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DargonZine Volume 12 Issue 02
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 12
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 2
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DargonZine Distributed: 2/28/1999
Volume 12, Number 2 Circulation: 686
========================================================================
Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Fate of a Child 2 Rena Deutsch Janis 985
Talisman Zero 2 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Mid-fall, 2216 ID
The Beast Mike Adams 7-8 Firil 1015
========================================================================
DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
Please address all correspondance to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/. Back issues
are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 12-2, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright February, 1999 by
the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
<ornoth@shore.net>
One of the most important lessons I've learned from 16 years on the
Internet is the importance of reaching out to new members of whatever
community you belong to.
This was best illustrated for me back when I was one of "the
regulars" on a particular Usenet newsgroup. Back then, I knew a woman
who had been around for years and was very popular with others who had
been around a long time. However, her attitude toward new members was
usually arrogant and condescending. Meanwhile, another woman I knew, who
had only been around for a short time, was more outgoing and welcoming
to new people.
Now, newsgroups are like most online communities in that there is a
constant flow of new people checking them out and old members leaving or
losing access. Over time, the arrogant woman's friends gradually moved
on to other things until there was no one left who remembered her, and
she spent all her time online grousing about how vital she was to the
popularity of the group and how no one seemed to appreciate that
anymore. Meanwhile, the newer, more outgoing woman had become the center
of a large circle of new members that made up the bulk of the community.
Understanding this -- that in a dynamic community, in order to
remain popular you need to actively welcome new members, and that the
price of arrogance and condescension toward "newbies" is obscurity --
was a major revelation for me. And it remains one of the most important
lessons that I try to infuse in DargonZine.
Every month, approximately five percent of our readership leaves,
and is replaced by new readers. Think about what that means for a
magazine where we're building on fifteen years of stories, and where any
given story may well rely on an understanding of names and places and
events depicted months earlier, or where any issue could contain "part
four" of a storyline. It means we need to do a superlative job at
reaching out and immediately engaging our new readers, and getting them
up to speed on what they need to know in order to understand and enjoy
our writing, and do that constantly.
That's an enormous struggle, but one where we've made some progress
in recent years. The Web site now includes a whole section called "About
Dargon" that includes such features as maps of the area, a special "New
Readers' Introduction" page, and our Online Glossary, which contains
encyclopedic definitions of every person, place, and thing we write
about. And each time something in our Glossary appears in a story on our
Web site, it is hyperlinked to its description in the Online Glossary.
And when we print "part four" of a storyline, we write that chapter so
that it can stand alone, and include pointers to the previous chapters.
Another way to establish familiarity with the milieu is to ensure
that there's some overlap between stories, so that readers become
comfortable with the people, places, and things that are most important.
Here, I must admit that we've done a mediocre job, which I'll talk a
little more about in a moment. But to address this problem we have
recently revived our practice of using contests and organized writing
exercises that incorporate communal events or themes, such as our 1997
Night of Souls stories, and our more recent comet stories. Look for more
of these in the future!
We realize that making it easy for new readers to get up to speed
is our biggest hurdle to overcome if we are to survive and grow. While
we've made some progress, I'm sure there's more we could do. If you have
specific ideas on this topic, we'd love to hear them, because it will
allow us to better serve you, and the readers whom we hope will follow.
Of course, new readers aren't the only people we need to reach out
to. Similarly, we need to integrate new writers and both make them feel
welcome and give them sufficient understanding of what we do and how we
do it so that they can immediately start producing printable fiction.
This is usually where the "commonality" I mentioned above breaks
down. Usually, new writers are uncomfortable writing stories that take
place within the unfamiliar confines of Dargon proper, so they strike
off on their own, writing a storyline that takes place on the outskirts
of known territory. By doing so, they avoid having to do much research
into what's already been written, and their stories are less
constrained. On the other hand, their works may never integrate into or
even overlap with the mainstream of Dargon work, and if this happens
often the project may become nothing more than a shell surrounding a
number of independent, unrelated storylines.
We've tried to address this in a number of ways, including rules
that require new writers to write their first story in Dargon proper,
the contests and communal events I spoke of above, and our new mentoring
system, which so far is showing great promise but limited capacity. So
far, we're doing a good job making writers feel welcome and productive,
but we still need to work on developing more commonality between
storylines.
But through all these struggles, the unwavering goal is to make it
easier for people, both readers and writers, to enjoy DargonZine, so
that it can grow and continue to contribute to the value of the
Internet, as it has done since 1984.
========================================================================
Fate of a Child
Part 2
by Rena Deutsch
<Rena3@hotmail.com>
Janis 985
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 11-10
"Tobias, Tobias! Look what I got!" Anna ran down the snow-covered
hill, holding the result of this morning's hunt in her hands. She could
see Tobias Held, her guardian, blowing in his hands to warm them while
he was waiting for her to come down the hill. Anna stumbled, fell, and
slid several feet downward. Quickly, she got to her feet and walked the
rest of the way. Her face beamed with pride.
"Look Tobias! I caught a rabbit! All by myself!" She held the
rabbit up high and laughed. During the last years Tobias had taught her
to hunt with a bow and arrow, but she was much better with a sling and
stones. The rabbit she'd brought back proved it.
"Look at you!" Tobias laughed and brushed the snow off Anna's cape.
"Good hunting Anna!" he told her with a smile on his face. "Now go
inside and warm up, I'll skin the rabbit and we'll cook it for supper."
"Thanks Tobias," she replied and stepped inside the cabin. Anna
still hated to skin an animal, though she had learned how to do it. She
took the outer layer of her clothing off and hung it near the fire to
dry. Tobias had brought the clothing back from Dargon last Ober. It was
a bit big, but that way it would last her hopefully through this winter
and maybe next.
Anna stood near the fire and warmed her hands. The heat felt good
after having spent the morning outside. Anna's thoughts drifted. She was
hoping that this year Tobias would take her along to Dargon. Each year
he had gone to Dargon to sell fur and furniture for the spring festival,
Melrin, a five-day celebration. Each year she had been left behind to
tend the goats and look after the cabin.
"This year I'm going, too! I don't want to stay behind again." Anna
straightened herself unconsciously as the thoughts whirled through her
head. She wondered why Tobias wouldn't take her with him to Dargon. Her
fair skin, green eyes, and red hair were quite a contrast to Tobias'
dark skin and black hair. It would raise more than one question if she
were to travel with him, but Anna didn't care. She never accompanied him
when he went to one of the villages, afraid what might happen if someone
recognized her. The memory of her mother's death still haunted her
dreams. Up here on the hill she felt safe; no one bothered them.
"I will ask him again to take me to Dargon for the spring festival.
He just has to let me go!" Anna told herself, took the kettle, filled it
with water, and hung it on the hook over the fireplace. She threw in
some of the dried herbs they had gathered last year and added cut
vegetables. Together with the meat, it would make a fine stew.
It was Anna's sixth winter in Tobias' cabin. After her mother's
death she had been wandering aimlessly in the forest. Only by chance,
had she found the cabin and Tobias had let her stay. He had added a room
for her, made shelves for the wall, and a box in which she could keep
her few belongings. Each year he had brought her something from his
trip: a piece of candy, a string with beads to put around her neck, a
new dress, or a doll. Last year, he had brought her a cape. Anna
treasured the gifts, but they also reminded her of Tobias' yearly
absence. A cycle was a long time to be alone, the days passed quickly,
but Anna hated to be left behind. She was dreaming of ships and big
places and the market he had told her about. She wanted to see all that,
too, and was determined to accompany Tobias when he left for Dargon the
next time.
"Did a good job with that rabbit," remarked Tobias as he walked
into the cabin with a bowl full of cut up rabbit.
"Thank you!" Anna smiled and her eyes sparkled. Deciding not to
wait until after dinner with her question, she gathered all her courage.
"Tobias?"
"Hmmm?"
"Will you take me with you when you go to Dargon this year?" Anna
saw the surprise on Tobias' face.
After a few moments of silence, he took a deep breath and responded
as he had many times before. "Anna, we've been through this before. The
long journey and the dangers of the road. Maybe next year."
"But I want to see the market, the ships, and all ..." Anna's voice
was filled with a deep longing. She clenched her fists.
"And who'll take care of the goats and the cabin while we're gone?"
"We could take the goats with us. You always took the goats
before." She looked at him, wishing he'd give in.
"That I did, but I only had two goats then, not six like we do
now."
"But I can help! I'm older now; I can do many of the things you
do." Anna looked at her guardian and watched him prepare the meal
quietly. The silence was unsettling. Pacing back and forth in the small
room, Anna couldn't take the silence any longer. "Tobias, I --"
"We'll see," he interrupted and Anna knew he wouldn't say anything
more about it. She let out a sigh, and set the table. She wanted to go
to Dargon and would not give up until she'd gotten her way.
Anna ate her dinner, hardly noticing what was in her bowl, then
finished her chores automatically. After her evening ablutions she went
to her room and stretched out on the hay.
"Please, Stevene," she prayed silently, like so many nights before,
"let me go to Dargon with Tobias this year."
Tobias remained sitting at the table, pulling his traps out from
underneath the table and fixing them, long after Anna had gone to her
room. He had seen the longing in Anna's eyes and heard the unspoken want
for change and adventure. It reminded him of his own longing for
adventure in his youth. The girl had brought so much joy to his life. If
he took her with him, it would make her happy, but would also put her
life in danger. Roadside bandits were one of his concerns, the length of
the journey another. It would be more stressful to travel with Anna, and
if they took the goats it was almost an invitation for raiders. And then
there was the matter of being recognized on the way by the villagers who
orphaned her. Anna hadn't told him what happened, but she had been
plagued by nightmares for cycles after she had arrived in his cabin and
had cried for her mother in her sleep. The year after her arrival, he
had learned about Anna's mother and the circumstances of her death. His
journey had led him through Cobbleswell and careful questioning of some
of the village youngsters had revealed that Anna's mother had been
accused of worshipping Arom-Nok and conspiring with the god to bring
harm to the villagers.
Tobias remembered the youngster's words as clearly as if he'd told
him the day before: "... The men chased her all night and brought her
back and tied her up real good, but they couldn't find Anna. The girl
was just as evil as her mother was. The next morning some of the rope
was cut and we all got scared, thought the woman was gonna just
disappear. Then we all threw stones at her till she stopped breathing.
She was evil you know and did bad things to us. And then the men burnt
her shack. After that all was quiet and nothing bad has happened since."
Tobias shuddered when he thought just how proud the boy had been about
the killing. He had avoided Cobbleswell ever since, just in case. Every
now and then, he heard that the villagers were still afraid the child
would reappear and continue what her mother supposedly had done.
Over the years, Tobias had seen nothing in Anna that would warrant
the accusations of the villagers. His knowledge of the All-Creator was
limited. He had read the Manifest Pantheon a long time ago and forgotten
most of it. After learning about Anna's mother, he had filled in the
gaps in his memory. Part of the Manifest was an explanation how
everything came to be, and the All-Creator's intention for his creation.
When the All-Creator realized that man needed guidance, he created eight
gods. Arom-Nok was one of the gods, but despised the All-Creator's work
and spread plagues and suffering among the people.
Tobias believed in the teachings of Cephas Stevene, who had spread
the word of one god, and had taught Anna in that manner. She was
certainly not the child of an evil god. But who would believe him? Many
fellow travelers avoided him because his skin was so dark. He had heard
the word 'demon' applied to him more than once. Only in Dargon people
were used to all different kinds of skin colors, though he wasn't so
sure if Anna's red hair would not draw extra attention, or prompt
someone's memory. During Melrin people from all over the duchy would
visit Dargon. If he were to take her, he'd have to come up with a plan.
Maybe his friends Zarit and Jerel would be willing to help him --
traveling with six goats was not something he looked forward to. With
this in mind he went to bed.
Spring finally arrived, melting the last ice, turning the hills
green, and the meadows into a symphony of colors. The birds in the
forest were chirping and building their nests. Anna was down at the
creek washing her clothes and laying them in the sun to dry. She could
hear Tobias hammering behind the house. He was fixing the fence and the
small hand-wagon. He'd been at it all morning. Anna knew he was getting
ready to travel. The spring festival was only three sennights away. Her
yearning to go to Dargon with Tobias was stronger than ever and made it
difficult to concentrate on her chores. He hadn't said anything since
she had asked him last. Twice after her successful hunt in the winter
she had tried to talk to Tobias about taking her to Dargon. Each time he
had cut her off with a brief remark. A deep sigh escaped her. Anna knew
better than to push the issue again, but she wanted to go so much that
all her thinking circled around a way that would convince Tobias to take
her with him.
Anna rinsed her shirt, wrung it as well as she could, and spread it
out to dry. The sun was high in the sky now and shining warmly on her. A
quick bath in mind, she took her shirt off and stepped carefully into
the creek. The water felt cold around her ankles. She knelt down and let
the water splash onto her legs and stomach. It was icy! Anna finished
quickly. By the time she was done her feet looked blue. Shivering, she
put her shirt back on and ran up and down alongside the creek to warm
up. A little out of breath, but finally warm, she let herself fall
backward on the grass, and watched white and grey clouds move slowly
over the sky.
Tobias looked up from his work and stretched. He had finished the
hand-wagon and packed all he needed for his trip. The fence was in a
decent state. He listened for Anna. She was noisy when she did her
chores, and he usually had no trouble locating her. But it was quiet and
the silence was unsettling. "What is she up to?" he wondered and walked
around to the front of the house. All over the grass, laundry was spread
out to dry and right in the middle was Anna, asleep. He woke her up.
"Anna," he began, "There's just enough time for me to walk the path
and check the traps one last time. I'll be back by sundown." He saw the
unspoken question in her eyes and added, "We're leaving tomorrow."
Anna's face took on an expression of surprise and amazement.
"I get to go? I get to go!" excitement was in her voice, then
doubt. "I really get to go?"
Tobias saw the worried look and nodded. Anna's reaction made him
smile. She ran around, jumping and twirling, laughing and crying at the
same time. In between her jumps she yelled: "I get to go! I get to go!"
Watching her in all her excitement and joy, he felt comfortable with his
decision for the first time. Yet, Tobias wondered if he'd done the right
thing; he still wasn't sure whether his plan to disguise her would work.
When Anna was out of breath, she ran back to Tobias and hugged him.
"Thank you, Tobias!" Her eyes beamed with joy. "Thank you!"
"Make sure you have everything ready for the journey, so I can add
it on when I get back. Pack only what you need." Anna nodded; for once
she was speechless.
Tobias smiled at her. "I'll be back at sundown." He turned and made
his way into the forest. Soon he disappeared from sight.
Anna picked up the clean clothes and turned them over so they would
dry faster. She ran in and out of the cabin, put the things she wanted
to take in a bundle, and closed it up, only to open it up again and add
one thing or take another out. The sun was beginning its downward path
when Anna closed the bundle up for the last time and took it out to the
wagon. She took a deep breath. "I get to go," she thought, "I really get
to go." Overjoyed, she quickly picked up the now dry clothes, jumping
excitedly from shirt to shirt, took them inside, and folded them. In her
excitement she didn't notice the three men who stood at the edge of the
forest on the other side of the creek.
The men watched as the girl ran in and out of the cabin, the long
red hair following her every movement like a tail. For a long time the
men seemed frozen in position, then, without a word one turned and
walked into the forest -- the other two followed.
"It is Arom-Nok's child!" one of the men whispered in shock,
breaking the silence. "I was right! I did see her two sennights ago when
I took a wrong path! And you wouldn't believe me."
"No! It can't be her! The wolves ate her years ago!" the other
remarked. "No child can survive in the woods by itself."
"No real child, but Arom-Nok's child can!" the first man stated.
"Arom-Nok even provided her with a place to live! Nobody lives up here!
Don't you remember that he's responsible for plagues and sufferin'? Told
you this place's evil! We shouldn't have come here in the first place!"
"No, you're wrong," the second man said thoughtfully. "It was the
All-Creator himself who led us here. So we can take care of the evil in
these woods once and for all."
"What do you intend to do?" the third man inquired. The men looked
at each other. Neither of them was sure how to proceed. The first man
broke the silence.
"I say we burn the place down and then take her to the village
where she'll join the fate of her mother." It only took a brief moment
for the others to agree.
"I'll go and get the girl," the first man said, "You two wait until
I have her and then we'll set fire to the place." The other two nodded
silently and watched as their companion approached the cabin.
Anna packed her clothes in a separate bundle. She'd take them with
her in the morning. When she heard a knock, she turned around in
surprise.
"Hello, anybody here?" a voice inquired. Anna held her breath and
for a moment she didn't move. "Who would come up here?" she wondered.
