The Ban of Irsisri_An Epic Fantasy

by Mark E Lacy

  “I was thrilled to be chosen for this ruta. I led a relatively normal life, meeting secretly with the other sentari when necessary. Not long after I was initiated, I discovered, quite by accident, where the elder sentari had hidden several important manuscripts. As a novice, I was not supposed to know their location, but being a curious young girl, I couldn't help prowling among the manuscripts. Among them, I found one that described and named a very powerful spell. I rearranged the manuscripts and returned to town, shaking inside. I may have been a neophyte, but I knew only the most experienced of the abrasentari could be entrusted with the care of such a powerful and evil spell. As a novice, I faced banishment or even death for possessing the meager amount of knowledge that I had obtained. I mentioned the spell to no one, and I tried to forget about it.”

  Maeryl stood and began to pace slowly, eyes on the ground, visualizing scenes from her past.

  “Some time later, I made friends with a handsome man my father's age and began to fall in love. Like anyone in love for the first time, I could hardly think straight when I was around him. What I didn't know was why I was the object of his attention. I didn't realize he'd learned I was not only an abrasentara but also the youngest and consequently weakest and most vulnerable member of the group. He carefully cultivated our friendship, hiding his true nature and identity.

  “He was warm and friendly. It was no surprise that I was attracted to him. Neither was it a surprise that he succeeded in seducing me.”

  Maeryl paused and looked away.

  Enkinor thought, Good Eloeth, surely it can't be. He stood, but he did not yet approach her.

  “For one night, one night only, I knew such pleasure and joy,” she continued. “It was like losing touch with everything except my lover. Sadly, I lost touch with my responsibilities, with my vows. I was swept along by the intensity of the experience, and he got me to reveal the name of the spell I had tried to forget.

  “In the morning, I found myself alone in bed. I called for Raethir and sat up.”

  Enkinor's eyes went wide.

  Maeryl continued, faster now, as if anxious to get this confession finished and sealed. “He stood at the end of my bed, smiling. My stomach clenched tight in horror as he thanked me for 'my services' and transformed into a fox. Then, he leapt out the window and vanished into the forest. I never saw him again.”

  She paused and swallowed. She tried a couple of times to speak before the words began to flow again.

  “A week or two later, one of the older abrasentari called a meeting. She told the others that there were signs that the name of the Dreamtunnel spell had been shared outside the sentari. I was terrified. Even though I knew what might be done to me, I was honor-bound to explain. With my heart in my throat, I stood. I told them what I thought must have happened. In tears, I told them about Raethir Del. I told them what I had accidentally revealed to him.”

  Enkinor stepped a little closer to Maeryl. Her eyes were now brimming.

  “The meeting adjourned in silence. Three months passed while the other sentari debated what to do about me. When my pregnancy began to show, the decision was made. The sentari suggested performing ...”

  Maeryl struggled to get the words out. “They suggested an abortion, but the eldest was also a holomusara, a healer, and she advised against it. In the end, they decided to banish me.”

  Maeryl paused again, unable to speak. She looked at Enkinor.

  “Enkinor, I did not want to give up my baby. I knew his father was a sorcerer, but it didn't matter. He was still part of me. I couldn't bear to part with him.” A small sob escaped. “But when I gave birth to my son, the sentari took him away. I was not allowed to take my boy into banishment with me.”

  Enkinor took hold of her hands and rubbed them gently with his thumbs. “Go on,” he said softly.

  “The punishment was severe, but the abrasentari could brook no mistakes. That which they guard is too dangerous. Even a simple mistake may have grave consequences. You and I know what consequences have followed from my error.”

  Maeryl stopped and watched a heron glide up the river. She sighed.

  “A Seamerchant was hired to leave me, with food and provisions for a month, in the most desolate place along his trading route. I found myself one steamy morning on a deserted beach, with miles of tangled jungle around me. That was fifteen years ago. In the first year, I learned the true meaning of survival and loneliness. Since then, I have struggled to be at peace.”

