Dark Humanity

by Gwynn White

  “Uh, well, no, but...what about the Goddess? How are you going to stop her from taking control and stopping you?

  Ellora’s angry façade faded to a gloomy look of despair. Like curtains drawn aside to open up on a cloudy day, no spark of light shone in her. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Christol, please help me. I must be free, and Maura is the only way.”

  Christol studied her, knowing he would do anything for her, but what she asked would require doing things to her that he would never do to any woman let alone a woman he loved.

  “What if you were unconscious? Could she still control you against your will? He asked at last.

  “Christol! You are brilliant! Ellora leaned across the horse’s back her arms outstretched, her smile illuminating her face, and promptly tumbled off the saddle. She landed in a heap of silken goddess’ robes laughing, crying, and reaching for her lover.

  “That would work, it would work. It would work!”

  Riesa and Stephye, who had been dawdling behind them at peace and in love, meandering without purpose the way lovers do, rode up to find their priestess sitting in the middle of the road giggling and babbling on about something working. They exchanged a silent look of concern and confusion, and then simultaneously asked Christol, “What is she talking about?”

  “Insanity. She is talking insanity,” Christol replied while spurring his horse into a gallop and charging it up the steep incline of the pass. Stephye reined his horse in the direction of his quickly disappearing, but Ellora reached out a hand to stop him.

  “Let him go,” she said. “He’ll be back once he sees that I am correct.”

  “Corrected about what? Riesa interrupted. “What have you two been talking about?”

  Like unsheathing a steel knife, Ellora’s eyes lost their softness as the Huntress returned and her eyes became the color of the blade’s sharp edge, cold yet burning with determination. “I must get to Maura, and the only way to stop the Goddess from controlling me and steering me away from her is if I am unconscious.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Stephye reined his horse up next to hers. “What are we supposed to do? Knock you over the head with a barn beam?”

  A tiny smile played at the corners of her mouth as the priestess answered. “No Stephye, that won’t be necessary. I can make a potion that will work long enough to do what needs to be done.”

  This information did nothing to alleviate his concerns and his question came in rapid-fire succession like a rabbit’s thumping foot. “What about us? Who is going to protect us from the Goddess? Who is going to protect us from Vail and the dragons? Holy Fire! Who is going to protect us from Maura?”

  Riesa watched her friend the priestess and her lover, Stephye, argue. Finally, frustrated with the both of them, she decided time to put an end to it. “I can take care of it,” she said. “I know what to do.”

  The farmhand riding point was as well trained for the scouting, as he would have been for the job of midwife. Another one of wizard Vail’s conscription’s, his training consisted of having a uniform and a sword thrown him, and then being told to, “Saddle up.”

  He focused his efforts on the land in front of him, training his eyes on every tree and rock looking for possible ambushes. A steady drizzle had made their journey miserable since they had ridden out from Castle Marbeht, and the bat-shaped cloud that shadowed the small group escaped his notice in the accompanying gloom. When the cloud screamed, dove for his horse shooting fire and flapping wings in a backstroke of wind and claws, the farmhand quickly realized his mistake.

  “Jogli, can’t you control that thing any better!” He jerked on the reins, fighting to control the panic-stricken animal. Never a great rider to start with, he quickly lost the battle as the horse charged for the protection of the trees. The sharp smell of singed hair and fur followed him, and the first overhanging branch unhorsed him. Rubbing his bruised forehead and clearing the taste of pine and dirt from his teeth, he watched the dragon terrorize the other horses. He knew the dragon could have devoured both horse and rider in one gulp, and a look of both astonishment and terror replaced the slightly dazed expression on his face.

  “So it’s true,” he whispered. “He is the Dragon Master.”

  Diamond sparkles glinted off the dragon's wings as it circled the small group, and the boy could smell the sulfuric fumes of its breath as it angrily blasted the air with flames. A puzzled crease appeared on the conscript’s forehead as he watched Jogli. The wizard’s commander did not seem to be in total control of the beast. The man’s hands and arms flapped around as he gave commands to the dragon, and the draftee could hear his silk robes rustling as his chief yelled out his orders.

