The Redemption, Volume 1

by Clyde B Northrup

  As the stone circle moved forward, Thal, for the benefit of Tevvy, named and described the different creatures of this realm. Felorno soon returned, landing on the circle and giving them a deep bow.

  “Welcome, chosen of the One!” Felorno said, his voice high-pitched and croaky. “I bring you greetings from the ruler of this realm, Lord Wethkuro, greatest of the potiethro, master of the storm. We will escort you to his presence, where he desires to speak . . . ,” Felorno paused, looking at Tevvy. “What is wrong with your awemi?” he asked.

  “He was blinded in the ice realm,” Klaybear replied.

  “And you cannot heal him?” Felorno asked, surprised.

  “My wife is the healer,” Klaybear said, “but she did not come. . . .”

  “She was not supposed to come with you,” Felorno interrupted, “only the three of you and your klitodweri could have entered this space.”

  “Neither I, nor the Waters of Life,” Klaybear went on, “could heal him, although the Waters returned his vision, but only for a few seconds before the milky white color and blindness returned.”

  Felorno shook his head. “This is wrong,” he said simply. “I must consult with my lord; I will return in a few minutes,” he finished, turning and taking flight.

  Thal and Klaybear exchanged a look.

  “What did he mean, wrong?” Tevvy asked.

  “I would guess,” Thal replied, scratching his chin, “that your blindness is wrong.”

  “It sounded to me,” Klaybear added, “like we should have been able to heal you, and the fact that we could not is wrong.”

  They fell silent for a time, Blakstar watching the creatures of air that continued to pass near the stone circle, still chirping, singing, or croaking the same word. Tevvy sat on the stone, unmoving; Klaybear stood beside him. Blakstar stood at the forward edge of the circle, watching the aperum; Thal started pacing back and forth across the circle, mumbling to himself.

  “He returns,” Blakstar noted after a few minutes of silent watching.

  Felorno landed again on the circle. “Stand, Tevvy of the awemi, and hold perfectly still. We must draw the poison from your eyes.” Felorno looked at Blakstar. “Have the Waters ready,” he noted, turning back to Tevvy. Felorno reared back on his hind legs, lashing out with his talons. Simultaneously, a single claw from each talon pierced Tevvy’s milky-white eyes. Tevvy gasped, but did not cry out in pain.

  The others moved forward, shocked by what Felorno had done. “What . . . ?” Klaybear started to exclaim but stopped and Blakstar saw white fluid draining from the awemi’s eyes and trickling down his cheeks; his eyes slowly cleared, and when the liquid running from his eyes cleared, Felorno called for the Waters.

  “Now, Sir Blakstar,” he said, “pour the Waters into his eyes.”

  Tevvy tilted his head back and the kortexi poured the Waters into Tevvy’s eyes; white steam hissed from eyes and cheeks as the Waters touched the chalky white liquid. Tevvy’s eyes returned to their normal color, and Blakstar could see, once all traces of the white liquid had steamed out of Tevvy’s eyes, the puncture wound in each seal itself.

  Tevvy’s face brightened. “I can see!” he exclaimed, and took a step back, seeing, for the first time, Felorno. He bowed. “Thank you, for healing me,” he said to Felorno, although his voice shook.

  “You should thank my Lord, Wethkuro,” Felorno responded, “for I was acting on his instructions.”

  “Did he tell you how this happened?” Klaybear asked.

  “He did not know,” Felorno replied, “but he suspects that Gar must have had a hand in it; the blindness from the ice plain would have healed in time. What happened to Tevvy was something more, and Gar seems to have subverted the lord of that realm.”

  “Which also happened in the water realm,” Thal added.

  Felorno nodded his beaked head. “That is what my lord was told.”

  “By whom, if I may ask?” Klaybear said.

  “A messenger from the One,” Felorno replied. “She arrived as I did, bringing word to my lord and knowledge of your circumstances, along with how to heal your klitodweri.”

