"I can come help," Bergar said. "I could use a stretch anyway."
"Alright," Jaxius replied.
They walked into the darkness of the forest, picking up whatever dry fallen timbers they could find.
"Jaxius," Bergar began the conversation he and Tolian had been practicing most of the day. "Look, I wanted to talk to you."
"I know."
Bergar's mind raced. What did he know? Had he guessed what they wanted to talk to him about? Or had he guessed even deeper that something was wrong with Tolian? They were absolutely not ready to have that conversation.
Jaxius interrupted his thoughts. "I know you have seen me doing some odd things lately, old friend. I assure you, I have no idea what is happening."
Relief washed over Bergar. He found his place in the well-rehearsed conversation and said, "Yes, well. I was wondering if you knew anything about what that little girl, Chlora, meant. She said that you were cousins. Then I heard her say something about knowing you. What was that?"
"I don't know," Jaxius replied. "All I know is when she grabbed me there was this bright light. I saw her eyes. Not the little girl eyes, but ancient eyes. Grown eyes. Feminine. Beautiful. I felt full of life. Full of warmth. Like the entire world had seized my soul and . . . and breathed into me. Then, the light faded. And I was back in the freezing night. The snow and the forest around me looked drab and dark. Surely, you have heard some tale or history or something about Chlora, the little faerie girl who inhabits the forest of Hawklos?"
I have not. Perhaps there is something in your lore, Bergar?
Bergar scrunched his eyebrows together and thought deeply. He wracked his mind to think if he had ever heard of this Chlora, or any fae creatures in the forests, before. His people had lived at the forest's edge between Nordras and Hawklos for hundreds of years. After a few painful moments, he gave up.
"No. I have not."
Then inspiration struck him. "Wait, there was a man who may know, back in Grundar's clan."
There was?
"He was an elder," Bergar answered Tolian aloud. "He stays in a tent by himself and almost never comes out. He is ancient and comes to the border only because he has known nothing else. He was once a warrior but is a healer and shaman now. I bet he may know."
Why was I never introduced? He should have been the FIRST person that I spoke to.
"Good," Jaxius said. "I will go straight to him when we are back. But now, we need to get back to camp."
"Sure. But first, I have another question."
What? We hadn't talked about another question. This time, it was Tolian's turn to fret about unexpected conversations.
"What is it like?" Bergar asked. "When the changes happen, that is."
"Life. Like everything that makes life worthwhile. Like that brilliant flash of light that Chlora made, all over again. Except deep inside of me trying to burst out."
Bergar smiled, and they walked companionably back to the warm glow of the campfire, unloading their armfuls of wood.
Chapter Eighteen
Snow started falling again the next day. Grundar indicated that this snow felt like the start of a winter storm. Thus, less time was spent talking, and more time was spent on pushing forward. Jaxius and Tolian had not lived in the frozen north for more than a few months, but they both knew that a winter storm when you were away from shelter could be lethal. The small campfires of their previous camps would no longer stave off the cold.
Grundar's disposition had grown more agitated and grumpy, a sure sign to Tolian that he had started to accept his son's fate. The silence allowed much time for the travelers to consider the past several weeks, their thoughts punctuated by the steady crunch-crunch of the snow under their feet.
You know, I used to really enjoy using those hands, Tolian said.
What are you talking about?
Oh, nothing really. Just lamenting that I will never be able to actually use my finely wrought fingers and hands again. There has to be some way I can be in control of my own body, with you relegated to the background. At least temporarily. Did the Queen Witch say anything about how to swap places? Oh, how I wish to trade places! But that's always the story, isn't it?
Umm . . . she didn't really say anything about trading anything. She just said that I could either share this body with you or be an undead-thing in my old body.
Wait. She said share, though. So that means maybe, however remote, there is a chance that I could be where you are. I mean she didn't really say share control of . . . but she did say share. And I know you can't really trust the Unworthy Witch, but if there is a possibility, I have to try. Tolian pondered their predicament.
If you can do it, I would gladly give you this ineffective body. I am getting very tired. Your muscles are minuscule. They tire easily.
