by A. R. Wilson
“I did before you came.”
Did he just admit to something personal? “Oh, I’m sorry I keep you from them. They’re quite amazing.”
“The Master wants you properly trained. His wishes supersede my own.”
“Maybe if I study well enough you could be allowed to visit more often.”
“Perhaps. It is unwise to take advantage of any freedoms he allows you for my own preferences.”
“I trust your judgment.”
She watched the color in his eyes darken. Was he flattered? She made a mental note to keep her tone respectful. This new Jerricoh was much easier to deal with than the one who randomly lost his temper for fear of her possible failures.
“We should get back to the castle so I can resume my studies. I made a deal with The Master and I would hate to disappoint him.”
The very edge of Jerricoh’s mouth turned up in what might have been a hint of a smile. His eyes softened from their usual brooding scowl. “As you wish.”
He offered her his elbow. Wrapping her hand in the crock of his arm, she folded her other hand over the first. The first time they walked together like this, the gesture had been forced upon her. He hadn’t imposed it since beginning this new round of studies. For which she was exceedingly grateful. But this was more of a natural gesture of respect. They rested in that comfortable silence all the way back to the castle. Though it was time for dinner, she requested the meal be brought to the library. She had hours of reading to catch up on.
CHAPTER 15
Jurren followed Tohni-Mykuhl through the forest. Kidelar had taken to staying at Jurren’s side with Arkose following a short distance behind. They crossed into an area burned to the ground, and the elf explained it came from the burning season of the previous year. Dozens of saplings stood proudly between the charred stumps.
“The growth rate of this forest is remarkable.” Kidelar seemed to be counting the tiny sprigs. “What species of tree can replenish so quickly?”
Tohni-Mykuhl stepped over a blackened trunk. “I plant them after each attack. We tend hundreds of saplings back at the village to help the forest return.”
“How long do they require to grow?” Kidelar hurried his pace to walk closer to the elf.
“These are bramble oak. They reach full maturity at roughly ten years.”
“Bramble oak.” Kidelar tested the words. “I’m not familiar with this species of oak. Does it have any unique properties?”
“Their acorns are sweet, rather than bitter, and safe to eat raw.”
“Fascinating.”
With a laugh, Jurren shook his head. No brush with death was ever enough to sate Kidelar’s appetite for plants. Jurren was certain the scholar would have taken out some charcoal and parchment if his pack hadn’t soaked through in the swamp.
“Their branches are thicker, which is a problem when the goblins invade. They’re able to climb up to the homes of the Chandrin.”
“Who are the Chandrin? The people we’re going to meet?” Kidelar continued looking around at the trees.
“Yes.”
“You said they were elves once. What did you mean by that?”
“Einiko is a powerful warlock. He is capable of altering creation itself. Centuries ago, before his birth, a cities of elves thrived in these lands. When Einiko was banished from the mountains protecting Chlopahn, he took his revenge on them first.”
They entered into a patch of green trees half the size of the ones where they fought the goblins.
“What did he do?” Kidelar walked straight into a leafy branch but didn’t brush it aside as he kept his eyes on Tohni-Mykuhl.
“Einiko use their fear to mutate them into the very weakness hidden in their hearts. He changed them into a people which resemble a cross between a frog, a lizard, and a newborn child. I have been protecting them ever since that day.”
“My word.” Kidelar put a hand to his chin. “This is the strength of the power we are up against?”
“Hope has many forms, my young scholar. Never allow your fear of the unknown to hinder your ability to see that.”
Jurren nodded. The man was definitely an elf.
They walked for what felt like hours, crossing though various areas of new and old growth. Near sunset, Tohni-Mykuhl announced they were close.
“Don’t make any sudden moves. These people have The Fear and nearly everything terrifies them.”
“What do you mean by The Fear?”
