“Do not thank me, Carym. The journey for which you have been chosen will not be easy; you will face those who commit great evil for the sake of evil, and those who will commit great evil in the name of all that is good and pure. Fear not, however, for you will not be alone.”
The beautiful woman slowly faded from sight and Carym stood a moment with his hand on the wooden carving. Before she completely vanished her melodious voice drifted across the planes of existence to him one last time, “The Great Father has given you a gift Carym; do not misuse it!”
And suddenly his world seemed just a little bit brighter.
***
Carym finally made his way to the circular stone formation that served as the entrance to the old druid’s abode. He was glad for the journey and the time to collect himself. He was still trying to comprehend all that Zerva had told him. She had said that she was really not a goddess and that she in fact served Zuhr, who some said was the father of all gods. He shook his head, gripping the wooden figurine, and inhaled deeply. There would be time to reflect on that later.
At the base of the stone formation a babbling brook with ice beginning to form at its edges flowed gently by. Carym approached the stones and saw that there were some faint carvings there; symbols that held magical power to those who could wield it, he suspected. Oddly enough, Carym did not ever remember seeing these particular symbols on the stone formation.
He studied them for a long time, tracing the symbols with his fingers. The shapes appeared somehow familiar to him and he was surprised as foreign words began to form in his mind. The surface of the stone changed suddenly beneath his fingers; it became nebulous like the morning mist and he could almost see into the stone itself! Carym reached forward and watched as his hand passed through stone all the way to his elbow; it was as if his hand had passed through a morning fog. He snatched his hand back, and stepped carefully away, relieved that his arm was indeed still attached to his body, staring in amazement.
Magic? he wondered. He had never any talent for magic that he could recall. Then he remembered the words of Zerva; could this be the gift from Zuhr?
Carym walked over to the stream and cupped some of the icy water into his hands. He rinsed his face with the cold water and looked into the stream, wondering what had happened to him. His life wasn’t supposed be this crazy! He wasn’t supposed to slink around in alleyways or run from the law, and he certainly wasn’t supposed to pass his hand through solid stone or talk to gods who weren’t really gods.
A chill breeze whipped about him, chilling him to the bone. He looked up from the stream and his blue eyes met the piercing gaze of the old brown-skinned druid with jet-black hair. The old man held a smoothly finished staff of black wood topped with a carved wolf’s head in his hand, beady eyes glittered in the failing light. Carym wondered why it was necessary for everyone to sneak up on him today.
“What can I do for you, Carym of Hyrum?” he asked with an eerie, but strong voice. The old man stood a mere five and a half feet tall, not exactly intimidating in his demeanor. His forest green cloak whipped about him in the breeze displaying his relatively fit, if somewhat stooped, frame.
Carym quickly stood and bowed low to the old man, as was proper, deciding it best not to mention his encounter with the Goddess of the Wood, or whatever she was now. “I am pleased to see that you have survived your encounter with the bishop. I’m afraid I have need of your advice, Wise One, and I had hoped that you might be able to assist me.”
The old man furrowed his brow as he peered at Carym, then he motioned for Carym to follow.
“Come, come. It is getting quite cold out here,” he said as he turned toward the larger stone in the center of the henge.
Carym cautiously followed the druid, but then he stopped short as the druid seemed to walk right through the solid stone! Carym waited a few moments in the chilly autumn air to see if the druid would return for him, expecting to see a hidden door open with the old man waiting inside. A crow called in the distance and leaves rustled in the trees above, but the druid did not come back.
When it became apparent that the druid was not going to come back for him, Carym cautiously approached the stone that the old druid vanished into and waved his hand across its surface; it was solid and firm. With some trepidation, Carym found his way to the carved stone. He repeated the words and motions he made earlier, wondering if something magical would happen. When nothing apparent happened, he passed his arm over the stone and, again, it passed right through! Well, he certainly wasn’t imagining this. He took a deep breath, and walked into the stone pillar after the old man. As he followed, a very cold and damp sensation washed over him. He felt chilled to the bone and his stomach turned, nauseating him; waves of dizziness made his head spin. For a brief moment he was overcome by claustrophobia and felt as though he might empty his stomach. Then it was over, and he was through the mystical entrance. Squatting on the cold stone floor inside the druid’s home, breathing heavily, he peered into the darkness and waited for his nerves to calm.
