by Sean Golden
Lirak started to say something harsh, but felt the truth of Jerok’s words and held his tongue.
“She won’t go away, Jerok,” he finally said with a sigh. “I can’t force her to leave.”
Jerok looked at his brother with some sympathy in his face. “She has done her share,” he said. “I don’t challenge her presence here, but as the leader, you should know what is said when you are not there to hear.”
“I understand,” Lirak said, his head bowed and not only due to the biting wind. “But Mayrie has as much right to be here as anyone.”
“I fear that the wall may fall soon,” Jerok said, looking at the battered and scarred wall, and the weary men he knew were atop it.
“We need to do something to help them.” Lirak was speaking almost to himself.
“Maybe you need to have another dream,” Jerok said, smiling.
“If only I could call such a dream” Lirak said. But as he said it, a flash of insight went off in his mind. Dedrik’s prophecy had said the one prophesied would be able to call the dreams. He pondered what that could mean for a long moment. Something deep in his mind, the same voice that whispered wait he felt saying yes, yes. And the feeling frightened him almost as much as it excited him.
They backed down the hill to avoid being skylined on it, and hunching their shoulders against a cold wind, they returned to their own camp.
Thorn moved like an extension of Lirak. Lirak rarely even noticed Thorn’s presence, although he found himself frequently scratching Thorn’s massive head and neck, or leaning against the big cat while sitting and thinking. Many times Thorn’s deadly fangs and claws had been valuable in a battle with the invaders, and Thorn’s flanks were scored with scars from battle. The men in Lirak’s party had grown accustomed to the big cat loping along beside Lirak. Lirak and Thorn moved through the forest like wraiths when they needed to, scouting and ambushing the invaders repeatedly.
Lirak’s camp was large and well provisioned. Lirak and Jerok returned as the evening meal was being served.
“Man I’m sick of eating this stuff,” Jerok complained, looking at another meal made from captured provisions.
“Well, think of it this way, if we are eating it, they aren’t eating it,” Patrik said with a grin. Patrik too had grown; he was now nearly as large as Jerok.
“We need to come up with some new plans,” Lirak said as he joined them. “Get Gawn and Mayrie and come over to my tent after you finish eating.”
Tents were a new idea for the Dwon too, but they had discovered the convenience of the rolled up moveable shelters. They had also learned how to use the smaller beasts to carry loads quickly through the forest, including the tents.
“Tent,” sniffed Jerok. “Cart. We aren’t fighting them, we’re becoming them.”
Lirak smiled and ate his meal in silence.
After dinner Lirak, Mayrie, Jerok, Patrik, Gawn and Chutan convened in Lirak’s tent.
“We’ve been fighting the invaders for almost three moon cycles,” Lirak began. “We’ve killed many of their warriors and we’ve stolen or destroyed huge amounts of their supplies. But they shrug off our attacks like a man shrugs off a gnat.”
“What else can we do?” Patrik asked. “We can’t just let them destroy everything we care about and then walk away.”
“We need a new plan, a new strategy,” Jerok said.
“We have at least made them leave the trail and move their supplies through the forest,” Mayrie said. “Any delay we’ve caused may have helped the southerners.”
“Perhaps,” Lirak said. “But we need to do more than annoy them.”
“We are only fifty men,” Jerok said. “They are like the grass; you cut one down and two more spring up.”
“We have more men coming,” Chutan spoke. “Another thirty will join us in a few days.”
“Fifty, eighty, it’s all the same,” Jerok said.
“They won’t be stopped by the great wall forever,” Lirak said.
“Maybe when they break through they’ll leave the forest,” Jerok said.
“I don’t believe that,” Lirak said. “They ignore us now because the wall is their target, but once the wall falls, they will destroy the rest of the Dwon. If the southerners fall, we all fall into darkness.”
“There’s only so much we can do,” Mayrie said, with a tone of resignation.
“Dobit says one of the scouts reports a group moving in this direction,” Chutan said.
