Chapter 11: Concerning Sanguinar’s Heir
Things went rather quietly, until Sanguinar discovered that it would be only too easy for him to snatch the good star and attach it to his own star that managed the worse side of power. In preparing to complete this devious plot, Sanguinar erected his own tower in the region now known as Sodomorai. Because, for some time, Sanguinar taught his own pupils how to use power and how to manipulate items, the Tower became known as the Sorcery Tower. This tower, charmed with protective and strengthening spells, grew in power. Indeed, the men and women who practiced at the Sorcery Tower had more power and more knowledge than those wizards who studied under Tierney in Oquelon. Those educated at the Sorcery Tower became known as sorcerers—the name distinguishing them from the wizards of Oquelon.
Shortly after this Tower was established, the gods, and even several others expected Sanguinar to steal the star. Yet he did not. They assumed that it was not the right time for him to do so. So they waited years, and years, and indeed the gods and the most powerful elves had temporarily forgotten Sanguinar’s plan, which at one point the wizard spies had thought to be a large problem. Sanguinar’s preparation was complete, or so many had thought. But there was one thing more he had to do in order to complete his preparation.
He chose Benna. Against her will—of course—but also to the extent that she did not know who he was. Benna—a human woman—indeed, a poor servant girl, was the one Sanguinar visited. He appeared to her as a handsome, rich, and young man. This was the first time he had taken on human form. Any other time he wanted to appear physically, he came as an elf. He appeared to take great interest in her. He also—though not surprising at the time—said that he was looking for a wife. Since Benna was a simple servant girl—and knew it all too well—she said that she would bow and be obedient to the first man who offered marriage.
He took her aside, away from everyone else—so far that if she had to make her way back home by herself, she would have gotten lost. And even though she was a servant, she knew the surrounding areas quite well because she was often sent with messages, and to search for certain herbs and plants. Yet there she was, alone with her betrothed, in what seemed to be the center of a forest. She shivered as she walked under the branches and around the trees—she had never stepped foot in this forest before, even though she had admired it from a distance.
In the woods, she had supposed that he would get to know her better and that she would learn more about him. This did indeed come true—only not in the way she had imagined. By a clear, quick-current stream, he undressed her, and took advantage of her. She did not scream for she knew that it would have been pointless. She did, however, scrape the ground so hard with her fingers and fingernails that they bled, filling the narrow gaps with her dark blood. Afterward, when she lay on the ground as a dead person, Sanguinar revealed his true self to her. Then she screamed. An awful, horror-stricken scream that comes from seeing something so frightening that it would take everything in one’s power not to die. When she regained consciousness, he had left—leaving no trace of his being there—not even footprints. She wondered if it had all been a dream. But the horrible figure was forever implanted before her eyes so that no matter where she looked, she saw him.
Upon standing, she realized that she was dirty and so bathed in the stream. The water was warm enough to be comfortable, but cool enough to refresh her after this long strange day. Before she was able to withdraw her foot away from the river, the water turned black and became so cold that she could feel it on the ground. Stepping away from the cold, her foot stepped in something hot, but not at all pleasant. Looking at her foot, she saw how the bottom was covered in blood. Examining the ground, she saw that a smaller, thinner river trickled constantly. It was a river not of water, but of blood.
Because of the rivulets of blood, and the black, cold river, this forest became known as the Bloody Woods. This story and other tales have tried to explain this forest. At first, people thought that it was haunted and that nothing in the forest—not even the trees—wanted the presence of any other being. But soon the forest’s closest dwellers realized that the trees and springs wanted company indeed. All life mourned for Benna and the future she had been dealt. Any wildlife near the woods was drawn to this place—a place of no dying. Yet, it was no place of living, either. Benna and the woods around her mourned for her, with her, and they shared in her suffering.
Even though such a crime of Sanguinar’s would be utterly unforgivable, the woods had hoped that in time, Benna would recover from the tragedy. However, Benna knew this to not be so, because she knew she was pregnant. She immediately knew that that was his intent. The most powerful being—seemingly more powerful than Xaiyar—wanted a child, an heir, a younger Sanguinar who would be half-mortal and half-god. A strong despair overcame her—that she would be the one who would provide another way for Sanguinar to torture and overpower people.
