“No, I don’t think so. If that were true, then our efforts to banish it from our minds would not work, and I would not have been able to shield myself from it. So the question remains, how did this happen?”
“Maybe it is just that strong,” Shawna suggested quietly, “I mean, it seems to be able to do wondrous things. What is it, anyway? Where did the damned thing come from?”
“I do have a theory on that,” D’Jenn admitted, “though it is a rough theory and I don’t have much to go on for it. When you described your dream to me, Dormael, you said that you were standing in the foothills of some great mountain range.”
“Yes, high mountains. Some of the summits were hidden by cloud layer, but that could still mean nothing,” Dormael replied.
“True, but it could also mean something. This entire time it’s been trying to communicate with us, cousin. Eindor, it’s trying to tell us something. So, think about this. There aren’t many places in the world that fit the place you described.”
“It could be anywhere, D’Jenn,” Dormael objected, “There are many mountains in the world.”
“Yes, but mountains as high as you described are rare indeed. There aren’t many ranges that reach that high. Remember as well that you said you were standing in grassy foothills, and to your back stretched a great plain. Isn’t that what you told me?” D’Jenn insisted, and Dormael nodded back to him.
“And the mountains, you said they stretched as far to your left and right as you could see, correct?” D’Jenn inquired.
“I’m not sure how reliable that statement can be, cousin. It was difficult to tell direction or distance in the dream. It was somewhat distorted,” Dormael dissented, but D’Jenn pushed on.
“Still, let us think of places that meet these requirements.”
“What about the Thardish Mountains? You could have been dreaming of Thardin, or Dannon,” Shawna said, but D’Jenn shook his head doubtfully.
“Dannon is mostly grasslands, and it’s covered in snow most of the year. Thardin might be more accurate, but it is forested heavily. There aren’t many hilly regions in Thardin, and again, it lies in almost perpetual winter as well,” D’Jenn stated, his hand going to his goatee in that long practiced gesture of his.
“Well it couldn’t be Rashardia,” Dormael declared, “the mountains there are old and worn, and there is naught but moors on one side and the Golden Waste on the other.”
“Indeed. It could easily have been Lesmira or Old Galania, they both have hilly regions and they both border the Thardish Mountains,” D’Jenn mused.
“Yes, but the mountains aren’t that high there, either. True, they are high, but to be lost in the clouds…I just don’t remember them so,” Shawna objected.
“Hells, it could have been Duadan, or Farra-Jerra,” Dormael offered, and D’Jenn’s bright eyes lit up at his comment.
“Yes, yes…it does fit, doesn’t it? Both regions are hilly near the Boundary, and the Gathan Mountains are forbidding, indeed. I wonder…,” D’Jenn considered.
“Is it true what people say about those mountains? That they are inhabited by…by monsters?” Shawna asked dubiously.
“Indeed it is, dear. The Garthorin, they are called. Some people also call them the ‘Mountain Madmen’. They are brutes, and don’t care for much besides killing and eating,” Dormael replied in an offhand manner.
“What are they?” Shawna asked in a whisper.
“No one really knows anymore. Some of the older stories say that they were once men who committed some great atrocity and were cursed by the Gods. There are many legends about them, and we don’t know any of them to be true. Their history either was never written down, or it is buried so deep that no one has found it as of yet. We do know that sometime in the past someone put a great barrier up in the northern Sevenlands, to keep them out,” Dormael explained.
“Like a great wall? I’ve never heard of that,” Shawna commented.
“No, not a wall, dear, but a barrier of magic,” Dormael corrected, “We call it the Gathan Boundary. When the Garthorin try to cross it, they just die. No one can really explain it, but sometimes bodies are found up around the Boundary, undoubtedly Garthorin who had tried to cross the barrier. None make it alive. It doesn’t harm normal men, however. Sometimes raiding parties are sent into the mountains to kill the Madmen. It is something of a sport in the north.”
“So you think this armlet came from the foothills of these mountains?” Shawna asked.
