Tales of Kingshold

by D P Woolliscroft

  “You are a vision? Are you here to tell me what I should do?”

  “Little wolf, no one is going to tell you what to do,” said her mother, a kind smile on her face. “I am to share your vision. To guide you. Though I had thought your father would be here too. I don’t know what we will see here today, but do so with confidence that I am with you. That I will always be with you.”

  Neenahwi felt unsteady on her feet—hunger and warring emotions taking their toll—so she slid to the ground and rested on her knees, her eyes never leaving the apparition before her. She wanted to have time to talk to her mother; discuss her life, tell her how people always left her. But she knew that was not why her mother was here. “I am ready, mother. How do we begin?”

  “Your readiness is enough.” Her mother called out in an ululating cry, a wavering, high pitched song, the call used in her tribe to mark momentous occasions; a birth, a death, a marriage. And now her mother called it out to welcome her awakening. Neenahwi found her voice rising in communion.

  And the visions came.

  Blue streaked with white, above and below.

  A pelican flying across the ocean, arriving at shores of unspoilt beauty, descending to land on a strip of clean white beach.

  Sand under feet, though there was no familiar crunch of her feet in the shifting sand. The pelican stretched and bulged in impossible ways, the rest of the world faded away as she found herself transfixed on a horrendous transformation. Legs extended to many times their initial length, sprouting fur and ending in cloven hooves. The wings grew too, but each spurt of growth added a new joint like a twisting vine, until they ended in pointed shards of bone. The pelican’s head was pushed off its neck, falling to the beach, as an insectile head took its place, antennae cleaning away ichor that covered its multi-faceted eyes. The feathers across its body fell away too, replaced by a shiny hard black surface.

  She had seen this creature before, and only too recently. The demon that had gone unnoticed in human form as Gawl Tegyr.

  The demon Gawl stood at full height, twice as tall as a grown man, and looked toward a range of mountains that appeared in the distance. It launched into a lurching run, and the world sped by.

  Was this how fast this creature really traveled, or did time move differently?

  She did not know. Grassland gave way to thick forest and the demon did not stop or slow. The forest ended and the demon clambered up sheer mountain cliffs to reach snowy peaks, then descended by a series of leaps from rocky crags that would make a mountain goat ashamed. The mountain range behind it and vast grasslands ahead, the demon picked up the pace—running on all fours, its scythe-like arms reaching to the earth to pull it forward.

  Neenahwi knew this path. She had walked it in the opposite direction with Motega and Kanaveen, though it had taken her many months. This was her homeland.

  The demon stopped. Trails of smoke rose into the air near the horizon. A settlement. Was this when the Gawl demon had led the attack on her home? But he was alone, not accompanied by soldiers wearing steel. The demon crawled through the grasses, moving much more slowly, until Neenahwi could see the outline of buildings ahead. And then the demon was gone. Her presence had been right by its shoulder, like she was dragged along by a short leash. Where could it have gone?

  And then the world melted away…

  …To be replaced by gigantic blades of grass that swayed in the breeze all around her. She shrieked in surprise, as she turned to face a giant flea. It leapt forward and she felt herself tugged along with it.

  The flea was the demon. It's fore limbs still wickedly sharp and extended.

  It hitched a ride on a field mouse, then a hawk which snapped up the mouse from the grass. They flew in the air, circling over the plain before sweeping over the settlement toward the bird’s roost.

  And then they were falling, the flea bounding off the bird’s back into the open sky. For a creature so small, the fall seemed like forever. But as Greytooth, their tribe’s shaman, had taught her: the earth waits for all, and the tiny insect landed with a bounce. It lay still for a moment, until its massive rear legs kicked and brought it upright. A camp dog wandered by and the flea jumped into the matted fur…

  …They were in a dark circular hut, a fire burning in the center, the smoke rising out from a hole in the center of the roof. The flea demon’s epipharynx was stuck in the dog’s flesh, and Neenahwi watched in revulsion as instead of sucking blood from the dog, it pumped a green liquid into the animal.

