“You did enough. I hope now that you know enough to trust me, for I would like to hear something of my own explained. You say that Hargill never mentioned me at all. I’m sorry, but I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Tyler Finch, and to tell the truth, Hargill never told me anything about you. He never said a word – until the end that is, when he made me promise to travel to Ithrim and seek you out. It’s a long story.”
“And you think we do not have the time?”
“Why should we tell you anything, old man?” Varkon growled. “I have a feeling that we have not even begun to scratch the surface of your deeper motives, your history. We don’t know anything about you.”
“I believe Haranio is telling the truth. Honestly, what more could he say to earn our trust?” said Tyler, and with that he launched straight into his saga, from the moment Innor and his cart burst through the great oak doors of his town hall to when he and Varkon were shoved into the hidden arena of the imps. He showed Haranio the tattoos on his wrist and neck, and he let him examine the spider-rock. The only time the shamif reacted during the tale was when he heard about the spider and how it had bitten him; at this he sat up more attentively but said nothing.
Varkon sat silently in the darkness. He didn’t stop Tyler, but it was easy to tell he was furious that a stranger was being told so much.
Finally Tyler had explained everything he knew, and his mind bubbled with questions. He half expected Haranio to answer some of them as he spoke, but the old man had kept his peace, waiting for Tyler to finish.
“I am amazed that you were told so little of the outside world, Tyler,” the old man finally said when Tyler was done. “I wonder what Hargill’s reasons were.”
“Can you tell me everything you know, Haranio?” asked Tyler eagerly.
“Everything?” Haranio chuckled. “Although I may not be able to that, child, I will do my best to tell you what you need to understand.” And with that, Haranio began to recount his own story. His words were simple, and he paused often, as though remembering far back into the past. Even Varkon sat up and took interest.
“Where to begin? I think at Ithrim, the city of the free, as some call it. This was true long, long ago; now, I am not so certain. Ithrim was – and is – a council area for most of the major races of the world: men, nÿmphs, gronts, dwarves, and scills. Today it still exists, but its purpose is different: the races work together not so much for peace, but to ensure that prosperity is maintained. Some fools think that the Alliance continues for the good of unity, and although this might still be the main purpose of the nÿmphs and scills, the other races most certainly have their own agendas. It is more a question of price and wealth than peace and freedom. It was not always so. For the first thousand years of the Alliance, there were genuine intentions of virtue and well-being. The fight for the higher cause of justice was in the forefront of most minds. But times have changed. Corruption has seeped through the high, white walls of Ithrim far more effectively than even Her black wave, which destroyed much of the inner city so long ago.” Haranio shook his head sorrowfully.
“But enough with the history lesson. Let us now relate it to you, Tyler Finch. Hargill spent most of his life in Ithrim, and his job there was of vital importance. In the city there was a valuable object named Avalon’s Heart. Nobody knows the precise tale of how it came to be. It was found by Lamathil of the Sunbirch on the same day that he slew Her on the battlefield. It is said that as he revealed this wondrous object to the kings and lords of the victorious Alliance, a blaze of silver writing scorched across its surface. I think you have heard the words before.”
Fair Avalon, I call thee now; thy hour has arrived.
For all around had rotted; the light has almost died.
Youth waits only for your blessing, your gift you freely gave.
A spider’s web shall bridge the worlds, and hope shall be remade.
Tyler gasped with pain. As Haranio chanted in rising tones, the spider-stone hanging on his chest blistered, and the words of the poem swept across its surface in fiery silver. He snatched the singeing stone away by its chain and let the writing burn until the words had faded. Soon the grey stone was as it always had always been. Tyler touched it, and it felt warm, as always.
“Do you mean to say that this is Avalon’s Heart?” he asked.
Haranio nodded from the shadows. “You are the now the youth the poem speaks of, Tyler. The stone’s blessing has now been bestowed upon you, and those tattoos on your arm are a mark of who you are. Some will now know you as Avalon-Qwa – ‘Avalon’s chosen’.”
