by Sean Golden
Life and Death
Beware the blessings of the gods.
– Dwon oral tradition
Sometime later, Lirak grabbed Mayrie’s hand as they ran and slowed her down until they came to a stop. Mayrie sank to her knees as she drew in great gasps of air, and soon both of them lay on the ground, re-gathering their strength.
“What happened?” Mayrie asked.
“It was a trap.” Lirak’s cold anger was clearly evident. “The whole thing was a trap. We took the bait and they were waiting for us. We should have listened to Dedrik.”
“Where is everyone?”
“I don’t know. I hope most of them got out alive, but I’m afraid for the worst,” Lirak said. “We’ll have to head to our second camp. Whoever survived and escaped will go to the second camp.”
The two lay silently for a moment. Lirak sat up and saw Thorn sitting in the grass close by.
“Good boy Thorn!” he said. A feeling of relief swept through him as he saw the big cat.
“Well, at least our little family is back together,” Mayrie said, and Lirak laughed out loud.
Lirak stood up and reached down to help Mayrie up when his eyes caught a sudden flash of gray out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively he threw himself on Mayrie just as a flash of intense light blinded him, followed by a deafening thunderclap. He felt his body thrown off of Mayrie and his breath was knocked out as he landed against a nearby tree.
His eyes cleared quickly, but when they did he found himself looking into the eyes of a gray-robed warlock, whose hand held a wand pointed directly at him. Lirak’s heart jumped in his chest and his mouth went dry as a dead leaf. Again Lirak was struck by the sense of looking at his own face. The warlock’s eyes widened and he licked his lips, the look on his face one of pure exultation. On either side of the gray man was a Groln soldier, but they didn’t even bother to point their weapons at Lirak. Lirak’s hand found the bulb of the wand in his belt, and his eyes went wide as the gray man in front of him changed. No longer gray, the robe was multicolored and glowing fiercely. Bands of color knotted just above the multicolored man and seemed to reach directly down into the robe itself. The multi-colored knot above him was small, but was swelling quickly. The man licked his lips. Lirak’s mind slipped into the familiar sense of time compression.
Lirak saw movement behind the three men, a tawny form leaping silently toward the warlock. Lirak drew the wand from his belt. As he did so, his mind reached out to the swirling mass of color coalescing around the gray man. He desperately pulled the energy toward him, as he had done that night in Luh-Yi. The gray man’s eyes widened in fear as the swirling energy suddenly danced from him, to Lirak.
Thorn’s massive right paw caught the gray man in the face as Thorn’s fangs sank into his neck and left shoulder. Thorn’s weight pushed him forward, and the two fell to the ground in a snarling, struggling mass as new color swirled toward the warlock. At that same moment Lirak pointed the wand at the soldier on the left and released the energy he held, and the soldier’s chest exploded into a red haze. Turning to his right, he saw the second soldier standing transfixed, his mouth open in a wide “o” as he stared at Lirak.
Lirak dropped the wand, and drawing his knife, he dove toward the remaining soldier, who tried to raise his sword in defense, but Lirak’s blade was too quick and deadly, sinking through the soldier’s heavy clothing and armor with ease. As the soldier fell there was another blinding flash and booming explosion, and Thorn flew toward Lirak in an explosion of fur and blood. A fountain of blood burst from the warlock’s neck. He twitched once and was still. Thorn fell heavily to the ground and didn’t move, a sickening red pool spreading out from his limp form.
Lirak pushed himself up and started to run toward Thorn when he saw Mayrie. She lay on her back a few strides distant. Her face was deathly pale, and her eyes bored into Lirak’s, their pain and terror reaching into Lirak’s heart and tearing it apart. Her left hand was holding a broken wooden branch that protruded from her chest below her right breast. Blood welled up around her fingers.
“Mayrie!” Lirak shouted, running to her side. “Mayrie! Hold on!”
“Lirak… it’s too late…” Mayrie choked, her face drawn from the pain. “I… always… loved you, I’m so sorry.”
“No!” Lirak shouted, falling to his knees beside her. He gingerly took her right hand in his and caressed her pain-etched face. “No. You can’t die,” he said.
