Thorik opened his eyes as the sun began to rise and turn the mountains to deep shades of red with veins of black. The mountain storms had moved on and left pockets of fog clinging to small valleys. It was a beautiful view to wake up to. All was peaceful and seemed right, except for an odd red light pulsing in the distance.
Rolling to his side, Thorik stretched his back and neck before investigating the red light. However, his plans changed when he noticed his weathered backpack. The sight caused him to sit up quickly and his eyes to grow abruptly large with concern.
Brimmelle stoked the fire in order to warm himself up. “What’s the matter?”
Thorik grabbed his pack, opened it quickly and looked inside. “Someone has been in my gear.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It wasn’t tied correctly.”
“You have a specific way you tie it?”
“Yes.”
“You must have just been tired last night and did it wrong.”
“No, I’ve never tied it differently.” Thorik reached into his pack to move things around. “And items are out of place.”
“Thorik, things shuffle around as we walk.”
“True, but I reset them every night before I sleep. Everything I have is set in a specific place.” Pulling out the coffer, he opened it up to ensure his notes from the travel were still inside. They were. Then he began to pull out one thing at a time and inspect it. No damage was found on anything, but something was missing.
Frantically, Thorik emptied the remaining contents and searched the ground around him. “Where is it?”
Brimmelle kept his eyes on the fire. “Where’s what?”
“Varacon! Where’s Granna?”
Never looking at his nephew, Brimmelle fired back a planned response. “We’ve been through this. Your grandmother is dead. She’s gone. Accept it.”
Thorik began to panic. “Uncle, I’m serious. The dagger is gone. Someone has stolen it.”
“For what purpose?” his uncle asked.
Thorik didn’t have an answer as he looked within every cloth and under his own bedding for the dagger.
“When was the last time you saw it?”
Thorik extended the search to the rest of the camp and around the bedding of Grewen and Avanda, waking the younger Num but not the giant. “I know it was here last night.”
Grewen stayed in his relaxed slumber while Avanda stretched and blinked her eyes in the morning light.
“How do you know?” Brimmelle asked. “I didn’t see you take it out.”
“Well, I did. And I recall having it last night. In fact, I remember feeling it under its protective cloths before I placed it in my pack last night.”
Avanda yawned and rubbed her eyes as she began listening to the conversation.
Brimmelle made his way over to Thorik’s gear, secretively tossed a few things inside of his backpack, and then walked over to Thorik, who was attempting to roll the sleeping Mognin off his bedding to check underneath it. Brimmelle lifted the pack near Thorik. “Is this it?”
Thorik turned with excitement and grabbed at the pack. Inside he felt a dagger’s hilt and blade under several layers of cloth. “You found it, Uncle!” Pulling it out, Thorik tossed off the cloth to reveal one of his throwing daggers, which he used for hunting. He was crushed at the sight.
Brimmelle patted him on the back. “It appears that you lost it during yesterday’s travels.”
Thorik turned back to see the long desert path they had traveled. “Then we need to go back.”
“Not likely. Even if we did, the wind has prevented us from retracing our footsteps. If we walked just a few yards from our original path we would easily overlook it. It would be a wasted journey.”
“No! We can’t give up on her.”
“We didn’t. She is in a better place. We have to accept that fate has taken her from us and now we must move on.”
By this point, Avanda was up and had started to look for the dagger as well. Trying to push Grewen on his side to see if he was sleeping on it, she called over to Thorik. “I’ll help. Don’t worry. We’ll find it.”
Grewen eventually rolled to his side so the Nums could check his bedding. A few live scorpions and a small lizard escaped from under his robe from the movement, but the Mognin himself never fully woke up.
“I can’t give up that easy.” Turning from his uncle, he continued to pull the campsite apart in his search. However, after another hour of searching the camp and the surrounding area, Thorik eventually fell to his knees. He had failed to protect his grandmother. “I should have looked beneath the dagger’s wrappings to ensure it was Varacon. How could I be so irresponsible?”
Fir Brimmelle puffed up his chest with a deep breath, much like he used to do before teaching his flock the daily sacred writings. “You and I have had this conversation before. You continue to keep your head in superstitions and unnatural beliefs instead of the solid and proven words of the Mountain King. Perhaps this will wake you up and force you to focus.”
