The Last White Mage

Sharp rays of light scattered across the billowing white clouds in the afternoon sky. The stark contrast between the horizon and sky would almost suggest two different realities coexisting simultaneously. Whirls of sand skittered and danced across the barren red, rocky landscape only to be interrupted from their graceful flow by random shards of metal and debris piercing out of the ground as if angrily scratching at the heavens.

The threat that would lead to mankind’s demise was always assumed to be some foreseeable external force, looming in the backdrop as father time’s pendulum swung towards our doom. Wars, famine, pestilence, shifting climates to depleted natural resources were always a persistent rhythm of calamity beating in the background threatening to extinguish humanity's fragile existence. What came to be though, was a creeping and cunning unseen force.

Cadence pulled herself up onto the top of the cliff. Dusting her cloak off, she gazed across the ruined landscape and the half dilapidated building glistened in the distance. Sunlight danced across her hazel lights, as they were damp with bridled tears of joy. Her travels were almost over after all these years of searching. It had been three generations since the fall of humanity. The Last Wiseman had given her directions to this point. The harsh, desiccated air scraped down her throat as she caught her breath. Somehow, the landscape spoke out to her in familiar, subtle tones tickling the deepest recesses of her mind. Like a shadow of movement, you see out of the corner of your eye, only to turn and find nothing there. She couldn’t recall being here, yet...

There were supposed to be answers here to the current plight of the world. She clambered onward across the shifting sands and soil as the great half-dome of the building stretched upwards as she grew closer. The sheer size of the ruined cathedral overwhelmed her. There were said to be gods, deities, and other beings that would shower favor and blessings upon their faithful servants in those old days. It would seem those days had faded as with all things do in time.

The shadows began to stretch out across the valley. The afternoon sun was now yawning into the evening, casting the sky into a similar hue as the land with brilliant shades of orange and red kissing the canvas sky. She had to hurry before dusk set in, for it was the night that gave birth to the terrors and Those Who Had Been as they were called.

The last beams of daylight skimmed the top of the dome as she entered this forgotten sacred space. The dark patches far behind her began to shift and seethe, coming to life as howls and screeches rang out sharp against the arid valley.

The entrance stood ominous, guarded by old marble statues of winged men with flowing locks of hair, heads bowed, hands gently clasped upon the pommel of their swords which pointed between their feet. There was a hum to the air as a vibe of energy still clung to the atmosphere. Why this felt so familiar to her, she still wasn’t sure. Her childhood seemed so distant and murky to her as long as she could recall and yet she felt some kind of upwelling surge in her. Quickly gliding down the aisle towards a giant statue of a robed woman, wearing sandals head tilted to the side and outstretched hands with palms outwards as if she was ready to embrace any who came to her.

At the foot of the statue there rested an old, rickety wooden chest that was said to hold the last hope of humanity. She heard the shouts and howls of the darkness as day gave way to night’s time of rule. She heaved the chest open to find a small book lightly resting on folded garments and blankets. Could this be it? The answer to curing humanity?

As she opened the book, a palm-sized, heart-shaped silver locket clattered on the broken stone floor. Returning her gaze to the book while bending to scoop up the locket, she felt shocked as she recognized the handwritten words of what appeared to be a young woman’s diary. As her eyes scanned the pages, looking for answers she so desperately needed, the words blazed forth on the pages as they embraced her soul. She had found it.

The diary had contained the story of a wayward nun, who had hidden with her sisters in this lost, holy monastery. The nun became pregnant out of a passionate night with the wisest and kindest priest she had ever known. They were the hidden remnant of hope in this rapidly deteriorating world. In his shame for giving in to his carnal desires, it was said he treaded into the darkness of night, letting the Ones Who Had Been devour him for he had felt such anguish in his soul for violating his sacred oath. The woman would go on to raise her daughter in this quarantined valley. Despite living in a chaotic, hateful, perverse world, there was the little girl that offered her so much delight, hope, and joy.

Cadence flung open the locket to find a picture on one side of whom she would find to be the priest, the nun, and her own young, hazel eyes staring back at her from the picture and the mirror on the other side. The back of the locket had the words etched into it: “To my daughter, my delight and joy, the rhythm of my soul. My Lovely Cadence”

Night clamped down on the domed building as Cadence finished the remaining passages. No, the threat had never been external, not in the least for humanity. Our demise would arise within when love gave way to hate. Her vision blurred as she closed the book, huge teardrops cascading on the leather-bound book splashing micro plumes of dust into the air. The howls intensified and now utter blackness shrouded the entire valley. Velvet night reached out and its sick, sticky breath splashed across the back of her neck and she didn’t care. She now knew the answer. One word that could cure this disease and destruction ravaging the land: Love. The building began to pulse and hum as the vibe in the air became palpable, almost tangible if she were to stretch out her hand just grasp it. She uttered that sacred four-letter word and a blaze sprung forth as if a sword of flames shot out of her mouth and slain the permeating darkness all around her. The last white mage has been born.