Tyler felt an unbearable roar in his head that seemed to emit from all the fabric of existence. He was a cornerstone in a history he had never known existed. The stone he had been wearing so casually around his neck was famous in the world. Avalon-Qwa – that was what Hargill had called him on bended knee. But as he listened to how great he was supposed to be, he could not help but be overcome by how ordinary he felt. “What does all this mean?” he whispered huskily. “What will Avalon’s Blessing do to me?”
“I will get to that,” said Haranio, “but first I have skipped ahead of myself, for it is important that you know something else. Hargill was the keeper of Avalon’s Heart, the guardian of the stone. Back then, all those years ago, he and I were very close. That was before his sanity began to slip. I tried to reason with him, but by the end the man lost his senses. He gathered a group of easily persuaded followers and kidnapped many children of Ithrim, of which you were one, before he fled by ship across the sea, still bearing Avalon’s Heart. No one knew where he went; he left no clue as to his destination. In truth, I don’t think even he knew it himself. Several volunteers offered to search for him and recover the Heart, for the prophecy tells us it may only be used in the direst of circumstances. It is also imperative that it is given to a youth of merit and worth. Tyler, I can only hope you are all of these things.”
Tyler felt weak with this fiery talk. The Hargill he had respected and loved so much was a madman and a traitor. “I can try to be,” he said faintly.
Haranio nodded. “A wise answer. Perhaps Hargill had not completely lost all his sense. He seems to have done well in choosing you, although it was foolhardy to do so without the proper agreement of the Council or a child of its choosing. The timing is also more than questionable, and now the safety of the one who is blessed is in grave peril. You are vulnerable, lost deep in ghatuan territory, with only two guardians to offer protection against the Dhimori and His army, who are close on our heels.”
“And you one of those hunters who supposedly volunteered to search for Hargill?” quipped Varkon with indifference. Tyler was surprised the ghatu still held much distrust in his tone, and he was not the only one who noticed. Haranio was obviously well aware of Varkon’s contempt.
“Yes, I am. I felt it was my duty, as Hargill’s closest friend, to be a part of the search. I would not hold yourself too highly, ghatu. I know that you do not trust me, but how do I know that you are really on our side? After all, your kind is the real enemy.”
Varkon leapt like an arrow to his feet, and Haranio matched his pace, glaring fiercely.
“My name is Varkon Kar Tavernev, son of Tirimu Kar Tavernev, and you insult me greatly, old man. I gave my Ruilk to protect the boy. I would not break it.”
“Hargill seems to have put much faith in this little tradition of yours, but he was mad. He has already put the fate of the free world at serious risk, and I severely doubt his judgement. I have never known of an honest ghatu.”
The situation was spinning rapidly out of control.
“Stop!” called Tyler. “I trust you both! Varkon has already proven his loyalty beyond all doubt, and Haranio has saved my life today. Have you forgotten that we already know who the real enemy is? The Dhimori is all that should concern us – that, and reaching Ithrim alive.”
Tyler
’s outburst did much to calm his own, boiling emotions, but Varkon and Haranio did not back down straight away. Instead they continued to stare intensely, locked into each other’s gaze. Finally it was Varkon who broke the tension, shrugging his shoulders apathetically.
“I do not fear you, Haranio. I won’t pretend that I trust you, either. I have never heard of a shamif before. But your story seems to make sense, and the boy thinks you have saved his life. Perhaps if I heard the rest of your tale, it would easy my mind.”
Once everyone was seated Haranio, began to talk again, but more slowly this time. He also exchanged more than a few withering glances at Varkon.
“There is not much left to tell. Varkon, if you do not trust me now, you never will. What is left is to answer Tyler’s earlier question: what does Avalon’s Blessing do to the blessed? The answer is uncertain. All we have to guess at are the words of Avalon’s poem, and they do not reveal much. I am sure, however, that the effects will become obvious all too soon. Perhaps these dreams are an indication of the power of the blessing beginning to mature inside of you. It is impossible to tell.”
