The Redemption, Volume 1

by Clyde B Northrup

  . . . whisper. Whispers echoing hollowly across a dark, empty landscape. Whispers that his mind tried to understand, but what they said remained beyond his understanding. Some might have been laughter; some might have been shouts of pain, or fear, or joy. He tried to find the sources of the voices, but as soon as his mind’s eye darted in the direction from which he thought they came, their position changed, eluding his vision. Rose floated past, reaching for him, smiling, laughing; laughter changing to fear, calling for help, disappearing in flame and smoke. A trio of ponkolum appeared from the smoke, shouting curses and hurling balls of pure red power; the top of the tower exploded in flames; Kalamar and Nelle flew out of the flames and stones, eyes open, seeing nothing. The sound of pounding echoed behind him; he turned and saw the male kailu’s forehead pulsing with angry red light; the light consumed him and became an aperu, smoking and breathing fire, but the seklesi with sandy hair smiled and swung his sword, the sword flashing with red fire, cutting off the aperu’s head, falling to the ground and bouncing, the sound echoed: thump, thump th-thump. But the sound was behind him again; he turned and his name sounded from another direction. Rose walked past leading a toddler with wild, red hair; he looked into the smiling face of the boy, felt his small hand patting his forehead, heard the sound of the pounding from another direction: thump, thump, thump. He turned, and his name was shouted from a different direction: Thalamar? Thal, wake up!

  Thal sat up in bed, disentangling himself from the blanket twisted around him.

  “Thal,” came Nelle’s sleepy voice, “the door.”

  Thal jumped out of bed and threw his robe around his shoulders and hurried out of his room. This was odd, someone coming to the tower in the middle of the night. He knew it could not be someone of evil intent, since the teka-powered fences surrounding the tower kept them out, but usually there was a signal when someone passed the fences. He leapt down the tower stairs and opened the front door. In the magluku hovering above the door, Thal saw the glint of white and gold from both horse and wethi, the latter leaning against the door’s frame. The wethi turned his face toward Thal, and the young maghi took a step back in surprise, seeing the face of the black-haired kortexi he had seen in his vukeetu.

  “Sanctuary,” the kortexi’s voice croaked.

  A moment passed before Thal’s wits returned. “Are you injured?”

  “No,” the kortexi replied, “just very tired.”

  Thal took the kortexi’s right arm over his shoulders and helped him over the threshold and into the tower, moving with him to the bottom of the stairs, where he sat down heavily, emitting a tinkling sound as he sat.

  “If you could see to my mount,” he said weakly.

  Thal nodded and turned, then bumped into the horse, which had followed him into the tower. He took hold of the bridle, then turned to the wethi slumped on the stairs. “What’s his name?”

  “Wingfoot,” the kortexi replied. “If you unbuckle the mail shirt and unbelt the saddle, I think the whole rig will come off as a single unit.”

  “All right, you just rest there until I get back.” Thal led Wingfoot through the door, closed and bolted it, then led the horse through a side door and into the tower’s stable. He marveled at how light the horse’s saddle and gear were, feeling the dweomer of teka. Wingfoot was not sweaty or overly warm, so Thal lead him to a stall, then filled the manger with hay and grain. He scratched the horse under his chin; Wingfoot sniffed the hay and grain, then whinnied his approval.

  “I’m glad you approve,” Thal said, stroking the stallion’s side. “Now I’ll go see to your master.”

  The horse seemed content to eat, so Thal left him there and re-entered the tower.

  “Your mount doesn’t seem as tired as you are,” Thal said, “have you waited long? I was caught in a rather strange dream and so did not hear you knocking.”

  “No,” the kortexi replied weakly, “not long.”

  Thal looked puzzled. “Can I get you something to eat? The matron usually keeps something ready for the unexpected arrival of guests.”

  “Thanks, but no. Just rest,” he replied, “my day has been rather eventful.”

  “We can accommodate you; the guest room is ready. So how did you get here?” Thal asked, as he helped the kortexi to his feet.

