Lords of the East - Library

[Quirl]

Ghosts from the Sea

The black sea stood as still and quiet as the night air itself. The only noises came from the wildlife. Crickets played their usual instruments, but there was a certain discord in the way they played them .The birds had all left the area, only a few stragglers now rushing off and cawing their frantic goodbyes. The squirrels dug deeper into the hearts of their trees; the wolves retreated farther into the darkness of their caves; and on the ebony surface of the water treaded the ghostly visages of the fog, the only movements which now shown under the silver light of the moon. But it was what wasn’t being seen that would change this night.

The stillness on the black sea’s surface began to crack and slight ripples moved across the surface of its waters. Oars pushed through the black, moving the boats of their masters across. Torches began to come through the fog; below them were men draped in shadow and smiling silver masks. But underneath these masks, underneath the armor, were not men. They had no souls like men. They had no emotion like men. They had no thought, ambition, or desire like men. They were the ghul, the disenfranchised peoples of the tribes these lands had never before heeded—an untapped power which was only now united. They were the future of these lands, come at last to claim them.

The winds began to pick up…

From the black sea they came. Like the ghosts they were so named after, no one saw them coming. I remember that day. There was no tolling of the alarm bells. There were no shouts from the messengers. No proclamations from the khan! There was only silence… then screams.

The ends of the boats fell onto the shores. The men and their horses swarmed off of them like a quiet breeze, moving across the blades of grass like merely a wind. In the midst of a moment they were on the shore, and they wasted no time in continuing uphill through the fog and to the lights of the sleeping village beyond…

I remember their faces. The smiling faces of their helmets—approaching you like about to tell you a secret, before they drove their swords through you like it was all a game. But I remember one that was there—one man whose mask did not smile. There was no merriment in the way he directed the others. There was no idle glee in the terrors he was unleashing. Only the calculatory presence of something so beyond such emotions that one might justifiably wonder if it were at all human. The others called him “Qara-Khagan,” the black khan. We called him Karakura, a demon of the night.

When the smiling men had finally broken through the gates, the city was already overrun. Men continued to crawl over the walls like rabid spiders, and those swarming through the broken gates now loomed through like a tide of insects. Those on horses began to simply charge through the city, killing everyone they could, and those on foot hacked away at the few defenders still brave enough to die standing…

And it was then that I saw her. The woman of the ghul. She moved through the mayhem as simply as a leaf might through the storm, gliding across those dying and those killing, and seeming unnoticed by both, but somehow by me. Underneath the thick hood of her cloak, it was difficult to make out her face; but I knew somehow that she had seen me.

I was hiding in my room when she approached me. Such a small boy was I then that I thought such a feeble hideaway could protect me. She extended her arm to me, her frail brittle arm like dying oak or rustic metal, and she smiled. When I looked into her eyes, I saw only glossy white there. Somewhere underneath the cataracts I saw the dim glow of her pupils, staring away from me—beyond me—to the eternal shadow that must have been her vision of the world. Yet, somehow, she had known I was there and when she extended her hand to me, I took it. It was warm, the warmest thing I had felt all through that cold winter night. They pulled me up and I felt safe. We walked through that battlefield like it was all a dream. The men around us either ignored us or didn’t see us at all. We passed through the shattered gates of my hometown and I knew then that I would never look at it again—or, at least, not with those same eyes...

…And I have not looked back! And I have not regretted that day. In those times these lands were enthralled by weakness. Now they are without such chains and are as wild and as untamed as the great Khaganate itself! No longer do we slave ourselves over the question of nation or identity. No longer do we sit in our tribes and feud over meaningless bloodlines. The only nation that exists is that of ourselves and the only blood that matters is that of which we spill.

We are servants to the Black Khan, the scowling Ghul! He has united us—made us stronger—made us something more than we could have ever been on our own. And now we only smile. Now we are Qara-Suu!

…And the little boy walked off with the witch, watching behind him as his village burned.