“Perhaps it is you who need take care,” called Granu over his shoulder playfully.
Cefiz smiled and waved in return. The Guardsman still looked weak. Granu already questioned his decision. After ten minutes of difficult climbing, he stood atop the great barrier of stone. Below him to the North, the ravine’s trail continued up the slope toward the summit of Tar Hdjmir. It narrowed as it advanced, darkening even further.
Granu looked to the sky. The walls of the ravine still towered above him. The fissure of sky could be seen and the day grew long as the light faded. Granu descended the opposite side of the stone barrier.
The stillness grew tenfold. Neither wind or sound entered the ravine. It was effectively walled shut. Granu stepped forward, the granite walls drawing closer with every step. In the hazy light ahead, the walls converged upon a massive stone block set in the side of the mountain.
The block was unlike the boulders strewn upon the path behind him. Those massive cuts of rock were crudely hewn. The monolith before the giant was crafted with care. Its edges were assuredly shaped with masonry tools and it sat fitted within the mountain’s wall.
The stone slab stood slightly taller and wider than the Keltaran prince. Its outer surface jutted a full foot from the wall and Granu assumed much of the stone lay buried within. He ran his fingers along its edges. The tight fit within the mountain amazed him. Whoever placed the stone here spent a good deal of time fitting the slab.
Granu moved around to check the opposite edge and stumbled over a clutter at his feet. He bent down and found a scattering of torches and iron pry bars in the darkness. The prince retrieved an old, dust-covered torch and inspected it. An oily glob of pitch still covered one end and after a few minutes with tinder and flint the giant ignited the torch.
He ran the light about the tight enclosure and discovered a crevice for the torch handle in the mountain wall. Granu inserted the torch and continued to inspect the stone slab. Finally, the prince grasped both edges of what he determined must be a doorway.
With tremendous effort the Keltaran pulled on the slab. Nothing. He edged to the right and laid a shoulder onto the stone’s corner. Granu dug in his feet and pushed. Still nothing. His anxiety grew. He quickly searched the ground and snatched up an iron pry bar. He ran it along the seam of the doorway but the accurately crafted masonry allowed no hold for the tool.
Once more the giant faced the slab and locked his hands on the stone. His fingers pressed into its smooth surface and Granu tugged mightily. Nothing. Sweat poured down his brow and the ravine echoed with his grunts and groans. His chest heaved and the veins on his brow pulsed as he strained again.
“Countless Ulrog have been sent here to waste their efforts on the stone,” rumbled a voice behind the prince, “yet none could prevail. The stone would never move for them, just as it will not move for you, Granu of Keltar.“
Granu spun to see the Delvin Prelate standing behind him supporting Cefiz. The Guardsman weakly smiled at his comrade.
“You assisted Cefiz over the barrier,” stated the prince.
“Twas but a simple task for an Ulrog. We are born of stone and know its ways.”
“What of the Malveel and his Hackles?”
“I informed Amird’s hunter that you were sent to the heights of Tar Hdjmir. I also informed him that you shall never return down the path whence you came.”
Granu narrowed his eyes at the Ulrog.
“He posted three packs at the junction to see that it is so,” continued Nostr. “They are content to allow you to starve to death or let you die from exposure. The great worm moved on.”
Granu nodded his head in acknowledgment then glanced back at the stone slab.
“I cannot move the stone,” stated the prince.
“That is because it is not your task. It will move for only one,” replied Nostr.
“How do you know this?”
“Because I have foreseen it,” said the prelate.
Granu ground his teeth.
“Who is the one?” asked the giant.
“I am,” replied the Ulrog calmly. “It is my reason for being.”
The stone man moved toward Granu and lightly dropped Cefiz upon him. Granu caught the Guardsman and stumbled away from the stone, taking Cefiz to a place near the ravine’s wall. The Ulrog stepped forward and raised his hands in the air. He looked to the fissure of gray sky above and began a soft, low chant. At once the chant was familiar yet foreign to Granu. It carried the tone and cadence of many he performed in the Monastery of Awoi, but was voiced with the harsh grating language of the stone men.