“Another gnat bite,” Jerok grumbled.
“How large is the group?” Lirak asked.
“Forty men,” Chutan replied. “They move through the forest slowly and send out scouts.”
“Looking for us,” Patrik said.
“No doubt,” Lirak said. “How soon before we can engage them?” He asked Chutan.
“Tomorrow afternoon if we move to meet them,” Chutan replied.
“OK, Jerok and Patrik, get the men ready, we’ll move out in the morning,” Lirak said.
Jerok and Patrik nodded, and went out of the tent into the night.
“Chutan, you said that the burning powder was one of the secrets of the firestones. What other secrets are there?”
Chutan looked down at the floor. “I haven’t told you all the secrets because you are too rash,” he finally said.
“Too rash?” Lirak asked. “What else can I be? Don’t I seek your advice every day?”
“Yes, it’s not about leading the men into battle Lirak. There are other dangers. Dangers to you personally.” Mayrie’s eyes widened and she reached out and took Lirak’s hand in hers.
“What kind of danger?” Lirak asked.
“The yellow powder can be burned. It creates a smoke that is said to cause spirit dreams if you breathe it.”
“Spirit dreams?” Lirak asked. “You mean like the dreams I had of the wall?”
“Yes,” Chutan said. “But it is very dangerous. Some men have not returned from their spirit dreams.” Mayrie’s hand tightened on Lirak’s.
“How do you use the powder?” Lirak asked
“I have never used the powder for spirit dreams,” Chutan said, “But Kodul said you must sprinkle a handful of the powder over burning charcoal inside a closed hut.”
“Bring me some of the powder,” Lirak said.
“Lirak, no!” Mayrie cried. “You don’t know what it will do to you.”
“I know that we aren’t doing anything now, and in the past my spirit dreams have given me guidance. I can’t just wait and hope to see if I have another one.” He didn’t mention Dedrik’s prophecy about the spirit dreams.
“But this is too dangerous,” she said. “It’s not necessary.”
“I think it is,” Lirak said. “At the very least I’ll learn if I can control these dreams.”
“I think this is unwise,” Chutan said, “but I will not stop you. I will bring some powder.”
“I’ll need to be alone in the tent for this,” Lirak told Mayrie.
“I’m not leaving you!” Mayrie insisted.
“If you stay, the smoke might kill you,” Lirak said.
“Before you go Chutan, are there any other secrets of the firestones that I should know?” Lirak asked pointedly.
“Yes, but I don’t know how they can be used,” Chutan said.
“What do you mean?” Lirak asked.
“According to Kodul the red material can be crafted into powerful weapons,” Chutan said.
“Weapons?” Lirak asked, astonished.
“Yes, but he never told me how, and the material can’t be chipped, it is too hard.”
Lirak pulled his invader’s blade from his sheath. “Like this?” he asked Chutan.
Chutan took the blade and looked at it closely. “I don’t know how this was made either.”
Lirak nodded, “But I bet the southerners do. And if they can make weapons like this, perhaps they can show us how to make weapons from the red material.”
“Perhaps,” Chutan said.
/> “Is there more?” Lirak asked.
“Not that I myself know of,” Chutan replied.
“This is enough for now,” Lirak said, and Chutan left the tent.
Alone in the tent, Mayrie and Lirak embraced and shared a quiet kiss.
“Please don’t do this,” Mayrie whispered in his ear. “I want a live husband.”
“I can’t be your husband while I still have to fight these invaders,” Lirak said.
“You can’t be my husband if you’re dead!” she hissed.
“I won’t die. I’m beginning to suspect what my destiny might be,” Lirak said, his voice distant.
“What do you mean?” Mayrie whispered. “Don’t overreach yourself Lirak.”
“I have to do this,” he said. “All my life these dreams have plagued me. Dedrik told me that the one who could control their dreams would become a great leader and save his nation. If that means fate has chosen me to defeat these invaders, I must know now. We can’t keep on with these skirmishes with small scouting parties. I am willing to take the risk, if the dreams will show me the way to our victory.”
