A Chronicle of Lies-Book 1- The Dark Sculptor (High Fantasy/Isekai)

While Vincent packed his stuff into a burlap knapsack that Xalix lent to him, he heard new voices coming from outside. At first, he thought it was his phantoms making a return, but then he realized they belonged to his “escort”. Tension drew his chest tight as he heard Xalix welcome them to his home and introduce himself. Vincent couldn’t hear any words, but he knew his host was explaining to them everything that had happened. The creature's voice was filled with frustration and anger.

“He is down here, then?” a voice called from down the hallway.

He heard footsteps approaching, but the figure stopped short of the curtain that covered the doorway, The only part of the creature he saw were its ankles, which were covered in yellow flesh, streaked with black stripes. Thick hide moccasins covered its feet save for the claws. Vincent turned away and pretended to continue packing.

“Oy, do you mind if I come in?” the creature said, “you aren’t going to attack me, are you?”

“Knock yourself out,” Vincent answered. He turned around and continued to pack.

“Uh...”

“It means 'yes.'.”

He heard the curtain being lifted to the side. Instead of looking at the newcomer, he continued to fiddle with his hoodie, folding it and unfolding it. He felt eyes boring into the back of his skull.

“You have a strange story, Brother,” the newcomer said.

“Vincent.”

“Vincent?”

“Yeah...that's my name, not 'brother'.”

“Ah...it is only an honorific. There are so few of us gloweyes, I call each one I meet 'brother' or 'sister'.” There was laughter in his voice. “Vincent it is.”

“And you are?”

“The name is Tuls.”

Vincent turned around and got his first good look at Tuls. His first impression was that the creature looked like a large five-striped skink. His yellow skin was lined with black and blue stripes. They spread along his folded wings like lightning. The coloring faded to a dark black along his snout, giving the impression that somebody had thrown powdered charcoal onto his face, which contrasted with his orange eyes. Both of them reflected an unseen light source, looking like embers floating in the darkness. A small black goatee lined his chin and a hardened leather hide, similar to the one Xalix and his grandchildren wore, spanned both his horns. There was a warm nature to the way Tuls carried himself. His lacertine eyes were filled with laughter.

“Oooyy...the gleaner was not lying,” Tuls chuckled, “You look stunned to see us, friend.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“And your ears! What is with your ears, brother?” There was laughter and good-humored disbelief behind his words. “Why are they so big? Those are the biggest ears I have ever seen on a man!” Like Xalix, Tuls seemed to have a slightly Jamaican accent, with just hints of an alien dialect behind the inflection.

Vincent simply gawked at him for a few seconds. Then the creature burst out laughing, pulled over a stool and took a seat.

“The gleaner...uh...Xalix Sontorey relayed to us quite a tale,” he said, “he says you believe yourself to come from another world. Is this true?”

Vincent turned around, grabbed the jacket which he had been rolling in his hands and tossed it over his shoulder.

“Catch,” he said, but the jacket hit his wing and fell to the floor. “Now you see,” He bent down to pick it up. “In my world, that wouldn't have happened. Humans don't have wings.” He handed the jacket to Tuls.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It's my jacket. A lot of people on Earth call it a 'hoodie'. Notice how there are no holes in the back for the wings?” Vincent watched as the creature scrutinized the garment. He seemed to find the elasticity particularly fascinating, stretching the hood several times before he searched the back for the wing holes.

“Aaaahhh...indeed,” he answered in a puzzled voice, “No ports for the horns either!” He handed the jacket back. “So...you do not remember...or know anything about our world, Falius?”

“No. I don't even know what you are or why you're here.”

“Hmmm...” Tuls grumbled, “memory loss, perhaps? A blow to the head? Either way, you are a strange man. We are relos.” He was clearly entertaining what he thought to be Vincent's delusion.

“I don’t know what that is.” Vincent said.

