Song Of Mornius

by Diane E Steinbach

  Holram embraced the onetime orphan until Kildoren shuddered and pulled away. With dignity, the elf stepped back to rejoin his people. Placing one hand over the small of his back, he bent from his waist.

  The other elves bowed low beside their chieftain, their faces placid beneath their furry hoods.

  Holram strained to tilt Gaelin’s body forward as well to show his respect, but his host would not bend at the middle. Abruptly the snow came rushing to meet him, the cold engulfing his human face. Kicking hard, he shuddered at the chill, grainy whiteness against his skin.

  “You’re doing it!” said Argus’s voice, and Holram spied a greenish glow in the snow beside his head. “Now, do the same thing standing up, and you’ll be walking!”

  A firm grasp seized Gaelin’s hips and yanked, and then Holram was upright again, teetering in front of Terrek, frigid water dripping from his nose as he sneezed. “What did I do wrong?” he asked.

  “Great Warder,” Kildoren said, “are you well?”

  Holram nodded. “These others need rest, Leader Kildoren. Will your people shelter them?”

  “Of course,” the elf responded, beaming with pride while he went on to describe how his village had prospered. Holram half listened as he tried to read Terrek’s expression. The commander had turned away, his attention fixed on the trampled space where so many of his men had lost their lives.

  “You will come?” Kildoren gestured to his unseen village to the south. “Please, great Warder. This flesh you inhabit requires rest and sustenance. Give us this honor. Let us provide for you once more.”

  “We need a way around Alianth peak,” Terrek said. “Is there anyone in your village who could guide us?”

  “The Shukaia River will lead you,” Kildoren replied. “It runs through the gorge near our village that you can follow down the mountain. But alas, it is too dangerous now. You must wait until spring. The river crosses a valley more than thrice the size of this one. It will bring you close to the city of Shattan, which I caution you is also dead. After which you will reach an immense forest and beyond it the Skywhite Peaks, and Mount Chesna, where Erebos dwells.”

  As Terrek appraised the elf, Holram sensed him gathering himself to protest, his anger and exhaustion rising to the surface.

  With a soft mental touch through his Skystone, Holram bid Terrek not to speak. “Have you visited Warder’s Fall where I first landed?” Holram asked Kildoren. “It is forever dead now, for makers of stars are poison to this world. You know this, Kildoren, for your father is the elf who called me to your honored tree to shield me. He witnessed how, even at my weakest, I gutted that ancient wood, forcing him to turn it to stone. No. We cannot wait until the spring.”

  “We have become fond of you, Warder,” Kildoren said. “Tiava, if you fail in this, Talenkai will die. You are our hope for life, our one chance to defeat this evil. Still, we will not join you in this fight. We wish to, but we . . .”

  “Cannot,” finished Holram. “The Seekers have said this as well.”

  Kildoren’s eyes narrowed. “And they were correct,” he said. “The magic of old would resist you, yes, even against our will. The Circle would be undone, and our world would fall to ruin. The Seekers have shown us this, and we believe it. We wish to help you as best we may, however. Your horses are weary and in sore need of food and water; they are ill-equipped for such a journey. I offer you our shan, the very best we have.” Kildoren motioned to the shaggy little creatures. “They will bear you where your horses cannot.”

  Holram smiled as the elves retreated to confer with their waiting companions. He shivered, and when Terrek stepped near to offer him his cloak, he managed a gracious nod. Then, kicking his way through the snow, he followed behind the two humans.

  “Wait,” he called after a few prancing steps. When Terrek glanced back, Holram nodded at the trampled camp. “Avalar,” he said. “She went there, toward the fire. I believe she might require a friend.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  AVALAR RAN THE soft, dry cloth along the blade of her sword, the central fire burning low with no attentive Captain Vyergin to fetch more wood. Already she missed his gentle wit, the steaming chimara tea he would press her to drink from the polished bowl that was her cup.

  “Avalar?” Terrek stopped next to her. “You must be cold sitting here.” He snatched up several broken branches and placed them on the embers.

  Bowing her head, she leaned over her weapon. “I cannot make them stop,” she said, gesturing to her tears. “Again I have disappointed a companion of mine. I did not protect you as a giant should. I . . . I knew your brother, Leader Terrek, and I failed him, too! Camron was my friend!”

