Nodding his understanding, Mosley continued to question as he sniffed at the base of Celestria’s throne. “You referred to how much the gashtion must consume. What does the gashtion weigh?” He lifted his leg and marked the back leg of the goddess’ throne.
Shaking her head, Celestria leaned over the arm. “Must you?”
“I can’t help myself. The wood calls to me,” the wolf defended.
As Mosley returned to the front of the throne, the goddess studied his size. “To answer your question, the gashtion would eat 2,700 wolves of your size every 5 Peaks.”
Seeing the surprise on the wolf’s face, Celestria redirected the conversation as Mosley imagined the height of the mound of flesh that the gashtion would consume. “The Tear of Gramal has been around Clandestiny’s neck, far, far away from Hydroth for too many seasons. The power of the Tear has been unable to ward off a new, recently matured gashtion. Therefore, the Isor remain on guard.”
Celestria could see more questions behind Mosley’s green eyes, so she remained quiet and waited for the wolf to speak.
“I heard the guards speak of a prophesied one when the Frigid Commander was away. They speak as if they know who he is. They talk of a descendent of a mighty warrior named Klidess. They speak of him as a savior, but not from just the gashtion. They whisper as if there is division amongst their ranks. It’s as if they are waiting for this ruby eyed man to deliver them from Darosen’s command.”
The goddess could hardly control her laughter. “There is no prophecy. After Helmep convinced the Isor to worship him, Hosseff decided to undermine his campaign. He gave the Isor the story of Klidess and a ridiculous belief that a ruby eyed child was to be glorified as a savior from what was yet to come. Hosseff did this to create confusion amongst the Isor … to give them something else to believe in … something to keep Helmep from receiving the full devotion of their prayers.
“Since Hosseff gathers the souls of the deceased, he also gave the bearer of the Tear the belief that they could call upon Helmep’s name to return life to another. In doing so, this chosen Isorian must surrender their soul. Hosseff did this to embarrass Helmep since he knew the soul of the one to be resurrected would not be returned.”
“Are you saying two souls would be surrendered to the heavens?”
Celestria chuckled. “Mosley, you did forget much, didn’t you? The souls would be surrendered to the Book, silly wolf.”
“To the Book? Please explain.”
Celestria waved off the question. “Move beyond that. I care not to take the moments to do so.”
Annoyed, Mosley redirected his course of thought. “Did Helmep find out about Hosseff’s betrayal?”
“He did. Helmep spoke with the Book. As a consequence for Hosseff’s actions, the Book granted Helmep the ability to swap souls whenever the bearer of the Tear called upon his name. Further, Gabriel promised Helmep that a child with ruby eyes would be born once every 3,000 seasons. As a result, Hosseff realized that his efforts to undermine Helmep only added further glory to the God of Healing’s campaign.
“This angered Hosseff, and in a last effort to cripple the number of those who served Helmep, Hosseff appeared to the beings of Gesper. He spread a rumor that the gashtion was the ultimate power on Northern Grayham. The Tormal believe that to have control of the dragon makes the Tormalian who possesses this control god-like. But this control of the dragon can only be accomplished through the use of the Tear, or perhaps even the Kindred Tear that exists inside the Ko-dess.”
Mosley snorted his irritation. “If this is, indeed, the case, I must return to Hydroth. I must find Clandestiny and warn her about the commander’s interest in the Tear. The commander’s scent is different than the others. During my captivity, there was one other who smelled as he did. Her name was Blandina.”
A dastardly grin appeared on Celestria’s face. “Blandina is the daughter of the Tormalian King. They must be up to something. She is a sorceress. But beyond that, she can speak with and command the dead. The Tormalian Princess is powerful. She was wed to the last bearer of the Tear as an offering of peace between the Tormal and the Isor. Perhaps the Tormal seek to control the dragon, and Blandina’s son is to be the vessel through which they plan to seize this control.”
Mosley’s ears cocked. “And how would this be accomplished?”
“If Clandestiny was to wed Shiver, a cut would be made across the palms of their hands. Clandestiny’s blessed blood would pass to the king. If Shiver’s mother was to employ her magic, she could command the king to use the gashtion against the Isor.”
