"Queen Mother," ventured King Andrew, "it will take time and many preparations must be made before we can offer any aid. Also, the council must decide whether we will offer any aid at all. We can see your need is great, but to send our people—"
Silence! Listen Man-Child, the Queen Mother commanded. Listen to what will happen, this will be your future! When the cursed returns from the Dark Journey, all will flock to his banner or fall. Any who oppose his total domination, any who resist, will be enslaved or killed. During the time of the Gathering the earth shall be torn asunder and thus will the Coming begin. The tormented will cry out in anguish for their blindness. For at the very end of their existence they will discover their grave error, but it will be too late, they will cease to exist and their kind will be lost from the pages of the book of Life.
The great army swarmed over the land, coming to rest before a small castle. The viewpoint was still the same, a far off rocky precipice. The rock was cold, as was the wind.
This is what happened to those who have already tried to oppose him.
Behind the vast army came thousands more, spreading across the horizon as they marched like a destructive wave. Houses looted and burned, smoldered. Amidst endless pillars of black smoke and red flames, fields burned. Dead lay scattered about the land and the living cried out in anguish. Hands clutched bitterly the cold, cold rock, while eyes swept toward a castle that stood defiantly, resisting thunderous blows upon its walls. The hollow knocking on the walls resounded in the ears and chased their thoughts.
A valiant few protected the walls, while the swarm gathered full. The thrashing grew. Walls that had held secure fell away.
The vision allowed much more than simple sight. It was as if the group at the council table was actually there. The air about them filled with smoke from the burning houses and land, dark smoke that brought tears to eyes made breathing difficult and darkened the chamber. The anger and fear of the fleeing, the agony and pain of the dying, the putrid stench of scorched flesh, all flowed to them.
Queen Mother did not hold back a single overwhelming emotion or sensation. Terror filled their hearts and minds, growing to the point where they just wanted it to stop so the pain would end. Almost believing that when it did end, it would take them with it, and even this they would have welcomed.
Brought to the threshold of life and survival, then to the brink of what lay beyond, the Queen Mother carried them swiftly back. Latched onto only the pain, making it linger upon them as the scene dissolved. A face, a face of untainted beauty, filled their minds. One could not stare into a countenance of such magnitude, so powerful and yet so very exquisite, for very long.
Galan whispered, Oh, my Queen Mother. May they see your wisdom clearly.
The Queen of the Elves shouted into their minds then, I am sorry to be harsh with you, but it is the only way to emphasize what must be done! Severity sometimes breeds expedience.
In an avalanche of silence, the pain ended, leaving most beyond the capacity for words, even the most capricious of the group. King Andrew regretted the words he had earlier spoken and now words were beyond his grasp.
Father Jacob took the initiative, "I think I speak for the council, Your Grace." He looked at each of the council members and they each in turn nodded approval, and lastly he looked to the king, who also nodded approval.
"Your Grace," began Father Jacob as King Andrew touched his hand and with his eyes, urged the priest to sit.
King Andrew had second thoughts. He found the courage of words in his heart. "We have heard your plea and we shall heed your warning. However, you must also know, action will take time. We wish politics were a simple thing, but they are not. Others will also be skeptical. The king's word is law, but we must have the backing of the alliance. Without this backing, our kingdom would fall before our army returns. We are convinced in the sincerity of your words. You have our sacred oath, we will do everything we can to aid your cause."
I trust in your word and your honor, King Andrew. A thanks to all of you gathered in council. I am afraid I must leave you now. The link has lasted overly long. My son's spirit yearns to journey to the Father. A long pause followed, then in words which issued from Seth's own lips, came the following message, Do not let his sacrifice be for nothing.
Chapter Forty Seven
Vilmos found himself running down a dusty plain without knowing how he had gotten there. The last thing he remembered was running up the stairs of the inn. Nervously he glanced over his shoulder, catching glimpses of the inn and its surrounding structures as he did so.
Fortunately, it seemed no one followed. Vilmos didn't know where he could go to find safety; of this area, he only knew the inn. He could run, but to where he did not know. He must somehow find Xith, but he didn't know where to start his search. Words echoed in his thoughts, "Find the shaman, run." Vilmos ran; he was running as fast as his legs could carry him. He stopped mid-stride as he caught a glimpse of something behind the inn. His thoughts spun and he started to dash away, then stopped again. Horses! He wondered if he could get to them before the hunter beasts found him. The horses seemed his only chance for escape now and this thought drew him in.
Warily, Vilmos came around the back of the inn where three black stallions were tethered. He approached cautiously, looking in all direction for signs of the attackers. The first horse he approached whinnied and reared up in the air to the bounds of its tethers.
Vilmos backed away, keeping a wary distance from it and approached a different horse, one that did not shy away from him. Afraid of discovery, he swiftly untied the horse and climbed into the saddle. Perhaps it was the fear or the rush of adrenaline that surged through his small body that carried him away, but he had ridden for nearly an hour before he realized that he had never been on a horse before without someone alongside him to help him along.
He reigned in the horse to a frenzied, puzzled halt, tossing a long, hard look behind. He shrugged his shoulders and then whipped the horse on, without giving the idea further thought.
