Through the Dark Wood

by Geno Allen

  Zamora was cut to the quick.

  Allejair concluded, “If a king’s sword is to be forged, Kamm will forge it, for as a forger of swords you are not worthy.”

  Zamora could not deny the truth of his teacher's words. Conceding, he humbly asked his brother to forge the sword.

  Allejair looked at Kamm. “Find your heart in the steel and find your brother’s there as well.” Then he left.

  Kamm set to work, and Zamora was awed by the precision with which his brother crafted the blade. With nearly every strike of the hammer, the beauty of the blade to come became more apparent. His would truly be the sword of a king.

  That day Zamora determined his brother more truly had the heart of a king, and ever after he questioned the wisdom in his being given the higher position.

  As Kamm crafted the twin swords, with every strike of the hammer sparks jumped into the air, appearing to him as blazing words leaping from the steel time and again. Elyon’s Flame he saw in the glow. And thus was the king's sword named.

  As other sparks skittered across the anvil, they spelled many things. One time the skittering, scorching words told him Zamora must be allowed to finish the blade. He must have a part in its creation, if he was to take the lead in its use. Zamora could not see the words but Kamm chose still to hand the hammer over and allow his brother the last three strikes.

  Kamm set to creating his own. Again the name of the sword leapt from the embers: Garchamion. And it was Garchamion that Kamm wielded later to defeat one hundred and twenty men when ambushed alone in the pass of Ellerion.

  When both blades were cooled and their hilts festooned with jewels, Braunhart’s crest, and the blade’s names, the messenger came again.

  “Mim is passing toward the river Moriella. You must arrive at the Great Bridge first. Go swiftly to destroy the villain. When your deed is done, Cirin Darlanden awaits. Terrindel will not deny you lordship of the land. He has begun to fear Mim and the counselors. And Mim, ever bent toward the dark, feels an unwelcome fear of the king’s counselors growing. The villain seeks refuge in the lands beyond Darlandis to wait there, until another king’s heart can be corrupted.”

  Zamora drew his sword, “I will be the next king, and no villain will move my heart to darkness.”

  The messenger bowed. “No fear of your heart being turned to darkness, but Mim has determined to wait many lives of men before returning to Darlandis. Mim is not a man. Mim is something other. In the ancient days he was a king, the eldest of his race. Once he was a protector of men, but through him all of his kindred were corrupted.”

  Kamm pieced together the puzzling speech. “You speak of the Great Dragon Mim, he who turned all dragons to the darkness, who incited the first Great War wherein King Rivelin IV lost his life and paved the way for King Ellerion’s line, whose defilement of the land has left it corrupted to this day.”

  “You are wise, young one. Terrindel had been the hope of a new line of kings, but his heart has been turned.”

  Zam paused in his reading and retraced the word dragon. He hadn’t concerned himself with dragons for a while, but with the reading, he had to wonder again, How many dragons live in these woods? To avoid the thought and the fear it inspired, he returned to his reading without realizing that the sky had shifted from black to deep blue, and the golden fingers of the sun were beginning to reach over the horizon.

  The brothers took the challenge, fully knowing their peril. The messenger informed them how Braunhart had wounded the dragon so that it was left flightless—the true cause of their father’s execution, and the reason Mim was forced to make for the Great Bridge spanning the river Moriella in order to leave the known kingdom and venture into the wild lands beyond.

  Zamora and Kamm rode hard to the Great Bridge. When they arrived, they feared perhaps they were too late, for there was no sign of Mim. Zamora stood upon the bridge waiting with Elyon’s Flame at the ready.

  Kamm searched the ground for any signs. “There are no tracks. Mim has not passed this way, Brother.” The words had barely left his mouth when the evil beast stalked out from the shadowed forest, surprised to be met by men.

  Zamora shouted, “Hold, Beast! And face your punishment for the lives sacrificed in your greed and for the life of our father!” Kamm took his place at his brother’s side, sword drawn.

