Taerak's Void

by M. R. Mathias

  Braxton, Vinston-Fret, an elf named Sorrell, along with Thaelos, Debain, and the Rockheart brothers, sat around a firelit clearing not far from the stone table where they'd met earlier. Vinston-Fret told them the story his father had recounted to him many times.

  "The group found the mouth of a large river on the northern side of the peninsula. They entered the Wilderkind there. My father told me they started along the river's edge on foot, for four days, but were attacked by a band of wood trolls who killed four of the humans and my grandfather. The survivors traveled northwest for three days where one of the humans was bitten by a poisonous insect and became very ill. They decided to go back to the river and followed it upstream. They continued northward, deeper into the Wilderkind.

  "A day later, the bitten man went mad and killed the mapmaker, and then himself. Not far from the river, they came across an ancient structure. The proximity to the river is estimated by the fact that when my father escaped, he only had to run for half of a day west before he found the water's edge. He told me the structure was manmade. But by that, I am sure he meant made by intelligent beings, be they human, elf, dwarf, or something altogether different. He said the stone work was ancient and crumbling, but intricate. Symbolic runes had been etched into the stone surfaces. It was while they were exploring the remains of this place that they were attacked by what my father described as a wooden dragon.

  "I asked him about this creature many times, and he told me that it was huge and that it's body blended so well with the forest that, if it sat still, you could pass right by it and never know it was there. He swore its skin was like bark, but its body was shaped like a dragon, only it had no wings he could see. That creature killed and ate them all, including my grandfather's brother, who carried the Sapphire of Souls in his pack. My father said the creature ate him with two crutching chomps, and then swallowed him whole, Sapphire and all. My father hid among the fallen columns of the ruins and watched until the creature went into a hollow where it curled up and lay perfectly still.

  "I asked him if any of them had wounded the creature."

  Vinston-Fret smiled and rolled his eyes. "I must admit, I've been wanting to go after this thing all my life. I asked these questions of my father in preparation for the very quest we mean to set upon. His answer was that, after several blows with a heavy axe wielded by one of the hardiest humans, one blow made it through to flesh, and the creature did bleed red. If it is still alive, I think it can be killed."

  The group was silent for a long time. In his head and heart, Braxton fought to stay optimistic, but it was a futile battle. Some two-hundred-year-old monster had swallowed the Sapphire of Souls, and in itself that was pretty discouraging. But creatures die, and he didn't imagine that sapphires digested very well, so Braxton hadn't lost all hope.

  A long, low roar carried through the night, and Braxton once again felt the injured dragon's pain. He decided he should retire for he had several things he wanted to do before they left the island, and he had to think about how to get them done.

  Nixy and Suclair talked in Braxton and Nixy's wood-formed room while the men spoke by the fire. Nixy's first question for the awkward bald-headed girl started a landslide of revelations that only made the kingdom's dire situation seem worse.

  "Do you know a student of magus, Reaton-Stav?" she asked.

  "Oh, yes," Suclair answered, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "He is horrible and no longer a student. He was exiled from the school for fooling with necromancy."

  "What is necromancy?" Nixy asked.

  "Fooling with the dead." Suclair answered.

  "Oh, no," Nixy said, remembering the plague of grave robbing happening along the coast.

  "What is it?" Suclair asked.

  "A man I know, a priest, told me of a reward for the capture of some grave robbers. He said Stell and Ardis, and even Ream, and every village in between, people have been digging up graves and taking the corpses."

  "This is very bad indeed," Suclair said. "I wonder if he actually figured out how to animate them. My father must be told of this. Will you come with me in case he has questions?"

  "Of course, I will.” Nixy nodded.

  The two women set out to find Debain and nearly ran into Braxton, who was coming back into the forest room to gather his thoughts. They exchanged pleasantries, then Braxton directed them to where Debain was.

