Ashkii Dighin- The Hunt for the Hypnotist Read online

  Ashkii Dighin

  The Hunt for the Hypnotist

  Adam Lynch

  Contents

  The Spirit Gatherer’s Arrival

  Kelanassa Kaliete

  Paralyzed

  The Foreshadowing

  Rolf Valentine

  The God of Seasons

  Captive

  Death

  The War of Seasons

  The Chalice of Prophecy

  Yce Glacis

  Ieronne: Watcher of the Summerian Council

  Prophecy

  Keep Going

  The Lake of Sirens

  The Mystery of Springeria

  Chiharu Fantasia: A Greater Mystery

  Pales In Comparison

  Premonition

  The Secrets Unveiled

  Missing Memories

  The Bliss of Ignorance

  The Spirit Gatherer’s Arrival

  On the morning of the seventh day following his departure, Ashkii Dighin arrived at the largest, richest, and most fortified village in the region of Autumnum. There lived the most powerful and influential clan of the Autumnan tribe: the Golden Eagle Clan. Dyami of Autumnum, the region’s tribal chief, had requested Ashkii’s presence six days ago. It was not a seven day’s journey from where Ashkii had lived, but only with the threat of losing his independence had he been motivated to heed the tribe chief’s command at all.

  Ashkii Dighin lived in solitude, isolated from all the tribe’s clans and villages, far north of Autumnum near the foothold of Winteria’s mountains. There the trees abounded and the orange, red, and yellow leaves that fell from them even more so. Dangerous game resided there—game that Ashkii had often hunted for food, clothing, and shelter. Ancient temples were in ruins and tombs, and were buried after great floods from devastating storms. Ashkii never had to travel far to the corn, bean, cotton, and pumpkin fields, or to the rivers to hunt for fish. He was self-efficient in all ways. He sheltered himself with wood and animal hides, clothed himself with leather and cotton, entertained himself with flutes and percussion, and hunted with a knife he’d made along with a bright glowing bow that he’d found in a temple long ago.

  For as far back as he could remember, he grew up alone, teaching himself everything he knew. But it was when he had started accepting contracts of clans proxy to him—for the purpose of obtaining rare writings—that he came to the tribal chief’s discovery. Traveling bards caught wind of the Spirit Gatherer’s accomplishments, singing tales of the said hunter slaying impossible beasts carrying a bright glowing bow—a bow that was later identified as the legendary Spirit Bow. This was a treasure recorded in the ancient prophetic writings.

  Ashkii stood out when he’d arrived at the village of the Golden Eagle Clan, but not only because he carried the Spirit Bow. He had black hair, brown eyes, and dark skin like the rest of his kin in Autumnum, but he’d arrived in the village on foot, instead of mounted on his Spirit Animal. Ashkii had noticed from previous adventures that every Spirit Hunter in Autumnum—such as himself—was supposed to have a Spirit Animal that they could summon at any time, depending on which clan they were born. But Ashkii didn’t have one, and he didn’t know why. It’s because of this that he received hostile glares. He paid them no mind, however; he was used to it. Only by the chief’s letter that he’d received by an eagle messenger was he was allowed passage through the village at all without disruption or interrogation. Despite this, however, no Spirit Hunter of the clan ever gave him the chance to surprise them.

  He entered a village of high fortified walls made of the region’s strongest wood, reinforced with the nearly impenetrable skin of powerful beasts. The village was rich with agriculture: beans, pumpkins, corn, and nearby rivers filled with fish—it had reminded him a lot of home. The central bonfire was richly kindled, the music lively with whistles and percussion. The area was populated with celebrators—celebrators who worshiped their Spirit Animal: the golden eagle. All clans worshiped their Spirit Animal—except Ashkii, who didn’t even know who his Spirit Animal was.

  Many longhouses were built, Chief Dyami’s longhouse being the largest. It was so mammoth in fact that from a distance it could be mistaken for a castle—that wouldn’t be a poor misrepresentation considering that Dyami was the region’s head leader.

