The Antiquarians Part 3: Whispers of the Covenant
A Christian Fantasy Novella
In The Antiquarians: The Song of the Covenant, Part 3: Whispers of the Covenant, the past whispers with the promise of redemption—but only for those willing to listen.
Or start back at the beginning with part 1:
Soldier 739 stared, transfixed by the tapestry on the wall.
Everything else—the mission, his irritating prisoner, the strange room, even the bite pulsing on his shoulder—faded away. His gaze locked onto the scene before him, a sight that shouldn’t have been possible. The tapestry, which should have been a still image, had come alive.
Wyverns, the great winged beasts of legend, soared through the air, their wings casting massive shadows over the land. People stood on the Wyverns’ backs, leaping effortlessly from one to the next, their movements fearless and fluid, despite the dizzying height.
The people began to sing, the same melody he had heard before. But now, new words echoed through the cavern:
You called to us, the remnant true,
And promised hope to see us through.
Oh Ancient One of covenant,
You gave us ways of governance.
As the melody rose, something deep within him stirred, a feeling that was at once familiar and alien. Then, without warning, a sharp, unbearable pain shot through his skull, as if a vice had clamped down on his brain. Images flashed—disjointed, chaotic, and relentless, dragging him under. The memories made no sense—a little girl’s laugh, a woman lying dead in a pool of blood, chains biting into his wrists as he was dragged across the ground.
He gasped, trying to fight off the images, his thoughts spinning into chaos. He wanted the fog back. The nothingness. That was better than this—a storm of memories he couldn’t piece together.
As the memories receded, the pain remained. He let out a shaky breath, unsure whether it was the memory ache or the venom spreading through his veins. He glanced at the bite on his shoulder. The skin around it was swollen, angry, and darkening.
There was no cure. He knew that. The vyrlings’ poison would slowly blacken his blood, shut down his organs, and in only a few days, he’d be dead. But not before completing his mission. He clenched his jaw, determination flaring up through the pain. He would still bring the Antiquarian girl to the Enlightened One.
He turned to the center of the room.
Selah stood by the stream, water dripping from her chin, her chest rising and falling as if she had just come up for air after a long dive. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, as if she had glimpsed something profound and impossible. Even as tears glistened on her cheeks, she smiled.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice gruff.
She turned to him her braided hair swaying and her eyes alight with a joy he didn’t understand. “I found what I’ve been searching for.”
He raised an eyebrow, his tone mocking. “A stream? Is that what you’ve risked everything for?’
In a land gripped by drought, a stream was indeed a rare and precious find, but something told him this wasn’t what had brought her all this way.
Her expression softened, but her eyes remained defiant. “No. Something far more precious.” Her voice was soft, filled with reverence. “The truth. The memory water—it showed me the truth of the Ancient One, of everything He’s done.”
He rolled his eyes, suppressing a groan. “Not this again. Why do you Antiquarians insist on clinging to myths and nonsense?”
Selah’s expression tightened, but she pressed on. “Because it’s true. And maybe you don’t believe me, maybe my people don’t believe me, but it’s still true.”
She pulled a small vial out of her pocket and quickly filled it with the water.
He snorted. “And I suppose this magical water can also show us the way out of these caves?” He gestured broadly with his hand, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his bitten shoulder.
Selah’s eyes sparkled with renewed energy. “Actually, it did,” she said, her voice bright with certainty. “And I know how to save you.”
He let out a harsh laugh, his lips curling in disbelief. “There is no cure for a vyrlings bite. Your memory water’s addled your mind.”
But Selah’s expression didn’t waver. “There is a cure. At the new Antiquarian village where we’ve remained hidden. I can take you there.”
739’s eyes narrowed, suspicion edging his voice. ‘Why would an Antiquarian help a Neoterian? What are you planning, girl? You’re betraying your own people.’
Selah tucked the vial into a pocket and stepped closer, taking his hand without hesitation. “Because you need the truth.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could form a reply, she tugged him along, pulling him across the stream. She sprinted along the water’s edge, following the narrow flow through the winding cavern.
They reached a small doorway he hadn’t noticed before. Selah slipped through without hesitation, dragging him with her.
“Wait,” he warned. “There could be more Vyrlings down here.”
Why was he warning her? His death was inevitable now. If she got herself killed, it would only make his job easier.
But she paid him no mind and continued forward, the narrow tunnel twisting deeper into the rock.
