“Zelin has probably told you this already—the mermen are incredibly close to the water, we know all that happens within it. As their leader, I feel this pull more strongly than the others. I am sure this was the only reason why you were able to resurrect me,” Tustor finished, a hint of sadness in his voice.
Dalin looked grave. “My people have long thought the Water Orb to be out of the world, but now if it appears the Death Lord has brought it back, or is about to, then I must bring word to them.”
“King Garkin must be warned also,” Derlin broke in.
“Right,” commented Tustor. “You three will go first to Breshen, and then to King Garkin. Tell them to make sure that their troops are ready to fight. I’m not saying that they need to mobilize quite yet—it would be better if they did, but I fear many will not listen. At least make sure that all soldiers are in training and tell them to start stockpiling food and weapons. Border patrols are also a necessity. We will be ready for him when he comes this time! There is no need for you two to return to Krendon. I have sensed Zelin, and I am sure that he knows of the events transpiring here. In fact, I can feel his life-force already moving towards the capital. That is also why your first priority must be to travel to Breshen. Dalin, it is indeed fortunate that you met Tarthur here when you did. I will trust you to protect him until he meets up with Zelin again.”
Tarthur marveled at how Dalin’s path had crossed theirs. It appeared he was to be their companion for the near future.
“Since time will be of the essence, I suggest you leave tomorrow, at first light, or before, if you want to see another sunrise,” Truin added. “I will see to it personally that all of the provisions you will need will be packed for you.”
“If time is important,” asked Derlin, “why don’t we leave now?”
At Derlin’s foolish question all the tension left the room, and none laughed harder than Tustor. Slapping Derlin playfully on the back, he simply replied “My friend, you seem to have forgotten that this afternoon you will be feeling the effects of our kokhor. I am sure you will be in no condition to travel. Besides, Tarthur needs all the rest he can get.” With that, the four left the room, a grin upon the mouth of everyone who knew about a kokhor hangover.
That afternoon Tarthur went to look in on Derlin and talk to him about everything that had been happening. A pitiful sight greeted his eyes; Derlin and Dalin were moaning with such force that Tarthur could have sworn they were dying. The moaning was interrupted only long enough for one or the other of them to run to the side and vomit in an already filling bucket. Tarthur laughed. Now he could see what was funny about them traveling in such a state.
Wera gracefully swam into the room. “I brought some more herbs for you. Don’t worry, the hangover will only last for another hour or so.”
“An hour,” groaned Derlin. “I’ll be dead in an hour.”
“Don’t worry, my friend. While these hangovers are painful, they are usually not deadly. You see, Tarthur, we have some herbal medicines that can reduce the length of a hangover, but nothing to reduce the severity.”
“Let’s see,” mused Tarthur. “You have a drink that is not lethal but causes severe hangovers, for which there are no cures, but which are still only temporary.” His thoughts went instantly to Morty. Now here was going to be a good joke. He could even use this one a few times. “Do you think that perhaps I could have some of that stuff?”
“Certainly,” Wera replied. “Truin will give you a bit of his store if you ask him.” With this Tarthur left his friends to their plaintive wailing, a smile on his face.
That night, it rained again. For some reason, the sound of the drops falling against the roof didn’t soothe him.
Tarthur knew he should be sleeping. He was in Truin’s shoal. As he gazed beside him, he saw Derlin and Dalin sleeping fitfully, though the mattresses were old. The mermen didn’t have much use for beds, and it looked like they received visitors only infrequently. His friends bore no resemblance to people who have had a kokhor hangover recently.
It was then that he started thinking about Tustor, and what he had seen in his eyes. How could someone as beloved as Tustor want to die? Could Tustor be mad at him? Tarthur knew what he had to do. He got up, laced up his boots, grabbed his cloak, and stepped into the rain.
* * *
The rain pattered softly on the roof of the dimly lit study. The waves slowly lapped at the base of the house. The waves were growing in strength by the constant infusion of rain into the ocean. Inside, a single oil lamp burned in some vain attempt to keep out the darkness, whose oppressive presence filled the night. The house was dry inside, and a lone figure sat diligently writing on some parchment. The scratching of his quill pen as it made marks of ink on the paper was the only sound to accompany the softly falling rain.
Tustor sighed, he knew it was his job to protect his people, but he could not shake the vision of the Eternal Vale that he had seen. He had seen his family, long since dead and departed, given back to the sea. He had seen heroes of the old tales, and he had felt, in that one instant, a deeper sense of belonging than he had ever felt before. He knew that as long as he lived he would always yearn for that place, yearn to be home.
Tustor felt the draft of cool air blow in and he looked up from the stack of messages he was writing. Tustor knew who the dark figure at his door was. The flash of lightning confirmed his suspicions. Tarthur shook the water from his cloak and slowly hung it on a nail protruding from the wall. Tarthur stood still, unsure about how to proceed. Tustor waited for Tarthur to speak. The only sound was the resounding boom of thunder that echoed throughout the shoals.
Finally Tustor spoke, dropping all pretenses. “Why did you come here tonight?”
