“What is Aruzhelim and Animaru?” Raki asked. “Those don’t sound like Dantogyptain words.
“They’re not,” Aeden said. “I asked Jehira and she told me they were from a language even older. Aruzhelim means ‘un-world,’ or ‘dark world.’ Animaru are some sort of legendary creatures of darkness. Monsters. There are other words from that language mixed in, too. It’s hard to tell sometimes which are from what language.”
“So, the prophecy is about dark creatures coming to eat us?” Fahtin laughed. “It’s like the monster stories our parents used to tell us to make us do our chores.”
Raki laughed, too, though it didn’t seem natural. Or comfortable. Aeden didn’t even smile.
“Poke fun at it if you like,” he said. “This song holds power. I feel it when I sing it and even when I talk about what it means. It is no laughing matter. We have to hope that it won’t be fulfilled for many years yet, decades. I would as soon have it fulfilled when I’ve been dead a hundred years.”
“Oh, I was just teasing,” Fahtin said. “Don’t get too excited about it. I’m sorry if I offended you. It does sound fascinating. I can’t wait until you can translate more of it.”
Aeden nodded slowly. He wanted to know more about the prophecy as well, but a small part of him wanted nothing more than never to hear it again. The Song did things to him, made him feel energy he had never known. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.
Chapter 20
Aeden had heard many stories in his four years with the Gypta, and he filed the memories of them away so he could recall them in the future, either to tell them or to glean lessons from them. Many were nonsensical and trivial, humorous tales meant to entertain or evoke wonder in young listeners. Some, though, had hidden meanings, knowledge that, if pondered and ruminated upon, could be helpful in everyday life.
One night, the old fiddler, Aeden’s instructor, told a tale as old as the rocks around them. Charin Med had a raspy sort of voice when he spoke in normal conversation. When he sang, however, it transformed into something much different, a smooth baritone with not a hint of his usual scratchiness. It had always amazed Aeden to hear the man sing.
Charin took a drink of warm spiced wine and cleared his throat; it seemed they would be subjected to a voice that sounded like a bowl full of pebbles being shaken around. What came out was smooth and pleasant, though.
“I would tell of Mellaine, the goddess of all nature and of growing things,” the old man started. Aeden’s surprise at the pleasant speaking voice was not evident on any other face around him, but he knew Fahtin had seen his eyes go wide. She winked at him and smiled. The singing he had gotten used to, but this?
“Mellaine, with the green hair and matching eyes, the beautiful goddess in whose care are all the plants and animals of the world. Of her, and of Codaghan the god of war, and of the lowly man Trikus Phen.
“In a time long past, when gods walked Dizhelim and shared the world with men, the Voordim, a group of the most powerful of the gods and goddesses, held their court in Srantorna, the dwelling place of the gods, where no mortal has ever set foot.
“You have all heard of them. Of Surus, the king and chief among the gods; of Ianthra, her domain love and all things beautiful in the world; Mellaine, nature’s goddess; Codaghan, god of war; Arcus, the god of smithing and all clever devices; Aesculus, god of water; and the others. In this time all the great and mighty deeds were done, when magic coursed through the world, pulsed in the very air, and when miracles were commonplace. This was before the great war and the exodus of the gods.
“In this time, the mighty warrior Trikus Phen was making a name for himself. Of the nation of Salamus, he was the greatest among the heroes and warriors of the world. It was whispered that the man could challenge Codaghan himself, a whisper that displeased the god of war.”
Aeden leaned closer to the fiddler. Codaghan was precious to the Croagh. It was claimed that from Codaghan, all the people of the clans were descended. He was the only god worshipped by the clans, though the Croagh respected the god of death, Percipius, as well.
“In one particularly bloody battle, its name lost to the ages, Trikus Phen found himself alone against a mass of forces from the nation of Gentason. All his allies had been killed, and it looked to be the end of the armies of Salamus. But Phen would not give up. He straightened the shield on his arm, gripped his sword, and entered the fray as if rushing to a lover.