  The kortexi put his arm over Thal’s shoulder, then leaned on him as they staggered up the stairs. “Directly from the Mountain of Vision,” he noted weakly.

  “Directly? Do you mean you teleported here?” Thal asked. “That would have also given us a warning signal.”

  The kortexi shook his head. “It was not teleportation, as I understand it,” he replied. “I opened an archway from the Mountain to the front door of your tower with my sword.”

  Thal stumbled and stopped for a moment, looking a question at the kortexi. He had never heard of a sword with such powers. They started moving again, reaching the top of the stairs and the door to the guest chamber. Thal touched the purple nimbus covering the door and dispelled the stasis on the room with a single word, “neki,” then helped the kortexi into the room and onto the bed. The kortexi laid back on the bed, unbuckling his belt and pulling off his gloves. Thal took them from him and placed them on a table next to the bed. As he set them on the table, he noticed the devices emblazoned on the scabbard, the water flasks, and the buckle and inhaled sharply.

  “I’ve seen this device before,” Thal said, “it is the symbol of the first kortexi, Sir Karble.” Thal turned to face the kortexi, his eyebrows disappearing into his wild red hair. “Who are you?”

  “I am Sir Blakstar,” he said, then added, stumbling over the words, “eli-kerdu-ghebi, bearer of the Waters of Life, destined to fulfill the kortexi’s dream.”

  “What is the kortexi’s dream?”

  Blakstar shook his head. “I don’t know, yet.”

  “What are the Waters of Life?” Thal asked. “I think I’ve come across that phrase before,” he mused.

  “Earth’s gift to all,” Blakstar answered, “waters that heal. I bear the only vessel ever created to carry them, along with the equipment of the first kortexi, Sir Karble.” Blakstar yawned widely.

  “I’m sorry, Sir Blakstar,” Thal apologized, suddenly remembering how tired his guest was, “my curiosity overcame my manners. I am Thalamar, but most call me Thal, apprentice to Hierarchs Kalamar and Nelle, white maghem of Melbarth. Be welcome to our home. There are many questions I would like to ask, but courtesy dictates that I withdraw and allow you time to recover,” Thal bowed formally and left the room. “Sleep well,” he called back as he closed the door softly.

  “Who was at the door?” Nelle’s sleepy voice asked from down the hall.

  “A kortexi named Blakstar,” Thal replied. He heard the sound of a sharp inhale. “Are you all right?” he called.

  A moment passed before she replied. “Yes, you better get back to bed. Tomorrow is likely to be a busy day.”

  Blakstar fell asleep before the door even closed; he was only vaguely aware of his host’s wishing him to sleep well. Darkness took him, and for a time he slept peacefully, but then he dreamed. At first, he saw only images flashing past the eyes of his mind, figures of people he did not know, but knew he had seen them before although he could not recall where or when. Prominently among these figures he saw ponkolam with dark red skin, one whose face reflected the passion she felt, and the other holding a curved dagger that dripped red blood; he saw the face of a pura, with horns and fangs, pale skin, and no eyes; this figure’s face melted into the adult face, without eyes, of a girl from his boyhood. He saw a figure cloaked in a black robe, with bony hands gripping a rod; he also saw another figure cloaked in black, with golden hair, the face of the girl in his strange waking dream, and this figure repeated most often, although sometimes she wore nothing but shadows, which made him ache uncomfortably. She continued to shout the same phrase, over and over again, the sounds of her shouts echoing and mixing with the exultant laughter of the ponkolam, and the clinking
laughter of the black-robed figure with bony hands. He wanted to help the girl with golden hair, but he did not know how; he recalled that the figure of his waking dream had showed him a place where he could meet the girl, the place where he had found himself before ascending the Mountain of Vision, the strange blackened glade with the bent, broken tree, but no matter how hard he thought of it, he could not bring his dream self to the burned glade and the girl. Sometimes, when she flashed naked through his dreams, he saw that her skin was covered with lines–white lines that stood out in sharp contrast with the golden tan of her skin. Let me see him! she shouted repeatedly; he wondered who she wanted to see; he secretly hoped it was him.

