Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

         The man that walked down the streets of Syra was a horrific sight. He walked with a limp, and drug his feet through the dirt of the road. Sunken eyes looked out the windows at his passing, gazes from people who for all of their vital signs, may as well have been dead. His hair was thin and black, hanging down in front of his face. The wind blew it momentarily aside to show to the world the horror that he had become. His face was long and stretched, his cheekbones protruding through his skin. His eyes were glazed over, though he could apparently see. What few teeth he had were rotten and yellow, but the most striking feature of all was his skin. It was dry and leathery, and every inch of his face was covered in deep cracks that seeped blood out their corners.

         The people in the windows did not shy away at the sight, they did not run in fear or cover their children’s eyes. They simply stood there, watching, with the same glazed eyes as the man. The man was not a spiriting sight, but nor were the rest of the cities people. They watched this man make this journey every day, walking by the same houses, always stopping at the same shop, and always returning looking more defeated than he had when he arrived. Some still believed that there was hope in that shop, but the number who did dwindled every day that the man passed by their houses.

         The bloodied man arrived at the shop and turned to face it. He gazed at its wooden walls with little expectation, but much hope. Perhaps this would be the day. The day his life would change forever, the day he would be himself once more. Staring at the door before him his mind wandered back to years before, when he had been a soldier in the Syran army. He remembered the glory he held, the respect that people would show him as he walked down the streets. Now the army was gone, and the few that remained were worse off than he. The town was a dilapidated version of its former self, home to none but the damned. Snapping out of his reverie the man walked to the door in front of him and turned the knob.

         The shop behind the door was a mess. Colored stones lay here and there, books lay open in piles on a table in the back corner. A man sat with his head down at a desk, forgetting his troubles in the freedom of sleep. The man approached him and the sleeping man’s head shot up. “Fayn!” the awoken man spoke in a familiar voice. “My favorite customer!”

         “I am your only customer, my friend.” Fayn said mockingly, forcing a smile. His voice was dry and scratchy. He sat in the chair across from his friend and looked at him. His face was thin, but not unhealthy; his skin rough, but not dry. His hair was black and still thick. He was healthy, the only healthy one in the entire city. Fayn was jealous of his health, but he was his friend and was happy for him. He knew that the only reason Namir was healthy was because he had been outside the city when the blight had overcome it, but he still couldn’t help but feel that if anyone could restore him to what he had been, it was this man. Coincidentally, Namir was an Igama, a wielder of magic.

         “How have you been keeping?” Namir asked his friend as he sat upright in his chair, Fayn could see the distaste in his face. He didn’t blame him for it. They may be friends, but his appearance was hard to set aside.

         “It has only been one day Namir,” he said, trying to put a hint of amusement in his scratchy voice, but failing. Namir stared at him seriously. Fayn sighed, “It has gotten worse. More of my hair fell out this morning, and my nails have grown black overnight,” he held up his hand to show the black tips of his fingers, “Can you help?”

         Namir continued to stare at him seriously, but examined his fingers. “Your fingers are losing circulation,” he said looking into Fayn’s sunken eyes, “they are dying.”

         Fayn didn’t know what he meant by losing circulation, but he knew what he meant when he said they were dying. He could no longer feel the tips of his fingers.

         “I would give them a week before your entire fingers are dead, and eventually, they will begin to fall off,” It was not a cheerful prognosis, but there was little cheer left to be found in either of them. One because he had experienced so much pain, and the other because he had watched him go through it. Namir sighed, “I will see what I can do.”

         The man dug through his cupboards for a moment, then retrieved a small blue stone. He looked at it ponderously, then walked back to Fayn. “Perhaps this will help,” he said holding the stone out for Fayn to see, “it was made to improve circulation. I can’t guarantee it will work of course, because of your state. You understand, right?”