Nostr’s sleeves fell to his shoulders as he held his hands aloft. The symbols of Chaos and the name of Amird covered his deeply scarred and powerfully muscled forearms. The icy mists of the Hdjmir parted and a faint light filled the mountain hollow. Nostr threw his head forward slamming his chin to his chest. The black claws of his rock encrusted hands hammered into the edges of the stone monolith. Rock chips sprayed the walls of the ravine, as well as Granu and Cefiz. The men covered their eyes as the Ulrog ground his hands into the slab’s sides.
Granu blinked and his vision returned to the Ulrog as the light filling the hollow around the creature intensified. Nostr’s entire body stressed and quaked as his fingers bore into the sides of the stone doorway. The ravine filled with a hiss as the stone quivered and edged away from its surrounding wall. Nostr’s hands were buried deep within the rock now and the beast’s teeth cracked and crumbled as his tightly set jaw fought against the weight of the stone.
The air within the ravine swirled as it was sucked into the cavern beyond the stone. Dust and debris filled the air with a brown haze. Slowly the stone crept from the wall.
Within a few moments the wind quieted and Nostr released the stone, collapsing to the ground in exhaustion. The Ulrog scribe knelt before a two-foot wide passageway into the mountain. The dust settled around the trio. Granu stared past the opening into a black hole in the side of the mountain. The Keltaran prince turned back to the scribe, unsure of what to do. Nostr remained on the ground, his head thrown forward in exhaustion.
“Go,” rasped the stone prophet as a bloodied hand weakly motioned to the opening.
Granu looked to Cefiz and the Guardsman nodded his approval. The Keltaran prince moved forward and retrieved the torch from the ravine wall. Cautiously he stepped into the heart of the great mountain itself.
The light from the torch bled onto the walls of a rough-hewn chamber. No ornament or device adorned the walls. Essentially it was a cave, sealed from the outside world by the great door set in its opening.
Granu’s eyes fought for focus in the consuming darkness of the chamber. The torch held before him did as much to blind him as to illuminate the cavern. The giant moved toward a large, rectangular shape.
A tall stone dais lay carved into the center of the cave. It stood as tall as the giant’s chest and equally as long. The light danced across tattered strips of cloth and dust covered furs. Granu moved closer. The giant knew this place and his eyes drank in all before him.
A body lay tightly bound beneath the strips of cloth and an ancient bearskin lay across its lower half like a blanket. In its hands, the dead clutched a simple woodsman’s ax, the head glistening in what appeared to be fresh blood. The upper half of the body was exposed and where the cloth was split or desiccated, Granu could see the shriveled, gray flesh of the corpse.
The Keltaran prince edged forward and held the torch light toward the head of the body. Cloth completely wrapped the face and the head lay on a bed of dried flowers. Emotion overwhelmed Granu. He stepped back. Who could have imagined that his journey through exile would one day lead him here?
The light flickered off the face of the dais. The giant noticed writing. He brought the torch down and inspected the stone. The writing appeared as fresh as when it was first wrought in the surface of the dais. Broad, bold letters called across the centuries.
YOU WHO ENTER THIS SACRED PLACE TAKE H
EED
HERE LIES AWOI, A CHOSEN OF AVRA
DRIVEN FROM THE PEOPLE
SLAIN BY ONE HE LOVED
TOO FULL OF BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT
TO HARM ANOTHER.
IN DEATH HE EMBRACES HIS DEFENSES TOO LATE.
BEWARE THE HAND OF DISCORD
WHEN BROTHER TURNS ON BROTHER
WHEN YOU ARE DRIVEN FROM YOUR LAND
WHEN THE MINIONS OF DECEIT MARCH
AND CONQUER THE BEAUTIFUL NIGHT.
BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT WILL NOT WIN THE DAYLIGHT
WITHOUT EMBRACING THE MEANS TO DEFEND ITSELF
Granu slowly read the stone and dropped to his knees. He reeled, weak and faint. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.
“How could she have known?” murmured Granu to himself.
“Avra works through those who follow him. She may not have known when she carved these words, but her message speaks to you across centuries,” came the reply from the cavern’s opening.