  “Be gone, demon. Do as the Master commands you.”

  The leaves in the oak under which the boy sheltered shuddered in the wake of wyvern’s back thrusting wings. He could see the fury in the demon’s eyes as it fought Jogli’s commands. They were as blood red as a the Goddess’ fire, and the farm hand turned fighter cringed further underneath the overhanging branches as the angry dragon remained hovering over the small company of soldiers.

  Jogli’s magical eye through which Vail watched became cloudy as if milk had spilt across skimming it, and covering it as the wizard’s magic coursed through his apprentice. Later, when he retold the story, the boy could never be sure, but he thought he heard the apprentice’s bones creak with strain as the man stood straighter and raised his staff into the dragon flames.

  “I command you to cease, be gone. Find the woman the Master seeks!”

  There was no way, though; he would ever forget the beast’s explosion of fury. Its roar shook the ground with the violence of a volcanic eruption in the wastelands of the Draekhen Mountains, and its flames fired the grasses and the trees engulfing all in its path. Gagging on the smell of burnt flesh and hair, and using the tree to steady him, he pulled himself to his feet. As the holocaust began its unstoppable charge, he begged the Goddess for protection, and bolted deeper into the forest. He knew the Avalond River lay ahead and it offered him the only hope of survival.

  He gave no thought to the survival of the others. However, he needed not worry. They all perished in the instant blast dragon’s fury engulfed in fire and agony. All except, Jogli, who would only wished he had.

  A billow of white smoke, tinged with grey and shadows of red, soon overtook the gathering storm clouds. Distracted as they were by Ellora’s changes and demands, it took them a minute to recognize the approaching danger.

  “Do you smell that?” Stephye asked, reigning his horse to a stop, “and look at the mountains.”

  “It’s smoke,” Riesa said, bringing her mount up next to his.

  “Not just smoke. A forest fire,” Christol added as he joined them. “Those are not clouds on those mountain. I have only seen this once before during the great fire that consumed the Southland.”

  As they watched, the clouds spread across the horizon. They appeared to be feeding and growing, expanding like ocean waves fueled by angry storm winds. They brought with them the smell of wood smoke and burnt flesh. However, it wasn’t but seconds before the clouds became a stinging, choking smoke that pooled around their heads.

  “It’s coming our way, fast. We have got to get out of here,” yelled Stephye.

  “To the Avalond River. It is our only chance of survival," Ellora commanded, and those were the only words she had spoken that afternoon.

  As the fire raged toward the heart of the mountains, Jogli simply stood watching. Exhausted by the flow of power it took to protect himself from the holocaust that raged around him, he could only wait in helpless frustration as his magic renewed itself. The burned ashes of the once living forest, however, did not provide much in the way of rejuvenating power. He knew it would be awhile, and even though he found his helplessness frustrating, he also felt relieved that he would not be expected back at Marbeht for days. His bottom lip twitch and he blinked several times at the thought of what awaited him.
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br />   When the dragon had broken Jogli’s magic chains, Vail’s neophyte knew the beast would retaliate. Even as he felt the snap of the magically forged bonds, Jogli threw up a protective shield that reached as high as the heavens and sank deep into the depths of Mithlonde. No dragon fire could breach it. However, as he watched the horses and draftees burn, Vail’s anger burned within his mind, the all-seeing eye viewing the events from the Halls of Marbeht. The wizard railed at him about the loss of the dragon, his ineptness as a magician, and the punishment that awaited him. Thoughts of fleeing crossed his mind like the whiff of honeysuckle on a hot summer day, tantalizing and elusive, but evaporating with the same sureness. Jogli knew in his soul that there was no escaping Vail.