  Spirit Hunters stood intimidatingly, keeping guard. Some had all, none, or any combination of the following: tattoos, piercings, jewelry, crests and headdresses made of beautiful golden eagle feathers, tunics made of feathers and cotton, weaved tassels hanging from their shoulder pads, large breastplates and chokers made of bone, breechcloths made of feathers and cotton, feather and cotton leggings, moccasins, leather arm and leg bands, quivers made of leather with tassels and bird feathers, and/or leather forearm guards. They carried spears—each towering an inch above their incredible heights—hunting knives made of a bull’s horn, tomahawk axes, and wooden longbows and arrows. Ashkii saw the golden eagles (their spirit animals) perched on the tops of tepees, autumn trees, and longhouses, all of them were colossal in size—it was no wonder that the clan had worshiped them.

  All of this Ashkii found interesting—as he was an enthused explorer—but there was nothing more fascinating to him than what this unusual-looking girl had made him feel when he saw her. He couldn’t find the words to describe it, but she had made him feel something that he had never remembered feeling before. Like him, she barely resembled her kin—though she wasn’t a Spirit Hunter. Dancers, bards, merchants, spies, and hybrids didn’t share the look of a pure-blooded Autumnan, but they were always accepted as pure-bloods because of their birth citizenship, or through arduous trials that they took proving their loyalty. This dancer girl had to be the latter—no way she was born here. Her hair was red like scarlet—unlike any Ashkii had ever seen in Autumnum—or read or saw in any book about the neighboring regions. Her skin glowed, a tad touch of freckles on her nose. Her body was well proportioned, her feather and cotton dancer dress was stylish and impressive. She was his same height, her eyes leveling right at his—but it hadn’t taken this to notice her most captivating feature of all: her eyes. Once Ashkii had seen them, he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t because she was so beautiful—though, she was. But there was a bright glow in them—like the sun—that had forced him from turning away. Her eyes were like magnets, pulling him in. It took an awkward amount of time before he could pull his glance from them. When freed, he realized how blinded he’d become from such a sight. He shut his eyes, shaking his head. Rubbing them, he opened them and saw her pacing toward the chief’s longhouse. Hmm, he thought. Perhaps this summoning was going to be more interesting than he had expected.

  Once inside—passing the hunters on guard—Ashkii was greeted by the chief’s shaman. Identifying the bright glowing bow over his shoulder and the chief’s letter in hand, the shaman wasted no time bringing Ashkii to him.

  In minutes, Ashkii was in the same room as the tribal chief, Dyami of Autumnum. He sat on a round golden throne, made of the finest tree bark and feathers of the golden eagle. It had armrests with carved symbols of eagle heads, the throne elevated above ground level seven steps. The chief himself had an alluring look: on his head he wore a long and beautiful headdress made of golden eagle feathers. He was tall—probably close to seven feet. He had long black hair, dark skin, piercings on his ears and face, tattoos on his arms and shoulders, scars all over his body—indicating that he was a veteran in battle—an ancient, worn-down tomahawk by his throne, and a longbow nearly as tall as him able to string seven arrows at a time. He appeared highly disciplined and fully attentive of the ceremony taking place in the room.

  A mirror of the worship jus
t outside the longhouse, there was music, dancing, costume performances, feasts, and animal sacrifices in honor of their Spirit Animal. Ashkii saw in front of him a finely carved totem of the golden eagle that they had worshiped. Passionate drumming stemmed the performances—performers who role-played the victory of Autumnum and the defeat of the other regions. Ashkii scanned the room for the mysterious girl, but when he had found her, it’d seemed that she’d found him first. Their eyes locked instantaneously, perplexity seizing his mind the moment he noticed her eyes had no longer shined as bright as the sun. He saw them clearly now—yellowish orange, almost hazel. He couldn’t understand why this was, or why she held a firm stare of interest at him.