“Does she also possess magic that can control the living?”
“No, she doesn’t.” Another dastardly smile appeared on the goddess’ face. “Blandina’s heart is cold. Her son is capable of passing just like any other being. She would be able to take control of Shiver’s corpse before the boy’s life’s source finished drying on her hands.”
The goddess’ smile was replaced with a matter-of-fact look. “Beyond the sorceress’ control of the dead, I know of no other Tormalian who would have the power to control the gashtion ... except perhaps Blandina’s father, King Meerum Bosand, but I’d wager he’s too weak now.”
Mosley snorted his disdain. “Are you saying she would slay her own cub to pursue this power?”
“I am. The sorceress and her father are ruthless. But their plotting is flawed.”
“How so?”
“Without a blessing from the High Priestess, a Tormalian’s best effort to control the gashtion would be catastrophic to everyone on Northern Grayham. The gashtion would break free of this control, and without the Tear resting above the heart of a truly blessed Isorian, the people of Northern Grayham would no longer be able to hold the gashtion at bay.”
Mosley stood in thought for a short series of moments. “The queen’s magic is powerful. I was unable to teleport out of captivity or melt the ice of my cell with my magic.”
The goddess nodded. “Indeed, the sorceress’ power is strong by this world’s standards. It appears you now understand the depravity of the situation. You’ll need power of your own if you’re going to help the Isor.”
The wolf’s green eyes scanned the horizon in search of a plan before he redirected his gaze to capture Celestria’s. “If I was to promise to drink from your chalice and go to Harvestom to train with the priestess, would you take me to Clandestiny first? I want to warn her of the queen’s plotting before I go.”
Celestria stood from her throne. She looked down at the wolf and winked. “Consider it done. But first ... you should rest for the night. Let me enjoy your company, and we’ll leave in the morning.”
The goddess waved her hand across the pebbles on the beach. The next thing Mosley knew, an oversized hide filled with vestle chick feathers appeared for him to lie on.
“See, Mosley. I can be pleasant.” The goddess reached out and scratched the top of the wolf’s head. “I’ve truly missed you.”
The Under Dungeon of Hydroth
The Estimated Series of Moments Called Midnight
Hydroth
Northern Grayham
The back wall of Mosley’s old cell crumbled, bit by bit, as Slips finished tunneling his way into the under dungeon. Wearing his spiked shoes for balance, Sagar stepped through the hole and into the cell. He searched the darkness for the wolf, but what he found was a left fist that landed flush against the right side of his head.
As Slips fell to the floor, his ears heard the guard shout for the Frigid Commander before his vision darkened.
Back on Southern Grayham
Dawn, the Next Morning
After a hearty breakfast with Mosley, Celestria touched the night terror wolf on the back of his neck. When they reappeared, they were standing on the west side of the Pass of Nayala looking toward the narrow ledge that spanned the gorge.
“Where are we?” Mosley questioned.
Celestria scratched the back of the wolf’s ears. “You’re within moments of mee
ting Clandestiny. To the west of our position is the home of the Ko-dess.”
Before another word could be said, the goddess vanished, leaving Mosley standing by himself. Mosley did not have a chance to react before Medolas walked around a large boulder with Clandestiny’s hand in his.
Mosley sat on his haunches, exuding a peaceful nature, and waited for the couple to cover the distance between them. He spoke in the Isor language as soon as they were within earshot—yet another language known to the wolf because of his service to Bassorine. “You must be Clandestiny!” Looking at Medolas, he added, “And who are you?”
Medolas grabbed Clandestiny’s arm to stop their approach. “The beast. It speaks.”
Mosley’s keen ears heard the comment. Rolling his eyes, he shouted a response. “Of course, I can! I have come to speak with Clandestiny!”
Clanny stepped away from Medolas and toward Mosley. A fair number of moments passed before she looked back over her shoulder. “The beast’s eyes look friendly. Perhaps Helmep has blessed us with the company of a gentle monstrosity.”
“Monstrosity?” Mosley sneered. “I’m not a monster.”
