The Blacktide

The Blacktide

by Lee Clark Zumpe

Lee Clark Zumpe, an entertainment editor and movie reviewer with Tampa Bay Newspapers, earned his degree in English at the University of South Florida. His poetry and fiction has appeared various publications, such as Tiferet, Zillah, Weird Tales, Modern Drunkard Magazine, and Main Street Rag. Lee lives in Florida with his wife and daughter.

More TTTV Stories by Lee Clark Zumpe

1.

To the south once lay the lands of Ichswok; to the west were the scattered villages of Nuuksahg; and to the east along the coast could be found the pirate’s den called Burharuen. A single day’s travel could bring a man fleet of foot to the edge of the Darkhaven Wood where, standing tall and staining his eyes, he could glimpse the distant black walls of Irich and see its brightly-colored banners flapping in the breeze.

The merchant roads which crossed these countries were, in those days, not lonely beneath the azure cloudless skies. Carriages and caravans streamed along, over the flowing fields of emerald green, across vast prairies and through gentle forests. Knights and noblemen and tradesmen alike did come and go. In the villages beside the path they drank ale and drained bowls of stewed meat. They stayed long enough to capture a fare night’s rest in the comfortable, warm beds of friendly hostels.

In those times, the country was serene and its people were happy. Crops yielded bountiful harvests, winters were mild and of plague not a word was mentioned. Soldierly conflicts were few, but when the war-drums did sound our courageous legions could always be called upon to win the day.

This is how it once was, until something went amiss.

I am Wahldere the toymaker. Until shortly ago I lived and worked my craft in the village of Nayer. Nayer rests in the province of Regnaw which lies in the southern marches of the kingdom of Yechnia. From my village it is several days’ march to the King’s Castle at Goirgoth.

Regnaw is a quaint place of rolling green fields and thinly-wooded vales, and of highland farms nestled in coves with split-rail fences and modest cabins. The country-folk there are the kindest in all the land. It was with the deepest regret that I did, many nights ago, depart my beloved Nayer.

It was three nights passed when my eldest brother — his name being Wahlgrith — arrived upon my door step. It was then that I learned of the curse that had befallen all the lands — though by that time doom had already engulfed more than a quarter of the known world.

Long after I had crawled into my bed and pulled the fur spread up to my chin Wahlgrith came staggering up to my cottage door. His unanticipated arrival both pleased and alarmed me: I had been told he had accepted a special commission from the King and that he was far away from his home.

“Wahldere,” my brother said, his breath coming in gasps, “I have much to impart to you, and we have so very little time.”

“Wahlgrith!” I cried, lending an arm for support. My poor brother was so utterly exhausted that he could scarcely stand. I dragged him in and sat him in a comfortable chair next to the hearth. Darkly red glowed the embers from the fire I had lit at supper-time.

“I must speak to you…” he said as I handed him a pint of ale. He blundered over his words.

“You must catch your breath before all else!”

“NO!” he barked, pitching the mug to the floor. Startled, I then recognized the fear that possessed him. That fear made my brother’s voice sharp as a dagger’s edge, and I sank back and offered up my complete attention. “Listen to me Wahldere: Make yourself ready. You must leave this place at once! The Blacktide swiftly approaches, and I dare say that this place shall never see the dawn again.”

With that revelation my brother sputtered up the most frightful tale that ever has fallen upon these ears. The lands had been beset by a sorcerous plague of pitch…everything was being devoured by a spreading blackness which was without light and breath and life. This creeping, dusky doom he called the Blacktide, for it swept over the coast and inland from a mist-laden sea.

It swallowed plants and animals and men alike. It lapped at the threasholds of cottages and seeped through cracks in the walls until nothing remained. It dined upon the villages and drank up the forests.

Wahlgrith had watched helplessly as men had dared charge the Blacktide, watched as they rode headfirst into the wall of gloom never to return. He feared what lurked within that benighted ravenous fog, and he feared that nothing could be done to impede its mindless advance upon civilization.