As his eyes adjusted, he began to see a faint glow from a few feet away. Gradually, he was able to make out a staircase and shuffled his way toward it as his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. Finally able to see, he reached the top of a spiral stairway and saw that the light grew brighter towards the bottom. Brushing himself off, and thankful he hadn’t tumbled down the narrow stairs, Carym cautiously made his way down. At the bottom, he emerged in a large circular room where the druid was standing, expectantly. On the opposite side of the room, Carym saw the old druid’s wolf companion, Merkhan, with his frost colored fur, sleeping on a pile of pine straw.
Merkhan was fiercely loyal to the old man who insisted that he held no spell of domination over the wolf. In fact, Dryume had hinted that this great wolf was in fact the spirit of a great man who lived long ago. A Ra’nzher, the druid called him. One who had had the ear of kings, the power of a druid, and strength of the earth; a deadly warrior and champion of righteousness. Carym had seen Merkhan in action more than once. He and Zach, and other local Cklathmen, had taken on the job that the Arnathians wanted nothing to do with: ridding the land of bandits and trolls. Merkhan had dispatched several trolls during the various missions Carym had embarked upon. Merkhan always seemed to know where he was needed and when, something the Cklathish of Hyrum were grateful for. Something which made this wolf something more than an ordinary wolf. Merkhan opened one eye, peering at him, and flicked an ear in recognition. Carym smiled.
“I was wondering if you were going to join me sometime today,” said the old man dryly. “Have a seat by the fire, young man. Take a drink from the cauldron there and warm up.”
Carym did as he was told and felt the chill leave his bones as he sat on a pile of thick furs. The druid’s sharp features and harsh tone bespoke a stern appearance that belied his otherwise kind and gentle heart.
“I have known you a very long time. Never have you shown any interest or ability in the arcane powers. Yet now, it appears that you have a gift,” the old druid appeared quite amazed as he watched the young man, not unconcerned. Carym had come seeking advice about the chaotic turn of events in his life, yet now he felt as though his character was being measured. Thinking briefly of mentioning his encounter with the Goddess of the Wood, Carym was struck with a sensation in his gut, like butterflies dancing in his stomach and he decided this wasn’t the right time.
Mistaking the nauseated look on Carym’s face for puzzlement, the druid continued. “There are many kinds of magic in this world, Carym. But there is one arcane power which has not been practiced on Llars for five centuries,” the old man looked Carym in the eye. “Sigil magic!” he said as he puffed on his pipe.
“Truly powerful, the Sigil Tides were blocked from the world these past centuries as punishment for the Dark Paladin’s transgressions upon Llars,” the old man paused as he puffed rings of smoke into the otherwise clean air of the room. Then he glanced meaningfully at Carym and said, “The
Great Lord wanted none to be tempted to repeat that terrible period.
“All hope for the return of the Sigil power was gone. For three hundred years, each of the known branches of the Sigil craft kept the lore of their respective Sigils, good and evil both, watching for some sign of the return of the powers of their ancestors. Two centuries ago the prophet, Araknial, foretold of the return of the Sigils to Llars.”
Carym knew of this prophecy, everyone did. But he could never have fathomed himself so intricately, and inextricably, involved in it. He sat back more comfortably on the cushions and sighed, the road ahead was definitely not going to be an easy one.
“Araknial said that a powerful being would come to Llars, bringing with him great darkness and a terrible threat to all the people of the lands. He also foretold that Zuhr will return the power of the Sigils to combat the power of the Shadow; the watchers will be revealed and the heavens will shake.