“Hold… me…” Mayrie said as tears streamed down her pain stricken face.
Lirak brought his face to hers and kissed her gently. “Hang on Mayrie… Don’t leave me.” But Lirak’s heart broke as he saw the mortal wound in her chest.
A sound brought his head up. He looked across Mayrie’s wounded body and at first his mind refused to believe what his eyes told him. Two huge white beasts came out of the forest. On the back of the lead beast was a woman dressed in a green, flowing robe seemingly made of living vines. Her face was heart-shaped with flowing black hair and piercing green eyes.
Between Lirak and the green-dressed woman lay Thorn. His chest heaved laboriously while the growing pool of blood spread out from his fallen body. Lirak looked down at Mayrie, then at Thorn and he thought his heart would break in two.
The woman lithely leaped off the beast and quickly reached down touching Thorn on the head. Thorn’s breathing instantly eased, and his eyes found Lirak’s. Then, without stopping, the woman ran forward, touching Mayrie’s head as she dropped to her knees. Mayrie’s face relaxed instantly and she turned toward Lirak.
“I’m… dreaming Lirak…” she said, and with that her eyes closed and her breathing became slow and shallow.
The woman reached forward and took Lirak’s head in both of her hands. “Lirak, you must choose, I can only save one of them,” she said.
Lirak’s mind almost refused to comprehend the words.
“Who are you?” He asked.
The woman slapped Lirak sharply on the left cheek. “Choose quickly!” she said.
Lirak looked again at Thorn and met his eyes. He saw a large gash in Thorn’s side, the edges smoking as if they had been on fire. “Mayrie,” he said.
The woman pushed Lirak gently but firmly back. She reached down and under her hands Lirak saw Mayrie’s blouse come apart instantly, fully revealing the impaled stick that was stealing Mayrie’s life. She put one hand against Mayrie’s chest and with the other she abruptly and easily pulled the stick free, dropping it behind her as blood surged out of the open wound. In an instant the woman’s hands were moving in and around the wound.
“Hold her hand,” she said. “Let her know you’re here. Talk to her and make her want to stay among the living.”
Lirak nodded, and taking Mayrie’s right hand he looked into her face. “Mayrie, I love you. You can’t leave me,” he said, his voice choking with emotion. From a few strides away, he heard a rattling sound and realized that Thorn was gone. Tears welled in his eyes. “Don’t go Mayrie. I need you,” he choked back a sob. Looking at Thorn’s motionless body, he heard his own voice as if from a distance.
“Once there was an eagle that fell in love with a wood-nymph…”
As Lirak quietly retold the familiar story, the woman in green worked on Mayrie’s wound. The sight of her fingers inside Mayrie’s body almost made Lirak sick, but he fought the impulse and focused on Mayrie’s face. Eventually the fingers were no longer inside Mayrie and Lirak watched with wonder as the wounded area grew smaller under the quickly working hands and Mayrie’s face grew warmer and less pale. Amazed Lirak watched as the wound slowly shrank until there was no visible wound left at all; only a pale patch of skin surrounded by Mayrie’s darker skin and dried blood. Mayrie’s breathing seemed normal and she slept soundly with a small smile on her face. Lirak believed he had never seen anything so beautiful.
“OK, that should do it,” the woman said. “That was some tricky work. A few seconds more and we’d have lost her.”
“Wh
o are you?” Lirak asked, unsure whether to be afraid or thankful.
“You know me as Kathoias,” the woman said, as simply as if she were an old friend.
“Kath…” Lirak’s voice caught in his throat. “Kathoias? The Goddess Kathoias?”
“Yes, if you want to put it that way,” she said. “Healing isn’t really my strong point you know, and I’m sorry I couldn’t save Thorn as well.” She looked at Thorn’s still form and Lirak felt a wave of sadness come from her. “Still, you made the right choice. Though I will miss Thorn greatly. But he couldn’t have gone where you are going. And he did all he was asked to do and more.”
“You can’t… you can’t be real,” Lirak said.
“Well, in a sense I’m not, but as far as you are concerned, I’m as real as anything else you are likely to find. I am sorry about all of this Lirak, but even we gods have our limitations. But more importantly, we also have our price.”
