by Jim Hines
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Galadrion thought about her husband. Devin had been a good man, but he had been weak. She had long since forgiven him for inviting a vampire into their home. Like Nakor, Devin had been a man who loved nature. She remembered once when he had woken her up in the morning and taken her out to the lake to watch the sun rise.
Everything comes back to sunsets and sunrises!
Tears stung Galadrion’s eyes, and she wiped them away without noticing. That morning with Devin had been less than a week before he was killed.
The emotions were threatening to overwhelm her, now. Years of pain and loneliness fought to reach the surface. Angrily, Galadrion forced them down again, refusing to acknowledge such feelings. Clearing her mind, she turned to stare once more at the sun.
After a while, her features softened again. Her memories buried once more, Galadrion allowed herself to relax somewhat.
Hours passed. Galadrion continued to sit outside, marvelling at her rediscovery of the day. Pynne and Whoo both slept soundly, their exhausted bodies recovering from the exertions of the night before. And Nakor dreamed again.
* * *
Dazed, exhausted, and bleeding, Nakor pulled himself into the small room, leaving the scattered bones of the skeleton behind him. Once inside, he used all of his energy to heal the wound on his side.
That’s right, it’s another dream-flashback!
Examining his legs, he found that they had both received shallow slashes, with the right leg barely even scratched. He used a dagger to cut bandages from his cloak, and tied them around his injured thighs. Once that had been accomplished, he allowed himself to rest.
Hours later, he heard a metallic clanking coming from the hallway. Nakor smiled, recognizing the sound of Scrunchy’s armor banging against itself as he walked. Using the door to pull himself to his feet, he walked out to rejoin his companions.
They led him back to the trap door, berating him all the way for running off like that. Once they climbed out up through the hole in the ceiling, the scolding quickly stopped as they continued to search for the gems. But Nakor limped for the rest of his time in the temple.
His vision blurred, and a moment later he stood in a grassy clearing. He blinked his eyes to clear them, then unwillingly took a step back.
In front of him lay Scrunchy’s body, just the way they had found it. The rats had left little more than a skeleton, still wearing a silver breastplate and helmet, sword clutched in one outstretched hand. A pair of daggers lay on the ground by his waist. A brown rat peered up at Nakor from within the rib cage. After a moment, it scurried away and vanished.
Suddenly, the book takes an unexpected turn toward the gruesome.
Nakor turned away, only to see two small stones set on a sandy beach. The fingers of his hands clenched, unnoticed, into fists. Nakor had not been there when Serina and Wanni were killed. They had been out hunting, less than a day after they had freed Olara. It was almost a week before Nakor, Roth, Caudi, or Brigit learned what had happened. Roth had heard a rumor of two strangers who had been found dead by the shore of the lake. According to the people who had buried them, Serina and Wanni were both pierced through the heart by a single arrow. They would have died instantly.
“The fingers of his hands.” As opposed to the fingers of what, his left armpit? What kind of weird anatomy do these elves have, anyway?
There was a snorting noise behind him. Knowing what was about to happen, Nakor tried not to look.
The dream took over, and Nakor felt himself turning to watch as a mounted warrior thrust his spear through Roth’s unarmored chest.
The snorting noise had nothing to do with any of this. That was just a random pig wandering through the dream. Nakor’s subconscious is a weird place.
Just as had happened in reality, Nakor felt pain and fury overwhelming him. He stretched out one hand, fingers spread, to point at the murderer before him.
The man turned his horse to look at Nakor.
Wait, is the man looking at Nakor, or is he just trying to get his horse to look?
Drawing upon the power of the air itself, Nakor sent a blast of wind at the man that knocked him from the horse.
As he struggled to rise, Nakor raised his other hand. He used the pain and anger at the death of his friend to fuel his magic, drawing upon power he had never before allowed himself to use. Now, he used it with an almost insane rage, sending the man hurling through the air to smash against a large oak tree, back broken by the impact, just as had happened two years ago.
“Use your aggressive feelings, boy. Let the hate flow through you. Strike me down with all of your hatred and your journey towards the dark side will be complete!”
Nakor sank to his knees, overwhelmed. Then he raised his head, knowing what must come next. As he watched, the young wizard Caudi raced into view, pursued by two men.
She turned and started to cast a spell, but one of the men hurled a dagger that lodged in her stomach. She stumbled backward.
Sprinting, Nakor tried to reach her in time, as he had been unable to in life. He was still too far away when one of the men stepped up and stabbed Caudi through the heart, killing her instantly.
Nakor slowed to a walk, watching as her body crumpled to the ground. One of the men yelled as he spotted Nakor approaching. The other looked up, and said “That’s the other one we want.”
They approached, swords drawn. Too numb to even attempt a spell, Nakor silently drew his rapier in one hand, dagger in the other, and waited motionlessly.
As the men neared, Nakor suddenly leapt into motion. He batted a sword out of the way, and almost casually stabbed one of the men with his dagger. Smoothly, he stepped back, avoiding a thrust by the other man’s sword.
