by Gwynn White
“Is it the Goddess?”
“It must be. Who else could it be?”
“I don’t know,” Ellora’s best friend and priestess in training replied.
“Riesa, I am scared. If this is the Goddess then the Goddess I am serving is not very nice. In fact, I don’t think she is nice at all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I wanted to kill something.” Ellora’s flowing tears were staining Riesa’s blouse, but she pulled her tighter ignoring them. “And, she didn’t even care what happened to Bydern. What kind of being is she?”
“I hate killing. I always have. But this, this thing wanted me to just go and kill something because it was angry. Oh, Riesa what am I going to do?”
Maura watched Ellora and Riesa as her earth magic sunk deep beneath the Miaga Marsh. Even she wouldn’t attempt to match the being that they called the Miaga Marsh. She possessed the same limited knowledge of its true nature, as did the Goddess Ellora served. She chuckled to herself at the thought of Wizard Vail’s limited knowledge that didn’t come close to matching either hers or the Goddess’s knowledge of the Miaga Marsh.
However, as she listened to the conversation between Ellora and Jogli, her thoughts took some interesting twists and blossomed with evil flowers. Blooms that would bring her power and others despair. If she could get both the Goddess’s High Priestess and Wizard Vail’s apprentice mage under her control, then her ability to control the dragons, and thus all of Mithlonde would be unstoppable.
Only the dragons could resist her magic. No other living being, outside of the Miaga Marsh, could resist her magic. Thus, she could find anyone at any time and in any place, even in the Marsh, and see their actions and hear their conversations. She smiled again when she remembered Jogli’s accounting of Vail’s wish to use Christol’s powers to control the dragons. It would fit into her plans quite nicely, and as she watched Ellora breakdown into tears in Riesa’s arms she became more positive that she had an easy way to convince Ellora to strike a deal with her. Of, Jogli, she wasn’t quite as certain. It occurred to her that she needed more information about Vail’s sidekick: his history, how he came to belong to the wizard and what parts of that information would prove useful. They both wanted nothing more to do with magic. She grinned at her certainty of that fact. What she needed now were tools to convince that the price they would be required to pay would work toward their freedom. She grinned again, wider, showing a mouth full missing teeth and the few that remained were rotten and foul. Her breath faired no better. It made no matter to her. Her only companions were the hapless dragons she managed to capture and control with her magic. She had no friends, but that did not matter to her. In the many centuries of her life, she could remember neither her parents nor a single friend. Yet, she shed no tears for that.
She’d blocked the dragon flames that had devoured her village so many centuries ago, and with them her parents and her friends. Even the village where she lived, whose name she had long forgotten, time had either swept it away or buried it. She didn’t even sigh at these facts because they were beyond her recall. She lived from day to day daring only to dream of the day when she ruled all of the dragons and, Mithlonde be dammed in the process.
Worry filled each pacing step as Wizard Vail strode his private chambers with clipped, precise steps. Twelve steps to the door of the chamber and eleven to the hearth fire, and the back again. He’d been engaged in this process ever since he lost contact with Jogli. He couldn’t ever admit his real feelings for the young man, couldn’t admit that he might actually love the boy, but worry he could do and did.
The worry began the moment he realized the path Jogli was taking back to the Halls of Marbeht. He cursed himself, without ever admitting he’d been wrong, for telling the boy to come back immediately. Knowing Jogli’s fear of punishment, he should have known his apprentice would rather face the terrors of the Miaga Marsh than face the punishments he doled out.
He grimaced at the last thought. He only did it so Jogli would never have to suffer what he suffered. He knew when he rescued Jogli from the gutters of Thonevrond, the boy possessed magical abilities, but no one recognized them in a blind, crippled gutter-rat. But, Vail did because he’d been such a child with magical abilities. Quickly identified, quickly exploited, and his master made sure he'd been severely punished for failure. The beatings he gave Jogli were nothing compared to the ones his master had used to crush his spirit into obedience. The rivers of blood, the mangled and twisted bones, the pulverized fingers and toes only made him more defiant, more determined to overcome and destroy his master. With each magical blow and a few physical ones thrown in to ensure the highest level of pain, he devised his master’s downfall. With each rehearsal of the painful death he would deal the wizard that held him captive, he grew stronger as his planning gave him power. Power his master never imagine existed.
