The Whispering Wall

If walls could talk, the whispers of the world could destroy countless loyalties, create the most formidable champions, and bring down even the strongest of dynasties. Many had sought the truths “hidden in the walls,” thoroughly convinced those whispers could provide the missing pieces of the puzzle in their quests for love, power, glory, strength, intelligence and allure. And yet, most who managed to find the legendary ancient relic only came to realize their deepest wishes and convictions were built upon an ever-shifting foundation of sand. The Whispering Wall had remained through it all.

Atop a rock that stood high upon the mountain’s face, freeing itself from the tangle of vines that made up the jungle, an old man stood, leaning upon his gnarled cane to survey the expanse of land below and around him. He bore a white, shaggy beard, a faded red cloak, walking sandals revealing wear from a long journey, and a timeworn leather bound journal showing signs of warping in spots due to moisture. Alonzo knew all of the legends, all of the disappearances, all of the tales of madness and betrayal that had driven even the most valiant of men to their demise, and he had recorded every single piece of information he could find regarding the Whispering Wall in that book. He knew, through extensive years of researching every corner of the world for answers, exactly how dangerous an artifact he was chasing. But he was not set upon the foolhardy grasp for power and notoriety like that of a young man, nor was he heart stricken and desperate like a lover. His confidence that he could withstand whatever dark secrets the wall held to discover the truths he had so long for searched. And yet, he mused, that is likely the notion that set every single one of his ill-fated predecessors on such a perilous journey. Unlike them, however, Alonzo held the advantage of age, of an august life well-lived, and a worthy purpose.

Checking the detailed map insert on the inside of the journal cover, Alonzo knew he was on the right path. The wall may be tricky, but the old man had been preparing for this journey for a long, long time. Following a long inhale, Alonzo returned the journal to its place in a pocket that it perfectly fit inside of his pack, made of the same brown leather as the journal, but showing much less signs of worn. He knew it would not be long now until the answers regarding his legacy would be within his sight.

A massive wall of stone rose in the distance, shrouded in the muted grays and blues of a dense fog. In stark contrast to the dense jungle surrounding the area, the wall stood in a harsh rock valley that contained no signs of life, only a weathered, dark gray floor of stone. Although this valley fit the reported descriptions of what he was to expect, Alonzo still felt an uneasiness settle as he entered the valley, his sandals clacking as he crossed the bare opening. The openness of the valley no longer provided any sort of protection or texture to hide from what may be lurking in the jungle surrounding, and as he slowly came closer to the Whispering Wall, he wasn’t sure if it was perhaps simply in his head, but it did indeed seem to present the somewhat mysteriously menacing presence he had read so much about in the accounts of the relic. On the stone face he could soon make out the strange and ancient markings he had known to find there. Throughout his research he found several attempts at translating what wisdom may be found in whatever lost language was inscribed upon its ancient surface, but overall, these were rudimentary guesses at best and never seemed to amount to any sensible or understandable phrase at all. The conclusion amongst those who had tried to translate the ancient text was that the original meaning and language was clearly long lost to time. However, the ambiguity of the primitively carved markings only served to add to the ominous presence that loomed now just in front of the man, rising so far above the clearing that the top of it was barely visible through the fog. In most places that Alonzo visited, he was regarded as a highly eminent figure with plentiful wisdom, power and status, and yet in front of such a terrible and ancient artifact, he suddenly felt quite small.

Long had Alonzo prepared for this exact moment, and yet, as he now stood at the apogee of his quest, he felt at a loss. Most of the accounts of first-hand experiences with the wall never made clear exactly what happens next, just that one could gain any answers one may seek, and that they almost always paid a heavy price for such answers. But small and clueless as he felt, Alonzo remained unafraid, certain of the merit and value of his quest and character. There were exceedingly rare, but existing, tales of the noble few that were able to access the truths of the wall and live to escape the insidious downfall that seemed sure to follow, and the old man was determined that he was to be one.