The tunnel widened, opening into a vast, echoing chamber. The air here was cooler, heavy with a sense of age and stillness, like a tomb undisturbed for centuries. Every step they took reverberated, as if they were intruding on a sacred space, stirring something that had been waiting in the dark.
“What is this place?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
The stream snaked across the floor, its clear waters shimmering as it caught the faint light.
Selah pointed ahead. “His home.”
739 squinted through the dim light, his helmet beam barely reaching the far end of the room. Then something moved.
A massive, hulking form stirred in the shadows, its scales glinting like polished ruby in the dim light. Slowly, it unfolded, wings stretching out with a creaking, leathery rustle, as if waking from a centuries-long slumber. Each movement was deliberate, powerful, and filled the chamber with a quiet, ominous presence.
A Wyvern.
The ancient dragons had been thought extinct for generations, their very existence relegated to stories. Yet here one stood, alive, its barbed tail scraping the stone as it rose to its full, towering height.
His heart pounded as he stumbled backward, his fists clenching instinctively. His exoskeleton gave him strength, but nothing that could stand up to a creature like this. Even the Neoterian Wyv-Droids paled in comparison to the sheer majesty and power of the beast before him.
Steam hissed from the Wyvern’s nostrils, and for a terrifying moment, Soldier 739 was certain it would attack.
Then, the creature spoke, its voice rumbling like thunder, deep and powerful.
“It has been many ages since I have seen one of your kind. I prayed the Ancient One would preserve a remnant that might one day find me.”
“I… I have no quarrel with you,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but the words felt strange, hollow. How could he bargain with a creature from myths? “Let us pass,” he added, but the request sounded weak, even to his own ears.
The Wyvern’s gaze bored into him, its eyes glowing like embers, reading him with unnerving intensity.
“Wait,” Selah interrupted. “You can understand him?”
739 blinked at her. “You can’t? He’s speaking the common tongue.”
Selah’s eyes flicked between him and the Wyvern, wide with awe.
“Why can I understand you?” 739 demanded, turning back to the beast.
The Wyvern tilted its head, studying him. “In this girl, I sense a refreshed soul. She has drunk from the memory water, rediscovering the knowledge of the Ancient One.” The creature’s glowing eyes shifted to him. “But in you, I sense a parched ground—a soul that has been ripped away from its roots.”
“What’s he saying?” Selah asked, looking between them in confusion.
739 scoffed, waving her off. “Nothing. The creature’s mistaken. I’m no foolish Antiquarian.”
The Wyvern’s gaze sharpened, its massive head lowering until it was level with 739’s. “I am Shofar, guardian of the covenant. I have lived since the first bond was made between your people and the Ancient One. Though you hide behind metal and wires, I see through you.”
739’s chest tightened. “Look Shofar, I don’t care who you claim to be—”
Shofar’s claw moved with startling speed, slicing through the wires on his shoulder. His exoskeleton arm clattered to the floor, leaving his skin exposed.
739’s eyes widened as he saw the mark—an intricate symbol, a water droplet cradled by a ring of flame, etched into his skin. His heart stopped. It was the same as the mark on Selah’s shoulder, the symbol of the People of the Covenant. He recoiled, as if it burned him.
“No,” he whispered, the word barely escaping his lips. His head shook. “I’m not one of them. This… this changes nothing.”
But his voice wavered. Could it really be true? Could he, a Neoterian soldier, be one of the very people he had been ordered to destroy?
“The People of the Covenant each bear gifts from the Ancient One,” Shofar said, his voice echoing through the chamber. “That is why you understand me. Your gift is not yet fully realized.”
Selah stepped closer, her voice soft and eyes wide. “You’re an Antiquarian?”
739 scowled. “I’m not. This symbol means nothing.” He turned on her, his tone hardening. “You will take me to the new Antiquarian village, give me the cure, and I will escort you to the Enlightened One. She’ll deal with you.”
Selah’s eyes narrowed. “He can fly us out of here,” she said. “You said his name is Shofar?”
The Wyvern nodded. “My task has been to guard the stream, but I will do as you ask.”
Selah looked at 739. “What did he say?”
“He said he’ll fly us out of here.” 739 crossed his arms. “But how do we get out?”
With a grin, Selah ran to the wall, pressing her palm against a section of rock.
The ground trembled, and a low groan echoed through the chamber as a door overhead began to creak open. Sunlight spilled in, golden beams cutting through the gloom.
Selah giggled. “Can your Neoterians do that?”