  Mim paused, assessing the brothers before he spoke. Contempt dripped from his words. “I know not your father, insolent children, but as I have killed many men that should not surprise you. Now, make way, or I shall indulge my appetite before I cross.” The brother’s did not move.

  Kamm held Garchamion toward their enemy. “You do know our father, Villain. We are the sons of Braunhart. And you die this day!”

  The Dragon’s eyes grew wide with shock and fear. It had never thought to fear men until its encounter with Braunhart, now here stood that warrior’s sons calling him to account. Each an image of their father in strength and severity, emboldened by the duty before them. Mim trembled—something dragons are loath to do. This added fury to the creature’s speech. “You will not claim me easily, Sons of Braunhart!”

  Zamora smiled at the dragon’s words. “No. You are right, Dragon. Not easily, but we will claim you.”

  Enraged by the brothers’ lack of fear, and its own fear of them, the dragon bounded forward. It was impressive to see: the mighty beast towering above them, slashing talons, tail, and teeth. It was Garchamion that first bit the dragon, lopping free a taloned forefinger, and sending it tumbling to the river hundreds of feet below. Next Elyon’s Flame. Zamora moved with grace and speed. The dragon let loose a gale of fire at the soon-to-be king who ducked and rolled beneath the blaze, and landed a blow to the dragon’s left leg. Scales cut clean, and sinew snapped. The dragon stumbled onto the bridge, bringing its tail around to strike Zamora, but Kamm leapt with all his might, driving Garchamion down to meet the dragon’s attack. In shock Mim watched the tail fall away as the taloned finger had.

  A fury the beast had never known now fell upon it—fury laced through with the fear of death. “Die!” The dragon shouted, already spewing fire as it reached for Kamm. The younger brother stumbled back, and the heat driven before the flame scorched his arms, but that moment Zamora struck. Elyon’s Flame found its mark: The dragon’s heart. Mim’s flame evaporated. The creature turned to face the one who’d brought its ruin. The soon-to-be king stood back, sheathed his sword, and watched the beast, assured of his success.

  Dismay shone on the dragon’s face as it lowered itself completely to the ground. “You have… slain me, Son of Braunhart.” Mim struggled for breath, rage boiling. The beast reared its head back then drove forward one last time, mouth gaping, intent on crushing Zamora in its jaws, but Kamm leapt into the dragon’s maw and drove Garchamion up with all his might. The Great Dragon Mim slumped to the ground dead. The weight of the dragon’s mouth was almost too much for Kamm. Zamora helped pry the beast’s jaws open, freeing his brother.

  As Kamm stepped out he said, “Elder Brother, never let your guard down. I may not be there next time.”

  As the brothers prepared to leave, the beast erupted in flame—for you see a dragon, once dead, cannot keep balanced the fuel for its fire and the blaze that ensues will not be quenched until its supply is exhausted or a greater force is exerted upon it. Mim was a very large dragon. The fire burned for two days, leaving little of the beast but a charred carcass and glass-like scales.

  When at last the flames subsided and the brothers made their way to Cirin Darlanden, Terrindel fled from them, casting himself from the battlements rather than be shackled by his own men—who, hearing of the brothers' victory over Mim, joined with them. The tyrannous reign over Darlandis ended that day.

  The captain of Terrindel’s army crowned Braunhart’s eldest as king, and great rejoicing followed. Zamora crowned his brother a king as well, and Kamm declared before all the people his service to High King Zamora.

  In days that followed they were called The Brothe
r Kings and The Great Teachers, for the darkness that had covered the land during the reign of the tyrannous kings lifted at the start of the brothers' reign. The land prospered for many years, but then arose a new darkness and with it the people’s exodus to the wild lands beyond.

  There is much yet to tell of the Brother Kings. King Kamm, the underking, served as commander of his brother’s armies and traveled the country as Crowned Protector. Zamora remained in Cirin Darlanden and set to the gaining of wisdom, so to better lead his people, and did so well for many years of his reign.

