by James Dale
"The surprise perhaps?" Tarsus asked.
His grandfather only grinned.
The man soon returned with a small drum, set it between his legs and began to pound out a lively beat. A murmur of approval began as a slim figure, identity concealed by furs, entered the circle and knelt before Tereil. The mysterious figure began to sway beneath the skins as the drummer's beat quickened, and then with a shout, flung away the furs and began to dance. It was the young woman who had taken such a keen interest in Braedan earlier in the afternoon.
"Teala is beautiful, is she not?" Tereil remarked as she began her dance. The young woman was dressed in a dark tanned, leather top, cropped well above her mid-drift. A loose-fitting cotton shift rode high on her hips as she danced that left little to the imagination. Her long, dark hair was braided and intertwined with baubles of stone and she wore bracelets of silver that clinked in rhythm with her dance. She soon made her way over to where they were seated and knelt seductively before Braedan. With a flick of her head, she covered his lap with her long, luxurious hair. Then with a wicked laugh, she leapt to her feet and danced away.
"Perhaps it is time for you settle down for good, grandson." Tereil said to Tarsus with a mischievous grin.
“I think she is more interested in my guest," Tarsus laughed. The girl had returned and was now behind Braedan, running her fingers through his hair as her bare legs brushed enticingly against his back. "What would Annawyn say?" the Amarian grinned, leaning over Tereil and slapping Jack playfully on his knee at the embarrassment her attention was causing him.
Teala leaned over and blew into Braedan's ear, causing a shiver to run down his spine. "Judas Bloody Hell Tarsus!" he whispered. "She's just a girl!"
"I told you that makes no difference here," the Amarian laughed.
Teala laughed huskily and pranced away to dance for a few of the other men, but wherever she went within the circle, her smoky eyes always kept returning to flirt with Braedan. Mercifully, the dance soon ended and the girl gathered up her furs to the thunderous cheers of the villagers. With a last inviting glance in Jack's direction and a sway of her youthful hips, she disappeared into the night.
Tereil stood and raised his hands to quiet the cheering men. "Today Tarsus Aernin has returned!" the old man said in a loud voice, and the villagers renewed their shouts. When they were again quiet, he continued. "It seems however, he has not merely come back to visit his grandfather. He has requested to speak to the Council of Elders about a matter of some urgency. We will meet in my home as soon as they can stumble over. If any are too drunk to find their way, would someone be kind enough to direct them?"
Laughing at the old man's jest, the celebration slowly began to break up as the men collected their furs and make their way back to their homes.
"It is time my friend," Tarsus said laying a huge arm across Jack's shoulders.
"Let's get it over with," he sighed, and they gathered up their own furs and made their way to Tereil's hut.
There were seven men on the village Council of Elders. Each one had been chosen by the people for his wisdom, common sense and leadership abilities. Unlike most democratic selections Braedan was familiar with, their elections had not been a popularity contest. Amarians were too practical to fall into that trap and quickly saw through anyone who tried such an ignominious route to the council.
It took some time for all seven to make their way to the old man's home. While they waited, Tarsus restored the fire until it was roaring and Braedan helped Tereil carry benches and chairs into the main room for the men to sit on. After about twenty minutes, they had all arrived. Tarsus did not know each man by name, for he had been away twenty years. Introductions were made by Tereil, and after each of the elders had personally welcomed the Amarian back to his home, the Regent made sure all were seated and comfortable and Braedan supplied them with a fresh mug of chilled ale.
"The hour is late my friends," Tereil began. "So we will dispense with much of the usual formalities required by a Shan'ra. My grandson, Tarsus Aernin."
"I fear it will be much later before we are finished tonight grandfather," Tarsus said as he stood to face the elders. "The story you must hear is a long one. Its beginnings you know well, for it is the story of Sunheart and the exiled son of Ljmarn Bra'Adan." Tarsus drew a deep breath and looked at each Elder in turn before continuing. "I have asked for this Shan'ra because I tell you, his exile is over."
There were murmurs of disbelief from the gathered elders and Tarsus raised a hand to silence them. Tereil Annen, a man who knew many things and could guess even more, looked quickly at Braedan. There was the light of hope burning in the Regent's piercing blue eye.
