The Shadow of Eons

Chapter 1

The dusky sword glittered in the moonlight shining from the crevice above. Rubies, Opals, Sapphires and Diamonds adorned its pommel and elegant writing curved on its spine. It had lain untouched for centuries while wars had been fought, countries had been conquered, and kings had been slain. The light was distorted on the little cracks that were dispersed on the long blade, and this light spilled onto the stone surrounding it in shattered formations, without pattern or order. It was a light that illuminated the passions of fools, because only fools entered haunted chasms which had been said to house haunted objects such as this relic. Fools with a death wish, people with nothing to lose other than their own mortality and nothing to gain other than worthless wealth which was then spent on worthless things.

The man bent over this thing stood in position for boundless moments, for what seemed like hours, studying the thing. The legend said that whomever touched it would instantly transform into a being both of willful anger and lusty greed, and would wander the earth as a slave to it forever, obeying its whims like a servant controlled by a merciless master. But as the man had less than nothing to lose and had been on the precipice of insanity and hopelessness for ages, he took the chance and lifted the blade.

***

Jonas woke up.

He peered at his surroundings: the rising sun shining over mountains through the windowpane opposite the bed, the nightstand with various books strewn about and with dust collecting on top of them like dew on grass, the thready carpeting which made the rest of the room look opulent by comparison. Gods knew what he was doing here and who had carried him to this place; the last thing he could remember was touching the sword, and then the hazy remnants of memory containing the journey back through the mountains to civilization, starving along the way, hunting rabbits and voles and sometimes even crickets through the frozen forests of Yand without a fire, almost without hope of seeing another man again. But apparently, now, he had made it, although how he got to this point was a mystery. One thing was for sure, though: he was hungry.

He tiptoed to the door, pressed against it carefully with his fingertips and opened it ever-so-slightly. The door was creakless, thank the gods double, and there didn't seem to be any voices conversing nearby—just the dim whistle of air common in the northern regions of Yand, the sound of the wind rustling through the trees and into the cracks of houses' walls like vagabonds roaming the streets and seeking a place to wait out the night. Of this Jonas was thankful, and he opened the door a little more and looked out.

It was an upscale living space, couches laid down beside each wall and low tables laden with fruit and bottles of wine. A fireplace burned in the corner, heat emanating from it palpably so that Jonas's skin fairly burned in its presence—he had never felt a fire quite so hot. And there were strange-looking instruments: weird contraptions with balls which ran continuously through open tubes with no visible means of locomotion, an hourglass that was continuously turning itself over, huge volumes which lay open, containing pages with self-drawing diagrams. It was clear that this was the home of a wizard. Jonas felt a chill, even though his body was burning hot—he would have to tread carefully here; wizards were known for their evil deeds throughout all the lands, and he was sure this one would be no exception.

The door was still almost closed, and he felt it prudent to knock at the door. As he rapped on the wood three very careful times, he pondered that he was about to see his first wizard since he was a boy, when he saw the Chancellor's Wizard from atop his balcony in Carthay Castle where he grew up.

There was a rustling behind the doorway, and the door latch swiveled and opened. A small, wrinkled gnome stood there, green and miserable in its ugliness. It bowed, full of servile obsequiousness, and then stood erect. "Master," it said. "I am pleased to welcome you to House Eltar of Yore, the base of operations for King Dethorn in this desolate wilderness. I am Soluz, the chief steward of this house and its caretaker. I found you in dire shape from your journeys—you have mended quite well thus far, but you haven't been quite yourself since I took you in. This is the first time I have found you not gabbing and yammering some foreign tongue while I have to patiently explain to you where the washroom is."