Suddenly, the back of his neck prickled with hairs and a biting chill ran down his spine. The unease flowed into a full waterfall of dread, and he heard a voice in his head, and yet the only sound in his ears was the muffled roar of the wind as it blew high above the valley.

“You’ve finally come to see me, old man.”

The voice was nothing more than a whispering hiss, yet somehow deafening and seemed to be echoing from every direction in the sparse valley. The voice was neither male nor female, adult or child, but more a chorus of many different tones, all barely discernible from the others. Alonzo couldn’t help but think that perhaps the eerie voices belonged to the multitudes of ghosts whose lives had been claimed by the wall. Though he had been momentarily startled by its sinister presence, he steeled himself. He had seen war, had seen death. No amount of fear would keep him from claiming the truth.

“So, you know why I’m here.” Alonzo said in a calm but firm voice, somewhat shouting over the sounds of the wind above them. He stared up the structure before him, searching for any signs of magic or knowing. However, he soon realized that the seeping port of dread was not coming from what he faced, but from behind him. Carefully focusing every bit of will he had to control his face and posture, the old man turned. Any amount of fear or weakness could be exploited.

“Of course. Your sons. I’ve been so excited for your company. You truly are more formidable than my past companions. I’m so happy to finally see it in person.”

“And you-” Alonzo stumbled a bit, despite his concentration, at the menacing specter that appeared before him, “I’ve been waiting to see you.”

With his back now facing the rock, Alonzo stood staring at what appeared to be the ghostly body of a man in front of him. His form seemed to be composed of the surrounding fog, with only shadow and space defining his ghostly features. Strangely, the figure was not that of an ancient god or spiritual leader, but was nothing more than a common sailor, every bit as rough and vulgar as the real thing. And yet, the sharp, molten river of cold that Alonzo could feel infusing within his organs, along with a ghoulish, malicious smile fixed upon the young man’s handsome face, clearly indicated the supernatural nature of this figure.

“The legends say that you know all that has ever taken place within walls. That they are your subjects, and you, their king, and that the secrets of the world are contained in their whispers to their sovereign. Your entire world is all that people wish to keep hidden.”

The sailor’s sinister smile grew impossibly wider, letting a small chuckle seep out.

“Indeed,” the whispers hissed, “and for all the ages humanity has remained the same.”

Alonzo breathed, knowing the view of human nature to which the wall referred. The legends made it clear that the spirit held contempt for all humans, but admired the ones that held strength within them, and regarded their endless greed with morbid amusement.

“And that is why you’re here.”

He nodded.

“Tell me," the whispers commanded, clearly eager for a story.

Alonzo obliged.

“I am here because I seek the truth. I am the current head of my house, the owner of a vast estate and fortune. My success in the military has brought me status and honor. I am happy to bestow these gifts upon my heir, as with my age my only concern has now become my legacy. I have seen the wars of power and greed and corruption that plague humanity, and I know now that the integrity of my house must be protected above all. No amount of status or wealth is worth tarnishing my name and my lineage. But my sons…”

The ghost remained silent, the empty pockets where his eyes would be clearly fixed upon him. His smile wasn’t as wide now, but tight. He was intrigued.

“Tradition says that my heir must be my eldest son. But I do not trust my son, Luca. He was born with the brutality of a soldier, and his time in the war did nothing to temper his bloodlust. He lacks restraint and has not even the barest interest in politicking. Though I am often of the mind to respect tradition, I do not trust my eldest son with the integrity of my name. I fear he will govern in the name of undo violence and punishment.”

The sailor nodded, tapping his immaterial finger upon his mouth, apparently recalling a memory.

“Luca has killed many.”

“Yes,” Alonzo nodded as well, continuing, “but my second son, Nico, is precocious. He is educated, intelligent, and remarkably self-controlled. He remains cool headed in every situation, a quality that has gained him significant respect and influence. His education has given him ideas of ambition for my house, of forging a legacy of progress and justice. And this, this is the future I want for my name. A future of respectability, integrity, and accomplishment.”