"I know this may sound unbelievable," Tarsus continued. "But when you hear what I have to say, you will be convinced, as I am, that the High King's son has returned."
Before the council could interrupt him with questions, Tarsus launched into his tale. He began his narrative in the Ailsantain Forest at the Temple of the Door. He told the elders of the Seawolf's foolhardy search for a nonexistent treasure, of Dorad Ellgereth's revelation about the Temple and the terrible lightning bolts which had killed three of the pirates who had tried to enter. He related the battle with the Norgarthan ForLegion led by a man possessed by the demon Urioch, ancient destroyer of Tanaevar. He then recounted how he and Dorad had been rescued from certain death by a man who had appeared out of the forest, slaying the demon with fire of his own, and how that man had joined them in the Free Brothers of the Sea. He told them of the man's encounter with Gretta the Seeress and the blind Priest of Yh’Adan in Brimcohn, of the man's part in the raid on Norgarth and how he had slain two Sorcerers of Sa'tan. He told them of the words of Jon Kailmax aboard the Sword of Urgiss and of the tale spoken to them by Errand in the dungeon of the Tower of the White Horse.
Tarsus then related to them this man's amazing path to Aralon; of the mysterious portal guarded by a na'Ghomari, and how he had finally arrived at the Temple of the Door. He told them everything about the man's dreams and his confusion and of his remaining doubts, even after all that had happened to him, of his apparent identity.
"That man sits before you now," he concluded almost two hours later. "He is Jack Braedan, of the House of Bra'Adan, Heir to the Throne of Immer and the Highsword Yhswyndyr."
The elders were stunned by Tarsus' words. Kings and peasants had dreamed of hearing these words. Bards and minstrels composed ballads yearning for this day. Since the end of the Second War of the Stones the people of Aralon had waited and prayed and hoped. And waited. And waited. For eight hundred years this event had been looked for until few now even remembered why. Now Tarsus was telling them that day had come!
Tereil was the first to break the silence. "If this be true, why does he come to us? We can't restore his throne."
"Jack Braedan comes to Amar seeking guidance," Tarsus replied. "He seeks the wisdom of Elohara."
The village elders were more shocked by this announcement than the revelation they were sitting in the presence of the Heir of Ljmarn Bra'Adan. Tereil however, nodded vigorously in agreement.
"You would consent to this Tereil?" asked Tull Annorsonn, the oldest and most experienced of the Council of Elders.
"Would you refuse the request of the High King?" countered the Regent of Amar.
"How can we be sure this man is what he claims?" asked another of the elders. "We have been offered no proof but words."
"Words spoken by Tarsus Aernin!" Tereil retorted. "Do you say he speaks falsely?"
"He may have been deceived by this man," argued another, pointing at Braedan.
"Honored elders," Jack said, rising at the challenge. "I understand your doubts. I have many of them myself. I can't tell you for certain I am a descendant of Ljmarn Bra'Adan, but ever word Tarsus spoke to you is true. Four months ago I followed a monster from my dreams through a…doorway that brought me to Aralon. Since that day I have been searching for the reason why I am here. I ask your help. Tarsus assures
me your sacred Elohara will provide me with the answers I need."
"The Elohara has never been granted to anyone but a sitting King of Amar," Tull Annorsonn replied. "I cannot agree to this."
"We must do this!" Tereil argued. "Living on the edge of the Bergaweld, we know better than any people dark days are coming. Last winter there were wolves on Mount Aernin for the first time in a generation! Tull, your own cousin Tergaen slew a grim'Hiru not two months ago. A grim'Hiru! In the Amarian Hills! Tell me when that happened last? Not in living memory! How many young men have we lost to Ulgon'el over the last two years? I'll tell you how many! More than in the previous ten combined! Dark days are coming. The east is stirring. We need a High King now more than any time since the rising of the Bloodstone!"
"We will perform the Elohara," he finished. "If Jack Braedan is the descendant of Ljmarn Bra’Adan he must have no doubts. He must discover the path that takes him to his father's sword."