Seeing his companion bleeding out his life on the ground seemed to put fear into Nakor’s remaining opponent. Gathering his courage, the man lunged again.
Nakor caught the sword on the long blade of his dagger, diverting the attack to one side. Then he smashed the basket hilt of his rapier into the man’s face.
He stumbled backward with a yell, dropping his sword and clutching his hands to his face. Nakor brought the point of his rapier up until it touched the man’s throat. Walking slowly, he backed the bleeding man up against a tree.
The rage was clearly audible in Nakor’s voice as he spoke. “Who sent you?” he asked simply.
The man’s voice was almost a whimper. “Olara.”
Nakor killed the man quickly and cleanly. It was a far nicer death than he would have had otherwise, when Olara learned of his failure. Olara was not known for her tolerance.
He turned around, and discovered that he faced the entrance to Olara’s temple. From within, he could hear Olara’s mocking laughter echoing through the tunnels. Then she began calling out his name. “Nakor…”
* * *
“Nakor!”
Nakor jumped and opened his eyes. Galadrion was staring down at him, while Pynne and Whoo hovered nearby, looking concerned.
“I’m okay,” he muttered. He sat up, still feeling tired. “How long have I been asleep?”
“It’s midday,” Whoo answered. “The rest of us have eaten already, but Thomas said not to wake you.”
“But then you were having some sort of nightmare,” Pynne added, “So we woke you up anyway.”
Nakor smiled weakly at her logic.
“Nakor,” Whoo said, “I have a question for you.” He paused for a moment. “Where are we?”
“In a temple,” Nakor replied.
Whoo rolled his eyes at that. “What kind of temple is this, and who are the priests who live here?” he demanded.
Questions that would have made much more sense for someone to ask several scenes ago.
Nakor leaned his back against a wall and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, exactly.” he began. “I came to this area a year and a half ago, trying to escape from the death that seemed to follow me and those I cared about.” He shiv
ered once, recalling his dream.
“I had been following the river, and eventually it led me to the ruins of an ancient castle. While I was exploring it, I stumbled upon the family of bears that was already living there.”
Nakor remembered his shock as he and the bear stared at each other, both uncertain how to react for a moment. That moment had allowed Nakor to cast a spell, after which he spoke to the bear and assured it that he meant no harm.
“I lived with the bears for about a year,” he continued, oblivious to the looks of surprise on his audience. “Then they took off to find someplace new.” He smiled, remembering. “Apparently I made their cave smell like elf.”
“A few days after I arrived, Thomas came to visit me. He invited me back here, to his temple. He never did explain exactly what god is worshipped here. From what I’ve gathered over the past year and a half, the priests are devoted to peace and knowledge. Aside from that, I know little of their religion. Once we arrived, he took me into a room and we sat down together. Then he began to talk to me. Talking about Olara…”
You know how they say if your only tool is a hammer, then everything looks like a nail? I’m starting to think the only tool in my writer’s tool box was the flashback.
Thomas had stared at Nakor for a long time, and neither spoke. Finally, Thomas broke the silence.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said softly.
Nakor stared, confused, at this odd man in his grey robes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he replied.
“Calugar lied to you, he used you to free his goddess.” Thomas explained. “There was no way you could have known.”
Feeling suddenly vulnerable, Nakor stood up and took a step toward the door.
“Sit down, Nakor,” came the soft voice of the priest. “You’re safe here. I know about these things because they affect all of us. I could feel it when Olara was brought back. I spent the next few days trying to figure out how it was done, and who was involved.”
He looked sympathetically at Nakor. “I also know what happened to the others.”
Nakor sat down hard. He rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. “I should have been there. I was too slow to save Roth. Too late to save Caudi.”
He looked into Thomas’s eyes. “I wasn’t even around when Wanni and Serina were murdered!”
“There was no way you could have been everywhere at once.” Thomas answered in a gentle voice. “There was no way you could have known.”
Nakor lowered his eyes again. When he spoke, his voice was pure bitterness. “I should have.”
“And why is that?” Thomas asked. “Why were the lives of these people your responsibility?”
“What do you mean?”
Thomas looked at him sadly. “Each of your friends was just as responsible as you were for freeing Olara. Why do you take all of this responsibility upon yourself? No man can hold that much weight upon his shoulders.”
A tear fell from Nakor’s left eye. He clenched his fists and looked up at Thomas. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Stop intruding on my angsty elf-pain!”
“Does that matter?” Thomas replied.
Something snapped inside Nakor. The months of pain and anger came rushing to the surface, and he stood up to grab Thomas by the front of his robe. “Of course it matters,” he shouted.
Thomas grabbed one of his wrists, and the next thing Nakor knew, he was lying on his back, staring up at the plain stone ceiling. For a brief moment, he lay there, stunned. He blinked, and the emotions came rushing back. Rationality completely forgotten, Nakor stood up and drew his sword, levelling the blade at his foe.
In Fantasyland, all monks are martial artists. Which makes you wonder why Nakor didn’t know what he was getting into…
Thomas watched, calmly, without reacting.