Intrigued by the wolf’s response, Clandestiny moved even closer.
Mosley remained on his haunches as she knelt in front of him. He watched as her blue hand extended for him to smell it.
Instinctively, the wolf sniffed her fingertips and then abruptly stopped. Annoyed with his lack of control, Mosley spoke in a soft voice. “I’m not a common dog. I need not smell your scent to speak with you.”
“Dog?” Clandestiny queried. “What a curious name.” With the Tear of Gramal dangling from her neck, she leaned forward and pulled at the fur on the top of Mosley’s head. “You look like an overgrown sudwal with a darkened coat.” She turned to look at Medolas. “Come here, Meddy! What do you make of the beast?”
Medolas shrugged. “Don’t ask me. Why not ask it what it is?”
Before Clandestiny could pose the question, Mosley answered. “I’m a night terror wolf. I’ve come to deliver a message. Much has changed since you were last in Hydroth. Danger awaits your return.”
Medolas’ brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Our eyes have not fallen upon Hydroth for 300 seasons. We have no enemies there.”
For the next long series of moments, Mosley explained everything he knew about the Tear of Gramal, Blandina, King Meerum Bosand, and the Tormalian King’s desire to control the gashtion. He finished his revelation by saying, “You must protect one another. Your friends are few.”
Clandestiny looked at Medolas. “Do you think Gablysin would betray us ... and Shiver?”
Again, Medolas shrugged. “The depth of their loyalty shall be learned upon our arrival, I suppose.”
Clanny frowned. “Do you think Shiver’s mother could’ve turned them against us?”
Yet again, Medolas shrugged. “I know not, Clanny. How could I speak of events that would’ve required my presence to acquire this knowledge? Must I remind you that I’ve been with you?”
A short silence passed as Mosley sniffed his surroundings while he waited for Clandestiny’s response. It was not until after the wolf lifted his leg to mark a stone near the edge of the gorge that Clandestiny addressed him again. “What’s your name, terror wolf?”
Mosley cringed. “I’m a night terror wolf, and my name is Mosley.”
“My apologies, Mosley, I meant no offense. I must ask … how do you know these things, and why does our fate concern you?”
Mosley lowered his leg and sniffed the rock. Satisfied with the scent, he responded. “I came to Northern Grayham seeking answers. Beyond that, I don’t feel the need to say more. I’ve learned what I need to know.”
As Clandestiny’s glare burned into the wolf because of the abruptness of his answer, Medolas looked out across the gorge. The Isorian shuddered. “I remember this crossing.” He turned to look at the wolf. “The way ahead is dangerous. We shall have to cross on our bellies. The wind is our enemy.”
Mosley looked toward the far side of the ledge in hopes of seeing a place to teleport. Try as he might, his keen eyes could not focus on a target since the distance was too great. “I fear I cannot help … nor can I travel with you to Hydroth.”
Before Medolas or Clandestiny could question, Celestria appeared. The goddess did not take the moments to enjoy the look of shock on the Isorians’ faces. Instead, she waved her hand in front of them. The next thing Clandestiny knew, she was standing on the opposite side of the gorge with Medolas. They had reappeared not more than five paces east of the sign that arched above the entrance to the pass.
An owl was sitting on top of the sign. Its feathers were white with brown trim, and they were tucked tight to its body for warmth.
Hearing the pysples pop beneath Clanny’s shifting weight, the owl’s head spun in her direction. The bird’s piercing, garnet eyes focused on the Isorian’s face. Clanny looked confused. She was staring west back across the gorge with her mouth open.
The owl took flight.
Startled by the sound of the creature’s wings, Medolas and Clandestiny looked up. Their eyes followed the bird until it was out of sight.
Back on the west side of the gorge, Celestria touched Mosley on the back of his neck. “Shall we go?”
When they reappeared, they were standing on the beach of the Blood Sea beneath the cliffs that ascended to the Temple of the Gods on Southern Grayham.
Celestria looked at the base of the cliffs and waved her hand. Once again, a way inside was revealed. “You see, Mosley, I kept my promise. You were able to warn Clandestiny of the danger that waits for her in Hydroth. Now the moment has come for you to keep your promise. The power of the Swayne Enserad waits inside.” The goddess vanished.
