Through the Dark Wood

by Geno Allen

  From the direction Zam approached it had seemed little more than a modest hill, but looking out north and west from this vantage point it dropped swiftly away as a mountain. He had thought of Darlandis as the Darlandis Wood because that was the picture painted by all who had spoken of it. However, Darlandis was in fact a wide-open country, awesome to behold. The grandeur of it took his breath away.

  The sun floated a short distance above the horizon, painting the land in soft shades of pink and orange. Far off to the north at the base of a great mountain Zam’s mind perceived great ruins too distant for any eye to see. He didn’t yet understand that it was not his eyes that revealed them to him. Perhaps that is castle from Molly's painting. He also saw wide-open swaths of land with no trees—with no life at all—from the mountain top, but other areas still teemed with life: beautiful woodlands far to the west, several lakes scattered across the land, rivers branching this way and that, and even what might have once been farmland. “Such beauty in so fearful a place.”

  A good distance to the northeast along a ridge there rested another set of ruins, closer and intriguing. His heart leapt at the thought of exploring them. He was slowly becoming the adventurer he'd longed to be. I understand why the first kings reigned here. It is the most beautiful and fearsome land I could ever imagine. A little farther east the trees grew into a thick and tangled forest again. In the midst of them a great rift dropped off. “That must be where the river Moriella runs through the wood.”

  Zam looked to his map to compare it with the terrain, and he was dismayed to find he had traveled farther west than he ought. If he were reading the map correctly, there was a great sheer rock face between him and the path he should have taken. He scanned the tree line for a sign his readings were true, and a short way to the east a rocky mound rose and sloped southward reaching miles behind him. The trees seemed to dip lower and lower beneath the rock face the farther Zam looked.

  How he had passed that wall without knowing it, he was unsure, but he would have to backtrack quite a distance if he were to return to the path Galwen had outlined. He traced the wall northward and found a chink in it, a steep drop that a short distance farther shot back to the height of the rest. There must be a path hewn into the rock there... perhaps by the ancient kings themselves. If he chose to travel north he would reach the breach in a day or two, which would keep him making progress. I simply can’t turn back. I will lose too much time. “Didn't the first message tell me to travel north anyway?” He nodded to himself. It did… I will make my way to the breach. But first...

  Zam was growing very tired after his sleepless night, and he’d heard no sounds of any creatures following for some time. He decided the hilltop would be as good a place as any to rest a while, and better than some. He used his tattered cloak as a pillow, lay down, and closed his eyes, craving sleep. A moment later, a sharp cry rang out from the air above. Zam looked skyward. A great bird was swooping down on him.

  He pulled his sword from its sheath and jumped to his feet, ready to strike. Following the creature in its descent, he realized it was much larger than him—without even considering the wings. It plummeted toward him, gaining momentum, its golden feathers practically glowing in the sunlight. The impact would crush him even if his sword found its mark. But just as the mammoth bird came within blade’s reach, it veered behind him and snatched up a large wolf-like creature that had been creeping up. Zam swirled to meet the bird with his blade, only then realizing what had happened.

  The hairy beast in its talons was like no creature Zam had ever seen or heard of. It had more mouth than head, and its gaping jaw could have easily seized the whole width of Zam’s body. Its beady eyes were set into a brow that stood barely an inch above its snout. Its chest was the size of a boulder, its matted black frame large and sinuous, a creature made for stalking large prey and devouring it quickly. The great bird now streaked away with quarry in claw. The hunter hunted. The devourer soon to be devoured.

  Zam’s heart beat rapidly as the realization struck him, Were it not for that bird, I would be dead now, and Raine would never be rescued. He was frozen to the spot, grateful to the bird that a moment ago he'd hoped to slay. Now he was more afraid of failing than ever, and he couldn’t decide, Continue or rest? His exhaustion was acute. Surely I won’t be in any way keen enough to travel the wood at night, as tired as I am now. He’d nearly decided when another of the large-mouthed creatures burst onto the hilltop.