“No, but we think that something there is of importance in its history. You said that there was a temple in the dream, Dormael?” D’Jenn said.
“Yes, but an ancient temple, uncovered to the sky with a stone basin in the center. I’ve never seen its like anywhere in Farra-Jerra or Duadan,” Dormael replied, musing.
“An ancient temple…Gods, Dormael,” D’Jenn exclaimed, “Orm! It could have been Orm!” Dormael let out a hiss at the mention of this, and made a sign with his right hand to ward off evil. A superstition, for sure, but one he observed. He noticed that D’Jenn made the sign as well when he realized what he had said.
“What was all that about?” Shawna inquired with a raised eyebrow, mimicking the sign Dormael and D’Jenn had made, her index and pinkie finger rising from her closed fist, and her hand passing across her chest from left to right.
“The place is cursed, Shawna. It is an evil place, now. No one has been there in a long time. Not since the Second Great War,” D’Jenn informed her with his eyes staring blankly into the fire.
“Well surely it wasn’t always so,” Shawna objected, “what happened there that has you two so closed-mouthed?” Dormael looked to his cousin, who still sat gazing into the flickering light of the fire, not even bothering to answer her. He took a deep breath, and began to explain it to her in a quiet voice.
“Nearly three hundred years ago,” he began solemnly, “while the Dannon army and the Thardish forces were fighting on Sevenlander soil, there was a temple there at Orm. It was one of our holiest places, and we held many festivals and such there to honor the Gods.
“In an effort to break our morale and force us to draw our forces out of the war, the Dannon king commanded the temple destroyed. Their armies descended on the priests and innocent civilians there, and committed many atrocities. Men and children were killed, women were raped and killed, and the temple was burnt to the ground.
“The king had all of the priests lined up on the grounds of the temple, and forced them to watch these horrors take place. When it was done, and the temple was burning, he had the holy men executed and their blood was splattered across the walls of the temple, to curse it, you see.”
“Disgusting!” Shawna spat, “How could they commit such acts of depravity? I never learned about that in my studies…all I was taught is that they ravaged your land and burnt a few farms. I had no idea that they…” She was unable to finish the sentence.
“History is a biased thing at best, dear. The powers that be teach you what they want you to know, blurring the truth when it doesn’t make things sound romantic or glorious. Believe me; it happened,” Dormael insisted, “I’m sure you know the rest of the story. That is the move that caused the Conclave to take action against the eastern powers that fought us. It is the move that earned us Sevenlander wizards the distrust and fear that we still experience today; never mind the crimes that were committed against our people.” The three friends sat quietly for a minute or two, absorbing the ideas they were passing around.
“So,” Shawna spoke up finally, “Orm is cursed. Has no one been there in all this time?”
“No one that has told of it,” D’Jenn answered, “It would not be something that one went about telling of. Friends and family would shun you for even mentioning such a thing, let alone actually travelling there and walking through the ruins of the temple.”
“Indeed,” Dormael agreed, “it would be an insult of the highest nature.”
“So there is still something there, then?” S
hawna asked.
“Oh yes,” D’Jenn nodded, “the temple was a large and expansive place, built of fine marble and stone. It is only ruins, now, though. Still, they say that the vaults were buried underground, and that many secrets lie there untouched, because of the curse that the Dannons brought upon us.”
“No one knows that for sure, though,” Dormael threw in, “as we said, the place is given a wide berth. To trespass there would be an invitation for all sorts of evil, not to mention the vengeful spirits that most likely still haunt the halls of the ruins.”
“Vengeful spirits? You mean ghosts…,” Shawna spoke doubtfully.
“Doubt if you wish, dear, but take our word for it; they exist. There are places in this world where you do not want to tread, unless you fancy a meeting with the long-deceased,” D’Jenn declared.
“D’Jenn I don’t think it could be Orm. The place in my dream was small, a simple stone grotto. Orm was a huge place, housing many priests, so the stories say,” Dormael said.