When the same voice spoke up again and repeated the question, Anna left
her small room and stepped into the main room of the cabin. A burly man
dressed in grey was standing in the doorway.
"Hello," she said shyly, barely looking at the stranger.
"I got lost in the woods; do you know which way's to the nearest
village?" he wanted to know. "Can you show me?"
"Just follow the creek downstream," Anna said softly. She didn't
move.
"Speak up child," the man said, "I can't understand you. I'm a
little hard of hearin'." Anna repeated what she'd said.
"I can't hear you child, just point me in the right direction. My
hearin's really bad." He moved back into the sunlight. Anna stepped
outside and walked towards the creek. The man followed her swiftly, then
grabbed her, pulled her hands behind her back, and covered her mouth
before she could let out a scream. She struggled as hard as she could,
but the man held her tight.
"Stop struggling or I'll kill you right here," the man yelled at
her. Anna stopped in horror; she sensed he meant what he said. She
watched, terrified, as two men appeared from across the creek and walked
into the cabin. Menes later, the cabin burned. Tears ran down Anna's
cheek as she remembered her first home burning. "Not again!" she cried
inwardly, almost choking on the lump she felt in her throat, "Not
again!"
"Did you get some rope?" asked the man who was holding her.
"Sure did, and some cloth to keep her quiet," answered the man
grinning, binding Anna's hands behind her back, and tying the cloth so
she couldn't make a sound. "Don't need her screamin' all the way."
"Let's go!" the man grabbed her arm and dragged her along. She tried to
resist, but got a blow to her head instead.
"You walk, or you'll get more of those," the man threatened and
raised his hand again. Anna's head hurt. She let herself be led away,
weeping as she stumbled down the path.
"Tobias, help me!" she thought, "Please! Tobias! Help me!"
It was a long way up the hill to check the traps and disable them.
Not much game was in the traps these days. "Damn wolves" he swore out
loud when he found another trap with only a head in it. He'd have to
come up with something better than the current traps when he returned
from Dargon. Angry, Tobias walked on. "Three traps in one day emptied by
those damn beasts! I can't believe it!" he muttered to himself. "It
would have been nice to have some extra meat to take along to Dargon.
What am I going to tell Anna, when I get home empty-handed? The wolves
ate her dinner?" Tobias picked up a stick, slammed it against the
nearest tree, breaking it in half. "I better make my way home, no sense
in cleaning out more traps."
Frustrated, Tobias chose another path back. When he saw smoke
rising, he hurried down the hill. "Oh, Stevene! Please, don't let this
be true!" Tobias called out, hoping it was not his cabin going up in
flames. His hopes were crushed when he finally saw the clearing in which
his cabin was located. Where his cabin stood, the flames were rising
high into the sky.
"Anna!" he shouted, "Anna, where are you?" Only the sound of flames
consuming his cabin answered him. There was nothing he could do to stop
the fire; in a few bells his cabin would be only ash. The goats were
trying to get as far from the burning cabin as possible and galloped
into the forest the minute Tobias released them.
Tobias worked hard to stop the spread of the fire. Countless times
he ran back and forth, making sure none of the falling debris would set
the forest on fire. He had lost track of time and stopped to catch his
breath. He was sure the fire wouldn't spread now, but his cabin was
lost. He had moved his hand-wagon to safety earlier, and felt fortunate
that he still had it. Everything he had packed was still on there and
safe. He glanced to the spot where he'd left it. A small bundle on the
side caught his eye and he walked over to the wagon and opened it:
Anna's belongings.
"Anna!" Tobias called her until his voice was sore, but no answer.
His heart ached. The uncertainty of what had happened to her made him
worry so much he had trouble breathing. He could only hope that she
hadn't been trapped inside the cabin when the fire had broken out.
Tobias watched as the cabin collapsed and sent more debris flying,
keeping him busy preventing the spreading of the fire. Finally he had it
under control and he paused, feeling tired and miserable. Not knowing
what had happened to Anna was more than he could take. He searched the
area around the cabin until sunset without finding her. In his sorrow,
he forgot completely to search the other side of the creek.
The men walked fast alongside the creek, stopping only briefly
whenever Anna tripped and fell. By the time they sought shelter for the
night, Anna's knees were bloody, her arms bruised, and her head hurt.
She had fallen countless time, being unable to balance herself.
Breathing was difficult with the cloth covering, and partly filling, her
mouth. She was scared and winced in pain when one of them tied her to
the tree.
"Tobias, where are you? I need your help!" Only the cloth in her
mouth kept her from yelling at the top of her lungs.
For the first time, Anna got a good look at the men and memories of
events long forgotten surfaced again. "They look like the men who took
Mama away from me!" The realization was like a blow to the stomach and a
wave of nausea swept over her. "They were among the people who burnt my
house!" Anna swallowed hard. She watched as the men built a fire and sat
down to eat. "What are they going to do to me?" she asked herself, yet
was afraid to find out.
"We should get her some water; don't want to drag a corpse to the
village."
"You give it to her then," was the swift reply.
"Fine." One of the men got up and stood in front of Anna. "If you
make one sound, you won't get a drop of water. Understood?" Anna nodded
and he untied the gag. She took in a deep breath of fresh air and
quickly drank the water he offered her.
"That's enough." He took the cup and forced the gag back into her
mouth. Anna winced in pain. The man ignored her and settled back down
near the fire.
"Tell me," he inquired as he reached for the bread, "What makes you
think she is Arom-Nok's child? To me, she looks like any ordinary
child." The other men looked at him as if he was a youngster who needed
a lesson about the All-Creator.
"I'll tell you, but only 'cause you're new around here."
"Just tell him, and don't leave anything out," the other man
interjected.
"Well then, 'bout half score ago, this woman with her brat shows up
in our village, says her husband had died and she was looking for his
sister. 'Course the sister wasn't living anymore either, so the woman
moved into the empty shack. At first, all was fine, but then half the
people in the village got sick and died. The year after we lost most of
our goats to some sickness. First we didn't think the woman had anything
to do with it, but then we noticed that she disappeared into the woods
and didn't show up until days later. Said she was collecting herbs, but
we found out she was conspiring with Arom-Nok, plotting how to do us
more harm. She never joined in our circles, said she was praying alone.
One year we caught her in the woods, but whoever was with her then, just
vanished without a trace.
"And then that kid of hers. Just take a look! Have you ever seen
anyone with hair that red or such green eyes? No one who ever lived in
our village looked like that, and the mother didn't look like that
either. The year we caught the mother in the woods near the fairy
circle, all the children but one got sick, many died. You can guess
whose child didn't get sick! So we took action!"
"What did you do?"
"We made sure she couldn't do us any more harm, and then burnt her
place. We just didn't know what had happened to the brat. Thought the
wolves had gotten to her. Now we know, and we'll take care of her once
we're back in the village."
"And nothing bad happened in the village since you disposed of the
mother?"
"Nothing!"
"Then why do you want to harm the child?"
"Don't you understand? Her mother conspired with an evil god and
had this child!" The man pointed with his finger in Anna's direction.
"If we don't take care of the child for good, the evil will come back."
The man spoken to nodded. Quietly, the three men finished their meal.
"One of us should stand watch. Just in case."
"Don't you think she's secure enough?"
"Doesn't hurt to stand watch! Never know what happens in these
woods. And there are wolves around here."
"All right, I'll take first watch."
"Fine, wake me when it's time for the second watch," the one
sitting furthest away from Anna said. "And I wake you when it's your
turn," he added and pointed to the remaining one. The man nodded and
settled down beside the fire. Soon the two were asleep and started to
snore. The other man sat down beside them and stirred the fire.
Anna was cold and uncomfortable. She'd been trying to shift into a
better position, but the ties made that almost impossible. The man on
watch, the same one who'd given her water earlier, approached Anna and
gestured her to be silent. Then he took the gag out of her mouth. Anna
took a deep breath and licked her dry lips. Silently he put a cup to her
mouth and let her drink some of the water.
"Name's Drew," he whispered, "Don't make a sound. Don't want to
have to put the gag back in. Understand?" Anna nodded. Drew took a sharp
stone, went behind the tree, and started to tear the rope with it. Soon
the rope gave and Anna quickly brushed the remains of the rope off her
wrists. She rubbed her badly hurting wrists. Drew stepped in front of
her and whispered: "Listen closely and remember! Name's Drew. I'm a
merchant from Dargon, selling cloth. I have a stand in the marketplace
there. I've been searching for you for a long time. Knew your mother.
There are some things you need to know, but I can't tell you here. See
that you make it to Dargon for the spring festival. You need to follow
the water downstream for several days. Walk on the stones or in the
water for the first days so the men can't track you. Pass the villages
by night; don't let anyone see you if possible. Understand?" Anna nodded
again.
"Here, eat slowly." He handed her a piece of bread and watched her
eat it. When she was done he gave her another.
"Save that for later! And now go!" He pointed towards the creek and
watched her disappear.
Anna made her way to the creek, careful not to step on twigs or
make a sound that could rouse the men. She felt dazed and confused, but
she was free again and would go and find Tobias. It was dark, but
Nochturon's light aided her in finding her way. When she finally reached
the creek, Anna was exhausted and hungry. Her body ached from the
exertion of the day. She sat down to eat the rest of the bread, then
quenched her thirst with the water from the creek.
Taking a deep breath she forced herself to go on, to get as much
distance as she could between the men and herself before the other two
discovered her escape.
"I have to get home, find Tobias, and then go to Dargon," Anna
muttered to herself. "I hope he is still by the cabin." And then she
remembered, "The cabin! They burnt it down!" Gathering all her strength
she pushed forward.
The water in the creek was ice-cold. Anna stepped reluctantly in,
but Drew was right. They wouldn't be able to trace her if she walked on
the stones or in the water. Whenever possible Anna stepped onto the
stones in the creek, briefly resting. It became increasingly difficult
for her to see. Clouds covered the moon, and then the rain began to
fall, lightly at first, but soon the rain came pouring down. Within a
mene Anna was drenched. She climbed out of the creek and continued her
journey upstream on solid ground. The rain would obliterate all traces
of her footsteps. "I need to get home! I need to get home!" was all she
could think about. Wet, cold, and tired as she was, she stumbled on,
each step becoming more and more difficult.
Dawn came slowly. Anna had no idea how much farther she had to go.
The rain subsided. She tried to call Tobias, but her voice failed her.
She leaned against a tree, shivering in her wet garments. "I. Have. To
get. Home!" She dragged herself forward, but her strength was gone and
the events from the night before caught up with her. The world turned
black before her eyes and she collapsed.
Heavy rain woke Tobias the next morning. The fire was out; only the
fireplace remained of his cabin, the rest was ash. He took a long stick
and moved towards the remains to find out if Anna had been in there.
Slowly he probed the ashes with his stick, salvaging the few things the
fire hadn't consumed. He found his knife blades and pocketed them.
Tobias was both relieved and worried at the same time when he found out
that Anna hadn't been in the cabin.
Looking pensive, Tobias stood in front of the remains. The rain
from the morning had obliterated all signs of whoever might have been
there to set his place on fire. At this point it really didn't matter
anymore; there was nothing he could do to change it. All he wanted was
to find Anna, to make sure she was safe again. He wasn't sure where he
should begin searching. The past six years had been some of the happiest
in his life. To him, Anna had been a blessing. Sent from Stevene.
Tobias finally moved toward his hand-wagon, looking for some dry
clothes, and then remembered; he'd left them in the cabin. He sighed
deeply. He would have to stay in his wet clothes, not something he
looked forward to. He hoped that the sun would come out soon and dry
him. His eyes scanned the edge of the forest, hoping to spot Anna, but
to no avail.
Tobias packed his findings into his hand-wagon. "The sooner I
leave, the better!" he thought and started pulling. The soggy ground
made it difficult to move the wagon. After a few steps he stopped. "If I
leave and Anna shows up, she won't be able to find me." Tobias was torn
inside. He paced back and forth between his wagon and the site of the
fire, uncertain what to do. "Must have been those villagers who did
this! First they set my place on fire and then they take Anna." He
stopped momentarily to kick a stone out of the way, then continued his
pacing. "I need to go and find her!" Determined, he went back to his
wagon and started pulling.
Tobias made slow progress. He traveled alongside the creek,
stopping frequently, calling for Anna. The farther away from the cabin
he got, the less hope he had of finding her.
"Anna!" he shouted as loud as his voice would allow. "Anna!" but no
one answered his call. Around mid-afternoon, Tobias was tired and looked
for a place for the night. His eyes were searching both sides of the
creek, when he noticed a movement on the other side on the ground. He
left the wagon and hurried across to investigate.
"By Stevene! Anna!" Tobias cried out. His eyes took it in all at
once: the girl on the ground, covered with dirt, injured, and wet.
Carefully, he picked her up. She felt cold and was very pale, but
breathing. Tobias carried her to his wagon. He had to get her out of the
wet clothing. Quickly, he unloaded the wagon, opened a bundle of fur,
and spread half of it over the wagon. Then he peeled the wet clothing
off the girl, laid her on the fur and covered her with the contents of a
second bundle of fur. It would have to do until they reached shelter.
Tobias thought for a while which direction he should go. He didn't
dare speculate as to what had happened to Anna to get her in such a
state. He'd seen the bruises and scrapes on her body. He wasn't sure
going to Dargon was such a good idea after all. He would have to think
about it. He checked on Anna. She was still very pale, but breathed more
easily. The fur helped warming her up. He would have to find a place
where she could recover. The small settlement near the Coldwell river,
where his friends Zarit and Jerel lived, came to his mind. They would
surely help.
Tobias took a deep breath and began to pull the wagon. He moved
away from the creek, taking the path into the forest. It would mean a
detour of half a day, but he felt safer that way. He was glad to have
Anna back and while he was pulling the wagon, he made plans to build a
new cabin.
========================================================================
Talisman Zero
Part 2
by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
<John.White@Drexel.Edu>
Mid-fall, 2216 ID
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 12-1
Kendil lay alone on Captain Eldinan's large bed, and stared
listlessly around her sparsely furnished cabin. It was about half the
size of the alkaehran hold, and contained only the bed, a table against
one wall, a sea chest under the table, and a private bathroom behind a
door in one corner. The only decoration in the main room was a
glass-chip mosaic on the opposite wall, showing a scene of water
crashing onto rocks. It has been made, he understood, by Eldinan
herself.
Aside from that one piece of art, there was nothing else fancy in
the room. No extravagant trappings, no gold or jewels strewn around,
only simple furnishings in a simple room for the fascinating Captain
Eldinan.
The captain was on deck at the moment, overseeing the crew. The
_Typhoon Dancer_ had enjoyed a week of good weather since that last
storm, but the captain treated every day the same, and preferred to keep
her eye on things in calm, steady breeze, or storm.
Kendil wished she were here, though. Then he would have other
things to do than think. He smiled as his thoughts turned to those other
things, but the smile faded as the object he fondled recalled to him the
reason for his distress.
He looked down at the wooden chain he had been carving that day a
week ago that the captain had decided to invite him into her bed.
Thoughts of good fortune and misfortune chased each other through his
brain, and he wondered whether he was mad to be feeling even the least
bit unhappy at the present moment.
Perhaps not unhappy, for what was there to be unhappy about? He
wasn't sleeping in those confining hammocks any more. He wasn't sleeping
alone, either, and the captain was quite talented when it came to bed
games. They talked, too, and sometimes their conversation was as
fulfilling to him as their more carnal intercourse. She was being slowly
revealed to him as his perfect woman, or as perfect as he was likely to
meet, given that the gods no longer walked among mortals. He felt that
he might even be falling in love with her.
And yet, he still found himself discontented.
He ran his fingers over the smooth, carved wooden links he had
made, and worried at that discontent. The wooden chain had been started
as an exercise; his father had taught him the trick, and he was just
keeping in practice. But then Nikkeus had mentioned in rapid-passing
that he had noticed him carving, and at that moment the chain had been
destined to belong to the musician.
And then, Eldinan had turned her attentions on him. There hadn't
been time for a choosing between the two; he had been flattered by her
interest, then had accepted her invitation, and then it had been done.
He hadn't expected the captain to maintain her interest in him. He had
continued and finished his carving, thinking to be back in the alkaehran
hold in days, and then asking one of the crew if there were someplace
private he could take his music maker.
But that hadn't happened. The sun crossed the yardarm again and
again, he and the captain began to grow close, the chain was completed,
and he found himself thinking about Nikkeus almost as often as he
thought about Eldinan.
He wrapped the chain around one fist and closed his eyes. He
conjured up an image of both of them behind his eyelids, and tried to
compare them. Tall Nikkeus next to shorter Eldinan. Chestnut haired
Eldinan next to blond Nikkeus. Both fair, but Eldinan had the features
of a pure Fretheodan, while Nikkeus had that Nirmalel nose. Eldinan's
grey eyes were mysterious, while Nikkeus' light green eyes were lively,
happy, open. There was nothing to choose between them -- Kendil found
himself drawn to both images before him.