Granu turned to see Nostr slowly moving into the tomb supporting Cefiz. The Ulrog halted, propping the guardsman against an interior wall. Granu stood and faced the Ulrog.
“She asks me to break vows. She asks me to .... to ...” stammered Granu.
“She tells you to defend yourself,” replied Nostr.
“By taking up arms against my own people ... my brother?” pleaded the prince.
“By siding with the righteous against injustice,” returned Nostr flatly.
The pair faced off, staring into one another’s eyes.
“What are you talking about?” gasped Cefiz weakly, his eyes darting between the huge figures.
Granu paused, his eyes still locked on the Ulrog. Finally, he turned and addressed Cefiz.
“She tells me to take up the ax and return to my people,” said Granu solemnly.
“What? You would be killed immediately. Besides, this ....” Cefiz searched for the right word. “... message was written centuries ago. The stone warns ‘all who enter.' How can you think this was written to you?”
The Keltaran let the torch slip to the stone floor. It became too much. He lowered his head, lost in thought, wandered from the dais and stepped into the low light of the ravine. Cefiz turned back to Nostr, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“What does he mean, scribe?” asked Cefiz. “How can he believe this message was left for him?”
“One must open their eyes to all possibilities, Guardsman. As you go through life building expectations, you begin to deny myriad possibilities. You read this epitaph and see a warning to all the children of Avra. Granu sees a message directed to his heart.”
“But how?....Why?” asked Cefiz.
“Handmaidens of the dead queen of Zodra raised a misshapen girl in the dark of a castle dungeon. For years the child remained nameless because her father never saw fit to give her one. These women took pity on the child and named her Gretcha, or ‘beautiful heart.'”
“I have heard this story,” replied Cefiz, still confused.
“Granu in the old tongue is ‘beautiful thought’,” stated Nostr. “Your friend believes the matriarch of his people challenges him to take up arms. Across the centuries of time she tells ‘beautiful thought’ to defend himself.”
“But that could be a coincidence,” scoffed Cefiz. “She uses a figure of speech.”
“It is no coincidence,” came Granu’s voice from the cave opening. “I was meant to see this message.”
“How can you be sure she speaks to you directly?” asked Cefiz.
“She tells of my brother’s deceit and mentions my father by name. Grannak is the ‘beautiful night’ of which she speaks,” stated Granu. “There are too many clues. Too many coincidences.”
Cefiz shook his head in denial and frowned.
“I agree. There are too many coincidences,” said the guardsman, looking sidelong at Nostr. “Too many to explain.”
Granu hesitated in his reply. Doubt clouded his vision and he too glanced at the Ulrog. Could this be a deceit to force him into a confrontation with his own brother? Nostr’s placid expression changed. The Ulrog scribe’s nostrils flared and the corded muscles on his neck bulged.
“I say again, Guardsman. Separate yourself from your prejudices and accept that which is self evident,” growled the Ulrog. “You see but you do not observe. You seek but stumble past truth. You claim to be open-minded, but force all into your version of reality.”
“We exercise caution in a troubled time ...” began Granu.
“Caution!” roared the Ulrog. “What you must exercise is your minds!”
Nostr grew agitated. He was angry and Granu and Cefiz backed from the Ulrog.
“You look at me and see a beast, a product of the power of Amird and a being built for nothing but death and destruction.” roared Nostr. “Even after what I have told you, what I have done for you. Even after all you have learned about me, you cannot see past the shell of this body to the soul that lies within.”
The Ulrog stalked toward Granu.
“You call yourself a monk of Awoi, a follower of your patriarch’s ways. Awoi once stood in the dungeons of Zodra and beheld a woman most would call ugly, but he saw past to the beauty within.
“Your eyes stare into mine and I see accusation. You see but do not observe. You strip back my sleeves and see the marks carved there by the fire tipped claws of the Malveel and you do not truly look. You see what you expect to see, not the possibilities.”
The Ulrog’s hand shot out and locked around the wrist of Granu. The giant struggled but couldn’t tear his arm from the iron grip. The Ulrog glared into Granu’s eyes.