“The bodies of his enemies piled up before him, and he had to move to other parts of the battlefield to see over the tops of them. They came in droves, valiant men and strong, but none could stand before him. The odds against him, so very great at first, seemed to be evening out. Such a battle it was that Codaghan himself took interest and lounged upon a nearby mountain to watch, for what he loved more than anything else was conflict, battle, and death.
“And Trikus Phen fought on. All through the day, his arm guided his sword, slashing, stabbing, defeating foe after foe. When the light began to fade, and dusk fell over the land, Codaghan looked about and was surprised to see that few of the enemy army was still left alive. Phen had whittled their numbers down during the day to such an extent that it seemed he would actually win the battle single-handedly.
“But the enemy forces had held in reserve a handful of their greatest heroes, believing that if they struck when Trikus Phen was tired, they could defeat him. So it was that they mounted their last assault, a dozen of the remaining soldiers among the heroes of the army. As one they closed on Phen, meaning to overwhelm him.
“Such was the skill, strength, and valor of Trikus Phen that though the best warriors came against him in a rush, he withstood their assault. In the first crush of the enemy, he killed half the soldiers. In the next, he killed nearly all of the other half, leaving only the finest of their fighters. Back and forth they battled, moving around the bodies already dead, the heroes’ corpses adding to their number one at a time.
“It came to be that there were only two combatants left, Trikus Phen and Starin Kolus, the greatest of Gentason’s heroes. The foe would normally have been no match for Phen, but he had been fighting all day, killing men by the score, and he was tiring. The two danced around the battlefield, then to as-yet untouched areas. Neither could strike a killing blow, though several smaller wounds were traded.
“Codaghan was fully absorbed in the melee, licking his lips and seeing nothing else but the struggle between the two. When the end came, he exulted in the finest battle he had ever witnessed by human men.
“Trikus Phen slipped on a stone slick with his own blood and looked to be falling toward the ground. His foe, taking the opportunity, lunged in with what would be a killing blow. But somehow, the hero of Salamus twisted, barely evading the sword coming at him. In so doing, his own sword lashed out and opened the arm of the other man, causing his enemy’s weapon to fall from his useless arm.
“A quick kick to the other arm dislodged Starin Kolus’s shield, and Trikus Phen stood over his foe, sword point at his throat. They froze there for several seconds, Starin expecting the sword to open his throat as it had his arm, and Phen looking down upon his defeated opponent. Codaghan leaned toward the men, wanting to see clearly the ending of this epic battle.
“‘Go,’ Trikus Phen said, lifting his sword from the other man’s neck. ‘Go bind up your wounds and heal. You have fought valiantly today and I am tired of the killing. Your nation has no army. The battle is done.’
“His foe, shocked at the hero’s mercy, got to his knees and kissed the blood-spattered boots Trikus wore. ‘You have shown me mercy when I would not have done the same. You honor me more even than death in battle. I would hope that I too could show kindness in such a situation, but if we meet again and I am victorious, I do not know if I could manage it.’
“‘We shall see if that will ever come to pass.’ Phen told him. ‘Now go, and tell your king what happened here this day.’
“Codaghan, the god of war, spat and
cursed. ‘Mercy?’ he bellowed. ‘You fought a beautiful battle for an entire day, a tale worthy of being told for centuries to come, and you end with mercy?’
“In a rage, he rushed to where Trikus Phen sat amongst the bodies of those he had slain, cleaning his sword and staring at the corpses surrounding him.
“‘Trikus Phen,’ Codaghan screamed as he arrived. ‘Do you know who stands before you?’
“The image of the god Codaghan was well known to Trikus. He was a man over seven feet tall, impossibly muscled, and wearing tight-fitting armor of a golden metal stronger than steel yet lighter than leather. Weapons were strapped all across his massive chest, waist, back, and tree-trunk legs. He wore no helmet, instead letting his long, red hair float upon the breeze.
“Trikus fell to his knees in front of the god. ‘You are Codaghan, the god of warfare,’ he said, bowing his head.