He imagined that he reached out and touched both, caressed the
cheeks of both, kissed the lips of both. He ran his imagined hands
across both chests -- Eldinan's curved, full, soft; Nikkeus' flat and
hard, each with different nipples, both kinds interesting, both kinds
exciting.
His phantom hands roved further, touching arms, hips, thighs,
stomachs, groins. He remembered the night of the storm, lying with
Nikkeus. He remembered the next night in this bed with the captain.
Which had been more fulfilling? Which had been better? Which, which,
which?
Why did he feel the need to compare, the need to choose? Wasn't the
decision made? He couldn't turn away from the captain for a young
teraehra, he just couldn't; and anyway, he didn't know Nikkeus as well
as he knew Eldinan. What if the musician had taken nothing but a
moment's pleasure from that stormy night? What if his discontent were
just some kind of false fear of worth? If only there were a priest of
Reesera on board -- he needed to talk this out with someone, and an
acolyte of the God of Love was the perfect person for the task. Maybe he
would have to wait until landfall at Wudamund. That should only be
another two weeks, after all.
Surely that wasn't too long. Surely he could survive fourteen days
of doubts and dreams, strange discontent in the midst of perfect
contentment. Two weeks of thoughts of warm, firm flesh pressing against
him, pressing against yielding flesh, grey eyes staring into his,
staring into green eyes, staring down past his chest to a face with a
Nirmalel nose, staring up along a flat stomach past beautiful breasts to
a Fretheodan face, thinking about choices, why choose, choose, choose
... choose ...
Captain Eldinan found herself whistling absently as she stood on
the quarterdeck and surveyed the _Typhoon Dancer_. Knowing she was a
lousy whistler, she stopped -- the crew didn't deserve the punishment --
but continued to smile. She certainly should be happy enough to whistle.
Kendil was an amazing young man, full of skills, full of energy, full of
stories, full of wonder. That chain he had carved -- simple,
utilitarian, almost mundane, and yet so intricate when examined, so
beautiful. She had seen works of art made out of wood, but that chain --
it was just amazing, just like Kendil.
She had picked the alkaehra for an afternoon's diversion, but she
had found far more. She had certainly found her match in bed, but his
talents extended beyond carnal pleasures as well. Those magic hands were
matched by an inventive mind, and a well of energy. And if sometimes he
needed a little help directing his ideas, a hint of a push to get him
going, well she certainly had practice in that sort of thing and she
wasn't one of those who hated taking her livelihood into her off duty
hours.
And then she was whistling again, with a grin on her face that
almost made it ache.
Mooribek, who was working on some lines nearby, looked up and
grinned in turn. "A happy cap'n means a happy ship, I've always heard
said." she quipped. "But we've already got a musician a'playin', Cap'n,
for all his notes are sadder'n a multiple funeral. So mayhap you could
leave off your 'competition'?"
"Second!" Eldinan called out. "Five lashes for this swab, for
insulting the captain!" The smile on her face and her hearty laugh
ensured that everyone knew the joke. Mooribek smiled and saluted, and
went back to the ropes. Out of curiosity, Eldinan turned her attention
to the musician that her crew member had talked about. And she made sure
to concentrate on not whistling.
Now that she was listening, she heard the melancholy notes coming
from the bow. She made her way forward, and found the musician sitting
atop one of the storage casks lashed into place just short of the bow.
He was bent over his instrument, which was placed across his knees,
intently working on the strings with the fingers of one hand, and
turning a crank set into the side with the other. The music that was
produced was not quite like anything she had ever heard, and she just
listened for a bit to the haunting melody. As Mooribek had said, there
was sadness in every note, sadness in the way his fingers moved, sadness
in the droop of his shoulders and neck. If the music hadn't been so
exquisite, she would have ordered him to stop immediately. Instead, she
wondered at the source of the sadness, and listened, rapt.
When there was a pause in the music, Eldinan shook herself a bit
and said, "You play magnificently. What kind of instrument is that? I've
never seen or heard its like before."
The musician looked up, startled, and Eldinan found herself staring
into his almost grass-green eyes. He had a handsome face, quite
prominently branded as a northerner with that enormous Nirmalel nose and
such light blond hair. And those eyes were just amazing!
She caught a couple of different emotions crossing his face before
he looked back down at his instrument. What had they been ... annoyance?
For being disturbed maybe. Envy? Well, who wouldn't envy the captain.
Anger? At what?
"The instrument is my own, Captain," he said softly.
Eldinan found herself impressed. There had to be a lot of talent in
the man before her, if he could play as well as that *and* make
instruments as well. She asked, "So, what may I call you, besides a most
excellent musician?"
Another pause, and the young man began, "I am Terant Nikkeus,
Captain. The instrument is just a combination of a viol and some drone
strings that are bowed mechanically by the action of this crank here.
The pitch of the drones can be varied slightly with these keys here. I
call it a vibrolin, but that's just what I call it but since I made it I
guess I can do that --"
He stopped abruptly and blushed, dropping his head again as if
ashamed.
Eldinan leaned against the rail and contemplated the young man.
There was something about him that aroused her maternal instincts, or
was it her captainly instincts, the ones that made her want to do her
best for her crew? He wasn't part of her crew -- he was one of the
teraehran bound for Wudamund -- but she still wanted to do something to
help him. He was just *so* sad -- surely she could do something about
that.
"So, Nikkeus, you are a player as well as a maker of instruments.
And you are a right handsome lad, as well. So why do you sit in my bow
playing music to make the fishes weep?"
Nikkeus looked up at her with an open expression, and said, "You."
She waited for more, but nothing more came. "Me?" she asked.
Nikkeus looked down again, paused, and said eventually, "Kendil."
Again, nothing more came. Kendil and her?
"I respect your privacy, but you make me curious. You say that I am
part of the cause of your sadness, but I have never met you before
today. I would appreciate some explanation of that."
Nikkeus was silent for a long time, and Eldinan was about to shrug
and turn away, when his voice started up. "The storm. That night, I was
in the galley. It's a steady place, and I couldn't sleep ..."
She listened to the tale of what two of the soldiers aboard her
ship had got up to that storm-tossed night. As interesting as the tale
was, of Kendil and Nikkeus happening on each other and ending up in each
others' arms, she found herself almost captivated by the face of the
young man speaking. His mouth was amazingly mobile, shaping each word
perfectly. His lips danced, and she was nearly hypnotized by them.
She found herself drawn to the musician, and those captainly
instincts he aroused in her started to become a different sort of
arousal. Handsome, talented, and full of such sadness, who could fail to
be moved? But she already had a lover who fulfilled her. She didn't need
another. But if only ...
The tale continued to the next day, when Kendil had left the
musician and later, she had come along and taken Kendil away to her
cabin, where he had been ever since. Only figuratively, of course -- the
alkaehra had participated in drills every day, and had free run of the
ship as normal.
Nikkeus finished, "... and so that's why I'm playing such sad
music, because I've been left once again and I suppose I should have
expected it. After all, it's the captain this time isn't it? I'm no
competition for you. So I'm sorry if my playing is upsetting anyone.
I'll stop if you want."
Eldinan blinked a few times in the silence, marshaling her thoughts
and getting her emotions under control. Finally she said, "That is quite
a story, Nikkeus. I'm sorry that it seems that I've taken your man, but
... well, he said nothing to me of other ... commitments. Please,
continue to play. Good music is good music, no matter what its
motivation."
She paused again, still flustered by the soul-baring story, and not
yet certain of her reaction to it. She found herself briefly angry with
Kendil for some reason, even though she knew perfectly well that no
promises had been made between the two men. And yet, Nikkeus had
seemingly invested their time together with more meaning than Kendil
had. Or was that true? Had Kendil really felt nothing more than lust for
the musician, or had he simply not had the time to express any deeper
feelings? Her own part in Nikkeus' story, that she thought had been
peripheral, might have been more important than she had realized.
Uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts were taking her, she
said, "Ah ... I'll take my leave, now. I'm sorry for any hurt that's
been done you, but thank you for giving me your tale. Good day."
She turned away from the dejected musician, who hadn't looked up
from his head-down position. But before she had taken three steps, the
music began again, just as melancholy as before. She sighed and
continued across the deck, through the door under the quarterdeck, down
the short corridor, and through the door at its end into her cabin.
Kendil was lying on the bed, worrying his wooden chain like
Tendilask prayer beads. If he had been playing an instrument, Eldinan
thought he might be able to accompany Nikkeus, so mournful was his
expression.
Recalling the story she had just heard, and the fact that the
person on the bed in front of her had featured prominently in it, she
wondered whether the source of both sadnesses might be the same. She
walked across the cabin and sat down next to Kendil. She placed her hand
on his thigh, and said, "And what's got you frowning so, lover?"
Kendil looked at her and smiled tentatively. He put a hand over
hers on his thigh, sighed deeply, and said, "Nothing. Nothing at all."
Eldinan shook her head and frowned. "I don't believe that." She
moved her hand to the bed on the far side of him, and leaned over him.
"Don't hide things from me, Kendil. Please."
Kendil looked upset at that. He said, "B-but ..." and turned away
from her piercing gaze.
Eldinan lifted a hand to turn his head back to face her. She looked
deeply into his brown eyes, and said, "Tell me." He blinked and stared
back, but didn't say anything. "I could make it an order. You may serve
under Jenkil, but you're still a part of my crew." She softened her
expression lightened her tone, so that he would know it was a joke --
she would never bring her rank into her bed. But maybe the joke would
loosen his tongue.
He smiled in response, shut his eyes for a moment, and then opened
them again. "I was just thinking about ... Nikkeus."
"What about Nikkeus?" Eldinan asked, pretty sure of the answer.
After hesitating for another moment, Kendil said, "He ... he and I
spent the night of the storm together. In the galley. And it was a very
-- intense -- experience. We never really got to talk about it, though,
and then you came along, and ... well, I find myself wondering.
Wondering about that night, and him, and what might have been."
Eldinan sat up then, but maintained eye contact. She thought about
these two young men, each pining for the other in their own way. She
asked seriously, "Do you regret accepting my request of a week ago?"
Kendil's answer was immediate. "Oh, no! I don't know if I've ever
been happier than I have this past week. Well, except maybe the night of
the storm. That's the difficult part of it -- I think that I could find
happiness with either you or Nikkeus. I don't think I could choose
between you. But, of course, I already have, I guess."
Eldinan found herself surprised by the things she was thinking just
then. She should have been outraged that her current lover was also
equally attracted to a barbarian musical teraehra. She was a ship's
captain, not to mention a Child of Aelther, a pure-blood Fretheodan,
after all!
But Eldinan knew that was just her upbringing talking. She knew
that feelings didn't follow economic or political station, and the heart
didn't care about what part of the empire one's parents came from. She
knew that Nikkeus had just as much of a hold on Kendil's heart as she
did.
The question was, what was she going to do about it? There were
only two choices ... or were there more?
She found herself contemplating that last thought, wondering where
it had sprung from. She mulled it over for a moment, and then decided,
"Why not?"
"I've got a proposal for you, Kendil, and it goes like this ..."
Nikkeus felt better for having explained his feelings to the
captain. He didn't think that her knowing would make any difference in
the way things were, but at least someone knew about it all. Now at
least someone would understand the suicide note he was contemplating
writing at the end of his term of service.
He continued sitting on deck playing his mournful melodies because
almost anything was better than listening to his squad mates sitting
around in their cabin and joking about conquests past, present, and
future, both amorous and martial. His vibrolin was his second favorite
instrument, and it often brought strangers up to ask him about its
distinctive and unique sound. And some conversation to take his mind off
of his troubles would be nice.
The sun was nearing the horizon when a shadow fell over him. He
didn't need to see his instrument to play it, but the shadow meant
someone was near, so he looked up.
Nikkeus saw Corrik standing there, looking at the instrument on his
lap. He knew that Corrik was the third in command of the vessel, even
though Nikkeus probably had four or five years on the man. Briefly
wondering what circumstances had led to Corrik's rank, he said, "Yes?"
"Your pardon, Terant Nikkeus. I was entranced by the lovely sound
of your instrument. Ah, the captain asked me to request your presence in
her cabin at once."
"Why?" asked Nikkeus.
"She didn't say. My apologies. I've got to get back to my duties.
Fair sailing under Aelther's aegis."
Corrik sketched a courtesy salute, and walked away. Nikkeus
stretched his legs and slowly stood up. He was used to sitting cross
legged for long periods, but even so it took him some time to get them
used to moving again. He stood, slipped the picks off his fingertips,
gathered up his vibrolin, and started walking aft, wondering the while
what the captain could want. Did this have anything to do with their
talk earlier? If so, what? Was this trouble? What else could it be?
He reached the door that led under the quarterdeck, and walked down
the short passage. He stopped before the door at the far end and
knocked. He waited for a moment, and when no one answered, he opened it
and stepped in.
The room he entered was medium-sized for a room aboard a ship, but
it was far less ornamented than he would have expected. A simple bed,
table, and chest, and for decoration, only a mosaic on one wall. Nothing
fancy or flashy. Not what he would have expected of a captain's cabin.
And he certainly wasn't expecting what awaited him on the bed
itself. Because what he saw was Kendil, arms spread wide and tied to the
posts of the simple headboard, wearing only a smile and a sheet covering
him from the waist down.
"Ah ... what?" was all that Nikkeus could manage. Kendil opened his
mouth to reply, but at that moment, the captain herself emerged from the
other door in the room and stopped, startled by Nikkeus' presence.
"By Aelther, this wasn't supposed to happen," Eldinan said. "I told
Corrik to wait before asking you here, Nikkeus, to give me time to get
clear. I've got to teach that man to listen to *all* of an order!"
She frowned and paced for a moment, then seemed to come to a
decision. She said, "Well, this should have been Kendil's speech. He's
tied to the bed in such a way that he couldn't have done it himself, so
that you would believe that he was telling the truth about my gift, but
maybe you will give it more credence to hear it directly from me. The
long and short of it, Nikkeus, is I am going to give you a chance with
Kendil here."
She didn't pause for Nikkeus' surprised "What?" but continued,
"After hearing your story on deck, I came back here to find Kendil
moping as well, for similar reasons, and that got me thinking. Being
with him makes me happy, but I can't be with him every moment. Being
with him makes you happy, and he tells me that being with the each of us
makes him happy. So, during those times that I must be with the crew, I
am willing to allow you and he to be together.
"If anyone becomes uncomfortable with the arrangement, we will have
to work out another solution at that time. But for now, this is it. He's
my gift to you, all tied and ready. Have fun!"
Nikkeus was thinking furiously as Eldinan walked toward the door.
The captain had certainly surprised him with this situation, which was
very generous, and the product of an open mind. But there was another
opportunity waiting, one that she just might be open to. Even though he
felt he might be straining her generosity, he decided to act anyway.
So before the captain reached the door, he turned and said, "Stay."
Eldinan stopped, faced him, and asked, "What?"
"Stay, Captain. I thought that if there might be an attraction
between you and I, then perhaps instead of two twos, why not one three?
We could at least try. That way there won't be any jealousy. And maybe
all three of us could be happy all of the time, instead of switching off
between you and me."
Eldinan said slowly, "I hadn't thought of that. I don't know,
though ... I mean, ..."
Kendil spoke up eagerly. "Nikkeus has a point, Elin. Why not give
it a try? You were willing to share me after all. Why not share me in
person? And I have a feeling that you are no more resistant to that
Nirmalel face than I am."
Nikkeus nodded, and said, "Try. Please?"
After an almost interminable pause, Eldinan finally shook her head,
laughed ruefully, and said, "Why not? I'm already beginning to think I'm
crazy to imagine letting you two carry on together behind my back. Why
not participate?"
She smiled at the two of them and walked over to the bed. Nikkeus
automatically walked over to the other side. Eldinan reached for the
ropes at Kendil's wrists, and said, "I guess these have served their
purpose. One of Kendil's best assets are his hands: it would be a shame
to keep them restrained."
Nikkeus smiled at the recollection that Eldinan's comment elicited.
His attention was fixed on the movement of Eldinan's hands, and he was
wondering how much of an asset her hands were when Kendil interrupted
his thoughts with, "So, Nikk, why don't you unwrap the rest of your
package now?"
Nikkeus looked down into Kendil's grinning face. The alkaehra was
doing his best to indicate, without the use of his hands, the sheet that
was covering him. Nikkeus reached for the edge of the sheet and pulled
it away to reveal that Kendil *was* in fact wearing nothing but his
smile.
