by N.D. Bailey
Awakened by beams of a glowing light, Amase sat up, sword in his hand and frightened. A glowing light shimmered, casting light upon him. Wrapping his blanket around himself to shield himself from the cold, he stood up and crept over to observe the statue of Murdurf; it was radiating with amber light. The light was warming and welcoming. As he stood in front of the statue, he heard a masculine voice calling to him majestically:
“Amase! Amase! Listen to what I tell you. You have not become a part of this circle by accident. You were destined to be a rider in The Circle. You have been chosen to bear the burden of the sword for a season. You will bear the responsibility of getting it back into the hands of King Justiz. It will be your burden to bear and yours alone. It will be your responsibility to resist its power; for that is why you were given the name Amase, you will be the burden-bearer. If you fail, you will rule mankind under its power, but know this, mankind will be destroyed, and so will you. My blood cries out for justice and for peace. When the time comes; and you will know when that time is, take up the sword, and stand firm. Stand firm, Amase. Stand firm!”
The light of the statue now dissipated, and the darkness of the night overtook Amase as he pulled the blanket tightly around himself, shielding himself from the cold wind. I’m too young. Too unskilled. Too unlearned. Too small. “But I cannot,” he protested, trying not to speak too loudly. “Wait! Come back! I-I cannot do it!” But there was only silence as he protested the mysterious calling from the statue.
But not everyone was asleep. The light awakened Navi too. But he didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Closing his eyes again, Navi thought back to when he had first met Amase, recalling the prophetic instinct he felt of a certain destiny about him. Now he knew, as the words of the ancient prophet resounded in his head:
A bearer of the Sword will arise, who will bear the burden of it until it is placed in the hands of the Immortal King. His origins are of an ancient days, a people of long ago. He will carry the Sword into the canvas of the earth, into dark portals and cursed byways, himself bearing the burden of the curse that pierced his side.
Jimmy
When the riders stepped outside, their feet sank beneath the accumulated snow. Their boots were hardly tall enough to avoid being over-topped by the drifts. The smell of fresh-cut cedar trees filled the chilly air, lingering still from the fresh cuts of the day before. They all inhaled the pleasant aroma as they walked through the winter wonderland towards their beasts. They were glad that it had quit snowing and the sun was trying to peep through. But there was no hope of the snow melting; it was still freezing.
As Zilgar opened the door to leave, he released the bellowing voice of his wife. “There’s not enough firewood cut for the wintah!” Zilgar scurried out the door, trying to conceal the fight he and his wife were having. Seeking to disguise the argument, he yelled back at the closed door, “I love you too, dear!”
Zilgar, Windsor, and Nuvatian met up outside his door and started to walk off to meet the others at the barn when, from what seemed out of nowhere, a cooking-pot smacked Zilgar in the back of the head. Grabbing his head, he just kept walking, without even a quick glance back. He knew where it came from and who had thrown it.
“Not enough firewood?” His male ego wanted to teach her a thing or two. “There’s enough wood there for three wintahs!” He continued walking, never looking back.
“You could at least act like you’re not that eager to leave!” His wife yelled, her voice breaking up with emotion. “What if you don’t come back?”
At the sound of her cracking voice, Zilgar stopped dead in his tracks and turned back towards his wife. All of a sudden his ego didn’t matter anymore. She had humiliated him in front of his friends, but he knew she was more fearful than angry. It really wasn’t about the firewood. He walked back over to her, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her. She wept. “It’s going to be a long and cold wintah without you,” she said.
Zilgar held her tight and then kissed her goodbye. “I’m not eager to leave. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with you and the children. But this is an important mission, things I can’t tell. I’m doing this for you and for the future of our children. I love you so much.” He kissed her again and gave her a reassuring hug. He wanted to tell her that he would be back, but this sort of mission was uncertain in light of the forth telling words of the ancients that spoke of great wars. If they were indeed this circle of riders spoken of in prophecies of long ago, then he wondered if this simple mission might turn into something bigger. He hoped for the best, the simplest.