  “Get out, you mangy animal,” cried a voice beside the fire.

  The dog whined and approached, its head down and tail between its legs. A figure came into view. A man, head shorn completely of hair, with swirling tattoos covering his skull.

  Neenahwi recognized him. This was her old teacher. Her father’s advisor. This was Greytooth, the Wolfclaw clan’s shaman.

  “OK, you can have some dinner,” said Greytooth, reaching out a hand to scratch the dog behind the ear while he fed it something from his hand.

  The flea withdrew its needle-sharp proboscis from the dog and leapt onto the shaman’s foot, bounding up his body, unfelt and unseen in the poor light. It reached his shoulder and the nape of his neck. The saw-like mandibles of the flea cut open a tiny incision in Greytooth’s flesh and the epipharynx plunged in, green liquid flowing into the wound…

  …Greytooth sat with his hands held close to the fire as if warming them, but the flames leaned forward to lick around his fingers. The shaman’s face was contorted, as if in pain, interrupted occasionally by violent spasms that would start around his eyes and reverberate through his body. To Neenahwi he looked like he was at war with himself, and it was some moments before peace came. When it did, the flames rose further around Greytooth’s arms, rising around his bare muscular shoulders and then down to cover his entire person. Neenahwi screamed for her old teacher, in fear he would be consumed by flame, though he raised no alarm himself and did not hear her cries.

  The flames fell away and Neenahwi sighed in relief.

  But it wasn’t Greytooth sitting there now. It was her father. Sharef, chief of the tribe.

  Her father stood and walked out of the hut, Neenahwi tugged along into the darkness behind him. He walked purposefully through the village of the Wolfclaw clan, quiet in the night, until he reached the wooden building that was the meeting hall of her tribe.

  And Neenahwi’s childhood home.

  Sharef walked through the open area where the tribe came together to a doorway hung with an animal hide. He pulled it aside, traveling through two more rooms until he reached an area she recognized well. Her parents’ sleeping room.

  Lying on a pile of animal furs on the hard floor was a sleeping woman, bare skin exposed where a blanket had fallen away. Her father walked forward and undressed, pooling his clothes on the floor. The woman stirred.

  “Sharef, is that you?” asked Neenahwi’s mother. “I didn’t think you would be back from the hunt until tomorrow?”

  “I missed you, Manari, so I ran home,” he said as he slipped under the covers.

  “Hmmm,” Manari purred as the man who was not her father touched her. “I am the luckiest one.” Her mother turned and pulled her father’s mouth to hers…

  …She was back in Greytooth’s hut now. She felt untethered. Gawl was gone. She did not know where, but she felt she was no longer attached to his presence. Neenahwi moved around the hut in the pitch black, sure she was alone until she heard a shudder and a wet sniffle.

  There, in the corner, was someone curled into a ball, rocking gently backward and forwards. Neenahwi approached, crouching down in front of him, unable to see his face as it was buried in his arms and facing the floor. He was muttering something to himself.

  “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry, Manari,” he repeated, his shaven tattooed head shaking back and forth…

  “No!”

  A scream of utter pain ripped through the night and pulled Neenahwi gratefully from Greytooth’s h
ut and back to her stone circle. The ghost of Neenahwi’s mother, Manari, was on her knees and looked like the world had just been pulled out from under her.

  “No!” she screamed again. “You bastard, Greytooth. You bastard.”

  Neenahwi struggled to process all she had just seen as the buffalo-man materialized from the shadows to stand beside her mother.

  “Come with me,” he said to Manari. “You have seen enough.”

  “Why?” she asked. “Why did you bring me here to see this? Why?”

  “Because you deserved to know the truth as much as Neenahwi. Truth is hard but ignorance is a dream. You can go now to your rest.”

  Her mother faded away, her keening wail lingering after her as Neenahwi reached out for her, distraught.

  The world swirled around Neenahwi, nausea rising in her throat. “Tell me,” she said. “What did I see?”