  Maeryl looked again at the Saerani and swallowed painfully.

  “But now that peace is gone. I see the result of my carelessness. An innocent man has fallen prey to a spell that I gave away!” Tears began streaming down her face, and she turned away, losing her composure. In time, Maeryl faced him again. “Enkinor, can you forgive me? What can I do to make it right? What can I do?”

  The tendara buried her head in his shoulder and wept long and hard.

  Enkinor comforted and soothed her, saying little, not knowing what to say. He wanted to tell her that he held no resentment in his heart, but he couldn't get the words out. He did feel some resentment, though he hated to admit it. And a part of him wondered if there was something she could do after all. But he was tired and overwhelmed by this new knowledge. Here before him, in his arms, was another human being whose life had been destroyed by Raethir Del.

  Here, before him, was someone who had played a part in placing him where he was today.

  When Maeryl finally quieted, she took her leave of him and entered her hut. Outside, Enkinor stood and stared up at the hazy, twilit sky. It was a long time before he came in and lay down. It was much, much longer before he fell asleep.

  Enkinor quickly regained his strength, but the Saerani and the tendara of the Gardens spoke little to each other. Enkinor began to feel that Maeryl was avoiding him. Every time their eyes met, she seemed on the verge of tears. He didn't push her, hoping her guilt would work itself out, but it gnawed at him to remain quiet. He decided to talk to her anyway. Maybe talking would help where silence couldn't.

  Maeryl was returning from swimming in the lagoon when Enkinor found her, Panta at her side. She made as if to pass him by, but he wouldn't let her. Enkinor took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him.

  “Maeryl, this can't continue.”

  She looked up in his eyes with a steel-hard gaze born of self-reproach. “What is done is done, Enkinor.”

  Enkinor continued to hold her, looking directly in her eyes. As he did, her gaze began to soften very slightly, so slightly it almost seemed a trick of his imagination. Then, it softened a little more, bit by bit, until at last it was melting completely into tears of sorrow and shame, and once again she was holding him close with her head buried in his shoulder. She was tense at first, but after some time, she relaxed, and Enkinor attempted to talk with her.

  “Maeryl, I want to know everything you know about the Dreamtunnel.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Alright,” she replied, looking up at him through her tears. “It's the least I can do.”

  The tendara led him by the hand back to her hut, where they sat cross-legged on the floor across from each other.

  “Enkinor,” Maeryl began, “when Raethir Del placed the spell on you, do you remember what he called the Dreamtunnel?”

  The Saerani thought for a minute. “I think he called it Pasaga Dhar.”

  For a few moments, the air in the hut tingled with invisible energy before slowly returning to normal.

  Maeryl nodded. “Yes, the Way of Dreams. Do not repeat the name Raethir Del used. That is what he got me to reveal. If someone knows what they're doing, they can use the name of the Dreamtunnel spell to control it, to place it on someone.”

  “Could you control it?”

  “No!” she said, startling Enkinor. It sounded more like a denial than a negative. “I am only, or rather, was only, an abrasentara. I was not trained to be a musara.”

  Enkinor looked down. “I hope
d perhaps you could remove the curse.” He dared not look at her. “How is it that the name of the spell is the means by which it can be controlled?”

  “Everything of a magical or sorcerous nature relies on the control of something called vradu. Vradu is like the essence of everything sorcerous. It takes many forms, such as spells. But when a manifestation of vradu is brought into being, it's given a name by which it can be controlled. Much of what the abrasentari guard are the names of these manifestations. Much of what the abramusari learn is the art behind the use of these names.”

  “So, you know the name of this spell, but you can't do anything with it?”

  She shook her head and looked away. The disappointment Maeryl saw on Enkinor's face was profound, and seeing his pain only intensified her own.

  “I've said before, and I say again, I'm sorry.” She said no more, but simply moved beside him, and held him in her arms while he stared into the distance.