The two again embraced. Lirak felt Mayrie’s breath on his neck and felt the softness of her body against his own. He wanted nothing more than to throw all of his duties aside and take Mayrie as his wife and find some remote Dwon village and let the world take care of itself. But in his head the faint thought whispered to him, saying wait.
Spirit Dreamer
Death comes to those who seek him.
– Dwon oral tradition
Lirak sat alone in his tent. Chutan had brought him a small pouch containing the yellow powder, which he held in his left hand. The tent had a small fire burning on some stones already for warmth. Several of the small branches had burned to coals. Lirak carefully extinguished the few flames still coming from the fire. The tent grew dark, illuminated only by the glowing embers. Lirak’s face was barely visible in the darkness, his features exaggerated by the angle of the light. He poured a palmful of the yellow powder into his right hand. Then he took a great breath and held it. Opening his hand, he allowed a stream of the powder to fall onto the glowing embers.
At first he thought the powder would simply extinguish the coals as the tent got darker still. He continued to hold his breath. Then a bright yellow spark appeared in the coals, and grew, spewing a billowing cloud of yellow smoke. Soon the tent was brightly lit with the yellow light, and was full of smoke that made Lirak’s eyes water. Finally, he expelled the breath he was holding and took a deep breath. The smoke was cloying, almost sweet tasting, and he felt it travel deep into his lungs. He coughed twice. He took another breath, and then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell over backwards, landing flat on the floor of the tent, the last bit of powder in his hand trickling onto the dirt floor of the tent.
Lirak dreamed. In his dream he was alone in a gray, formless void. He looked left, right, up and down and saw nothing but grayness all around. He wondered where he was, and why he was there. His mind was working very slowly. He knew there was something important that he should remember, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. But he felt it was very important to know. For a long time he tried to drag the memory out of his befuddled mind, but was unable to do so. The only thought that came to his mind was that his life depended on that memory. The longer he tried, the more desperate he became. He was lost in the grayness, with no idea where to go, or how even to move.
Finally he stopped trying to force the memory to come. Instead he tried to reconstruct his past. Why was he here? What had he been doing before he was here? His mind was equally opaque on this subject. His last clear memory was kissing Mayrie. For a long time he re-lived that memory, feeling her body, feeling her lips. He wanted to lose himself in that moment. She had been so beautiful, so soft, and so insistent that he be careful as he headed out on his quest for the firestones.
Firestones! Something about the word flashed in his mind like a bolt of lightning. There was something about the firestones that led to his being here, but he couldn’t remember what. He wanted to go back to the memory of the kiss, to explore fantasies built around that kiss. But the firestone thought was like a splinter in his mind, he could not recapture the sensuous ennui he had been feeling in his memory of the kiss.
The image of the firestone hovered in the gray gloom. Floating and rotating in front of him, tantalizingly close, its gray crystal laced with red and yellow veins. Yellow! Something about the yellow! The firestone in front of him grew suddenly, filling the space in front of him, one yellow vein expanding until all he could see was the yellow. Then it all came rushing back to him, the quest, Dedrik, the massacre, the moons of fighting, the yellow powder in the tent… All of it crashed into him, inundating his mind with all the grief, pain and suffering of the past seasons compressed into one blinding moment of clarity.
He thought he was dead, the pain was so much. He wished he was dead. He begged to die. But he didn’t die, and the pain faded, but the memories remained. His purpose remained.
“Is this a spirit dream?” he asked himself, and a voice in his mind whispered “no.”
“What is this?” he asked.
“Choice” came the reply.
“What do you mean by ‘choice’?” he shouted into the nothingness.
But there was no other response, and a moment later he was convinced that he had imagined the voice. There was nothing now but the omnipresent yellowness all around him. He closed his eyes.