“We are relos!” Tuls repeated, his voice filled with gusto, “we control dangerous beasts and vermin so travelers can have safe passage through Admoran. We also maintain roads and bridges when the need calls for it...which is often. But sometimes, we are asked to capture criminals, which doesn’t happen as often. We were taking care of a zyloin infestation in Clackshod when we were told to come here. No details, not much, only that we are to take you to Meldohv Syredel. We are almost as puzzled as you, but we can’t disobey the order.”

“Why though? What do they...these people, want with me?”

“You are asking the wrong man,” Tuls said, “but my guess is that it has something to do with the fact that you repelled a telen...or so we've been told. They may want to know how you did it. That...and when a weather gleaner tells them that he rescued a Jalharan channeler from drowning...well...relations with Jalhara are tense, so they may want to know what you are doing here.”

“I don't know what Jalhara is, but I'm guessing you're at war with them?”

Tuls considered him for a moment. Vincent could see contemplation behind the creature’s eyes.

“No war,” he said, “not yet. But since we have strict agreements that neither side is to cross The Skein unless permitted by the other. Your presence on Lorix's Observatory, if you are Jalharan, would be troublesome.”

“Why did Xalix think I'm a Jalharan?”

“It would be your horns. Unfortunately, it is common to think any man with a curled set in these parts is a Jalharan. But I can tell you are not. You speak far too much for one.” At this, Tuls burst out laughing, acting as though he had told a joke. Vincent did not get the punch line.

Somebody called Tuls' name from down the hallway.

“Oy, don't bend my wing! We are getting acquainted,” he said, then he turned back to Vincent. “Aye, you heard my partners. You can ask more questions, but we must be going. But first, can you stand against the wall? I need to make sure you aren’t hiding any weapons or lore.”

“Weapons or lore?” Vincent repeated.

“Aye,” Tuls’ voice took on a more serious undertone. “To be honest, the three of us think coming here is a waste of time. I can see you aren’t dangerous. But I do have to make sure you aren’t hiding anything.”

Dangerous? Vincent thought, What the hell is going on?

But he gave Tuls the go-ahead and stood against the wall while the creature walked around the room. He checked under the covers, inspected under the bed. He went through Vincent’s belongings, eyes stopping on the Earthly garments for a moment, but he didn’t ask anything. After a few minutes of walking around the room and scrutinizing every object, he shrugged.

“Well, I don’t see anything that would be a cause for worry,” he said.

“Glad to hear it. So, these people who sent you think I’m dangerous? Are you...arresting me?”

“I would rather not,” Tuls said, “I’d rather you come with us willingly. Either way, I’m afraid we can’t disobey this order.”

“I mean...I have nothing else to do. So...fine.” Alarm bells should have been going off in Vincent’s head, but the experience was too surreal. What in the hell is a telen? How did he repel one?

“Wait...before we go,” Tuls said, “Xalix claimed he gave you a vial of Triasat? Is this...is this true?” He sounded skeptical.

To his surprise, Vincent pulled the vial from his pocket.

“May I see it?” Tuls asked, doubt filling his voice.

“Sure.” Vincent handed it to him.

As soon as the creature’s hands touched it, his eyes widened, and his jaw parted. He cradled the vessel in his reptilian palms.

“I do not believe it...” he whispered, “this is...he was actually telling the truth.” He looked up at Vincent. “Just...who are you?”

The brief silence that followed was interrupted when a voice hollered down the hallway.

“Tuls! Kick the dirt! We don’t have all day!” somebody said. Tuls snapped out of his trance.

“We will be there in a moment!” he said, carefully handling the vial to Vincent. “You...you need to wrap that for protection. That substance is beyond precious. Never in my life did I think I’d encounter such a thing.”

“You didn’t even open it,” Vincent said, “you can tell what it is from touching it?”

Tuls looked at Vincent as if he were daft. “Can't you?”

“No. Why would I?”

The creature gave him a strange look but said nothing more.

Vincent tucked the vial away, then hefted the bag over his shoulder. He followed Tuls out into the main room where two more “Falians” waited. Tuls introduced them each by name. Clayde was the bulky one with cornflower colored flesh. Burn marks ran up the left side of his snout. The scar tore into his ragged yellow mane, which, with the exception of the bald spot, reminded Vincent of a lion. Ro'ken, on the other hand, had a thin, yet wiry build. White, almost opalescent flesh covered his arms and snout. All of them wore the same hardened hide on their horns.

