Beginning of a Hero (Legends of Windemere)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Fritz’s thoughts are immediately cut short when they reach the river. His mouth drops open in shock and anger once he steps out from behind Nimby. The river is churning and swirling, but it is putrid and dark green. The smell of rotten fish fills the air every time the foul water laps at the shore. Bloated leeches wriggle around in the water in search of food and the few fish that can be seen in the water have bulbous, film-covered eyes. Stranger still are the healthy oaks and maples growing along the opposite shoreline. The lost instructors can hear the telltale sounds of a swamp just beyond the imposing tree line.

  “You . . . you idiot!” Fritz exclaims, smacking Nimby on the shoulder. “This is the Caster Swamp! We should not be anywhere near the Caster Swamp! Damn it!”

  “Just calm down, Fritz. We aren’t in the swamp yet and now we know approximately where we are. So we can easily make straight for the academy,” Nimby says, turning to face his openly annoyed friend. “This is an adventure, Fritz. We can get some good stories out of this. Uh, why are you staring at me like that? Take it easy for now.”

  Fritz growls angrily and takes a step toward Nimby, causing the halfling to bolt away from the swamp. The gnome casts a speed spell on himself and starts running after his fleet-footed friend. He chases Nimby for thirty minutes before he tackles the halfling through a cluster of thick bushes. The force of the impact sends them tumbling several yards, eventually bouncing off a spongy mat of moss. As they fly through the air, Nimby and Fritz stare at each other and laugh at the ridiculous situation. They land in the middle of a wide, cold stream, which jolts them out of their laughter. It takes a few minutes of scrambling and splashing to get onto the muddy shore. They collapse and sputter for air, entirely unaware of two figures standing on the other side of the stream.

  “You dead?” the gnome grunts, giving a small shove to Nimby.

  “Just a little shocked. That water was very cold,” Nimby whispers, getting to his feet and checking his many pockets. “At least we know where we are now are. The academy is less than an hour away as long as we follow the river. Hey, Fritz, do you get the feeling that we’re being watched? I feel like we are.”

  Fritz roughly turns Nimby’s head toward the other shore. “We are being watched.”

  Across the stream is a scrawny, young man with brown hair and the barely used clothes of an academy freshman. He looks to be in shock as he stares at the pair of teachers who crashed into the peaceful river. More shocked, however, is the beautiful figure standing with him. A slender woman with light blue skin and watery hair tries to hide herself from view, cowering behind the boy. She is naked except for a thong that looks to be made entirely out of smooth, black stones. When Fritz and Nimby wave at her, she makes a startled noise that sounds more like a gargle than a yelp. They quickly drop their hands and focus on the boy.

  “What are you doing here without permission, Leslie?” Nimby asks, trying to sound authoritative.

  “More importantly, what are you doing with a river nymph?” Fritz interjects before the boy can answer Nimby. “You know the rules about . . . never mind. I don’t think Selenia has any rules that prevent this type of thing. Ignore my attempt at pointless authority. Care to explain yourself anyway?”

  “I am deeply sorry, Professor Warrenberg,” Leslie replies, struggling to shield the river nymph from view. “I have been sneaking out to the river since my first day at academy. I am not used to such a lack of privacy and was uncomfortable, so I found this place of private solace. On my second day, I came across Giriana unconscious by this stream. A bear had attacked her when she was in fish form, so I nursed her back to health. Since then I visit her every chance I get. You won’t tell Ms. Hamilton about all this, will you?”

  Nimby rolls his eyes in boredom. “What do we care? River nymphs are a confusing and fickle lot. Selenia would probably just want to talk to you about it and let you know about the dangers. Geez. A nymph addict.”

  “I’m not an addict!” Leslie yells in protest.

  “Yes you are! That’s the only reason a land-dweller would spend so much time with a water-based creature,” Nimby declares in a sudden explosion of anger. “I mean, it doesn’t make any sense and nothing good can come of it.”