Driven by his subconscious back to the only place he knew, the only place where he might find safety, it wasn't until much later, after Vilmos had calmed down and his heart had stopped pounding in his ears, that he started to wonder why the hunter beasts had never followed him. Images of the gnarl-faced beasts still chilled his thoughts; he wondered what had become of Edward, momentarily refusing to accept that Edward might be dead.
He thought maybe Edward had killed the strange beasts and that is why they did not chase him. Yet the look on Edward's face as he had fallen to the ground—cold, callous death had been in those eyes—but still he denied it. He also wondered if maybe the bastards followed him and were waiting for him to rest and then they would pounce on him.
The horse of the beastmen was strangely resolute and powerful, galloping along at speeds that baffled Vilmos. The animal seemed to be driven on by the desires of its rider and was able to sustain high speeds for long periods without becoming fatigued. If Vilmos' sixth sense was urging the animal along, it was also guiding the animal along the trail back to a place he knew well. Soon he found himself at the magical gate he and Xith had used what seemed so long ago, his mind spinning so rapidly that he opened and triggered the gate without a second thought.
It could have been minutes, hours or days later that he found himself near the Trollbridge, the steady steed beneath him. The world faded to black after that, until he found himself near a cave on an open valley floor, the cave he and Xith had spent the night in. Here he stopped, both to rest the horse and to search the cave for signs, any sign, that Xith had been there again. He found nothing, only emptiness. The next day he continued on, driven by the insanity in his mind.
Vilmos soon perceived other agonies—hunger, thirst and weariness. He chanced on a small brook, the same brook he and Xith had stopped at many weeks previous, drinking from its cool clear waters until his thirst was quenched and his belly full. Seeing no signs of anyone near, he sat along the ed
ge of the water and removed his shoes, sticking his sore, warm feet into the cool, soothing liquid. For some reason that perplexed him, his legs ached, which was partly because he didn't know how to ride and was leading with his lower body in a seesaw motion.
Several hours later as the sun sank low on the horizon, Vilmos was on the opposite side of a valley. It would have been a full day's trek by foot.
A sudden peace swept over him as he made the long climb from the valley floor out onto a rocky precipice; he felt as if he had come home and indeed he had. Vilmos looked back across the valley, amazed at how much ground he had covered. The strange, powerful horse of the beastmen showed its first signs of fatigue now, and its rider was utterly exhausted.
Vilmos let the horse cool down for a time, stroking its long, firm neck and mane to pacify and comfort it. Neither was able to stop for too long though; the strange compulsion that led Vilmos on seemed to flow to the horse and both were enthralled by it. He looked to the forest then and to the trail that led into it and through it. He knew that on the other side of it lay the thing that pulled him on. He had to know, needed to know, what had happened there.
On the back of the magnificent steed, Vilmos rode into the forest, low branches and thick growth along the sides of the trail eventually causing him to reconsider the treacherous ride. He cursed low under his breath as he dismounted, holding a grudge against the forest for forcing him to walk when he was so weary.
Grudgingly, he walked along the tangled trail that was becoming increasingly treacherous in the ever-diminishing light; the only thing that kept him moving was the thought of his home just ahead somewhere. His face and hands were scratched from the branches that caught his skin as he brushed against them, yet he trudged on.
The march along the now indiscernible trail seemed without end.
With one hand held out in front of him for safety, he charged through the thick undergrowth, pulling the hesitant horse thoughtlessly behind him with the other. He no longer recalled its momentous deed; he only knew that ahead lay his home and with its finding, warmth and safety. It wasn't until a low branch appearing from out of the darkness around him nearly poked out his eye that Vilmos stopped; jaded, he slumped his back against a nearby tree completely oblivious to the world around him. He didn't even know that where he had stopped was just a few yards from the forest's edge, but even if he had known, sleep still would have befallen him.
Morning came as a rush of frenzied thoughts as Vilmos awoke waving a stick wildly in the air before him, thwarting the attack of unseen hands. Perspiration dripped from his brow and into his eyes, blurring his already sleep-filled vision. He saw shapes looming before him, and he continued to wield the stick bravely.
"Who is it?" Vilmos shouted as he tried to wipe the sleep and sweat from his eyes. "Go away, leave me alone!" He didn't know that he yelled into empty air and that his illustrious assailants were but images left over from a dream—a dream filled with a hideous grinning face. To clear his mind, he shook his head from side to side, attempting to chase away the last of the night's chill as well as the vile spirits he perceived around him.
His senses returning, he looked around beside him for the magnificent horse, only now fully cognizant of its feat, but the beast was nowhere to be found. He was saddened by its disappearance, later thinking that he was just as well without it for he couldn't care for it, nor feed it. He couldn't even feed himself, he was starving or at least he thought he was.
A bright light sinking into the darkness from a clearing in the distance caught his attention. He walked toward it, amazed when he came abruptly to the forest's edge. Across a grassy field stood the white-bricked house he remembered so fondly. Smoke rose cheerfully from its chimney and there were no signs of anything amiss.
