Shireen, the tallest mountain in the world covered in thick ice, mysterious with hundreds of caves, and home to a multitude of unusual species—this mountain sings when it is time for a new beginning. The world is emerging into something. Empires are rising. New tools are falling into the wrong hands. Once again, Shireen becomes a point of fascination, if not obsession by monarchs.
People have forgotten what happened a thousand years ago; they don't know this place was marked as forbidden by their ancestors. They're drawn to it like an infant to her mother's chest.
For treasure hunters, Shireen is the ultimate destination. The mountain is full of lore. In pubs throughout the world, people tell tales of hidden bounties, unusual ghosts, mesmerizing natural phenomenon, and exhilarating peril. Each cave a wonder in and of itself.
Few dare to trek through the tough trails of Shireen. Only a handful have reached the peak. The gigantic mountain rests on the Solitary Island in the Southwestern Sea. The closest continent to it is Prü, which is home to three different rivaling nations and a panoply of landscapes. At the southern tip of the continent is the kingdom of Quetzal. King Henril the IX of Quetzal is interested in the mineral deposits of Shireen and is willing to do anything to increase his stockpile.
Quetzal soldiers go there on missions to harvest the minerals. Many have died while searching through the rough terrain for the blue materials.
And so, this is where the story begins.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————-
Waves crashed violently. Thick gray fog concealed the stars. The Parian Red sailed toward the Solitary Island. A young soldier, Edmonson, paced back and forth on the deck. He's wrapped tightly in a fur coat and plaid scarf.
Edmonson yelled up to the night sky: "I am so itchy! Could someone please rid me of this annoying malaise?" He squat down, removed his gloves, and scratched his hands like a fiend. He nibbled on his fingers, hoping for relief. The soldiers on the upper deck laughed loudly at him. One of the guards shouted at him, "Not used to the cold, dry air, eh? Didn't your mother warn you to drink lots of water and use lotion voraciously? You've got the sailor's scratchy curse, mate!" The soldiers laughed in unison.
Edmonson lifted his hand and flashed a rude gesture. They laughed again. He puts his gloves back on and pulled in his clothes tighter. He mumbled quietly to himself, "Whatever."
In a fit of rage, hypothermia, and acute seasickness, Edmonson stomped away. He was half crazed from the harsh weather conditions, and half hungry after passing on the staple dinner of stinky fish, salty water, and seaweed. His stomach couldn't handle the meager meals anymore. This was his first expedition to the Solitary Island. He joined the Quetzal Army to earn a paycheck. He would have joined any military for a paycheck.
The scrawny, tawny haired soldier went downstairs to the pub where people were in a lively mood. Women in red dresses danced on a lit stage. At the bar, soldiers ordered drinks by the dozen. Sticky floors. Chairs knocked to their sides. A pianist played a wild ragtime hit.
At the very least, Quetzal Army ships were outfitted with entertainment for the soldiers. The fighters all needed to blow off steam before, during, and after service, and so to entice young men, women, and else wise, there was always a lounge for them to gather and lose their minds. Plus, the strong cider added much needed heat, and it hit the tongue with a zing that makes one forget the taste of rotten pufferfish.
Edmonson's bunkmate plopped in a chair next to him. Barlto. An extroverted blond with family connections in seemingly every city in the world. "Edmonson! Where've you been, man? You interested in a game of cards tonight? Entry fee is $5 and an embarrassing story."
Edmonson frowned. "Yeah, maybe, I don't know, probably not?"
Barlto leaned in closer. "You still upset about last time?"
Edmonson responded, "Ya'll roughed me up pretty good. Waxed my hair and skin right out of my armpit. Can't say I'd want to do that again."
Barlto laughed. "Cheaters never prosper."
Edmonson shook his head. "That's just the thing. I didn't cheat. Every one of you just came up with excuses for how I could be ahead. None of you can accept that someone might be more talented than you."
Barlto grinned. "You had five Aces."
Edmonson scowled. "It was simply luck of the draw."
Barlto banged his fists on the table in laughter. "You're the thickest person ever if you think people can't see through your awful excuses for cheating (hic)… and it somehow tickles my funny bone (hic)… it tickles everyone's funny bone (hic)… can you imagine how boring things would be if you didn't join the army? God. It would be so boring. You keep everyone on their toes with your antics, whining, and—"
Edmonson left Barlto in the middle of his hiccuped speech. He was ordering a gin and tonic at the bar. He was tapping his feet along to the music. Everyone knew he carried little tricks and gadgets on him. Edmonson had packs of playing cards with extra cards, quarters with the same image on both sides, pens with invisible ink, and a locksmith kit. He was in many ways a terrible soldier, he didn't have the strength of an ox or the obedience to follow rules, but his cunning nature thrilled the upper brass. They enlisted Edmonson, hoping the street thief would prove lucky on missions. He'd outsmart them and other times out stupid them. His moves were unpredictable.
Edmonson sat back down at the table with Barlto. "I got you chocolate milk."
Barlto was stunned. "I didn't even know they served chocolate milk here." Barlto examined the cup of what appeared to be muddy slush with seaweed and a milky essence too thick to be fresh. "I don't think I want to know what this really is." Barlto slid it toward Edmonson.
"I told you. Chocolate milk." Edmonson said with a twisted grin. "Not sure what kind of milk, I doubt it's from a cow."
"Yeah…. Pass." Barlto made a disgusted face.
The ragtime music's pace intensified. A woman in a black dress danced wildly with a man in a sleek purple suit. The lights dimmed. It was almost closing time.
Barlto tapped a finger on the table to get Edmonson's attention. "We'll be meeting in Errol's room for cards. And other points of interest. I think you'll want to be there."
"I strongly doubt that," said Edmonson.