“Your price?” Lirak said, suddenly feeling cold.
“Yes, that’s right. You’re in my debt now. And that debt will be paid.”
“How can I pay a debt to a god?” Lirak asked, a feeling of terror rising in his throat.
“You made a vow once to Faydah. I will release you and the others from that oath if you swear an oath to me.”
Lirak felt an icy hand on his heart. His disbelief had now become terror. He could hardly breathe. “What oath?” he croaked.
“You must leave your people and swear allegiance to me and join my fight against the unNamed one.”
Lirak looked into Kathoias’ piercing green eyes, his throat tightened and his mouth was suddenly very dry. “How can I fight a god?” he croaked.
“You will learn,” Kathoias replied.
“What about Mayrie?” Lirak asked.
“Her path is her own to choose,” Kathoias said, she will be free of her oath to Faydah, as will Jerok and Patrik.”
“And if I refuse?” he asked.
Kathoias said nothing, but her eyes were cold as winter stone.
“I will join you and fight the unNamed one,” Lirak said, and as he said it, he seemed to feel something inside his chest like the distant snapping of a cord.
“Your oaths to Faydah are released” said Kathoias. “Your oath to me is sealed.” She stood and in a single lithe motion, remounted the great white beast. “Don’t speak of me to anyone. Dedrik will be waiting for you,” she said, “this is not over yet.” And she and her beasts disappeared into the forest.
Defeat
The defeater of death will suffer many losses.
– The Prophecies
Lirak sat in stunned silence, looking into the woods where Kathoias had disappeared. He still held Mayrie’s hand and could feel her firm, steady pulse. Finally he shook himself and stood up. Fighting off an urgent desire to take Mayrie and leave the area, he picked up a fallen sword from one of the dead Groln soldiers and scraped a shallow depression in the soft earth. He dragged Thorn’s limp form into the depression and covered it with earth and what stones he could find. It was the least he could do for a companion who had many times saved his life. Mayrie was waking when he returned to her side.
“Lirak?” she said, rubbing her chest where the branch had impaled her. “What happened? Are we dead?” She gazed down at the bloody remnants of her blouse and gently probed the pale skin which covered the spot where the branch had pierced her.
Lirak leaned down and gently kissed Mayrie’s cheek while tears slipped down his face.
“No, you’re alive. We’re both alive,” he said “But we have to get moving. How do you feel?” Lirak removed his own shirt and Mayrie quickly removed her tattered blouse and put Lirak’s shirt on.
“I feel fine mostly,” Mayrie said, “but I feel like I’ve been used up and I’ve never been so hungry in my life. Do you have anything to drink?”
Lirak had retrieved the warlock’s wand and was pulling the robe off of the dead man. Simply touching the robe gave him a sense of power that seemed unlimited. But he fought the impulse to put the robe on. Under the robe the man was thin and dark, and wore a simple cotton tunic and leggings. As with all the warlocks, Lirak had the odd sensation of looking at a vision of himself. After rolling the robe into a surprisingly small and light bundle and stuffing it in his pack, Lirak handed Mayrie her water skin. “Do you think we can move now?”
“Yes.” Mayrie sat up, looking around, “Give me just a moment. Where’s Thorn?”
“Dead,” Lirak said. The look on his face convinced Mayrie to let it go.
Lirak gently pulled Mayrie to her feet and they began moving northwest through the trees. Lirak moved slowly, and frequently left Mayrie hidden while he scouted ahead. Still they made steady progress, and they talked in low voices as they walked.
“I know I was wounded Lirak. What miracle happened? I didn’t dream it.”
“A woman came from the woods and saved you.”
Mayrie sniffed, “Nobody could have saved me without powerful magic. I remember the woman from the woods, and the strange beast she rode. You aren’t telling me everything Lirak.”
Lirak didn’t reply. He kept his hand on the bulb of one of the sticks as they walked. Watching for the knots of color, he followed a path as clear of the knots as he could manage. They encountered no further Groln soldiers or warlocks. As they neared the secondary camp they met Patrik, who was very pleased to see them both, but distressed to hear of Thorn’s death. Soon a tree-frog sound came from their left, and Patrik nodded “There are others here,” he said, and returned the tree-frog greeting.
