He’d been in one of the Six Hells. It was the only thing that Dormael could think of that would explain it.
Tamasis was a demon.
“Are you well, Dormael?” Tamasis asked.
“Get out of my head,” Dormael said, keeping his eyes on Tamasis as he backed away.
“Dormael?” Tamasis asked quietly, taking a step forward with a hurt and confused expression on his face.
“I know what you are. Leave this place. Get out of my head,” Dormael said again, his voice climbing with the tension that he felt entering his shoulders.
“You know…what I am?” Tamasis looked genuinely confused, and moved forward to talk to Dormael again, but Dormael backed away again quickly. “Dormael, if you know something, please tell me…”
“Get out!” Dormael screamed, and at the same instant he focused everything in his mind behind that one purpose. He pushed against Tamasis, and the young man – the demon – let out a pained scream. The scene disintegrated around them, and Tamasis flew back from him as if he’d been hit by some invisible force. He disappeared into darkness.
Dormael sat alone in that darkness for a long time. He felt cold, betrayed, and violated in a strange way. Tamasis did not return. Finally, Dormael banished thoughts of the demon from his mind. Obviously, he’d been trying to manipulate Dormael in some way, for some dark purpose. Hells, for all Dormael knew the Vilth had sent him to subvert him in some way.
But why had the demon warned him about the Hunter? Why had he helped him against the Taker? He’d seemed so genuine…but that was the purview of demons. He was probably a master of manipulation, and had used Dormael’s better nature against him. It wouldn’t happen again. Finally, Dormael allowed his mind to drift into a normal dream, trying to forget about Tamasis.
As he drifted though, there was a pang of regret that things with Tamasis had turned out the way they had. He felt strangely lonely now that he’d banished the demon. He forgot about it as he started to dream about Farra-Jerran women, but there remained a feeling of sadness that colored the rest of his dream.
****
D’Jenn turned them north on the second day, and they left the road to strike out over the grasses toward the Gathan Boundary. Dormael watched the mountains in the distance as if they were a bad omen, looming over their journey like the prospect of death. He began to ponder their next step after Orm, and he imagined they would be heading into the Gathan Mountains. It was the closest destination, and conducting a search through the choked passes there would take them a long time, indeed.
He still didn’t inform anyone about Tamasis. He knew that if he did, everyone would have a mouthful of questions, and he just wasn’t prepared to start answering them, yet. Not to mention the looks and suspicion he would get if they knew he’d been sharing his head with a demon. They would keep him from discussions, and question his every decision. He wasn’t ready to deal with that, either.
Bethany shifted uncomfortably in Dormael’s saddle for the entire day, and Dormael began to entertain the thought of teaching her to ride the pack horse so he could have his saddle all to himself again. It was time, anyway – most Sevenlander children learned to ride before their eighth year. Bethany was a Sevenlander now, wherever she’d hailed from. He decided to begin her instruction.
He silently handed her Horse’s reins, and she smiled up at him as she took them into her small hands.
“Just direct him with those, dear. Pull them one way or the other and he’ll head that way. It’s not too hard,” he said, smiling.
Bethany smiled back at him and spent the rest of the day steering Horse with only a few gentle corrections from Dormael. The wind blew unchecked over the grassy hills, the steady sound of it blowing through the grass created an almost reverent silence that Dormael was reluctant to break. The day passed uneventfully as the sun sank beneath the horizon.
Over the next couple of days that pattern stayed firmly in place. Dormael continued to wear his armor, and Allen gave him a few pointers on the wear of it and caring for it. The grasslands stretched out in every direction around them, and the Gathan Mountains loomed over them the entire time. They passed no other travelers in the countryside, and saw no villages.
Every day seemed a monotonous thing to Dormael. Wake, eat, ride, eat, and sleep. Then he’d wake again and start the process anew. The constant wind and waving of the grasses was almost hypnotic, and he found that he entered an oppressed state of mind. He constantly searched the surrounding hills for signs of the Hunter or the Vilth, and even tried a bit of Mind Flight every now and then, but all he saw were more waving grasses.