"When you leave, go through the bathroom entrance, alright?" Barlto said with a wink. He fixed his hat and walked toward the stage, grabbed a woman's hand and led her into a dance for the last song of the night.
Edmonson took a sip of the mystery drink. "I don't know what was his problem. It's chocolate milk. Just not so much chocolate. And not so much milk."
Edmonson sat at the little round table and contemplated his surroundings. Barlto gave him enough clues that he knew something was up. He combed his fingers through his tangled hair. Looked at his reflection in a spoon. When the last song finished, and everyone moved about everywhere, Edmonson weaved around them as inconspicuously as he could. He went into the tavern bathroom, which was entirely vacant. He strolled past rolls of toilet paper strewn on the floor and used cigarettes smashed to smithereens.
He pushed open the door to the seventh stall. Swiftly locked the door. Sat on the toilet and listened for any noises, for someone hiding, or for anything unusual. After deciding the coast was clear, he lifted a large tile from the floor and went down a secret hatch. Slowly he stepped down the ladder until he found himself in a narrow passageway. Circular lights high on the walls glowed an emerald green. Sounds from outside the hall were muffled. Errol had many rooms on the ship. He was the oldest soldier in the unit and had explored many of the Quetzal Army ships. Often he'd camp out in forgotten rooms, and he'd have secret meetings with those he felt had similar thoughts to him.
Errol loved games, both of the card and mind. This endeared him to Edmonson whose tenacity for play was well known. And Edmonson reminded Errol a bit of his son.
The door creaked as Edmonson opened it. A table was set with maps and papers. Candles flickered. Errol stood before the table. The man was in his 50s and had enough scars that he could talk about them all night. He was not to be messed with: he had a barrel wide chest and heavily muscled arms. While moving around papers, the tank of a man whistled. Barlto was in a corner talking to a woman Edmonson couldn't see.
"Hello?" said Edmonson to the others. They looked at him.
Errol waved hello. "Close the door behind you, Edmonson, and grab a seat."
Edmonson did as he was told.
"Do you have any thoughts on the army's ambitions?" Errol inquired.
"Not sure that's a safe question." Edmonson looked around the room at the others for some guidance with their facial expressions. He received none.
Errol said, "There've been a lot of strange things happening. I'm sure you know. The search for minerals on the Solitary Island has proven cumbersome. People have vanished. Some seemed to have lost their minds after having exposure to the minerals. The army's recruiting process seems sketchy to me, the bar lower than ever. I've been with the army for 30 years, and recently I've grown suspicious that something is amiss. I don't know if they're experimenting with us or have no clue what is taking place. There is great energy focused on collecting blue minerals, that's for sure, and Quetzal is in the best position to get there ahead of other nations. The voyage ain't easy, as you can tell." He kept talking as if a load of marbles was coming out of his mouth, firing in all directions. It was messy and hard to understand for Edmonson. Why was he dumping all this info?
Errol pointed to a map of Shireen. It was a layout of the known cave systems. "I've been to Shireen three times, and the last time I got lost and stumbled into an area with unusual features. I believe if I had continued down the path it would have led to something… I'm not sure what exactly. But I'm looking for a crew. People who would be willing to abandon the Quetzal mineral mission for something else."
"That sounds risky." Edmonson shrugged.
"Yes, absolutely," said Errol. "But whether searching for minerals or exploring the site… it is all risky."
"What are the unusual features you discovered, exactly?" Edmonson leaned his chair back and put his feet on the table.
Errol sighed. "Things that would make a normal man go wild." He wiped his brow with a handkerchief. He continued: "I heard children's voices. They were singing songs in a language I've never heard. Flashes of light in different colors, dazzling colors. The sounds of beating drums. Visions of blood. I felt as if fairies were dancing down my spine. My armor felt tight. My helmet as if it were shrinking. I felt drawn to what was ahead, but I was pulled away by the company. When I came up out of the cave, 14 soldiers had died. There was a huge coverup; I was sworn to secrecy over it… but clearly I've failed that. The soldiers had ingested the minerals. Why? I don't know. But they died. Terribly. The bodies were thrown into the ocean. I've only stayed with the army to return to Shireen."
Edmonson sat the chair back down on all four legs. He sat there in silence for a long time.
"I'm sorry. I think I'm the wrong guy for this side mission," Edmonson responded. "I'm more of a happy go lucky world traveler or an easily bought mercenary. Not whatever mess you're getting into."
Errol gave a kind yet firm smile. "It's your pluckiness that's desirable. You're clever. The lack of allegiance. The natural sense for misdirection. You follow notions and hunches. Essentially, you're perfect for a wild goose chase."
Edmonson looked at Errol as though he had lost his mind. "What in the world am I getting recruited into?"
Barlto and the woman came to the table. The woman spoke: "As odd as it may seem, Errol has determined you're trustworthy enough to join us on our trek. But what's more—we decided to go on this trip because the vision he had in the mountain cave years ago was the same as a dream I've had over and over since I was a child."
As the woman came into the light , Edmonson recognized her. Even though he had never had a conversation or even a shared task together, he knew her. There was something strikingly odd about her. Taller than most women, could best anyone in hand to hand combat, thick long black hair, and a tone to her skin that was hard to put in words. It was a color between colors. With pale green eyes. She stood out among her peers. And was a legend. First class soldier, 22 years old, well educated, and had ties to the royal family of Quetzal. A great deal about her was an enigma.
"I imagine you've heard a great deal about me, my name is Aflana," she said.
"Yeah… I don't ever want to be on the wrong side of you," said Edmonson.
A great distance from there, a clock tower's bells chimed, signaling it was noon. Seagulls in formation flew over the beach. A girl stood in the shore. Waves crashed all around her. The pendant around her neck glowed a vibrant blue. She held it in her hand and whispered to herself, "It's coming. It has many arms."