  Terrek nodded. “Go on,” he said.

  “Camron showed me the truth about humans,” she told him. “I felt such fear when I entered the city, but he was kind to me. When Tierdon was attacked, I wanted to save him. I could have stayed and helped my trainers defend the hall, but Camron—I needed to try—yet still they took him from me. And you! I saw you wounded during the battle. I could not come to your aid and you died!”

  “I sometimes forget how young you are,” said Terrek. “You haven’t failed anyone. Not Camron, not your trainers, and certainly not me.”

  “So many are lost. Your wranglers and warriors. Captain Vyergin . . .” Her voice broke. “I am a giant, Leader Terrek. We are the protectors of this world, not prowlers!”

  “I see,” Terrek said. “You’re upset the magical creature defended you. Avalar, the prowler was being a friend.”

  She wiped her tears from her sword’s shining blade. “If that is sooth, why would she leave me without a farewell? I could not thank her properly for her—”

  “She’s a prowler!” Terrek grinned. “Maybe I’m wrong, and it had nothing to do with friendship. As a fellow magical creature, perhaps she understands your importance to the world. Maybe that’s it. But you’re not a failure. You are flesh and blood, like everyone else. Besides, who you are shouldn’t be determined by what you are.” He waited, nodding as she yawned. “Come, Giant,” he said. “A little rest will help you see things clearly. Let’s get you to bed.”

  Chapter 32

  PONU STARED INTO the shadows of his cave, listening to the little human’s skittering retreat. “Kray?” he called after the boy. Then wincing, he glanced at the giant.

  Grevelin, standing behind him, shifted from foot to foot. “I have frightened a child!” he moaned.

  “I will go after him, Grev, and explain who you are,” said Ponu. “You stay out here. I will not have you below ground reliving your memories.”

  “You wanted us to meet,” the giant protested. “If he is important to you, we should be introduced!”

  “Another time, perhaps. The young one is frightened, as you say. Which is something I can remedy.”

  Grevelin kicked at the crusted snow at the mouth of the cave, rubbing his bare palm over his weapon’s hilt. “Hurry, and I shall wait for you,” he said. Hunching his shoulders, he stumbled to the cliff overlooking Tierdon, drawing his blade as he neared the edge. With a howl, he attacked the wall of ice Ponu had formed to keep Kray from falling, slivers of white flying through the air like snow.

  Ponu recalled Gaelin’s dismay when he had confronted the giant for the first time: “What did those bastards do?”

  “Oh, Grev,” Ponu whispered. Reluctantly, he turned and hastened down the tunnel, allowing the giant his space. If only I could undo it all so you wouldn’t have these dreams!

  Entering his workroom, Ponu nudged magic into a single wick, coaxing out a flame. As the soft light spilled across the little chamber, he propped his staff against the table, casting about through the room’s shadows for the boy. “Kray?” He smiled as the lithe body of his ferret, Saemson, darted under a chair. “I’m here.”

  “I couldn’t make it light,” came a frightened whimper. “Mother never showed me. She said I wasn’t old enough to touch fire.”

  “I know.” Ponu approached the cot
and the small shape buried among its blankets. “But that’s not why you’re hiding, is it? My friend spooked you.”

  Kray flipped back his covers. “I saw something big!”

  Smiling, Ponu moved around the cot and sat on his bed. “Yes, Grevelin is very tall.”

  “Is he a bear?” Kray asked.

  “A bear?” Ponu grinned. “Grev would be flattered! No, the bears are enjoying their winter sleep down below, little Kray, but come spring you might catch sight of a sow with her cub by the river. That’s where they go for fish.” As Ponu brushed the blond wisps from the child’s brow, he wondered at the heat of the boy’s skin. Perhaps this is why humans are short-lived, he mused. They burn themselves out.

  “I brought the father of the giant who rescued you,” he told the child. “He’s my friend Grevelin Mistavere, and he would like to meet you, Kray. Soon I may need to leave for several days, and Grevelin will want to care for you on Hothra. Not many of your people have visited the isle of giants. But you will!”