  After a time, when he stopped thinking about it, the figures coalesced into the fire-blackened glade surrounded by twisted trees that swayed in some unseen breeze, as if the wind were blowing outward from the glade itself; he saw himself tied to the broken or bent tree, saw the ponkolam, the blind pura, the black-cloaked figure, and the girl standing around him, but she was now blindfolded, her black silk hood drawn down over her face so she could not see him. The figure with the dagger sliced away his clothing, with the echoed sounds of tearing cloth added to the evil laughter and the girl’s shout. The first ponkola and the blind pura transformed into the girl of his boyhood, both beginning to sway and moan, but their moaning sounded more like howling screams, adding to the cacophony of sound already filling his dream. Then the girl floated over him, her hands claws digging into his chest, his hands claws digging into her chest, both of them screaming in agony, although she continued to scream her sentence: Let me see him! Then all figures were flung to the ground by a burst of golden fire from him, and he was on his feet, reaching for the figure with the bloody dagger, but the dagger moved and struck the back of his head, dispelling the scene, plunging him into black emptiness, the silence of sleep.

  He awoke with a start, sat bolt upright, and sat panting on the unfamiliar bed in darkness; it took him several moments to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. He sat unmoving, trying to calm his breathing and the frantic beating of his heart. Finally, he lay back down and passed into a fitful sleep, the dream repeating and waking him at the end; this happened several times before he returned to silent, dreamless sleep.

  Thal sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked around and suddenly realized the light in his room was much brighter than it should have been: he’d overslept. No surprise, since his rest had been disturbed by strange dreams and the arrival of Sir Blakstar. He jumped to his feet and dressed quickly, knowing that the animals would not wait. Pulling on his boots, he left his room and crossed the hall, tapping lightly on the door before opening it slightly, since he did not wish to disturb the kortexi if he were still sleeping. One glance told him what he needed to know; he closed the door softly, turned, and went down the stairs.

  Nelle was in the kitchen, just putting bread into the oven.

  “Good morning, Thal,” she said without turning, closing the oven door. Her long white hair was up in a bun at the back of her head, as was usual when working in the kitchen.

  “Good morning, mother,” he replied, grabbing a basket and the milk bucket waiting next to the door. “You should have awakened me; I did not intend to oversleep.”

  Nelle turned from the oven and smiled at Thal. “Well, son, your rest was disturbed, so I did not think that a little extra sleep would hurt.” She moved to her work table, beginning to clean and put away her bread making implements. Before she turned to the table, Thal noticed that her blue eyes did not twinkle with mischief the way they usually did, and there was a slight tightness at the corners of her eyes and mouth, signs that she was concerned about something.

  Thal frowned. “Your sleep was also disturbed,” he said, “yet you’re up at the normal time.”

  Nelle smiled at him over her shoulder. “I’m older than you; I no longer need as much sleep as you.” She placed her dirty things in the large mixing bowl, then carried them to the washtub. “Is our guest still sleeping?”

  “Yes, and he will probably sleep for quite a while,” Thal replied. “He was very tired when I let in him, so tired, in fact, that I had to help the mighty kortexi climb the stairs. The odd part about it was that his horse looked well-rested. When I pointed that fact out to him, he said they came to the tower directly from the Mountain, which I reasoned must be why we heard no signal when he passed the teka fences.”

  “But there was no teleport signal either; so how did he come directly?” Nelle asked as she was pouring hot water into the washtub from a large copper kettle that had been steaming on the stove, returning it to the stove before Thal spoke again.

  “He told me that he opened an archway here with his sword,” Thal said. The bowl of bread making tools crashed into the washtub. “Mother, are you all right?”

  Nelle stood leaning on the washtub, her back to Thal. “You better see to the animals, Thal: the cow was starting to complain.” Nelle started to wash her bread making tools. “When you’ve milked the cow and collected the eggs, hitch Plodder to the cart; I’m going to Artowgar as soon as you get her hitched. Your breakfast, and a tray for our guest, is in the dining room. Father has already broken his fast and is closeted in his study; he wants to speak with you, once you have finished the chores and eaten.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Thal replied in a slight daze.