Though Annorsonn was still not fully convinced, he bowed to the will of the Regent and the other members of the council followed his lead.
"So, what do we do now?" Jack asked, turning to Tereil.
"It will take time to prepare the Elohara," the old man answered. "While I gather the necessary items, you must cleanse your body and spirit. First you must bathe in the stream. Tarsus will accompany you. From this time forward, until the Elohara has begun, you must speak to no one. Understood?"
Jack nodded.
"Do not be afraid Jack Braedan," Tereil smiled, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "This is a great honor you are receiving. No matter what you learn this night, whether you are Ljmarn's descendant or not, you will not be the same man come morning. Take him to the stream Tarsus." the old man instructed his grandson. "Let no one interfere."
"Come my friend," said Tarsus, leading him from the Regent's home. The two made their way through the village, attracting a small crowd as they went, but the glare of warning Tarsus gave the curious villagers sent them scurrying back to their homes.
The Amarian helped him strip out of his clothes, then motioned wordlessly towards the stream. Braedan eyed the brook warily, and with a sigh of resignation, waded into the cold water. He gasped involuntarily when the water reached his waist and shot his friend an 'Are you absolutely certain this is necessary' look.
"Don't be a child," the Amarian grinned. "It's not that cold."
'Not from where you're standing,' Braedan thought to himself. Summoning his nerve, he took a deep breath and sat down in the freezing water. He was immediately racked by uncontrollable shivers, but they passed quickly as his entire body soon grew numb from the cold. It was not long before a serene calm filled him and he began to grow light headed. His eyelids grew heavy and started to slowly close. When his head slipped below the surface Tarsus quickly waded out to him and dragged him back up onto the bank.
Once out of the water Braedan began shaking so badly he could not stand without his friend's help. The Amarian had to hold him upright on his feet until the fit had passed. When it was over, he weakly nodded his thanks and Tarsus gathered up his clothes and led him naked through the village back to Tereil's hut.
The stone house seemed like a furnace to Braedan as he and Tarsus stepped through the door. The old man took him from him Tarsus and sat him down on the hearth in front to the roaring fire, wrapping him in thick furs. At a nod from the Regent, the Council of Elders seated themselves on the floor in a semicircle at his feet. From a kettle suspended above the fire, Tereil drew a ladle of steaming liquid, poured it into a wooden cup, and placed it in his shaking hands. A pleasing odor filled his head, like an evergreen forest after a summer rain. He raised a questioning eyebrow at the old man.
"It is el'Traya," Tereil explained. "It will aid you on your journey."
Braedan lifted the cup to his lips and took a small, tentative sip. It had a sharp, wild taste. "Drink it all." the old man said, steadying his shaking hands. He gagged slightly at the first full swallow, but the steaming liquid quickly chased the chill from his bones so he struggled to finish the rest. Tereil took the cup from him and tossed it into the fire, then took a seat at his feet.
"You may speak," he nodded.
"What happens now?" Braedan asked. He was already beginning to feel flushed.
"Now your journey begins," replied the old man. "If Yh permits, your ancestors will come and show you some small portion of the future. Hopefully, it will provide you with the answers you seek."
"I don't know where to start," Braedan said. "What questions to ask."
"There will be no need to ask questions," Tereil smiled. "Your ancestors will know the knowledge you require. They will guide you along the necessary path."
Braedan gasped in pain at a sudden tightness in his chest. It felt like a giant unseen hand had reached into his body and clinched his heart. "Relax," Tereil whispered soothingly, placing his hands on his shoulders. "Do not fight the el'Traya."
"It works quickly," Tull Annorsonn remarked, impressed.
"Yes," Tereil replied. "Much faster than I expected."
"Is that good?" Tarsus asked, concerned for his friend.
"Good?" his grandfather shrugged. "It is a portentous sign. He will see much. Whether it be good or evil? We shall see."
"What happens now?" Tarsus asked.
"Now we wait," replied Tereil. "It will not be long."