Shaking his head, Jurren put a hand on Kidelar’s shoulder and guided him to follow the elf. Questions could wait. Tohni-Mykuhl took a small, wooden collection of tubes out of his pocket. As he blew across them, they made a soft whistling noise similar to the pan flutes the musicians played back in Hess-Bren. He paused, whistled again, paused, then played a simple melody.
A few moments later, a green hand with wide fingertips appeared on the side of the tree in front of the elf. It was the size of a raccoon’s hand but shaped like some type of tree lizard. Bluish-green skin moved above the tiny grip, as a small head came into view. Eyes, no bigger than a mouse’s, blinked at them. Its head equated both of Jurren’s fists put together. Thin arms clung to the bark of the tree, then a pointed shoulder appeared.
“Greetings, my precious friend.” Tohni-Mykuhl put the whistle away. “I have brought some newcomers with me. These men helped to defeat the firewalker before it could burn a single tree.”
Black eyes blinked at each of the men as the chandrin’s head bobbed nervously.
“And they defeated every goblin in the woods as I fought to protect you. They were guided here to help us.”
Jurren caught glimpses of limbs as the chandrin scampered down the back of the tree. Coming around to the side, the chandrin gathered its hands at its chest as it stared at them. Long, gangly legs ended in feet similar to its hands. The torso, slightly more narrow than its small head, had lighter skin around the navel. Simple cloth wrapped around the waist. Its face squished into the bottom portion of its head, giving the bald scalp an infant-like appearance. Standing no taller than Jurren’s hip, it walked towards him.
“Th-thank you.” Its hands shivered on its chest.
Moving slowly and cautiously, Jurren dropped to one knee. “It is an honor to help.”
Tears formed at the corner of its black eyes.
Tohni-Mykuhl knelt next to Jurren. “May these men wash away the stench of the goblins in your pools?”
The chandrin managed a shaky nod, then held out a hand to the elf. It led them through another mile of forest, along a stream, then to a dense cropping of rock. A rush of water flowed several feet above them. The chandrin guided Tohni-Mykuhl against the rock, behind the waterfall. Beyond, a tunnel led to a wide cave. A stream of dim light filtered in from a gap in the high ceiling. Below, several pools scattered along the floor.
“The water is warmer than you think, so take your time getting in.” Tohni-Mykuhl gestured at the steam rising in the single beam of light. “I’m going to speak with the chandrin and make arrangements for a meal.”
The chandrin made a feeble gesture towards the water, then gave a single nod. Tohni-Mykuhl extended a hand, then escorted the chandrin back through the waterfall, leaving the three men alone. Kidelar took off his pack, and started laying out various items.
“What are you doing?” Arkose sat to pull off his boots.
“I’m going to wash my bedroll and every article of fabric I have. My own smell is making me ill.”
Jurren shrugged. “Good idea. No point in washing away the stink on our clothes if our gear is going to give it right back to us.”
Sitting at the edge of a pool, Jurren pulled off his boots. He dipped his feet in and felt hot water for the first time in months. The sensation took him back to memories of home. His wife would spend hours boiling water to give him a hot bath in their vat behind the barn, after he returned from a hunting trip. Would he make it back in time to protect her from what was coming? He swallowed hard, feeling guilty ab
out his own comfort. How could he enjoy himself while his family was still in danger? Knowing the bath helped to protect him from being tracked was the only thing that kept him in that soothing water. For over an hour, he scrubbed and soaked his belongs while his companions made similar splashing noises in their own pools.
The last of the sunlight had faded to an even dimmer twilight. The sounds of Tohni-Mykuhl’s return broke through Jurren’s worried reflections.
“Gentlemen, the chandrin are willing to meet you in the morning.” Tohni-Mykuhl grunted as he dropped his bundle. “I have brought some firewood to help the drying process.”
“Excellent thinking.” Kidelar stayed hunkered down in the pool.
“I also brought each of you a blanket to wrap in, until morning. It isn’t much, but it’s the best I can do.” He set one at the edge of the pools near each of them.
They worked to get sticks arranged in the shape of a rack, then started a fire. After squeezing out as much water as they could, the men hung their things to dry.