  Braxton wanted to help the wounded dragon, but wasn't sure if he could, or if he should. Having grown up in a valley town surrounded by forests, he spent a good bit of his youth observing nature, and he understood the kingdom of animals was sometimes merciless. But he felt that nature always had a purpose. Hunter and prey alike kept a natural balance to things. Maybe the wyrm was supposed to be wounded to serve some higher purpose only the gods understood. He wasn't buying into that, though. He was determined to try and help her, but how?

  He thought about it while lying on his back and watching the leaves above him dance on the salty ocean breeze. A plan began to formulate in his mind, but the sudden idea to read from Taerak's journal was overwhelming. He took the book out of his pack and sat cross-legged, in the corner, near the hanging lamp on the soft grassy turf.

  His amulet wouldn't work at first, not on the maps, or the text in the journal. After he'd gotten to the point of frustration and started flipping through the pages, he realized it would work, but only on a single passage near the middle of the journal and nowhere else. Not even at the front where he'd read from before. He was so curious he didn't concern himself with the whys and hows of the magical device so he wiggled himself comfortable and began to read.

  The jewel in the amulet can control you. It will point and prod you in the directions it wishes you to go. It will suggest to you courses of action that you may never understand. It will put thoughts in your mind and words in your mouth. It is safe to say that you do not possess this gem, it possesses you. But there is a balance, for it cannot make you do anything. You may walk left when the jewel suggests you go right. You may run when it tells you to walk. You may fly when it wants you to swim, but know this, if the needs and desires of the jewel are strong enough, it will find a way to manipulate your will to its purpose.

  For example, if you want to walk, but the jewel needs you to run, you might find that you are suddenly being chased by a pack of hungry wolves. The jewel knows you may decide to lie down and let the wolves eat you, and thus the jewel would lose its vessel and, of course, at any time, you may take the amulet from around your neck and walk away. Though I doubt you will be able to do this. It has now become a part of you and to let go of it would be like letting go of an arm or a leg. The jewel's desire and your own are primarily the same and will continue to coincide because you are pure at heart, as is the power contained within it.

  In time, you will find you can focus the power of the jewel if the intent is righteous and does not conflict with the nature of the amulet. This ability will take time for you to master, but this power is rooted in your heart and might be manifested by your will alone. This power can also be manifested by necessity.

  You might heal a sparrow's broken wing with only a touch and a thought, but the touch is required. On the same token, you may not be able to heal a friend or loved one who is dying in front of your eyes, but then again, you may. The choice isn't yours to make.

  The jewel also has the power to destroy, but your mind and body are tired and that lesson can wait, for you have much to do after you have rested.

  That was it, the jewel would not translate any more of the text. Braxton knew already it was pointless to try, but he did attempt to go back and re-read what he'd just taken in, in hopes of understanding it better. To his surprise, he was able to do this. The second time, he read slower and more carefully, and even re-read some sentences, turning each and every word over in his mind. By the time he was done, he was no less confused than he had been before, and as the last part of the passage stated, his mind and body were so tired he barely managed to put the
journal away before he fell asleep.

  The dream began with him standing atop a cliff overlooking the ocean. He was so high up he could see the tops of the puffy white clouds sliding by over the rolling turquoise water. The wind was brisk and pressed upon him with a force that was more from its strength than its speed, for it wasn't blowing fast, it was blowing strong.

  With a leap, he lifted off the cliff, his wings outstretched, and they forced the heavy air downward while lifting him higher and higher with very little effort. Looking down into the everchanging blue-green mass that was the ocean's sparkling surface, he found he could see for leagues and leagues in the distance, or he could focus his sight down to a pinpoint and follow a single fish within a school of thousands beneath the water's surface. For hours, he flew over the ocean, sometimes diving swiftly to sweep across the wave tops at an exhilarating pace. The rush of the air passing over him was amazing. Then he made long, lazy circles over warm currents of air that helped lift his way back up into the heavens. Eventually, he was drawn to a darker colored mass sitting atop the vast expanse of sparkling blue water. It was an island, and it beckoned to him.