It was the fifth night since they’d left Jerrantis when Dormael had the dream again. It played over and over again in his mind; the grass that seemed to draw away from him, the stone grotto at the apex of a low hill, and the stone bowl containing that clear, clean water. The Gods were absent, and so was the praying man, but the base elements of the dream were all there. Dormael began to feel an oppressive anxiety that grew with each passing day.
He dreamt of the grasslands, and he woke in the grasslands. He was getting damned tired of grass.
“I think we should begin some sort of scouting routine,” D’Jenn said.
It was the morning of the seventh day, and Dormael was packing his belongings before joining his cousin by the fire. D’Jenn was brewing some Sweetpenny tea and cooking a few sausages while stroking his goatee in thought. Allen was a few links away, showing Shawna a morning exercise routine he sometimes did.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Dormael agreed while rolling up his blankets, “We have to be getting close to Orm.”
“Indeed,” D’Jenn nodded, “But none of my maps show its position with any accuracy. I was wondering if you’d mind taking to the skies a few times and trying to get a good look around.”
“Do you really have to ask me if I want to go flying, cousin?”
“I knew you’d be agreeable about it. I’m going to drill Bethany a little more on Splintering this morning. If you could try and get our bearings for us, it would be helpful.”
“Breakfast first, flying after. I’m starving, D’Jenn,” Dormael said.
“By all means,” D’Jenn said, indicating the sausage and tea.
Dormael sat and the two cousins took a quiet moment, watching Allen and Shawna exercise. D’Jenn finished the tea, and dipped out a cup for each of them while Dormael skewered a pair of sausages on his knife and handed them over to his cousin before he took his own portion. They settled in to enjoy their breakfast.
“You’ve been having the dream again,” D’Jenn said between mouthfuls of his food.
“How did you know?”
“You were muttering in your sleep last night. Old Vendon.”
“Ah,” Dormael said, nodding his head, “Yes, for a couple of days, now. I think it has to do with our proximity to Orm. I was thinking that it meant we must be getting close.”
“Have you learned anything new from the dreams? In the past you always discussed them with me,” D’Jenn asked. His tone was idle and nonchalant, but Dormael knew there was a loaded question concealed within. They still hadn’t had the talk about Dormael’s secret – that Tamasis had somehow been in Dormael’s head – but Dormael knew his cousin, and when D’Jenn had suspicions about something he pursued them doggedly. He’d have to tell him eventually.
Dormael sighed, chewing on his breakfast, “Nothing new, really. It’s mostly just a dream of the hills and the ancient temple. Nothing has happened as of yet. If something important comes up, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
D’Jenn narrowed his eyes at him and shrugged, “Alright. We can talk about it whenever you’re ready.”
“Good. Listen – I’ve been trying to teach Bethany to ride, and if I’m going to be scouting from above, why don’t you show her a few things? Watch over her while she tries to handle Horse. She’s been doing well, and you’re ten times the horseman that I ever was. A little instruction from you wo
uld do her a world of good, I think.”
D’Jenn smiled, “I noticed. She’s a quick learner, that girl.”
“Indeed.”
“I’ll instruct her a bit, then. Why don’t you just stay up for awhile and come back when you’re able to find Orm, if you see it today. Just pack your own things up and I’ll help the girl get Horse ready, show her what to do. We’ll head north from camp. You’ll be able to find us, I take it?”
Dormael snorted, “Of course.”
“Alright. Let’s get started, then.”
“I’ll be back in a few hours.”
D’Jenn nodded, and Dormael rose from his place by the fire, finishing the last of the Sweetpenny tea with a long gulp and handing the cup back to D’Jenn. He walked a short distance out from the campsite and gave Shawna an appreciative look as she bent over into some contorted position during Allen’s exercise routine. He silently thanked his brother for improving his morning a little.