At this, the deranged smile again crept up the spectral face.

“And you want to make Nico your heir.”

The old man nodded, still maintaining a solemn expression. Though he held deep concern for his sons, the specter need not see the extent of his anguish.

“Luca has always been jealous of his brother, and he is not the forgiving sort. If I change the succession, their relationship will be forever destroyed. I need to know that I am making the right choice for the protection of my line.”

The spirit regarded him in silence. He seemed to be searching Alonzo’s face, or perhaps soul, for some unknown sign. After several moments of this silence, he lifted his chin toward the stone relic behind Alonzo, and slowly began to dissipate back into the formless of the enveloping ocean of fog, yet his whispering voice remained clear within Alonzo’s mind.

“I will show you the truths that only the walls know.”

The gray stone of the wall suddenly shifted, and on its massive face what almost appeared to be plumes of swirling smoke slowly transformed to depict a scene all the way back to where his journey had first begun, at his extensive estate. The room was certainly familiar to Alonzo, and he quickly recognized the granite walls and alabaster sconces that adorned many of the rooms within the living spaces of his properties as the scene before him came into clearer view. The warm, flickering glow of a fire cast shadows upon the scene, as two figures would be seen huddled together at a small wooden table near the center of the room. Along with the crackling of the flame and the muffled tones of lively music coming from elsewhere in the mansion, the figures spoke to each other in hushed, urgent voices, which revealed that the people before him were middle of an intense discussion that perhaps was evolving more into an argument. Illuminated by the firelight, he recognized the figures as his eldest son and his wife, Cristina.

“Yes, but Nico is a fool. For all our sakes he cannot possibly see a single piece of Father’s wealth, and if it were up to me, I’d at least devise a way to ensure his exile if this treacherous plan does somehow come to pass underneath our noses.”

“I can’t even stomach the idea, Luca, honestly. Has he no respect for propriety? No interest in the dignity of this family? This, this type of betrayal, of complete disregard for the traditional and sacred transfer of power from one generation to the next is just sickening. And your own father?”

“I know, I know. I’ve certainly heard of things like this, but I’ve never known anyone to do so in my lifetime. I’ve never been on the straight and narrow, but Nico?”

“It’s just simply not done.”

“It isn’t,” Luca growled after a long pause. He studied the half empty glass of red wine that sat in front of him, staring at the sanguine liquid inside. “And if it comes down to it, I will have to stop him.”

“But how?” she questioned, furrowing her dark brows to cast a quizzical look upon her husband.

Luca placed his hand upon the neck of the wine glass, pulled it into a grasp and raised it slightly.

“I’ll try to convince him, persuade him out of it. If I need to, I’ll threaten him, or blackmail him, maybe even suggest a trial.”

Cristina stared intently into his face, knowing there was more he had not said.

“And if that doesn’t work?”

Luca paused, took a massive swig from his wine glass, downing the rest in only a few large sips, and then returned it gingerly to the table.

“I’ll kill him. I’m not above killing family, either.”

And with that, the scene vanished into plumes of smoke that rippled again across the surface of the rock. Within the smoke, a new scene began to materialize, revealing yet another setting within Alonzo’s grand home. This time, the scene showed a portion of a long corridor, with the same alabaster lamps lining the halls. Judging from the obscured hint of daylight in the hall, there was a light source not far off, but this specific portion of the walkway encased a small pocket of shadow. This time he recognized this specific setting, recalling its place in the villa was not far from his sons’ chambers. Studying the image as it materialized before him, he soon recognized the lithe figure of his second son, strolling along the hallway, perhaps on his way to the study, where he spent much of his time.