A slight grin crept into Fir Brimmelle’s mouth as he watched the look of defeat grow on Thorik’s face. Turning from his nephew in order to hide his satisfaction, he walked away to begin gathering up his own items for traveling. The sooner they left the camp, the less likely Thorik would change his mind and start looking for the dagger again.
Covering his face with his hands, Thorik was too deep in grief to fully pay attention to the Fir’s words. The cool morning air finally registered on his body, causing him to shiver as he began to cry.
Avanda had listened to enough of his conversation with Brimmelle to understand what had happened. Seeing Thorik mourn the loss of Gluic, she approached him and covered his back and shoulders with a blanket before leaning over and hugging him. “I could have sworn you had it last night,” she said softly to herself.
“She’s gone,” Thorik finally whispered in disbelief.
“I know.” Avanda’s voice was kind and gentle.
“I’m responsible. She’ll be forever entrapped in a dagger, lost in the desert.”
Avanda thought about the issue as she leaned her head up against him. “What if she can help us find the dagger?”
A confused look crossed his face warranting her to elaborate.
“What if she can venture a distance from the dagger? Last night Bryus was telling me how souls are trapped in objects. Some enchanted items embed souls while others act as portals. Because of Varacon’s ability to absorb her soul on its own, perhaps this one is a portal. We know she was stabbed, causing her soul to be captured, and we’ll need the dagger again to release her. But in the meantime, perhaps it’s more of a home for her than a prison. Maybe she can wander away from it.”
Thorik listened to the intriguing idea. “She always was one to wander off.”
“Right,” Avanda continued. “Perhaps she continued to walk with us after you dropped the dagger.”
“And how do you expect me to ask her where it is?”
Avanda’s right eyebrow raised, as if it was a foolish question to ask.
But Thorik was still fighting off the grief of losing his grandmother and needed a slight prod.
Walking over to his gear, which was uncharacteristically scattered across the ground, she picked up his pouch of Runestones and tossed them to him. “It worked for us when we talked to the spirits in Della Estovia. Let’s see if Gluic can do the same.”
Catching the sack, Thorik immediately understood the plan but was less optimistic about it. “You realize that this will only work if your assumption is correct and she followed us instead of staying with the dagger.”
Avanda smiled at him. “I know. But you won’t know until you try.”
“Agreed.”
Thorik quickly dug into his pouch to remove the Runestone of Courage before setting the rest near his feet. Closing his eyes he held the ancient stone out and touched two of the three smaller external gems.
“What’s going on here?” Fir Brimmelle asked. He ha
d been preparing to leave when he noticed Thorik standing at the edge of the camp with the Runestone in his hands.
Avanda blocked his path. “It’s okay, Brimmelle. I’ve seen him do this before.”
The Fir attempted to sidestep the young lady, but he was quickly cut off. He could knock her down if he wanted to, but his desire was to interrupt Thorik, not hurt Avanda. “Thorik, this is the foolishness we just talked about. You must not take part in these rituals. They are against the Mountain King’s beliefs.”
His words fell on deaf ears as Thorik lost himself in meditation, while Avanda continued to prevent the Fir from reaching him. But after only a few more attempts, Brimmelle stopped trying. In fact, he stepped backward in disbelief.
Avanda turned away from the Fir to see what was happening. Extending from the third small gem on the Runestone was a thin ribbon of vapor as the light in the center gem began to glow bright. The darkness of the Della Estovia caves had hidden the vapor’s view, but now it was apparent as to its purpose as it circled Thorik and prevented any spirits within it. This had been why the souls of the underworld parted ways when they saw them.
Thorik extended his arms toward the prior day’s path in hopes to see Gluic standing in the distance. Unfortunately, there was no one there.
“Hold it high over your head,” Avanda suggested. “So she can see it. Perhaps it will lead her here.”
Thorik held the stone high as far as he could and faced it forward. But again, nothing was to be seen.
Avanda ran over to Grewen to wake him up. “Get up! We need your height. You need to lift Thorik high in the air as a beacon for Gluic.”
Grewen blinked his eyes a few times and smacked his lips as leftover weeds fell from his mouth. “What happened?”
“Thorik needs to be high in the air in order to signal Gluic.” Holding one of the Mognin’s eyes open, she peered into it.
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Can I get something to eat first?” Grewen mumbled.
“No,” the Num, a fraction of his size, ordered.