Gradually, the tip of the sword began to quiver. Then it was slowly lowered to the ground. There was a metallic crash as the rapier slipped from Nakor’s hand. Overcome by despair, he sank to the ground and clutched his head in his hands.
“My elf-pain is the ANGSTIEST elf-pain!”
Thomas walked over and lay a hand on his shoulder. Nakor looked up, tears flowing freely down his cheeks.
“You can sleep here tonight, if you wish,” Thomas offered.
Nakor nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.
“I stayed for about a week,” Nakor said, looking up at Galadrion, Whoo, and Pynne. “During the day, I did what work I could to help out. At night, Thomas and I would talk, sometimes for hours at a time.”
Nakor smiled. “Since then, I’ve come here when I needed a place to rest, away from the rest of the world.”
“So,” began Whoo, “would any of these people have some idea as to how we’re going to kill Olara?”
“We?” asked Nakor, raising an eyebrow.
Raised eyebrow count: 9
“She burnt my wings!” Whoo replied, outraged. “I’m not just going to sit around and let her get away with that!”
Nakor looked over at Pynne.
“Every time I let him go off on his own, he gets in trouble.” she commented, smiling evilly. “So I guess I should go to.”
Or go “too,” even.
He turned to Galadrion, who simply nodded.
Taking a deep breath, Nakor addressed them all. “I don’t know,” he pronounced. “I don’t know how to kill a goddess, and I don’t know how to keep her from killing us if we try.”
Silence fell over the room, as each person felt Nakor’s despair spread out to touch them.
“This is my elf-pain, which I share with you in the ancient elven ritual of the misery-meld. ‘My angst to your angst. My pain to your pain…’”
At that point, there was a knocking on the door. Galadrion walked over to let Thomas into the small room.
“You must leave, soon.” he said, sitting down to join them. “While you remain in our temple, you are safe from Olara’s evil. But soon she will know where you have escaped to. Once that happens, it will be impossible to leave here without being killed.”
Nakor stood up immediately, only to have Thomas laugh and motion for him to return to the floor.
“I said soon, Nakor,” Thomas explained. “Not now. Before you leave, there are things you all must know.”
“I haven’t finished infodumping yet!”
“Such as?” Pynne asked.
“When Olara first returned to this world, she was weak.” Thomas began. “She was also vulnerable. For five thousand years, all of her power had been spent in surviving. It has been theorized that she would have eventually died there, once her power was completely depleted.”
“Since the day of her rebirth, however, she has been steadily growing. Each day she gains in strength. Even after two years, she is not as powerful as she once was, though.” He looked at Nakor. “This is why you still live.”
Nakor looked confused.
“Have you never stopped to wonder why Olara didn’t simply kill you herself?” asked Thomas.
Nakor nodded in response.
“Do you remember the pain you felt when she returned?”
“It was like something ripping me apart from the inside,” Nakor answered.
“Not a bad description of what happened,” Thomas said. “Each of you who participated in that spell felt the same pain. Almost as if part of your very soul was being torn from your body. In essence, that’s exactly what happened. Olara took the very life from you all in order to survive. She needed that energy to recover from the shock of being thrown back into our world.”
For the record, I wrote this long before Harry Potter came out.
Thomas looked at Nakor. “That is what saved your life.” He paused, trying to explain. “It’s almost as if, by taking your life force, Olara became a part of you, and you of her. It leaves her unable to harm you without likewise harming herself.”
“In other words,” Whoo jumped in, “she can’t kill Nakor without killing herself at t
he same time?”
“Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.” -Sybill Trelawney, from the Harry Potter books. Which is exactly what I was trying to say, only J. K. Rowling did it much, much better.
“That’s correct,” Thomas said. “It isn’t an exact explanation, of course. She was still able to send others to kill Nakor without the fear of harming herself. But more important is the fact that once she gains enough power, she will be able to rid herself of her tie to you.”
“Once that happens, Olara will kill you.”
I think I gave that last line its own paragraph because I thought it would add emphasis and drama. Instead of adding confused readers saying, “Wait, who the heck is talking now?”
“So how long do we have?” asked Whoo.
“I don’t know.” Thomas answered. “It has been two years. I suspect that Olara will have enough power soon, if she does not have it already. And once that happens…”
He let that sentence hang, unfinished.
“So what’s to keep her from killing us the moment we leave here?” demanded Pynne.
“The coin I gave to Galadrion will hide you from her,” came the response. “Provided you stay within fifty paces of it.”
“Thank you,” Nakor said.
“So how do we kill her?” Whoo asked, hovering in midair.
Questing is hard. Fortunately, Thomas is here to spoon-feed them the answers. We’re a step away from him giving them an instruction sheet by Ikea, with cartoonish diagrams and a little goddess-slaying allen wrench.
Thomas sighed. “As far as I know, Olara’s only weakness is her inability to re-enter the temple from which she was freed. Yet even that would not destroy her. It would just cause her intense pain.”
“Intense pain is a good place to start,” Galadrion said dryly.
“Perhaps,” Thomas said with a slight smile, “but it is not enough. Which is why I need to tell you of Averlon.”