A terrible disappointment caught at Tyler’s throat. “But Hargill said that you would have all the answers. He told me that you would explain everything – why so much truth was hidden from me through my life, the effects of the spider bite …”
“I’m sorry, Tyler, I cannot conceive what Hargill could have meant. At least now I am here to help … as is Varkon,” he added grudgingly. “We, as a company, will reach Ithrim no matter the cost. Now let us rest, for shortly we will be forced to rise and have to travel far. We will stick with the walking times that you have been following, sleeping during the night so that we are able to travel from early dawn to late dusk.”
Varkon hissed dangerously from where he was sitting. “And who made you the leader of this expedition?”
“I am only doing what I think is right for the boy,” Haranio snapped back. “More important, where exactly are you walking, Varkon? You are travelling due east. That way leads only to the mountains – and ghatu.”
“I think I know the mountains better than you, old man. Let me handle the directions. There is no other way to the eastern shoreline except to walk around all of the Klinha range. We would all be as old as you if we took that path.”
“But it is less dangerous, so it is the route we should travel. We can’t afford to risk anything.”
“No! My way is safest. Any other path will not only take too long, but it will be full of hidden traps and pitfalls that I will be unaware of, and thus unprepared for.”
Haranio considered this for a moment. “All right, Varkon,” he said finally. “I will trust you in this because Tyler does. But if I find that you are leading us to danger, mark my words: I will kill you before I myself die of your treachery.” There was an uncomfortable silence before Haranio spoke again with a sudden weariness. “I must sleep. It has been a long day, and I have yet to fully recover from my ordeal. If you stay watch for the first half of the night, Varkon, I will do the second.” With that Haranio rose from his seat and turned to stride off into the night.
“Where are you going?” said Varkon suspiciously.
“I like to sleep with room to myself,” called Haranio as he walked. “Don’t worry, I will stay close by and sleep lightly.”
Varkon grunted with irritation, sat down, and pushed his back up against a large boulder to wait out his shift. Tyler drifted off to sleep a little while later. He felt sad. It was hard to believe that Hargill, his dear friend whom he loved so much, had caused such devastation.
Black flame burnt all around. The sky was scorched clean of life and colour. A figure stood not far off, engulfed in a thick ring of fire, watching. Suddenly the raging flames leapt up around him. He screamed as he realised that he was burning alive. The laughter started.
Laughing, she collapsed on the bushel of hay. Her name was Lois Ann, and she was playing with her best friend, Jessica, who was beside her. The golden field was bright with possibility, and the open sky above made her feel limitless and free.
It was late, very late at night. He was standing above someone, watching him sleep. He felt such an intense loathing for this person; he hated him more than anything in the world, but he did not know what to do. He had only known him for a little while, but it was already far more than enough. He wanted to get rid of him. He wanted revenge. He bent closer to the sleeping person on the floor. It was all he could do to resist coiling his hands around his neck and strangling the life from him. He crouched even lower, his body ridged with fury, his lips curling for blood. The face of the sleeper was slowly revealed through the powdered night – and it was Tyler.
CHAPTER NINE
THE ROOTS OF MOUNTAINS
The world had Tyler’s full attention. His eyes, ears, and mind were immediately on full alert. He sat bolt upright and stared around, half expecting the killer to be still be leaning over him, still breathing with menace inches from his face. But there was no killer to be seen, no danger to confront. The first rays of dawn were over the horizon, plugging into the pool of defiant morning fog. Varkon and Haranio had already risen and were milling about over a cheery fire. It was Haranio who first noticed that Tyler was awake.
“Tyler, good morning to you! I’ve found us a patch of ruburl roots, but they’re to be roasted before they’re fit to eat. Come and try one. You woke just in time.”
Tyler rubbed his eyes to give himself time to think. His dream had felt so real. If it was, then it was evident that one of his newfound “friends” wanted to kill him. More than that: the person wanted to grab his neck and hold it until the blood clotted in his throat and his lungs were sucked dry. He had felt that desire to hurt, and he wished that he had not woken so that some hint would have revealed the murderer’s identity.