  He approached this island slowly, circling high above it, then he began his descent in gradual, dropping arcs. Off to one side of the land mass's thick, tree-covered surface was a large, bright red shape. As soon as he focused on it, he knew where he was. The island was Jolin and the shape was the red dragon's carcass laying in the forest where it had crashed. Off to the edge of the island, he saw the slack white sails of the Luck of the Little hanging loose. He found the small clearing with the long gray oval that must be the stone table where they'd feasted.

  He didn't realize what he was about until he asked himself where the wounded blue dragon might be.

  He began to search for her, flying slow and low in the sky. He first circled the outer edge of the island, seeking any glimpse of blue that wasn't water. After finding nothing, he decided to fly back and forth across the land in great swaths so as not to miss any of it. And this too, revealed nothing, but he did see a dark area that could have been a cavern. Upon further inspection, this rocky hole proved to be the mother wyrm's hidden nest. He circled lower and lower until he soared through the trees, in between branches and over and under limbs until he came to land on a high branch that gave him a clear view into the cavern at the sleeping mother and her hatchling.

  He was about to fly in for a closer look, but the big blue opened her eyes and raised her head. He could see that her orbs were glossy and slightly unfocused. She scanned the area for immediate danger, then looked worriedly down upon her sleeping young. Apparently satisfied her hatchling wasn't at risk, she took in the area in front of her nest again. This time, she saw him. Her eyes narrowed, and her head cocked to the side in what looked like curious confusion.

  "Why do you bother me, little hawk?" she hissed at him. "Can't you see that I am resting?"

  The fact that the dragon had spoken to him was quite shocking, but not nearly as much as the fact that, upon inspecting himself, he found that he was indeed a white, feather-covered bird.

  "I was worried for you," he screeched at her. "You have serious wounds."

  "Of what concern are my wounds to you.” She sounded angry.

  "May I inspect them?"

  "I do not want the pity of a measly bird," she hissed. "Not even one who is as white as snow and can speak the language of dragons."

  "You'll not get my pity, proud dragon," he screeched. "My concern is more for your hatchling than for you. If I might see your injuries, I might be able to help you. I can feel you are in pain."

  "So much pain.” She looked over her back at the shoulder that faced away from him. He could see she favored the wing on that side of her body. "I'll not live much longer," she hissed. "The blood still flows."

  Feeling very brave, he left the tree in a long low swoop and came to land on a rocky outcropping near the dragon's torn wing joint. It looked bad. The tear was deep and jagged, and he could see exposed bone. Blood oozed from the wound, and the edges of it had blackened and were covered in hungry flies.

  Could he heal her, he wondered? What had the book told him? You might heal a sparrow's broken wing with a thought and a touch.

  "What are you doing, hawk?" the dragon hissed. Her voice was softer and slower as she lowered her head back to the floor, watching him with eyes that grew even more distant each moment.

  He thought hard and concentrated all his focus on her. His will to help her couldn't have been any stronger. He closed his eyes and pictured her wounds healing and closing, the joints pulling back together, the flesh melding and the scaly skin seaming up over it all, but when he opened his eyes nothing had happened. Again, he tried, and yet again.

  Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. What had the book told him?

  You may be able to heal a sparrow's broken wing with only a touch and a thought, but you may not be able to heal a dying friend or loved one.

  Maybe a dragon is just too big, he thought. Certainly it was bigger than a sparrow. And then again maybe —

  A sudden movement from behind him sent him flapping from the ledge in terror. Not seeing any better place to land, he swooped down and settled on one of the spiked back plates that ran down the dragon's sinuous spine. When he landed, something happened.

  A slow warm feeling came over him, and he felt the potency of his will begin to seep from his heart through his small feathered body, out of his tiny clawed feet and into the dragon. At that moment, he understood what he'd forgotten.

  A touch is required, the text had read.

  The warm tingly feeling grew and grew in intensity, so much so that he was consumed by it. A powerful rush carried him away into a dark swirl of liquid color that was fiery hot, yet icy cold all at the same time. He twisted through this thick substance, feeling his power and an unparalleled thrill until it all concentrated into a burst of glowing embers, and then all of it faded away into blackness.

