The Golden Helm: More Tales from the Edge of Sleep

by Victoria Randall

  The Golden Helm

  More Tales from the Edge of Sleep

  Copyright 2017 by Victoria Randall

  Cover art copyright 2017

  SelfPubBookCovers.com/RLSather

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, Brief quotations may be embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Table of Contents

  The Golden Helm

  Dinosaur Voices

  Apple Seed

  Parenthood by Choice Inc. Invests in a Time Machine

  Beyond the Caverns of Madness

  Silent Presence

  Edith’s Gift

  Influence

  Dragon Fire

  Incident in the Library

  The Unicorn in the Garden

  Scent of Evil

  About the Author

  The Realms on the Edge of Sleep

  If you wander long in the realms on the edge of sleep, at first you may feel as if you are alone. Later you may begin to see shapes that loom out of the twilight and fade away again.

  You may hear the lonely calling of the sea people, and catch the glint of a golden helm, lost for centuries under the sea, with the power to change the fate of kingdoms. You may hear the gibbering of a horde of elder gods, monsters lurking in the mist, waiting for unsuspecting travelers.

  You might see a dinosaur swirling away to freedom, or a tree with a single potent apple swelling on its branch, or a strange machine flickering in and out of time and reality. You might overhear the hours passing, soft footed, down the halls of eternity, or feel the heat of dragonfire as it blows past. Or even hear the howling of a wolf with a terrible secret.

  If you go on past the borders of sleep, beyond dreams, and continue on into darkness, you should come at last to that shining golden city on a hill where all our paths in the end are meant to lead.

  The Golden Helm

  Once, on a world so distant that the light from its sun has never yet reached our earth, there lived a young man named Aidan. He had been married a year to a lovely young wife, whose name was Celine, but this morning he wanted nothing more than to flee from his home. His wife had learned that she could not have a child, and the weight of her sorrow lay like a dark shadow on the house. This morning he could bear it no longer.

  “I have to go to market,” he said in the doorway. “I’ll be back before nightfall. You don’t mind, do you, dear?”

  “No, that’s fine.” She looked up from her sewing, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Bring me something from the market, if you please.”

  “I’ll try,” he said, and fled.

  But he did not go to the market. Instead he went to the seashore, to walk on the white sand and look up at the eternal blue sky, which smiled on him and eased the ache in his heart a little. The beach was a long white crescent, and he walked its length, until he came to a little bay sheltered by rocks. There as the sun climbed toward its noon he sat down to rest.

  He noticed a black speck that could have been a ship running fast toward the bay, but paid it no attention. Closer to the shore, something ruffled the water. He heard a splash before he saw what it was.

  A white arm broke the surface, then what appeared to be a woman emerged from the sea. But she did not rise to her feet; instead she began to pull herself painfully onto the sand. Under her arm she carried a brown wooden box, which made her task more difficult. As he jumped to his feet and ran toward her he saw that she was one of the sea people. She had a fish’s tail, the scales gleaming iridescent green.

  “What is wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked.

  She looked at him with terror in her eyes. Her long dark hair rippled below her shoulders. He saw that she was wounded, bleeding from a gash below her ribs.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Can I help?”

  She focused on him. “Help me, yes,” she said. She held up the box to him, and he took it to lay it aside, but she seized his wrist in a fierce grip. “They must not take it. Many lives have been lost to recover what is inside. Hide it. You must not use it, it is too dangerous. Whatever is done with it will rebound against the doer.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You know of Marek?”

  “The king of Salagron.” Salagron was at war with his country, Alyria.

  “Yes, him. His men are close behind me—” She glanced behind her in terror; the black speck was visible now as a vessel. “If they recover this thing, Marek will destroy our world. He is vicious, insane with hate. You must not let them take it.”

  “I don’t want this!” he cried. “I have a wife—”

  “And I have a mate,” said the sea woman. “I did not want this task either. But all our people will perish, and yours as well, if Marek recovers this. We have no time: choose now. Will you be a coward, or help me?”

  He looked into her sea green eyes, pleading and desperate. He tightened his hold on the box under his arm. “I will hide it.”

  “Go now.” She pushed him away. “You must go quickly, before they see you.”

  He rose and stumbled away up the sand. She turned, plunged back under the water, and swam away. When he reached the cover of the rocks he stopped and looked back. The black boat was drifting close to the shore, dark clad figures moving about on it. One stood on the stern and lifted a harpoon gun, aiming at the water.

  Aidan saw him fire; the line went taut. He turned away before he could see more and ran up the rocky path toward the tree line. As he went he realized that they could follow his footprints in the sand. Terror seized him; his mouth went dry. He quickened his pace, staying to the stony ground where they would find no trace of his passing.

  He went deep into the forest, following paths he had known well since boyhood. At times he stopped and listened but he heard no sound of following footsteps. He did not dare go home. The soldiers of the enemy had too ferocious a reputation; he knew they would not easily give up their search. In an hour he came to the mouth of a cave he had often explored as a child. It was concealed by a bush; he pushed it aside and crawled in. The mouth opened into a wide cavern, where he sat on a rock and caught his breath, his heart thudding.

