by Gwynn White
“Ellora, he’s dying,” Christol pleaded as he jumped off the struggling animal. “Save us!”
Chapter Six
“You may leave, now,” the Wizard commanded, giving the two guards stationed before the room the locals called, “the examination room.” It was where Vail examined those he wished to extract information from the unwilling. It was, more simply put, his torture chamber.
He stared down at the broken and bleeding thing that bore little resemblance to a human being. “It will take a lot of magic to rebuild him,” he thought. A deep sigh, one of sorrow and regret, escaped him as he stretched out his hand over the body. Soft light encased the form and a shudder ran through the rags that covered it. “Just enough to take the edge off the pain,” Vail muttered. “He must still suffer so that he can learn what must be done. Pain is the only way to teach him. I know.”
When the bundle of rags, bones and pain stopped shuddering, he scooped it up in his arms and carried Jogli out of the examination room. The guards had left as ordered so he carried his apprentice, unnoticed, to his private chambers. Laying the young man on his bed, he stripped away the bloody clothing and then once again touched him with his magic. “Awaken,” he commanded.
Only Jogli’s one eye responded as the rest of his body was incapable of obeying the command. He groaned, as he could no longer even scream. All the screaming was hours ago, and his throat, burned raw, would not function. Vail stared at the younger man’s eye, thinking and wondering what it would take to make his neophyte understand the importance of mastering the magic. It’s his only hope. The only way he can survive.
The wizard laid a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, and felt him shudder at the pain of the touch. With a slight movement of his head, he looked away from the ruined body as he commanded the magic to begin cauterizing the wounds and knitting the bones back together. When he withdrew his hand, Jogli’s own sticky dark blood covered it, and he choked back a gag at the smell even as it triggered a memory of his own painful torture at his father’s hands.
“You see what happens when you disobey, boy? You brought this on yourself. All you needed to do was guard the perimeter. Yet you allowed the dragons to burn the fields. Why?” The memory shook him and the world around him shrank to a single place in time. A place of pain and agony.
Another bolt of magic arched through him, and Vail’s back twisted with pain. Tears crept from the corner of his eyes, but he knew better than to cry out. Nothing would infuriate his father more quickly than any sign of weakness. The wizards of the Draekhen Mountains were conquerors and rulers, and invulnerable. It seemed he had heard this for as long as he remembered, and for as long as he remembered he had never been able to achieve it. Today’s punishment was the result of once again failing to please his father and living up to his expectations.
“I tried, father…” Vail had moaned.
“Trying is not enough, you know that.”
Another searing assault of magic tore through him. This one took the physical manifestation of a dagger, and the young Vail of his memories began to bleed from its jagged slashing.
“Does trying keep the dragons at bay? Does trying save the crops? Does trying really accomplish anything?”
Once again, his father’s magic assailed him, and through the haze of pain, and again he could smell his coppery blood and hear it dripping on the stone floor.
“No, father, no…”
The older wizard interrupted, “That is correct. It doesn’t mean a thing. You must succeed. You will succeed.”
The salty-metallic smell of his blood and the sound of it pattering against the stones were his last memories of that day, and of his father. The memory of those smells and sounds coming from the young man before him filled him with pity for his adopted son, Jogli, and his need for healing.
“Jogli, Jogli,” he sighed. “What am I supposed to do? You need to learn, and succeed, and you simply are not doing so? What am I going to do with you? Trying isn’t good enough. You must succeed. Only success with magic can protect you. And, I must protect you if you cannot protect yourself.”
He turned away from the slowly healing body, his magic ensuring that it would heal, but slowly. Slowly enough that the young wizard-to-be would feel the pain of every bone and every organ being knit back together. He paused in mid-step, rounded back on his victim. “Well then, if you won’t obey to save yourself. I know who you would do it for.”
