal sequence, Moultrance felt unbearable
pain coursing throughout his body. A powerful, terrible
force clamped down upon his right arm at the juncture of
his forearm and wrist, wrenching the arm from its socket.
Moultrance beat his fist furiously against the head of
the beast but to no avail. No force or energy could cause
The Howling Beast to release his hold as the power of its
glistening ivory fangs severed the wrist of Moultrance the
Scrivener.
Moultrance's screams echoed with that of the howling beast
creating a dreadful sound that reverberated off the cavern
walls.
*
Moultrance's screams continued to filter throughout the
cavern. He saw his hand quivering before him, blood splaying
everywhere, his wrist flapping the clenched fist up and
down on the cavern floor. Odan's life-stone tumbled out
from the severed clenched fist.
The white beast, seeing the gleaming stone tumble free,
raced after it. His mouth gaped open as he clenched the
gem within his slavering jaws, and dove deeply into the
bubbling Pool of Life.
Deeper and deeper the canine dove into the water until
his lungs burst. His clenched jaws released the blue-white
gemstone.
Bijou's body crystallized, shattering from the pressure
of the water's depths. His own gemstone followed that of
Odan's into the unfathomable depths of the Pool of Life.
*
Moultrance, whimpering in agony, clutched the stump of
his arm, trying to stem the bleeding. He reached for his
detached twitching hand, held it to the bleeding stump of
his arm, and began to utter a prayer of regeneration. He
plunged his arm into the bubbling Pool of Life. He screamed
aloud. Then he withdrew his arm from the pool, looked down
at his hand, and began to laugh, then cry, and finally began
to shriek at the horror he observed.
Odan's crystallized skull laughed uncontrollably and swore
an oath of eternal revenge.
Moultrance fled from the depths of the cavern. When he
reached the surface, he turned and watched the cavern's
entrance being sealed by bolts of mystical lightning.
Moultrance threw back his head as if to howl at the shrouded
moon, as a curse of vengeance spew forth from his lips.
* * *
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