  “Thank the gods of Charonyde,” he muttered. “He can’t read my mind unless I let him in. If he did, I wouldn’t survive long.” Jogli half chuckled to himself with a kind of gallows humor filled with ironic acceptance of his unchangeable future. “Not that I am likely to survive long this time.”

  It was everywhere. As if they didn’t know death was riding on their heels, their senses were overwhelmed with it. The smoke gagged them with its scent. The scent of burnt flesh and hair, of burning pine, oak and aspen, and the smell of dragon sulfur which clung to it all. A fire-fueled wind tore at them so that even their clothing and the horses’ manes flogged them without mercy. Ash, leaves and pine needles whirled about their faces along with their hair which hand come unbound. The wind also brought the screams of the dying animals and the terrified shrieking of the ones who were next. And, above it all, the fire howled, creating its own tempest. A fiery death storm.

  Christol’s horse was panting, sweat dripped from its sides and white froth bubbled around its bit. He knew it would never make it to the river.

  “We are not going to make it in time, and even if we do this thing is too big. The Avalond will not protect us,” he shouted over the wind to Ellora.

  She rode in the front, leading the way. Her hunting and tracking skills never led her astray and she knew that which she sought lay on the path she had chosen. Riesa should have been in the lead, but she hung back deferring to The Huntress. The change in their relationship puzzled Christol, and he wondered how Ellora’s new persona would affect his relationship with her. It had never been what he wanted it to be, her husband, the father of her children, but he had always understood why. She had made that clear years ago.

  “I belong to the Goddess, now,” she had said when he had tried to embrace her. “I can’t Christol. I can’t be your lover any longer. When the time comes for me to pass on Her gifts, she will choose my mate. It is not a choice I am allowed to make.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she looked at her childhood friend. “Christol,” she reached for his hand, “I love you. I have always loved you.” The tears fell like soft caresses on his work-roughened hand. “I belong to her now. There can be no other.”

  She released his hand and began to stroke his palm with a gentle touch, tracing its lines with her fingertips. Here tear-filled eyes glittered like the finely cut emeralds filled with star-like patterns that caught and held his gaze. “I want you to go. Leave Haiwood, and find another. Find someone who can be a real wife and lover to you. Someone who will bear your children and with whom you can create a home, a family, a future.”

  She dropped his hand and bent her head. Her long blond tresses covering her face like a horse’s mane, but Christol saw the stain of her tears on the pastel green gown she wore. He reached between her curls, lifted her chin up, and swore to her. “Ellora, I love you with every breath of my body and with every beat of my heart, and there will never be another. If I can only have you as my friend, the Goddess’ high priestess then that will be enough.”

  He flicked her chin with his thumb, and chuckled, “What, did you think you could get rid of me so easily?”

  The old joke made her smile through her tears. “You never did listen to me, not even when I would chase you around the school yard. Wouldn’t leave me alone even when I gave you a good thrashing.”

  “You were always faster, sharper and smarter than me. Stronger, too.” And, now Christol’s smile matched hers.

  “And you were always better with our mounts.”

  As he thought about their mounts that they would ride to the old thatched hut that served as their schoolroom, his own mount began to shake and shy away from the shadows of the encroaching flames. The fire was closer, the smoke thicker and the stallion’s flanks were now slick with sweat.

  “Ellora, did you hear me? We can’t make it. And, I don’t want to ride Gallant to death. Look at him!”

  When she did not respond, Christol tried again. “Ellora please. I know you don’t want to hurt the horses, but they can’t keep this up.”

  Without the killing pace she had set, she turned and looked over her shoulder. A primitive savagery filled them, and Christol flinched in the saddle at the wildness they held. Yet, when she saw Gallant’s foaming mouth and heaving sides, the high priestess’ overwhelming compassion returned. She lifted one hand from the reins, and laid it against her chest as if the sight was too much for her caring heart to take. Then she shook her head, and Christol saw the untamed magic cloud her eyes once again.

  He sent a silent thought to Gallant. Can you catch her my friend?

  I will.