He stretched his cold muscles a bit before starting his flight. It was never good to get a cramp, but it was especially dangerous if you were a couple hundred links above the ground. Once he felt he was ready, he took a deep breath and started running directly into the wind. He puffed heavily with the effort, and once he reached enough forward momentum he leapt and poured the magic into his body.
The change happened quickly, but it was always an unsettling feeling. One second he was hurtling through the air, heavy and unwieldy, and then his entire body tingled and contorted quickly. He felt the hairs on his body becoming heavier and sprouting tiny hairs of their own as they became feathers, he felt his bones hollow out and become light, he felt his head distending and his eyes changing until he could see everything in such detail that it made his human eyes seem primitive by comparison. In the next second, he was aloft, the wind pushing against his body.
He flared his wings and let the strong winds of the grasslands push him skyward, pointing his beak to the sky and flapping his wings to gain altitude. He wheeled in great arcs, watching the ground drop away steadily as he climbed higher and higher into the air. He was stunned, as he always was when he changed into this form, by the detail his eyes could perceive on the ground. He could see every single blade of grass waving in the wind, and even a few critters scuttling back and forth under the sheltering vegetation. He turned his gaze back to the horizon and flapped off to the north, into a headwind.
The Gathan Mountains rose up before him, and from this angle Dormael could see the narrow passes and craggy cliffs that wove their way through the forbidding landscape. The mountains stretched off to the north, and in the distance he could see the landscape blanketed in white snow. The Gathan Mountains were always cold in the higher elevations, but farther to the north Dormael knew that the land lay in a perpetual winter most of the year, only thawing during the hottest days of the summer.
The headwind made his flight hard going. There was nothing at this height to break the cold winds that filtered through the mountains, and they whipped against Dormael with a barely manageable strength. He regularly lost and gained altitude, was pushed to the left and right and basically tossed around like a flag in a gale. Fortunately, he had selected a larger form with which to fly, and he had the size and wings to handle the tough winds. It didn’t make it any more enjoyable, though.
It appeared that he and his friends still had a couple of days of travel before they made it into the foothills of the mountains. There were still leagues of low rolling grasslands between the camp and the foothills, where the Boundary would be. Dormael continued to the north, and as he got closer he could sense the Boundary with his Kai, a low reverberation that resonated with a strange tone in his magic.
He watched the land beneath him roll as he turned slowly to the east, being careful as the headwind transitioned around his body and began pushing him slowly to the south. He crabbed a bit to the side in midair, but was able to arrest the movement and turn a little into the wind to keep his heading straight. He was surprised at how uninhabited the land this close to the Boundary was. He’d always known that Farra-Jerra was sparsely populated in this region, but had been unprepared for it. There truly was nothing out here.
After about half an hour of flying he was struck with a strange feeling that he’d been here before. It pricked his hairs – or feathers, currently – up, and he began to search the ground a little harder. He knew from where this feeling emanated. It was recognition of the scenery from the armlet’s dream.
He saw it soon enough. Just to the east, at the apex of a large and gently sloping hill, was an old and expansive ruin. It was too far away to make out many details just yet, but from here he could see a low stone wall that encircled a large stone building that had columns interspersed at regular intervals around it. He flapped harder, trying to gain a little speed in the crosswind that battered him through the air.
He flew around the ruin in a low circle as he reached it, doing one last visible sweep of the grounds to make sure that no surprises awaited him. The wall that surrounded it was obviously meant more for decoration than defense, and it was crumbling in places, anyway. It was made of rough stone cut and fitted together with mortar rather than the more modern cut stones that masons used. The ground inside of the wall were overgrown with grasses and weeds, and in some places Dormael could see creeper vines that snaked up the wall and columns of the ancient temple to reach the sunlight.