He spun back toward the door. Jogli watched him leave. Helpless to stop him, helpless to do anything but lie on the bed like a slap of butchered meat. However, his helplessness did force a tear from the corner of his one good eye, and the parts of him that had been healed shuddered at the thought of what awaited his guards and conscripts.
Maura sneezed at the backwash of dust the landing dragon’s wings blew into her cave. “I really need to do something about that,” she muttered, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Its sulfur-laden breath seeped also crept up her nose, and it wrinkled up in disgust. “Need to do something about that, too.”
As the dragon’s claws racked the cave ledge, gripping onto it for balance, it threw back its head and flamed the air above. Maura’s lips curled into a half-sneer, half-smile as she watched it fight its magical tether. Crossing her arms over her chest, she scratched gently at the rash covering her arms. It wasn’t bothersome, and had become more of a habit than a need for relief from the physical reaction of being too close to dragon kind. She was aware, though, that she would need to release the beast soon. Dwelling in close proximity to dragons would result in death as the human body reacted to poisons they carried. Even wizards and witches were not immune, and no spell, written or spoken, could change that.
“Flaming Goddess,” she cursed. “You think you thought of everything. Well, Athgaard has other ideas. And, I, for one, happen to believe he will triumph.”
“Dragon,” she called out the cave mouth. “You did well today. That wizard’s boy won’t be bothering me anytime soon.”
The beast’s furious thoughts beat against her mind, trying to penetrate her magical shields. However, it was like trying to shatter a lead-paned window with a fireplace bellow; they pumped and battered, but couldn’t beat down her controls. It vented its rage with a flaming roar that only resulted in Maura pulling its invisible chains tighter and shorter.
“I was told, a long time ago, that a short leash is best. I think you would do well to remember that, dragon, or I might just have to end this relationship sooner than either of us would like.” She flicked the forefinger of her left hand at the creature, and smiled as a bolt of magic shot towards it. It was so large that she couldn’t have missed no matter where she had pointed. Its thunderous roar of pain tumbled rocks from the cavern walls and she knew she had hit a tender spot.
“You would do well to remember who is the master, here, beast,” she said, turning her back on the animal. “And, if you cease your struggles, I may feed you today. Then again, I may not.”
Christol’s cries were a branding iron on Ellora’s heart. Searing through her own desires, fears and pain. They marked her forever, and forced her to action. Jumping from the saddle, she landed next to Gallant. With her arms wide, she called upon the Goddess.
“Hear me, Creator. Come to our aid. Your children need you.”
Stephye and Riesa rode into the clearing, dismounted and formed a circle around Gallant and Christol. And both, seeing the desperation on Christol’s face, knew it was not the time to interrupt the priestess in spite of the smoke that began curling around their feet, stinging their eyes and choking their every breath.
“Goddess, we beseech you. Help us, now,” Ellora lowered her arms, and looked around. Puzzle lines creased her forehead, and she rubbed it in confusion. “Something’s not right. She’s not here. I can’t feel her. I can’t feel her magic.”
“Goddess, please answer me.” Ellora spun around. Her arms extended as she pleaded for the Goddess to hear her.
Nothing.
<
br /> No tingle of magic to announce the goddess's presence. No stirring of the leaves on the breeze, no lifting of the heart and the spirits. Only the continual rising of flame and smoke, answered Ellora’s pleas. “Goddess, please,” and this time Ellora’s please were only a faint whisper. The whisper of a dying hope, the last breath of a lost faith.
Riesa also felt nothing. Trained to sense the Goddess’ presence, trained to serve in the high priestess’ absence, Riesa keenly felt the emptiness “Something’s very wrong,” Riesa whispered to Stephye. “The Goddess is no longer with her. I knew this was a possibility when the Huntress consumed her, but I hoped it wouldn’t happen.”
Stephye said nothing. With the same surety of foreknowing that he’d experienced when Christol had gone missing, he now felt assured that Riesa would know what to do. However, the foreknowing provided him with no comfort. His gift of foresight usually wasn’t comforting, and this time wasn’t any different. “Riesa, no. You can’t do it. Please, please, Riesa, listen to me.”