Vilmos took off toward the house at a race, wild thoughts spinning through his mind. He mounted the stairs, put his hand to the door and then stopped. He didn't know what to expect within. What if his parents were dead lying on the floor, or what if they were there and nothing was wrong, what would he tell them? Still considering these thoughts, he opened the door and went inside. He ran through the kitchen and into the pantry, which was full, as always, of fresh fruits and vegetables. The sight overwhelmed him and he started to eat ravenously, going no further until he had had his fill.
He found his room as he had left it.
"Was it a dream?" he asked himself, saying the words aloud to break the silence around him.
Next he ran into his parents' room, which was empty. The bed was made and the room was tidy, clean as his mother always left it. A brief search of the entire house revealed nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing wrong was that no one was home, but Vilmos was prepared to wait—maybe they had just gone into town. He knew they would return soon and everything would be fine.
Hours passed, but no one arrived. Vilmos grew hungry again and raided the pantry a second time. With a full midriff, he sauntered to his room and plopped onto the bed, patting his warm, full stomach.
Content, he lay still, staring up at the ceiling. A short while later, he propped his pillow up against the wall, removed his shoes and leaned up against the pillow. In his mind he went over past events, everything he had experienced had seemed so real. He could see Xith's face in his mind. He could see Edward and the beasts. He could see Valam and Adrina. He could see Seth and Galan.
A familiar place called him and so he went, he had not been there in what seemed ages. He stood above the majestic, peaceful valley on his personal precipice—the valley that had its mirror in the realm of the real as well as the imagined. He felt so soothed by the vision that he followed the mighty eagle into the sky. Lazily, he swooped and turned.
Hours passed, floating on the breezes churning up from the valley floor. The eagle's keen eyes scoured the valley, expecting to find nothing in particular and did. He was alone with his thoughts, as he liked to be, alone and free. "Vilmos, no magic!" an alarmed voice in his head screamed out and he awoke.
Propelled back, Vilmos sprang to his feet. A distant ruffling noise, perhaps hoofed feet upon dry leaves, brought him through the kitchen to the porch.
Finding nothing, he returned to the empty house, pouring over thoughts of the past, memories that rushed upon him until he could no longer persevere them. He rushed out the door back onto the porch again, staring down the empty road, looking for any signs of his mother and father.
He longed to see a single, horse-drawn coach approach with two occupants. The driver a stern-faced man with a whip in one hand and the reins tucked in the other hand—that was how his father liked to ride. The other occupant would sit quietly beside him; her face would be gentle and kind, aged pleasantly with the years. A familiar figure did eventually approach, not from the road, but from the path that led to the forest and not until hours later.
All delusion faded as the beckoning voice called out. "Vilmos, come!" it commanded.
Vilmos walked to the path, saying, "I thought it was all a dream." Something along the path caught Vilmos' attention, but only for an instant. "How did you find me?"
The reply came in a voice that could only be Xith's, "You found me but that is beside the point."
"Edward, is he…?" asked Vilmos
"Edward is in a good place and he would be happy to know that you are safe."
After a lengthy walk, the two came to an opening that led to a point overlooking the valley. The suspicion that his life was moving in circles and that no matter how far away from it he went he would always come back to the same place, occurred to Vilmos, just as Xith said "We'll stop here to rest for a few moments."
Vilmos sat down on the ground with a thump. He was about to ask Xith if he had anything to eat when Xith stopped him.
"Silence!" Vilmos had only seen Xith like this once before and he didn't like the expression he saw. He started to say something again, and again Xith cut him off.
Xith didn't make a sound after that or move. Vilmos knew something was definitely w
rong.
A moment later Xith yelled, "Duck!"
Vilmos fell to the ground, on his belly. As Vilmos lay motionless, he had a strong feeling that he had been in this situation before. He looked to the shaman who shook his head in agreement. Vilmos asked, "But why?"
The shaman turned his eyes heavenward, apparently seeing things that Vilmos couldn't. He waited for a moment before he responded, indicating as he did so that it was all right for Vilmos to sit back up.
"Vilmos, life can be complicated or simple, often times you take a step forward only to find that you have taken two steps backward. Do you understand?"
Vilmos wavered his head. He had no idea what Xith was talking about.
"That is good," said Xith, "don't try to figure it out. It is best just to accept it. Life is a series of circles that sometimes lead you back to the beginning, so instead of giving up you must keep your head high and start again. There will be times when you are not sure whether you are in the past or the present, or whether perhaps you are without time and are never really far away from the place you are trying to reach. Do you understand?"
"I don't," admitted Vilmos honestly.
A sullenness fell over Xith's face and Vilmos could see dark circles under his companion's eyes. "You will, I promise. Edward would not have sacrificed himself for you otherwise. You see, he was the first, the one that was taken from me before you. You are truly he, Vilmos, and the time will soon be upon us."
The shaman raised his eyes to meet Vilmos' then and as he did so a glowing orb of brilliant white appeared in his outstretched hand. In the orb, Vilmos saw the visage of the Princess Adrina and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. As the image grew clearer, he could see that she sat at a great table, around which many were gathered. To her left was the elf Seth, and to Seth's left was Galan. Seth's skin was pale and his great round eyes stared up at the heavens.
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