  This one faced him, snarling. It was silver-gray and much larger than the first—it stood to the height of Zam’s chest. Zam crouched, ready, sword in hand. The creature sniffed the air, searching for the scent of the other hunter. It sat on its haunches, still facing Zam and stopped snarling. It peered at him almost thoughtfully.

  Zam watched the creature carefully. After a short time, it stood, looked him in the eye, seemed almost to bow to him, and then departed eastward down the slope.

  He didn't believe his eyes. What just happened? That creature didn't really just bow to me, did it? Perhaps it’s a trick... to come upon me when I am unprepared. “I must simply remain prepared.” He chose to press on through his exhaustion, keeping his sword drawn except when to do so would hinder safe navigation of obstacles in his path.

  Several hours passed and weariness began to take a toll on him, but still he pushed forward. A few times he heard the sound of… something… in the distance and tried not to consider it too much. Every now and again birds flitted overhead singing sweet songs that lightened his heart. But over and over he recalled the events on the hilltop—how close he’d come to death—and it sapped his strength. “Were it not for that bird I'd be dead.” He asked the air, “How can I continue in this place without rest? I will fail if exhaustion takes my wits from me. I should have known I was being followed.” He felt defeated and the journey had barely begun.

  Zam's senses were so overwhelmed with the recent dark events that he didn't notice the beauty of the wood was diminished and there were fewer of the trees that seemed to bring him hope. Everything was dreary. Even the sky seemed covered in a thin, dark cloak, veiling the beauty that could in more pleasant lands be seen and felt when gazing up. The sky—he didn't realize it was shifting from brilliant blue to soft hues of pink. Nor did he notice the sun as its orb first touched the horizon. He plodded wearily on until the first hint of rustling in the brush wove through his bleary thoughts and reached the place inside him where fear and action reside.

  He suddenly looked up, alert to his surroundings. The sun was down, the sky a deep indigo and the horizon trimmed with only a hint of golden light. He sprang to action, gathering what he could to make a fire as rustling creatures of the night crept close again. They seemed to be approaching from every side. And there were more this night.

  Flint struck rock, and sparks flew, illuminating the surroundings again and again like flashes of lightning on a stormy night. With each flash Zam thought he saw shadowy creatures drawing ever closer. He tried not to notice and kept his mind on the task, but fears he’d never known before grew inside him. Did I make the wrong choice making for the breach? He wondered where that help along the road was. “Elyon? Don’t let it end now... not now.”

  Zam didn't notice, but once when he struck the flint a spark was lifted into the air and caught on a gentle breeze which did not end its light, but carried it, floating softly, almost liltingly, like music on the air until it landed gracefully, as if placed by hand, into a dead bush nearby. The withered plant erupted into flame at the touch, and a creature hidden within it let out an angered, agonizing cry, darting away and trailing fire behind it. Zam was startled by the outburst, and many creatures that had been close by rushed away in several directions.

  The blaze was fewer than ten paces from him. He rushed toward it, grabbed a burning branch, and waved it wildly in the dark, fearing what awaited him. After a time the blaze began to dwindle and Zam had the presence of mind to gather wood for a campfire. Using the remaining flames from the bush
, Zam lit his fire and the very moment that fire was sustained, the blazing bush blinked out.

  It occurred to him that he'd taken Galwen's advice and had not even noticed it. The wisest thing in this case had been what now seemed most foolish: him rushing toward the blazing bush. It could have spread wildly, consuming me and the woods. But just as Galwen said, he had simply known. The uncontrolled fire in that moment was safety.

  The rush of excitement began to wear off and Zam felt more weary than before. He built the fire as large as he could, hoping to catch some sleep before it died and gave the dark-dwelling creatures an opportunity to approach. He lay on the ground as close as he could without being singed, his body numb with exhaustion. The moment he closed his eyes, he began drifting into sleep. They snapped open again. A voice in the back of his mind told him, to sleep tonight means death.