“Yes, but remember what we learned of the history of the place. Orm was a large place, yes, but it was built around an ancient temple! The site has been a holy place since antiquity…I think this armlet is linked to it somehow. It has to fit, Dormael. I can feel it,” D’Jenn insisted.
“You don’t base everything on feeling, D’Jenn. I’m the one who operates on feeling; you’re all cold logic and decisive action. What has got you so excited about this?”
“Just that I think we’re getting closer and closer to finding out something about it. It has been nothing but an enigma since we’ve encountered it, and a dangerous one at that. I just want to know what in the Six Hells it is.”
“Don’t we all,” Shawna added under her breath, earning a withering look from D’Jenn, which she returned to him in kind.
“Well, the ideas don’t really help us out right now. We still have to get to Ishamael before Dargorin’s men catch up to us, and before that, we have to get to Borders. Put that thing away, D’Jenn, enlightenment isn’t going to come to you from gazing at the case,” Dormael commented with a yawn. D’Jenn nodded and rose to return the box to the saddlebags of the pack animals. Dormael rose and stretched his tired muscles, and turned to Shawna.
“I bid you goodnight, dear, and sleep well. Tomorrow we should ride a little harder for Borders, I think. We’re not far now, around two day’s ride,” Dormael said with a slight bow.
“Goodnight Dormael,” Shawna bid him.
“Good night.”
****
The next morning dawned bright, and slightly warmer than the day before. Though it was far from pleasant, it was enough for the snow to begin melting, which brought on an entirely new set of travelling problems for the companions. The horses slogged through mud and icy slush instead of flaky snow, and their hooves made small sucking noises as they were pulled from the water saturated ground. It was unpleasant, but unavoidable, and Dormael found himself wishing the ground would freeze once again.
No one spoke openly about the events of the night prior, but Dormael could tell that it was on everyone’s mind. Even Bethany was somber today, not even bothering to tinker with Dormael’s long goatee as she sat quietly in the saddle, absorbed in her own thoughts, whatever they might have been.
The road, now poking through the snow here and there, slinked slowly back toward the north, bringing them ever closer to the Stormy Sea as the western shore of Cambrell began to meander eastward. They began to hear the thundering rush of the tide in the distance, and by midday they were paralleling the shoreline, a sheer drop to the seething ocean which battered the land endlessly. The smell of salty water and rich minerals hung in the air, and the sunlight beamed on patches of snow which sat upon the land as if the Gods had dropped them in random clumps.
The party frequently had to bypass large puddles of mud from the collecting snowmelt, from the fear that the horses may break an ankle, and the tediousness of it all irritated everyone. It brought the collective tension even higher, and the silence pressed down upon Dormael like a heavy blanket of fur. The only sounds were the thundering ocean, the blowing wind, and the sloshing of the horses’ hooves in the muck underneath.
Eventually, they came to place where the land began to grade slowly upwards, and crested a hill to look down upon a large expanse of the Stormy Sea below them. There were at least four or five miles of sea between the cliff on which they now stood, and a mist-shrouded shore on the far side. That, Dormael knew, was the wintery land of Dannon. Though the day was bright, the mist was thick and concealed most of the southern shore of Dannon from them, though they could see the outline of the plateau in the distance.
There were several large land masses, more rocky crags and spires than actual islands, reaching out of the sea like the fingers of some great titan trapped beneath the waves. In the summer months, when things were warmer, the crags were home to hundreds of birds that nested here. Dormael remembered their cries echoing constantly in the harbor here, but now it was winter, and the crags were silent and foreboding. Dormael wasn’t sure, but he thought he remembered that the locals here called the spires ‘Saarnok’s Fingers’, for the God of the underworld.
There was a great rushing noise in the air, as if a waterfall was directly below them, but there were no rivers in sight. The party sat atop the hill gazing down at the sea for a time, and Shawna dismounted to walk to the edge of the cliff and look down upon the ocean below. Following her example, Dormael and D’Jenn dismounted as well, though Bethany stayed perched in Horse’s saddle.