“Sulgor, King of the Malveel, gathered his Ulrog servants at the base of this mountain one dark night a half century ago,” stated Nostr. “The Deceiver grew in power and wanted more priests for his army. Sulgor was to impart the power of Chaos into the bodies of mud and rock fashioned by his servants.
“They chose the place of Amird’s death for the incarnation, the place where the immortal blood of the Seraph was spilled upon the mud and rock of this mountain by the ax cradled in Awoi’s arms. Sulgor was to show those loyal to Amird the power of their master. From whence Amird’s life was taken, the Evil One would create life.
“Thousands of Ulrog covered the mountainside. Bonfires consumed whole trees. The Ulrog’s chanting was like thunder, rolling and echoing through the gorges. Dozens of captured Zodrians were brought forth. Men, women and children were sacrificed to Amird. Their blood muddied the mountainside and ran into the streams and falls.
“The priests prepared us for life. Pits were dug and in these pits we were fashioned. The symbols of Chaos and the prayers of the Ulrog fashioned with stone and etched across our bodies. Dozens of new Ulrog priests to replace the Zodrians just massacred. I was to be the first.
“Sulgor crept forward and leaned over the pit where my stone and mud body lay. The Ulrog continued their chants and prayers to their master. Sulgor called forth the power of Chaos and channeled it into my body.
“It was as if a dark cloud passed from in front of the moon. I stared up from my pit, alive. Sentient. I knew who I was. I knew I was alive. Sulgor hunched over me and growled in delight. His master would be pleased. The first in a line of new servants would enter the world of Avra and fight to destroy it.
“The Ulrog cheered and chanted. The bonfires raged, and Amird’s servants were whipped into a frenzy. Sulgor drew forth my arm to brand me as a servant of Amird. My life and what trivial worth it held was to be given to the Lord of Chaos.
“Fire pulsed forth from the razor tipped claws of the Malveel King. Sulgor’s eyes were filled with the power of Chaos. He gnashed his teeth and spit forth chants to Amird. His claws raked across my arm and pain seared my soul. The Ulrog horde roared in approval.
“I cried out in pain.
“Sulgor froze and dropped my arm, quickly backing away. I rose and stumbled forward as blood streamed from my wounds. Not the oily, black blood of the Ulrog, but t
he pure crimson blood of Awoi flowed from my arm.”
Nostr’s left arm remained locked on Granu’s wrist. With his right he drew the sleeve of his robe up to his stony shoulder.
“Look again upon the brand of Amird carved into this shell of a body!” demanded Nostr. “In the past you used it to condemn me.”
Granu’s eyes shot down to the deep scars rent in the iron flesh of the Ulrog scribe.
“The Ulrog in attendance could not see the color of my blood in the firelight, but Sulgor could. They roared in approval of his work even as the Malveel King backed from my pit and curled his lips in a snarl. I held my arm out, and all there saw the name of their master claiming me as his own.
“I was confused and alone, until a voice in my head called me to silence the praise of the evil one. I roared for quiet and the mountainside stilled. My Ulrog brothers nervously waited for the wisdom of the Deceiver to be imparted through my lips. Sulgor lowered his head and growled in anger. I threw my arm over my head and shouted a word I did not know the meaning of.”
Nostr released Granu and the scribe’s arm shot up and angled over his head. Granu and Cefiz stood staring at the inverted mark upon the Ulrog’s forearm.
“Awoi,” whispered Granu.
“In the name of Avra,” gasped Cefiz.
“Even that which is brought forth by the hand of evil cannot escape the powerful influence of the Creator of all things. My true maker refused to allow me to be branded by others. He set me free from the slavery of their lies. As I have said, to see you must open your mind as well as your eyes.”
The Ulrog lowered his arm and his sleeves fell back in place. Granu and Cefiz stood staring into the placid eyes of the Delvin prelate. Finally, Granu bowed his head to the Ulrog.
“I ask you for forgiveness Nostr, child of Avra. I could not conceive of an Ulrog as a child of my God.”
The Trees And The Night (Book 3) Page 7