In the wee hours of the night, by the crimson glow of the burning embers in my hearth, tearfully my brother confessed to me the irresistible dread which overcame him at the sight of this horror. Never before had he fled from any foe. Now, said he, he knew the shame of the coward. Feeling his sorrow and his fear, I spoke to calm his soul, but my words of sympathy and reassurance could not lift the self-imposed burden of remorse that made his heart ache.

My poor brother silenced me once more, for there was more to his tale: During his retreat he chanced upon another scout sent out from the King’s Castle at Goirgoth. He was a wise and seasoned veteran of the King’s Army. Unlike young Wahlgrith, he had the ears of many in the castle. From the whispers that found him in Goirgoth, he knew more of their enemy than any other soldier. Said he, this foe that is the Blacktide came not from without, but from within. The creeping black terror had been unwittingly summoned, said the senior warrior, by members of the King’s own employ.

“Word must reach the king: If there is any way to stem the advance of this doom, only those at Goirgoth know of it!” Wahlgrith paused, and I saw a sudden spark of despair darken his face. “You must go to his castle, brother; if for nothing else than to tell the woman I love that she will be in my heart always.”

“Who is she?” I asked, for I knew nothing of my brother’s affairs in Goirgoth. “What is your love’s name?”

“She will find you,” he said solemnly.

Wahlgrith’s journey was at its end. He hadn’t the strength nor the will to carry himself a footstep further. Once his tale was told, once he knew I would carry on to Goirgoth, he simply laid down and awaited the endless, dreamless slumber which awaited within the belly of the Blacktide.

“Be on your way, brother; and, may your feet carry you with speed.” Once said, my brother sank back into the cozy armchair and slumped over, and the expression on his face grew dull and lifeless as quick as the flame of a candle doused between two fingers. Light returned to his eyes for a moment, and he pointed toward a sack on the floor by the door. “In my satchel find a piece of folded parchment. Upon in it is the seal of the king. Take it and be gone, my brother.”

And so I, a simple toymaker, left the company of my weary brother and began my journey to the King’s Castle at Goirgoth in hopes that I could locate the authors of this plague of darkness.

2.

As the culmination of my journey drew near, I could see on the peaks of the gray-stone towers of Goirgoth the bright flags flying on the breeze. Somewhere behind me, I knew not where, the Blacktide continued to devour everything that it touched.

Alas, I knew not whether either my home or my precious village yet stood.

As I approached my destination, I was far from alone on the road. Since the evening passed, a crowd of fellow pilgrims had appeared alongside me. Fear held them tightly in its grasp. Their faces were grim and seldom did they speak. Word had swept across the land before the plague: They heard news of the coming Blacktide. From their king, they now sought explanations and protection. I did not know whether he would have either to offer.

Like yellow-winged ro’an birds taking flight at the approach of a stalking cat, we refugees scurried madly from the advancing doom. We raced across those valleys and sped over the foothills in hopes that we would find some island whereupon we could rest secure.

Outside Goirgoth there was a sense of madness and despair. The gates to the King’s Castle were sealed and the peasants that had gathered without were unable to gain entrance. Throngs of fearful, crying country-folk flocked to this place, only to be turned away.

I struggled through the angry mob, for my determination to reach the gate was strong. More than fear that drove me: I vowed to my brother that I would complete his journey. As I pushed and shoved my way toward the outer gatehouse, I heard men preaching on the subjects of doom and repentance while others tried to breed fire from fear. They argued that the peasants should take up arms and attack the castle before the Blacktide swept down upon them all.

When I reached the gate, a guard glared down upon me through a small round opening lined with thick bars. Something about his eyes told me he, too, was anxious. He, too, knew the end was near.

“What business have you at the castle, peasant?” he growled.

“I’ve come in place of my brother,” I said, tripping on my tongue. “He was on assignment for the king, and came up against the Blacktide.”

“And where is he now?”

“He is,” I began, remembering how poor Wahlgrith looked when I left him. “When last I looked upon his face, he was at my home in Nayer. But I fear Nayer is no more.”