Eldinan had freed both of Kendil's wrists by that time, and said,
"It looks like the rest of us need to lose some clothes. Why don't you
put those hands to use, Kendil, and help us out?"
As Kendil reached for him, ending up doing more teasing than
undressing, Nikkeus felt better than he had since boarding the _Typhoon
Dancer_. He watched eagerly as the captain began to unbutton her vest,
and thought that maybe he wouldn't be writing that suicide note after
all.
========================================================================
The Beast
by Mike Adams
<mead
ams@sunherald.infi.net>
7-8 Firil 1015
"Jaaaron! Guardsman Jaron!" Sergeant Guralnik's shout echoed
through the corridors of the cells below Dargon Keep. Jaron had the
night duty this sennight, and Sgt. Guralnik had already caught him
sleeping once, two mornings ago. The jailer had little time for
layabouts, but the strange star in the sky had stretched the duke's men
thinly. In the end, the veteran guardsman felt relieved to have someone
with which to split the duty.
"I'm down here, sergeant," came Jaron's thin, reedy voice, "At the
small cell."
Guralnik strolled down the wide corridor which separated the cells,
four large ones on the right side, five smaller ones on the left. Jaron
was standing in front of the small cell at the end of the corridor,
lighting the last of the torches that relieved only a small part of the
darkness that pervaded the dungeon of Dargon Keep.
Guardsman Jaron was a short, slight, man whose tabard hung limply
from his narrow shoulders, an unconscious parody of a typical hulking
soldier. His eyes were what everyone remembered; they flitted from sight
to sight, never seeming to rest. People seldom trusted him because of
this tendency, since he rarely looked anyone in the eye for long.
Guralnik was aware that Jaron had obtained his position through the
good offices of an uncle who was owed a favor by someone in the Duke's
court. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn that Liriss made a
regular, though small, contribution to Jaron's pay packet, although the
young man had done nothing, as yet, to earn the crime boss' coin.
Guralnik might have been surprised at the number of payments made to
persons working in the Keep, but being an honest man, he had never been
approached.
As he went by the cells the sergeant's eyes quickly swept the
enclosures, noting new arrivals and determining whether anyone had
escaped their due punishment by dying in the night. When he got to the
end cell, he had to look twice.
"By Ol's balls, what's a woman doing in my cells?" he shouted.
"Jaron, are you mad?" He turned to Jaron, who stood grinning, looking
into the cell.
"Captain Koren's order, sergeant," said Jaron. "She killed her pa
last night, and someone else a few years back. The city guard's full up
they said, with all those troublemakers from the market square preaching
against the new star, so they brought her here." He pointed into the
cell, at the two men cowering in the corner farthest from the girl.
"Those two won't go near her."
After having heard their story, Guralnik had to agree. The two men,
servants in the castle, had gotten drunk three nights ago and decided to
steal the jewelry of a visiting noblewoman. The lady had woken during
the commission of the crime and had immediately attacked the pair, who
quickly soiled themselves and had been led to the dungeon by a pair of
chuckling guards.
The sergeant turned his attention to the other occupant of the
cell. A young girl, he could tell: about fourteen years old. She sat
cross-legged near the door, a vacant stare on her face. She wore a loose
shift, so it was difficult to see much of her body.
"She's a looker, sergeant, isn't she?" said Jaron, who had
apparently seen more of the girl when she had been brought to the cells.
"And she tells stories, good stories. I think I've seen her in the
market square, telling tales for a Scrod. I listened to her most of the
night. That sure enough made my shift go by fast."
Guralnik shooed the bemused Jaron out of the dungeon and settled
down for a quiet day. He kept an ear out for the girl, but she made no
sounds while he was there. And although Sergeant Guralnik was unaware of
it, the beast had awakened.
"Beware the four-lipped beast, my son." The girl was telling a new
story, and Jaron, who had arrived early for his shift for the first time
in his life, listened eagerly. He was seated on a stool outside the
small cell, staring intently at the girl.
"Those were the last words my father spoke to me. After that, he
was too busy trying to breathe to say any more." A slow smile spread
across her lips as she remembered, but it didn't reach her pale blue
eyes, which were seeing events far beyond the cell walls.
"My father, so my mother told me, hated women. Why he kept her is a
mystery to me, but he did, until she revealed she was with child.
Believing he had been cursed to die without progeny, my father assumed
she had been unfaithful. He flew into a rage, beat my mother, and then
used her to pay off a debt he had incurred while rolling the bones with
Tulik, a stevedore.
"Tulik was a big man, with simple tastes. He would either beat my
mother, or brutally use her. After a month, my mother went to my
father's home, and begged him to take her back. He laughed at her, and
shut the door.
"That was my mother's life, and my coming changed very little for
her. She said that I made her happier, and that it was easier to endure
Tulik than before, but that may have just been a matter of perspective.
I cannot remember a day in which my mother was not being beaten with
tongue or fist.
"I could not have been more than seven years old when Tulik started
to take an interest in me. It was another year before he began touching
me, and not long after that, he visited me in the night. I know now what
happened then, but at the time it was more than my mind could bear. I am
sure I went mad, at least for a while, and I remember little of that
period in my life.
"Repetition, however, will render even the most horrific act
mundane, and I regained my senses over time. Tulik's house settled into
a routine in which abuse and terror were so commonplace as not to be
noticed. At times my mother or I would rebel in some small way, only to
be beaten down, literally, by Tulik.
"The disruption of the routine came one evening late in my twelfth
year. Maybe a late ship put Tulik in such a foul mood, or the fact that
my mother burned the bread, but suddenly Tulik lashed out and struck my
mother with the back of his hand. Normally, that would have satisfied
him, but my mother allowed a flash of defiance to appear on her face,
and Tulik went berserk. I huddled in a corner, unable to help, while he
punched and kicked my mother ceaselessly, screaming senseless noises all
the while.
"Slowly he wound down and finally stood still, breathing heavily,
staring at my mother's motionless body. Without looking around, he
walked out of the house, no doubt headed to the nearest tavern.
"I crawled from my corner to my mother and cradled her bloody head
in my lap. I sobbed as I rocked her back and forth as she had done with
me when I was only a baby. Eventually she roused, and moaned softly. I
cleaned off the worst of the blood with the skirt of my dress while my
mother spoke to me again of my father. How she knew I would need a place
to live, I don't know, but she told me what I would have to do.
"When she died only menes later I laid her in my own bed. It took
some time, for even though she was a small woman, I was still only a
child. Then I took the sharpest knife from the kitchen, crouched in a
dark corner, and waited.
"I must have dozed off, for I didn't hear Tulik until he started
yelling for my mother. Maybe the drink had driven the earlier events of
the evening out of his head, but apparently he assumed my mother would
be in his bed as always. After a moment he fell upon the bed and started
snoring almost immediately.
"I had imagined this moment many times, seeing the blood spurt,
hearing him beg for his life, but now that it had come I just quickly
drew the blade across Tulik's neck, as deeply as I could, jumping away
in case he roused. In the end, he lay there, burbling blood through his
throat, too drunk to even realize what was happening to him. When the
sound of his liquid breathing ceased I returned to my own bed, and
crawling in beside my dead mother, I slept more peacefully than I had
for many long years.
"The next morning I left that charnel house and went to the market
square where my real father told stories to earn his meager living. In
my turn I told him the tale my mother had spun; that I was his son,
named Kyl, born of the woman he had thrown in the street. I had dressed
in a loose tunic, and trousers. Being young and skinny, only a close
examination would have betrayed me. Tulik's path had crossed my father's
only seldom, and according to my mother they were not friendly, so I had
no reason to believe I would be caught out. When he took my hand, looked
in my eyes, and called me son, I knew I was safe, at least for a time.
"From that time I lived in my father's house, and went with him
each day to the market, where he would tell his stories. I sat beside
him, listening to the way he would speak, the way he would make his
voice rise and fall with the tale, and how he would stop at the most
exciting part and wait for a coin to ring on the stone before he
finished the story. Soon I knew most of the stories he told, and he
would let me tell one, when the crowds were sparse.
"One dreary winter day, after too much drink the night before, he
told me to go to the market on my own. I returned that evening with
almost a Round's worth of smaller coins. My father was amazed, but since
I didn't spend half the day in the tavern drinking the day's earnings
away it wasn't difficult.
"My father rarely ventured to the market after that. He devoted
himself to spending our increased earnings in his favorite alehouse;
rising from his bed only in time to take most of my money as soon as I
had returned from my pitch. Many times he stayed away the entire night,
his bed still empty when I ventured out at the suns' false rising.
"It was some time before I learned the reason for my father's long
nights, and though it was a shock, it explained much. Not long before my
body began to truly blossom, my father returned from the tavern, the
worse for drink, and morose to the point of tears. He sat on his bed
calling softly for someone named Lestir, which sounded strange. As far
as I knew, my father had no one close enough to him to weep over.
"Then my father paused in his weeping and gave me a look which, at
first, I did not understand. It was when he called me a pretty young
lad, and mumbled something about moving closer that comprehension
flashed into my mind. My father was a boy-lover! It explained so many
things, from his hatred of my mother and other women, to his frequent,
secretive nights away from home. I recovered my wits in time to elude my
father's fumbling grasp, and ran out into the night.
"It was several bells before I returned to our home to find my
father asleep, and when he woke the next morning, it was if nothing had
happened. He made no reference to the events of the previous night, and
when I returned from the market, he took his usual cut of my takings and
left for the tavern without a word.
"From that day I lived in terror that my father would come to me in
the night and try to satisfy his lust. What he would do when he found I
was not his son, but his daughter, was something I tried not to think
about. I slept fitfully, and both my appearance and talent suffered. I
started to see movements in the shadows, and hear noises in the dark
silence of the night.
"It was about that time that the moving star appeared in the
twilight sky over Dargon. There were many who met in the market square
to talk about the star and say what they thought it portended. One
priestly looking man said it was the birth of a god, but another said it
was a sign of a god's death. Yet another said it signaled the end of the
world, for we had displeased the gods, and they were sending a ball of
fire to consume us.
"It seemed that over the next few days more people came to believe
that the world was going to end, and the Guard was very busy trying to
keep order. During this time of increasing chaos, I could feel the
shadows creeping closer to me. It was about then that I decided to give
my father a special meal, for if the end of days had come surely the
gods would not mind me taking some of their justice into my own hands.
Their hands would be full with the rest of the world.
"I went to the fishmonger's and bought a fresh popperfish, being
sure to get one that had not been gutted. This wasn't unusual, as many
wives preferred to fillet the fish themselves to be sure the delicately
flavored flesh was not tainted by a small, but highly poisonous, gland
deep in the fish.
"My father, fool that he was, took my elaborate meal preparations
as a sign that I finally regretted my action in rejecting him so
abruptly, and he decided to forego his usual trip to the tavern, no
doubt hoping to commit some lewd act upon me instead. I didn't disabuse
him of the notion, even going so far as to smile at him several times.
"Not long after my father had finished his meal, not noticing that
I hadn't touched my portion of fish, he rose and approached me, a slight
smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He opened his mouth to speak,
but just then a strong shudder tore through his body, nearly toppling
him. My father looked at me, a puzzled expression on his face, but he
couldn't force any words from his mouth, which was now locked tight by
the next spasms.
"I smiled at him, and repeated his words to me on the day we met.
'I am your daughter Kylana. Beware the four-lipped beast, my father.'
And the last thing my father saw was his daughter, nude and laughing,
dancing as his life ended."
Suiting action to word, the girl rose, stripped, and danced wildly
about the cell, laughing madly. The two ducal servants cringed in a
corner, but Jaron stared intently, lust strong in his eyes, which for
once never wavered from their focus. The beast had arrived.
"Jaaaron! Guardsman Jaron!" Sergeant Guralnik's shout echoed
through the corridors of the cells below Dargon Keep.
"By Ol's balls, if you are sleeping again, guardsman, Ol's temple
will have yours on the offering plate this very day!"
Guralnik strode down the corridor between the cells, not even
seeing the pale faces peering from the larger cells. As he approached
the small cell he almost slipped in a puddle. The jailer held his lamp
up low and peered at the liquid. It looked very much like blood, but
even during one of the occasional fights that occurred in the cells
there was not this much. His right hand quickly found the hilt of his
sword.
With a sense of dread about what he might see, Guralnik raised the
lamp and looked into the cell. One glimpse at the part of the scene lit
by the lamp was enough to cause the sergeant to turn away and vomit his
breakfast into the cell next to him. He then ignored his
still-protesting stomach, wiped off his mouth, and turned back to the
grisly scene before him.
The two castle servants, hands and feet bound, lay in the far
corner of the cell. Their clothing was drenched in blood, but after a
moment the guard could see their chests rise and fall in the slow rhythm
of sleep.
Near the cell door lay the body of Guardsman Jaron. The large pool
of blood seemed to come from him, and when Guralnik saw that the guard's
manhood had been removed, he knew what the blood had come from.
Guralnik never knew the real sequence of events that night. The
servants knew little, having been tied up and knocked unconscious before
any blood had been shed. When questioned by the guard captain, he held
almost nothing back; even his guess at what had actually happened that
bloody night. In his mind Guardsman Jaron had gotten his due. The girl
had escaped, but how long could a young girl survive on her own?
One thing he never spoke of, even to his wife, occurred as he was
leaving the cells to get assistance. A voice seemed to whisper in the
jailer's ear, and then trailed off into laughter. What the voice said
shook the sergeant to his core.
"Beware, beware the beast. It is never far away."
========================================================================
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From: DargonZine Staff <dargon@SHORE.NET>
Subject: DargonZine Volume 13, Number 2 (long)
Organization: the Dargon Project
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 13
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========================================================================
DargonZine Distributed: 2/18/2000
Volume 13, Number 2 Circulation: 711
========================================================================
Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
A Matter of Honour 1 Nicholas Wansbutter Sy, 1003
Vows Victor M. Cardoso 15 Naia, 1016
Talisman Three 2 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Fall, 748 FE
========================================================================
DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
Please address all correspondence to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/. Back issues
are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 13-2, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright February, 2000 by
the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
<ornoth@shore.net>
DargonZine's purpose since day one has been to help amateur writers
improve. Back when the magazine began, I didn't really know what I was
looking for, but I knew that I wanted to be able to exchange ideas,
techniques, and works with other writers. I also knew that the Internet
was a tool with awesome potential for communication between people. What
I didn't know was that I was looking for the same things as other
aspiring writers: a community of like-minded writers and a place to
publish my works. Since there were no such things on the Internet at
that time, I started both a community and a publishing outlet, and
(fortunately) they flourished. But still I remember very clearly being a
solitary writer with no way to reach an audience and no one to turn to
for critiques, support, mentoring, or understanding.
Thanks to the Internet, DargonZine can provide those things to
writers who otherwise might not have a place to publish or other writers
to work with. That's why I always feel a lot of satisfaction and pride
when I can welcome new writers to the ranks of those who have had
stories published in DargonZine. Recruiting new writers not only helps
our magazine thrive and grow, but is an integral part of our mission to
support and encourage aspiring writers. Surprisingly, that's something
we lost sight of for a while. After a strong initial start, as
DargonZine matured we settled down with a core group of writers. As the
world of Dargon became more and more detailed and complex, we never made
much of an effort to find new writers or help those who joined get
ramped up on the environment. It took a long time for us to notice, but
we were floored when we finally looked back on the nine years from 1989
through 1997 and discovered that we had printed only thirteen new
writers -- barely one new writer per year!
We all knew that this was a serious problem. If we couldn't attract
and support new writers, the magazine would soon fold. After that
realization, the group made a huge effort to recruit, support, and
mentor new writers. We began asking for feedback about why new writers
left the project, and what would make things better for those who
stayed. We gave new writers more information about the milieu, better
reference tools, more story ideas to key off, better writing guidelines,
and mentors to support them. Everyone has helped, and those efforts have
paid off wonderfully. Since then we have printed thirteen new writers;
in just two years we've welcomed as many new writers as we'd printed in
the previous nine years combined!
And in this issue I am delighted to introduce you to two new
writers -- Nicholas Wansbutter and Victor Cardoso -- who joined us last
fall. Nick is a student in Winnipeg, and his debut is the first of a
three-part series that will run in the next couple issues. Victor is the
son of Portuguese expats and lives and works in Ann Arbor. Be sure to
congratulate them on getting their first stories through DargonZine's
lengthy peer-review process!
We're very pleased to welcome them, as well as all the other
writers who have joined our ranks in the past two years. The influx of
new blood has enlivened our discussions and rejuvenated the project, and
reinforced the importance of welcoming and supporting our new writers.
And that's something we should never lose sight of again.