         Fayn nodded. Namir stood next to him and held the stone over his head. Curse the Aelaienne, he thought as he watched Namir prepare to use his Igama magic on him. He laughed at the irony of what he had thought, as it was the Aelaienne who had cursed him. He watched Namir as he continued to prepare. He understood the basic idea of the Igama. Right now, Namir would be cycling the power through himself, letting it build momentum, until finally, he released it through the stone, using the stone as a filter to direct his magic. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him, but he hoped that it would work. He sat perfectly still as the warmth of the magic overtook him.

~~~

         Namir could feel the magic inside him, circling around and around, coursing through his body to build up the power that was needed. He directed it this way and that with subtle thoughts, letting it build momentum, then he guided it down his arm and released it into the stone. The stone began to glow blue, and the light of it overtook his friend. It’s working, he thought for a moment, as he could see the black tips of Fayn’s fingers begin to pulse. The blood was rushing through them, and they were slowly turning back to their original color. He had succeeded.

         The glow began to fade about Fayn and the man looked down at his fingers. They were skin-toned and he could feel them. It had been a success.

         Namir stared down at the fingers for a moment, proud that at last he had been of some use, after all of the failed attempts at helping this man. Perhaps rather than attacking the sickness head on, he must attack its symptoms. His heart was racing as he thought of what he could do with this knowledge. He was so preoccupied that he almost didn’t notice when Fayn’s fingers turned from a warm fleshy tone to a grey-black, and began to crack. He looked at his friend who was still looking at his fingers and had begun to laugh. It wasn’t a laugh of joy; it was the laugh of a man who had lost all hope, who had resigned himself to an ill fate.

         Namir sighed, “It may have still helped some. We can’t know for sure. Perhap-“

         “I can feel them,” Fayn interrupted, “They hurt…”

         Namir wasn’t sure what to say to this. On one hand his friend could feel his fingers now, perhaps that was a good sign, but on the other his friend was in pain.

         Fayn put an end to the awkward moment by standing from the chair and thanking him for trying. He made for the door and Namir grabbed his arm, “We will find a way,” he promised. Fayn smiled weakly, then walked out the door.

~~~

         Namir sat silently as his friend stepped out of his shop. One he was gone he let out a sigh. For nearly an hour he simply sat there, absorbed in his thoughts until he finally rose to his feet and walked out the door, locking it behind him. It only took him a few moments to reach his, which was near the shop. He unlocked the door and entered, a numb feeling in his mind. He walked back to his bedroom and set himself upon the edge of his bed. Staring over to the corner of the room, he looked upon the chair that sat there, and the woman upon it.