  “Experience?” Fritz inquires, curiously eyeing the halfling.

  “This is neither the time nor the place,” replies Nimby, whose face has turned bright red. Fritz pats his uncomfortable friend on the shoulder before turning back to Leslie.

  “While I must agree with Nimby that human and nymph relations are frustrating at best and disastrous at worse, I disagree with some of his statements,” Fritz says in his best oratory voice. “River nymphs bond for life and it appears that this one has bonded with you, Leslie. It is a very delicate situation that we have discovered and, out of pure decency and respect, we will not get ourselves involved. The two of us will keep your secret, young man. It would be wrong for us to reveal this to Selenia. Though, I am unsure why you want to keep it secret from a woman who is a product of interracial breeding.”

  Leslie takes a deep breath before whispering, “Because she might tell my father that I’m in love with a river nymph.”

  “He would be angry at this?” Nimby states, laughing sarcastically. “Well that goes without saying. It isn’t something a human father wants to hear from his son.” He pulls two apples out of a belt pouch, tossing one to Fritz. The gnome clumsily catches it and devours it as if it was his first meal in days.

  “There’s more to it than that,” Leslie argues with a sudden panic in his voice. He is about to step into the stream when the river nymph tugs on his sleeve and pulls him back. Leslie sighs and steps back, gently holding her hand. “I can’t go into the details, but my father is very powerful. He has already chosen my wife who I have never met. I convinced him to send me to this academy without telling him that I was hoping to find a warrior woman for me to marry. I’m naturally frail and get sick easily, so it would make more sense for me to marry a strong woman instead of a pampered one. Giriana is strong and sweet. She is everything I would ever want in a wife. I just need to figure out a way to convince my father of our union. So, please keep this a secret from everyone and let me handle it.”

  Fritz looks away as if he is considering Leslie’s request, but he really begins to carefully ponder the words of the boy. A powerful father with a desire to have a controlled bloodline would be a definite sign of royalty. Arranged marriages were one of the oldest traditions of Windemere, found in the history of almost every royal family that could be traced back to the years after the Great Cataclysm. The only exception to the rule was the Solomon lineage, which was a fact that nagged at Fritz. The chance of two royal heirs being in the academy at the same time, while not impossible, was doubtful. It was possible that the current Duke was breaking tradition because his heir was so frail and meek. The confusing uncertainty begins to frustrate the gnome who has spent a lifetime proving the uncertain and turning dreams into reality.

  “We have to get back for our classes,” Nimby announces before Fritz can say anything. “Come back to the academy about an hour after us, Leslie. That way people don’t think we met out here. It will be like this never happened. I promise.” Without waiting for a response, Nimby turns away and starts walking back to the academy.

  “Thank you, sirs!” Leslie happily yells. “Giriana says thank you too!”

  Fritz trails behind Nimby until they are well out of hearing range of Leslie and the river nymph. He rushes to get next to Nimby to start talking, but the emotionless face of the halfling causes him to hold his tongue. It is a mask of someone who has remembered something that they wished to forget, so Fritz passes the time enjoying the scenery. Within forty silent minutes, they reach the edge of the academy’s killing field where Nimby flops to the ground and looks up at the sky. Fritz pulls out his clay pipe, quickly filling the air with smoke rings.

  “We have half an hour before we have to get back to the academy,” the gnome causally mentions. “So, wh
at’s on your mind, young friend?”

  “I thought we were on to something big with Leslie. I had my hopes up that this mystery would be solved and I would be the one to do it,” Nimby says, his voice growing a bitter edge and his fists clenching. “Instead, we uncovered a secret love affair of a noble’s kid and a watery harlot. I feel so useless! I’m supposed to be good at information gathering. So far I haven’t been able to gather anything useful. Unless I feel like blackmailing that kid, which I won’t do, in case you were wondering. I may be a thief, but I have some standards when it comes to crimes that I will commit.”