========================================================================
A Matter of Honour
Part 1
by Nicholas Wansbutter
<ice_czar@hotmail.com>
Sy, 1003
A mixture of excitement and fear filled Aleksandr as he stood
before the family manor, on what was to be one of the proudest days of
his life. Today, he began the long journey towards becoming a knight: a
defender of the crown and protector of the people. He would bring honour
to his family, just as his father, Harbid Heahun, had before him.
Aleksandr could already picture in his boy's mind riding a great
stallion into battle, laying King Haralan's enemies low with a flashing
blade, travelling the width and breadth of the land righting wrongs,
avenging injustices and perhaps even slaying a flanduil one day. Such
was every young noble's fantasy. But, even as all of these adventurous
thoughts filled him, doubt crept into the back of his mind.
A boy of seven, he was just a little over ten hands tall. He had
pale white skin beneath a head of bright red hair and ice-blue eyes. A
fit little boy, he was known for his athleticism and strength for his
age.
As he looked around at the familiar thatched houses, the small
stone church and the deeply rutted dirt roads, Aleksandr felt anxiety
tighten his chest. He was about to travel to what seemed the end of the
world. He was, after all, being sent to Fennell Keep, in the baronial
seat of power. Aleksandr realised it was a great honour to serve in the
household of Baron Dorja Fennell himself, and that his father had made a
great many sacrifices to make it happen, but Aleksandr still wished he
could stay at home. The outside world seemed like an incredibly large
and frightening place to him. The town was all that he knew.
Though small and relatively insignificant according to his
well-travelled brothers, Heahun was to Aleksandr as beautiful a place as
any he could imagine. Nestled away comfortably in the forests southwest
of Dargon, it fell within the jurisdiction of the Barony of Fennell. It
was a somewhat humble barony, subsisting on agriculture for the most
part. Just fewer than two hundred families lived in Heahun itself. It
wasn't an especially wealthy town, either. Most of the villagers made a
life for themselves tilling the croplands to the north and east of town,
or harvesting wood for Aleksandr's father in the dense forests to the
south and west. Like all folk in the Barony of Fennell, they were a
hardy lot, enduring the warm summers and frigid winters with a quiet
determination that could only be found in the simple, silent forest. The
town was ruled by Aleksandr's family, the Heahuns, and had been for
decades. Stalwart knights that served the duke unquestioningly,
Aleksandr thought the town suited them.
He heard the familiar footfalls of his father coming up behind him.
Aleksandr looked up as the powerful figure stopped beside him, taking in
the town as well. Harbid Heahun was an impressive man, even though he
was now nearing his fiftieth year. His fiery red hair that Aleksandr
shared was streaked with silver, as were his flowing beard and
moustaches. He was tall and his powerful frame still carried much
muscle. Aleksandr was immensely proud of him.
Harbid placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "Ah, my son.
Today you take the first step in the family tradition. Your brothers
have done well, and I expect no less from you." Indeed, his father had
said many a time that Aleksandr was the most promising of his five sons,
which was why Harbid had gone to great lengths to have him taken in as a
page at Fennell Keep.
"I'm going to become a great knight like Sir Jarek Kelbhen,
father!" Aleksandr stood a little taller at speaking the name of his
hero.
Aleksandr's father looked down at him, his grey eyes warning. "He
is a robber knight. Not a noble like us!" Aleksandr's shoulders sagged
with the remark, and he could feel the heat of tears welling up in his
eyes. He idolised the dashing foreign mercenary. Harbid knelt beside the
boy and took hold of his shoulders, looking intently into his face. "He
did serve the baron well during the Shadow Wars, but Baron Fennell was
not present at the battle on the Coldwell as I was. I was witness when
your Sir Jarek took the lives of a group of surrendered Northfield
troops. Hardly conduct becoming of a Baranurian knight, even if his
prisoners were traitors to the crown. And if he is a true knight why is
he fled from his lands all the way to Dargon? Think on that, my son."
Aleksandr continued to look at the ground, refusing to accept his
father's condemnation of Sir Jarek. Finally, Harbid sighed and patted
his son on the shoulder. "I am sure you will have his courage, though."
Aleksandr brightened, and looked up with a smile at his father once
again. "Maybe I'll even be his squire one day! Tschel told me he's the
captain of the guards at Fennell Keep, you know!"
Harbid couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle at his son's zeal.
He remembered the days long past when he had been the same. He hadn't
been as well informed about the goings-on outside of Heahun, though.
Aleksandr *was* an inquisitive one. He ate up everything that his older
brother Tschel told him from his travels throughout the duchy. Perhaps
the most ambitious of the Heahuns, Tschel had strayed from the family
tradition and was the local clerk in the Court of the King's Bench. As a
result of his vocation, Aleksandr saw him at least once a month, which
was more often than could be said for others of his siblings that served
as squires or knights far away.
"Ah!" Harbid exclaimed. "Speak the names of wicked men and they
shall emerge!"
As he spoke, a dapple-grey horse emerged from the stables to the
rear of the house. Atop the horse sat Tschel, rather casually, wrapped
in his red robes that signified his position. Beneath his white linen
cap, curly golden hair protruded, and his bright blue eyes shone with
mirth. He was more scholarly than any of Aleksandr's other brothers, and
was a little pudgy, but not too much. To Aleksandr, his face seemed
perennially formed into a smile.
"And how's my little brother?" Tschel approached the boy and his
father. "Ready to leave already? Where's your friend Lev?"
"He'll be along." Aleksandr absently turned his gaze to the town,
hoping to see his friend. Aleksandr's father liked to do things early,
so it was no surprise that Lev and his father hadn't arrived yet.
Lev Roise was a peasant boy who had been Aleksandr's playmate for
as long as he could remember. He was a couple of years older, but
Aleksandr had the size advantage. Lev's father, a woodcutter by trade,
was taking him with Aleksandr to Fennell to train as a monk in Heart's
Hope Monastery. There, Lev would be a novice among the Stevenic sect of
Cyruzhian monks. Aleksandr's father had only converted to Stevenism
thirteen years ago, but it had taken deep root in Heahun under his
patronage. He had been zealous in bringing the town into the faith with
him. The year before Aleksandr had been born, construction of a stone
church had been completed. Aleksandr was the first of his family to be
named in that church. In honour of this, his father had not given
Aleksandr a familial name, but rather, the name of one of Cephas
Stevene's pupils.
"Regardless of whether Roise and his son are here," Harbid said,
"you won't be ready to leave until you've said goodbye to your mother!
Why don't you go and fetch her, son?"
"Yes, father!" Aleksandr turned and vaulted into the house.
He found his mother in the chapel, kneeling before the shrine that
dominated the small room.
"Mother?"
She stood, and turned to look at Aleksandr. Her eyes were misty,
and her face bore a sadness Aleksandr hadn't seen since her last child
was stillborn. "Hello, Aleksandr. I was just saying a little prayer for
you."
Like most boys his age, Aleksandr thought his mother was the most
beautiful creature in the barony. She was tall, but just the right size
for a hug as Aleksandr's arms just fit around her waist. Her chestnut
coloured hair was hidden beneath an elaborate hood, but Aleksandr knew
it had a little bit of grey in it nowadays. Her eyes were the colour of
iron, and smooth skin the colour of milk. She was definitely the most
pious of the Heahuns, but also the most strict. She had raised Aleksandr
to be a disciplined boy. She went to the Stevenic church almost every
day, and Aleksandr had often heard her fight with his father about
drinking and swearing. She was attentive to the teachings of Stevene's
Light however, and with her at his side, Harbid and his family were much
loved by the people of Heahun. Her name was Madeline, and Aleksandr
thought her the perfect example of Baranur gentility.
"When will I see you again, mother?" Some of Madeline's melancholy
was starting to seep into Aleksandr.
"I don't know, my son." She wrapped the boy into a tender embrace.
"Not for a long time I think."
"What's wrong, mother?" He could hear the unsteadiness in her
voice.
"Nothing ... It's just that you're my youngest son, and now you're
leaving." She sniffled a little, and continued to hold onto her son.
"Don't worry," Aleksandr said, feeling tears of his own beginning
to form. "I'll come back."
"Yes." Madeline smiled, and held Aleksandr at arm's length. "Yes,
and you will be a great knight just like your father, and your
grandfather Harabin."
Thoughts of the great family patriarch Harabin brightened
Aleksandr's spirits. If Aleksandr saw his father as a hero, his
grandfather was a *legend*. Though a pagan (and the last of the Heahuns
that was so), he had been a man of great deeds. He had fought side by
side with Duke Cabot Dargon in battle, and had ruled Heahun with
justice. Aleksandr was sure that he had slain several flanduils on his
many quests.
Aleksandr's thoughts were cut short by the entrance of his father.
He picked Aleksandr up and ruffled his son's red hair. "Well, my boy.
Are you ready?"
"Yes!"
The three emerged from the house to see Tschel still waiting on his
horse. A short distance away from him, Bel Roise and his son, Lev, sat
on an oxen-pulled cart. When Aleksandr saw his best friend, he broke
away from his parents and rushed to the wagon. The other boy
methodically dismounted the vehicle, and waited for Aleksandr to arrive.
"Lev!" Aleksandr enclosed the older boy in a bear hug.
"Straight, straight!" Lev squirmed free of Aleksandr's grasp, and
levelled his gaze on his friend. "It's good to see you Aleksandr. I'm
glad you'll be with me in Fennell."
Aleksandr patted his arm. "Me too."
Of the two boys, Lev was always much quieter and much more serious.
Although stoic and sometimes cold even, he was the best friend anyone
could ask for. Aleksandr had come to appreciate his intelligence and
kindness to others, but especially his honesty. Though he was only nine
years old, he often seemed to Aleksandr a miniature adult. The peasant
boy was small, at that. He was less than twelve hands tall and very
skinny. He had big brown eyes, and a mop of thick brown hair. When the
two boys played together, Aleksandr was always the faster and stronger,
but Lev's wit sometimes won the games.
"Well, lads," Bel Roise said from his perch on the wagon,
"Fennell's not going to come to us."
"Last one on is a scrud sucker!" Aleksandr shouted, and sprang up
onto the cart beside Lev's father.
"Aleksandr!" Madeline scolded.
"Let the boy be!" Harbid said. "He's off to be a warrior! He'll not
be quoting Cephas while he lops off heads now will he?"
Harbid's retort was met by steely silence from Madeline. Lev made
it onto the cart a heartbeat after Aleksandr had. Everything they needed
for the journey had already been packed.
Bel inclined his head to Harbid, "Good day, Sir Harbid. And thank
you again for allowing me to travel to Fennell with your son."
"Think nothing of it." Harbid said. "The boy's horsemanship is not
yet good enough to make a whole day's travel on his own. It is you who
is to be thanked."
"You are too kind, sir." Bel bowed again.
"But enough of this." Harbid gestured toward the road leading out
of town. "If you are to make Fennell before sundown, you must be off.
May God be with you."
With that, the small party began to make its way out of town.
Aleksandr watched his parents as long as they were within view, his
mother enveloped by a compassionate arm from his father. It finally
began to be real to him that he was leaving home. He could feel tears
wanting to well up in him, but he couldn't allow them to emerge in front
of Lev. Remembering what his mother had always told him to do when he
was nervous or scared, he said a prayer to Stevene and to his namesake.
It made him feel much better.
Quite rapidly, the thatched houses of Heahun gave way to the
croplands to the north of town. Several fields lay fallow, while crops
of wheat and flax could be seen growing around them. At the edge of the
fields, about three leagues beyond, the forests stood, deep and dark.
They were at their most dense in the barony of Fennell, and wood was a
major product of the town. The numerous fir trees in the Fennell forest
were excellent for building, as they were very straight and easy to cut.
The small group travelled northeast for several bells, through the
farmlands and into the forest. When the sun was near the midpoint of the
sky, they turned due east. The forest was a very pleasant place,
Aleksandr thought. Birds could be heard chirping all around him, and the
occasional hare could be seen along the edges of the road. He even saw a
deer, which he pointed out to Lev. That the beauty of creation
surrounded them seemed fitting to him, in that both he and Lev were on a
pilgrimage of sorts.
They stopped for lunch a little after midday beside a stream that
ran near the road at one spot. After eating, Tschel and Bel Roise seemed
content to sit and rest a while. Aleksandr and Lev, restless from many
bells sitting on the cart, decided to do a little exploring.
"Alright." Tschel agreed. "But not too far. We'll be leaving soon,
and we'll go without you if you're not back!"
So they set off into the woods at a bound. They chased each other
around for a bit, examined some strange looking fungi growing on trees,
and were about to head back when Lev came across a group of tall, thin
stones, the height of a man, sticking straight up from the ground. There
were two of them, standing on either side of a flat, round boulder that
to Lev resembled an altar. The rocks were a pure white like snow. He
called to Aleksandr, and the other boy hurried over.
"What is it Lev?"
"Look at those rocks, Aleksandr!" He pointed to the grouping of
stones.
"What are they, Lev?" Aleksandr asked.
"I don't know." The stones were covered in moss, and the area
looked well deserted. Nevertheless, the clearing had a strange and
ancient feel to it. Everything was so quiet, the air so still, that he
could hear his own heart beating. For no particular reason that he could
think of, he felt very content and happy. Though the air was cool, he
felt very warm, as if a stone heated in a fire had been placed in his
chest. There was also a feel that he and Aleksandr were not alone. As
when someone is watching you and the hairs on your neck begin to stand
up. A feeling that, though unexplainable, wasn't frightening at all. It
was akin to the way Lev felt when he worshipped at the church in Heahun.
"I think this is a holy place."
"Then this is a good place."
"Good place for what?" Lev asked.
"To become brothers." Aleksandr turned away from the rocks to look
at Lev. "My brother Pter told me that knights give each other solemn
oaths and become brothers. It is a sacred pledge of friendship that only
the best knights can keep. We are best friends, Lev. I think we should
be brothers, too."
"How is it done?" Lev's immediate reaction was one of scepticism.
Warfare was something he was far removed from, and happily so. However,
he did know that knightly virtues were good and pure.
"Hold out your hand." Aleksandr pulled his dagger out of his belt
and grasped the hilt tightly. "Now, put your hand over mine, so that you
are holding the sword, too."
Lev obeyed. He was not so ignorant as to think a dagger a sword,
but he also knew swords to be significant to knights. With their
diminutive size, the dagger almost was a sword. He also was beginning to
understand the pledge they were about to take. "We must pray to God that
our hearts and our souls may be cleansed, that they are pure to take
this sacred pledge."
"Let it be so." Aleksandr said in the tradition of the Cyruzhians,
but faltered. "I don't remember all of the words Pter told me ..."
"What you remember will be enough." Lev assured him. God would know
the words that he missed.
"In the eyes of God and his most holy prophet Cephas Stevene, we
make this sacred pledge to be true to one another. Brothers, not through
blood, but through Stevene's Light. Eternal comrades, never to betray.
Let these be the final blows between us." Aleksandr smacked Lev in the
face.
"What was that?" Lev drew back a little.
"Hit me." Aleksandr said. "Let these be the final blows between
us."
Lev complied. "Let there never again be conflict between us."
"Brothers."
"Brothers. It is done." Lev agreed.
When the boys returned to the road, Lev's father and Aleksandr's
brother were ready to go. "Did you get lost?" Tschel asked. "I was
wondering if you were coming back."
"Of course we were coming back, Tschel," Aleksandr said. "I
wouldn't be late for Lord Fennell!"
They set out once again, and made good time the rest of the way to
Fennell. The sun was starting to hang low in the sky, casting a reddish
light, when the party came into view of the city. It was an impressive
place indeed.
"It's nothing compared to Magnus," Tschel noted, "but it has its
own unique power, I suppose."
Aleksandr and Lev were in thrall. Rising up from the forest like
some mythical giant, the city perched atop a steep hill. In the centre,
at the highest point of the hill, rested Fennell Keep, its stone
ramparts glowing like garnets in the late evening sun. Atop the towers
the baronial banners fluttered in the breeze, only the red and white
background of Baron Dorja Fennell visible from this distance. Beneath
it, they could see well-beaten dirt roads winding between a mixture of
wood and stone buildings. They were quite different from the simple
thatched huts in Heahun. Roofs made of wood shingles covered many of
them. Some were more than one storey high, while others were made of
several interlocking sections. And the sheer number of them -- Lev had
never seen so many buildings crowded together. The most prominent
buildings were churches and temples dedicated to various deities that
dotted the city. The simple, square buildings of grey rock were easy to
distinguish from the others, given their pointed spires at each corner
and in the centre. Another temple Lev recognised as one belonging to the
Olean pantheon, as it was very similar to the one in Heahun, its domed
copper roof shining brightly in the diminishing light. There were a
couple of other large buildings of styles he didn't recognise, among
them a white-washed arch supported by eight pillars and a cube made of
red brick. Heart's Hope Monastery sprouted from amidst the smaller
buildings not far from the keep. It was the second largest building
besides the keep, and its belltower was the tallest thing in view. It
was of similar construction to the other Stevenic houses of worship, but
was much larger and had several wings jutting out from the main
structure. At the base of the hill, croplands spread outwards until they
met with the forest.
