by AZ Kelvin
“Step aside here, Quin,” Riklan said as he moved over to give the group some room to pass.
“Where are they taking them?”
“Look at the bridle crown and browband. See the blue braiding and fringe? That means they’re for the quest riders. They’ll be qualifying tomorrow to participate in the next festival quest.”
Quinlan had heard of the festival quests as had every other child in Arden. Hopeful participants would gather at the Gwylari markets to petition for a spot to compete in the upcoming year’s events.
“What do they do with the horses?”
“A quest rider must show high skill in horsemanship and husbandry, among many other things, to win a place in a quest.”
“Were you ever a quest rider, Papa?”
He smiled warm and wide at his son. “Nooo, I’ve always been more at home with a ship under my feet than with a horse under my butt!”
They both shared a good laugh and Riklan put his arm around his boy’s shoulders as they continued through the market. Quinlan could not remember a happier day.
The hustle and bustle of business and trade was in full swing at every booth throughout the entire market from daybreak to nightfall. The markets were not only places of trade but also the sites of meetings and councils between the different peoples of Arden. The Gwylari markets were considered neutral territory by all the realms of Arden. Weaponry and hostilities were forbidden.
The markets served also as waypoints for travelers. There, merchants could post jobs and notices. Staging areas for expeditions were set up as well. And you could find training in the healing arts, herb lore, and many other crafts and skills.
The smell of simmering foods and fresh-baked goods wafted from somewhere to their left.
Riklan sniffed the air. “What do you think, should we go that way?”
“Yes, I think so!” Quinlan’s stomach echoed his sentiment.
The source of the smell, a large pit of coals lined with hot boxes and bubbling pots, sat beside a large pavilion sheltering an area of chairs, rugs, and tables in a horseshoe shape. Performers played music and danced around the open area in the center. Quinlan watched until Riklan poked his shoulder.
“Here, take this”—he handed him a bowl of vegetable stew and pointed to an open table in the pavilion—“and go sit down over there.”
Riklan brought his bowl and a plate of biscuits to the table. A Kalnuvian girl brought a tray with a pitcher and glasses. Quinlan couldn’t pull his eyes away from the girl. He had never seen one of the northern people before. She had the typical all-white hair, pale skin, and ice-blue eyes of her race. When she smiled at him the blush of her cheeks stood out like red roses on a sunny winter’s day snowfield.
“Quin, don’t stare.” Riklan tapped the table with the end of his spoon. “Eat up.”
“Yes, Papa,” he said and set to eating his stew and watching the show.
Bards and balladeers sang of events and deeds from faraway lands and musicians played a vast array of instruments. Stringed instruments with elaborate, curved wood structures and carved panels emitted lively sounds. Gourds of every size were used. Some with seeds left inside to rattle and slide around, others cut open and carved out with dried fruit skins stretched over the opening to drum on. Chambered wind instruments, such as flutes and recorders, as well as the reed-equipped chalumeaux and xaphoons were also employed. The musicians and singers voted the most popular at the markets earned performances at the upcoming festivals and gatherings.
They finished their lunch and continued to explore the wonders of the market. Quinlan’s face lit up when he saw the kite vendor’s tent. Dozens of toys beyond the reaches of his imagination flew, floated, and soared in the air.
“Whoa!” Quinlan said as he watched a boy crash his flying toy into the ground.
The boy picked it up and held the toy above his head then ran until the toy flew once again.
Flying toys of every description packed the vendor’s tent. Quinlan lost track of time as he watched all the toys flying around the vendor’s tent until Riklan laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You may have one.”
The smile of delight nearly split Quinlan’s face in two. “Wahoo! Thank you, Papa!”
The brief search for the perfect flying toy ended when Quinlan found an eagle kite almost as big as he was.
“That’s the one?” Riklan asked.
Quinlan nodded.
“So be it.”
Riklan spoke with the vendor and made the purchase. The vendor thanked them and pointed out his nephew in the field next to the tent for instructions. Not long after, Quinlan had the kite up and flying.
