The Twins

by Gary Alan Wassner

  Baladar began this descent into depression again, this free fall from the edge once more, after having spent so many agonizing days and nights learning to overcome it. He felt it overtaking him, the hollow feeling, the all-encompassing sadness, and he could do nothing to prevent it. The appearance of the boy, of the heir of legend, provided him with a purpose once again. The future beckoned to him, it seemed to call him directly by his name, and he welcomed the challenge of teaching the boy and of taking part in the future struggle that would inevitably take place, that was already taking place all over the land. But, as he searched the tall grasses for a clue as to the whereabouts of Davmiran, he felt his heart breaking once again.

  Briland. Briland. What have I done? I have lost the two people most dear and most important to me. What must I do now to redeem myself? I fear I cannot go on like this. If only I can find a sign, some reason to believe that the boy is alive still, then I can still hope, but how could a defenseless boy, invisible to all human kind by my own doing, and unconscious, unaware of the very world around him, how could this helpless child survive? I have not only let him be stolen right from under me, I may have killed him just as if I thrust a blade through his heart myself!

  There were no words to express the pain that he felt at that moment, but the world was becoming accustomed to such anguish and despondency, and each man or woman who succumbed fed the fires of the black hope that raged within the heart of Colton dar Agonthea, a cold, barren, evil hope for the dissolution of the world, for the end of the trees and verily the end of life itself.

  During his reverie, he had wandered westward beyond the road. Baladar was so overcome with despair that he almost walked by without noticing the flattened turf at his feet. He glanced downward and he saw what appeared to be a path of broken blades of grass leading to the edge of the woods. Something had been dragged from here to there and he bent cautiously to examine the marks that were left. His heart skipped a beat as he immediately sensed that this could be the evidence he was searching for. But, how could he be sure?

  As he looked more closely, he saw the small footprints of a child perhaps, or an Elf in the soft soil beneath the grass. Someone had surely been there recently and whomever it was pulled something through the tall grass. Baladar was down on his hands and knees searching the area for a sure sign of Davmiran, a piece of cloth, a lost shoe, a button or a clasp; something that would certify that he was there.

  He followed the path toward the forest and he became more and more convinced that whoever was there had discovered the prostrate boy and spirited him away into the woods by dragging him across the field. The footprints were made by a soft soled shoe, not the boot of a soldier. And although they were small in size, they were deep and solidly planted. A child could not have carried the boy that long a distance. It must have been an Elf or a Dwarf. Neither race frequented these areas and Baladar wondered immediately what could have brought one to these woods just in time to find Davmiran lying in the tall reeds.

  Baladar walked close to the fringe of trees edging the field. Crouching in order to see if any other prints joined the ones he had already observed, he saw something that instantaneously swelled his heart with joy immeasurable; the woven bracelet that Davmiran was wearing when Baladar first examined him was lying on the ground in plain sight! He picked it up tenderly and placed it safely in his pocket.

  So! The tale has not ended here. He lifted his head and laughed aloud.

  Strange coincidences seemed to follow the charmed youth around, Baladar ruminated, and he seriously contemplated the possibility that it was mere chance that brought a distant visitor to these parts at such an opportune moment. He quickly relinquished that idea in favor of one that seemed to govern most circumstances surrounding the heir, both in legend and in life; fate led the stranger here at precisely the correct hour, on exactly the correct day, in order to rescue the boy from certain death.

  The fabric wove of its own will. And Baladar realized almost simultaneously, that only a person of another race, an Elf or a Dwarf or, the First forbid, a Troll, would have been able to see him, now that he was certain it was the boy’s impression he was tracking in the grass. The spell that he cast only made Davmiran invisible to humans! That would explain why he was abandoned so close to the gates of the city and why he was so soon forgotten by those whose purpose was to apprehend him in the first place. The two questions that Baladar chose not to grapple with during the midst of these other issues were how did Kettin know that the boy was in Pardatha, and on whose behalf did he attempt to kidnap him. The contemplation of those would have to wait for another time and another day.

  As he examined the tracks more closely, he became convinced that the footprints definitely did not belong to a Troll. They were too small and light, and besides, Trolls never wore shoes upon their calloused feet. If it had been a Troll’s footprint, he would have seen the clumsy scuff marks of a six toed beast, not the cautious signature of a clearly intelligent observer. A Dwarf’s boots would have been heavier and broader, metal soled like a shod horse.

  The marks would have been closer together and deeper still, as the dwarves had strong and short legs, and never wore soft shoes. Baladar knew he had to be careful not to impose his hopes upon the circumstances. Yet, his reasoning seemed accurate, and although he wished with all his heart that it was an Elf who found Davmiran, he also believed that, after examining the evidence, it was the most reasonable conclusion to draw.

  “Perhaps the spark of hope remains lit still,” he said aloud.

  If the boy had to disappear at all, Baladar reasoned, he preferred that he ended up in the able hands of an Elf. The Elves were a good and noble race, and although they kept their distance from the world of men, they served the light without compromise. Their love of the trees was second to none and they would never do anything to harm one of the Chosen, or one such as Davmiran!