So she did the only thing she could think of: she decided that she would sacrifice herself so others would not have to suffer as she had done and as she still was doing. She tried many ways to take her life. After bleeding beyond the point when she should have died, she realized with the dull, hard thump of her heart against her chest that she could not die. Something was keeping her from dying. Sanguinar—as she should have known—had cursed her life so she could not die—not until the son (she had no doubt that Sanguinar would want a son) had been born and raised. Sanguinar, through his curses, would ensure that nothing would come to harm the boy, and that he would be adequately prepared to complete his father’s bidding.
Over the next few years, Benna made her home in the woods, raising her son, Melcon. Things seemed to pass fairly quietly and peacefully. Melcon, it seemed, did not know who he was or what he was, for which Benna was thankful. Nevertheless, this peace did not last long, for on the day after Melcon’s sixth birthday, an old man came walking in the woods. Since hardly anyone ever came in the woods, and the trees and animals were protective of the mother and son, Benna would let Melcon play and wander about by himself—so long as he did not leave the woods. So when Melcon met this person, he was all alone and so frightened that he did not know what to do. He wanted to call out for his mother, but feared what this giant of a man would do to him.
This being, counting on the fact that Melcon would be afraid of him, continued walking. Now, however, he did things to get the boy’s attention. He petted the deer, and at times, he would make strange things happen—unexplainable things. He made flowers appear—such beautiful plants that the woods had not seen for years. Melcon liked the new, colorful plants—discovering that they were not only pretty, but sweet smelling. After a few minutes of the boy following at a distance and marveling at the skills of the old man, the boy mustered up his courage to talk to the man.
Running to catch up with him, Melcon asked excitedly, “How do you do that? I want to do that too. Will you teach me?”
At the last question, the man knelt down, put his hands on the boy’s shoulders, and said, “All this and more.”
At that moment, Benna came out of the little hut she had built, asking the man what he intended to do and why he was in her wood. He replied, “I’m Nauhlata. I am a sorcerer, and I have been sent here to tutor Melcon in sorcery, history, and language. Since he is just a boy, we will start with the simple things, and slowly he will grow in strength—both physically and mentally.”
Benna did not want this time to come, and indeed, she had difficulty in believing that Melcon’s lessons were already starting. It was already starting—Melcon was being taken away from her, and being drawn toward his father. Hesitantly, she asked, “And who sent you?”
He smiled sympathetically, dropping his shoulders as if from weariness of the assignment already: “You already know the answer to that question.”
And so for the next fourteen years, Melcon studied under his tutor, Nauhlata, at any and all hou
rs of the day. As Melcon learned more sorcery, he drew closer to Nauhlata and further away from his mother. Nauhlata’s plan of converting Melcon into the faithful son to a father he had never seen worked quite well. The only problem arose when the tutor taught Melcon the parts of the history of Lataria concerning the elves and Sanguinar. The tutor, as was his duty, spoke admirably of Sanguinar’s actions, but Melcon revealed his disgust. This disagreement of opinion on Sanguinar’s actions inevitably led to a discussion on right versus wrong, and a leader’s duty to his people and even those not considered his people.
It was on such an occasion, when Melcon was about seventeen years old, that he asked the question, “Why do you speak so of Sanguinar? What is it in him that makes you praise him and speak highly of him?”
The tutor, after silence and the explanation that he had not planned to tell Melcon this for another few years, finally answered, “It is what is in you.”
A few moments passed without either of them saying anything, but then Melcon laughed. It took a great deal of explanation and proof in order to persuade Melcon to believe the tutor. Indeed, this was one time when Nauhlata called upon Benna to convince her son that everything his tutor said was true. Once he accepted this truth, he resolved that he did not have to be like Sanguinar. Over the next few years, however, he completed his training in sorcery and was persuaded to at last meet his father.
History of Lataria Page 10