Her face was blackened and bruised, her sunken eyes partially covered by the little bit of thin hair that still remained on her head. She was looking directly at him, her eyes unfocused and glazed over. He looked upon his wife and put his head in his hands as his tears came forth.

~~~



         As Fayn was walking back to the shop the next morning he heard shouting from up ahead. He hurried to where he heard it, still making a slow journey because of his bad leg. When he rounded the corner he saw a cart pulled up in front of the shop, and a skinny man holding a stone out to Namir. Namir slapped it out of his hand and began shouting again, letting the stone fall to the ground. Fayn couldn’t tell what he was saying. The skinny man was obviously from somewhere outside of the city, Fayn drew his hood up over his head. Since the man was an outsider, he might not know what had happened to the city. It would be best not to frighten him, to send him into other cities speaking of the demons of Syra.

         The two arguing men saw Fayn approaching and went silent. He walked up to them and looked in the cart. It was full of stones of various colors, much like the stones that Namir used in his healing. Was the man an Igama as well? Fayn kept his head down just low enough so that he could see the strangers face while hiding his own in shadow. The man was of middle age, with a thin black moustache. His brown eyes looked curiously at the newcomer, trying to divine what lay beneath the hood.

         “I want you to leave,” Namir told the man, “I have no interest in buying anything from you.”

         So he is a peddler, Fayn thought. Perhaps he has a stone that will help Namir to heal him. “What do you have for healing?” Fayn asked in his raspy voice.

         The peddler looked shocked at the voice. The combination of the hood and the voice seemed to bring to mind the picture of a villain you always heard about in old tales. Fayn didn’t mean to be menacing. He was by chance and necessity. He would take the hood off, but it would only make him more menacing yet. He was a kind hearted man, made to look evil by the evil done upon him.

         The peddler stumbled over his words a bit, but eventually got the message out, “I have stones to vanish scars, to clean the blood of infection, to grow skin over wounds and to cure illness. I have stones of every variety. I have stones of every element even fire, as rare as those may be, and believe me, they are rare. Do you have use of the magic?”

         Fayn shook his head, “My friend has tried all of those and more on me. None of them worked.”

         The peddler eyed Namir warily, then lifted his chin in the air and began speaking confidently, “Then surely your friend is not the master Igama he claims to be.” Namir looked ready to shout again, but Fayn put his hand on his shoulder and shook his head again, signaling that now was not the time for anger. Fayn put his hand on the hem of his hood and thought for a moment about what he was about to do. His senses told him it was the wrong thing to do, but he had to defend his friend. Taking a deep breath he removed his hood.

         The peddler gasped in shock and took several steps back. Fayn looked him in the eyes, the world suddenly bright around him, “Do you have a stone that can cure a cursed man; an entire city of cursed men, women and children? The peddler continued to stare at him in horror a moment longer before speaking.

         “No,” he said in defeat. Fayn grabbed Namir’s arm and began guiding him into the shop to try to heal him once more, to fail once again, to let him return to his home broken and unfulfilled. The peddler spoke up suddenly behind them, “But I do know of one.”

         Fayn went rigid when he heard the peddler speak, the words echoing in his mind, But I do know of one. He turned around to face the man, “Do you?” his voice was that of disbelief, his eyes widened slightly, the skin of his face stretched, letting more blood seep from his many sores. He could feel the blood running down his face and dripping from his chin, but his mind was preoccupied. This man said he knew a way to cure him, to cure them all.

         “I do,” the man said uncomfortably, watching the blood drip from Fayn’s face.

         “Then you have my interest.” He said, hoping beyond hope that the man could really help him.

         The man took a moment to respond, clearly intimidated by Fayn’s appearance, “Buy something, and you will have mine.

         Fayn grabbed a random stone from the cart, a stone of turquoise, and reached into his pocket for money, “How much?”

         “Ahh, the Sailor’s Fortune, a wind stone that-“

         “How much?” Fayn asked again, impatiently.

         “Thirty coins”

         Fayn pulled three ten coin pieces from his pocket and handed them to the man, “Now, what can you tell me?”

         The man stirred the dirt with his feet for a moment before answering, “You have to understand, I’ve only heard tell of it, from a reliable source, but still, I have never seen it myself.” He paused for a moment to get his story straight then fumbled on, “A friend of mine told me of a stone, a stone that can heal anything short of death itself. A stone that will even absorb the power of a curse if need be to heal its target.” The peddler could see that he had gained Fayn’s interest. He paused for a moment for effect.

         Fayn quickly ran out of patience and nearly shouted, “And you know where this stone is?”

         The peddler smiled, “I do. It is in the ruined city of Sunal, only a few days east of here.” Fayn could hear Namir huff behind him. He look at his friend. He was obviously suspicious, as he should be.

         “And how do you know it is there?” Fay asked in disbelief.

         “As I have said, I heard from a reliable source.”

         “If this reliable source of your knows where it is, why is it still there? Why hasn’t someone claimed it?” Fayn asked with the feeling like a cat backing a mouse into a corner.

         “Ah, well that’s where the problem lies.” The peddler paused for a moment, “The stone is protected. Don’t ask me what it is protected by, because I do not know. My source didn’t tell me. All I know is that he tried to claim the stone for his own, but was unable.”

         Fayn pondered this for a moment. What could have prevented him taking the stone? He wondered. He decided to worry about that when the time came. He had already decided he would go after the stone, now he just needed to convince Namir to come with him, which probably wouldn’t be easy. He could tell by his face that he wasn’t ready to believe a word of what the peddler was telling them. Fayn found it funny that his friend was so less apt to trust than him, when he himself had been on the receiving end of such evil.

         “Is there anything else you can tell me?” Fayn asked abruptly, he didn’t want to miss anything that may be of importance.

         “I wish I could tell you more, but that is all that I know. I know the man well. If he says the stone is there, it is there.”

         “Thank you,” He told the peddler, “You may have just helped us a great deal.”

         “I hope I have,” the peddler said, looking uncomfortably at Fayn’s face. He had avoided looking at it much during the conversation, but now he stared right into his eyes. Fayn could see a strange mix of sadness and determination in the man. “I wish you luck.” The peddler said as he grabbed the handle of his cart and turned away from the shop.

         Fayn waited until he was out of sight before turning to Namir. “I have to go. I have to see if it is true.”

         Namir sighed, “I know you do, just as I know that I must go with you.”

         Fayn stared at his friend for a moment before saying, “You aren’t going to try talking me out of this? You aren’t going to say it’s a fool’s errand, and call me such a fool.”

         Namir sighed again, “You already know how I feel about this, but you want me to come with anyway. What is the point in my vocalizing what you already know to be true?”

         Fayn smiled, “So when do you want to leave?”

         Namir looked him in the eyes, seeing his need in every crack of his face, “Tomorrow.”