* * *
Sunrise woke Jurren with a deep rumble in his stomach. Tohni-Mykuhl helped them pack their things, then guided them into the forest. They followed the stream, and walked through another burn scar, before reaching a tree with a thin rope wrapped around it.
“This is it.” The elf pointed up.
Looking into the canopy, Jurren saw dozens of small persons like the one from yesterday. They peered down with their tiny black eyes, blinking in silence. Their thin, gangly bodies wrapped around the branches like lizards clinging to a perch.
“Merris, come down.” Tohni-Mykuhl called into the trees. “This is the man I want you to meet.”
One of the forms slunk away to the back side of a tree and worked its way down. When he landed, he clutched both hands in front of his chest. At least Jurren assumed it was male, due to the loincloth wrapped at its waist.
Tohni-Mykuhl got down on one knee, and motioned for Jurren to do the same. “This is Jurren, he is the leader of these men. Jurren, this is Merris. He is the oldest and wisest of all the chandrin people.”
Jurren held out his hand palm up. Merris took a few timid steps forward, his thin form less graceful on land than in the trees. As the chandrin accepted the greeting, Jurren noticed the hand felt wet and spongy against his skin.
“It is an honor to meet you Merris.”
“Why do you help us?” The chandrin spoke with a hesitation in his voice, as though every word took great effort to produce.
“I have lost my daughter. I was given a vision to me that shows me the path to find her. That vision told me to come here and help you.”
“I lost a daughter, as well.” Merris pulled his hand back to his chest.
“Then we share the same pain.”
“My daughter will never come back.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“Why do you search for yours?”
“As long as she lives, I will never stop searching.”
“You are brave.”
“I am only trying to do what’s right.”
Merris nodded his bluish-green, bald head. “When Einiko came the first time, I had the chance to kill him. But I was afraid. Now we are all that is left.” Motioning his froglike hand upward, he made a single sweeping motion. “They are the last of the ones who survived that day.” He then pointed to Kidelar. “If you cannot find your courage, then he will show you true fear.”
Kidelar folded his arms as though suddenly uncomfortable.
“Merris speaks the truth.” Tohni-Mykuhl reached out a hand to the chandrin and gave a nod of respect. “His people were once a great city, and now less than a hundred remain. I help them to hide, and to recover from their losses, but I am only one elf. If Einiko cannot be separated from his sword soon, they will disappear into a forgotten myth.”
“I will find it, and I will learn how to destroy it.” Jurren directed his words to Merris.
“His sword can only be touched by him. You will die if you try.”
“As a descendant from the same line of sons, I have the bloodline to wield the sword.”
Dropping to his spindly knees, Merris’s eyes filled with tears. “Is it possible?”
Tohni-Mykuhl put a hand on the chandrin’s shoulder. “I have promised you all these years that a hope is coming out of the north. That hope is now here.”
Merris inched a few steps towards Jurren, and grasped his hand. “Please, help us. I will pay any price.”
“I ask for nothing other than help to find a meal.”
His thin arms shook as he pulled on Jurren’s hand. “This way. This way.”
He guided them to a pile of acorns stored in the hollow of a dead tree. On his hands and knees, he begged them to take it all.
Jurren knelt and reached for Merris’s hand. “We will take only what we need for our journey, and nothing more. In exchange, I swear to find a way to free you and your people from Einiko’s grasp.”
* * *
Five days of wandering the labyrinth brought the fearful look on Merris’s face into painful clarity for Jurren. The fear, anger, and distrust of the peoples in Einiko’s kingdom made more sense with each place Jurren encountered. Evil had always been a vague concept of selfish intent to him. But now, that word had begun to grow in his mind. It blossomed into a waking nightmare of people tormented beyond imagination. An expression perfectly captured in the timid face of Merris, the anger of Dumarse, and the weariness of King Meridan.