  The pure love, dedication and determination of his mount’s reply humbled Christol, and filled him with awe. Awe that a creature so magnificent would bend its will to his even to the point of such pain. For, Christol also felt Gallant’s pain as he touched the horse’s mind. Felt the muscles trembling with fatigue and the heart straining to keep its blood pumping.

  I will protect you. And, he sent an image of a warm, sheltered barn filled with the scent of sweet hay, clover and alfalfa to the exhausted animal.

  I know.

  And, Christol swore he heard the animal smile along with its unshakable trust in its master.

  With a powerful leap, the warhorse, bounded ahead and within to log lengths was beside Ellora. Christol reached out for the reins, and tore them from her hands while sending a message to the hunter she round. I need you to stop, please.

  The exhausted animal would have responded with eager willingness even if Christol’s magic had not compelled it do so. Yet, even as Christol sent a welcoming response to its compliance, Ellora lashed out him with a fury borne of both frustration and insanity.

  “How dare you, lay hands on me.”

  “Ellora, Ellora. Listen to me please. It’s me, Christol.”

  He tried to reach her the same way he could reach the animal’s, and was not surprised to find that his magic had no effect on humans. Instead, he tried again with words. “Ellora, remember, remember who you are. Remember, your love. Your love of all living beings. Your love for goodness and mercy and compassion. Remember how you care for others. Remember how you tend to them, provide for them, and help them. Remember, Ellora, remember.”

  Her eyes shifted to him, but they held the same wary look that he had seen in the eyes of a colicking horse. Fear, pain, and the need to escape it made her emerald eyes as big as the jewels on Vail’s crown. Recognizing this, he tried the same approach he would use on one of his dying steeds. One designed to comfort and calm to ease the transition from this life to the next. His instinctual love for them and for her motivated him to help her in the same way not knowing if it would even help.

  His voice was low, soothing, devoid of any anxiety, and it thrummed with the power of his magic. “Ellora,” he whispered, “it’s going to be okay. There is nothing to fear. We can make it through this. We always have, remember?”

  He reached a cautious hand toward her, and when she didn’t shy away, he touched her gently and began to stroke her arm. Tenderness and compassion filled every caress. It was the same way he would stroke the neck of a downed horse. With the same overwhelming love he continued, “Remember, who you are. Remember our love?”

  This was a question, an
d he waited, watching her for any response as he continued to run his fingers up to her shoulder. He kneaded it with soft, but firm strokes. He almost smiled as he realized what he was doing, how he was treating her as if she were one of his injured and frightened beasts. But, the smile faltered as he realized she was far from that. She was his love, and she was more powerful than she had ever been, and she was in trouble.

  When he felt her shoulder relax, he knew he had reached her. “Ellora, remember?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Holding back a sign of relief was almost more than he could manage, but he did as he remembered not to startle her. Somewhere behind him, he heard the approaching hoof beats of Riesa and Stephye’s mounts, and sending a mental command to them, he told them to stop and be still. The last thing any of them needed now was for The Huntress to consume Ellora again.

  “Ellora,” he said, turning his attention back to her, “look.”

  She raised her eyes to forest, and this time her eyes widened in shock. Flames shot between the trees, and smoke billowed toward the sky in thunderheads of death. Her nostrils also widened at the smoke and the scents of the dying it held. “We aren’t going to make it the river are we? She asked.

  “No.” He sent another message to Riesa and Stephye’s mounts showing them pictures of a horse in full gallop while sending a short prayer to the Goddess that neither one of them fell off.

  “Ellora, you can protect us from this. You have the magic.”

  The wildness returned to her eyes, but Christol held her firm. “Remember, who you are. Ellora save us.”

  Stephye and Riesa charged into the clearing their horses’ heaving sides making it clear they could go no further.

  “Ellora…”

  The fear, the anguish, the anger and the frustration that warred within her turned Ellora’s beautiful features into a mask of pain as she struggled for control. But, it was Gallant’s collapse that pushed her over the edge.