  “You don’t need me to tell you what your own eyes saw,” said the buffalo-man. “What you did not see, is that you were born nine moons after that night.”

  “My father is Greytooth?”

  “Who can say for certain? Sharef returned the next day.”

  “Did the demon compel Greytooth to do it?”

  “Greytooth had loved your mother since they were children. Though shaman cannot marry, he still loved her with all of his heart. But he was not simply compelled to follow these urges; it was more than that. The demon possessed him. The green venom you saw was the method of the demon’s invasion, and though Greytooth tried to fight it, he was weak.” The note of distaste in the buffalo-man’s voice at the shaman’s inability to resist was unmistakable. “He saw all that happened—detached, separate from his own body—and he was unable to do anything. At least the memories of his evil actions tormented him until the day he died.”

  Neenahwi’s chest heaved in shuddering gasps. Who was she? What was she? She leaned forward until her forehead touched the cold bare earth and closed her eyes.

  Slowly, her pulse returned to normal and the pounding vein in her temple reduced to an occasional flutter, the deep breaths brought calm to her body while the cold of the earth cooled her brain. Neenahwi lifted her head and saw the buffalo-man standing motionless.

  “You’re still here?” she asked wearily. “Are we done? Can I go?”

  “You can always leave,” he said flatly, “but you are not done. It is necessary for you to understand your past, and eventually accept it, if you are to decide on your future course. Do you wish to continue?”

  Neenahwi considered the question carefully. Right then she wanted nothing more than to run to Motega and Kanaveen and hold them in her arms. Her one link to her past life that hadn’t been torn away. But should she tell them about who might be her true father? That was something to think on later. Now, she had to know more. If there was knowledge available then she knew she could never pass it up, even at the risk of physical danger, or here, with her sanity on the line.

  “Yes,” she said, sitting upright, trying to project determination, even though she suspected she failed.

  “Good!” boomed the buffalo-man. His hands came together with a wicked clap and the clearing disappeared.

  Neenahwi stood near the center of a different stone circle. This was many times larger, and the floor was made of slabs of marble. She turned slowly on the spot, taking in her surroundings to see ancient trees fringing the circle, six equally spaced thorough-fares in the forest showed the way to and from the circle. And at the center of the circle was a round stone table, with six chairs and six occupants.

  They looked vaguely human, but stretched. Though they were seated she could tell they were over six feet tall, and they were slender, with long thin faces and high brows. Their ears were pointed and their eyes were cat like, almond shaped pupils in iridescent irises. This was where the similarity in their appearance ended; the attendees varied in skin color—pale, dark, even grey—and they dressed in differing styles. Neenahwi peered at them closely from her vantage point behind the nearest elf, for that is clearly what they were.

  They did not move, as if time had stopped for everyone but her, allowing her a moment to think.

  Elves. Gone from the Jeweled Continent for more than a thousand years. The first settlers of the great wooded lands to the south; she had read how they had been isolationists but largely peaceful toward the other races. Jyuth had told her of his attempts to visit with them in his youth, but never being able to penetrate the forest. All that remained of the elves were their lands and just one of their kind.

  Llewdon. The smiling, foul-minded beast that had destroyed her life.

  “Why have you called us here, Llewdon?” asked a dark-skinned elf across the table.

  Neenahwi jumped, doubly surprised as this counsel of elves came to life, and in hearing the name of the person she had been quietly cursing. The elf whose back was to her, the one closest, answered. “How like you, Thalander. Getting to the point as quickly as possible.”

  “How like you to be long winded. Get on with it,” said Thalander. “We have shared enough chit chat about our families, the state of our people, and I for one do not want to hear any more about Gabrial’s travels.” An elven woman to his right furrowed her brow, though Neenahwi thought she looked more amused than angry.

  “Fine,” said Llewdon. “We have lost delight in each other’s company. I see. I shall get to the point. The wizard Myank has disappeared in, how shall I put it, strange circumstances.”