Grewen nodded, sat up, and shook the sleepiness out of his head before standing up and walking over to Thorik. Stretching one last time, he scratched his chest and asked the purpose again. “Why am I doing this?”
Avanda was taking charge of this situation. “Just pick him up!”
“Whatever you say, little one.” And with that, he grabbed Thorik with his massive oversized Mognin hand and raised him high into the air as though he was a torch.
Thorik concentrated all of his efforts into the gem as the light in the center shined brighter against the sun’s morning gleam. Prying one eye open, he looked out at the desert to see his grandmother or any other sign of her existence. If not her spiritual vapors, a reflected shimmer from the Varacon blade itself would more than suffice.
Avanda watched intently, changing views from the desert to Thorik, waiting for a sign from either.
Nevertheless, neither of the Nums was able to see anything out of the ordinary. It was nothing but dry lands and weeds.
Several minutes went by before Grewen spoke up again. “Avanda?”
“Yes?” Avanda responded quickly with renewed excitement. “Do you see her?”
“I believe so.”
Avanda tried to force her eyes to look harder. “How can that be? Nums have much better vision than Mognins.”
“That may be true, but sometimes it’s less about your eyesight and more about where you look.”
Looking back at the giant, she followed his line of sight toward the smaller second campfire where Bryus was still sleeping. Sitting near him, was a translucent figure of an elderly lady placing small rocks in swirling patterns.”
“Gluic!” Avanda screamed with delight.
Thorik quickly panned down from Grewen’s hand to Avanda and then to his grandmother. He was immediately overjoyed, and in doing so he lost his complete concentration on the Runestone. She was suddenly invisible again.
“Set me down!” Thorik yelled as his excitement got the better of him.
“Up, down, make up your mind,” Chuckling, he set Thorik back on the ground.
Running over to Bryus’ camp, Thorik held out the Runestone to allow them to see her once more.
“Stop!” Fir Brimmelle ordered. “This is wrong. Blasphemy it is to bring the dead back to life. We cannot do this without corrupting our morals.”
“She isn’t dead!” Thorik fought back.
“She is!” Brimmelle yelled louder. “Even if her soul is adrift and here with us. It is not normal to be conversing with it. This is to be shunned and feared, and not attempted. This is wrong!”
“Why would we fear Gluic?”
“It’s not just my mother. You have no idea what you are unleashing with that Runestone. Demons and other evil might be freed to cause us harm in your efforts to speak with the dead. These are not trivial things we talk about, for your knowledge has no more wisdom than mine on what dangers that can come of this.”
“Then let’s ask Gluic if it is safe.”
“If it is your grandmother. When you start playing with the unknown, you are easily misled into believing what you want even if it isn’t what is real. She could be a beast from Della Estovia in disguise.”
“But she isn’t.”
“How do you know, Thorik? Prove these facts to me, right now.”
Thorik started several sentences to do just that, but stopped each time during the first words. “I can’t any more than you can prove she isn’t.”
Brimmelle’s face showed signs of being fatigued from the fight. No longer did he attempt to intimidate. Instead he begged Thorik in a genuinely sincere manner, which was uncommon for the uncle. “Then why take the chance? Why risk this? My mother is dead. Let her rest in peace. I’m asking you to respect your grandmother, as well as her son. If this was your mother, I would grant this to you if you so asked.” Brimmelle shook his head slightly as he continued. “Don’t contact her again. Please. I can’t bear it.”
Thorik’s natural instincts were to stand up to his uncle. But memories of Bakalor tugged at the Num each time he summoned the courage to say something. It was as though he was fighting against both, Brimmelle and the demon. All of the fear and self-doubt that he had worked so hard to rid himself of suddenly reappeared. Bakalor’s wrath and curse were still affecting his judgment, in spite of being free of Della Estovia.
Avanda looked at Thorik and waited for him to activate the Runestone in spite of his uncle’s words. But instead, he lowered the stone and glanced at the newly awoken Bryus before turning from the sight. Reaching around his waist, Avanda accompanied Thorik back to the mess he had made at the main campsite.
“Thank you,” Brimmelle said softly to Thorik as he watched them walk away. Turning back to Bryus, he could see the man was impressed with the Fir’s ability to prevent the finding of the dagger in the Alchemist’s gear.
Chapter 15
Pyramids
Essence of Gluic Page 17