“I am sorry, but I cannot open the gate…” he started. I suddenly recalled the parchment given to me by my brother, and reached into my pocket to retrieve it. Upon seeing the seal of the king, the guard’s eyes grew wide. He rubbed his forehead with pudgy fingers, then disappeared.

A few minutes later I was being led down a gravel path through the outer ward of the castle. Four armored guards joined us as we passed through the inner gatehouse. Across the vast inner ward we marched, toward the great hall where I was told I would meet the king himself.

As we walked over the green grass, I noticed the sky above had developed a strange and ominous color. Though it was still blue and the sun still shone brightly, it seemed much darker and more distant than ever before. Clouds of unnatural formation swirled endlessly above us.

I kept my apprehension to myself, but I was still relieved when we left that sky behind for the safety of the great hall.

Inside, I was at once awe-struck by all around me. Great tapestries adorned the gray-stone walls. Suits of armor ran the length of the hall, and weapons were affixed to the walls behind them. Tables ringed the room.

At the far end, seated upon a great wooden throne and wearing a golden crown, was the king. He was much older than I had believed him to be. He motioned to me, beckoning me forward.

“You are the toymaker: Wahlgrith’s brother.” he declared suddenly. “Wahlgrith has told us much about you.”

“About me?” I asked, somewhat puzzled.

“Yes…he often brought to my court toys of your devising. The queen’s child does enjoy your wares.”

One of my escorts pushed me further into the room, then leaned heavily upon my shoulder indicating it was time for me to kneel. I did so, bowing my head and awaiting the king’s acknowledgment.

“Please: Rise! We need not waste our time with such foolish old customs.” The king stood and descended a set of steps. “Where is your brother, my friend?”

“I am afraid he no longer lives, your majesty. The Blacktide has surely flooded my modest village by this time.”

“That…is a pity,” the king said. His words might have been sincere, but it seemed that something in his expression revealed a curious lack of compassion. I tried my best to dismiss the notion from my mind as he continued: “Wahlgrith was a brave young man — and bright, too.”

“Aye,” said another voice which rang out from a cluster shadows nestled in the far reaches of the chamber. I watched as four figures in dark robes filed stiffly into the room. Their faces were concealed by their drawn hoods, and their arms were folded neatly across their chests. They paraded quietly by the king’s throne and down the set of steps, and finally came to rest at the king’s side. “Wahlgrith was gifted…as is his brother.”

“Your words are kind, gentlemen.” I said, bowing to them all, “But I have come here for a reason — the Blacktide comes, drawing up quickly toward this place. All will surely perish if it cannot be stopped.”

“And do you know of a way to stop it, Wahldere?”

“Sadly, no. But I can tell you what my brother told me: The Blacktide was summoned by someone here at Goirgoth…and if that is true, we must find that person and see that this scourge is lifted before nothing remains.”

The king frowned and sighed, and his bearded head drooped a little toward the floor. He turned, starting back toward his throne. The four robed figures formed a circle and muttered under their breaths.

“Wahldere,” the king said as he sank down onto his throne, “These four men are my advisors on all things scientific — nature, weather, medicine and magic. They are wise beyond their time, and I have the utmost faith in their word.

“Your brother once came to me with a toy of yours — a little trinket for my son. It was a ball, carved from wood and polished fine. Upon its surface, you had painted a detailed map of the known world. It very much impressed me — so much so that I offered it to my advisors for study.

“They, too, were dumbfounded. They mused over that toy for countless days and nights, knowing that it suggested a secret that had never before been revealed to mankind. After much discussion and debate, endless speculation and theorizing, that toy led them to the realization that the world is not flat, as we had previously perceived it to be, but round…like your toy ball.

“Ever since the day that these four men came to that momentous realization, the Blacktide has swept across the lands mercilessly. The world is reshaping itself to fit our perception of it, and as it does so everything upon its face is swept up into the ravenous darkness within which our world spins.”

