Male and female figures occupy the rooms … rooms which remind me of the cells the Silverbacks are trapped in at the foot of the mountains. Drandok isn’t a prison but it isn’t a holiday camp either, making me wonder who would choose such an existence.
A female figure steps behind a curtain hanging in her colourful space. As she does, I see the glimmer of glass on the other side … glass that forms the wall looking out over the mountains. It’s not just any window, though, it’s an illustrated window — every pane presenting the viewer with a vision of a particular Society location.
The woman places her hand on the pane in the top right-hand corner, running her fingers along the outline of a realm I don’t recognise. With our Williynx fluttering nearby, maintaining their minuscule forms, our tour of the silent sanctuary continues.
“What’s she doing?” Noah asks, glancing at his rumbling belly.
“Looks like she’s remembering something,” Lucy replies, “or someone.”
“Stalking someone, you mean,” Noah adds, apologising when he accidentally steps on Orgev’s foot.
The Domitus might be extending their hospitality but it’s a forced gesture, not forgetting we’ve barged into their home, implying certain things about their rituals.
“Eiola was once a Night Ranger like yourself,” Orgev explains, nodding to the comrade closest to him to add some well-needed illumination to proceedings. The comrade presses the palms of his hands against the mountain walls, causing a string of light to appear.
The light runs from his hand along the wall ... a line of light which stretches into a web of illumination, decorating the inner sanctum of Drandok with a softer tone. The soft light glowing on the walls makes me reconsider the silence here, the realisation forming that we’re in the presence of trauma, not danger.
“She looks lost,” Conrad whispers to me, picking up on what I sense: that Drandok is a realm where the traumatised arrive to tame their inner demons.
This leads me to a second thought … that the taming of the Silverbacks is a test of the Domitus, assessing whether their grief has the potential to morph into venom.
“Drandok can be described as a place for the lost,” states the oldest of the bearded soldiers, broad but without the excessive muscle of his comrades. He’s striking to look at — the hollow cheeks accentuating grey eyes that seem to look beyond you.
“Like Sad Souls,” Lucy says, raising a hand to a young man sat cross-legged to our left.
His cell is decorated with drawings of infamous Society creatures — enemies that still haunt him, maybe.
“In some ways,” replies the older figure, “although Sad Souls is for the fallen whereas Drandok caters to the brave.”
“Why do they come here?” I ask, feeling guilty that I judged this silent group too soon.
“To mend significant wounds: psychological rather than physical.”
“Shell shock, you mean?” Noah asks, moving a little easier through the strange hotel for troubled legends.”
“Yes,” Orgev replies, running his hand along a string of lights illuminating our way. “Trauma that can’t easily be shaken.”
“Is it why you don’t smile that much?” Conrad asks as his intense gaze softens.
We’ve misjudged Drandok, it seems, and the people who live here. I still want to know more about Odin and Neve Blin, though, and why they sought us out in Poridian Parlour. Maybe they’re as traumatised as everyone else here, sitting in the small spaces they call home, studying the illustrations on the windows that provide memories of better times. There’s still the use of the curses to be explained, something that still doesn’t feel right, so I ask the question.
“So, just so I understand, traumatised soldiers choose to come to Drandok?”
Orgev nods, offering handshakes to the inhabitants who are confident enough to step out onto the walkway. “Yes, Guppy. There is no dishonour in suffering the consequences of war, something the Society has worked very hard to ensure. In the past, soldiers were left to fight on or return to less dangerous pursuits in faculties and peaceful realms.
The issue with this, of course, was that we left damaged witches and wizards to roam with their ghosts, haunted by visions they couldn’t escape. The most damaged became dangerous, eventually rising to pose our greatest threat.”
“Erent Koll,” I mutter, remembering the evil energy of the man we finally defeated in The Saralin Sands.
“Indeed, Guppy — Erent Koll and his kind. The Society has learnt many things since the last war, including distinguishing between the damaged and the damned.”
“The damned?” Lucy asks, shaking the hand of the tall lady who nods as we pass, whispering indecipherable words.
“Those who become bitter,” Orgev explains. “Angry at the price they’ve paid, marked for life in various ways. I can see you’re troubled by our use of curses on the Silverbacks.”
“It seems unnecessary,” Conrad adds as sunlight falls onto the illustrated windows to our right, offering further illumination on our tour. “I know we jumped to conclusions; I shouldn’t have assumed wrongdoing.”
“It’s an easy assumption to make, young Conrad,” the eldest of our bearded guides replies, offering a reassuring smile. “The Society spent years tracking and punishing those engaging in dark magic; it’s only natural that you’d be suspicious of our practices.”
“So, why do you use curses on the Silverbacks?” Lucy asks, taking in the surroundings which suggest calm, not malice.
“To make the critical distinction,” Orgev explains, “between the damaged and the damned.”
“So, the curse tests soldiers who have gone bad?” Noah prompts.
“Precisely, Noah. The one thing to test a person’s hidden motives is power. Gorrah — dark magic — feeds off resentment and bitterness, turning such feelings into malevolent thoughts.”
“So, the curse is more for the soldiers who arrive here,” I add, realising how wrong we’ve been about Drandok, “testing their intentions.”
“Correct.”
“And the ones who don’t pass the test?” Conrad asks, already sensing the answer.
“Those with malice in their souls become unpredictable until they make a mistake, leading to the obvious outcome.”
The Velynx, I think, imagining