  “Is that where we are going?” Blakstar asked, pointing ahead.

  The others turned and saw a fortress of black stone perched atop a cloud, with high walls, tall towers and battlements; it grew larger at a rate faster than it should have, leading the companions to conclude that they were moving very fast through the air.

  “That is the home of Wethkuro,” Felorno said, and they could suddenly hear horns blowing from the towers, hailing their immanent arrival. The aperum were turning to bring them next to the front of the fortress, and, as soon as the stone circle touched the edge of the cobblestone road leading down from the gate, the harnesses fell off the aperum, and the three flew up and landed on the parapet over the huge gate. “There is a final test that you must pass,” Felorno said, softly. “Since you are not creatures of this realm, you cannot enter through the gate, but there is a side door on the right side of the main gate that you must open and enter.”

  Blakstar looked puzzled. “What is the test?” he asked.

  “The opening of the door,” Felorno replied. “If you can open the door, then you have proven that you are truly, the chosen of the One.”

  “And if we fail?” Blakstar asked.

  “Then you are imposters and will be thrown from the fortress,” Felorno replied.

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Tevvy said.

  Thal touched the awemi’s shoulder. “He means thrown over the edge.”

  “Oh,” Tevvy said, deflating.

  “Has anyone ever tried?” Thal asked.

  Felorno nodded. “Only one group ever made it this far; they resembled you in every respect, but they failed to open the door. They are still falling,” he finished, stepping off the circle and onto the short road to the fortress.

  They followed, Tevvy’s face a mask of fear. Blakstar smiled at him. “We are the chosen,” he noted, “so there is nothing to worry about.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Tevvy mumbled. He turned to Felorno. “How long ago?” he asked.

  Felorno looked at Tevvy for a moment before responding. “Several ages, according to our reckoning.”

  “And they are still falling?” Tevvy asked.

  “Well, their remains still fall,” Felorno said, again turning away and leading them toward the gate and side door. “They all killed themselves in the first hour after we threw them off the fortress. Apparently, the prospect of starving to death while falling did not appeal to them.”

  As he approached the gate, Felorno turned right and stopped before a blank stretch of wall. “Here is the door,” he said, stopping.

  Tevvy groaned. “Blakstar,” he said without turning to the others, “we need your sword.”

  The kortexi stepped up next to Tevvy, drawing his sword. When Blakstar noticed the familiar, kortexi symbol, his eyes were drawn to the slot at the center of the pupil, and he slid his sword up to its hilt. A flash of golden light illuminated all the symbols along with the outline of an arched door, which silently swung in; trumpets on the battlements overhead blasted a joyous fanfare.

  “Again, I bid you welcome, chosen of the One,” Felorno said, bowing, “to the fortress of my lord, Wethkuro, Lord of Air.”

  As they entered the courtyard, Blakstar heard a sound, from overhead, that was a cross between a hiss and a whine, a keening sound that pierced him each to the heart, and each felt a terrible stab of sorrow. Looking up for the source of the sound, he saw an aperu, larger than any before seen, perched on the top of the highest tower; his head was raised, neck stretched out, mouth open and emitting the sad sound. His color appeared at first to be silver, but his head moved as he crooned and the light reflected off his hide brighter and more mirror-like than the silver aperu they had just seen.

  “The platinum aperu,” Thal whispered in awe. His companions looked at him.

  “Yes,” Felorno said sadly, “he cries o
ut in sorrow for his lost mate, every hour, on the hour, by our reckoning, and he has done so since nearly the beginning of time.”

  “That is horrible,” Tevvy said, voice hushed. “How did it happen?”

  Felorno shook his beaked head. “We do not remember,” he sighed, “it has been so long that we have all forgotten.”

