by Sean Golden
The box appeared to be made of wood, but no wood that Lirak recognized. It was a deep rich red color with pronounced dark grain running through it. Looking at it he saw no clasp, hinge, lid or any means of opening it. In fact it looked like a single solid block of wood. He shook it lightly, but felt no movement within. His other hand rose from Jerok’s limp, damp hand and he turned the box over and examined it from every angle. It felt strangely warm.
“Hey, what is that?” Patrik had come up behind him, startling Lirak. “Wow, you sure are jumpy,” Patrik chuckled.
Lirak truly did not know what to say. He sat for a long moment in silence, staring at the box. But he was unable to come up with any explanation for the box that he was willing to offer.
“Hey, seriously, what is that?” Patrik repeated. “Where did you get it?”
Lirak found that he did not want to put the box down, so he turned toward Patrik and sat back on the rocky floor beside Jerok, holding the box in his lap. “I don’t know what it is,” he finally managed to get out. “It was my mother’s, from her old life. She gave it to Jerok to hold for her before … they came.”
“Wow, so what’s inside it?” Patrik asked.
“I don’t know,” Lirak replied. “Mother was very concerned about it and warned me not to open it. But I don’t even see a way to open it.”
“Well, you could cut it open,” Patrik offered, seemingly unconcerned with Soonya’s warning.”
“I wonder…,” Lirak said, almost to himself. “Look at it. It’s old, and it was in the hut when the hut was on fire. I pulled it from the fire, but it has no marks at all. No burns, no scratches, no marks at all.”
Patrik reached forward. “I’ll open it,” he offered.
Lirak shook his head. “No, there is something about this box that worries me.” He paused and looked down into his lap. “Soonya did not want me to have it. She said she gave it to Jerok to protect me. But she never said why.”
Patrik made a clicking sound with his tongue. “So, a mystery then. And what would Jerok say if he knew you had it?”
“I don’t know,” Lirak replied. “I think he would be very angry.”
“Well, put it back in his bag then,” Patrik suggested. “He’s gone through enough without making him mad over a stupid wooden box.”
Lirak looked back at Jerok, listening to the labored breathing and gently touching his festering leg. “I don’t know if he will wake up Patrik. And if he isn’t able to watch over the box, I think I should. There is something…. dangerous… about this box. I feel strongly that it is connected to the invaders somehow.
Patrik looked oddly at Lirak. “You are going to keep it then?” He asked.
“Yes, I think I must,” Lirak admitted.
Patrik whistled low and shook his head. “Man, you better know what you are doing Lirak. I don’t like this, I trust you, but I don’t think Jerok always does.”
“When Jerok is awake, I’ll talk to him,” Lirak said. “In the meantime, I’ll try to figure out how to open it. I think I need to know what’s inside.”
“You’re sorta scaring me Lirak,” Patrik said with a mischievous grin. “I think when you do open it; I might be doing something somewhere else.”
Lirak very deliberately turned and put the box in his own backpack. Then he patted Jerok on the shoulder. “Trust me brother, I hope you will understand. The stakes are too high now. I have to know what this is.”
Overnight an additional seven Dwon showed up at the camp, bringing the total to twenty-five, or less than a third of the band. The rest of Lirak’s band of raiders, including Niwoq, Dobit and Kalie, were scattered or killed, since the Groln had never shown any desire to take prisoners. Lirak blamed himself for the disaster. Jerok’s leg was worse, and Hetyl told Lirak that he feared the wound had been too deep.
The Dwon survivors were subdued and quiet. Sleeping arrangements were haphazard at best. Most avoided Lirak and he spoke little with them. Mayrie and Lirak ate a short breakfast and visited Jerok, but he was still unconscious. Lirak walked outside the cave to gather his thoughts and begin his plans, when suddenly the world went gray and he saw nothing but a vision of Kathoias as she appeared at the scene of Mayrie’s wounding. And she appeared to be angry.
“You must go to Dedrik,” she said.
“But my people need me, and Jerok is wounded” he replied.
“That is no matter. But if you want to save Jerok, take him to Dedrik, Hanoria has healers who can save him. He will die if you stay hidden like a beaten cur in the forest.”