  Baladar was growing more confident with each passing moment, and the depression that threatened to cripple him just a short while ago was once more placed in abeyance and forced below the surface. He reasoned that if an Elf discovered this unusual boy, he would have attempted to aid him, and when he could not awaken him himself, he would have gone in search of help. An Elf would not have approached the gates of Pardatha on his own under these circumstances. How could he have known that the boy was not ejected intentionally from the castle, but kidnaped by a rogue? It would have been foolish of him to return the unconscious youth to a city where it appeared he was clearly unwanted.

  To the north was Crispen and to the south lay Lormarion. Those were the two nearby kingdoms wherein the Elves thrived in numbers, where the Elfin civilizations matured and grew in wealth and stature. The people of the northern Elfin nations rarely traveled out of their own realms. It was highly unlikely that one of their kind would have been so far south for any reason whatsoever. They had little in common with their mountain and southern kin, and they rarely interacted these days as far as he knew.

  Baladar rejoiced in his conclusions, as he found either choice to be far better than he could have dreamed about just a short while earlier. He was already formulating a plan of action that he would initiate upon his return to the castle. He would contact Treestar, the King of the Southern Elves, a man he had met once many tiels ago. Although of different races, he and Treestar had much in common, he remembered. The two kingdoms had always respected one another’s differences and had remained friends and allies for centuries, although contact between them was infrequent.

  He would also send inquiries to Bristar, the leader of the northern clans, a more reclusive and secretive Elf, less trusting than his southern brother if the tales he had heard were accurate. A message would go out to Eleutheria as well, that distant mountain kingdom buried in snow all the year long, in the remote event that perhaps they had some knowledge that would assist him now.

  He could not risk ignoring a single possibility, no matter how unlikely. But, he now had no doubt that he would loca
te the boy yet, and then he could arrange for his return to Pardatha. His schooling would have to begin a bit later than he had planned, but it would begin! He realized that he was taking a lot for granted here, that he was assuming much and that he really knew very little. But he was not plagued by concern any longer. His fear and discouragement gave way to promise, and in his heart of hearts he knew that Davmiran was safe.

  From the depths of despair to the dizzying heights of hope unencumbered! I am like a child at the window of a sweet shop, not knowing whether the treats will be available to me or locked away forever behind an impenetrable door. I would have thought that I would have learned some lessons by now! Briland, forgive me. Oh, to be human, all too human.

  Purposefully he made his way back to the castle, calculating his next moves while he walked down the very path created by the boy’s untimely departure.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Robyn rode Kraft with a new determination, crouching low on his back and anxious to cross the hills of Delphan as quickly as possible. Horse and rider were as one, streaking over the knolls, deftly evading the low growing brush and rocky protuberances. Robyn wanted to reach the flat clearing south of the hills by the second day. He planned to camp just beyond the southernmost rise and head for Pardatha early in the morning of the third. He had overcome the horrible feelings that had invaded his body and soul, and he was now ready and eager to reach his destination. If there was anything that he could do to prevent the death of another of the great trees, he would do it.

  As he rode, he thought back on the years he spent perfecting his art, learning all that he could in anticipation of the days ahead. He always knew that he would play a part in the events that would mold the future, and his father made certain that nothing interfered with his development. He, too, recognized his son’s special role and always attempted to provide him with an environment wherein he could develop unhindered. They both paid the price of those choices, though now Robyn knew that all the sacrifice was necessary and had only served to make him stronger.

  He could not allow the trees to perish, not just his own Promanthea, but all the rest as well! The planet would shrivel up and die without the Lalas. If the boy he was called upon to train was the boy of legend, then it would be possible to alter the recent course of history if he prepared him properly, if he guided him well, if he protected him along the way. Baladar beckoned and Robyn would fulfill his obligation gladly. He rode and rode, head down, legs tight to Kraft’s side, horse and rider bolting through the hills at a death defying pace.

  By nightfall, he had covered more ground than even he had expected and although he was tired, he felt better as he neared his destination. Robyn dismounted and sat down behind a rather large hillock that afforded him shelter from the night winds that swept across the hills. Kraft remained close by, nibbling on the scattered clumps of grass that sprouted haphazardly all around.

  Animals took care of their needs simply and instinctively, and Kraft was no different in that respect. He would eat until he was full and rest until he was refreshed. Robyn, on the other hand, was a bit more complicated. He was a well disciplined wielder of the earth magic, but he was also highly emotional and moved by passions and feelings. His sensitivity is what made him the unique individual that he was. It enhanced his power and allowed him to intuit much about his enemies and his allies, and it put him in touch with the pain and suffering as well as the pleasure and joy of the earth. He could feel death approaching and that always troubled him, and he was moved as well by the hatching of a bird, or even by the emergence of a new blade of grass.