“‘And do you honor me, Trikus of Salamus?’ the god asked him.
“‘I do, my lord, more than any other. Are you not the god of all that is my life?’
“‘Then why is it that you would allow your foe to live?’ He pointed toward the retreating figure of Starin. ‘Why did you not finish your foe and grant him a glorious death?’
“Trikus looked at Codaghan, puzzled. ‘There was no reason to end his life. He was defeated and could do no further harm.’
“‘He could do harm!’ Codaghan yelled. ‘He may continue to do harm! He will heal and he will come to you again, in the future, and maybe you will be the one to fall by his sword.’
“‘I do not think so,’ Trikus said calmly, ‘but if I erred, it was in ignorance, not weakness.’
“‘Ignorance is weakness,’ Codaghan screamed, ‘as is mercy.’
“Trikus stayed silent, knowing that no words would ease the god’s anger. But Codaghan was not finished, his rage building by the moment. The things he had heard, that Trikus could challenge the god of war himself, burned through his mind.
“‘You have no right to live, no right to call yourself a warrior,’ Codaghan said. And then he struck Trikus as he knelt before him. His great mace slammed down upon the hero, casting him to the ground and dazing him.
“Still, Trikus was a warrior and his body, tempered by countless battles and training, moved to save him. He rolled to evade the next strike, then he came up onto his knees, flicking his sword out at the god attacking him. It scored a long scratch on Codaghan’s armor, all the way across the belly. This enraged the god even more.
“Regaining his feet and shaking his head to clear it, Trikus snatched up his shield just in time to intercept the mace coming at him again. The force of it knocked him from his feet and launched him into the air, his arm going instantly numb from the contact. He landed several yards away, stumbling upon landing, but regaining his feet quickly.
“Codaghan pressed the attack, battering at the hero relentlessly. Trikus Phen, for his part, fought valiantly, scratching the god’s armor in several places and finding targets at the joints that drew blood from Codaghan, the god of war himself. In the end, Phen’s shield was battered and broken, his sword notched and dull, and the god of war, untiring and stronger than the mere mortal, proved to be too great an opponent.
“The god smashed the arm Trikus threw up to block his mace, then crushed his shoulder, followed by the breaking of his legs. Trikus Phen lay on his back, looking up at the vengeful god, knowing his life was over. Codaghan screamed at the mortal, spittle flying as he cast curses upon the dying man. With a final swing of Codaghan’s massive mace, the hero of men knew no more.
“However, Mellaine, the goddess of the natural world, had chanced upon the final scene of the battle and watched from afar as the god of war unfairly defeated the mortal. As soon as the red-haired god departed, she hurried to the man, hoping against hope he still lived.
“He did.”
“Mellaine could not interfere in the combat, being no match for Codaghan, but she could help the mortal after, she thought. She could use her powers to heal him, perhaps allow him to live. She took him deep into her secret forest home where no other god ever came, and she set the dying man upon a bed of moss. Then she began her work.
“Using all her power, and aided by herbs and fruit and other things in the natural world that had curative properties, she snatched back Trikus from the gates of the realm of Percipius, the god of death. Soon, the man was sleeping peacefully, the danger past.
“As Trikus Phen healed, Mellaine spoke with him. He thanked her for her aid and promised his life and his whole power in her service. She delighted in the spirit of the man. Though he was a warrior and hero, she found in him a kindred spirit in the ways of nature, a spirit he showed when he spared Starin’s life.
“Within a fortnight, the goddess had fallen in love with the hero, and he with her. No longer concerned with the world of men and the warfare of nations, he asked if he could remain in her domain, loving her until his mortal lifespan ended. She consented, and he lived out the rest of days with her.
“In not too many years, Mellaine bore a daughter to Trikus, and they called her Osulin, a demi-god with her mother’s powers of nature and her father’s human sensibilities. He taught his daughter about the mortal world and delighted in her and her mother as nothing he had ever experienced before, including the combat he had once loved so.