“What of my people?”
“Let them go. They don’t want to be in this fight any longer, too many have died already. You have done all you can here. You must accept this. Your destiny is no longer tied to the Dwon. Your destiny is with me. Go to Dedrik. I grow impatient.”
Lirak came to himself with a start, he was sitting on the ground and Mayrie was shaking him.
“What?” he asked.
“Are you OK?” Mayrie asked. “You were mumbling something about Kathoias. And something about leaving.” Her tone was almost accusatory.
Lirak looked away. “I have to go to Dedrik,” he said.
“Yes, I know,” Mayrie said, surprising Lirak. “That’s been clear to me for a while. I’m only wondering what is holding you back,” she paused. “Jerok’s awake, he’s asking for you.”
“It’s time to leave,” Lirak said.
“Well, let’s get packed then,” Mayrie said. “You sure aren’t leaving me behind.” With that she reached out and pulled Lirak toward her. Her lips were insistent on his in a way he had not experienced before.
“You tell that Kathoias that you have a woman,” she said and turned to get her things together.
“I have had a dream,” Lirak told the assembled Dwon in the cave. All of them were aware of Lirak’s mysterious dreams, and what they could bring. “I have spoken to Kathoias,” he said simply, as if speaking with gods was nothing. “She has commanded me to leave the forest and join the fight beyond the southern wall.”
“To what purpose?” Jerok asked, his face flushed and sweating.
“To fight the evil which spawned the invaders,” Lirak said. Looking at Jerok he added “and in the dream if you didn’t come with me, you died here. In the dream Hanorian healers cured your leg.”
Jerok’s face turned paler. “And when will you, … we, return?”
“That wasn’t revealed to me,” Lirak said. “But the Dwon can’t continue this fight. We will all be killed.”
Hetyl looked up. “So you are telling us to go back to the forest?”
“I am telling you that I want no more Dwon killed in my name,” Lirak said, his eyes brimming with tears.
There was a murmur among the Dwon at this.
Lirak turned his piercing gaze on Mayrie, Jerok and Patrik in turn. “Our oath to Faydah has been released; you are no longer bound to it. I am bound to a new oath with Kathoias.”
“Wait,” Patrik said, “how does that work? Oaths such as ours cannot be unbound.”
“They can if the gods decide it,” Lirak said.
“Well, I’m going with you anyway; I didn’t ask to be released from any oath,” Patrik said. “I still plan on making them pay. Besides, wherever you go, Lirak, I want to be there. That’s where all the action is.” He grinned.
“And I” said Mayrie “Lirak, our paths are joined forever.”
Jerok’s face darkened, “Well, you haven’t really given me a choice,” said Jerok, “I will go, but I will return.”
“I will go with Jerok,” said Gawn. “For now.”
“Thanks Gawn,” Jerok said. “I’m going to need some big shoulders to lean on anyway.”
Nobody else spoke.
Later, as final preparations were being made, many of the Dwon came to Lirak and grasped hands to elbows in the Dwon manner of respect. Many had tears in their eyes. A few of them said they would continue the raids as long as they had breath to fight. Lirak wondered
if they would actually do so, but he wished them well. He sometimes found it surprising to remember that others had also lost everything at the hands of the invaders, and he was not the only one to seek revenge.
Hetyl fashioned a litter for Jerok, who could no longer bear weight on his left leg. Gawn and Patrik lifted each end, and the five Dwon left the cave and headed south. The remaining Dwon lined up as they left with Chutan being the last one they passed.
“You will be missed,” he said. “You have given our people a reason to fight and live. Never have I known a Dwon like you. Soonya and Kodul would be proud. You have shown us all the true nature of the eagle totem. It truly is not an easy totem to bear.” With that he reached forward and pulled Lirak to his chest in a hug, foregoing the Dwon handshake.
“Take care of yourself, and take care of Mayrie.” Tears ran down Chutan’s face. Lirak nodded, not knowing what to say.
Each took turns bearing one end of the litter, including Mayrie. They followed the game trails south, with Lirak or Patrik moving out front in turns to scout ahead. By nightfall they could see the great smoke of the Groln invasion force. But they encountered no Groln in the forest. To the east they could hear the sounds of battle at the wall. Exhausted, they slept. Jerok had developed a burning fever and he spoke to his fevered dreams.