“Why has neither of us experienced a flash of vision since Azredan left?” Kidelar pulled on his boots as they readied for the day.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Jurren shrugged on his pack. “But I continue to sense we’re going in the right direction.”
“Hmm.”
“The thing which bothers me the most, is why has Montanya not tried to contact us?”
“She did mention her elders were plotting against us with the Fates. Perhaps, she is trapped in her duplicitous role and currently has no freedom.”
“Hmm.”
“Any more fun creations ahead of us?” Arkose held a hand on the back of his neck.
Apprehension tickled in the back of Jurren’s mind. “You had to ask.”
“I figured it was better to ask, rather than waiting until the monster is right on top of us.”
Jurren closed his eyes to keep from scowling at his friend. “I did not sense a warning after you asked.”
“Perhaps. But like I said, you elves have a way of leaving out details.”
Looking up, he gazed into Arkose’s blank stare.
If only you understood how difficult this is for me, too. “Something different is waiting for us.”
“More different than people mutated into mindless tools of destruction? How creative can that warlock get?”
“This isn’t a creature. More like a game, or a puzzle.”
“A game? Well, that sounds like fun.”
Jurren put his palm to his forehead, bracing against the building awareness. “There is a gauntlet of fear. A place where only the strong are allowed to survive.”
Dropping his hand, he looked over at Kidelar. “Only those who can master their fears prevail in its test.”
Kidelar lowered his head as he put on his travel pack. “Is there no path around it?”
“It is a barrier surrounding Einiko’s inner kingdom. The only path, is through.”
“Unless we still had the dragons.” He wrapped his hands on the straps of his pack. “I don’t understand why we couldn’t ride them to Einiko’s castle before sending them to seek out the remaining griffins.”
Though he doubted he should tell the others, Jurren was starting to understand. Each leg of their journey opened his eyes to the evil they were up against. Had they charged in without a fight, Jurren might never know why he needed to obtain the sword. He might have even left it behind, due to his disgust of magic. But too many things had come to light during the past few weeks. Not on
ly did he need to obtain the sword, but destroy it so no one could wield it again. A month ago, he only cared about rescuing Tascana. Now, it was about the Dwarves, the people of Ransom, the Chandrins, along with everyone in Bondurant who needed help to face the goblin threat.
Einiko had set out centuries ago, to enact a master plan to enslave the world. The barrier established by the elves to contain him would not hold forever. That halfling had already learned how to communicate with his creations from the Predator’s Den to build a bridge across the Avian Expanse. For at least ten years, the goblin threat had grown in secrecy. What else more might the warlock discover as he strove to build his empire?
With the weight of the world on his shoulders, Jurren led them out. If they rationed their acorns well enough, they would last almost another week. Beyond that they needed to find another source of food. Plus water.
“So where is the entrance to this gauntlet of fear?” Arkose called over Kidelar’s shoulder to ask Jurren.
“There is no entrance.” Jurren stopped walking and turned to Arkose. “Ask me another question.”
“Like what? Why?”
“This is now the second time today your question has pushed knowledge to the front of my mind. Ask something else about what’s coming.”
His eyebrows slouched. “What else is coming?”
Though Arkose’s tone dripped with sarcasm, his words gave Jurren the desired effect. “The ground will give way to a deep valley of shadow. A cloud will spread The Fear, just as a storm sends forth rain. Those whose courage is not watered down by the torrent, will pass through unharmed.” Jurren gasped, released by the push of awareness.
“Sounds like a great game.”
“Arkose, you are so not funny.” Kidelar’s hands started to tremble.
“Wrong line scholar. That’s what we say to him.”
“Kidelar, you can do this.” Jurren put a hand on his shoulder.
“No I can’t! Have you any inkling of how terrified I was when I dropped on that snake-griffin-thing, whatever it was. To this exact minute, right here and now, I have no concept of what possessed me to undertake such an act. But even with that sliver of courage exposed, I was impotent to help in the fight against the goblins and the firewalker. I’m not brave. Not like you.”