“Before his death, Mellaine had told her human husband and love, ‘It was by fate’s hand that I observed your act of heroism and your vicious beating by Codaghan. Perhaps it was for some reason important to your kind or mine that I saw and helped you and found love with you. I have delighted in you, my love, and count the years with you among my most precious.’
“Trikus, his breath failing as he heard it, answered her. ‘There,’—he pointed toward Osulin, a beautiful woman where just the day before she had been a small girl—‘there is your reason, my true and greatest love. It is for our daughter that I was spared, a great purpose no other has ever had the privilege of serving. She will be a comfort and protector when there are none in the world.’ He kissed his wife, the goddess, gently on the lips, and then passed on from the world into Percipius’s realm.
“Mellaine mourned her husband for a hundred years after that…and she does still. When the gentle spring rains come upon the land, it is her, weeping for the one she lost. Though she has left the land, her tears remain still.
“And Osulin? Her great love for her father and his people moved her to do great works in the land. When the time came for the gods to flee Dizhelim and to forsake the humans upon it, she alone remained of them, working her good works as her father said she would. And for this, we can feel blessed.”
The old fiddler took another sip from his cup, bowed his head, and sat amongst the crowd.
Aeden thought about the story long after the campfire had died and all his family had gone to bed. He sat and watched the embers dim and finally wink out, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the blackness all around him.
Had he been spared for some reason also? Was there a purpose to his surviving being beaten to death by his own clan, his own father? Could there be something he was meant to do?
It had always troubled him, his living and Seam dying. Why? Was it pure dumb luck or something grander, more profound? Magic still lived in the world, and the fates still touched events occasionally even now, but was he important enough that they would intervene on his behalf? Or was life simply not finished causing him pain, and so let him live and hope, waiting for the right time to take it all away?
He sat for long hours, wrestling with his thoughts, until he went off to sleep. He would not find the answers in the darkness or in the stars shining above him. Maybe he would never find the answer.
Chapter 21
“I want to travel the world,” Fahtin told Aeden as they rested after a grueling sparring session, both of them lying on their backs on the grass and looking up at the tree boughs high above them.
“You already travel the world,�
� he told her. “That’s what the Gypta do.”
“No, I mean I want to travel to all of the world. We only make a circuit of the largest continent, Promistala. We do not visit the smaller continents to the south and the islands around them. I want to see it all, to witness miracles and solve mysteries and experience adventure.”
“You’re daft,” Aeden said. “Adventure is another word for danger. The world is full of it. Why would you want to put your life at risk? I can see enjoying the glory of battle, but why would you go looking for ways to injure yourself, like by crossing a stretch of water you cannot see the other side of. It’s crazy.”
“Then what is your wish, if you are going to discourage mine?”
“I…I’m not sure,” he said. “I would like to find the answers to questions, too, but I’m not sure that I have dreams or goals for my life. Before, all I wanted was to be a clan warrior, but now, it seems enough that I am alive. Too much, sometimes.”
Fahtin rolled over onto her stomach and propped her chin up on her hands, elbows in the grass. “What kind of questions do you have that you need answers to?”
Aeden sat up, plucked a long blade of grass from in front of him, and started tearing it into thin strips. “I don’t know. Why am I here? What is my purpose? What am I to do, to be? There are so many questions. I don’t know what my life holds for me.”
Fahtin laughed, the melodious sound that made him smile no matter what mood he was in. “That’s normal, Aeden. Most people don’t know what the future holds for them. Most don’t dedicate their entire lives to one thing as your clans do. It means you’re human. We have to live one day at a time and see what comes to us. There’s no way of telling what tomorrow will hold.”
“That’s not true,” he said stubbornly. “There is prophecy and foretelling. Jehira has the talent for it. She can sometimes tell the future.”
“Yes, sometimes. Most of the time, though, she can’t. She doesn’t even know what will happen in her own life. If she did, Raki’s family would never have been killed like they were.”
Magic After Dark: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 120