She turned toward him, her eyes locking onto his. The chains of their love holding their gaze in spite of the flames that now flickered at the edges of their vision. “I love you, Stephye. I have loved you since we were children together and you foresaw this love. But…” She pulled her eyes away from his.
“You can’t. You will die.”
“No, I will be taken care of. Ellora forsook the goddess, and now the goddess has forsaken her. I was trained for this, and now I must do as the Goddess commands.”
“But, this means we can’t marry, have children…”
“There’s no more time, Stephye. I must act now.” And, lifting her arms high above her head, she whispered the words the Goddess wanted to hear.
A new wind entered the clearing, blowing back the flames and creating a safe path to the river. The fire crawled up this invisible wall, burning at its edges, but never crossing over.
“Christol, can you help Gallant?” Riesa asked.
The mighty warhorse lay on his side, his chest heaving, and foam frothing around his bit. Christol laid his hand gently on the majestic animal’s forehead, and sent a wave of pure affection, love and admiration toward the animal. He pictured water, grain, and sweet feed and used his own life energy to feed his mount. With the tenderness that only a true animal healer possessed, one who not only talked to animals but felt what they felt, and who put their needs above their own, Christol urged Gallant to his feet. Once standing, the mighty beast nudged his master with his nose, and tossed his mane in the Goddess borne wind.
“Excellent,” Riesa said, “Can you help the others?”
Christol went from mount to mount, touching, healing and feeding each in turn. As he finished, he turned to Ellora, stumbling over bits of wind-blown branches, and looking up he saw tears streaming now her face.
“Your lips are as pale as yesterday’s cold ashes,” she cried, jumping off her mount and running to him, “and I’m just as useless. Even more so at least ashes are used to create lye to clean dishes. I can do nothing now.”
She used her body’s natural strength gained from running, tracking and hunting to hold him up and lead him to Gallant. Making a stirrup with her hands, she gave him a foot up even as Gallant folded his front legs down, lowering himself closer to his depleted mounts. The horse rose to his feet when Christol firmly gained his seat. He turned to Ellora, “I wouldn’t exactly call that nothing.”
“I would, “she said turning her back on him.
“I wouldn’t either,” Riesa said riding over to join them. “You are still the Huntress, and you still have work to do for the Goddess.”
“I won’t. I refuse to serve her any longer.”
“You have no choice.” The Goddess now spoke through Riesa, and her voice commanded. “We ride to the Avalond River, and then to the Halls of Marbeht. The Wizard Vail must be removed from Mithlonde. All of you must complete this journey. You will do as the High Priestess commands.”
Stephye and Christol only exchanged confused looks, while Ellora’s deep sigh of frustration competed with the magic borne wind that held the flames at bay. “I am only going as far as the river and once we are safe from this inferno, I am going to Maura. I won’t be used. I will be free to use my magic to heal not kill.”
Christol winced at the wicked kick she aimed at her mount’s sides as she galloped off, and then did his best to catch up. He wasn’t at all sure what had happened to the woman he loved, but he knew that regardless of whatever had taken place; he wouldn’t let her face it alone. He would accompany her to Charonyde and back if that is what it took. A deep furrow of concern crossed his brow at the thought because even though he didn’t have Stephye’s gift of foresight, he had the uncomfortable feeling that the path Ellora had chosen lead directly to the gates of hell.
The summer rains had been abundant this year, and the normally placid Avalond River ran high and full. However, the small troop entered its churning waters without qualms or hesitation. It had been a long silent journey. Only the Goddess’s magical winds which held back the flames and the crackle and snap of burning trees and the thud of fallen timber provided companionship for Christol, Ellora, Riesa and Stephye as each one were lost in their own thoughts.