And there was ivy – bright, vibrant green ivy that snaked up columns among the creepers and grew from cracks in the stone. He remembered that in one of his dreams, there had been ivy in the grotto, and something had seemed strange about it. It seemed out of place here, as if it shouldn’t be growing. As Dormael thought about it, he’d never seen ivy like that this far north. He wasn’t sure that it was indigenous, but obviously it was growing here in abundance, if nowhere else in the Farra-Jerran grasslands.
He picked a landing spot and wheeled toward it in slow circling arcs, still wary of danger. He flared his wings and slowed as he came in to land, and as his talons hit the earth he poured the magic into himself once again. He stretched his arms as he stood, once again himself, and gazed around in wonder.
The temple was a squat construction. It seemed to be built of granite for the most part, and the gray, unyielding stone was weathered in some places from wind and rain, and stained with verdigris in patterns of runoff down the side of the temple walls. The columns he’d observed from the sky were actually carved in the semblance of the Gods, eight of them spanning the front of the temple wall and creating a large entryway as they supported a ceiling of stone above them. All eight of the Gods and Goddesses were represented, even Saarnok. The Lord of Bones was depicted in chains, however, to symbolize his banishment to the Six Hells. The features of the statues were worn by the elements, but Dormael could still make them out enough to tell who they were.
There was a feeling here, though. A slight pressure against his senses that spoke of menace, as if the very ground resisted his presence here. It made him feel a little paranoid, and he began looking around, sure that he’d seen something in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t shake the feeling as he walked slowly toward the open entranceway.
The temple was built eons ago, and its history was sketchy at best. The Sevenlanders had lost many records after its desecration during the Second Great War, because many of the records were contained here, apparently in great vaults underground. After the desecration, though, no one would set foot on this ground, lest they become susceptible to the curse. Dormael himself felt a little sacrilegious coming here, but the Mekai had given them permission and charged them with the task.
Dormael wasn’t sure if that would free them from the curse, if indeed there was such a thing. He wasn’t overly religious, but he did respect the Gods, as did most people. He didn’t pray a lot, but he sure as hell didn’t disbelieve in them, and he tried to go about life without offending them. He hoped he wasn’t offending them now.
He had to push
a curtain of ivy aside as he walked slowly between the statues of Evmir and Eindor. Dormael half expected the statues to look sternly down at him, but they remained unmoving as he passed through the entranceway and into the passageway beyond. There was a short covered area, and then Dormael could see the temple opened into a large central courtyard. The stone overhead had a large circular opening that allowed sunlight to come in, and directly in the center of the huge courtyard was something very familiar.
The stone grotto stood there just as he remembered in his dream. The hewn stone of the floor, the columns that ringed it, carved in much the same fashion as the huge columns of the entranceway, and the waist high stone dais all stood there. The sight chilled him more than he’d been prepared for, and he found himself stepping toward it slowly.
The grotto was overgrown with that same green ivy, though not so much that it covered everything. It was open to the sky, the columns only holding up a circular piece of stone that was in no way a ceiling, so the ivy had only so much stone to climb. He stepped up onto the stone floor, trying his best to remain quiet. This place was conspicuous in its silence, and Dormael wasn’t going to disturb it.
The stone bowl stood just as it had in his dream, wide and smooth. It was stained with verdigris here, though, and there was a miniscule crack running up one side of it. Dormael looked down into it, half expecting to find the clear, clean water that he remembered from the dream. Here, though, there was only dried moss and water stains from where the bowl had undoubtedly filled with water every time it rained, then emptied slowly as the water evaporated.
He heard footsteps.
Dormael started and turned, summoning his Kai and readying a strike, but there was no one around him. His hair was standing on end, and he had a distinct feeling that someone was watching him. The temple, however, was silent.
Dormael stepped carefully from the grotto and back into the courtyard, moving slowly and looking around him. He peered into the shadows at the edges of the courtyard, where the ceiling of the temple overhung the building slightly. He quested out with his Kai, trying to sense something. There was definitely energy in this place; a low buzz that was just on the edges of Dormael’s magical perception, but it was definitely here.
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 88