The day came, during an especially brutal and painful training session that the boy who would become the Wizard Vail struck back. He lashed out with his magic, slashing at his gown first, and then his stomach. His entrails followed next, and Vail used a tiny flick of is little finger to wrap them around his neck. With the remaining four feet or so of the man’s intestine, he formed a noose. Then with a flip of his hand, he stripped the man naked, another wave of his hand and the man’s robes turned into a silken rope.
Vail found the man’s screams to be distinctly annoying. I never utter a sound and here he is bawling like a baby. Vail found a way to fix the situation by stuffing the man’s mouth with the only thing left on him, his silken slippers. He snapped his fingers to send them flying off his feet. Another snap, lit them on fire and stuffed them down the man’s throat as far as they would go. A quiet verbal incantation, and the silken rob attached itself to the noose made of the man’s entrails. Another muttered spell and the man was dangling from the rafter, chocking to death by his on entrails.
A pleased smile lit Wizard Vail’s eyes, but it never reached his lips. He had meted justice out that day, and the only satisfaction he received from the man’s death was that it'd had been done correctly. But, the sparkle in his eyes didn’t last but a second as he began worrying about Jogli again.
The last contact he had heard or seen from him was that of a man screams coming from the Miaga Marsh. He could admit only to himself that he cared for him, and his punishments for failing to use his magic correctly were only for the young man’s own good. Conquering his natural magic would save Jogli from others using him as he had been. Vail shook his head as he continued to pace. Why can’t I get him to see that? Why does he continue to fail over and over again? I don’t like punishing him. I really don’t, but it is for his own good.
Chapter Eleven
“I’ll have to lead with Christol tied behind me and blindfolded.”
“By the Goddess’s flames are you really going to trust him?” Riesa blurted out.
“Yes.” Ellora no longer bothered to tell her best friend that the Goddess commanded her actions, words and thoughts. She knew Riesa already knew this, and every time she repeated it to someone or even herself if made her nauseated. Fear of vomiting all over her best friend’s cloak, kept her mouth shut and her stomach quiet.
She trotted her horse to the front of the small group. “Jogli will lead, with Christol tied to his horse. He knows his way through the Marsh. We will follow at a safe distance behind them so that the Wizard Vail will not spot us through Jogli’s magical eye. Jogli will explain the rest.”
Jogli cleared his throat, uncomfortable talking to an audience he could not see. “When we are ready, you will remove my blindfold. I will communicate with Vail that I had been knocked unconscious by something within the Marsh.”
“Will he believe that? Stephye asked.
“Yes, because not even the Wizard Vail is exactly sure what the Miaga Marsh is and who or what lives here.”
“Hmm.”
Jogli ignored Stephye’s speculative non-comment and continued, “Th
e trail is a spiral up the to the top of the Halls of Marbeht. It is narrow, steep, rocky and treacherous.”
“Sounds wonderful.” This sarcastic remark came from Christol this time.
Jogli ignored him as he did Stephye, and continued. “There is a frontal entrance across the flat plains of Argellon. It is a smooth and gentle incline. However, it is an open plain and there is no where to hide. Taking the back route guarantees that we will arrive unnoticed in spite of my magical eye.”
“Have you travelled this route before?” Riesa asked.
Again, Jogli cleared his throat recognizing the voice of Ellora’s friend and priestess in training. “Well…no. I have always taken the safer route.”
Ellora interrupted his comments at this point, “Jogli, your story is not adding up correctly. If you always take the safer route, why are you taking this route if you were not following us?”
Jogli gulped and even Stephye who sat at the rear of the small group could hear it clearly. Once again he cleared his throat, and the healer in Ellora wondered if his nose and throat were infected with something. “My master made it clear to me that I must return to Marbeht as quickly as possible. He speaks to my mind directly.”