Riesa led and if it was as if she had been doing so for the past 10 years instead of her best friend, Ellora. She gave commands, and expected the others to follow them without question. Stephye rode behind her, watching her back, the new secure way she sat the saddle and wondered where their love stood. They were engaged to be married two moon turns from now, but high priestesses did not wed. They had no family other than their Mistress. Riesa belonged to her now, and Stephye had not had enough time to determine where he stood with her. Did she still love him even though they could no longer marry? Did she still want him at all?
Ellora rode next, head bowed, shoulders slumped in the saddle, and appearing unaware of the fire that licked at every living thing on all sides. Her misery was obvious, yet this had been her choice, and Christol didn’t understand what she had expected when she had turned her back on the Goddess. He also didn’t understand his feelings for her at this point because they seemed to have also changed.
They had been friends from the time they had crawled off their mother’s laps. He had tugged on her braids, chased her in the meadows, cornered her for her first kiss, and loved her in spite of her commitment to the Goddess. He’d been willing to take second place, knowing there would never be marriage, children or family. Yet, seeing her like this, seeing her without the fire that had illuminated her spirit left him wondering who she had become. Determined to find out, he rode up next to her, and spoke, “Ellora?”
She turned to him with a tear-streaked face.
“What is…where is your heart?”
“Christol, I…I’ve lost it all.” The tears spilled down her cheeks again and a sob shook her shoulders. “You know I never wanted the killing magic. I hated it. But, the healing. The power to ease their suffering…It’s gone, Christol. It’s gone.”
Sobbing racked her body almost threatening to unseat her. Christol knew they couldn’t stop, they had to reach the safety of the river, but he reached his hand across to where hers lay on the saddle horn. “Ellora, listen to me. You can still heal. You don’t need the magic. You know the herbs and now to make the medicines. You know how to set a bone, remove an arrow tip, stitch a wound and prevent infection.”
She looked up at him, a spark of hope glittering through the tears. “Yes, I can do those things.”
“See.”
Her hope fell along with more tears, “But, I can’t guide their spirits home,” she said.
“No, no you can’t. That is Riesa’s job now. You gave that up when you turned away from the Goddess.”
Ellora looked up at Christol, her eyes begging him to understand. “She scares me, Christol. The power, the magic, it consumes me. I don’t exist when she is in control. I am lost within her, and it is hard to find my way back to
myself. Like the fire that consumed my body, she consumes my mind, my heart, my soul.”
“Did you not trust her enough to let you go and bring you back?”
Ellora fiddled with the reins that hung loosely around the saddle horn. “I guess I didn’t. I don’t think I ever have.”
“The lack of trust is the source of your fear,” Christol replied.
“I know, but it is more than that.”
And, Christol could tell by the catch in her throat and the way she fought to find the courage to say what was on her mind that the worst was yet to come. He stroked her clasped hands with his thumb, “Tell me. What is it that is making you run from her and your destiny?”
“I…I can’t kill the dragons.” Once the words were out, she could not stop. “I hate killing. You know I always have. I hate being the one to end a life, and I won’t be the one to end a whole race of creatures. I won’t kill Vail and I won’t kill the dragons. I can’t, I simply cannot do it. Riesa can do it if she wants, if she is skilled enough. I won’t. I am going to see Maura, and I will be set free at last.”
Christol remained silent, thinking about all that he knew of his best friend and his love. She was the the Huntress, always had been. Yet at the same time, she had always hated the killing. Her training started the first day of grade school when the tests for magical skills had been perform. She outscored everyone in Mithlonde, and her selection for high priestess had not seemed to bother her. Yet, he had known about her hatred of killing. He also knew the high priestess would oversee the daily sacrifices. Now the two roles were combined, and she no longer wanted either of them. The witch Maura did appear to be the answer, a dangerous one, but an answer nonetheless.
“What exactly do you have in mind, Ellora? He asked at last.
“Getting to the river, waiting out the fire, and then leaving Riesa and Stephye to do whatever it is the Goddess has planned for her. Me, I am going to Maura.”
“I will go with you.”