~~~
Riklan watched his son run around the field across from the kite vendor’s tent, his eagle kite high in the air, when he heard someone call out his name.
“Rik! Riklan!” A stout red-haired man in druid’s garb and raiment waved at him as he walked down the road.
“Bertrynn, well met, my friend.” Riklan gripped the man’s forearm in greeting. “We met a countryman of yours in Rou Vale.”
“Jarl? Aye, I see him now and again. A good lad.”
Bertrynn stood next to Riklan and watched the children play in the field. “That yer boy there?”
“Quinlan, my youngest.”
“Ahh, the days of runnin’ around a field with naught on yer mind but catchin’ a fair wind.”
“Those days are far behind us both now, Bert.”
“Aye…” he heaved a sigh and peered seriously at Riklan. “I’m glad ta see ye here, laddie. I was hopin’ ye’d come. There’s a place fer ye here if ye want it.”
“Still not quite sure about it, Bert, but I can’t doubt what I’ve seen with my own eyes. Besides, there’s nothing left of Calamere now.”
“Been no change then?”
“Pbfff—Change? Yes, all for the worse. Four years ago, the coastal waters teemed with sea life. Vakerian markets supplied all of Arden with fish and seafood. Then clouds of that damned reddened water began to show up, drifting in from the southern current, killing any plant, animal,”—he paused to take a breath—“or person it came in contact with. Now, fog banks carrying the same red hue have begun to kill off the woods along the coast.”
Bertrynn looked at him with concern. “What about the rest of yer family?”
“Safe for now. They journey inland with several other families and carry what we could save of our goods. Quin and I rode ahead to attend the meeting.”
“Thank Na’veyja ye got ’em out in time,” he said.
“About that…” Riklan replied.
“Now, I know yer as stubborn as the day is lon’, Rik, but all I’m askin’ is ye keep an open mind.”
“I don’t know, Bert. The Gwylari and a goddess of the eternal Vast trapped something evil behind a hedge in the middle of a swamp. I don’t think my mind can open that far.”
“The Seyna’s nae hedge, Rik.” Bertrynn stopped to reconsider his statement. “All right, ’tis a hedge, a sacred hedge, but like nae hedge ye’ve ever seen afore, and burstin’ with Na’veyja’s grace. And surrounded by the Seyna is Fairtheora, the oak tree prison of our nemesis. Acimasiz’ll never get free.”
“Acimasiz…” Riklan laughed skeptically. “Sounds like something you get after you’ve ridden too far in wet clothes.”
“Dinnae laugh too loud, laddie. If my brethren are right, ’twas his disciples who’re responsible fer the reddened waters at Calamere.”
The smile fell from Riklan’s face at Bertrynn’s news.
“Now, isn’t that somethin’ worth fightin’ against?”
Riklan remained silent and turned back to watching Quinlan fly the bird-shaped kite around the field as the evening sun touched the horizon.
Bertrynn broke the silence. “Come, fetch yer lad. I know a place where dinner’s always ready. The rest can wait ’til the morrow.”
“That I can do,” Riklan said. “And gratitude, my friend, for all you’ve don
e for us.”
“Naught, but what was right ta do, laddie.” Bertrynn slapped him on the arm.
“Quin!” Riklan waved to catch his attention. “Let’s eat!”
“Coming!”
~~~
After a quick morning meal the next day, Riklan and Quinlan met up with Bertrynn.
“Top of the day, laddies!”
“And the rest of the day to you, my friend,” Riklan replied.
“Shin Lahqui,” Quin said.
“And Shin Lahqui ta ye, youn’ Master Quinlan.” Bertrynn gave him a short bow.
“Gratitude for this. I only got partway through.” Riklan handed Bertrynn a tome about the Order of Arden he had borrowed.
“Aye, a lot there, and that’s only one of many. Come, the meetin’s right here.” He led them to a nearby tent.
Druids from the Order of Arden converted a large tent into a conference chamber to bring awareness to the public and address the issue of the red pestilence along the coastline.