  Once the shaman had made Dyami aware of Ashkii’s arrival, he ceased the celebration. The room was at an instant and disturbing hush. All entertainers shifted to the corners of the throne room. The Spirit Gatherer now in full view of Autumnum’s leader. The chief, intrigued by him, examined him silently. There was a long pause.

  “So,” he finally said. “This is the Spirit Gatherer.” He paused again, his face displaying curiosity. “The one said to wield the Spirit Bow—the most famous and legendary treasure in all of Seasons. You know how many have invaded my region, searching for such a weapon?” He paused a moment to let him respond—wanting him to—but Ashkii stood in silence. His expression was difficult for the chief to read. “For years, centuries even, warriors and monarchs alike have entered my region attempting to locate the Spirit Bow where countless others have failed. Ashkii Dighin is your name, correct? That means sacred child, holy child—truly a fitting name for the Spirit Gatherer, wielder of the Spirit Bow. Tell me, Ashkii Dighin. What clan are you from?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. This surprised the chief.

  “You don’t know?” He had a look of skepticism, leaning towards Ashkii and examining him carefully. “How could you not know? Explain your meaning. It should be a straightforward answer.”

  “I don’t have a straightforward answer.”

  He leaned back against his throne, a grave countenance on his face. “Why?”

  “I don’t remember,” he admitted.

  “You don’t remember? You don’t remember what? What clan you were born?”

  “If I was born into one of the Autumnan clans at all.”

  “Nonsense. You are a Spirit Hunter—my people. Every Spirit Hunter belongs to a clan here in Autumnum. Are you saying that you have no recollection of your family and home?”

  This was a matter that Ashkii had never resolved. Every time he’d thought of his past—where he had come from, what family he belonged to—it pained him. It pained him unspeakably. So he assumed it best to cast away such thoughts from his mind… and avoid the rekindling of them.

  “I asked you a question,” the chief persisted when Ashkii gave no answer. “Do you have memories of your past?”

  He looked up and saw the girl still staring at him, seemingly intrigued. Then his eyes met back with Dyami’s, his face as empty as the feelings inside him. “I do not,” he answered simply.

  The chief nodded with astounded curiosity. “I see,” he said, studying him a moment in silence. “Then see if you remember this: As I’ve mentioned before, the Spirit Bow has been a long sought-after treasure—I admit that even I have searched far and wide for it to no avail. So enlighten me, Ashkii Dighin—enlighten us all—how have you have come to find it?”

  “I found it in a ruined temple—when searching for supplies.”

  The chief was astonished but tried not to show it. “You mean to say that you simply... stumbled upon it?”

  His eyes wandered off to find the girl still looking at him. “I found it at a young age not knowing what it was. Touching it for the first time, I couldn’t rid myself of it. At first, I thought it was a curse, but years later, I read a book about it in a village, discovering it to be some sort of legendary weapon.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it made sense why I had attracted the attention of so many suddenly, why so many started asking me questions—why so many came after me.” Ashkii used his glance toward the chief to communicate his insinuation.

  The chief nodded, smiling “Do you know who I am, Spirit Gatherer?”

  “Yes. You are Dyami of Autumnum, tribal chief of all the clans.”

  “Correct. That makes me this region’s leader. Do you understand what my job is as this region’s leader?”

  “I’ve read many books. I’ve done my research. I know what you do.”

  “Then you should understand why you’re here. I have not sought you out because you hold a valuable treasure. I have sought you out because it is my job to protect Autumnum—and to prosper it by knowing all the individuals who live in it and directing their contribution.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I demand that you pay for the land that you’ve been dwelling in for free all this time. It so happens that a man of your talent, wielding the Spirit Bow, is the perfect man to assign this task.”

  “I only work for a worthwhile reward.”

  “You’ll work for the privilege of keeping your land—my land… that you’ve been living in under my radar this entire time. Every member of every clan under my tribe must give or contribute service to our land to secure our economy and security. In these times of war, invasion, and murder, Autumnum can spare no assets. I require your full cooperation.”