You just aren't using them correctly. That's where years of practice would help. But since you don't have that . . . But that's neither here, nor there. What we need is to figure out a way around the Unworthy Witch's curse.
What do you know of the Unworthy Witch anyway, storyteller?
Oh, well, the stories are spread across the face of the known world. She was once the beloved queen of the gods. She was cast out by her husband because of a quarrel. Legends say that being torn from her lover like she was, drove her absolutely mad and placed in her blackened heart a deep hatred for all men. She defied her former husband by corrupting his creations and forcing a false life on their dead bodies. That's how she came to be known as the Queen of the Undead.
She thrives on upsetting the natural order that her paramour created. Stories come out of Estrun far to the south and east of here, that she, long ago, did anything and everything she could to create confusion here in the mortal world.
Tolian went on, She doesn't trust anyone and has been known to be less than trustworthy herself. While she never outright lies to anyone, her words drip with guile. I don't think we can fully trust what she said about sharing my body, but I have to believe something.
I know. I am not the type of person to help you figure a way out of this. I have no real experience in life. I haven't traveled the world like you. All I know is joking with my clan and trying to live up to my father's expectations. Sorry, I can't help more. Bergar sighed and shook his head.
Maybe you can, Tolian said. Can you go to sleep?
While walking? I don't think so. That's sort of . . . impossible.
No, I mean: can you meditate? Let your mind simply empty itself. Talking about Estrun reminded me of it. It's a technique I heard of while traveling in the south. For a short time, Jaxius and I were accompanied by a world-wanderer from Yema, an island just west of Estrun. Yema is a haven for those seeking mental awakening and enlightenment . . .
Enlighten… what? You lost me. Bergar was sure Tolian had cracked under the pressure of sharing his body with the barbarian.
Well. Basically, it's a . . .
Never mind. I don't really want to know. Just tell me what I need to do. I am tired of feeling so tired. The young man whined to his friend.
Fine. Think about the sun.
What about it?
No, just the sun. Just get in your mind one picture of the sun.
What time of year is it?
It doesn't matter. Just any image of the sun. Just remember one time that you saw the sun, on any given day. It really doesn't matter.
What if the day I am thinking of was cloudy, does that matter? Bergar wondered.
Grrr. Yes. Just the sun. No clouds. No birds. JUST THE SUN!
Whatever you say. If you need it to be so specific, why don't you just think of it yourself.
Aaargh. Tolian screamed. "I want to KILL you!"
Tolian landed flat on the ground, his hands wrapped tightly around his own throat.
"Want to kill who?" Jaxius asked turning around to see his friend on his back in the snow. "Calm down. I know we have been pushing hard, friend. It will be fine. We will get there. I promise. Grundar says it will just
be a day or two more if we keep the pace up."
"What? I did it!" Tolian exclaimed. "Thank the gods. One more day inside like that and I would have killed him!"
"What are you talking about?" Jaxius asked. "Grundar, I think we need to take a break."
Grundar grumbled some form of acceptance and dropped his burden to the snow covered ground.
I think it's time we tell him. Tolian thought.
No! Bergar argued. He will want to tell father. And we can't do that. I don't have an answer for him yet.
Fine, I can wait. But he must know. Soon.
Not that I could stop you. I am just glad to feel . . . nothing.
Chapter Nineteen
The winds had picked up speed, kicking snow into his eyes from every angle. Although Jaxius had grown accustomed to the blinding white, he struggled to see through the wall of falling snow. He had been more than a bit relieved when they passed the campsite where they met Chlora and found no trace of her. Not surprised, really, just relieved. Jaxius thought, perhaps, with that awkward place behind them, they could focus their attention to getting back to Nordras, and then he could find the time to focus on the riddles Chlora left with him.
"How much farther?" Tolian asked. His voice barely rose above the roaring wind.
"Not far," Grundar called back. "Just keep going."
No sooner than the words escaped Grundar's mouth, did the forest end and the shadow of Nordras' border markers came into view.