Red Robe
Beware the god-touched, for the gods demand sacrifice.
– Dwon oral tradition
Lirak’s hand itched to take out the gray robe, but in the presence of Jerok, Gawn and Patrik, he felt that doing so would require too many arguments and explanations. So they blindly worked their way through the forest. Without Thorn to scout and warn him, Lirak felt doubly blind, and his mind was aflame with a feeling of dread.
After some time they put Jerok’s litter down for a short rest. Jerok was in and out of consciousness and was hot with fever. Lirak and Mayrie were wiping his head and face with cool water when the air above them erupted in blinding light and their ears rang from the concussion of the blast. Splinters and dust rained down on them. Then the red warlock walked boldly into the clearing, along with five Groln soldiers.
“Ah, so here is the great forest ghost.” The man spoke in fluent Dwon. He was dressed as a warlock, but his robe was blood-red and, to Lirak’s eyes, glowing. He could have been Lirak’s twin. “This is the slayer of warlocks,” he said this with such venom that Lirak could feel the burning hatred.
Lirak’s hand went to one wand at his belt. The red warlock was perhaps fifty feet from Lirak, but Gawn was between them, and several soldiers had their weapons raised.
“You are the one they call ‘Lirak’, aren’t you?” the warlock asked.
“Yes, I am,” Lirak replied watching the man’s eyes narrow.
“Good, good. Vopryt will be pleased to see you captured.”
Lirak pulled the wand from his belt and held it in front of him. Several of the Groln soldiers shifted their weapons to point at Lirak.
“What’s that? A wand? A token of your murder?” the warlock’s voice rose in anger.
Now, with the wand in his hand, Lirak could see the maelstrom of power encircling the red warlock. It was like a storm, and Lirak could feel the power snapping and popping. Without thinking, he reached for that power, and grabbed it.
“What! How?” the warlock cried, and Lirak felt something like a powerful jerk and the power almost halted between them. For a moment the two fought for control.
“Kill him!” shouted the warlock, as Lirak felt the power again move toward him.
Dimly, from the edge of his vision, Lirak saw movement and heard the sound of impacts and a loud grunt, then a shrill scream. But all of this was as if in a dream, because his mind and body was full of raw power, and as the warlock’s eyes widened with fear, Lirak released part of the energy through his wand, and the red warlock’s head vaporized. Then Lirak moved the wand, pointing it at the lead soldier, and released more of the energy, sending an explosion of gore across the clearing.
Something struck him hard in the left shoulder, but he scarcely noticed. One more time he pointed the wand and another soldier vanished in a red mist. Then, with the pulsating energy depleted, he dropped the wand and reached for his bow. The scene instantly returned to normal and Lirak watched as Patrik and Mayrie fired arrows at soldiers who were either too shocked to move, or had turned to flee. Just as his heart filled with hope, he saw Gawn’s punctured body lying in front of him.
“Gawn!” he cried.
“Lirak, we have to move” Patrik’s frantic voice came from his right.
Lirak knelt beside Gawn and rolled him over. Groln arrows had pierced him many times. Arrows Lirak knew had been meant for him.
“Lirak, you’re alive” coughed Gawn. “Thank Kathoias.”
“Gawn, what did you do?” Lirak asked.
“I had no choice,” Gawn’s voice was fading. “Tell Jerok I’m sorry.”
“Gawn, don’t die!” he pleaded. “Kathoias! Kathoias! Save him!” he screamed to the forest. “Come save him!” he cried again. “Save him.”
“Lirak.” Mayrie’s voice was gentle. “He’s gone.”
Patrik leaned in and closed Gawn’s staring eyes. “We have to go,” he said.
Lirak nodded. He realized he had Gawn’s head in his lap, and gently lowered it to the ground. “Goodbye my friend,” he said. “I did not deserve your sacrifice.”
After a moment, Lirak stood and walked to the body of the red warlock. The man had no head at all, but the red robe seemed undamaged. Lirak methodically stripped it off the dead man, wiped it as clean as he could, and rolled it up into a bundle, tying it under his pack. Mayrie and Patrik watched, but said nothing.