“I am aware of this,” interrupted Ellora.
Another audible gulp preceded Jogli’s next words. “Then you would also know he can show me what he would do to me if I did not obey his commands.”
Ellora nodded and the healer and priestess of the wounded and needy of Mithlonde felt compassion for the abused man.
“This is the fastest way back from where I was at the time I received the order to return. It was right after I lost control of the dragon that started the fire in the Celinor Forest.
“So, I have you to thank for that.” It wasn’t a question and Riesa sounded more than a little bitter at the remembrance of her failure to perform as High Priestess.
Ellora knew Riesa well enough to know what she really meant. She rode over to friend and wrapped her arms around her. “You did not fail. You simply did not receive the training I received. You know that.”
Riesa nodded her head on Ellora’s shoulder. “I still feel like a failure. Like I let you down. I know how much you want to be free of the Goddess.”
“You’re correct. I do want to be free. But that is not your problem. It’s mine and I’ve got it figured out.” She stroked Riesa’s soft, thick straight hair, so different from her own golden curls. She pulled away and took her friend’s tear-streaked face in her hands, turning it so she could look her in the eyes. “You are not a failure. You hunt as well as I, you heal as well as I. It is simply that the magic is not for you. Unfortunately, the Goddess chose me whether I like it or not. Understand?”
Riesa nodded in silence, and turned her head to give one of Ellora’s hands a kiss the way one would a lover. “I understand,” she smiled.
“Good.” Sitting up straight in her saddle she said, “Enough of this. Let’s get moving before darkness falls. I really don’t want to spend another night in this place.”
It appeared that everyone agreed with Ellora because they were soon saddled up and in place, Jogli in the lead with Christol tied across the saddle of a second horse, pretending unconsciousness. Ellora came next, Riesa and Stephye brought up the rear.
Ellora rode up to Jogli to remove his blindfold, but before she did, she gave Christol a quick kiss, and whispered, “I will always love you, always.”
He smiled, but didn’t answer as she rode up to Jogli and said, “Ready? Got your story in place?
“Yes ma’am, um High Priestess.”
“Just call me Ellora,” she said, “as it seems we will be partners for some time to come.” Then she whipped off his blindfold, used it to slap his horse’s backside and galloped back to her place in line. Her breasts heaved in a heavy but inaudible sigh as she watched the man she loved ride out of sight and into the heart of evil. Shrugging off her gloominess, she turned to the others, “We will wait one bell chime and then start out of here. I don’t know about you guys, but this place makes my spine curl up like it has spiders crawling on it.”
Christol, looking at the ground with a close up view as he slung over the rump of a horse had some serious doubts about this part of their plan. What plan? We never had a plan in the first place. We all just followed Ellora as she rushed off on Goddess’ business. He would’ve shaken his head in disgust, but it was too close to the pooping end of the horse and he didn’t feel like getting a face full of tail, or worse. Yet, the more he stared down at the so-called trail the more he began to worry. And, he wasn’t the only one. He could feel the beginnings of panic coming from each horse in their small party. Even if Ellora was a good half bell mark behind him and Jogli, Christol could sense the horses; feel the rising panic at the narrow, rocky trail. He thanked the Goddess, strictly out of habit, that they all had shoes. Shoes protected their frogs and bars. Christol smiled to himself, wondering how the soles of horses' hooves became known as a frogs and bars. Well, parts of it do look like frogs. I guess.
He felt one of the horses in Ellora’s group becoming particularly nervous the higher they climbed. He sent soothing thoughts of wide paths in green meadows and it calmed the animal. Soon, though it became a full-time job to keep the horses calm and the trail became narrower, steeper and rockier. He’d send out soothing images to the pack as a whole, but then one would slip and neigh, and the rest of the pack would start prancing, which was the last thing they should be doing.