Varkon growled, his short patience at an end. “Tyler, now! Or would you let our hard work go to waste?”
Tyler rose and smiled as though all was normal and well. It seemed that Varkon and Haranio were getting on much better. Perhaps they had talked before he had risen and had reached some sort of understanding – or perhaps they were both conspirators of his demise. He pretended to be sleepy as he sauntered over to them. In truth he was wide awake and terrified.
“Good morning,” he said dreamily as he plonked himself down next to the fire.
“Did you dream?” asked Varkon.
“No, not last night,” he lied with a bright face. Tyler looked between Varkon’s and Haranio’s expressions, but they gave away no hint of guilt. Perhaps he would safer by himself.
The food was delicious. Haranio proved extremely knowledgeable about the different plants that could be eaten and where to find them.
“Don’t eat the black nodes – that’s where the leaves grow from in the spring. You see, they’re tipped with poison to deter badgers. Useless to eat, but mix them with boiling water and breathe the steam to see strange visions of bright colour. Whole tribes of ghatu have been known to sit together in steaming rooms before battle, claiming the mixture thins the barrier between them and their ancestors.”
And yet, through the laugher and light conversation, Tyler realised that there was now no trust between any of them, so their words were at times forced and cold.
Suddenly Haranio rose and kicked dust at the fire until only smoky earth remained. “Come!” he called, and then he recited a poem.
We journey forward on broken feet,
Suffering with the cold and heat
Suffering with the hail and rain,
But always onward, mountain or plain,
Onward traveller! Onwards roam!
For one step forward, is another home.
And so they travelled for three days. Each night Tyler was afraid to sleep for fear of being throttled by one of his “loyal” companions. He always offered to keep watch but was only successful once,
and much to the disagreement of Varkon. In the end the ghatu had backed down, but Tyler was sure he had only pretended to sleep and had stayed awake all the same.
Whenever he did succumb to overwhelming exhaustion, Tyler’s dreams were the usual mix of visions. He reflected on them a great deal during the day, and the more he considered how he was experiencing every possible taste, touch, feeling, and scent of the characters he connected with, the more convinced he became that they were real. But he kept this idea to himself, for the nook of trust he had felt so briefly for his companions had now widened into a valley of suspicion.
For an orphan and an innocent to the world, such bitter suspicion was not healthy to bear. The nights were filled with interesting conversation and tales, and food was kept in plentiful supply, but Tyler struggled to enjoy himself. As the days wore on, he became an empty husk of his former self, rising in the morning only to walk his bit during the day before lying down at night and trying his utmost not to fall asleep. If it weren’t for a promise made in the flames of all that he had loved, Tyler felt sure that he would have given up a long time ago.
It was the fourth day that saw the company take a welcome rest at the tip of a gentle rise. The land was becoming much steeper and defined, shaped by slumped boulders and sudden cliffs. The pine forest, which was all Tyler had ever known, was thinning, and a very different landscape was taking shape. Instead of fragrant pine branches, they now traversed through empty expanses of rocky ground, a desert of stone, and lonely grey shrubs.
Varkon took Tyler’s shoulder and gestured to the east. “Look, Tyler. Can you see?”
Tyler lifted his head and looked to the horizon with unconcealed weariness. Over the past few days his companions had noticed his sullen change of mood. Now both were treating him kindly, perhaps suspecting Haranio’s story had shaken him for the worse. If only they knew the truth.
Sitting across the horizon was a barbed ring of distant mountains. The craggy peaks were too far away to observe any detail; instead, the wonder lay in the sheer scale and number of them, the skirting of cloud that hung against the summits as though snagged by the jutting pinnacles. Tyler gloried in the reaching canvas of emerald blue sky, the cool iron-grey of the mountain backs, the vast emptiness before them, the overpowering expanse of it.
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