  The light from the mouth of the cave was dim, but enough to see by as he took the box in his hands. With trepidation, he opened it. Inside lay an object that gleamed in the meager light. He lifted it up; it was a helmet or cap, made of cloth of gold with tiny golden discs embedded in it. It was a lovely thing, but he could not see why a king would kill for it.

  Gingerly he put it on his head. At once his mind expanded, and he could see every corner of the cavern where he sat, despite the dimness. Looking toward the entrance, he could see beyond the bushes, down the slopes, through the trees, which became like shadows, to the beach where the black boat was moored with the body of the mermaid lying on board. One of the men in black was on guard at the boat; he did not bother to look for the others. He knew they were searching for him.

  “What shall I do?” he said aloud in desperation. “I need help!”

  At once he heard a patter of falling stones. High up in the rocky wall of the cavern a mouth opened, and a great sigh came forth.

  “Who seeks the counsel of ancient Fumeladis, of Smokeysides?” came a voice which was deep and rumbling.

  “I—it was me
,” said Aidan in a small voice. “Who are you?”

  “I am the mountain Fumeladis,” said the voice like rocks tumbling along a subterranean stream. “I have slept long eons, but have been awakened. What do you seek?”

  “I—I need advice,” said Aidan in awe. “I have been given this thing—this helm—and told it must not fall into the enemy’s hands. But I dare not hide it, and I doubt I can destroy it. What should I do?”

  “Hm. I see what you have . . . it is the helm of power, which was lost for ages, and a good thing too. I hoped it would never surface again.”

  “What is it? What does it do?”

  “It can do many things, such as waking a mountain from sleep to talk with you. With it you can fly through the air, heal, destroy, build, make and unmake. But it has this quality, that whatever you do with it will rebound to you. You dare not kill, unless you wish to die.”

  “But what shall I do with it?”

  “I cannot tell you. Only you can decide that.”

  “Will it take me to . . . to the capitol city?”

  “Anywhere you wish to go. You have only to speak, and it will be done.”

  “Who made it?”

  “That I cannot tell you. It may have been your people, long ago when they came here. Or it may have been those who lived in the world before you, longer ago still. They were a people of great skill and built many strange machines.”

  “I would like to stop the war that Marek wages against us. Could I do that?”

  “I have seen wars; they begin in pain, and end in pain . . . I do not know why men seek pain so often. It may be you can use the helm for this, but I do not see how.”

  Aidan rose unsteadily to his feet. “Thank you for your advice. I need a companion, someone wise . . . who can I trust?”

  The mountain yawned, a huge rumbling. “Go outside, little one. You will find a wolf. Good fortune to you. Now I am going back to sleep.”

  “Thank you.” Aidan climbed out of the cave. He felt as if he had been inside for hours, but the sun had scarcely moved in the sky. He forgot he was still wearing the helm; as he set foot on the grass he heard it whispering, tiny exclamations of joy and delight in the sunlight; he saw the wistful faces of tiny flowers upturned to the sun, wishing his shadow would pass . . . Everything seemed alive. He paused with his hand on a tree, and felt its long slow green thoughts, its bliss as its leaves stretched toward the sun.

  He heard a groan behind a rock, and looking saw a gaunt wolf. It gazed up at him with hungry yellow eyes, and bared its teeth. “Talk to me,” he said.

  “I’d rather eat than talk,” said the wolf. “I could eat a horse.”

  “I don’t have a horse,” said Aidan. He glanced around. On a branch above his head he saw a fat wild turkeycock. He lifted his hand, touched the tree and wished the branch to break.

  With a crack the branch crashed to the ground, along with the turkey. The wolf sprang, seized it and began to eat. When the branch broke, Aidan felt a sudden shock to his right arm, as if he had been struck. His arm was not broken, but it was very painful.

  When the wolf finished eating, Aidan said, “Will you bear me where I need to go?”

  “Happy to,” said the wolf, baring its teeth in a grin. “You saved my life.”

  He climbed on the wolf’s back and said, “Take me to Maravna, the capitol city.”

  The wolf looked over its shoulder at him. “You realize this will take days?”

  “Let us begin,” said Aidan. “We will see how long it takes.”

  The wolf began to run, and found to his surprise that he could skim over the treetops and run as swiftly as the wind. In less than half an hour they had reached the great city where the king of Alyria had his palace.

  Aidan slid from the wolf’s back when they reached the palace. “Will you wait here for me?” he asked.

  “Willingly,” said the wolf. “I want to see what happens next.”

  Aidan turned away, murmuring, “I want to see the king without being seen.”

  Immediately a small door in the side of the palace slowly opened, and he saw a flight of steps leading up. Following them, he climbed until he could go no further, then he found another door open. Sliding inside he found himself in a dimly lit hallway hung with draperies; there was a room on the left and one on the right. From the room on the left he heard voices. In the room on the right he saw a young woman lying on a bed. Her face was flushed, her eyes closed and her breathing harsh. A worried looking servant woman hovered over her.