As they emerged from the forest and neared the entrance to Fennell,
Aleksandr knew that the first step towards knighthood had been taken, as
had Lev's first step toward spiritual completeness.
========================================================================
Vows
by Victor M. Cardoso
<victorcardoso@earthlink.net>
15 Naia, 1016
A brass bell's clangs echoed slowly and loudly through the forest
of poplar and birch. In shaded hollow and knitted copse the sound
carried, drifting down gentle slopes covered in prickly-bush to where
the Coldwell ran. Snow-flecked and rising to meet the crystal sky, the
Darst mountains and their molehill cousins pondered the ringing in their
granite way, then replied with a stoic, muffled imitation.
The eighth bell, Rianna noted. She sat calmly on an uncomfortable
wooden bench within Coldwell Abbey's atrium. The sun had started its
descent to the horizon, not quite throwing the monastery's shadow over
her, but further etching the mortar lines in the surrounding buildings
and walls. They were simple structures made of stone around a central
yard, and a few straggling monks hurried in their leather sandals and
colored frocks towards the refectory on the side farthest from her.
Robes of blues and grays dominated the population, each hue representing
a different order.
For the priests and monks of this place, it was time for supper and
prayers. She, dressed in a simple, ivory robe, fasted and waited. Three
years of sporadic visits had taught her the abbey's routine.
Weather-wise, this middle-time between spring and summer was the most
enjoyable for her, when leaves hung fresh in the surrounding forest and
the Coldwell's waters tickled the wind with brisk fingers.
"M'lady."
Rianna broke from her thoughts to find the sea-priest, Breinert,
standing just behind her. The sun caught on the blue robe of his patron
god, Cirrangill, and played along its folds brightly. He bowed low in a
show of respect, causing her to smile.
"Priest," she greeted, being equally as formal.
Deep-set eyes twinkled at her, hazel beneath modest brows. Brown
hair, freshly combed, topped the priest's head, flowing back from a
square face. In silence he offered her his arm, which she accepted, and
led the way out of the atrium. A multitude of worn and rutted paths grew
at their feet, bordered by bright sprouts of hill grass.
"I am extremely sorry for not meeting you sooner," he apologized.
"One of the visiting Cyruzhian brothers had difficulty with a manuscript
and asked me to assist. How was the ride down?"
"Good, but long," she sighed. They passed between two low walls
fencing the brothers' fields and vineyards. To one side lay upturned
rows of dark soil, recently tilled, on the other a congregation of
twisted limbs and posts covered with clingy vines. Rianna admired the
view as they walked. "Clara, my usual handmaiden, is ill, so I debated
not coming at all. I scarcely feel now is the time for me to be dallying
about Kenna at little girl's parties."
Breinert tsked at her, his usual form of reprimand. "Ahh," he
replied, "but was it not another, similar event that brought you to the
monastery in the first place? I would like to think you've benefited
from my counsel."
Rianna blushed. "I have," she confessed quietly. She did not want
to admit that solace was the last thing she had expected to find at
Coldwell Abbey, especially from a sea-priest who had settled there
temporarily. The thought that Breinert's "temporary" sabbatical had
lasted three years pleased her on a selfish level. At least hers were
not the only plans that could be waylaid.
A constant wind frolicked along the hills of the Coldwell, at this
point stirring a row of daffodils thriving along the side of the path.
The white flowers bloomed enormously among rocks and shoots of grass.
Rianna marveled that a day's ride away, just beyond the shoulder of the
Darst, the same blossoms were few and wrinkled. On her land, the last
few seasons had been severely dry.
"Perhaps there are other things in store for you on this visit," he
continued, his thick hair stirring in the breeze. "Besides, m'lady,
you've shied away from these festivities for quite some time. You have
responsibilities, yes? What would the other nobles say to your continued
absence?"
She took a moment to conjure up images of her social peers,
unsettling as it was. "The same things they say now," she thought
bitterly. "My presence will only confirm their gossip."
But she didn't answer his question aloud. Instead, she moved her
gaze to the sky and noticed a line of voluminous clouds gathering in the
west, teasing her with the possibility of rain.
The priest noticed her evasion. "You do realize there's little to
worry about at this reception, don't you?" he pressed.
"And why would I worry about a girl's coming-of-age ball?"
"Because Tremmel may be there," he answered.
She winced inwardly at the name. True enough. Tremmel was the same
lord that had been trying to court her for the past year. On some level
she had expected to see him tonight. She was obliged to attend these
events as much as he and there was little doubt he'd intend on meeting
her there. But, all awkward flirting aside, it wasn't Tremmel who really
concerned her. In fact, she worried more about the other nobles -- the
ones who would recognize her dress from receptions past, who would ask
about the state of her drought-stricken lands.
Nervously, she rubbed the silver band on her ring finger until she
became conscious of it. Sighing, she stopped.
"If Lord Tremmel attends, it will be nice to see him again," she
lied. "Oh, is that a pig I see rutting in the underbrush, brother? I do
think the monastery should be more careful with its stores."
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Breinert's grin.
"Rianna," he chuckled, patting her arm, "No matter the reason, I
and the other monks are always pleased when you stay with us."
"And I am always pleased to come," she wanted to reply, but
refrained.
The river Coldwell coursed within shouting distance of the abbey's
door. Rianna caught a glimpse of it as they traveled alongside a bluff.
The waterway's deep bed provided sustenance as well as easy trade for
the brothers, and travelers going to and coming from the city of Dargon
appreciated the respite. With the nearby town of Kenna continuing to
grow, this area of the river saw increased traffic.
The bluff softened ahead of the couple and provided footing for a
forest, the trees growing along the steep slopes down to the water's
edge. Nestled among the primary rows of birch, a set of square,
roughly-hewn steps descended the hill. Breinert cautioned her as they
traversed it. A small clearing at the bottom lay not far from the
river's bank, a thicket of trunks dividing the two. Breinert had set up
several lines of rope in this area, strung among branches, each line
supporting a rough cloth. The overall effect was a somewhat private den
with a water-filled pool at its center. Rianna had seen dozens of
similar depressions in the rocky foothills leading up to the mountains;
this particular one had once been a washing yard, but was abandoned when
the order had tapped the Coldwell from a well on the highland. The abbey
had given leave to Breinert to use this area for his counsel with
visitors. After all, what was a water-priest without water?
Eight unlit candles of various heights sat in fissures along the
edges of the pool. As usual, by mixture or magic, the priest had laced
the inland air with a faint smell of the sea.
Breinert left her side to light the wicks. Rianna knew the ritual.
She undid her robe, revealing a long, white shift underneath.
She walked over to the pool's side and dipped her toes. The priest
had warmed it with the help of a kettle and a fire-pit not too far
removed. The tepid water felt comfortable and was amazingly clear. She
could see down to the bowl-like center, various underwater ledges and
outcroppings providing places to sit. She lowered herself to the closest
one, swishing her feet as her gown slowly billowed about her.
Breinert still busied himself with the candles.
"How do you feel?" he asked, eyes set on the wick before him.
She watched his calm, deliberate motions, the way his wiry arms
moved under the coarse blue robe. The sun was obscured by overhead
branches and surrounding hills, filling the den with a low, mossy light
which somewhat eased her anxiety.
Even so, worries lingered. "Anxious," she answered.
The priest nodded in seriousness. "You know what we're looking for
today?"
She nodded in turn, closing her eyes. She didn't have to state
their purpose aloud. She didn't want to. There had been enough
discussion of it on her last visit.
Breinert's sandals scraped the ground gently as he came to kneel
behind her. There was a sound of a small flask being uncorked, and then
liquid being poured near her. A stronger, sage-like scent mingled with
the salt. Warm, soft hands touched upon her temples. His fingers glided
along the nape of her neck, massaging her.
"Ease your breathing," his voice instructed. The scent of sage also
lay on his palms. Muscles hidden deep within her unclenched. She inhaled
greedily.
"Not too quickly," he warned, adding the habitual tsk. "Let your
mind clear. Think not about what lies ahead. Reflect on what has passed
and allow the water to calm you."
She directed her focus on the contents of the pool lapping about
her skin, the repeated warmth and coolness along her shoulders. The
priest's voice was low and deep -- comforting -- as it guided her
through the beginning exercises of the release ritual. As the
instructions became prayers, and the prayers murmurs, Rianna no longer
controlled her breath; her chest rose and fell of its own accord. She
vaguely felt the priest's hands as he slid her deeper into the water,
anchoring her by her shoulders.
"In the name of Cirrangill," he murmured, his voice distant, "we
ask that the ways of the mind are opened like the paths of the ocean. We
seek the shores of the pain, the shoals of the hurt. Allow the waters to
cleanse this woman as it cleanses all it touches."
He paused, and the wind rose in his silence.
"I will submerge you now. Just for a moment. When you rise, we will
begin to explore more of the pain which haunts you."
She felt his fingers leave her skin and allow her to float freely.
Out into the pool. The sound of the river brushing its banks vanished.
The wind in the trees disappeared. She heard only her breath: shallow,
even and barely existent. Breinert was still behind her; she felt his
presence. The priest's hand covered her forehead and pushed down
lightly. A cool tingle washed over her face and Cirrangill released her
...
White tapestries. White flagstones. Rianna squinted in the
brightness. It was as if the world had become a reflecting pool for the
sun. As the shards of light sharpened, images came into focus. A stone
archway stood at her side, just through it the blue of a cloudless sky.
She felt weightless.
"Rianna."
Breinert's voice whispered around her. It flitted left and right,
came from the solidifying walls and floor. From her skin.
"I hear you," she replied, disoriented. Her voice sounded feeble
and ghostlike in comparison.
The whisper grew in strength. "Where are you?"
"In my keep."
Her keep. She stood on the smooth, cool flagstones of her grand
hall, bathed in an unnaturally bright light. The ceiling vaulted above,
its normal shadows chased away in this netherland. She remembered the
landscape from other sessions with the priest. Even without him, in
dreams on cold nights, she walked in this place. Dozens of familiar
objects sat beside walls and on tables: goblets, portraits, heirlooms.
There were items she had not seen for years, things she had sold in
secret to ease the growing debt from her stricken lands. She stooped to
pick up the white rose she plucked ages ago, the one whose dry husk now
hung in her bedroom. The flower's petals were full and tender here; its
sweet bouquet filled her nose.
The whisper interrupted. "Do you see the altar?" it asked.
Rianna paused. Thoughts formed with difficulty here. Lifting her
gaze, she looked out beyond the images of memories and relics.
At the far end of the hall sat a gilded dais, behind it a great
wall adorned with family heraldry and a tapestry depicting a battle from
the Shadow Wars. Atop the platform, a shrouded altar stood.
Rianna nodded, a lump developing in her throat.
"Go to it," the whisper urged.
Her legs refused to move at once. Memories trickled into her
sluggish form. The altar. She remembered. This was what the priest
wanted her to find. She willed herself to move forward, dropping the
rose in her wake. The altar. The object that had always been there, in
all her visitations.
There had been a time when she believed it to be nothing more than
a table, off at the far end of the hall. But as she had explored the
chalices and chests in this place, some vanishing or moving as their
contents were revealed, the altar's unchanging stature gained more
prominence. Another voice, one deep inside her, told her to avoid it.
The altar intimidated her, caused her to want to shy away. Only recently
had she even mentioned the object to Breinert.
"This is what we want," he had told her after a previous session,
the beautiful, hazel eyes firm. He was trying to help her.
Trying to help. She clenched her fists and moved forward, the
stones growing noticeably cooler beneath her feet. The rectangular shape
grew as she approached. Her stomach shrank.
But there would be no more interruptions, no more avoidances on her
part. Breinert knew about the thing and was convinced that it was
important. In all her years visiting him, he had never gotten as excited
over any of her dream objects as this one. The time had come for her to
investigate.
It was several times her girth, with clawed feet anchoring a marble
hulk to several shallow steps. Fluted corners decorated the edges,
disappearing under a gauzy shroud. Several long, uneasy moments passed
as she stopped before it, continuing to stare.
Around her, she heard the whisper: "Fear withers us, courage
strengthens us."
She looked hard at the altar, unmoving. A light breeze stirred the
shroud's fringe.
"Fear withers us ..."
Hesitantly, she reached out and grabbed a corner of the cloth,
pulling it from its perch. The material felt rough and serrated,
something related to silk, but much stiffer.
A marble coverstone as thick as her wrist came into view. Delicate,
etched vines adorned the top, circling a plaque inscribed with letters.
She stepped closer to read them, her hands coming to rest on the
frigid surface of the tomb. Her fear retreated as she comprehended the
word. Gingerly, she reached out to trace the symbols with her fingers,
one by one.
"What does it say?" the whisper asked.
"Callid," she breathed.
Her husband.
Her eyes filled with blazing light. She was in the air, giggling,
looking down into her husband's face on a summer afternoon. They were
behind the keep, in a field unsuitable for farming. Her hair was loose
and about her shoulders, his firm grasp at her waist. It was before the
dry spell, when the field held hundreds of blooming flowers, their
yellow and white petals blinding in the sun. Callid looked up at her in
adoration and mirth, honey-brown eyes smiling as sure as his bearded
mouth.
And just as quickly as they came, the flowers withered. The field
vanished. She lay in bed. A crisp, cold touch of snow-filled air brushed
her cheek. The only light came from the darkening bed of coals in the
hearth. Beside her she felt the warm comfort of Callid's form sleeping
soundly. He was there, lying against her back, his gentle breathing
whispering through the room.
The chill thickened. Rain. She stood in the door to the stables.
The heavy, wet smell of animals and hay filled her nostrils. Callid
dismounted from his horse and approached her, cloak, tunic, and leggings
sodden with rainwater. He embraced her and she now smelled the scent of
his body beneath the clothes, pushing out everything else in the world.
It was something that lingered on bedclothes and his old cloaks,
something whose source she longed for dearly.
The sound of showers ebbed into silence, and she realized she was
back in the grand hall, on the dais. A man still stood in her grasp. She
looked up and saw Callid's kind face, with golden eyes somewhat sadder
now, peering deeply into her own. Gently, he released one of her hands
from his and lifted it.
The silver ring shone hotly on her finger. It burned in the white
surroundings of the hall, a cold, noiseless flame.
He stepped back, out of her arms.
"Callid," she started, tears forming. "Please. Just a little
longer?"
He took another step back, shaking his head. Rianna felt the warmth
of his embrace disappearing; cool air filled the space where she had
once held him. She became aware of a sound coming from the distance: a
heavy, rushing sigh that grew in volume. Around her, the walls
shimmered.
"Please," she pleaded, louder, taking a halting step towards him.
The hall crumbled.
"Callid!"
Rianna sat up violently in the small pool, screaming her dead
husband's name. Breinert was instantly by her, thigh-deep in the water.
"Rianna!" he shouted, trying to grab her flailing arms. "M'lady!
Awaken!" He crouched down beside her, concern etched on his face.
She almost didn't recognize him. She stumbled back from his grasp
like an animal cornered, hand clenched to her mouth. She looked
bewilderedly about her. The pool. The ritual. Her shift had slid down
off one shoulder. Self-consciously, she covered her breast and tried to
regain composure.
Breinert stood motionless, his sleeves and elbows dripping,
watching her.
"Please," she choked, then cleared her throat. "Please, priest, get
me my robe. I think we're finished for the day."
Rianna refused to speak with him about the vision afterwards. For
the first time in her memory, she didn't care to hear Breinert's advice
or counsel. There was no time for it. She had obligations. Despite his
protests, she changed at the abbey and immediately took her carriage to
Kenna, instructing her driver to take his time in arriving. There was
nothing else for her to do but attend this ball. There was nothing for
her to think about.
Evening had fallen by the time they reached the gates. All the
ramparts were alight with torches, the guards dressed in their finery.
Inside, she found the expected crowds of nobles and merchants of the
region, many of whom feigned delight at seeing her.
"It's been so long!"
"The lack of rain's been dreadful for you, hasn't it?"
"Have you still not remarried, my dear?"
Rianna made her rounds early, pretending to ignore the hushed
conversations that blossomed as she left each group. In less than a
bell, she retired to a quiet corner, away from much of the commotion.
Before her dark gaze, couples danced to the strings and lute, seemingly
oblivious and gay. She fidgeted with the ring on her finger, turning it
obsessively. The band weighed unusually heavy.