Suddenly, a flash darted out of the shadows, and his son was yanked sideways. A second figure came into focus, and yet again Alonzo made out the muscular, harshly cut figure of Luca. Within the small pocket of shadow, the older brother slammed the younger hard against the stone wall of the corridor and held him by his collar, his scowling face inches from Nico’s. Despite the aggressive ambush, Nico’s face remained as placid and imperturbed as always.

“Brother?” Was all the younger man said, lifting his eyebrows in question.

“I know about the plan, about father. You cannot go through with this, Nico.” Luca snarled quietly; he did not loosen his grip on his brother.

Nico sighed, meeting his brother’s dark eyes with his own. Other than their telltale builds, the brothers did indeed look so much alike.

“You lost, Luca. I will be the one to carry the family name, it’s done.”

In response to Nico’s matter-of-fact tone, Luca slammed him again, harder, against the stone wall. This time, he winced in pain.

“If you go through with this, once father is gone, I will kill you myself.” He spat, the well-developed muscles in his arm tensing with rage as he threatened his brother. Nico gasped for air beneath the force, and yet, he forced a defiant smile.

“You won’t,” he managed between labored breathing, “get the chance.”

With that, Luca threw his brother onto the ground, but made sure to angle his fall so that he landed on his side, instead of his back. This was a warning, not an attempt. Crushed by the force of his brother’s strength, Nico lay crumpled on the floor. His eyes remained open and focused on Luca.

“You may be smarter, brother, but you do not fool me.”

And with that, Luca turned and quietly exited the corridor, leaving Nico where he fell.

Once again, the scene evanesced into billowing smoke, which appeared to blow off of the surface of the wall and into oblivion. Alonzo could do nothing but stare at the place where the damning scene had just played, dumbfounded. He desperately wanted to see it again, he could hardly believe what he had seen to be true.

“Well?” the whispering voice said, and again Alonzo knew it was behind him. This time, he turned to face a woman, who seemed to portray all of the trappings of a brothel girl. The same fearsome smile stretched across her plump mouth.

“Thank you for showing me the truth. I was right in my suspicions.”

The ghostly prostitute nodded enthusiastically.

“Indeed, I have two things to impart from what I have just shown you, one for each of your sons. Luca is dangerous. Nico will be your heir. Do with this information what you will.”

Alonzo closed his eyes, solemn. He had suspected his elder son of violence but had hoped he wouldn’t go so far as treachery. His hope had been an illusion. He had been blinded by his own biases.

“Luca will be imprisoned and given a trial. Though with what I have seen, it is clear what the outcome will be.”

The spirit of the Whispering Wall only smiled and began to fade back into the fog.

“Wait, if I may, I do have one last question.”

The figure seemed to reappear a bit, as if delighted for the reason to remain out of the spirit realm a moment longer.

“Why do you appear this way? The sailor, the prostitute…if you dislike humans, why not appear as your true form, or something grander?”

The mist form of the woman seemed to pause and ponder the question, and then said,

“I enjoy it, really. I like to appear as those I feel see the truth of places, and of people, like I do.”

And with that, the spirit vanished.

Weeks later, after returning from his long and arduous journey to discover the truth from the legendary Whispering Wall, Alonzo awoke from his sleep with a start to see a dark silhoette standing over him. Quickly gaining his senses from slumber, the old man could see that within his hand, the figure held a knife. Acting on instinct, he tried to lunge for the weapon. He had fought off several assassination attempts before, but this time, his movements were slow, heavy. His mind felt foggy. Someone had drugged him. Alonzo’s mind raced, could it be that Luca escaped? Formidable as Luca was, he was no match for the multiple guards assigned to his cell.

“I’m sorry, Father,” a familiar, glib voice whispered. The tone of it was laced with a hiss reminiscent of that menacing spirit he had encountered not long ago and carried the same edge. He realized this voice would be the last he heard.

“It's time for a new era. I can raise this house to greater glory than ever seen before. You trusted me to be your heir, and it's time the old guard fell, and the torch is to be passed.”