  Someone raised his voice in the other room. “Your Majesty, we face an enormous danger in this enemy. He will destroy us if we do not raise a larger army.”

  “I suppose you are right,” came the reply, with a sigh. “I hate to do it . . . harvest time is coming.”

  “We will be unable to harvest anything if we are all dead or prisoners,” said a harsh voice. “We need stronger weapons, more cavalry and men, more arms . . .”

  “I know, I know.” There was the sound of a chair pushed back. “I can’t concentrate with Elissa as sick as she is.”

  Aidan heard footsteps coming and hid behind a drape. A group walked into the girl’s room, and he saw a man in royal blue, dark bearded, who went to the bedside of the girl and looked down at her, fists clenched in despair. A weak chin, irresolute mouth, brow creased with worry . . . was this the man he should turn the helm of power over to? Aidan knew at once it was impossible; the king would give in to whichever of his counselors was most importunate. They would use the helm in battle and set loose destruction on their own country in the process.

  With a distracted shake of his head the king left the room, followed by his counselors. Aidan stared intently at the girl from his hiding place and whispered, “Be healed.” There was no change.

  When the servant left the bedside for a moment to refill a pitcher, Aidan tiptoed closer, touched the girl’s shoulder and whispered, “Be well.” He felt heat flow from his hand, his own strained shoulder eased and the pain vanished, and the girl opened her eyes and looked at him. Her pale cheeks grew pink. He put a finger to his lips and tiptoed away.

  As he reached the stairs he heard a crash from the bedroom and a shriek of joy. Then he heard running footsteps, and hurried down the stairs to where the wolf waited for him.

  He climbed onto the wolf’s back. They leaped across the palace grounds, and once out of sight rose into the clouds. “Where to?” the wolf asked.

  “West across the sea,” said Aidan. “To Salagron.”

  “We can’t cross the ocean!”

  “Why not?” asked Aidan. “We’d better go quickly. I promised my wife I’d be home for dinner.”

  “Oh, in that case . . .” said the wolf.

  They headed along the shoreline, but when they came in sight of the bay and the enemy boat, Aidan said, “Wait. Can you go down lower? Down to the boat?”

  “I will try,” said the wolf. “But they have weapons.”

  “He won’t even see us.”

  Silently they glided to the boat, where a lone guard stood with his back to the dead mermaid, peering at the shore. Aidan slid from the wolf, lifted the mermaid in his arms and murmured into her ear. Her eyes opened; she gasped as he slid her over the side into the water. He held his finger to his lips and climbed back on the wolf. The guard turned with a shout as they soared away to the clouds.

  The sun was sliding down the sky to mid afternoon as they flew on over the sea. The wolf grinned with enjoyment, but he cast a wary eye at the light. “It was not wise to approach the boat,” he said. “That guard will give warning to the enemy.”

  “He may,” said Aidan. “But if his lord is as harsh as they say, he will not dare. He will pretend he saw nothing.”

  “He won’t try to warn his superiors?”

  “Against one man and a wolf? What harm could we do?”

  “That is what I ask myself.”

  “Only time will tell,” said Aidan.

  They reached the rocky coa
st of Salagron, and soon came in sight of the capitol, where Marek held court. Among the mountains rose a dark cluster of towers, gleaming black in the westering sun. A blood-red flag with a black horseman flew from the battlements. “Land inside the gates,” Aidan said in the wolf’s ear.

  They landed near the castle, and the wolf took shelter beneath a tangle of blackberry bushes. Aidan approached the castle, murmuring, “I would visit the guardroom.”

  Again a little postern door opened silently, and he slipped inside. It was dark after the sunlight, but he felt his way toward the sound of men’s voices. He heard the clink of mugs, and paused outside a room to listen. “Not my turn to stand guard upstairs,” grunted a voice.

  “What’s wrong?” sneered another. “Scared of His Majesty?”

  “I’d be a fool not to be. He’s as cold as the river in January.”

  “He’s not as bad as his father, the old king,” said a deeper voice. “He was a terror.”

  “I heard something of him. He made Marek do cruel things, like shoot his own dog. That’s why he’s so harsh.”

  “He has nightmares,” said the deep voice. “They say he wakes screaming at night sometimes. I wouldn’t have his conscience.”

  “He won’t bother you if you do your job,” said the sneering voice.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” said the first man. “You go up if you’re so fond of him.”

  “Be quiet, he’s got ears everywhere,” whispered another.

  Aidan had heard enough. He tiptoed away, and found another stairway leading up. Through the arrowslits in the walls he saw that the sun was falling toward the horizon, and felt the cool breeze of evening beginning to rise from the sea.

  He came to the top of the stairway, and faced a door. Drawing a deep breath, he opened it and came into a rich apartment. A man in dark red robes stood with his back to him, looking out of an arched window.

  The man turned to see him. His hand went to the sword he was wearing. His face was cold, his eyes icy slits of ferocity. “What do you want here?”

  Aidan looked past his eyes into his mind, and saw there cold rage, old wounds long hidden, and sadness buried too deep to touch.