Her new handmaiden, silent on the ride and arrival, meekly stepped
forward. "Would my lady care for a drink?"
"Wine," Rianna muttered, not shifting her gaze from the spectacle
on the floor.
Relieved at having some purpose, the girl fled.
"I would be glad to offer you something stronger, m'lady."
Rianna started at the voice. She found Tremmel standing beside her
proudly, decked in his family's livery of crimson and silver. The black
embroidery of a flanduil's head adorned the breast. The lord's dark
beard was neatly trimmed around a pointed jaw, and his pock-marked cheek
was less noticeable in the hall's dim light.
She sighed inwardly. "I don't think that would be a wise choice, my
lord." She mustered a smile and offered him a hand out of courtesy. He
accepted, brushing her fingers ever so lightly with his lips.
"Just as well," he replied, straightening. "I think they water the
stuff down."
He lifted an earthen mug to his mouth and took a long draught.
"There's speculation that it may rain this evening."
Rianna only hoped the storm would continue eastward, over the
mountains. She thought of the withered daffodils on the other side of
the Darst. "Then it's a good thing the feast is indoors," she said
dryly.
"Pah," he grumbled. "This is nothing but a parent's show of pride."
She didn't answer. She didn't have the heart. Rianna prayed that
this one time Tremm
el could feel the awkwardness between them. To her
best effort, she offered him nothing in the way of outward affection. He
spoke and she replied aloofly, not meeting his gaze. He stepped closer
to her and she tensed, wishing to all the gods he would just get away
from her.
Conversation fell silent between them, the sounds of the reception
filling the void. Tremmel took another swig from his mug, draining the
contents.
"My lady, a dance?"
She prepared to decline gracefully, but Tremmel's hand was on hers,
pulling her onto the floor. The mug he carried must not have been his
first. Rianna gasped as the lord's left arm clamped about her waist,
bringing him uncomfortably close.
The music started. Tremmel had her circle the floor as the
musicians played festively. Couples wove intricate patterns around them;
gowns ballooned in response to twirls. In the blur of motion, she saw
the arms of gentlemen about their ladies, smiles on their countenances.
She politely resisted other attempts by Tremmel to pull her close,
pushing away in a side step if his arm grabbed her again.
Try as he might, the lord's movements were not part of the dance.
He broke the pattern regularly, drawing attention to them. Rianna
flushed hotly with each disjointed round. Tremmel managed to pull her
close one more time as she misstepped. Big teeth smiled from under his
wiry beard, the stink of ale rank upon his breath.
Rianna's feet faltered. Tremmel laughed and attempted to drag her
back into his own rhythm. Gentility fled from her; she pushed away from
him at last, fleeing to the outskirts of the floor, clutching her middle
as if out of breath.
The lord followed in haste. "I've pushed you too hard, my lady?"
"Yes," she replied, too fiercely. Faces turned in the crowd
surrounding them.
The music continued to play, couples danced, but Tremmel's face
hardened. "Perhaps we should take a walk in the garden to refresh
ourselves?"
Before she could reply, his thick fingers locked on to her and led
her through the groups of revelers.
A garden was situated just beyond the hall, set within the castle's
protective bailey. They brushed several nobles on their exit, some
glancing back as they walked by. The lord made no apologies or excuses.
Outside, the wind was up, tinged with moisture.
Tremmel released her once they were on the tailored path, but he
did not look at her directly. Instead, he marched stiffly ahead, hands
clasped behind his back.
"You are not your pleasant self tonight," he called back.
"Neither are you," she almost retorted, but Tremmel was never
exactly pleasant.
When he noticed she did not follow, the lord stopped. "Will you
deny me this walk as well?" he demanded.
There was little light out beyond the entrance. Torches placed
along the path burned foully, their heavy smoke filling the air.
Uneasily, she came forward, following him on around the edges of the
garden, pointed spires of shrubs their only eavesdroppers.
"The day has been difficult," she did say, not knowing how to
reply. There was ale in Tremmel's blood, and she began to worry.
"It has been a difficult year," he countered, halting. They stood
under the lanky branches of a weeping cherry, his face cast in shadow.
"It is no secret that I have affections for you, m'lady."
Rianna flushed at the confession. She felt embarrassed for him.
"Your lands haven't enough water, nor your people enough food," he
continued. "My wealth can help change that. Why do you resist?"
Her embarrassment flared to anger. "Your concern is appreciated but
unwarranted, sir. My lands are my own business!"
"Your lands are the kingdom's business," Tremmel growled, his hands
animatedly pointing to the land around them. "You, m'lady, have been
shown too much leniency in your refusal to remarry!"
A rustling emerged from along the path. There were others in the
garden.
"Rianna," Tremmel started again, lowering his voice. He looked away
for a moment and then back, as if gathering his thoughts. "I would
rather you gave yourself willingly than otherwise." He reached out and
caught her hand, his fingers closing on the ring.
She pulled back from his touch and slapped him.
The lord did not recoil from her blow. "That ring," he hissed,
raising his fist. "You still wear that infernal ring!"
Strong fingers dug into her arms and her dress, crushing her.
Fabric ripped. Rianna struggled with him, trying to push his bulk away.
>From the darkness, a shape emerged, calling out to the guards.
Tremmel released her, turning to face the intruder.
Breinert stood by a torch, unflinching against the other man's
wrath. Tremmel was upon him in an instant, grabbing the priest's collar
and hoisting him off the ground. But the lord stopped short of assault,
catching the sound of feet running quickly towards them. Throwing the
priest down, Tremmel snarled and fled.
When hands reached for her again, Rianna batted them away
frantically.
"Easy, Rianna, easy," Breinert whispered, his voice filled with
concern. The priest's arms embraced her, an awkwardness in their touch.
"You left the monastery so abruptly," he tried to explain. "I followed
... I felt it important to attend. And then I saw you and the brute
dancing ..."
She clung to him, realizing this was the first time she had ever
held him. The scent of sage filled her nostrils -- that curious scent
which always accompanied calm and serenity, floating freely. It was
Breinert's peace. Breinert's love.
Rianna tore away, shaking her head.
The priest looked confused. "M'lady?" he asked.
She stood up in her ruined dress and ran into the dark of the
garden, away from that pillar that touched off a wild craving in her
heart.
Rianna abandoned her handmaiden at the reception and had her
carriage take her back to the monastery. Refusing an escort, she fled
the abbey and stumbled her way down the paths to the sound of the river,
out on the bluff near the priest's pool. For how long she stood on the
rocky plateau, high above the Coldwell, she could not tell. Instead, she
focused on trying to discern the course of the river running invisibly
in the night beyond. There was no moon to illuminate the landscape.
Clouds blanketed the sky.
Rianna stood motionless in that darkness. She listened to the
rushing waters, feeling nothing inside or out, trying to push out the
arguments in her head.
How many suitors had courted her? How many had been too loud? Too
fat? How many of her subjects had gone hungry this winter?
She swallowed heavily and clasped her hands over her ears,
whispering over and over, "Please. Please stop."
But she couldn't stop the reprimands and accusations in her mind.
The questions. Tremmel's words. Breinert's voice.
"Have you still not remarried?"
"Your lands haven't enough water ..."
She saw Callid as he stood in the grand hall, eyes infinitely sad.
The wall inside of her, the one that struggled to portray a strong
noble, crumbled like so many battlements neglected over the ages. She
shook her head, sobbing, her lower lip trembling. Hot tears streaked
down her cheeks, and this time she let them fall.
Fiercely, she grasped the wedding band on her finger and jerked on
it. The metal clung tightly to her flesh, scraped against it. Rianna
grew more desperate as she yanked.
"My vow," she gritted, pulling the ring free and raising it.
Lightning flashed in the distance. "I honored you, Callid. I loved and
followed you. I supported and strengthened you. I was your wife!" she
cried to the river. "Why did you leave me? Why did the gods take you
from me?"
Her fingers closed into a fist about the ring, as if she could
crush or deform the band, break the circle. She cocked her arm to throw
its burden into the darkness, trembling with the effort.
But her arm refused to complete its motion. She remained that way
for moments: clenched and ready to finish the action. What was it that
stopped her? What prevented her from being rid of this agony?
"Callid," she breathed, shuddering.
Her knees buckled and she fell onto them, letting the ring drop
from her fingers. The band uttered its own high-pitched cry as it struck
the stone.
She dropped onto her back, lifting her hands to her face, weeping.
Rain began to fall swiftly about her, striking her arms with cold,
stinging drops. Rianna opened her eyes to the wet night, the water
mixing with her own salty tears.
Rolling over, she made out the ring just beyond her reach at the
edge of the drop.
"No," she whimpered. It was wrong, regardless of what the vision
told her. Callid was her husband. His memory was her life. His honor was
in her care. It was all that was left for her. She reached out for the
band, her fingers brushing it, nudging it closer to the fall.
From deep within, the whisper of her dreams spoke: "Fear withers
us. Courage strengthens us."
She paused, her fingers about to light upon the metal, to grasp it
or fling it from the cliff. In her mind a thousand thoughts sparked.
Fear or courage? Flowers blossomed. The unknown or the painfully
familiar? She smelled the sea.
Her fingers descended.
========================================================================
Talisman Three
Part 2
by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr
<John.White@Drexel.Edu>
Fall, 748 FE
Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 13-1
Virrila, who had been Kersh's sponsor, stood in the doorway of the
large room where Kersh had been accepted as a student just a few days
before. She said, "He's here, Tchad."
Zarilt, the Tchad -- teacher -- of the students of his Way, was
alone in the room, standing in front of the stone table that bore the
five objects that made up the contents of the Treasury of Farevlin. He
sighed, paused, and then nodded and gestured.
Virrila stepped to the side, out of sight, and Fessim, a short,
swarthy man, took her place in the doorway and then started walking
across the empty floor. Fessim, who had been summoned alone into the
vault of the Treasury. Fessim, who had done the one thing that was
forbidden here.
When Zarilt had become Treasurer upon the death of his Uncle
Taddis, he'd had no regrets about leaving his former life behind. That
life had consisted of him being a cooper, and a good one too. His
barrels had been sought out by merchants and shop keepers who needed to
keep their wares, from water to flour, safe. He had taken pride in his
work, and had always striven to make the best barrels he possibly could.
Unfortunately, Zarilt's home had been in a large city in one of the
larger states of Farevlin, which had meant that he had not been the only
cooper plying his trade. And some of his competition had preferred to
make and sell their barrels shoddy and cheap, rather than of the highest
quality. When Zarilt had complained to the masters of his guild, they
had simply indicated that they had no interest in regulating the
materials their members used, or the prices they charged. When Zarilt
had pressed his complaint, he had been threatened with expulsion if he
didn't let the matter drop. He had returned home decidedly the worse for
his trip; he had been firmly in the bad graces of his guild masters.
It had become harder and harder to make a living at his chosen
craft. What with guild dues and state taxes and the increasingly
frequent city fund levies, Zarilt had been forced to lower his standards
and produce cheaper barrels, since he couldn't afford to sell his better
barrels at a loss.
And then there were the other trials of his former life, like
slackard apprentices who'd had no love, or even aptitude, for coopering.
They had only been apprenticing with him because they had been assigned
to him by the guild. Some of them had been friends with the apprentices
of other coopers who didn't work their students nearly as hard as Zarilt
did, which had earned him complaints and even more assiduously shirked
duties. Only the guild could release an apprentice, but because of his
reputation with the guild, Zarilt had been unable to get his
troublemaking apprentices released or traded to another master.
All of that trouble had vanished when he had become Treasurer of
Farevlin. Furthermore, since he had discovered his philosophy, his Way,
and decided to spread that philosophy to others, his shoulders had
stayed free of the weight of responsibility. Except for one thing, the
thing that brought Fessim to him today. For Fessim was going to be
expelled today, and he would gladly have gone back to his old life to
avoid that task, as necessary as it was to the health of his informal
philosophical school.
Fessim halted his walk across the floor several paces in front of
Zarilt, and at a gesture from him, knelt. Zarilt grabbed the chair next
to him and sat -- he wasn't young enough any more to kneel for any long
period of time, but he didn't want to tower over the other man.
He looked at Fessim for a short while. Of course, Fessim knew why
he was here. There were only a handful of reasons to be summoned alone
in front of the Tchad, and Fessim didn't qualify for any of them but
one. Fessim's brows were drawn together in a petulantly angry look, and
his mouth was compressed into a thin line.
"Fessim," Zarilt finally began, "you know why you are here. It is
my duty, my only duty beyond educating my students, to keep them safe.
To provide an environment here where they can contemplate my message,
and find their way to the Way. You have disrupted that environment,
disturbed the calm of the student body, interrupted the learning of my
students.
"Here at the Treasury, all are equal. Everyone takes turns doing
just enough to keep us all alive and healthy. Everyone takes turns
working in the fields, or shepherding the animals, cleaning the rooms,
cooking, making repairs as required, all the little things that must be
done on a daily basis. With so many hands, the work goes quickly, and
all of my students have plenty of free time, time to themselves, time to
study the words of my Way if that is what they wish.
"But not you. You wanted to change things, to make yourself more
than equal, which meant making others less than equal. You started by
trading food for not having to do your share of the work. Then you began
to make deals of favors between people, making yourself important to
people who wanted some things that are not normally available here. And
eventually, you ended up collecting favors instead of trading them,
making people beholden to you, willing to do things to keep you happy
with them.
"Which is exactly the kind of complication that my students come
here to get away from. Masters and servants, haves and have-nots, always
a situation where there is someone else to give you worth, to assign to
you a status. Of all the things that you could have done wrong here,
storing up power was the worst.
"You leave me no choice. You were warned several times early on,
but every time you started again. You do not yet belong here, Fessim.
You have not let go of the outside world enough to hear my words, to
understand the Way. You must go.
"You will be given an escort to Bluebell Rock if you wish. You will
leave here with only what you brought with you -- nothing you gained
here can be taken from here. It would be best if you were gone by
evening. If at some time in the future you decide that you wish to try
to learn my Way again, you will be welcomed back, but if you do return,
you will have to earn our trust instead of being granted it
automatically."
Zarilt paused, pondering Fessim's crime. He wasn't the first to
have fallen back into the ways of the outside world, of course. Zarilt
remembered one of his early students, a man named Adamik, who had done
much the same as Fessim. But, because Zarilt had just been learning what
he needed to do to keep his school functioning, Adamik had been able to
carry on longer, so that he formed a second tier of 'haves'; people who
were owed favors, but who in turn owed Adamik favors, further
perpetuating false and destructive hierarchies. Adamik had been
expelled, but that second tier had simply been chastised. And even
though each of them had eventually left, they had at least been granted
the chance to evaluate the Way without distractions once Adamik was
gone.
However, Zarilt still didn't understand what motivated these kinds
of people to rebuild the feudal system in whatever environment they
found themselves. Why had they left the real world in the first place,
if that was the kind of thing they wanted?
He knew that asking his final question was futile, but he decided
to do it anyway. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I have one last
question for you, Fessim. Why?"
Fessim had been looking at the floor in front of his knees for the
whole time Zarilt had been speaking, and he continued staring for quite
a long time after Zarilt's final question. So long, in fact, that Zarilt
was just opening his mouth to dismiss his former student when Fessim's
head jerked up, eyes burning, mouth now frowning.
"You want to know why, Zarilt?" asked Fessim in a harsh voice. "You
want to know why someone would try to usurp your position at the top of
this collection of spineless sheep? The answer is, because I could.
That's why."
Fessim rose quickly to his feet, and continued, "Your little
pacifist army is weak, Zarilt. Your philosophy is worthless, your
leadership is flawed, and your Way is an impossible dream. It is only a
matter of time, Zarilt, until someone comes in here and takes all of
your sheep-students away from you for slaves. You've collected the
worthless, the dregs of society, the malcontents here in one convenient
place for the slavers to come and take them. It will happen, Zarilt,
someone will come and end your demented dream, and I'm glad I won't be
here when it does!"
Fessim turned and stormed to the doors. Without a backward glance,
he slammed through them and vanished.
Zarilt looked after the former student for a while. He hadn't
expected that outburst, but it hadn't bothered him either. Fessim simply
hadn't grasped the meaning of the Way, or why his students had sought
him out. He hoped that Fessim would find whatever it was he was looking
for.
With a shake of his head and a sigh, Zarilt stood from his chair
and walked out of the room.
A sennight had passed since that first afternoon in the market
square of Tilting Falls, and Torenda's Troupe was on the move again, had
been for three days. Three wagons pulled by two horses each carried all
of their belongings, from the clothes of the players to the stage
itself, broken down into pieces for convenience of transport. Each wagon
could carry four people, but usually carried only two on the driver's
bench. The rest of the troupe walked, which was why they hadn't yet
reached Roebsach, their intended destination, normally only two days'
ride from Tilting Falls.