With that Lirak and Patrik took up the ends of Jerok’s litter, and that’s when Lirak realized a thick Groln arrow was stuck in the meaty part of his left shoulder. But he still did not feel the pain. He felt nothing. He was numb.
“The arrow has gone clean through your shoulder, Lirak” Patrik said. “I think I can pull it all the way through.”
“Do it now then, I don’t feel it,” Lirak said.
They stopped and Patrik broke the vanes off the arrow, then took a rock and struck the end of the arrow, and then pulled it out from behind him. Patrik fashioned a quick bandage to stanch the bleeding, and then both returned to Jerok’s litter.
They continued on in the same manner, moving west to skirt the Groln. Lirak was following a course he knew would take him close to the wall. Kathoias had shown him where to find the Hanorian scout camp. By noon they had reached the area of the camp, and Lirak crept forward to find it. Eventually he lay prone under a bush, watching as two men in Hanorian armor stood watch outside a tent. Inside the tent he heard voices. He was afraid to step forward, not speaking the Hanorian language. He feared being shot down by mistake. He wasn’t sure exactly how to make his presence known, when the tent flap flipped up and Dedrik stepped out.
“Dedrik!” He said, and Dedrik whirled around, his sword appearing in his hand in a blur of motion. But just as quickly, he sheathed the weapon.
“Lirak, that has to be you. Come on in, I’ve been waiting for you.”
Lirak stood and walked into the camp, to the astonishment of the guards who realized that Lirak had crept to within feet of them without their knowing it. “There are others. My brother is wounded badly and needs help.”
Dedrik turned and said a few words to the Hanorian soldiers. Lirak felt that the words were familiar, but he could not make out their meaning. One of the soldiers joined Dedrik who said “Lead on Lirak, we don’t have time to waste.”
They found Mayrie and the others in a few moments. Dedrik looked at Jerok’s wound, which had begun to emit a foul odor. He shook his head. “This is bad Lirak; I can’t heal something like this.”
“Do you have healers within the city that could?” Lirak asked.
“Maybe so,” Dedrik replied, “but we don’t have much time.” He reached into one of his pouches and pulled ou
t a small glass bottle with red liquid which he handed to Lirak.
“Here, give him this, it might keep the infection at bay long enough for the healers to save his leg.” With that Dedrik turned and barked out a few orders and as soon as Lirak had managed to get the liquid down Jerok’s throat, a force of four soldiers took Jerok and headed south, toward the wall.
“They will take him directly to the Healing House,” Dedrik said, as Lirak and the other Dwon found rocks to rest on.
Lirak felt a sense of detachment as he observed the scene before him. Jerok was still unconscious and unaware of his friend’s sacrifice as he disappeared into the trees to the south. Patrik seemed unshaken, speaking in an urgent voice with Dedrik, whose eyes were intent on Lirak. Mayrie’s ashen face was set in a rigid mask that Lirak knew was the only thing holding back her anguish.
Lirak removed his pack, untied the red robe taken from the dead warlock and held it before him. Swirls of color pulsated and swirled in all directions, overwhelming his senses. But through the boiling sea of sensation a single cool thought penetrated his mind like a knife. It is time, put it on.
The very thought sent knee-weakening waves of fear through him, fear that he could feel physically, but which his mind somehow did not feel. Lirak was willing to put the robe on. He desperately wanted to do so, but his body was not responding to his desires, as if his body was paralyzed by fear. More words sliced through his mind, cold and deadly with a sense of remorseless inevitability. This is your destiny.
Finally his hands began to move. As he grasped the hem of the robe, his mind sprinted forward as it had so many times before. Dedrik’s mouth was forming a wide “O” as he leapt forward, but it felt like it would take him days to reach Lirak. Red hair flung outward, Mayrie’s head swiveled toward Lirak as the robe rose over his head and settled gently onto his body. For Mayrie, Dedrik and Patrik, it appeared that Lirak suddenly collapsed. But the robe and Lirak’s body were fiery hot, and getting hotter. Soon no one could even stand within a few steps of Lirak’s glowing, prostrate form.