“But…can’t you just tell your advisors to change their minds — to say it was all a mistake? Would that not end this madness?”

“I am sorry to say that these men are quite stubborn. They would never admit that one of their declarations was made in error.”

“What shall we do?” I looked at the king and his advisors with raging eyes. That delirious fear I had seen in my brother…in the peasants outside…now was upon me. I was frantic. I could not believe that the king would allow such a fate to befall his country. And that I had played an unwitting role in this tragedy! I raced up the steps and shook the king by his withered old shoulders. “We cannot just sit back and wait for the end! We must do something!”

“You’ve nothing to fear, Wahldere.” the king said, and he smiled the strangest smile. “True — it is sorrowful that my kingdom will perish…but we here at Goirgoth shall survive. You see, my advisors tell me that Goirgoth is the center of the world — and that therefore, the Blacktide shall rise no further than the outer walls of this place. When it has subsided, we will have a new world to explore!”

I shrank back from him then. The king was mad. In his desperation, he had convinced himself that the coming of the Blacktide was a boon both to he and the nobles. All foes would be swept away and a new empire could be forged by the few survivors within these walls. All roads of this new world would begin and end at Goirgoth. Though my anger now equaled my fear in intensity, I could find no words worthy of portraying my fury.

Even as my frustration reddened my face, a young women stepped through a doorway from an adjoining chamber. She walked slowly and gracefully across the marble floor, trailing behind the train of her elegant gown.

The queen stopped when she reached my side.

“What of the peasants, my Lord?” She appeared young and delicate, but her demeanor spoke of authority. The queen was far more lovely than any tale could have illustrated her, her beauty more radiant than any painter’s brush could depict. I bowed my head solemnly as she addressed her husband, the king. “Do you intend to let those outside the walls suffer the same fate as your foes?”

“My love,” answered the king in a soothing tone, “They are but commoners! The new world shall be peopled with men and women of higher learning and of refined breeding. We have room here only for the scholars, the clergy, the well-bred and the gifted artisans such as the toymaker here.” With that, the king gestured to me.

“The toymaker?” she said as she turned to me. “You are Wahlgrith’s brother?”

“Aye.” I responded.

3.

The queen could do nothing to rouse the king from his delusions. He and his advisors welcomed the Blacktide and eagerly awaited the dawn of a new world. Those whom his majesty had hand-picked would be at his side as he set about conquering the lands. He could build a new kingdom, and no enemies would stand against him. And so it was that there within the walls of Goirgoth, the king’s friends, his consul, his priests and his favorite officers all flocked to his side.

I could not bear to witness the scene in the Great Hall a moment longer, and I took my leave.

Outside, a wicked gale tossed leaves and shredded the banners of the king upon their masts. The sky was pitching and ominous, and directly above a great vortex spun madly. Carried by the wind were the screams of peasants outside the castle walls. Hearing their last desperate calls for liberation, I knew that Blacktide was almost upon us.

I raced up the stone steps of a nearby watchtower and upon reaching the ramparts I gazed out over the wall. On the horizon I saw the most horrible sight. It was a vision that made my flesh tingle with dread, my bones shudder with fear. A vast, unbroken wall of darkness approached steadily, mindlessly, without hope of mercy or bias. Trees slipped into the surging tide, buildings disappeared behind its dark veil. The refugees scurrying over the countryside toward the castle were gradually engulfed within the surging flood.

I wept as I stood there on that tower, as I watched the land being swept away and replaced by a hideous and barren void. I wept for my village, my kinfolk and friends. I wept because I could do nothing to put an end to this cataclysm.

“I am sorry…” The queen had joined me on the tower, and I felt her hand close gently around my own. Her long black hair was tossed by the rushing wind. At her side was her young son, the prince. “I believe the king could have averted this; and if not, than he should have done something to save those poor folk down there.”

Below us, the peasants no longer sought entrance to Goirgoth. Their screams had faded, their tears had ebbed. They had resigned themselves to their fate, and now they quietly awaited their doom in the Blacktide. A few knelt in prayer. I wondered what gods I would call upon when my time was at hand.