  Here, I who write of these deeds must break off my tale, but I will add that many more great deeds followed the Brother Kings. And many a great deed will follow from those who read of them. Would that I have the privilege to write their tales as well, into larger books.

  Royal Recorder and Messenger – Graffeon”

  The sun was visible over the horizon’s rim, growing from a thin sliver to a great orb, and Zam, having read the last line, was puzzled. He had known Graffeon was old. But he had not understood how old.

  My days have grown stranger than I ever dreamed they'd be. What other strange things shall I discover in this quest?

  For the first time in several hours Zam became aware of his surroundings. The sun was up. The eyes in the woods were gone. He had made it through the night.

  He yawned and pondered resting, then thought of the silver-gray creature from the prior morning. It may still be tracking me. For a moment Zam warily looked about. It bowed to me. That was not my imagination. He put thoughts of creatures from his mind, put out what was left of the fire, and gathered his belongings. He noted the position of the sun, got his bearings, and began his march again. His body was buzzing with the need for sleep, but his mind was also buzzing, with the deeds of ancient kings and with ponderings of what sort of tale he had gotten himself into. He could not help but wonder, Will my own deeds be recorded for posterity?

  Zam traveled as quickly across the terrain as his exhausted body would allow, which, in truth was not very quickly. Within an hour he came to a seemingly impassible wall of trees grown so tightly together that it was a wonder they did not strangle themselves out, and a realization struck him.

  “The Tangleweave Wood!” He felt as if he had just found an old friend. The fact that it was a dangerous place had not yet entered his mind. He thought only of the sense of connection with the kings of the past and their adventure, and the knowledge that he had chosen the correct path. Zamora and Kamm had passed through Tangleweave to the Great Bridge, and there they had met and defeated Mim, the king of all dragons.

  He knew from the tale that there were few breaks in the wall of trees and that one might search long yet not find entry into Tangleweave, but if he could find his way in, he would make his way to less-choked areas of wood and a road that pressed eastward to the mouth of the Pass of Ellerion, which he had determined from the story was the breach he was seeking in the rock wall.

  He followed the edge of the wood north until an opening presented itself—sooner than he had expected. In excitement and without thought, he rushed through. So dense were the trees, so high and so close together that they nearly blotted out the sun. Fear gripped Zam. He stumbled backward through the opening, and remained there, petrified, unsure what to do. This is the path, but how can I brave the dark? Those creatures are probably lurking inside, just waiting for one foolish enough to leave the light of day.

  He had nothing with which to fashion a torch. “I cannot take that path.” He stood looking at the break in the trees. Again something welled up deep within, something greater than fear. He remembered Raine, Galwen, the Dorria family. Suddenly their need was greater than his fear. Just step inside.... his mind seemed to say. So... slowly he stepped through the break again and looked up. The gaps between the branches let some light filter into Tangleweave. If the sun were directly above there would be a fair amount of light.

  For a moment he just breathed. The wood didn’t feel as close and stifling as it had when he first entered, and there was something definitely lighter in the air of Tangleweave than in the woods through which he’d already come. “A little longer,” he said quietly. “A little while longer. Let the sun rise a little higher in the sky before venturing into this wood, Zam.”

  He hoped to reach a less-choked and more defensible place before nightfall. He waited for the sun to climb, but after only a short while the need to wait was overcome by his need to press on before sleep took him. His mentally alert state wasn’t carrying the same persuasive power with his body that it had earlier. And so, though fear bade him stop, Zam began his march through Tangleweave.

  It was eerie in the dim light. There was no sound, no birds, no scurrying creatures. Just dim silence, and the quiet crunch crunch of his footsteps in the twigs and leaves. Soon a true understanding of the wood’s name came to him, for the close, nearly interwoven trees not only bordered the wood, but wove great walls through other parts of the wood as well, forcing him this direction or that. Before long he realized, I don’t know what direction I’m traveling!