A herd of little Vikings ran around in the snow, throwing snowballs and tumbling in the flaky mounds. Boys bombed each other with the biggest balls of snow they could lift and little girls almost got lost beneath the sprawling white carpet. It was far too deep for making snow angels. Chains of smoke rose up from the chimneys in a feeble effort to stay warm.
“Bye fathah.” Little Vikings said in succession as Zilgar grabbed them one by one and gave them a big hug. There must have been one for every year he and his wife had been married.
“Mind your mothah,” he said sternly.
When they reached the barn, they found Zorgar brushing his mammoth. He had already brushed Zilgar’s mammoth’s coat; its wooly fur draped the ground. These mammoths had longer fur than some. Their large tusk bowed up towards their heads. Mighty mammoths were by far the most practical mounts for the Vikings in this harsh polar climate.
They buckled their gear around their strong necks and shimmied up the towering beast by clutching onto their tapestry of hair
After exchanging a few words, the expanding group set out towards the Tomb of Murdorf. But first, they paused and took one last look over the great fjords.
Pearly mountains glistened with hues of orange beneath the bursting sunrise. The fiery ball of light rose in the East, casting its brilliant lights upon the waters, mountains, and glaciers. The mighty floating ice caps sparkled like topaz set in a ring of sapphire. Light sprang up as though it were bellowing out good tidings to their quest. The sublime beauty was almost blinding to look at. But they looked anyway, taking in the majesty of the moment.
Treading a path down the Ibea Mountains, they passed a white fox seeking an early morning meal; it practically blended in with its environment. Three beavers played at the edge of a frozen river. In the distance, a pack of wolves could be seen, searching for food in the blanket of snow.
Their route was different than that taken on their way to the village; now, they traveled east, making new tracks.
Nadora was now on her own mount and Nuvatian missed having her arms wrapped around him. Not only because he liked having her near him, but now his backside was exposed and he could feel the wind.
The snowbound mountains made the terrain challenging and the journey slow. Their bodies quickly grew bitterly cold, their fingers numb as they slowly trudged over the difficult glaciated terrain, wind-gales blowing against their faces. They traveled all day in the freezing temperatures, hunkering down between the shoulders of their mounts in a futile attempt to find a hint of warmth. The day was long and miserable. Gilgore’s large body plowed through the woodland, his head and shoulders knocking snow from the icy limbs of the sculptured trees, showering the ground with an ample supply of snow. His big feet crushed dead bushes hidden beneath the colossal piles of crystalized powder.
The sun faded in and out and at times it looked like it might snow again, but for now, the sky saw fit to hold onto its frozen moisture. As they rode, they kept a sharp eye for game to bag, something tasty to roast over the fire.
When night drew near, the riders cleared a parcel of land in the snow (with a little help from their fire-breathing friends) and made camp. They gathered wood and made a small fire. It wasn’t long before Gilgore began to complain about the size of the fire and insisted on making it bigger. “I can’t even warm my hands, it’s so
small,” complained Gilgore. Gathering more wood, he made a giant size fire, more suitable for warming his over-sized body.
Huddling close to the gigantic fire, the riders roasted a couple of geese they had bagged along the way. Gilgore gnawed the geese down to the bone, wishing he had a couple more to go along with it. After eating, they crowded their bedrolls nearly atop one another, trying to no avail to get warm. Silence blanketed the icebound highlands, with the exception of the crackling of the fire and the occasional howling of wolves. After tossing and turning a bit, the riders fell fast asleep.
They awoke at the crack of dawn, covered in snow and shivering, but remarkably, the fire was still simmering. With chattering teeth, they gathered their belongings and trudged once more across the snow-bound mountains. They were hungry, but that would have to wait until they could find something worth killing.