  A shard of moonlight slipped through the trees and the roof of her hut and struck her blonde hair as she lay awake beside Enkinor. Maeryl was too nervous to sleep; the Saerani was too exhausted not to. Her feelings were a confusing swirl of hope and fear, of guilt and shame, of anticipation and foreboding; an unstable blend mounting with every passing hour.

  Should I do it?

  It was her fault that Raethir Del had gained the vradu name of the Dreamtunnel, and therefore, her fault that Enkinor was the captive of the spell. She was no longer a sentara, but she was still bound by her vows, yet what more could they take away? She had lost family and friends, her ruta, even her own child. All that was left was her life.

  I've got to do it.

  The decision was made.

  And if the sentari ever find out, she thought, and if they want my life, well, damn them, they can have it. I must make amends, vows or no vows.

  Chapter 37

  The Swordbearer stood, breath fogging, watching the red glow of dawn slowly capture the sky. Cabellara waited patiently beside him. Before him lay a shallow depression dotted with bare oaks, grassy and spacious, surrounded by forest. A break in the trees hinted at where the path crossing the glade faded out at the edge of the forest.

  What am I doing here?

  Visylon was glad to be feeling well. His head was clear, his stomach calm, his fatigue and fever gone. Reins in hand, he patted Cabellara's neck, and she turned to look at him.

  Should I help them?

  Down in the glade, some twenty holomusari stood, waiting to depart. They had exchanged their white robes for more suitable traveling garb. A handful of ponies stood motionless, laden with bags of supplies.

  Srellis could tell me about the Yalventa. If the forest is as dangerous as Hyphos says, I may be risking my life if I join them. And if I die, who will find Enkinor? Who will bear the Sword of Helsinlae? He looked to the scabbard strapped to Cabellara's saddle.

  The holomusari were hurrying to Apracia to check disease running rampant before it could gain a foothold. Visylon wondered how they could know such a thing was about to occur.

  I have no right to jeopardize the quest for Enkinor.

  He sighed.

  And one sword for twenty people? How do I defend twenty people strung out in a line walking through a dangerous forest? What would I be defending them from?

  There were no clues to where Enkinor had gone. Could one direction be any worse than another?

  He led Cabellara into the glade, unable to stand and simply watch the musari go.

  “Welcome,” said Hyphos. Once again, Visylon felt the healer's scrutiny. “You're looking well, as I expected. I'm glad you came.” Then, to the others, Hyphos said, “Let's go!”

  The musari and their ponies merged into a column moving into the Yalventa. The healers walked up the side of the glade, leading the ponies up a handful of time-worn steps, each stone carved with a rune of warning. The stair cut into the lip of the glade, disappearing into the woods. When most of the holomusari had entered the forest, Visylon and Cabellara joined them. The Saerani stepped up his pace until he caught up to Hyphos, and the column stopped.

  “Look,” said Hyphos.

  At first, the forest seemed like any other. The leaves had lost their bright fall colors. Most of them lay in heaps on the ground. The sun had not risen high enough to penetrate the early morning shadows. But the shadows seemed somehow deeper. Of course, no trail led through the forest, for no one traversed the Yalventa.

  A large and shallow stone bowl rested on a pedestal. Hyphos motioned. One of the healers emptied a jug of water into the bowl. The leader of the holomusari saw the question in Visylon's eyes.

  “What are we doing? A small ritual because it seems fitting.”

  As the column passed the pedestal, each musara dipped their hands into the water and moved on. When all but Hyphos had passed, Visylon approached the pedestal. A large rune was carved in the bottom of the bowl. Hyphos dipped his hands in the water and held them there a few moments. He seemed reluctant to withdraw them.

  The musara pointed to the brightest part of the horizon. “Apracia lies a day's journey from here. To the north or south, it's a two-day journey to the end of the forest and two days back around to Apracia. And we cannot afford to take — the people of Apracia cannot afford us to take — that much time to reach them and deal with this plague.” He turned and joined the procession of healers.