  Without the sun to guide him he was lost. He thought more of Rivertowne and the Dorria family. He wished for Galwen’s aid, or Dorrin’s arm to help him not lose his footing to exhaustion. The weariness of the journey beat down on him like the blazing sun hovering over parched lands, and the sense of resolve that had moved him through the break into the wood was nearly gone. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to go on. Graffeon... Elyon... what am I to do?”

  The rest he'd earned in Rivertowne seemed a distant memory. He'd found family in his time there, and now a loneliness unlike any he’d felt before crept over him and sapped his strength even more greatly than his lack of sleep.

  “If I cannot make it three days in the dark wood….” His mind turned to Raine, and her face smiling from the painting. The peril she was sure to face would claim that smile. Perhaps forever. Determination began brewing in him afresh. He took a deep breath. That will never happen…. I must find the strength for one more push.

  And, summoning every ounce of will, he did. He pressed on for hours, moving more slowly and clumsily than he realized. Exhaustion was making its last bid for sleep, and still Zam stumbled forward, striving toward his goal. The thought that he must sleep sometime tried to dissuade him, to stop him in his tracks. “I cannot listen to that thought…. I will make it through this wood. I will find Raine.”

  Hours more passed. For a while the sun was directly overhead and finding his way through the tangled wood was easier. When the sun began to creep downward Zam could, for a brief time, catch the direction of its decent. It was drifting away in a straight line behind him. He was traveling east. “I am on the right track.” That encouraged him. “I will save Raine.” It felt good to defy aloud any thought that he might fail.

  Not long afterward, it began to grow very dim in Tangleweave, and not long after that, very dark indeed. Zam knew it was not quite night, but it might as well have been. He'd yet to find any open spaces safe enough to build a fire, and there was now a rustling in the distance.

  “Do the beasts still seek me?” He began frantically searching for wood to build a fire and discovered the ground and all the wood he touched was damp and deeply cold. It seemed the dew in this place did not leave, but rather grew day by day, compounding, leaving everything wet and the wood unsuitable for a fire.

  More rustling came from behind and beside him. The only direction that seemed safe was forward. He ran, knowing he was running for his life, forward, over rocks and around tangled walls of trees. Branches caught at him, and stones did their best to trip him. When he ran too close to a gnarled old tree he caught his foot on a root and tumbled, face first, to the ground. Mud and leaves covered him from head to toe. His face and hands were smeared with it. He scrambled to his feet, and again he heard the rustling. Wiping mud from his eyes he ran on.

  Terror was taking a firm hold on his heart as the rustling sounds increased and drew closer be
hind him. Again and again he stumbled, growing more weary with each fall. He tried with all he had not to heed the approaching sound of danger, to focus only on the path ahead. He didn’t know how he would survive, but he knew he must run.

  Time played tricks on his mind and he felt he'd been running for days when at last he saw a hint of light ahead. He doubled his speed for the joy of it, pressing for the light—dim though it was—knowing light meant safety, for a little while at least. He burst through a bramble into the light and found himself in a wide clearing with less-tangled woods beyond.

  He knew from the story there were open places in Tangleweave. He'd found one, and now tumbled to the soft, springy, dry ground and lay there facing the sky. The dim light was all that was left of the sunlight as the glorious flame made its way toward the horizon. Zam breathed heavily and dared not close his eyes for fear of falling asleep. He knew the sun would keep him safe a little while longer, so he lay there regaining his breath, and at length he looked back toward the woods from where he’d come.

  There, just at the edge of the clearing, where woods met open sky, were more of the hovering eyes from the night before, and many more than Zam had counted at first. He moved farther into the clearing, and gauged the sky.

  “Half an hour,” he said. “That’s about how long I have before they attack.”

  He surveyed his surroundings for anything with which to make a fire, and found nothing. The clearing was barren accept for the soft, springy grass. It was dry enough to burn, but Zam was sure it would spread uncontrollably. He was unwilling to do anything that might drive him back into the woods this night. A pit was forming in his stomach.

  He looked around again. The clearing was a perfect circle of grass cut into the tangled woods. He looked skyward and saw stars coming out. “If only your light were greater,” he said as a heaviness settled on his heart.