"Home . . ." Grundar said, as the glow from a campfire peaked through a lull in the wind and snow. That one word resounded in each of their souls. It had been nearly a month since they left to rescue Bergar. Time had changed them while they were gone. Life had changed. None of them knew exactly what "home" meant anymore. The one notion that they all shared about home was that it had to be somewhere warmer than the knee-deep snow of this accursed forest.
The three men raced toward the hill, each stopping short of the crest, remembering the ditches dug to keep out invaders. They worked their careful way across, feeling through the snow for a safe place to traverse.
One by one, members of the clan came out to greet them and help them across, showing them places where the logs had fallen and settled. The hearty clasping of hands and warm welcomes quickly turned somber as each man noted the grave expression on Grundar's face. Silence and snow were soon enough the only things that filled the air.
One young man dared to break that silence. "Bergar?" he asked unnecessarily.
Grundar just shook his head and thanked the gods that the quiver in his bottom lip was hidden by his beard and the cold.
"Bravely, like a true man," Tolian said. He knew that was now on the mind of every man there.
It sure didn't feel brave.
"And he has been avenged," Jaxius added taking the final steps across the makeshift barriers. "The witch Fylzia is dead. I made sure of it myself."
"Also, I think we may have shown those dastardly invaders the grave error of their ways. Their numbers are greatly diminished." Tolian said.
"If what ye say be true," one man said. "then we should have a feast in honor of our fallen brother."
Oh please, no. I... I... ugh. Is this really happening? I swear I am going to find that witch in the afterlife and rip her to pieces. Bergar thought. Please, stop them.
"In this storm?" Tolian asked just before he noticed the changes to the camp. Several of the individual tents had been reworked together to form one large tent-hall. Surrounding this community area were the separate sleeping tents of each man.
"Our scouts and mystics foresaw the storm. We were prepared for worse. It seems that yer returning has brought with it the tail o' the storm." One of the warriors explained. "Now, shall we git in an' warm this blizzard from yer bones? Besides, we were just settlin' down for the evenin' meal."
"That sounds divine," Tolian said.
Thank you for trying, Bergar quipped.
The men walked through the flap opening into a blaze of warmth, a welcome change to the blizzard outside. The benches and tables that had been scattered throughout the camp before were all now neatly set in rows broken up by a few large heating fires. Most of the men from the clan were scattered about the tables preparing food or sitting to eat. A hush flowed over them as they noticed Grundar's return.
Grundar walked directly to the head of the endmost table and took his seat. He sat absently watching his brothers and friends passing the remains of a winter hunt around the table. After a few minutes, Tolian and Jaxius joined him. They all sat in silence, eating their first decent meal in over a month.
Grundar broke their silence. He looked at Jaxius and said, "What do ye intend on doin' now?"
"Well, I think I will pass the winter here. And when spring breaks, I will go and look for answers."
Grundar nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
"If that is unacceptable to you, I can make other arrangements," Jaxius said, noting Grundar's inability to speak his mind aloud.
"No. I was meanin' ye could stay. Longer if'n ye wished it."
"Thank you, but I have to find out what is happening to me. What Chlora meant about me. There is too much left unsaid."
Again, Grundar nodded. He turned his head to Tolian. "And ye?"
"I will follow my friend here. It is what I set out to do, years ago, and do it I shall."
And my wishes be damned, Bergar grumbled inside of Tolian's head.
That is not true. I think we might be able to find more information and maybe a way out of this mess if we stay with Jaxius. When he is involved, things seem to happen, Tolian answered the young barbarian.
Grundar stood and raised his cup. The room hushed. "Let it be known that I, Grundar, son of Hundar, father of Bergar, am proud. I am proud of me son and the man he became. I am proud of 'is honor and 'is love for 'is people. I am proud to have friends who, when ye need 'em, will risk everythin' fer a fool's errand. Let it be known tha' these two men, they be members o' this clan. Forever! Thus proclaims Grundar, son of Hundar!"
With that, Grundar turned up his cup and poured its contents in his mouth and on his beard. The drink mostly found his beard. Then he plopped back to his seat.