Tustor did not know Tarthur well, but it seemed to the merwizard that the boy was out of his element. “I came to apologize.”
Tustor chuckled, already knowing the answer. “Whatever for?”
“I don’t know,” Tarthur said. “When I brought you back you just seemed so sad.”
Tustor nodded. “I know you can never understand. No one who has not been there can understand. Have you ever heard of the Eternal Vale?”
Tarthur nodded, understanding slowly dawning on his face. “Where the Creator takes all of his own after their time in the world is up?”
“Yes, that is it. No one who enters it can ever come back, save by some great magic. It is a place that transcends understanding. Your heart would burst with pure joy if you had but set foot in it once. The gurus of the Eternal Vale meet there because it is a place of great joy, and of greater power. It is the very heart of the world.”
“When a person’s time in this world is up, the Creator separates their soul from their body and starts it on a journey to the Vale, a journey home. When you used the spell the first time I was so overcome with the pure joy of it that my frail old body just could not take it.”
Tarthur’s face wore a look of surprise. “Your body looks a great many things, but frail and old are not two of them. Are saying that I killed you?” Tarthur asked.
“No,” Tustor chuckled. “It was more from advanced age than anything. I was almost to the Vale when you called me. In fact, I even saw a little inside it…” Tustor trailed off.
“So,” Tarthur said softly, the realization hitting him. “You did not want to come back, but you did anyway because you knew your people would need you in the coming struggle.”
“You have great insight for a boy of your limited training and travels. Perhaps you are one of the few given the power to see into people’s hearts. It is a great blessing, and a immense burden.”
Tarthur smiled, admiration in his eyes. “I don’t think so.”
Tarthur picked up his cloak and started for the door. “I am sure this doesn’t mean much coming from a common boy like me to a great wizard like you, but I just want you to know I really appreciate what you gave up, and all of your people, if they could, would love you even more. All of my life I will look up
to you and respect you.”
Tustor smiled, and nodded. “Thank you.”
* * *
It was still dark when the door opened, but Tarthur was already up and dressed, ready for the day’s adventure. “Hello, Dalin,” he greeted. “I’ll wake Derlin.”
Derlin moaned as Tarthur shook him vigorously. Once awake however, he dressed quickly into his traveling clothes and then all three consumed vast quantities of the kelp-like dish as well as some smoked fish for breakfast. Truin was there with Wera to send them off. Tustor was there also with a pile of dispatches he had been writing to various leaders throughout the world. He looked as if he did not get much sleep, if any. Several of the members of the merfolk community who were up early were also there to wish them well on their journey. They all had warm smiles on their faces and shook hands with the three travelers, admiration in their eyes.
Truin stepped forward and withdrew a small flask of kokhor. “Take this, Tarthur. I have only known you for a few days, but I imagine you to be a man of maybe a little too much courage and a great trickster. Be careful with this kokhor, and if it is for a joke please use it well.”
“I will, Truin. I have a snooty little son of a nobleman in mind for this.” Truin and Dalin embraced each other. “My friend,” said the elf prince, “I am sorry this visit was filled with so much commotion. I look to the time when I will be able to make a peaceful visit to enjoy Wera’s cooking. I promise you we will be strong. We will destroy the fiend this time.”
Truin’s nod was stern. “You can count on the support of the merfolk.” Tustor handed Dalin a knapsack of dispatches. “You’d better be going if you don’t want to miss the sunrise.”
As Tarthur waved to the group of mermen, he suddenly felt sad that he could not stay longer. It was strange, he reflected, that they lived so close and nobody ever traveled between the two communities. He made a silent promise to himself that as soon as he had free time he would come and make better relations between them.
Starting up the hill away from the shoals, Tarthur noticed a group of three horses in a small grove of trees. One of them was Dalin’s. Tarthur pointed to the spot questioningly.
“You didn’t expect them to send us on a trip of this importance on foot, did you?” Dalin asked, frowning.
“Well, not really,” Tarthur stammered.
“But where did mermen get horses?” Derlin was confused.
Dalin raised his eyebrows in a knowing smile. “Maybe you will find out someday.”
Tarthur was amazed as they walked up to the mounts. In Krendon, it was a great privilege to be able to ride. Only the noblemen and a few of the richer master craftsmen were able to afford a horse. Tarthur looked over his horse. He was pitch black and looked to be very strong. Being the apprentice to the blacksmith, Tarthur naturally looked down to check his shoes. “Look, Derlin. These shoes are an excellent fit.” He had, after all, learned at least a few things during his apprenticeship.
“You are right, Tarthur,” commented Derlin. “My horse also has good shoes.” Derlin’s horse was brown and white, and like all of them, had an expensive leather saddle.
The boys mounted up, albeit a little clumsily, and trotted off after Dalin, who had already started up the incline. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the hard ground was the only sound that permeated the chill pre-dawn stillness.
After they had been riding for a few minutes, Dalin called a halt and turned his mount. Tarthur looked down and again saw the impassable plain stretching before them. At the end of this plain Tarthur saw a gray area. Soon this gray area started to expand, and the first streaks of light started sparkling over the water. Then more streaks joined them, reflecting light everywhere. The first stray rays of light were dancing across the water. Soon the sun had risen fully above the waves, and the sight was a wonder to behold.