  His awareness came with a price and Promanthea had taught him how to deal with the flood of emotions that engulfed him daily. The Lalas taught his Chosen how to assimilate the movements and changes in the earth, and how to convert the raw energy created into a tool of power. He also instructed him in the methods of calming the storms, easing the transitions resulting from growth and movement as well as from death and disintegration.

  Robyn became a master at manipulating the forces of nature in a positive way. He was incapable of abusing his understanding by aiding the side of darkness. Although he understood that death was a necessary part of life, he believed that it should come naturally and that no one had the right to take it from someone or something, unless it was in self defense. He was more than capable of inflicting harm on another if that person threatened the balance that he intuitively felt in all living things, and the one power that threatened it the most was Colton dar Agonthea, the Great Destroyer.

  Robyn did not need to think about Colton to know that he had to be stopped. He felt it in his heart. He felt the wrongness of him, the evil that emanated from all of his actions and the negativity in all that he did and stood for, and Robyn was ready to begin the process of stopping him, a process that he knew he could not complete alone. The ‘calling’ renewed his hope.

  He yearned for the day to come, the moment when he could put all of his years of learning and training into play, into the quest for the First, for the Gem of Eternity, for the key to the death of the trees and the means of halting the disintegration that had accelerated in the past few tiels and that was now spiraling almost out of control. And that day, that longed for day, was fast approaching.

  As soon as he closed his eyes, he was asleep.

  The morning brought with it a strong northeast wind and a cloud strewn sky. The air was heavier, and Robyn sensed something foreign, almost alien in the breeze. It troubled him and urged him onward. Yet, he kept feeling as if he was traveling away from danger, not into it. He mounted Kraft once again and together they made their way south, hoping to ride without interruption until night approached once more and the Delphan hills were fully behind them. But, this nagging sense would not leave him and he could not ignore it. As he rode, Robyn attempted to analyze the emotions and to understand the signs. It felt to him as if Promanthea was beckoning to him, and yet he would have surely known for certain if that had been the case.

  He was not going to allow anything to delay his journey now. By tomorrow evening he would be at the gates of Pardatha, or so he hoped. As the afternoon approached, the feeling was growing stronger and stronger and he was barely able to think about anything else. He decided to stop for a short while, sit peacefully and try to figure out what was happening. Once on the ground, he pressed his hands to the earth, attempting to learn from the soil what he was unable to decipher from the air. And then it came to him quickly. His father was trying to get a message to him and he was using the branch that Promanthea had given him. Now he understood why he kept feeling that his tree was beckoning in some way.

  Robyn closed his eyes and hummed a deep, melodious hum that normally would bring him into harmony with his own tree, but instead he focused upon the polished token that he had given to his father. He knew the message must be urgent or the Baron would not have tried to reach him. He had informed his father about how incredibly tiring the process was for him and how much energy it required. Yet he beckoned nevertheless and so Robyn hurried to answer the call. Soon, he could almost see the face of the man who was contacting him. The image was blurry, but in his mind’s eye it steadily grew clearer.

  The voice came to him from within and was not audible to anyone or thing but Robyn.

  Robyn? Robyn? Can you hear me, son?

  Yes, I am here. I can hear you.

  The mountain Trolls are on the march south. My scouts reported to me a short while ago. A massive army has descended from their city of Toth, in the hills, armed to the teeth. They carry the banners of Colton amidst their own. They are not marching to Concordia, but toward the Thorndars. I can only suspect that they are heading to Pardatha, or thereabouts. I have sent scouts to track them and report back to me on their progress.

  Robyn took a moment to ponder this new and disturbing information.

  The Baron, too, paused for a moment and then he asked, Are you safe, my son?

  Yes, father; I am well I have mad
e good time, I will arrive at my destination tomorrow sometime. Have no fear for me. All is well. Robyn was weakening swiftly from the contact, but he needed desperately to ask one question. Did you know that another tree had died?

  Yes, Robyn, we all felt it. I thank the First it was not yours. I was unsure until this moment. The skies have not yet cleared of the storm clouds that followed upon its demise. Neither has the Sirceloc ceased to churn. But, we carry on. We keep our heads up, and pray for the day when the trees will sprout anew. Our hopes and prayers are with you, too, my son.

  I must break this off, father. I must preserve my strength. Do not give in to the darkness. Allow it not to reach your heart. Be forever strong. I love you! he said and then he collapsed to the earth.

  Robyn awoke sometime later to the feeling of Kraft’s cold nose nuzzling him. He was tired and his head was aching, but he knew that he would recover soon enough. His loyal horse was persistent and would not allow him to fall back asleep. That he recognized, and he was instantly angry with himself for succumbing to his drowsiness to begin with.

  The information that his father imparted to him was disturbing. If the Trolls were marching, then others must be mobilizing too. Colton was on the move and the timing of these events could not be coincidental. He had to reach Pardatha and warn them. He had to reach the heir!

  Robyn forced himself to rise and climb atop Kraft once more. There was now a new danger driving him forward. The luxury of time, though scant even in the beginning, was now gone completely. He would not be able to rest again until he was within the gates of Pardatha at Baladar’s side.