A group of druids sat off to one side of a podium with a small table in front of it. A druid at the podium signaled to two more by the entrance who announced the beginning of the meeting. A few minutes passed to allow stragglers to come in and find seats.
“Greetings friends. Gratitude to all for coming to this meeting. I am Tyrosi. I hold the rank of Adjutant Tretjey in the Order of Arden. This meeting is a call to action to my fellow druids and to any folk who fear for the safety of Arden and all creatures that live upon it.”
A male and a female druid began to arrange a group of plaques on the table in front of Tyrosi’s podium. Two ethereal beings of the Vast cosmos faced each other with the world bearing the land of Arden between them. The faces and bodies of both were vague, obscured by veils of mist and clouds. Hues of many colors illuminated one being, while dark greys and blacks set the other being in shadow. A mix of the two colorways swirled around the world below.
“Throughout time, our lore has been passed down by songs and tales. In so doing, the knowledge of our ancestors passes on to us in the present. Before the songs of memory and the writings of history, two immortals of the great Vast came to our world in conflict. Na’veyja, whose essence brings forth life and sustenance, and Acimasiz, whose presence withers life and gifts only turmoil. Their endless battle continues even to this day.”
The two druids set up different plaques depicting a battle between the two beings of cosmic power. A host of Gwylari fought beside Na’veyja. A force of equal size gathered around Acimasiz.
Tyrosi continued to speak. “Ages ago, Na’veyja and the Gwylari fought against and eventually imprisoned Acimasiz within the numinous oak tree, Fairtheora. Lost without guidance, his forces faltered and disbanded, or so it was thought.”
The druid assistants changed the plaques to ones showing men and women shrouded in shadows. Some stood out, resplendent in their darkness and holding a strange allure. The others huddled, nondescript and anonymous around the first like mobs on a street corner.
“Acimasiz’s overlords and their henchmen, the dreyg, have not been heard of in recent decades even though their black clouds of poisoned mist have never truly vanished from the far reaches. We now know his overlords have not been destroyed and we fear they may return.”
The druids changed the plaques to ones showing red waters and mists of red drifting through now-dead shorelines. A river of red was pictured down the coast from Vakere. The red river water washed out to sea where it caught a main current up the coast and back onto the mainland.
“A new menace has reared up along the Vakerian coastlines. A plague of red has come up the southern currents killing all in its path. The red water rises into a mist wherever it contacts land and continues its deadly advance. Our scouts have tracked the red plague to its source. What was found disturbs heart and mind. A foul-smelling estuary spills into the Cealjin Delta, which in turn delivers the red plague to the sea. Abandoned camps up current of the delta carry a stench too powerful to approach. The land around them was left white as bone and burns to the touch. We must do what we can to counter its effects and restore the delta to its natural state.”
New plaques were put out showing how important the circle of life is to the creatures and humans of Arden.
“The woods, the animals that live within, the plants they glean nourishment from, and the humans who call Arden home are all cogs in the wheel of life. If even one cog breaks from the wheel, then all suffer the consequences. The Order of Arden exists to protect the land, which is vital to all.”
The final plaques showed Gwylari people and the druids of Arden standing in the Great Marsh surrounded by glowing green energy.
“The Gwylari and the druids, aided by the grace of Na’veyja, fight to heal the damage done by Acimasiz and his dreaded forces and ensure that all the folk and creatures of Arden are alive and well from shore to shore. I invite all to attend the day’s curricula and I implore you to join our cause. My gratitude for listening.”
A round of applause came from the gathering as Tyrosi stepped down. The other druids joined him and they began to greet the attendees.
“Tretjey Tyrosi!” Bertrynn called out.
“Cinquey Bertrynn, greetings to you.”
“Greetin’s in return, Tretjey. I’d like ye ta meet Riklan and his lad, Quin.”
“Ah, the ship captain from Calamere?” he asked. “A pleasure, Captain, and greetings to you, young one.”
“It would please me if I could say the same, Tretjey,” Riklan said.
“Yes, I heard of the destruction of your town by the red plague, condolences.”
“Gratitude, Tretjey.”