  Visylon started to follow, but something pulled at him. He took a moment at the stone bowl to do as the musari had. With wet hands chilled by the morning air, the Saerani took his place at the end of the column.

  For some time, they made their way through the forest, holding to an easterly course. They discovered more of the stone bowls set on pedestals at intervals through the woods, each placed so the next one could be seen in the distance, each marked with a different rune. Some had toppled, lying broken and partly covered with leaves. Others had succumbed to green moss and lichens. A few held stagnant water and algae.

  By order of Hyphos, there was no talking, only muffled whispers. The last thing they needed was to wake whatever evil might lurk in the woods. They saw nothing out of the ordinary, however, save for the unnaturally deep shadows. Visylon wondered what the danger was, where it was. It was unsettling to know that danger was there, but he could not see it, he could not face it, he could not strike it with the Sword of Helsinlae. And he feared they would not escape the Yalventa without encountering it.

  The Saerani warrior mounted up and began moving from one end of the line to the other, watching the front and guarding the rear. After a few hours, he tired of the lack of action, his nerves drawn tight in anticipation. He began exploring and scouting ahead or staying behind a few minutes, moving up and down the column.

  Now, he watched the last of the musari disappear among the towering trees. He turned at the sound of a snapping twig, some distance behind. He wheeled Cabellara around. The sound had come from back in the trees, off-trail.

  What was that?

  There, next to the oak with the strange burl. An eye, a single eye appeared from around the wrinkled trunk of the tree. A slanted eye, large and black and glistening. The features around the eye seemed to blend with the bark of the tree. Half of the face was hidden.

  A gust of wind whipped up the leaves, crying as it tore through the treetops, and then, it was gone.

  Visylon walked Cabellara over to the oak, but nothing was there. There was a strong stench of decay, like the cloying smell of a dead animal. There were no prints on the ground. The dry leaves were undisturbed save for a wet spot that smelled like musk and urine.

  A wolf? But he knew of no wolf seven feet tall.

  He rejoined the musari, spending a little more time at the tail of the column, increasingly certain they were being followed. When his ears detected the slightest clink of metal behind them, he turned Cabellara and coaxed her behind some boulders beside the trail some distance back.

  Waiting, he listened and identified three voices and the hoofbeat
s of three horses. He relaxed, knowing this foe at least was human. They were following the trail left by the holomusari. They needed no skill in tracking. Twenty or more people plus ponies could hardly walk through a forest without leaving some evidence of their passing.

  Visylon kneed Cabellara. His sword hissed from his scabbard as they stepped into the path of the first man. The hudraii stopped abruptly but did not draw their weapons.

  “Must be something very compelling to get cowards to brave the dangers of the Yalventa,” said the Saerani.

  The first man smiled through broken, crooked teeth, hands still on his reins. He looked Visylon up and down. “This is the one, friends.”

  The two behind him nocked arrows and drew their bows. Short swords and daggers were thrust into every belt.

  “What do you want?” said Visylon.

  “Want? What do you mean, dog-dung?” said Crooked Teeth.

  “Why are you following these people?”

  “What people? I see no people.” He turned to the others. “Bird, Ale-man, do you see anyone?”

  “No, Teeth.”

  “You must have some reason to enter a dangerous forest, little hudraii,” said Visylon. “What is so important to you?”

  Crooked Teeth quit smiling. “Why, you, of course.”

  “Me?”

  “Certainly. The krylaan wants you.”

  Visylon laughed. “The krylaan is dead.”

  Crooked Teeth started to smile, thinking this was a joke, but then paused for a moment. “Dead?”

  “Several days ago. Along with Old Pony and Stump.”

  The hudraii exchanged nervous glances.

  “And Shaft?” said Teeth.

  “Eaten by some ugly creature hiding in a bog. The same creature got the krylaan.”

  Bird and Ale-man relaxed their bows and returned their arrows to their quivers. “Teeth?”