  “Ponu?” Kray wriggled near and looked up, his sad eyes luminous.

  Ponu smiled. I will never sire children, he thought. This is the closest I’ll come. “Yes?”

  “I want magic, too!” Kray said. “I want to build cities and make statues. Can you teach me?”

  Ponu’s heart sank. He stared across the room at his stalagmite table with its depiction of stars. Stacked on it were his spell books, along with his assorted tools, vials, and pouches. Magically potent rocks were piled at one end, while his Staff of Time leaned upon the other. “There are different kinds of magic,” he said finally. “The old magic that I used to restore Tierdon is the only true form on this world. Warders like Sephrym are energy, not magic.”

  Kray focused on his face. “Could you have stopped him?” the child asked. “The bad man who destroyed the city?”

  Ponu nodded. “Yes, but I was not aware of the attack until it was too late. Perhaps that’s why Sephrym took hold of me in that moment. I am not here to play god, Kray. We were talking about magic, were we not?” He waited until the boy nodded. “Then know this. Talenkai’s magic spreads from the core of this world, from its bloodstone veins that bind all life together. That is the first link, and the other elements carry it on. Weaken just one, and the Circle is broken. Destroy the anchors, which are the giants, who bind the whole, and the Circle is gone.”

  “Will you teach me?” Kray asked.

  Ponu pursed his lips. “I cannot,” he said. “Only creatures who originate from this world have this magic. They don’t wield it, per se. It’s just part of them, Kray, like breathing is a part of you. There’s nothing to teach!”

  “But you learned it,” the human pointed out. “You use it, too, and you’re not from here.”

  Ponu sat back. “The magic on your Earth was next to nonexistent. Yes, some unique individuals were able to influence it to some degree. But your species never depended on it for survival the way Talenkai’s creatures do. Here, the magic is crucial to everything. On my world, Chorahn, our planet’s force was stronger still. Do you understand? You cannot compare yourself to me. My flesh is used to potent magic, and yours is not. The old magic hurts humans who try to master it. It would make you very sick, little Kray.”

  “Isn’t there something I can do?” Kray begged. “If anyone can teach me, it’s you, Ponu. You built a whole city!”

  Ponu stared at his grimoires piled high among the clutter, the patterns he had drawn on parchment of the shapes he planned to weave, the precious stones he would command. Like his staff, the books were from his homeworld.

  I still have Chorahn’s magic, he thought. Though his planet was gone, its magic lived on in him and through him, memorized in such a way that his heart knew when his brain did not. Never could he forget all his trials and many failures, the lessons he had pounded into himself.

  “Here.” Ponu drew from one of his pouches the floppy-eared toy he had accepted from Roth. He prodded its pink whisker nose and plopped it onto the boy’s lap. “This is a magical bunny,” he told the child. “We will begin with this. It is called a familiar. You can sleep with it, or hold it when you are afraid or feeling alone, and it will give you courage.”

  “But how is—” Kray began.

  “The rest I will have to ponder,” said Ponu. “I do have the magic from my homeworld, which I only ever use as a buffer between Sephrym and the old magic. My crystal staff’s internal environment is Chorahn’s; nothing of its power connects with or threatens this world. But everything else . . .” He shrugged. “On Earth, Sephrym’s power, or even Holram’s, could strengthen its weak magic. But here, a warder’s touch would kill.”

  “Is Sephrym—”

  “He dwells above the sky,” Ponu cut in. “Your ancestors from Earth viewed the warders as mindless phenomena, just nebulas or black holes without consciousness or spirit. What humans don’t know as fact, they assume. They considered their homeworld a lifeless rock and did everything in their power to make it so. But they never completely depleted its magic. Earth still had a few blue trees, the last time I was there.” Gently he thumped the child’s knee. “Now I need to get Grevelin home. He must be freezing.”

  Kray slumped in defeat on his mattress of straw, rolling into a ball. Ponu pulled the blankets up over the boy’s shoulders and tucked them in tight, nodding as he spied the stuffed rabbit nestled beneath the child’s chin.

  “I will give it some thought,” Ponu said. “The Seekers forbid humans to use magic, so I’m afraid that is all I can promise you, Kray Middleton.”