“Tyrosi, please, I’ve never been too comfortable with formality. Bertrynn tells me your people have been displaced.”
Riklan put his arm around Quinlan’s shoulders. “Yes, we have nearly ten score following behind us. We seek work and shelter, and perhaps a place for a new beginning.”
“You and your people are most welcome. We have no seas to sail, but work is in no short supply and there are lands right outside the conclave farms open to homestead. Any who wish to join the Order may bring family to live within the conclave borders.”
“The red plague will soon stretch along the entire Vakerian coastline and into Shaan,” Riklan replied. “My heart weeps to think I may never again return to the sea.”
“Never’s a lon’ time, ma friend,” Bertrynn said.
“Agreed, and I have family and friends in need that must take priority,” Riklan said. “I’m not too old to enter?”
“Never too old, Rik!” Bertrynn said.
Riklan looked down at his son. “Sound all right to you? We could move to the conclave, live there, learn to be druids.”
“I could be a druid?” Quinlan asked.
“Why, of course ye can, laddie!” Bertrynn smiled so wide, a rare glimpse of teeth appeared through the overgrowth of red beard and moustache. “Usually a lad or lass has ta be ten or older ta enter the Order, but with ye livin’ right at the conclave, I expect ye’ll get in a might sooner.”
“What do you think, Quin?” Riklan asked.
The look on Quinlan’s face was all the answer Riklan needed.
*~*~*
Chapter Three
“Toir salan magnor rotan.” The druid’s chant flowed through the air like smoke drifting in a lazy breeze. The enchantment called forth a wispy essence from the ground pulsing with a soft glow. The glowing pulse moved up from the soil forming a wispy cloud above that took on the shape of an ivy plant. The soft glow of the flaura moved through the ethereal plant’s roots, stems, and leaves causing the immediate growth of an actual living plant. The druid’s hands danced smoothly through the air as he controlled the plant’s energy to stimulate its growth. The plant wove its way into and throughout the surrounding brush. The stems interlocked with other bushes while the leaves grew in to fill any gap or opening.
The task now finished, the druid stepped back from the Seyna,
which stretched out in both directions until it curved out of sight and stood tall above him. A variety of plants linked together to form the Seyna into a solid barrier of flaura. The massive barrier of living energy had stood for more than a thousand years.
A hood pulled to the eyebrows swept down into a cowl forming a garment the druids called their raiment. The raiment fastened below the collar of his jerkin in the front, spanning the upper chest to cover both shoulders, then tapered to a rounded point midway down his back. The sigil of the Order of Arden, an “O” formed by a wreath of dried rynn grass under an “A” of green ivy, was embroidered into the back. Colored symbols woven into the fabric edges indicated the druid’s rank and affiliation within the Order of Arden.
The raiment, as with the rest of his clothing, was made of various plant fibers that had been beaten, cured, stonewashed, and woven into strong fabrics of many different textures and styles.
The forest-green tunic underneath the raiment was soft and pliable yet offered protection equivalent to a lightweight animal skin. The tan trousers were made from a heavier fabric with reinforced knees and seat panels. The black hard-soled and well-worn boots rose up to the knee where they were laced and secured around the top of the calf with small braids of woven cord.
The fabric had a strange pattern. At first, it appeared random like ashes spattered in the rain and smeared over a darker color underneath. Upon closer inspection, a hint of tree bark and leaf shapes could be seen among the spots and streaks. The longer you looked at it, the more varieties of plant life you could see. One blink and it all shifted back to a faint and faded odd-patterned fabric with no discernable images whatsoever.
The brown of the raiment was darker than his trousers and rimmed with three-tiered crisscrossed embroidery bearing the forest, mahogany, and black color pattern of the Northern West Conclave.
Quinlan drew back his hood, revealing the olive skin and dark features of the Vakere. Dark brown hair swept down over his ears to brush the collar of his tunic. Black eyebrows, moustache, and chin beard matched his bushy black sideburns. Deep brown eyes scanned for any weak points or dilutions in the energy of the Seyna.