He wished he could see Ellora and communicate with her the same way he did with the horses. Closing his eyes, he sent out loving thoughts toward her but he just hit a wall, a barrier. Unlike mindspeaking to the horses whose thoughts were open to him, Ellora shielded hers as if a dome surrounded her. Christol couldn’t help but wonder if the Goddess blocked his communication attempts. Now that he’d seen for himself what the Goddess could, and would do, to obtain her goals, he could easily imagine the Goddess blocking his attempts to contact Ellora. What exactly the Goddess’s goals were remained unclear to Christol, and he kind of felt that Ellora had no idea of what the Goddess wanted either besides ridding Mithlonde of the Wizard Vail.
His mind continued to puzzle out the Goddess’s hidden agenda while the other part of his mind controlled the continually and mounting panic of the horses. The incline reminded him of a ladder more than a trail, and he could understand the horses's nervousness. In fact, as far as he could tell it was spreading to the riders as well because the horses were communicating mixed commands, random jerks on the bit, and frequent stops. His minded, melded with the animals he loved, missed the first few snowflakes. When his backside started to get wet and cold, that’s when he finally realized it, was snowing.
“Hey, Jogli why is it snowing?”
“Vail keeps this back trail covered with fog, snow and ice the closer we get to the Halls of Marbeht. Even thought it is unlikely that anyone would try to enter this way.”
“I can certainly understand why.”
Christol’s sarcasm was lost on Jogli so he tried again. “Did you know about the fog, snow and ice all along?”
“Of course.”
If his hands had been free he would have either slapped his forehead or punched Jogli, he really wasn’t sure. The only thing he knew as a certainty was that their chances of making it to Marbeht’s back door had dwindled down to the impossibility range. The horses wore shoes. Iron horseshoes on ice and snow were a combination for a disaster. Either they slid on the ice, or the snow built up on them so that the horse was essentially walking on miniature stilts. Walking on stilts in ice and snow is a recipe for a broken leg. Horses with broken legs don’t survive, and neither will their riders on this narrow step trail.
As if to give proof to his ruminations, Ellora’s packhorse began slipping toward the edge. With the gentlest touch to its mind, Christol calmed the horse and guided it back onto the bath. Christol spent the next hour in single-minded concentration trying to keep the horses on the
path. “How much longer,” he growled at Jogli. “I am going to loose someone in all this mess. Horses are not meant to travel in snow and ice with their shoes on.”
“How very interesting. I didn’t know that.”
“It’s not interesting, you idiot. It’s dangerous. You want to get me to your boss, and then you had better do something quick.”
“Umm…well…I can’t. These are Vail’s spells, and I don’t know any weather spells.”
“Well, then you better start praying to the Goddess or Athgaard or whoever it is you serve because we are going to need some real help soon.” Again, Christol found himself wishing he could talk to Ellora the same way he did the horses. He tried again, and experienced the same dismal results. Just as he pulled his thoughts away from her and back to the horses, he heard a high pitch whinny of fear. Throwing his thoughts out as far as the end of their train where Stephye rode, he watched in horror as the packhorse tied to his best friend’s saddle horn began slipping off the path.
Its two back feet were already over the edge. He tried calming it, but its fear closed its mind off to Christol. It scrapped at the cliff’s rock wall looking for any place to land a hoof and found none. Christol changed his tactics and switched his thoughts to Stephye’s horse instead. Pull, he urged, flooding the horse’s mind with images of horses pulling lumber wagons, straining against their harnesses, using every muscle to pull its heavy load.
Stephye’s horse responded immediately. However, the same build up of snow and ice on its hooves prevented it from managing to save the horse and as it toppled over the edge, it pulled Stephye with it.
“Stephye!” Riesa screamed, and Christol didn’t have to see through the horses’ eyes to know what happened. Throwing himself off the horse’s rump, he ran back, slipping and sliding on the ice. He could give a rat’s flaming ass for Jogli and his plan. This was Stephye the boy who stood up for him in school; who called his mom, Mom; who covered for him when his frequent drinking binges made him late for work. He got there just as Ellora cast a spell hoping against hope the fickle Goddess would answer to save Riesa’s fiancé and Christol’s best friend. The spell worked, but only to bring back up his battered and broken body. His spirt flew free and not even Ellora could call it back.