The celebration of their return and of the life of Bergar went on for most of the night. As the fires died down low in the early morning hours, Jaxius rose from his seat and went out into the night. Following the directions he gathered from the morning watch, he finally came to his destination. He tapped the front flap of the tent, hoping the man he sought was awake.
"Come in, Returned One," an ancient sounding voice said. "I have been expecting you for near upon a month now."
Chapter Twenty
Over a thousand miles away from the blistering wind and freezing cold of Nordras, a small group gathered. Each wore his black robe pulled tight and his hood over his head. Rain pelted the circle of stones atop the hill where they were assembled. All of the gathered men remained outside of the ancient henge, save one. He paced back and forth amidst the toppled stones, his hands clasped behind his back. Each agitated step drove him faster and faster.
"Where is he?" the lone figure demanded.
As if to answer his impatient question, Aportus crested the top of the hill. He hurried to his impatiently waiting master who now stood with his arms folded across his chest.
"Well?" his master asked. "Have you found him?"
"Yes, sire," came Aportus' humble reply. He had, in fact, found his target and brought him back just as his master had demanded. He tugged on the long rope that trailed behind him. Another hooded figure trudged up the hill with his hands bound in front of him.
"Good, good," Aportus' lord said. "Which one is this, Aportus?"
"He is Ariax of Twern, sire"
"Ah, my dear Ariax," he said raising his arms in mock invitation. "So good of you to join our party."
Aportus again hauled on the rope that bound Ariax's hands, and Ariax stumbled forward. Blood
dripped from the hood of his cloak, an obvious sign of the brutal beating that he had taken on his journey.
Raising his voice and his arms, Aportus' master called, "My friends, tonight I have called you all together because one of our order has failed. The witch, Fylzia, allowed two men to interrupt her ritual and temporarily halt our plans. Is this something that we can allow lightly?"
"No!" resounded through the hills.
"The witch is dead, but shall we let that be the only punishment that is dealt out?"
"No!" again echoed across the valley.
"Then join with me in calling the Crimson Circle and our ancient magics. We shall use this cur as a sacrifice to appease our Dark Prince."
"B-but," the prisoner said, "I had nothing to do with the witch. You must have me mistaken, I am..."
"I know who you are," the robed leader interrupted. "And I also know that you had nothing to do with Fylzia. You shall be our sacrifice simply because you were tardy. My patience with you is spent. It was depleted when you did not arrive at the appointed time. Now, since you disrespected me so much as to be late, at least respect yourself enough not to whimper and whine at your newly appointed duty."
With that, Aportus' master leveled a hand at his prisoner's chest and turned it palm upward. The prisoner floated up from the ground, suspended by an invisible magic. The master opened his other hand and a dagger from Aportus' belt cleaved through the air, burying itself deep into the man's stomach. It sliced a bloody pattern across the man's torso before plunging hilt deep into his throat.
"We call to you, Oh Gredgeshnosch! We call you from the depths, from your seat of power. We call upon you to aid us this night. Make the failures of our former sister right. We call you by blood and by rain! Come now, to this world." The entire assemblage repeated his words, chanting the summoning spell while their sacrifice bled upon the evilly consecrated stones. Then the leader of the foul ritual intoned several words in a language unknown to any in the circle but himself.
As he spoke these words the ground rumbled and shuddered. Moonlight cut through the rain clouds and filled the hilltop with an eerie glow. The light bounced from stone to stone amplifying and focusing with each bounce. Finally, leaping from the last stone, the light struck one of the thirteen participants in the chest. The brilliance burst forth from his eyes and mouth and crossed the hilltop once more. It struck another participant and rebounded across the circle. This continued until every robed person stood, with eyes wide and mouth open, spewing forth concentrated moonlight. The moonlight finally struck Aportus' master, lifting him into the air. He hovered above the soggy earth chanting in some ancient, demonic language. He continued to intone and the earth split apart, large chunks falling away to a river of fire and smoke below.
Flames of Awakening: Faemoch Cycle Book 1 Page 9