  Myank? Neenahwi had heard that name recently. She racked her brain, forcing down the swirl of emotions so she could concentrate. The letter! Jyuth’s letter had named him as his teacher.

  “What strange circumstances?” asked another elvish woman, her long brown hair tied atop her head in a bun, accentuating her long neck.

  “A better question would be, what do we care?” said Thalander.

  “We care because he is powerful, he is human, and he has been teaching students,” replied Llewdon in evident frustration. Students. So Jyuth was not the only one. Neenahwi’s mind raced; are there others out there somewhere like him? “We have discussed this before. Our magic keeps our lands safe from invaders, but the humans continue to spread like a plague. Myank could threaten our border if he was so inclined. We do not know his like and he warrants our attention.”

  “Hmph, don’t lecture me Llewdon,” said Thalander. “Continue if you must.”

  “Tell me,” said Llewdon, looking around the table, “did any of you notice something strange two days after the last full moon? For want of a better description, a flare, at the edge of your perceptions?”

  The other elves looked at each other before Gabrial nodded, the others following suit, even Thalander.

  “I thought so. It came from the region of the Sapphire Sea. I believe that Myank has left this world.”

  “He’s dead?” asked Gabrial.

  “Sounds like that solves our problem,” said the elvish woman with the bun.

  “Fionara, I think it only makes our situation more troublesome. I don’t believe he is dead. His six apprentices have scattered. But Myank, I believe, has ascended.” Llewdon let those words hang in the air, looking each of his compatriots in turn. “I believe he has become a god.”

  “Oakblight!” exclaimed Thalander. “Through all of our studies, none of us have discovered evidence of gods. Our fair share of demons. But gods? Stories for lesser beings who need to understand why their crops fail.”

  Neenahwi moved around the table so as to be better able to see Llewdon, who now regarded his tormentor in chief with a steely gaze, but she could tell he tried his best to keep his voice in check. “Whether you want to call them gods or not, I do not care, Thalander. These are beings of more energy than we can muster, and a human has achieved this. What foul treachery will he bring on us now?”

  “How do you know Myank bears us ill will? He has never born us ill before,” said Fionara.

  “It sounds to me like you are jealous,” said an elf who ha
d not spoken yet, his voice deeper than all of the others’, pale skinned with hair cut close to his head.

  “What are you talking about, Rananon? Why would I be jealous?”

  “You tell me,” Rananon growled. “I just heard the way you talked about him. We know you are the strongest of us in the ways of magic, and that is a fact that most of us don’t really give a fig about. But I’ve long suspected that your obsession with Myank developed from a fear he was better than you. And now you have your proof.”

  Llewdon slapped his open palms down on to the table. “You dare accuse me of selfish motives. I bring this to your attention because I care about our people.”

  Rananon and Llewdon stared across the table at each other, neither speaking. It was Thalander who broke the silence.

  “What Llewdon tells us is of concern, if this human wizard now has more power at his fingertips. They are a fickle lot who shift with the tides,” Llewdon shifted his attention, visibly surprised at the unexpected source of help. “It at least warrants more study. We may need plans to improve our defenses. My people are closest to the humans and we will be at the front line of any war.”

  “I think, Thalander,” said Llewdon smiling, “that what you propose is the perfect course of action.”

  The world melted away once more, the open air replaced by a round white chamber, crafted of marble with no visible seam. Tall windows, open to the warm air, spaced the walls, and through them Neenahwi could see white towers reaching high above a dense forest. The room was empty except for two figures. Llewdon, standing tall and dressed in robes of white and silver, and before him a woman suspended a foot from the floor, chained hand and foot. She was naked, and her arms stretched at her shoulder sockets from her own hanging weight. Neenahwi screamed at the elf to free the woman, the memories of how Kanaveen had been imprisoned flooding back to her. She thought momentarily to attack the elf; with her fists, her teeth, with whatever she could lay her hands on. But Llewdon did not turn at her cry.