  When he woke, back in his tree formed room, he knew he had done it. He also knew, though the dragon would live, she might have lost the ability to use her wing. He thought he remembered it slipping away from her body to fall heavily on the cavern floor. She would have to learn to hunt from the ground, or maybe from the sea, but it was a far better situation for the hatchling than if it's mother had died.

  Something bothered him, though, and he quietly slipped into the predawn darkness without waking Nixy. It took him most of the morning, but he made his way through the forest to where the blue dragon's nest had been in his dream. It was there, and so was she.

  A heart-stopping surprise came when Thaelos popped up beside him out of nowhere.

  At first, Braxton thought he might be in trouble for leaving his room, but Thaelos only smiled and looked on in silent awe.

  They walked back through the forest toward the village and Braxton told Thaelos what he wanted the elves to do for the dragon after they left on their quest. Eventually, Thaelos swore to do those things as best as he could.

  There was still something nagging at Braxton's curiosity. It was the passage in the book that said he had to touch the dragon to heal it. He touched her in his dream, but he'd never actually touched the wyrm, had he? He was no white feathered hawk, and as far as he knew, he'd never left the room the elves had provided him.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Braxton wasn't sure who it was who decided, or when they decided it, but someone had deemed that the quest party would include Prince Darblin and one of his fellow dwarves. Darblin was bad enough, but another one? When he found out that the second dwarf would be determined by the winner of a goat-jousting competition, Braxton was amazed.

  Gruval had worriedly explained all this to Braxton, but his concern had nothing to do with the goat-jousting. His worry was that because his brother Darblin was first prince, that it should be him risking his life instead of his older brother, but Braxton tried to ease Gruval's concern.

  "Gruval, your brother is a good dwa
rf, I'm sure, but haven't you noticed he lacks any form of diplomacy or any manners. It is you, Gruval Rockheart, who should stay behind because we very well may not return, and the fate of the dwarven people would be far better off in your hands than in Darblin's."

  After thinking about this for a while, Gruval said he agreed and that he had noticed that, for some time, Darblin disliked being the first prince. Obviously, Gruval had no ill will towards his brother, but it was clear Braxton's words had struck true in his heart.

  Another thing that had been decided without Braxton's input was that, since Debain was too old to take such a physically-demanding journey, his daughter Suclair would go in his stead. This pleased Nixy to no end, and Braxton had no heart to deter either of their enthusiasm, though he did have deep concerns about their safety.

  They would take the ship to New Scarlee, and from there, Vinston-Fret would lead them into the Wilderkind. Pranthias, after a fair amount of pressure, decided two other elves should accompany his proud young nephew. Sorrell was one of them, and the other was the son of Thaelos. His name was Cryelos. Both elves were expert marksmen with the longbow, and Braxton looked forward to comparing his skill with theirs. Sorrell and Vinston-Fret were supposed to be especially good swordsmen, but Sorrell had whispered into Braxton's ear that Vinston-Fret was the greatest blade master these elves had ever known.

  Braxton thought about that statement and wondered if Vinston-Fret had ever faced an opponent who tried to kill or eat him. None of the elves going on the journey would have ever had the chance to fight anything truly dangerous, and Braxton was sure they would face things that would test all their skills.

  The Luck of the Little was to sail on the morrow, first to Halden to take on supplies and to offload Prism and Bolt, who Debain had agreed to take care of. From there, they would sail to Baily, where they would take on more water and supplies and start the final ocean bound leg of the journey around the Nepram peninsula to New Scarlee. Traveling from Jolin to New Scarlee would take anywhere from eighteen to twenty days, and Vinston-Fret was worried about getting in and out of the Wilderkind forest before true winter set in. Summer was about over, and if winter happened to come early, they could get trapped on the far side of the peninsula until the snow storms and furious gales subsided, when sailing was possible again.