Mosley looked toward the opening. “I hope my desire for revenge isn’t consuming my ability to employ good judgment.” The wolf trotted into the cave, singing.
One big wolf just entering a cave in a mountain.
Don’t mess with me ... don’t mess with me...
The cliff shut behind him as he began the next verse.
Western Luvelles
The Family Homes
Early Bailem, that Same Morning
While sitting on a pair of rocking chairs on the front porch of George’s home, Lasidious and Alistar watched from within an invisible veil as George opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch with Payne.
The fairy-demon pulled his hand out of the warlock’s, rushed to the edge of the porch and then pointed at Kepler who was waiting not more than 12 paces beyond the bottom of the steps. Payne’s face was beaming with excitement as he said, “Good morning, Kitty. Is Kitty here to say hi to Payne? Payne loves his Kitty.”
The Mischievous One had to smile as Alistar commented in a voice that only he and his brother could hear. “I’m surprised that Kepler has accepted Payne the way he has.”
Lasidious nodded. “I am, too.”
The god’s smirked as the demon-jaguar rolled his eyes. A moment later, Payne’s wings began to flutter. The fairy-demon lifted off the porch, flew down the steps and wrapped his arms around the jaguar’s front leg.
Kepler looked up at George and spoke telepathically.“You could’ve told me the freak was awake.”
The warlock grinned and spoke aloud. “Ahhhhh. Come on, Kep. Just appease him for a bit, will ya?”
“If you insist.”
Payne took a few steps back and then reached up to pull at the fabric of his new shirt. “You like Payne’s shirt, Kitty? Mom say black make Payne look … umm … ummm...” The fairy-demon stopped talking and turned to address George. “What that word again?”
George smiled. “Dashing. Athena said you look dashing, Payne.”
Both gods laughed as Payne whirled around to face the cat. A huge smile spread across the fairy-demon’s face. “Payne look dashing, Kitty. You no have no shirt like Payne, so Kitty no look dashing.”
Kepler lowered his head and whispered, “But you’re stil
l ugly to me, Freak.” He nudged the fairy-demon in a playful manner.
Lasidious elbowed Alistar. “You’ve got to love that cat. Too bad he has to perish.”
With wings flapping, Payne rushed under the jaguar’s head and kicked Kepler on his right front shin. He then darted across the clearing toward the rocks above Kepler’s lair, shouting, “Kitty fat! Kitty slow! Can’t catch Payne!”
Kepler looked up at George. “He’ll always be annoying. You know that, right?”
Before George could respond, the jaguar teleported across the clearing and reappeared in front of Payne, blocking the fairy-demon’s path. He crouched and growled. “Gotcha, Freak!”
Startled, Payne changed course and headed for the woods. “Kitty slow! Can’t catch Payne!”
Kepler allowed Payne to get close to the treeline before he vanished and appeared again in Payne’s path while growling, “You can’t escape the Protector of the Realm!” With a gentle thump of his paw against Payne’s left shoulder, he knocked Payne to the ground. “I’m going to eat you.”
The fairy-demon rolled to his feet and ran toward George. “No so fast, Kitty!”
Kepler chased Payne all the way back to the house, nipping at the air just behind the fairy-demon’s wings to add to the youngster’s excitement. The jaguar stopped at the bottom of the steps as Payne bounded up the flight and leapt into George’s arms.
With his chest heaving, Payne looked over his shoulder and stuck out his tongue. “Kitty too slow. Must get gooder to catch Payne.”
To appease the demon-child’s pride, Kepler lowered his head and feigned defeat. “You’ll always be faster than I am. Your dominance of this territory has been demonstrated. Perhaps one Peak, you could show me how to be as elusive as you.”
Payne looked up at George. “What ‘elusive’ mean?”
The warlock chuckled. “It means no one can catch you, buddy.” Lowering the fairy-demon to the porch, he added, “Run into the house, and tell Athena how elusive you’ve become.”
The Tear of Gramal Page 20