  Fritz pegs Nimby in the ear with an acorn. “Pardon the terminology that I’m going to use, but you are selling yourself short, Nimby. You are the one who retrieved the list and brought Luke the files to help narrow the list down to a handful. Imagine what it would be like if he had to blindly search the entire student body. Also, you are the one who brought me and Aedyn into this. If you ask me, you have helped our young friend a lot. Consider yourself the expediter instead of the information gatherer.”

  “Nice try using big words to make me feel better. Those are still small accomplishments compared to everything else,” Nimby counters, gracefully flipping to his feet. “As a thief, I want to get the big haul and not just be responsible for the minor things. I swear that I will be the one to find out who the heir is.” Nimby grins before adding. “Besides, Luke spends most of his time in the infirmary, so somebody has to be able to put most of their time on this. Otherwise, it will never get done.”

  “How do you plan on finding the heir with your head hung low?” Fritz asks with a small chuckle in his voice.

  “Oh. I may be depressed now, but give me a few apples and hours,” Nimby declares with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “Then, I’ll be back to my old self. Luke isn’t the only one with skills and confidence. This old halfling has some tricks up his sleeves.”

  “You’re only twenty.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Not really.”

  “You really know how to ruin a great moment,” Nimby sighs. “Let’s get some real food before classes.”

  Fritz wraps an arm around Nimby’s shoulders as they cross the killing field. “Nimby, my friend, that is a plan that I am more than willing to follow.”

  Nimby laughs with the gnome as they enter the academy and leave their so-called mission in the backs of their minds.

  *****

  Even though it is late at night and no candles have been lit, Aedyn’s room is filled with the light his body emits while he prays to Durag. The priest quietly sits on his bed with his legs tucked under his body and his arms crossed so that he can put his hands on his shoulders. His breathing is barely noticeable as he focuses on his silent prayers. Unfortunately, this peaceful atmosphere and blazing light do not make the room look any neater. Scrolls and books remain scattered across every surface while a narrow path to the door has been cleared. Minutes pass before a soft wind rustles the papers and moves them into neat stacks on the floor. An unseen force gently closes any books that have been left open and corks an open inkwell sitting on the edge of Aedyn’s desk. This unconscious spell abruptly stops when an intrusive knocking on the door wakes the priest from his trance.

  “Be with you in a minute,” Aedyn says in a barely audible voice. He picks himself off the bed and stretches his legs while his glowing aura disappears. Aedyn grumbles in elven as he lights a small candle and walks toward the door.

  “It is very late,” the priest states, putting his hand on the door. “So, I hope you have an urgent reason to ignore curfew by coming to see me.”

  Aedyn opens the door and steps to the side, glancing into the hallway. Standing in the dimly lit hallway is a timid boy who cannot be older than fifteen. He is wringing his hands and nervously looking around the hallway. He cautiously steps into the room once Aedyn gestures for him to enter. The boy looks terrified and he huddles near the door once it is closed. He pulls out a sun-shaped medallion from beneath his shirt, clutching it to his chest in an attempt to calm down.

  “Samuel,” Aedyn says, clearing papers off a chair. “I did not expect to see you break a rule like curfew.” The priest opens his sun urn and takes a seat on the edge of his bed.

  “I had a nightmare. A very bad one, sir,” Samuel whispers, sitting down and hugging his knees. “I felt that it was more than just a dream and that I should talk to you about it.”

  Aedyn sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “It was probably nothing more than a vivid nightmare. I have come to realize that visions are not as common as people believe.” He pauses when Samuel begins to sob. “Still . . . as a sun priest, I cannot turn my back on someone asking for help. Tell me what your dream was and maybe we can decipher it. That is if it has any meaning. I make no promises that it will mean something.”