  “There is a legend,” Thal began in soft tones, “among the maghem, that sometime shortly after Gar and his followers were banished to the underworld, they thought to escape their prison by destroying the world. So they went to the fires burning at the core of the world and added more power to the flames, heating the core to the point where it was about to explode, ripping the newly made world apart. Platti,” Thal said, pointing to the tower, “was the faster flier, so he flew off to inform the One of what Gar attempted. His mate, Platta, wrapped herself around the core to prevent it from exploding and destroying the world, along with all the parents of all creatures and races, hoping that she could hold it in place until Platti returned with the One. They came quickly, but not before the core exploded, killing Platta; her sacrifice saved the world. Platinum is the most powerful metal, the most potent material for making rods,” he said, holding up his clay rod. “Few maghem ever achieve the level of the platinum rod; it is also said that the Rod of Melbarth was the first maghi’s rod constructed of this metal that Gar fears and hates. The traces of it found throughout the world are said to come from the remains of Platta,” he finished, his eyes lifting to the keening aperu.

  “We know the story told by the maghem,” Felorno noted, “but whether it contains the truth, only Platti knows, and he has not spoken to anyone since the beginning.” Felorno shook his head and lead them to the main door into the audience chamber. He stepped through the door, indicating they follow. “My Lord Wethkuro, my Lady Nefora,” his voice suddenly boomed and echoed in the huge hall, “I present the chosen of the One: the green kailu, Master Klaybear, the white maghi, Master Thalamar, son of Kalamar, the klitodweri, Master Telvor, and the kortexi, Sir Blakstar eli kerdu ghebi. They have entered through the proper door, showing the token prophesied; they come to beg for access to the tomb of Shigmar the Great, first and foremost, until now, of all kailum.” He named them as each entered the hall, bowing to the two great thrones at the front of the hall.

  “We welcome them into our presence,” boomed the voice of the largest of the potiethro, sitting on one of the thrones at the head of the hall. He was tall, over twenty-five feet, dark gray hair and beard, crowned with lightning. Across his knees lay the storm scepter. On his left sat his lady, greatest of the morosku, shorter than Wethkuro by the height of a tall man, white skin, wispy white hair.

  “We should note, my lord,” Nefora said as Felorno led them forward, “that only half of the chosen are here.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Felorno said in an aside, “but it would not have been as impressive had I introduced them as ‘half’ the chosen,” he croaked sarcastically.

  Nefora smiled; Wethkuro laughed, a sound like thunder that shook the hall. “Well-answered,” he said in an aside to Felorno, who smiled back at him.

  Nefora rolled her eyes. “I had so wanted to meet your mate, Klaybear, and the chosen mate of your older brother, along with the mates of the others, who will come in time, but, sadly, only the four of you were allowed to approach us.”

  The companions exchanged looks at her words and bowed to Nefora. “We are sorry, my lady,” Klaybear said, “that they could not come with us. My wife is . . . ,” he went on, thinking of the fact that Klare had lost most of her family.

  Wethkuro completed his thought. “Your mate is in trouble,” he said.

  Klaybear looked up, eyes wide. “In trouble?” he asked. “We left her in the care of my twin brother, watching over her injured mother and sister.”

  “Both have died,” Nefora said softly, a hint of emotion in her voice, “and she is in grave peril.”

  “As grave a peril,” Wethkuro added in hushed tones, “as is the city of Shigmar.”

  “I must go to her,” Klaybear said, looking around for a way out.

  “Do not worry,” Wethkuro said, “you will arrive in time, but you must first enter the tomb, where you will find the key you have sought.”

  “Although the laws of hospitality dictate that we should take care of your needs and allow you to rest,” Nefora went on, “we must not detain you further, but allow you to enter the final resting place of Shigmar.”

  Wethkuro raised the storm scepter and their two thrones moved aside, turning to face each other and the ornately carved door that had been hidden behind them. “You may approach the entrance,” he said, waving them forward. “You should possess the necessary key.”

  They stepped forward, and Blakstar started to draw his sword but stopped when they saw, not the vertical slot, but a regular keyhole that looked vaguely familiar. The kortexi grabbed Tevvy’s arm. “The key,” he hissed, “do you still have the key?”