Thanj, the Troupe's illusionist, and Naka, the master musician and
one of the four leaders of the Troupe, rode in the front wagon, though
that wagon wasn't in the lead. That duty fell at that moment to Elin,
the Troupe's stage manager, and three of the other players who were
walking in front of the wagon. It was a pleasant day in early fall, and
the two on the driver's bench had been passing the time in companionable
silence, enjoying the trees and fields on either side of the trade road
that lead west and somewhat south through that portion of Farevlin.
Eventually, Thanj broke the silence by turning to Naka and asking,
"So, why are you still with the Troupe?"
Naka looked at Thanj with a surprised expression on her face, and
responded with an incredulous, "What?"
Thanj hastily explained himself. "I ... I mean, you could have
settled down by now, couldn't you? I remember last spring, how Duke
Gazinnel offered you the position of her court musician, after saying
how sorry she was that she couldn't afford to sponsor the whole troupe.
And I've heard that her offer wasn't the first. So, for true, why didn't
you take it?"
"The obvious answer is right here," Naka said, touching her hanging
blue-disk earring. "You know what these mean, and what's more," she
continued, touching her opposite hip, "what these mean."
Thanj got a faraway look in his eye momentarily, and nodded
thoughtfully.
"I couldn't leave the troupe, if it would mean leaving my
bond-mates. But ... but, they aren't the only reason."
Silence passed between them for a while, and Thanj, thinking he
wasn't going to get any further answer, was about to apologize for being
so tactless when Naka continued.
"It's ... for as long as I can remember, I've wanted to travel,
Thanj. Almost needed to travel. Once I passed my apprenticeship at
instrument making, the urge became almost unbearable. It wasn't the
romance of the road, the adventure of seeing new places and new people,
though. Nothing like that. It was like there was something ... some part
of me, perhaps ... out there, waiting for me to find it.
"When I found Torenda's Troupe, and met Orla, Elin, and Kend for
the first time, I thought I had found it, found that missing piece. And,
to some extent, I had. I fit into their relationship so easily that it
seemed a foregone conclusion -- it was like we were destined to be
together, we belonged together.
"But the wanderlust, the need to be on the move, to continue
searching, only abated, it didn't vanish. There is still something out
there waiting to be found, Thanj. Something that draws me onward. Even
if, by some horrible turn of bad luck, the bonding was broken ..." Naka
pinched her blue disk earring and muttered a word of propitiation to
ward off that very same bad luck, then continued, "I would still need to
be out traveling, looking for that something ..."
Silence stretched again, and eventually, Thanj said, in a soft
voice, "Oh."
In the middle of Naka's revelation, a few paces away at the front
of the caravan, Elin had come to a fork in the road. A sign-post stood
at the junction with an arrow pointing down each branch. Elin glanced at
it, just to confirm that the road to Roebsach continued on before them,
but she was surprised to find that the sign pointing to the southward
branch was the one that bore the lettering for Roebsach.
She glanced over her shoulder, and debated halting the caravan
while she made sure. She had thought that there weren't supposed to be
any turns off of the main trade road between Tilting Falls and Roebsach,
but she could have been mistaken. She looked at the signpost again, and
it was the lower sign, pointing south, that said Roebsach.
Shrugging, trusting the sign, she started out along the southward
branch. The players followed, trusting Elin to lead them properly. Naka
was still talking, and Thanj listening, when the lead wagon turned down
the south path, the horses following the people in front of them in the
absence of any instructions to the contrary.
The two players in the middle wagon looked at the signpost and
wondered why the caravan had turned south. It was clear to them that the
upper sign indicated Roebsach and pointed along the way they had been
going all along. They knew, however, that Elin was leading just then, so
she must have had a reason to deviate from the proper path.
Kend was driving the last wagon, with Orla sitting beside him. He
had one hand on the reigns and one hand on her thigh, and they had been
riding for a long time in companionable silence. But for most of that
time, Kend had been working up to something. Just about the time that
Elin steered the caravan south, Kend decided that the time had come.
"You recovered from your illness back in Tilting Falls quickly," he
said as evenly as he could.
Orla responded, after a beat, "Oh, it wasn't anything serious ...
just a, just ... nothing serious."
"I see," Kend said. He waited for a few moments, and then said, "I
was talking to Janile a few days ago. She was telling me about the rest
of that party in the inn's common room, about some of the jokes that
went around, about how Naka's playing was, as usual, very well received.
She even commented on how long after Elin and I went upstairs it was
before Naka gave up playing, and then how much longer it was before you
and she went upstairs ... arm in arm."
"I ... I," Orla stammered.
As Kend made to reply, the horses pulling the wagon took the turn
south, following the people walking in front of them. Kend paused,
looked over at the signpost, saw that the bottom, south-pointing sign
said Roebsach, shrugged, and turned back to Orla.
"I'm not angry, Orla. I have no reason to be. I am, however,
slightly disappointed. We're all bonded, Orla, one unit, but we're still
separate people. I take it that you just wanted Naka that night, even
though it was your turn in my bed, right?"
Orla nodded, and Kend continued, "Then all you had to do was ask.
Obviously, you talked to the others about it, since they already knew
what was going on. But you didn't talk to me, and that hurts me, Orla.
Why wasn't I informed about your desire to switch? Did you think that I
wouldn't understand?"
Orla was silent, thinking about what had happened. She said, "When
I was backstage that day, I mentioned to Elin that Naka had been
over-tired the night before, and that I was a little sorry that it would
be two days before she and I could be together again. Elin suggested a
solution -- that she and I switch turns. We discussed it with Naka, and
she agreed. We ... we didn't think to ask you, since all of the other
parties had agreed.
"That was rude of us, Kend, and I apologize. We simply weren't
thinking properly. What can we ... I ... do to make it up to you?"
"Don't worry about it, Orla. Just remember, next time, that I
wouldn't mind being part of your discussions about who gets to sleep
with me when. All right?"
"Absolutely, Kend. We'll never leave you out again. I'll make sure
the others know. Maybe tonight we can set up two of the tents together,
and all share the blankets together, eh?"
She took his smile for an assent, and slid closer to him on the
bench, placing a hand on his thigh as well.
The wagon continued on at the rear of the caravan, traveling along
a road that was getting narrower by the league. Trees closed in on both
sides of the road, and a grassy hump appeared in the middle, indicating
that the road wasn't a well traveled one.
Eventually, Kend roused from his contemplation of the comparative
ease with which problems in his current relationship got solved --
certainly not his experience in his previous few relationships -- and
thought to wonder why the only trade road between Tilting Falls and
Roebsach should be showing such signs of disuse.
He called a halt forward, and gradually the whole caravan slowed to
a stop. Giving the wagon to two players, he and Orla worked their way
forward along the very narrow road, picking up Naka and Thanj at the
first wagon and stopping at the front of the caravan.
"What's wrong?" asked Elin when the other three leaders arrived at
the front.
"Are you sure we are going the right way?" asked Kend.
"It doesn't make sense that the road to Roebsach should be this
overgrown," added Orla.
"Well," said Elin, "the sign said that we should go south to
Roebsach, and we did."
One of the players standing behind them said, "Your pardon,
Elianijit, but it did not. The top sign pointed the way we were going
before, and said Roebsach on it. We thought that you knew a short cut,
or had some other reason to take this branch."
The four leaders of the Troupe looked at each other. Kend confirmed
that he had seen the bottom sign pointing to Roebsach, but the other two
leaders hadn't seen the signpost, and of the players that had, all
indicated that the top sign had indicated their intended destination.
Orla finally said, "Something odd happened back there, and we may
never know what. But one thing is sure: we can't turn the wagons around
on this narrow road. We will just have to continue on until we find a
wider portion, or someone who can tell us where this pathway leads."
The caravan slowly started moving forward again, with the four
leaders plus Thanj walking in front. The path didn't get any worse, but
it didn't get any better either, and they came across no clearings until
the light was fading as the sun set at the end of the day.
The clearing they found was to the side of a way-cabin that was
designed to provide shelter for winter or storm-caught travelers. The
wooden shack was small and had a crude stone chimney that leaned as if
against a stiff wind. Since it was time to stop for the night anyway,
Orla gave the command for the wagons to be parked in the clearing, the
horses to be seen to, and camp to be set up. Meanwhile, the leading
group took a look in the way-cabin.
The cabin was typical of its kind. It had a fireplace covering one
wall, equipped for both heating and cooking, with a bread oven and all.
One wall had shelves containing provisions and a door leading to a
storeroom. Naka peeked into the storeroom to find more provisions and
good sized stack of firewood. The opposite wall had six bunks, three
over three, and one of them was occupied.
Kend went over to the occupied bunk, knelt, and found a dead body.
It had obviously been lying there for a while. No large animals had been
able to breach the cabin, but small animals, rodents and the like, had
been able to get at the body. It was not a pretty sight.
There wasn't anything identifiable about the corpse, including its
sex. Picked apart clothes and blankets, bones and desiccated flesh were
all that was left, except for a satchel hanging on a peg on the last
wall.
Thanj took the satchel down and spilled its contents onto a table
in one corner. Odds and ends were revealed: travel provisions, personal
gear, some small coins, and a soft-cloth bag embroidered all over with
silver and gold thread in a strange, blocky and angular script.
Elin opened the bag and pulled out a strange-looking piece of
stone. Everyone gathered around to stare at it. It was wedge-shaped,
about a foot from almost-point to arced base. It looked like it was an
eighth, or maybe a sixth, of something large and circular that was
thicker in the middle. One of the two large surfaces was perfectly
smooth, while the other bore a carving of a falcon and inlaid silver,
glass, and gold bands crisscrossing and interlacing in the area above
the carving. The design was incomplete, as the bands were broken across
the jagged wedge-edges. One band of glass seemed to originate from a
large mass of glass in the center of the falcon image.
Thanj looked at the stone, commented, "How pretty ... sort of," and
left to join the rest of the Troupe setting up the camp.
The remaining four just stared at the stone. All of them reached
for it at the same moment, but three just touched it delicately with
their fingers. Elin first touched the carved falcon, tracing its outline
for several moments. Then she grasped the stone, held it, and lifted it,
holding it up and staring at it. Kend, Orla and Naka gathered close
around her, looking at it with her. Orla said, "What is it?"
"Important," was the only answer that Elin could come up with, but
everyone knew that she was right. She picked up the bag and returned the
fragment to it. No one objected to her claiming the object -- that was
as right as the previous answer.
Elin slipped the bag onto her belt, and went to kneel by the side
of the occupied bunk. "Thank you, fellow traveler, for bringing this
object to us," she said.
Kend said, "We will need to bury this one, so that the animals
don't defile the remains any further. And then, this way-cabin needs to
be cleaned up somewhat. I wonder how long it has been since anyone has
been this way? And I still wonder how we happened to be passing this way
ourselves."
A few days after the dismissal of Fessim, the vault room was full
of students and silence. Zarilt sat by the stone altar and watched as
most of his student body meditated. Attendance was not mandatory, yet
all but a double handful of his students were here. Those who were not
were attending to duties that could not be put off.
Some of his students claimed that it was easier to meditate when
everyone else was doing it too. Zarilt thought that was probably true
for them, but he hoped that someday, if their meditation bore the fruit
it was intended to, they would find meditating alone just as rewarding
as that done during the common meditation time.
Zarilt, who was able to meditate in the middle of the most crowded
and noisy room, or even while holding a conversation with several
people, found it restful to meditate with his students. There was
something about the rhythm of the breathing of so many people, that
started out sounding like the rumbling of an animal but which slowly
changed to become a series of rises and falls as groups of people began
to breathe in rhythm. It had only happened a few times that the entire
room managed to get into synchronization, but those few times Zarilt had
been almost overwhelmed by the energy of that union, the oneness of
everyone being together. He never tried to direct his students into that
state, knowing that it was better if they found it naturally.
Suddenly, the silence full of rhythmic breathing was shattered by
the door of the vault slamming open. A student named Millip ran into the
room, shouting, "Tchad! Tchad! He's coming! He's coming!"
The formerly-meditating students sat or stood up and started
jabbering in confusion as Millip continued shouting his message as he
ran right up to Zarilt and stopped, panting, fear plain on his face.
Zarilt said, "Silence, everyone, please!" His students quieted
after a few repetitions of his command, and he continued, "Now tell me,
Millip, why have you interrupted our meditation? Take your time, tell it
slowly."
Millip nodded, and took a deep breath. Then, he said, "I ... I was
waiting for the delivery from 'Rock, and finally Lirkal shows up with
the wagon but more important, he's got news. He says a troubadour who
was traveling through 'Rock from the south gave it them direct. Bad
news, real bad.
"Lirkal says that there's an army growing in Drigalit, working to
unite Farevlin by conquest. They've had some success with some small
border states to the west, and now they're coming here. Their leader,
Warlord Adamik, wants something from here and intends to get it."
A chaos of noise erupted again as students started shouting
questions and comments, letting their fear out and calling on their
teacher to help them, save them.
When Zarilt finally quieted them again, he said, "Please, my
students, please control yourselves. You have nothing to fear. This
warlord has no reason to hurt any of us. It is not for you or I to
surrender the treasures stored here, and he knows that. No one need fear
a thing."
Noise erupted again, but Zarilt's raised hand quieted them quickly.
Instead of calling out, several students came to the front of the crowd
and stood with their hands clasped in front of them, looking to their
Tchad. Zarilt gestured to one, and that one bowed his head and spoke.
"Tchad, do you know this Warlord Adamik? Do you know what he seeks
here?"
"Adamik was once one of my students, like you. And like you, he
knows what is sheltered here in the Treasury. If his aim is, as Millip
has relayed to us, the unifying of Farevlin by conquest, then I surmise
that he wishes to take possession of Hekorivas, the Scepter of Unity."
The student nodded, a thoughtful look in his eye, and then faded
back into the crowd. Zarilt gestured to another of the front-standing
students. She inclined her head in a bow and lifted it again, then said,
"Should we not seek to prevent this warlord's entry to the Treasury? Is
that not your duty? There are many of us, and this place is, by accident
or design, like a fortress."
Zarilt shook his head sadly, and replied, "I do not doubt the
resolve, nor the possible prowess of you my students, nor do I lightly
refuse your help in the upholding of my duty. But, my students, combat
is not part of the simplicity of the Way. You cannot achieve serenity by
destroying others. The position of Treasurer is almost wholly
ceremonial, else why entrust the job to only one? The treasures are
protected, never fear."
Zarilt's calm, steady voice and confident demeanor served to
communicate the same to his students. Several of the front-standing
students melted back into the crowd without asking any questions,
relieved by what they had heard. Zarilt nodded to one who remained. That
one, Virrila, responded as had the other two, and spoke.
"Tchad, your pardon, but if the treasures are protected, would it
not be better to leave? To find refuge for a time in Bluebell Rock,
until Warlord Adamik has time to realize that his plans here are
futile?"
Zarilt was silent for a moment, pondering his reply. Finally, he
said, "Flight is also not of the Way. You cannot find serenity while
fleeing every possible danger, nor do you need to flee once you have
found that serenity.
"However, if any of you, my students, feel that Bluebell Rock would
be safer than the Treasury during the incursion of the Warlord Adamik,
you must act on that feeling. Go, if you wish, and return when you feel
the danger is past. I shall understand."
Virrila nodded, and retreated a few steps into the crowd. Zarilt
gestured for another student to speak, while Virrila faded farther and
farther back. She looked around as she moved, and saw that every single
one of the other students was staring raptly at the Tchad, caught up in
his confidence and serenity.
She reached the back of the crowd, and listened for a short while
longer as Tchad Zarilt soothed his students' fears and bolstered their
resolve. Virrila wasn't convinced. She remembered Adamik from his time
as a student. He knew the Treasury, and he knew the treasures were
protected. He had to have a plan, one that the Tchad's 'serenity' wasn't
going to stop. She knew that Tchad Zarilt needed help; they *all* needed
help. Since no one else thought so, she decided to be the one to fetch
it.
She noticed Millip near the back of the crowd, and sidled over to
him. "Millip, how long did Lirkal say it might be until the warlord
arrives?"
Millip took a moment to register Virrila's question, then turned
distractedly, tearing himself away from his former concentration on the
Tchad. "Ah ... what? Oh, yes ... The warlord was ... um, only a few days
away. Maybe half a sennight. Why?"
"No reason, no reason," Virrila said, but Millip didn't even hear
her. She shook her head, then turned and walked out of the vault. She
didn't know where she was going to get help from that fast, but she was
going to try.
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