  Samuel takes a deep breath, finally looking Aedyn in the eye. The boy’s blue eyes are red from crying with mysterious black spots dotting his corneas. “The dream started with me back in Gods’ Voice where my family lives. I was in our home and my father was going over religious writing as usual. While he is not a priest, he has always believed in their words. That is why we live in Gods’ Voice and why my dreams always have a . . . divine sense to them.” Samuel begins staring at his feet and shifting in his chair until Aedyn clears his throat.

  “Please go on, Samuel,” Aedyn says in a calm, soothing voice.

  The boy takes another deep, shaking breath before he can continue. “But something was strange about this dream. The writings that my father was reading were those of Lorvis the Dead, Yola Biggs the Exiled Goddess, and Skragor the Destroyer. These writings caused me to cry and leave my house in fear. Once outside, I heard screaming from all around me. People were dying in the streets as undead were flooding the city. I tried to escape when this red-eyed shadow grabbed me and dragged me into a dark abyss. After that I was no longer in my dream. I could only watch from the top of a building as Gods’ Voice was destroyed. The last image I saw was the remains of six warriors being scattered across the destruction. The warriors were in coffins that the undead reached to rip chunks of their bodies and then hurl the chunks into the rubble. The feeling I had at this point was more of victory than of the fear that I started with.”

  “Interesting,” Aedyn murmurs, his face stoic, but slightly pale.

  “Can you please explain it?” Samuel politely asks.

  “It is not an easy dream to decipher due to it being so specific in its detail. It could simply mean that you fear what will happen to your home since you are so far away. Many first-year students are scared that they will return to find their childhood home destroyed since they will be away for so long,” Aedyn explains. He picks up his staff and lays it across his lap, tapping his finger on the hard wood. “Yet, I feel that would be too simple an answer for such a dream. Unfortunately, I am not that skilled in dream reading. From your final emotion of victory, I would guess that you are looking to severe ties with your past life and the urge to do so is increasing. You are now on your own path and you might have ties to your past that would prevent you from moving ahead. From the theme of violence and destruction in your dream, you may require drastic measures to defeat your obstacles.”

  “What about those specific gods?” Samuel asks with a sudden thought. “Maybe it is a vision sent by one or all of them.”

  Aedyn rubs his chin as he considers the suggestion. “I am relatively sure that is not the case. Due to her random nature, I don’t think Yola Biggs would send a vision that is so detailed and comprehensive. There is also the issue of her being a hunted goddess who has been in hiding for centuries. Giving a vision to anyone would run the risk of being found. So, Yola Biggs is certainly not directly involved.”

  “So, it is either Lorvis or Skragor,” Samuel nervously interrupts.

  “They are not as easy to deny involvement,” Aedyn admits, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You had undead in your dream, so Lorvis wou
ld have to be seen or mentioned somewhere since he is the god of necrocasting. I have been told that to use undead in visions, a god must ask permission from Lorvis or risk being asked for a payment of his choosing. It does not mean he had anything to do with the dream. Lorvis tends to ignore those who do not practice his art. Contrary to popular belief, he is a neutral god and not an evil god. Though, I still have issues with his teachings. As for Skragor, he is the god of disasters. What you saw was a disaster in your hometown, but Skragor does not use dream visions. He uses waking hallucinations during natural disasters and he never shares visions with other gods. Your mind might have added him to the dream as a rationalization. Those are the only translations I can discern from your description.”

  Samuel remains silent and goes back to staring at his feet. Aedyn can tell that the boy is very dissatisfied with his answers. Whatever the student wants to say gets stuck in his throat as he continues to quietly sit on the chair. When several minutes have gone by, Samuel pulls out a piece of paper to fiddle with, but he remains silent. The paper gets torn a little, which Samuel ignores, tucking the paper back into his pocket.

  “I am sorry that I did not say what you wanted to hear, but there are many things that I have yet to learn about dream reading,” Aedyn sincerely apologizes. “If you want, I can write a record of your dream and send it to my temple for analysis. There are people there who are capable of the detailed reading that you are requesting of me. Would that be acceptable?”