“What is that noise?” Shawna asked loudly over the barrage of sound.
“The Maelstroms,” D’Jenn answered, pointing off to the west, into the mouth of the harbor, “You can’t really make them out from here, but look down at the sea directly below us.” Shawna stepped to the edge and peeked down at the rushing sea below them. Dormael strolled over beside her and stole a gaze himself.
He had seen the phenomenon before in his travels, but it never ceased to amaze him. The water in the harbor below them was running steadily out to sea, as if the ocean were some great river. It was along the cliff they stood on, however; towards the middle of the harbor it was calm. Dormael couldn’t see it from here, but he knew from experience that along Dannon’s own shoreline, the sea would press steadily inward, toward the town of Borders.
“What causes that? It’s amazing!” Shawna exclaimed in a weary sort of delight, returning to D’Jenn and the horses.
“We’re not too sure at this point,” D’Jenn explained, “Some people like to believe that there is a flaw in the surface of the earth at the bottom of the sea, left when Evmir forged the world. The Philosophers back at the Conclave say that it is caused by currents in the sea meeting and eddying, like when you pass your hand through a large pool of water, only in a much greater scale.”
“What do you believe?” Shawna asked with her head cocked sideways, regarding D’Jenn with a crooked glance.
“I tend to believe the Philosophers. They spend a great deal of time studying and theorizing, and most of the time their conclusions prove sound. No one really knows for sure, though,” D’Jenn answered her, turning back to Mist and mounting up, “Come, it is still another day’s ride to Borders from here. I’d like to get a bit closer before we make camp for the night.”
They rode on, with the setting sun at their backs casting long shadows on the muddy ground before them. The rushing sound of the churning sea in the harbor was an ever present entity, and at times it was so loud that the sound of the horses slogging along the muddy road was masked by it. It numbed the companions a bit, and prevented normal conversation as they rode along. Finally, D’Jenn led Mist from the road to a spot around the back side of a hill where the mud wasn’t so deep, and they began to set up camp for the night.
After they had eaten a meal of dry bread and cheese, Dormael walked past the road to the edge of the cliff and stared out into the harbor for a while. The day had passed into night some time
ago, and the moonlight shined cold and bright down onto the waves of the ocean below. Opening his Kai, he dried a spot on the wet earth and sat at the edge of the cliff to meditate and let the tension of the past two days seep slowly from his mind and body.
Before he let his magic sleep, he felt another presence behind him, and heard small and short footsteps approaching. With a smile on his face, he dried another spot beside his own, and Bethany strode up to occupy it with him. The little girl didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. Tucking her small legs beneath her, she sat down beside him and leaned on his shoulder, wrapping her cloak tightly against her to ward off the chill of the night. Sensing that the girl wanted some comfort, Dormael put his arm around her slight shoulders.
They sat quietly on the edge of the land, taking in the sights of the harbor in the bright moonlight and enjoying each other’s presence. The sky was clear, and the moon was a bright disc of pale silver in a great expanse of obsidian above them. The stars were bright, tiny pinpricks of light, twinkling through the cold night air as their light struggled to reach the land below. The rushing noise of the Maelstroms was still present, though it was slightly muted here, and the effect was more calming than disconcerting. The only smell in the air was the salty smell of the sea, and it was carried up to them on light drafts of wind that billowed lazily through the harbor. In short, it was a beautiful night.
“I’m not really scared of the armlet,” Bethany said unexpectedly, “but I sort of am at the same time.”
“I know how you feel, little one,” Dormael comforted her, “I feel the same way about it. I don’t believe that it means us any harm, but still, it has great power. Something with that much power must be handled carefully, for it could harm us without even meaning to.”
“I know,” Bethany agreed, “but it’s just so…so…”
“Intriguing?” Dormael asked, finishing her sentence.
“Yes,” Bethany nodded her little head, “and it’s very sad. I can feel it every time it talks to me, or sends me a dream. I think that it just wants a friend, or someone to talk to. It’s very old, I think.”
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 25
