The Fall of the Illistarta Read online

The fall of the Illistarta

  A short story by C. David Goodall

  Copyright 2011 C. David Goodall

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  I remember the days of old, when we were one of the most notable civilisations. Our name brought an image of conquest and fear. Back then, we, the Illistarta, were an advanced culture unrivalled in might and knowledge, the envy of the world. That was before the time of catastrophe, before our arrogance had a will of its own and used the power of our alchemical magic against us.

  We believed ourselves invulnerable and for that, we had sold our souls forever. Not even the great Wyverns whom had preyed upon our people were as great a threat as our people’s shame. Now, my children, we need to survive this grave time of sorrow in the wilds.

  I leave this journal of my part of these events. I tell you this tale as a warning and a reminder of who we were and are.

  Nearly sixty five years before you would be reading this entry, this old man worked in a wondrous city and a glorious time after the Ice receded. We as a nation were known as the Illistarta, so named because of our saviour lord Illistarta Prim. We had an empire of unprecedented technology and power. As an adolescent, the man I used to to be, had been once known as Quillis Olgatin and served the city’s residents as an understudy of the Alchemical Magi. Marble brick walls of the city buildings glimmered from their polished surfaces. Cobbled streets spanning the width of four outstretched men allowed the thundering steam propelled wagons to traverse the city. Smog choked the air from the steam engines and it made the labouring beasts of old, redundant.

  The day was another Illistarta day, with the hazy light forcing its way through the clouds, the only difference being the traffic was dense. Hustle and bustle was happening because it was a day of celebration. They celebrated the day of the first steam machine being born. Banners flowed with their brilliant colours, gold thread inscriptions and symbols of the empire. A half circle and three triangles representing the sun and the moon as being two separate entities conjoined through a mystical bond of unity. Totems with long snaking Wyverns of brass fleeing this symbol were paraded along the roads. People shouted across to one another to show their devotion and appreciation of this day. “May the grace of the re-illumination day fulfil you!” “May the day be as illuminating to you as well.” Was my reply, I felt as much merriment as the rest of the population for the day carried much jubilation.

  Although many of the population celebrated in their undergarments, some still needed to carry on working during the celebration. Flowing robes of red trim around a purple body covered me, then an overlaying white tabard embroidered with the fleeing wyverns signified he was an Alchemist student. Like many of the fellow alchemists, I had to work during the celebration, for we needed to study the ways of the world magic and how to apply our technological understanding to it.

  Surviving the mobs on the street drinking alcoholic beverages, the equivalent to moonshine, I saw the grand architecture of the great Preparatory of Talarmon, Talarmon was the first to master the arts of alchemical magic. Memories flood back of wandering casually into the grounds where foundries poured the metals needed to make more of the mechanical marvels. Buildings resonated with the sound of life as lectures bled into the walkways and gardens. The lecture I needed to get to was taking place next to the foundry halls. “Late again are we?” “Hopefully not, Powder master.” Behind me was the tall and frail, yet still imposing Master Wrynn, cleaner than usual that day as he was about to be teaching the art of black powders, but he was strutting around the grounds to check where his students had vanished to.

  “Run along lad, otherwise you will be my next demonstration.” “How so?” I inquired, while that spine-tingling nerve to run was trying to overtake my senses. “Well you maybe my next live demonstration vict... ahem I meant subject.” It was so clinical a tone, there were rumours back then that certain students did need the physicians after demonstrations were made and decided it may be better to go to my studies.

  Scurrying away from the sinister Wrynn, I managed to enter my chosen class of profession. Alchemical and Anatomical studies of the body, in a more sensible term I was training to become a Physician. Master physician Pol studied me as I joined the few who wished to understand the living person’s body. “Don’t worry Olgatin, the sun sets when we start the lecture. We have at least two more students yet to arrive.”

  In the lecture hall were rows of stone steps arcing around a slab for a table. Upon said table lay a body facing down, skin peeled back to reveal the red matter and vertebrae which built the spinal column. Pol spoke, with clarity and boom. “Today we shall be studying this element of the body. Do any of you know why this pillar is needed? What function are we aware of that it performs?”

  “Support for the mind?” was the reply given sheepishly by a student in front of me. “Anyone else?” then coming to the fore of the class, I spoke “It doesn’t just support us, it protects the flow of the spirit.” “Well done, even for a late comer.” Once I could see the column clearer, my own body rebelled at the sight and he collapsed.

  I curse that day, the day I fell after seeing the central pipe for the soul. Out of my innocence and naivety produced the horrors that drove us here, but my accident was later capitalised upon by the greedy and fearful.

  Pol overlooked me in that manner of annoyance. “Pick yourself up, or do you want to be next times’ main lecture study?” “No, master.” Had been my sheepish reply. That had been twice now he was threatening me to become the central focus of two angry tutors’ next lectures. The only difference between them had been reputation. “Well stop dawdling Olgatin and get up.”

  Fear picked me up, as I knew Pol was not joking. The man never joked about these things; I remember seeing one of my former class mates splayed out ready to be cut open for demonstration.

  Again, I struggled with my natural reaction to faint, but the other students were standing and studying the event on the table. Pol scanned the spirit column, even running his fingers over the wet, sticky bone. He was feeling for something, something those eyes of his were intent on finding. Pol then reached for a needle like device, he angled it into a gap in the column’s defences and rushed to collect a vial. A fluid leaked from the device but Pol waited until what he was looking for arrived. We students looked with amazement as the master at work patiently collected the spirit. “Now why did I wait to collect this person’s spirit?” “We seek purity, if that stuff before had been allowed the join with the spirit, it would have been impure.” “Not so Olgatin, I’m glad that you made that mistake however. The spirit will seek some way to stay to this world and if it does so, it will become an abomination. We must return this soul to the sea of stars above us, so our gods will be pleased with us honouring and remembering them.

  “Now, my understudies, you will be given the opportunity to extract the spirit essence by yourselves so that one day you can put it into practice. Whether it be in a field of war or in the mortuary, you must take the spirit out of its body and send it to the gods. Our empire has grown across many seas and it is still expanding into the world. If one of us was to displease the gods or allow a spirit the chance to stay, the consequences would befall our entire people. Theatrical rant over, now I will teach each of you the skills necessary to keep our empire strong.”

  After Pol’s pre
tutelage speech, I had managed to remove a still born babe’s soul and contained it within the vial; I remember Pol was impressed with my work and talent. He said I should carry that container with me for the time being while he was trying to get the rest of my colleagues to match my speed and efficiency. I remember that accident all too well, as I drifted into the foundries annex of the Preparatory. The short men captives were brought in to earn their freedom by teaching us their methods of steel work and metal crafting. In my naivety I thought they were the barbarians, not realising how wrong my view was.”

  The slave looked judgingly toward the young Quillis I was and then he charged at me carrying the vial. Such force from the bull rush threw the vial into the air, the slave and I both watched helplessly as the glass vial luckily bounced on the stone floor. It was lucky until it bounced into a ready to smelt pile of refined ores. Another short man unaware of the event shovelled the vial along with the ore onto the water driven carry belt. “NO!” I remember yelling, “You idiot, you