Although the two men were sitting at his feet, their voices suddenly seemed to be coming from far away. It was like hearing echoes ringing across a wide valley. Braedan strained to hear what was being said, to interpret the oddodd...soundssounds... reaching his ears, but the room was growing dark and a roar like a rushing wind was beginning to swallow their voices. The darkness and wind soon enfolded him.
After a time, the darkness faded and a light grew in his mind. It was warm and comforting and sang to him of peace and happiness and he was not afraid. Soon he became aware he was no longer alone. He looked behind him and there was his grandfather, Robert. He was young and strong, not the old and broken man he had been in Jack’s youth. By his side his brother Patrick, who had died early in the invasion of Iraq of ‘03. On his face was a look of serene calm he had never possessed in life.
“You’ve got a choice to make Johnnie,” his grandfather said, taking his hand. He was only member of his family to ever call him anything other than Jack. “Stay here and shoulder a heavy burden or come with us and we will guide you to a place of peace.”
“You don’t have to do this Jack,” Patrick added, taking his other hand. “Stay here and there will be blood and pain. You’ve suffered enough. Come with us. This doesn’t have to be your fight.”
Jack wanted to go with them. The light behind them was warm and welcoming, washing away all the darkness and violence that lingered in the far resecesses of his troubled soul. But something in him resisted. He had a purpose here. He could feel it. A purpose that only he could accomplish.
“This will not be easy, Johnnie,” his grandfather said sadly, as if he could read his thoughts. This was the Elohara. Perhaps he could.
“I think…I think I have to stay Pops.” Jack said hesitantly.
“Always the hero,” Patrick sighed. Patrick had died while Jack had been a freshman in high school. Killed by a sniper on the road to Bagdad as he stood in the turret of his M1 tank. Patrick’s death had been big reason Jack had only lasted one semester in college before dropping out and joining the army.
“I got that from you Patty,” Jack replied. “I have to stay.”
“Give’em hell then,” his big brother nodded.
“We love you Johnnie,” his grandfather smiled. “Be strong.”
With a final squeeze of his hands, his grandfather and brother disappeared.
The light faded as well and before him stood another man. He was tall and handsome, and had piercing green eyes that filled with a strength few mortal men ever possessed. He was dressed in white linen and on his brow was a diamond that glimmered like a st
ar in the sky. He smiled and held out his hands and Braedan took them without thought, for his smile was compassion and love made flesh.
"Can you help me?" Jack asked.
“I can,” the man replied, his voice deep and strong. “I will show you what you must to do.”
"What...what do I have to do?" asked Jack. “Who are you?”
"I am Ljmarn Bra’Adan," the man answered. “You must finish what I could not.”
"What must I finish?"
"You must destroy the Bloodstone,” Ljmarn replied, his words full of pain and regret. “Come," he said and there was a sound of rushing wind then suddenly all was dark.
There was an overwhelming silence, heavy and oppressive as if they were far, far beneath the earthe. After a time, the gloom seemed to lessen and Braedan was able to make out their surroundings. They were in a long corridor with walls of stone covered in places by pale green lichen. Barely visible above them was a high, arched ceiling. The corridor stretched endlessly in two directions until it was lost in the shadows. Before them was a great wooden door darkened by age with tremendous iron hinges, long unused and corroded with rust. Behind the door Braedan could sense a dark, brooding presence, full of hate and evil thoughts. It stirred restlessly when it became aware of them.
"Where...where are we?" Jack whispered, recoiling from the menace he felt emanating from the other side of the door.
"This is his place," Ljmarn answered.
"Who's place?"
"Our Enemy," Ljmarn spat. "Graith son of Halbar. He still sleeps. For now. But even in his sleep he feels our presence. Can you hear him?"
"No," Braedan lied, wishing he did not. For what he heard coming from behind the door was laughter, cruel and gloating.
"Yes," Ljmarn said with undisguised bitterness. "He is laughing. He laughs at me because he escaped my grasp when I could not destroy him. And at you because you cannot harm him. Not yet. It was Graith who tormented you through your dreams. It was he who sent the na’Ghomari to kill you. Although he still sleeps, he is powerful enough to strike blows from far away. Remember that Jack and take care, for you have yet to come into your inheritance. And the day fast approaches when he will rise from his slumber."