“The Prophet was so distraught by his vision that he died after delivering the prophecy.” The old druid paused and took a long drink of what appeared to be some sort of tea. Then he continued. “Some believe it was the possibility that there could be a repeat of the horrors of the Dark Paladin that stole the very spirit from his body. I only hope I don’t live to see the day the heavens shake.”
Carym guiltily kept his silence. Dryume didn’t know that the first tremors had already begun. His encounter with the druid’s goddess was a very personal experience and he did not know how the druid would handle knowing that he had been privileged to meet her.
“Umber’s dark forces are a stir in the Far East, in the dark lands called Hurkromin.” The wolf growled from his bed as the old man continued, “That news can only be of dark portent. Many of my colleagues believe the time for the return of the Sigils has come, and so now the pieces of Araknial’s prophecy begin to make sense.”
“What does that have to do with me, Wise One?” he asked, but he feared he already knew after his conversation with Zerva.
“I believe the Great Lord Zuhr has chosen you to bring this power to the world!”
Carym’s head was spinning. He was just a carpenter, a Cklathish peasant. And one who has become a renegade criminal, talked to a goddess in the flesh, and wove a magic spell to pass through stone, all in the span of a few hours, he thought wryly.
“If you aren’t the chosen one you are going to be associated with him.”
“But how-”
“Enough questions. You know me well, Carym. I waste little breath on things that need not be said. Although I have not foreseen your destiny, the goddess has shown me that you will walk in Zuhr’s Light. It is a great honor and responsibility; do not question it!”
“Yes, Master Druid,” he said wisely. He felt a bit relieved that the old druid confirmed some of what Zerva had told him in the wood; he really had not been sure he didn’t imagine the encounter.
“If you are in fact the Chosen, I dare say you are the only man on Llars who can use this power. At least for now. According to the prophecy there will be others like you, yet it may be your burden to pass on your talent to them.” The old druid paused as he refilled his pipe with leaf. His eyes glinted in the firelight. “Do not take this burden lightly. The secret societies who have dedicated their existence to preserving Sigil lore have powerful agents everywhere. They are many and they are of varied backgrounds; warriors, assassins, thieves, warlocks. Precious little is known about the Wardens of the Shadow Sigil, while all we know of the Flame Sigil is that the Crimson Elves have been the guardians of the Flame Sigil these many centuries.
“Nevertheless, the keepers of the Earth Sigil lore, are generally fighters, trackers, woodsmen, and perhaps a few druids, and they have a finger on the pulse of what is happening all over the Northern Continent. I know many of them, though few else in this world are aware of who they are...” the old man’s voice trailed off.
Carym could say nothing. He was stunned. He had never had any interest in the arcane. That sort of interest would get a person arrested, or killed, in the empire. But he knew that things were out of hand now. Strange things were happening in the empire and in his homeland and he was concerned for the future. Deep inside, he always knew that he was destined for something greater; yet he had never conceived what form that “something” might take. He glanced at Merkhan, eyes closed yet listening; the wolf’s ear twitched in their direction every now and then.
Dryume nodded at Carym’s obvious connection. “The Ra’nzher, some were called in his day. And, maybe they will be called so again. Merkhan was indeed one of those men. His tale will have to be told another day, I’m afraid. Perhaps he will tell you himself,” the man said with a sly nod at the wolf. Merkhan was that old? Carym really didn’t think he should be amazed at anything after today, but he just was.
“So, that is how I was able to pass through solid stone?” The more the old druid talked about Sigil magic, the farther the events of the day had slipped from his mind. Dryume was a wise old man who had seen more than a century of life, and it was Dryume’s time tested belief that first things should be discussed first, and others things should be discussed later. Dryume knew there was nothing to be done about the situation in Hyrum, and he knew there was less that could be done to forestall the Arnathian punishment that would inevitably follow the day’s events. The hopelessness of it all was beginning to wear at Carym’s nerves, he wasn’t sure just how patient he could be with the old druid.