  He leapt to his feet and peered into the darkness. Pairs of eyes hovered there, catching light from the fire, unwavering in their gaze. He counted twenty-three creatures lurking just far enough in the darkness that they seemed only to be eyes. Glad he had gathered enough wood to keep the fire going, he wondered, How will I ever stay awake? There are so many tonight and they’re so close.

  He began pacing around the fire. His body weak, and his mind swimming at the challenge of fighting off sleep. “Reading... I’ll read to myself, aloud.” He pulled out his book. “But if I sit I will sleep. I must walk and read.”

  Dread poured through him at the thought of how long the journey would be to the slave market. “I cannot do this every night. Soon sleep won’t be an option.” Despair welled up and he shouted, “And those creatures in the dark will have me!” He slumped to the ground, weakened, nearly resigning himself to sleep, even knowing it would be his end.

  From somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a voice said, Just read, Zam... just read. Zam stood up and opened the book. He wiped sleep from his eyes, peered at the eyes in the dark, and said, “You will not have me.” The words came with strength that increased at the speaking. “You will not have me!”

  Zam opened his book. Graffeon had told him it was a book of poems, proverbs, and a few stories. Tonight he found the first story and began to read aloud....

  Of the Fall of Terrindel the Tyrant King

  and the Birth of the New Kingdom

  In the last year of the reign of King Terrindel, a messenger was dispatched to the region of Billowing Pools in western Darlandis. There in a small village lived two brothers, well learned young men, Zamora and Kamm by name, sons of Braunhart, hero to all who dwelt in Darlandis.

  Braunhart’s exploits in keeping back the invaders from Coriaer won him greater respect than the king in the eyes of the people. For Terrindel, although not yet too old to fight, refused to go to war even when war came against his lands. Rarely was he heard from in those years, save to increase a tax or demand more men join his armies. Unknown to all, Terrindel held counsel with dark beings, seeking a means to extend his life and thereby his reign.

  One day the king's dark counselors bid him call Braunhart to Cirin Darlanden—the capitol city—to be honored by the king. In duty and with a heavy heart, Braunhart left Billowing Pools and his sons to go and answer the king's call.

  Upon arriving in the city he was greeted by a great throng, cheering and crying out, “Hail Braunhart! Hail Darlandis’ protector!” The cry rose so loudly that King Terrindel, yet in his castle, heard with clarity the people’s shouts, and by discernment their hearts. Into his own heart crept fear and anger, and his dark advisers worked treachery within him. Before the day was out, Braunhart was charged with attempting to murder the king and was executed.

  A shadow and a whisper spread claiming Braunhart, overcome by the people's praise, found the king in poor health and moved to take his crown. In the minds and hearts of many throughout Darlandis Braunhart deserved to be king, so the lie was piercing and left the peoples torn. Many believed Terrindel's account.

  When word reached Billowing Pools, Zamora and Kamm refused the tale, knowing the king lied. All in that region knew the ever-championing Braunhart to be beyond such villainy.

  On the eleventh day of the third month from Braunhart's murder, the messenger arrived at the home of Braunhart's boys.

  Zamora, the eldest, came forth to greet him. “My father is no more, Good Sir. If you have business, it must be conducted with me.”

  “It is not your father I seek, young one. I know of his tragic end. My business is with the sons of Braunhart.”

  Zamora was bewildered at that, and fetched his brother. Together they sat with the messenger and talked a long while. He detailed for them a plan conceived by his master, Elyon, that they should take the headship of the country.

  “You must journey to Cirin Darlanden, and along the way seek out and slay the one called, in man speech, Mim. It was Mim who tainted the king's mind. Early in the king's reign he was known as Terrindel the Kind, the greatest king in generations, but in his later years he fell to the patterns of his forefathers and gained for himself the name Terrindel the Tyrant. It was Mim who brought the counselors that convinced the king to kill your father. You must first go to the smith. There you will forge two swords, and when your blades are done, the time for battle will come.”