  “If there’s no reward to work towards, then what’s to motivate me to complete my task instead of running away?”

  Dyami pressed his back against his throne, rendered speechless. He was both surprised and disappointed hearing him say this. “You stagger me, Ashkii Dighin,” he admitted. “I have never had this conversation with any of my people before, nor had I ever expected to. All other of my Spirit Hunters receive their assignments with honor and are proud to serve their home. Regardless of whether they were born or adopted into this region, every Autumnan loves his or her home, and would willingly die for the privilege of defending it.”

  “That would be foolish in my situation. If you went out of your way to bring me here—in times of war as you’ve said—then it means that you have nobody to spare for this task. My service is in high demand, so it would be foolish of me not to ensure that I’m equipped with a high profit rate.”

  Dyami held a grave face, his astonishment diminishing as he became accustomed to his nature. “You’re right, Ashkii Dighin. I can spare no man right now. My attention is bound to Seasons’s civil war. Springeria, Summeria, and Winteria have all started attacking each other and our region. There are also these mysterious foreigners that everybody is calling the Sky Pirates that are a problem. They are breaching Seasons at every side, especially Winteria. With every Spirit Hunter having his and her assignments, I have no one left to take care of this more recent threat that has escalated into a bigger problem. That said, I’ve decided to offer you a reward, Ashkii Dighin—to ensure your motivation towards the task.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ll lend you full ownership of the land that you already call home. It will be yours and you’ll be granted full independence from further duties. Succeed in this task I lay before you, and nobody will dictate you any longer—as long as you remain in the land that I give you. It’s rare that I offer such permanent power, but the task I have for you is so difficult I doubt there will ever be a greater need for you.”

  Ashkii nodded, his expression still emotionless. “What is the task?”

  Dyami was pleased. “It’s a contract. I require you to hunt down a mysterious force and bring me a trophy of its defeat. You might have heard of it. It’s a force that is commonly referred recently as the Hypnotist. This force appeared a time ago. Many of my people in different clans were murdered several different ways—through claws and teeth of a beast, hacks of a sword, impaling of spears and arrows, burns of fire and many different types of destruction spells, poisoning, knife assassinations, and brute-force beat-d
owns. We know for certain that these are all murders and that they’re all connected because the killer, or organization of killers, leaves behind a bright orange mark on the back of every victim’s neck that has written, peace. Shortly after I had begun noticing these brutal murders, I sent hunters after it, but they’ve all gone missing. This, its broad range of killings, and its very random patterns are the reasons why we can’t uncover any leads about its identity, motives, or whereabouts. We can’t seem to learn anything about it. It’s all a great mystery. It seems to be capable of anything, anywhere. Many theories were made about this force—including whether it’s a terrorizing organization or a mad mastermind—but much of that was set to rest when this force, known as the Hypnotist, had made its recent public announcement to not only my region, but all four regions of Seasons. All my spies have reported this same incident, saying it all happened the same way at the same time. It was utterly horrific.”

  “What happened?”

  “In all four regions, our strongest champion has fallen. They were murdered horrendously through sheer brute force—all laying in puddles of blood one morning we entered our throne rooms. They all bared the mark and had a scroll in their mouths written by their own blood. But it was a message clearly left by the Hypnotist...”

  “What did it say?”

  The chief looked up in recalling it, his face suddenly pale. “It said: ‘Be not misled by what you think you see, hear, smell, taste, and touch—for I control your senses and what is perceived. I kill whoever I please, wherever I please. You’ll never see me coming. You’ll see only what I want you to see. There is no safe place to hide from my spell. But now I’ve told you my big secret. What will you do? Your fates are all still in my hands.’”

  Ashkii flashed his glance over to the girl who had never shifted her gaze away from him. What was her fascination with him?

  “This Hypnotist,” said Ashkii, looking back at the chief. “It is a master of hypnosis.”

  “Yes.”