“I am not an expert in the lore of Sigils,” the old man admitted with a regretful glance at Merkhan. “Our goddess grants her faithful the powers we need to do her bidding, such as the power to pass through solid stone. If we do not obey her, or if we displease her, we may lose our powers. Those of us who remain in her favor have great power at our disposal.
“However, those who used the Sigils were never bound to the whims of a god. Sigilists use their powers at their own discretion. Or peril. It is a truly powerful form of magic. Its essence is malleable, able to be shaped to the will of the user. And through great meditation its power can be stored in physical objects, creating enchantments of infinite possibilities,” the old man paused and stared into the crackling and popping fire.
“Master druid,” Carym began as he fought off a rising sense of irritation. Although he was fascinated by all this, he truly wanted to discuss his plight and seek advice from his longtime acquaintance. The druid ignored him, however, as he was wont to do; he had more to say, after all.
“The power of the Sigils may be used to enhance the Sigilists’ own life force,” he said mysteriously. “Some Sigilists used this power to enhance their senses, to make themselves stronger, to live longer, or to change their very appearance. Some have used their powers to influence a person’s thoughts, to make a person fall to the ground unconscious, or to move a physical object through mental will alone. Some Sigilists have used the Sigils to conjure fireballs and other magical weapons, or even magical creatures like fire-dervishes and earth-golems that were bound to do their bidding.
“But there were some who used their powers to call upon demons, to raise corpses from the grave, and even to control or destroy the life force of a person’s very soul!” the druid’s tone became angry. “It is said that Umber himself assisted those dark ones in their search for newer and more sinister ways of using the Shadow Sigil - to suit his own nefarious ends, of course.”
Carym was amazed, overwhelmed even, by the knowledge that he might possess this magical ability. The use of magic, other than magic granted to the priests of Qra’z, was forbidden in Arnathia, magic-wielders of any sort were very rare and often persecuted. Great, he thought wryly. More reason for the Arnathians to hunt me!
“Do not discuss this matter with anyone. Few are aware of the obscure legends surrounding the Sigils. Those who do know about Sigils will be fearful and distrusting of its power.”
“How do I learn to use this power, Master Druid?” he asked, following the druid’s conversation.
&
nbsp; “You are gifted with the Sigils, this much is clear. I believe the Earth Sigil can grant the user power to control the earth beneath them as well as the power to shape or change all things of earth and mineral. Alas, I can teach you nothing more, for such is not my gift.”
“I must leave this place, Carym.” The old man sighed wistfully. “For I too am a wanted. Your death will be certain if you stay here, and that would not serve the gods’ will.”
“What am I meant to do?”
“I am not certain,” said the old man simply.
Carym’s frustration was again rising.
“There is a place that is rumored to be a powerful source of the magical energy known as the Everpool. It is located in the Cklathish lands of the north, or near enough to them. It is a sacred and revered place, holy to Zuhr, and critical to the flow of the Tides in this part of the world. It has been hidden for centuries.” Dryume paused to enjoy his pipe. “It is said that the ancient Tome of Sigils is also hidden there. It may yield the answers you seek.”
“How on Llars am I supposed to find something that no one else has seen in five hundred years?” he asked, fighting to keep his nerves calm.
“I don’t know’” replied the druid, bluntly. “Ordinarily I would say you had no chance of finding such a place. Yet, ordinarily, I would also say you had no chance of bearing the return of the Sigils to the world. Considering this, I would venture to say that the Great Lord Zuhr will lead you there Himself. In what way, I cannot be sure.”
He was not pleased to hear the druid’s vague answer.
“One thing you may be certain of, is that you won’t be the only one seeking the Everpool. The return of the Earth Sigil almost certainly means the Shadow Sigil has already been loosed upon the world.”
“But what of my village? What of my life?” he said, wearily. “I don’t want to be an outlaw!” He just couldn’t help trying to get the old man to talk about the day’s events.
A Tide of Shadows Page 8