“This is who we came for?” Ro’ken said. He sounded disappointed. “He doesn’t look dangerous.” Tuls shrugged.

“Hmmm...what are you staring at, stranger?” Clayde grumbled. Vincent had been looking them over. “Thinking about slicing one of us up too?”

He burst into loud, bellowing laughter while Xalix stood by the wall with his arms crossing his chest. No doubt he was eager for Vincent's departure.

“Meldohv is bending our wings!” Ro’ken said, “somebody is having a laugh! We came all the way here for him?”

“It is what it is,” Tuls said. He walked over to Xalix and produced a pouch. After loosening the drawstring, he counted out twenty purple gems. “I was told this is your payment, for your trouble.”

Xalix tucked the gems into his pocket and grunted. He caught Vincent’s eye and looked away. Micah and Theomus stood by, shifting their feet.

“Well, we need to go,” Tuls said.

“Hold on.” Vincent said. He set down his bag and opened it.

“What is it?” Tuls asked.

Vincent took out his winter jacket and searched through its pockets until he found what he was looking for: a coin pouch. It came with the jacket when he bought it, but it had never been used. The zipper still had a tag ziptied to its tab. He pulled it out, walked over to the kids and knelt down.

“Here,” he said, zipping and unzipping it, then he handed it to Micah. “You and your brother can have this. Be gentle with it. They’re easy to break.” Both of them lit up and they passed it back and forth, playing with the zipper. Vincent stood up and addressed Xalix.

“You saved my life twice,” he said, “I didn’t know how else to thank you for it.”

Xalix was avoiding his gaze. But he grunted in acknowledgement. Vincent turned to leave. He stuffed the jacket back into his bag and Clayde took it. It made sense they’d want to confiscate his belongings if they were ordered to apprehend him. As he followed them outside, Micah said goodbye. Vincent wanted to return it, but his mouth froze. All he could manage was a nod. Then he stepped outside, blinded by the sun’s light.

Tuls signaled to Strix, who then retreated to the air with a few flaps of his enormous wings. His shadow raced along the path and disappeared beyond the cliff. Vincent followed his escorts along the trail. When they reached the end, three large creatures awaited.

“Whoa...”

He stared at the beasts. Covered in thick fur and standing on four powerful legs, they gave him the impression of large, van-sized polar bears. But their squashed heads were anything but ursine. There were no visible eyes. Instead, two fleshy appendages extended from the front of their squashed faces like eye stalks found on a snail, probing the air. Underneath these extrusions were wide mouths that spread from one side to the other. One of them grazed on the grass with large square teeth.

“What, you’ve never seen a landrider before?” Ro’ken scoffed.

Vincent looked at the lithe creature briefly. “No.”

“The brown on the left is mine.” Tuls said, “they are harmless as long as you don't get under their step.”

As Clayde approached his beast, one of its proboscises pointed towards him. Then it turned its head, taking a keen interest in the contents of Vincent's bag while its master worked to loosen a large knapsack strapped to its side. Tuls issued a warning just as the landrider tugged at the burlap.

“Hmm?” Clayde said, then he saw what was happening. “OY!”

He slapped aside one of the creature's probes and chastised it. The landrider retreated, yet it continued to probe the air for intriguing scents. Ro'ken approached his mount and grabbed a handful of fur and simply pulled himself up to the saddle. The creature did not appear to react when he dug his foot claws into its hide. Tuls did the same with his mount and so did Clayde, after making sure Vincent's belongings were secure.

“You will be riding with Tuls,” he said.

“Right...right.” Vincent watched as Tuls pulled himself up onto the saddle using a series of stirrups.

Hell...it's more like a rope ladder, he thought.

He approached the wall of brown fur with a fair amount of hesitation, knowing full well the beast could trample him to death in the blink of an eye.

“Do you have garrows in your brain?” Ro’ken snapped, “hurry up!”