My weeping, too, had subsided, but at once I recalled the other promise I made to my brother. A fresh tear swept down my cheek when I realized I had never found the time to seek out his love and deliver his message.

The queen say the tear and raised a hand to wipe it away.

“You weep for them?” she asked, looking down at the peasants.

“I cry now for Wahlgrith, who succumb to the Blacktide without seeing his love again. He asked me to tell her of his affection, but I do not even know her name.”

The queen smiled, a somber and tragic look came over her face.

“Wahlgrith was my love,” she said in a whisper. “This is his son.”

I looked down upon my nephew and he smiled at me. He was far too young to understand the events unfolding before him. In one of his hands, he held the toy ball I had crafted — the very one that had set into motion the chain of events that had led to this sad end. In a flash of anger I snatched the ball away from the child and hurled it toward the Blacktide.

“You are the cause of all this!” I cried as the ball sailed through the air. I am not sure whether I blamed my innocent toy, the men who had assigned to it such unnecessary importance, or myself. Quickly the thing reached the crest of its arc and began to plummet toward the ground just short of the all-consuming wall of pitch.

Before it could reach the dirt, it had been swallowed by the Blacktide.

The queen had picked up her child and now cradled him in her arms. Tears streaked down his cheeks at the loss of his favorite toy. Looking at the sobbing child, I felt like a fool for taking my frustration out on his prized possession.

As the boy’s tears subsided, I heard a curious sound: It was a faint but distinct THUD, and it drew my eyes back to the path that the falling ball had taken.

My eyes grew wide and I grasped the queen’s arm so abruptly that she shook in surprise.

“Do you wish to see Wahlgrith again?” I asked.

“Of course, I…” The queen perhaps thought me mad in that moment, and it was clear she did not know how else to answer.

“Do you trust me?” I demanded.

“Yes,” she said firmly, and all doubt washed from those pretty eyes. “But why?”

“The king’s advisors are wrong, and it is only now that I can see that!” I glanced down over the ledge and began to pull myself up on the tiny wall atop the tower. Directly below lay the murky waters of the moat which encircled Goirgoth Castle. “They believe that everything is falling off the face of the world as it reconstructs itself to fit our conception of it — but that is not so! The world, and its surface, remain fixed as our old reality peels away from it. The only thing that shall remain within that dying reality is its heart — which is this very castle, for it is perceived to be the center of that old, flat world.”

The Blacktide was now only instants away from the castle walls.

“If you are right,” the queen said, “Then this castle will be adrift on a sea of nothingness…”

“That is why,” I said, putting my arm around the queen’s waist and pulling her up to my side atop the wall, “We cannot stay!”

The queen and her son joined me in a desperate scream as we leaped from the summit of the watchtower and plummeted through the air. Within seconds, we slipped into the cold and silent folds of the Blacktide. I closed my eyes, and I prayed my theory was correct.

We plunged into the frigid, dark waters of the moat after what seemed like an eternity. Our momentum carried us far beneath the surface of the water, and I was suddenly afraid that either the queen or the child might drown.

I gasped for air as I broke the surface, and I began looking for the queen at once. Much to my horror, I found myself wrestling against a strong current that was spinning and dragging me against my will. The queen somehow found me in the rush of water, and her arms wrapped around me. I could hear her son crying and knew then that we were all together.

We managed through luck to stay afloat in the raging waters until the last of the moat had receded from beneath us. We were left panting on the muddy bed of the canal.

“By the gods!” the queen cried.

I followed her gaze. Where Goirgoth had stood only moments ago was now a great scar in the land. The water from the moat had flowed to the bottom of a deep crater at its center. We all marveled at that sight as we lay there, motionless, trying to summon up the strength and the courage to claw our way up the embankment and out of the dry moat.

A little while later we were on the road to my beloved Nayer. I looked forward to seeing my brother’s face when I returned home with the queen and his son at my side.