  Thal left the room, descended the stairs, and entered the stable; the cow lowed at him. “I’m coming.” He grabbed the milking stool and dropped the basket near the doors, then moved next to the cow, sat on the three-legged stool, and began to milk. His mind ranged freely while he worked, mulling over his mother’s reaction to Blakstar’s name and the news that he had used his sword to come here. He wondered why these two things had upset her but set these questions aside, as they could not be answered without more information. The sword was another puzzle; it did not feel that powerful when he had taken it from the kortexi and placed it on the table, and yet, for it to do what Blakstar had claimed, since kortexem did not use teka, it would mean that it was an artifact of extraordinary power. Only one kortexi had ever borne those devices: Sir Karble, the first kortexi. The fact that Blakstar now carried them seemed to indicate that they were Karble’s devices, probably his very equipment, meaning that the sword probably was the legendary sword of Karble, reportedly lost after he died and rumored to have strange powers. Why would Blakstar be chosen now to carry it, along with the rest of Karble’s equipment? Thal thought he better stop by the tower’s library; he was sure there must be something there that would tell him more about the sword, the devices, and what they might mean.

  Thal finished milking and carried the bucket to, and set it by, the door into the tower. He went to the outside doors and threw them open, picking up the basket and crossing the yard to the henhouse. His mind traveled a different path, recalling how he used to brag to the other street urchins that one day he would become a maghi, and simply cast an orthek, conjuring up his meals. When he first came to the tower, after Nelle had found him, he thought he would immediately begin to learn teka, but he was surprised when his first assignments were gathering eggs, weeding the garden, cleaning out the henhouse and stable, mending fences, and so forth, chores he thought beneath the dignity of a maghi. When he had completed these daily chores, he sat with Nelle learning history and grammar until noon. Following lunch, afternoons were spent with Kalamar learning math and the reading, writing, and speaking of the orthek language, or ancient. The evenings were spent discussing philosophy with his adopted parents, and stargazing from the tower’s roof after dark. One day a week was spent doing larger chores, like wood gathering in the fall, or preparing and planting their large garden in the spring. The first six years were spent in this manner, without learning a single orthek. Thal now realized that those years gave him the foundation for deeper study; without them, he could not have learned even the simplest of ortheks. He carried the now full basket of eggs across the yard a
nd into the stable, stopping to throw several handfuls of dried corn into the yard, where the hens were now scratching. He checked the mangers before leading Plodder from her stall, hitching her to the cart, then leading her and the cart to the tower’s front door. Nelle stepped out before he stopped, beginning to load their excess farm goods into the cart.

  Thal went back into the stable, then back into the tower, and met his mother in the kitchen. He emptied the bucket of milk into a clay pitcher, then placed the pitcher in the tengle. Nelle took the basket from him, removed four eggs, and added them to those already in the tengle. She took the rest to the cart, followed by Thal carrying the rest of the goods she would trade in the village’s market. Thal helped her cover the cart with a square of canvas, and was surprised when Nelle embraced him fiercely before climbing up.

  “Thalamar,” Nelle said, holding him by his shoulders and looking directly into his eyes, “there is more in the world than you can perceive with your senses; there are things whose existence cannot be proven or disproven empirically or logically.”

  Thal laughed. “Mother, we’ve had this argument before . . . ,” he began, but she cut him off.

  “Remember what we have taught you, what you are and may become, and remember that this tower will always be your home.” She kissed him on both cheeks, then climbed onto the cart.

  Thal handed her the reins and laughed again. “You speak as if I were about to leave; have the plans changed . . . ?”

  “You are,” Nelle replied, “Sir Blakstar’s arrival is the signal.”

  Thal looked puzzled. “But I thought I wasn’t going to leave until the fall, and then it changed to early this spring, but I haven’t left yet, why?”

  “Plans change,” Nelle said. “Something delayed the kortexi’s arrival after it was moved to this spring, which is why we told you to be ready at a moment’s notice.” She sighed. “If anything should happen to us. . . .”