The secondary camp was a large cave hidden by bushes which they had to push aside to get in. Inside they found thirteen Dwon villagers, including Hetyl the healer and Chutan. Nobody spoke as Hetyl tended to wounds.
“Have you heard from Jerok?” Lirak asked?
“Jerok came, said come here,” Hetyl said. “Invaders came, much confusion then. Jerok and Gawn stayed behind, fought them. We came.”
Lirak nodded. He looked at Mayrie and spoke in a low voice. “Don’t tell them about the woman in the woods. I have to find Jerok,” Mayrie nodded.
“Patrik, take two men and scout out to the south,” Lirak said. “If you come across any Groln, lead them away from the camp. I’m going to find Jerok.” Patrik nodded, and Lirak slipped back out into the forest.
Lirak’s thoughts raced as he made his way southeast, back toward the scene of the disastrous battle. He followed the trail of the Dwon, pleased that they had clearly taken care to leave little trace of their passing. It was late afternoon by the time he reached the point where he saw two sets of footprints turn and head back southeast. He began tracking those prints.
The stench of death and the buzzing of flies came from ahead. In a small opening between the trees he found two dead Groln, with Dwon arrows in their throats. Jerok and Gawn had clearly ambushed their pursuers. From the tracks he could tell there were at least three more Groln soldiers, but he only saw tracks of the heavy booted feet of the soldiers, not the lighter boots of the warlocks. He sighed with relief.
It took a few moments but he found the spot Jerok and Gawn had sprung their ambush, and saw their tracks heading due east, but those tracks were soon obliterated by the boot prints of Groln soldiers. He looked at the sun and tried to decide whether to pursue Jerok or to return to the remains of his raiders. Suddenly he heard footsteps coming from the East. He quickly hid between a tree and a large bush. The footsteps were slow and labored.
Gawn emerged from the forest, half-dragging Jerok. Jerok’s shirt was stained in blood, and he stumbled each time he put his left foot down. Gawn was clearly exhausted.
“Come on Jerok, we’ve got to get to the camp.”
Jerok’s breathing was labored, but he managed a dry chuckle “I’m doing the best I can.”
Lirak leaped from his hiding place.
“Gawn! Jerok! You’re alive!” he cried.
Jerok looked at Lirak and smiled. “So far anyway,” h
e said.
“Man, am I glad to see you,” Gawn said. “Here, give me a hand with him.”
That night Hetyl had his hands full. Patrik and Lirak searched for herbs he needed as long as there was light left to look. Jerok’s chest wound was shallow but bloody. His left leg was more of a concern as it still had a Groln arrow buried in it. Removing the arrow took all of Gawn’s strength, and it took Lirak and Patrik both to hold Jerok down as Gawn pulled it out. Finally Hetyl was able to pack the wound with a poultice and wrap it to stop the bleeding. Jerok passed out from the pain.
Later that night, Lirak sat beside Jerok, clasping his limp hand. “I’m sorry brother,” Lirak sobbed. “We should have listened to Dedrik.” Lirak wiped his eyes and nose. Jerok moaned softly in his fevered sleep. Lirak tried to adjust Jerok’s body to be more comfortable and doing so he pushed aside the backpack and pouches they had removed from Jerok to treat him. There was something hard and rectangular in the backpack and Lirak’s breath caught in his throat.
Lirak looked quickly around, but Hetyl was tending other wounded, Patrik was nowhere to be seen and Mayrie was deep asleep herself. His hand seemed to move of its own volition as he watched transfixed. Untying the flap on the pack, he reached inside and felt the unmistakable shape of the wooden box he had so long ago pulled from his mother’s burning bedding.
Jerok stirred in his sleep. “Mayrie…,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “Mayrie…”
Lirak pulled the box from the pack, not knowing what to do. He had never really seen the box before, he had only held it briefly when his eyes were burning and watering from the heat and smoke of the hut. His best look had been when he saw one corner as Soonya had tucked it into her hastily acquired robe. But now he was able to take a long look at it.