  As the boy looked up, his hopeful eyes glinting, Ponu patted the child’s hair. “Sleep, little one, and dream easy. I will leave the light burning, and I will return soon.”

  With a glance at the flickering candle flame, Ponu padded toward the table for his staff.

  Chapter 33

  FELRINA TREMBLED AS she walked. She had traversed this route often enough, but never like this. Now she noticed the contours of the smoothed and polished floor, and how every echoing step brought her closer to the mountain’s dead core.

  The light of a sconce flamed on her father’s features, the walls of the tunnel amplifying his harsh breathing. Beads of sweat sheened his brow as his frightened eyes met hers. Her finger to her lips, she pushed him into the shadows, feeling the hammering of his heart against her arm. “Father.” She wrinkled her nose. “Smell.”

  His face was ashen. “I know,” he replied. “I expected this. He’s brewing hazel-thorn to double my pain. I told you, my death will be slow.”

  Chanting filled the nearby chamber. She knew the words by rote. “They mean to sacrifice you,” she hissed into his ear. “Father, come. I know a way out, a cleft in the rock not far from here!”

  Nithra patted her hair awkwardly. His head was up, his thin lips taut. “Erebos would know of it, too, my daughter, through you, and he’d find us. You can’t hide from him. No matter what we do, or where I go, I’ll be dead by the end of this day. I had Mornius, my daughter. The enemy was in my grasp and I lost him. Whatever they do, I deserve it!”

  Felrina clutched his shoulders. “No! You followed Erebos for me! I can’t let them kill you!”

  “Child,” Nithra said, “be silent. Even without your staff in your possession, Erebos hears you. Do you want to be next? Let me go!” He shoved past her toward the chamber’s lighted entrance.

  She hastened to block his path. “No!”

  He touched her cheek and the curve of her jaw. “I tortured Gaelin Lavahl,” he admitted softly. “And what did he ever do to me? Nothing! This place has changed me, Felrina. Even if they let me live, I can’t be a part of this anymore.” He reached to hold her tight. “It’s not too late for you, my daughter. Listen to me. I see what the Destroyer is doing to you. You must resist him.”

  Felrina stared. “You said I shouldn’t doubt. You—”

  “Because I wasn’t thinking clearly! That staff of yours was in the room and I didn’t want Erebos hearing us. I
forgot he knows our thoughts, too.” He bared his teeth. “Anything that tells you it’s wrong to question should absolutely be questioned! Don’t wait until it’s too late! You’re young and strong! You can break free and reclaim your life and never again have to—”

  He grabbed at his throat. Gurgling, his expression contorted, he stumbled back, his mouth working as he collapsed into the arms that seized him from the darkness. “Erebos awaits,” crooned Allastor Mens. “You lost the staff—our one chance to end this. For that, you die!”

  “Mens!” Felrina cried. “Please! No, Mens, he’s my father!”

  “All of this would be over if not for him!” Mens spat. “He must pay!”

  “He made a mistake!” Felrina sank to her knees. A swirl of gray-robes jostled past her to take hold of her father, immobilizing him with touches of their staves and murmured words. Nithra’s face went rigid when they raised him up, his head turning as he searched the tunnel for her.

  “Father!” She stumbled through the chamber’s rounded doorway. Already the attendants had lifted Nithra to the altar. They caught his flailing limbs, stretching him out along the tilted stone. Above them, the shadowy shape of a dragon hovered, its ebony wings unfurled.

  “You see Erebos,” Mens said. At any other time, she would have reacted to his proximity, to the toxic heat emanating from his skin, but not now. Though he was so close his arm touched hers, she saw only her father.

  Nithra bucked and twisted as the clerics stripped him. Then swiftly the dragon shape fell, wrapping its arms like black smoke around him. Nithra stiffened in his god’s embrace, his cry rising to a scream.

  “Erebos wants it his way.” Mens caught her wrists, restraining her as she fought to escape. Across the chamber, her father pleaded and sobbed. Rhythmically, Erebos’s darkness flexed against his body, until at last the shadow relaxed, settling to the floor.

  Nithra yelped as the Attendant First’s knife pierced the back of his head, his blood trickling into the bowl set below him.