The journey over the Ibeas was difficult. The travel was cumbersome and the climate harsh. Their fingers and toes remained stiff like the arthritic frozen fingers of the trees and their cheeks red and chapped. Food was scarce, but they did bag enough to keep them going. They wished for a moose, and almost had it, but Zilgar missed the shot when the buck darted away.
Three days into the ride, Gilgore heard a noise, just beyond the snow drenched trees. Stopping, he listened. He heard it again. He clearly was not mistaken; it came from within the forest, not from any of the travelers with him.
“Shhh. Did you hear that?” Gilgore asked.
The other riders stopped. Some heard it and some didn’t.
“It’s probably just a branch breaking from the weight of the snow,” Nadora said.
Fleece flipped his lucky medallion. “Something’s out there.”
Vandorf rolled his eyes at him and bit his tongue, trying not to say anything.
Ignoring the noise, the riders traveled on. But Gilgore couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching them. He looked over his shoulder left and right, doing a retake every time he thought he heard something, but he never spotted anything unusual. The nagging notion remained with him throughout the day and into the night.
The next day, they were riding along the banks of a frozen river, hunkered down over their beasts and bundled up in their coats of fur in a feeble effort to get warm. A peculiar noise nagged Gilgore, his hearing a little keener than the others. Before long others began to wonder if Gilgore was on to something. Looking over his shoulder, Gilgore caught a glimpse of something moving beyond the frosty decorated trees.
“Hey, there’s something out there. It’s following us.”
“Come on, Gilgore. It’s probably just a wolf or somethin’,” Vandorf said. “There’s not much more that could survive out here except an animal.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“No, there’s somethin’ out there,” Fleece assured them, still flipping his medallion in his pocket and getting a consistent reading every time. Vandorf ignored him once again, but his patience was wearing thin.
Seizing the moment to play on Gilgore’s jumpy nerves, Zilgar just couldn’t help himself—it seemed the perfect opportunity for a practical joke, especially with the snowdrift that had formed alongside the base of the rocky cliffs they were riding past.
Inconspicuously falling behind the riders, Zilgar suddenly toppled out of his saddle and into a mound of snow that completely buried him.
“Ahhhhh! Ahhhh! Get it off! Get it off!” He screamed like he was dying.
Stupefied, the riders turned back trying to figure out what was happening. Instinctively, they grabbed their swords and rushed to Zilgar’s aid. Zilgar yelled and gasped for his life beneath the lump of powder. By now a ruckus had been stirred up as the riders raised their voices.
“Zilgar.”
“What’s happening?”
Gilgore moved in close, prepared to dive into the snow when suddenly, Zilgar arose from the snow laughing hysterically. “It’s a snow elf,” he yelled laughing. His beard, mangy hair, and long eyebrows captured the snow, refusing to let go of any of it. It took a moment for the riders to realize that Zilgar was up to no good. As Zilgar fell over, rolling with laughter, Gilgore, livid with anger, stepped back to reevaluate the situation, stunned that it had been nothing more than a practical joke. When he stepped back, his foot crushed through the snow and settled on Zilgar’s hand, pinning it between his foot and the ground.
“Ahhhhhhhhh!” yelled Zilgar, this time for real. But no one believed him. “You’re on my fingers.” Zilgar finally convincing Gilgore and he lifted his heavy foot. Kindling with irritation, he gave Zilgar a look that could have killed.
Now, Zilgar wasn’t the one laughing. He held his hand and then tried to shake out the pain. Then, before Zilgar had a chance to jump up, Gilgore wrapped his brawny arms around a tree and shook it, burying Zilgar in the mountain of snow. He left him to dig his own self out.
“Could we rest for just a short while as dumb butt here digs himself out?” asked Gilgore.
“Sure,” answered Windsor. “Let’s walk ahead around these rocks to the edge of the rivah.”