  Zamora and Kamm were unsure. They were more scholars than warriors, and neither had ever forged a sword. How could they accomplish what the messenger suggested?

  Before the brothers could argue the point, the messenger vanished, leaving behind a scroll and a small book.

  Zamora, though perplexed by the news, was elated. The messenger told him that he was to be king, and that meant he could avenge the death of his father.

  Kamm, though younger, weighed the cost more deeply and searched the book that was left behind for wisdom. In the years that followed, that wariness served him well as the high captain of his brother’s army… but those are other tales.

  After much discussion the brothers agreed they would follow the plan set before them. Kamm declared, “If Elyon will it, I will follow.”

  Zamora agreed, but did not understand the depth of Kamm’s words, for following this plan meant Kamm would be Zamora's servant all his days. Kamm determined still to follow, and together they set out for the blacksmith.

  Zam paused. “I feel for you two… though at least you were given specifics.” He looked about. The night had deepened, but the sky seemed clearer. The stars shone brightly and the moon had slipped out from behind a veil of clouds, illuminating the woods. The eyes in the dark remained, huddling closer to the trees, clinging to the deeper shadows.

  Zam felt the same wariness that Kamm had felt in taking on the quest that lay before him. He felt a kinship with the younger brother.

  The brothers crossed the village to the blacksmith’s shop where they were greeted by an old man, a stranger to Billowing Pools. He was pleasant enough, and bent slightly from years of hard work.

  “Braunhart’s boys! You’re right on time.”

  Zamora's mind was filled with his future. He did not wish to deal with a peasant when such important tasks lay ahead. “What is it, Old Man?”

  The stranger smiled. “The messenger who visited you knew you would assume he meant the town's blacksmith, but it was, in point of fact, Allejair, the Swordsmith of Dorinden Dell, that he intended you to seek.”

  Kamm frowned. Dorinden Dell was a month’s ride beyond the Tangleweave Wood, and Tangleweave was easily a five weeks from Billowing Pools.

  Zamora spoke sternly. “The path you suggest is not a road to travel lightly.”

  The old one nodded. “Not to be traveled lightly, but to be traveled… by the sons of Braunhart. That is where you will make the swords the messenger bid you make.”

  Zamora’s impatience peeked. He brushed past the stranger, who forced a scroll into his hand as he stepped past. Zamora stopped in his tracks. It was sealed with Braunhart’s seal. When he turned back the old man was gone. Kamm had witnessed the vanishing.

 
The scroll was a message from their father, who had known he would not survive his visit with the king. In part it read, ‘Act as I would act in the face of danger, boldly but with wisdom. Seek the betterment of all who would follow you, and never seek vengeance.’

  The brothers were moved by their father’s direction and journeyed across the land, through Tangleweave Wood, and on to Dorinden Dell.

  Zam read of their travels and made reckoning of where their journey took them and compared it to the view from the bald hill, which if he reckoned rightly, was part of the mountainous range known as Rendift which rose sharply in eastern Darlandis and ran gently down a great many miles in either direction. He continued to read.

  Allejair would not allow them to smith a sword without first being trained in the art of it. Kamm flourished under Allejair’s tutelage and quickly developed prodigious skill, but Zamora's impatience prevented his creating anything of true quality. His eye was on a prize so far away that he could not be bothered with that which was right before him.

  On the last day of the third month’s training, Allejair stood with Kamm at the forge. “Now is your time, Kamm. You will forge the sword of the king.”

  Zamora heard this and argued. “If I am to be the king, and it is to be the sword of the king, I should be the one to forge it.”

  The wise old weaponsmith looked hard into Zamora’s eyes, his gaze piercing the future king's heart. His words were later inscribed, as a reminder, on the high king’s throne: “To be king, your mind must be here, now, not running forward to victories yet un-won or kingdoms yet to be built. Wise men study, plan, and put to use the wisdom they have been given. A good king gives place to the talents of those who serve him, knowing their deeds to be deeds of love.”