  Tevvy looked up at Blakstar, puzzled. “What key?”

  “The one I gave you to open the pedestal, back in Kalbant.”

  “Oh,” Tevvy exclaimed, “that one!” He searched through one of his belt pouches, looking for the key. “You said I could have it,” he said defensively, “if it opened the pedestal.”

  “As long as you didn’t lose it,” Blakstar replied, “or give it away.”

  “I’m not a fool, wethi,” Tevvy retorted, pulling his arm from the pouch and tapping his pockets, digging in his cloak and the other pouches on his belt.

  “You haven’t lost it,” Blakstar asked, “have you?”

  “Of course not,” Tevvy retorted, “I just need to locate the place where I stowed it, to keep it safe,” he said apologetically.

  “It was on a chain,” Blakstar hissed through clenched teeth, “did you hang it around your neck?”

  “Of course,” Tevvy snapped, forcing a laugh, “it’s around my neck.” He stuck one hand into his shirt and pulled out the ancient key. “See, I told you I had it.” He inserted the ancient key, turned it, and heard the lock click. He pushed the door open.

  “And what do you call walking into the bright light on a snow plain?” Blakstar muttered to himself.

  Blakstar entered the doorway after Tevvy, followed by Klaybear and Thal. The door slid shut of its own accord; the lock clunked loudly, sealing them inside the tomb.

  Chapter 16

  The only way to stop nekerpum is to disrupt the purgle who raised and controls them. This action is difficult as the purgle will surround itself with nekerpum; this course becomes even more difficult after the blood frenzy takes hold of the nekerpum. . . . No one has discovered a way to disrupt the purgle from a distance, avoiding the nekerpu blood frenzy which always follows close combat. . . .

  from the seklesi Manual of Enemies, origin unknown

  Shouts from company captains and squad leaders rang out, to form up and prepare to attack. Delgart shook his head several times, trying to clear it and refocus his eyes; he finally saw Marilee laying sprawled nearby and crawled over to her side. “Are you all right?” he asked, face wrinkled with concern.

  Marilee’s eyes focused on him slowly, and she finally recognized Delgart kneeling beside her. She reached out and put her arms around his neck, but then she dropped her arms and sat up. “What’s happened?”

  Delgart looked at her, then looked suddenly around to cover the troubled look on his face. “The army of nekerpum are moving to attack,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “We are called to form up and prepare for attack.”

  “No,” Marilee frowned, “I meant, what happened to us?”

  Delgart thought this was odd. “What do you mean?”

  “I remember rushing toward the megatri,” Marilee said, “then I was lifted into the air. Next thing I remember was seeing you looking down at me.”

  The rest of the squad had run up to where Delgart and Marilee sat on the ground; Grelsor and Lidelle knelt next to them. “Are you
all right?” Grelsor asked, both held out their green-glowing staves, ready to heal.

  “A little shaken, I think,” Delgart said, “but all right otherwise.”

  Rellik reached out and helped first Marilee, then Delgart, to their feet. “Orders?” he asked.

  “Form up,” Marilee said, “and let’s get back to work.” She shot a sidelong glance at Delgart.

  “We will have to move to our position,” Rellik added, “the Eighth Company is forming over there,” he pointed.

  Marilee looked to where her second pointed, then nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Marilee’s squad jogged off together, moving among the other squads forming, to their position in the Eighth Company.

  “How do we fight the nekerpum?” Delgart asked as they moved into their position.

  Grelsor sighed. “They are the most difficult to destroy,” he replied, “as they cannot be killed, for they are already dead. The same is true of their purgle masters.”

  “I thought they were red kailum,” Delgart noted.

  “Not all of them were,” Grelsor said, “some are red kailu masters; some are black maghi masters; both have sold themselves to Nekerp, Lord of the Dead, in return for immortality, but it is not true immortality, for they are not alive in the same sense that we are; it is better described as un-life, for they, like the corpses they animate, are dead.”