She climbed onto Shofar’s back, her hands brushing reverently against his scales. “You coming, Grunt?”
“My name is Soldier 739, not Grunt.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I’m not calling you that.”
He approached the Wyvern, but Shofar’s deep voice stopped him. “Remove your armor. I do not know if I can carry the weight.”
739 hesitated, his hand instinctively moving to the back of his neck. The venom was spreading. But he couldn’t remove the exoskeleton. It was the only thing keeping him alive.
“I can’t,” he said firmly. “The Enlightened One warned me. Without the exoskeleton, I’ll die.”
Shofar’s nostrils flared, but the Wyvern relented. “Very well.”
739 climbed onto Shofar’s back, the Wyvern’s scales warm and rough beneath his fingers. He slid into place behind Selah, his grip instinctively tightening. The cavern around them seemed to hum with anticipation as Shofar stretched his wings, the movement sending a faint rush of wind through the air.
With a mighty beat of his wings, Shofar pushed off the ground. Dust and loose pebbles scattered in all directions as the force of the motion lifted them skyward. The cavern walls blurred, the swirling air whipping past their faces. The powerful rhythm of Shofar’s wings reverberated through 739’s chest, each beat like a drum announcing their ascent.
The Wyvern's wings pumped again, and the ground beneath them fell away. Darkness enveloped them as they rose toward the narrow opening in the ceiling. The rush of air grew sharper, pulling at 739’s exoskeleton and the loose strands of Selah’s braids.
As they surged higher, the light above grew brighter. Shofar’s wings sent echoes bouncing off the walls, each stroke more forceful than the last. The Wyvern’s body tilted slightly, aligning with the narrow passage, and with a final, thunderous thrust, they burst into the open sky.
Blinding sunlight washed over them, the sudden brilliance making 739 squint against its intensity. The heat of the desert sun replaced the damp chill of the caves as they soared higher, the cavern below shrinking rapidly. Jagged shadows of the rock formations blurred into indistinct lines, and the tiny, dark opening they’d come through became nothing more than a speck in the vast, golden expanse of the desert.
Selah raised her hands, the wind catching her laughter and scattering it like music. Her joy was almost tangible, infectious in its freedom. The Wyvern tilted slightly, adjusting to the open air, and 739 felt his stomach drop. He clutched Shofar’s scales even tighter, his breath catching as they rose higher still.
“How are you so comfortable with this?” he shouted, his voice barely carrying over the roar of the wind and the rhythmic pounding of Shofar’s wings.
Selah glanced back, her smile wide and untamed, as if flying through the sky on the back of an ancient beast was the most natural thing in the world. “I grew up hearing stories about flying on Wyverns. Never thought I’d get to live one!”
He glanced down at the ground far below. If they fell, they’d be nothing more than a splatter in the sand. His breath caught as Shofar twisted in the air, adjusting his course.
Shofar twisted his head to glance at them. “The land has changed much, sand has claimed the once lush land. Ask your companion which direction to head.”
“He wants to know where to go,” he told Selah.
Selah pointed south-east and Shofar took off in that direction.
After several minutes, 739 relaxed and even began to enjoy himself. It felt like he had entered the moving tapestry he’d seen.
He smiled.
Catching himself, he frowned.
As incredible as flying was, Wyverns were his enemy.
Or were they, since he was apparently descended from the People of the Covenant himself.
He shook his head, refusing to think about that.
739’s helmet shifted, and a sudden, piercing pain erupted in his skull. He cried out, clutching his head as images assaulted him, too fast to focus on.
“Grunt!” Selah called, reaching back to grab his arm. She gasped as her hand made contact, her own mind flooded with his chaotic memories.
“Make them stop!” he moaned, his vision blurring as the pain intensified.
It felt like something inside his skull was pounding, trying desperately to escape, but a shadowy monster held it back, preventing it from coming to the light. He lost all sense of self, forgetting who he was and where he was. All he knew was agony throbbing from within.
His body convulsed, and suddenly, everything went black.
He awoke to a rush of wind tearing past his ears, his stomach lurching as the world spun around him. The sky blurred into a streak of colors, the ground a dark, fast-approaching smear. Panic gripped him as he realized he was falling, plummeting downwards with nothing to hold onto as the earth rose to swallow him whole.
He screamed, but it was futile. When he hit the ground, it would all be over.
Excited to see what happens next? Read part four now!
🥹🥹🥹
The dragon seems cool :-) I feel like Grunt's backstory is going to be sad though :-/