Wondering what the hell “garrows” were, Vincent grabbed one of the stirrups, placed his foot in another, and pulled himself up. He was a bit wobbly, but Tuls helped him the rest of the way. The landrider's back was much larger than he had expected. There was more than enough room to sit two, maybe even three riders.

“Put this on.” Tuls handed him a wide leather strap.

Vincent held it in his hand, not sure what to do with it.

“Well? Put it on.” Ro’ken said, impatience in his voice.

“Why?” Vincent asked.

“It is for your wings, Brother.” Tuls said, “you don’t want to get blown off, do you?”

Vincent took the strap and looped it over the top of his wings, then tightened it until they were folded against his back. While having more control over the extra limbs made the strap comfortable, it was still an unpleasant sensation. Tuls spanned a thick cord across the saddle behind him, something for Vincent to hold onto while they rode.

“What about him?” Vincent nodded to Ro'ken, who was the only one without a strap. “He's not going to wear one?”

“Airdancers don’t need one,” Clayde said.

“Airdancer?” Vincent repeated.

“It means, if you push him off a cliff, he will simply glide to the bottom. It is hard to get rid of him that way. Believe me...we tried.” At this, Clayde let out a loud cackle.

As the creatures traded barbs, Vincent felt his attention drift to the mountains again, expecting to see something. It irritated him that he didn’t. His reverie was shattered when Tuls' landrider began to move. He gripped onto the cord as it lurched forward.

The landriders traveled along Lorix's observatory with caution, yet their pace already outmatched his walking speed. When he looked back, he saw Xalix's home was already hidden between the forest. Within ten minutes, they'd already passed the river, passed the path towards Gelndas and not long after that, the path to Lorix's Eye.

“Spooked somebody in Meldohv, haven’t you?” Clayde said, “made us come all this way just to pick you up.”

“He looks like a Jalharen.” Ro’ken noted.

“The gleaner thought he might have been, but he’s no Jalharen,” Clayde scoffed. “I swear, people around these parts think every man with a curled rack is a damn Jalharen. You’re not one of them scarheads, are you?”

It took a moment before Vincent realized he’d been asked a question.

“Scarhead?” he repeated.

“He has hair,” Tuls said, “he didn’t burn it off.”

“Doesn’t matter!” Ro’ken said, “A scarhead’s a scarhead. Hair or no hair.” He looked at Vincent. “Well, are you a scarhead?”

“I don’t know what that is.” Vincent said.

“Don’t know what that is?” Clayde scoffed at the claim. “Where have you been living, boy?”

“You don’t remember what the gleaner said?” Ro’ken’s words were filled with sarcasm. “He comes from another world!”

“I want to hear about this world you come from,” Clayde said, “Entertain us, Vincent Cordell.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Vincent said. Ro’ken exchanged looks with Clayde and Tuls.

“That’s it?” he said.

“There’s nothing to say,” Vincent repeated, “you are all hallucinations, living rent-free in my head.”

Ro’ken’s jaw hung open and he wore a look of utter perplexion. “This guy–” he said, “–sounds like he flattened his snout.”

“Flattened my snout?”

“You sound like somebody who got their snout bashed in, sending your nose right through your brain.” Ro’ken explained.

“Okay then...”

“What do you think Tuls?” Clayde asked. “You’ve been unusually silent.”

Tuls shrugged, but he didn’t respond. Ro’ken and Clayde continued to bitch about being ordered to travel for an entire day to pick Vincent up. While they did this, Vincent asked Tuls where they were going.

“We will be traveling along Lorix's Observatory until we come along a path that descends the cliff side,” Tuls said, “Then we will travel across The Fractured Meadows towards the Rift of Admoran's South. I do not think we will make it before sundown, so I see us setting up camp in the meadows.”

Vincent nodded. Then he looked down at The Fractured Meadows...so that’s what they were called. His eyes locked onto a herd of iridescent green forms that galloped across the meadows, leaping from one upheaval of terrain to the other.

“What are those?” Vincent asked, pointing to them.