“Choice” he mused, “choice of what?”
The fogginess in his mind had gone; his mind and memory were sharp and clear. “I came here to see if I could control my dreams” he reminded himself. “Now let’s see what I can do.”
He closed his eyes and visualized an eagle flying high over the forest, letting his imagination go, he felt the beating of the eagle’s wings as if he were the eagle, and felt the rush of air in his face. Then he opened his eyes. Below him the dark forest spread out in front and to his left. On his right the great wall was lit above and below by small fires, but nothing stirred in the dark. Far beyond the wall he could see great stone buildings. Looking directly below he could see the dim light of a campfire, and somehow knew that he was seeing his own camp.
He swooped around and knew he was not just watching the scene passively, but that he could move as he wished. He took a path toward the southwest, looking for the fires of the largest of the invaders’ camps. Soon he saw it, and almost as soon as he thought about it, he was there, circling over the site, looking down at many tents, and milling beasts. He made his way past the great rock-throwing engines and row after row of warrior’s tents. But he saw nothing that seemed of value.
Upward again he flew, looking back toward his own camp. He remembered the invaders party and decided to see if he could find them. It took some scouting around, but eventually he located them in a small opening next to a stream. In a flash of inspiration he closed his eyes for a brief moment.
“Owl,” he said in his mind.
He opened his eyes again, and the night was no longer dark or indistinct. The colors were faint, but he was able to see details as if it were daytime. He quickly found the posted guards and counted the sleeping forms at the dying fire. “Forty-two,” he told himself. But as he started to leave, the familiar “wait” feeling popped into his mind. So he waited, parking his mental owl-image on a nearby tree.
Soon one of the men began to stir. He rolled over and sat up in his sleep. As he rolled over Lirak’s enhanced vision clearly recognized the form of a gray robe. “A gray man,” he told himself. That was odd, since their attacks moons ago the gray men rarely ventured into the forest. This was something to tell Patrik and Jerok.
The “wait” feeling gone, he rose into the sky, marveling at how much more clearly he could see in the night. As he looked about, enjoying the new sensation, he caught a distant glimpse of light, south of his own camp. There was a tiny fire where none of his scouts had reported one. He flew south
east and soon was perched above a small camp of six men. But the guard was not dressed as an invader; instead he wore the clothing of the southern guards. Looking closely at the exposed faces of the sleeping men, Lirak was astonished to recognize the face of Dedrik.
Suddenly Lirak was lying on his back, coughing and gasping for breath. He crawled to the tent and threw open the flap, letting cold air rush into the tent and across his face. Pale yellow smoke billowed out into the darkness. Then Mayrie was there holding him, her face set in a look of deep concern.
“Lirak?” he heard, “Lirak are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he tried to say, as the darkness started to overwhelm him. “Tell Jerok… gray man… be careful…” and then darkness overtook him.
Lirak slowly woke up. His body felt oddly tired, and his head throbbed. For several moments he lay on his bed trying to gather his thoughts. His mind was so slow to wake up that he only slowly noticed that a warm body lay beside him.
“Lirak?” Mayrie’s voice sounded concerned and quiet.
“Hmmm?” He responded, reaching up with one hand to massage the side of his neck where the headache started. Something felt so right about lying there beside Mayrie that he rolled over and put his right arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him. He heard a quiet gasp escape her lips.
“Lirak,” she repeated, more insistent this time.
“What?” He asked.
“You need to wake up.” She shook his shoulder lightly, but her voice revealed a level of concern that finally pierced the fog in his mind, and he sat upright, shaking his head vigorously.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“How long have I been asleep?” He asked, turning toward Mayrie. He realized as he saw her face that he had dreamed of her all night. And again that sense of comfort reached him, but he shook it off in spite of himself.
“Where is Jerok?” He asked.
“He’s still gone,” she said.
Lirak stood up. “He’s in danger,” he said, suddenly. “There’s a gray man in the group.”