“Wow,” Derlin said, cutting in on his thoughts. “This truly is amazing, yet I can’t seem to shake the feeling that it is not quite as special as the first time.”
He was right, Tarthur realized. Maybe it was that there were no merfolk to welcome them, or maybe it was because of the grim things he knew now that he had not before, or maybe the sun was just not as bright…
“You are very astute, Derlin,” Dalin remarked.
Pondering his words, the three rode off into the fog, which was already starting to burn off under the warming sun.
That night they pitched camp in the forest. Without suitable grazing area in the vicinity, the horses were forced to eat a little of the oats that had been provided by the merfolk. While the horses enjoyed the oats, Tarthur hoped they didn’t eat all the food that was meant for the people. The heavy vegetation had also slowed them considerably, and if it had not been for Dalin’s ability to find seemingly invisible trails, Tarthur was sure they would have not progressed very much. It was fortunate to have Dalin along—he was sure it would have taken twice as long without him. After that they had set up the tents and made a fire ring. Dalin seemed at least a little impressed that they knew how to camp. After they had eaten their dinner of dried fish and bread, and washed it down with spring water, Dalin spoke up. “Have you boys heard the story of Tivu, the Cloudwalker?”
Tarthur looked up from a stick he was playing with in the fire and shook his head. Derlin confirmed his answer by shaking his head as well, so Dalin decided to begin.
“A very long time ago, in the Rune Mountains, there lived a group of wise sages who dedicated their lives to becoming one with the Power of Air. It is said, when they have been studying for a century, they can change their form to that of an eagle, and they can fly with them. They also studied with the eagles who lived there, who were very wise and could speak the languages of other creatures. At that time, the Power of Air was contained in a feather of Firewing, who is said to have been the first creature to understand the Power of Air. This was long before Frehu contained the elements. The sages are also credited with the forging of the Rune Sword, which has some of their magical properties. When the sages have been studying for sufficient time to become a grandmaster, they no longer have need of bodies to take them places, as they can simply fuse their minds with the air and use it to carry them where they wish to go.”
“Now there was a certain boy among them, Tivu was his name. He loved the air. He was wholeheartedly dedicated to his purpose. Indeed, it seemed as if he had more birds as friends than people. When he was six, he was better than students in their early twenties. Young Tivu became somewhat of a favorite of the aging grandmaster. When Tivu was twenty, it seemed to the rest that the old grandmaster had chosen his successor. It was also then that the grandmaster made a fatal mistake. He began taking Tivu on flights with him. He would bind Tivu’s soul with his own and fly over the land. One day, as they were flying east, the grandmaster flew a little too far, and they caught sight of the Eternal Vale.”
“‘What is that place of great beauty and power?’ Tivu asked his instructor. ‘That is the Eternal Vale,’ the grandmaster replied. ‘Do you not know of it?’”
“‘Yes,’ replied Tivu, awestruck. ‘I just never thought a place of such unspeakable majesty existed.’”
“The grandmaster sadly turned around. ‘We grandmasters of the air are one of the few allowed to enter and leave relatively freely. All the more reason you should become one,’ he finished, helping the ambition he knew needed no help.”
“After that day, Tivu plunged deeper into his studies than before, if such a feat was possible. He frequently forgot to eat, or even sleep, so consumed was he by the vision he saw before him. Three years later, when he was only twenty-three, Tivu received the power to turn into an eagle. It was a good thing too. Grandmaster Jeuinem was becoming older, and it was said he might die in nearly half a century. But the vision of the Vale was haunting Tivu. One day, he devised a plan. He knew he could never go into the Eternal Vale while he was not a grandmaster. He also knew he could not wait that long. So one day, while it was still early, he walked a little
down the mountain. He had noticed how the clouds formed there every day. He started to walk on them. A normal person would have fallen right through, but not Tivu. It took all of Tivu’s power to control the clouds, and his strength was draining quickly. Fortunately for him, Tivu was stubborn. He used sheer force of will to keep himself afloat. Soon he was in sight of that which no mortal should see, the Eternal Vale. Naturally, the grandmaster sensed what was wrong, and flew with the speed of wind to go get him. But Tivu was already too far. By the time the grandmaster had gotten there, Tivu had lost control, and he fell to the earth. So entranced was he by the vision that he had seen, he could not even think to turn himself into an eagle. As he was about to hit the rocky mountains below him, the grandmaster sent a surge of all of his power to save him. The power caught Tivu as he was dashed against the rocks. Tivu’s body died, but the grandmaster’s magic prevented his soul from being released. The aging grandmaster had overexerted himself, and there was no one with sufficient healing powers to help him. Thus, the Power of Air was lost to the world, for the grandmaster died without giving his secrets to anyone.”
“But what happened to Tivu?” Tarthur questioned.
“That is the saddest part of all. With his body not able to give up his soul, he is technically still alive, and cannot enter the Eternal Vale until one from this world goes in before him. It is said that he sleeps by the entrance, until the One is born.”
Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest Page 5