“Food.” Ro'ken answered, eyeing the creatures with a hungry look in his eyes.

“Do you want to rush them?” Clayde asked. Ro'ken grunted.

“Think we have time to hunt?” Tuls asked eagerly, a smile stretching his snout. He appeared to analyze the creatures' movements with an intensity in his eyes. The beasts moved with a fluid grace as though they traveled through water rather than on solid ground. They moved in unison more like a school of fish rather than land-dwelling animals. “Looks like a challenge.”

“We have time, even with our guest,” Clayde said, “It’s no challenge, you just rush them toward the water. Haven’t you hunted kelta before?

“Not these kind, no. I am a marsh man, remember?” Tuls said.

“Yes, we remember!” Ro’ken said, “It is all you ever talk about! ‘I am a marsh man! I grew up in the marshes!’ ‘I was raised by the marsh!’ ‘My mother was a marsh!’”

“And it’s true!” Tuls said, laughing. “I am a marsh man! I have never rushed kelta!”

“Well, you are about to learn. The Fractured Meadows are one of the best places to hunt the beasts.”

“How is that?”

“Spook'em,” Clayde said, “get them to run towards the nearest river. When a herd of kelta are spooked, their instinct is to flee to the nearest body of water.”

“Why water?” Vincent asked, curious despite himself.

“They can live both on land and in water,” Ro'ken said. Every word this creature uttered was filled with irritation.

What is this guy’s problem? Vincent thought.

“Right, if they are allowed to escape to a large body of water, they are unreachable. Fastest swimmers you will ever see,” Clayde turned his attention to Tuls. “What you do is you spook a herd and they will flee to the nearest river.”

“Aye,” Tuls nodded.

“You see that bunch over there? When we frighten them, they will follow that stream to the Nisan Strait. That is where we hunt them. The strait is wide, but it is shallow, too shallow for the kelta to swim in. But they will try anyway, stupid creatures. When kelta cannot swim in a river, they will usually follow it downstream, hoping it will feed a lake. Makes it easier to track them and go in for the kill. Now, here is what we will do: I will chase after that herd over there, you and Ro'ken head towards the Misan Strait. When the herd is corralled into the strait, he will give chase while you and our guest stay back so you don't get trampled to death.”

Eventually they came upon a path leading down to The Fractured Meadows. It twisted back and forth along the cliff side, stone markers with Falian writing indicated directions. There were several small cairns erected out of stone, marking the path. The grade was steep enough to descend several hundred feet with each turn, yet the landriders navigated it with ease.

“–course it can be dangerous,” he said, “do they teach you why nobody builds homes in The Fractured Meadows? Kelta are village destroyers, especially if the village is anywhere near a river.”

“Why aren’t we asked to control the population?” Tuls asked, scratching his chin.

“Don’t need to. They do it themselves.” Clayde withdrew a canteen of water from his belt and took a long drink. He wiped his snout before continuing, “Every cycle or so, their population reaches a point where any spooked herd will cause a cascade. If you...” He scanned the meadows for a moment. “Well, you cannot see it now. But there is a conduit over there that'll shoot a beam of light into the sky. If this happens, any hapless fool who happens to be traveling the meadows will know to take cover. They have several of these markers all over the region. When this great cascade happens, it spreads across the entire span. And all these kelta rush towards the biggest rivers, one of which happens to be the Misan Strait. And...” Clayde began to crack up, “since the Misan Strait eventually drops off into the Goraiah Interstice, they end up killing themselves! They just run right off the edge, the dumb bastards. They court the night carrier.”

Vincent wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. He was still thinking about Xalix and his grandchildren. None of them were real, they were figments of a sleeping mind. They did not exist. But then he thought about the car crash, the deer, the presence which had been stalking him for weeks. He thought about Earth, about reality and wondered if any of his relatives came to stand by his bedside while he dreamt up this lunacy.

None of them knew that this dream was dragging him along, pulling him into the abyss of its machinations. He was dreaming of an alien world, being escorted by dragons, creatures of fiction.

“Well,” Clayde said, “we better waste no more time. The sun will not wait for us.”