Gilgore found a seat on the icy rocks, resting from his long travel on foot. He was still furious with Zilgar, not finding any humor in the joke. Gilgore and Windsor both pulled out their pipes and stuffed them with tobacco. Nadora trudged through the snow to lead Orpah over to the frozen river so that the dragon could thaw the solid waters with the heat of her fire so all the beasts could drink. Vandorf walked with her, making polite conversation, some political in nature. He could tell that Nadora was well-trained in the politics of the kingdom and that she had a keen sense of its history. He had the suspicion that there weren’t many subjects that he could breach that she didn’t know something about.
Nimri felt somewhat out of place, sitting alongside the other riders, who obviously had long-term friendships. He sat silently, taking Windsor’s advice and trying to glean from the wisdom of the others. Feeling most comfortable around his best friend, Nuvatian, Nimri usually stuck fairly close to him.
“Why don’t we go ahead and sit up camp here for the night. It’s a bit early but we and our mounts could use the rest,” Windsor suggested.
“Looks like as good a spot as any,” Nimri said. “I’ll staht gathahing fire wood.”
Eager to please, Fleece began to gather kindling too, reaching beneath the snow whenever he saw anything that looked remotely like a piece of wood. As he strolled about searching for anything that would burn, he heard a noise, a rustling in the woods. He looked over his shoulder, this way and then that way, but he didn’t see anyone. A nagging notion that someone was watching him formed in his gut. He looked around again, but no one was there, neither did he spot any tracks in the snow.
With his arms full of timber, he carried it back to the campsite. Nimri gathered a few logs along the edge of the river and together they had a worthy pile. But Gilgore didn’t think so. He brought a few more just to make sure the fire was big enough. Then, Orpah gushed out a series of blasting fire that dried up the moisture of the branches and created warming ambers of fire.
It was as Gilgore and Windsor were sitting around the fire puffing on their pipes, Fleece, Skeener, and Nuvatian chatting, that a mangy monster-like giant crept out of the snowbound forest. It was the warmth of the fire that drew him out. When the riders noticed him, it scared them half to death.
He stood tall, and his long hair and long beard were like ice sculptures dangling from his head and face. His huge feet flattened everything in his path as he stumbled toward them. Even Gilgore was taken aback at the appearance of the giant. At first sight, Gilgore dropped his large pipe on his arm, knocking out the hot tobacco and burning himself. Startled by the monstrous giant, Nadora and Vandorf stepped back several steps onto the frozen river now softened by the blast of fire delivered by the dragons. The thawing ice cracked beneath their feet, and they plunged into the glacial waters. The bitter cold wa
ters took their breath away; it was heart-stopping cold.
As the monster came curiously near them, Gilgore stood up and stepped towards it. Nuvatian put his hand on Nadora’s bow just in case and Zilgar reached for his sword. When the monster saw Gilgore stand up it froze. It stared at the giant, grunting as he sized him up. They could see sorrow in his eyes. Now, the giant looked threatened, but the sadness in his eyes never left. He starred at the fire and at them as though he wished to join them. After a few moments, he turned and ran away into the woods leaving behind huge footprints in the snow.
With the monster gone, their attention turned to Nadora and Vandorf, who were trembling in the frigid waters. They clung to an ice-covered rock at the edge of the river, paralyzed with cold, their hands nearly froze to the rock. Gilgore dragged Vandorf out of the arctic waters, while Windsor and Nuvatian fetched Nadora by her stone-cold shoulders and lifted her out of the ice box, leaving their gloves stuck to the ice.
“Hurry, get them over to the fiha!” yelled Windsor.
The riders carried their frostbitten bodies to the edge of the fire. Their lips were blue with cold and their bodies shuddered with the icy wet clothes now stiff from the arctic air. Ice-droplets had formed on Vandorf’s ponytail. The cold made it hard to breath. Like a pair of ice sculptures, the two stood motionless, now one with the glaciated background.
Nuvatian pulled dry clothing from their bags, fearful that they might perish from cold. “You need to change clothes,” he said, handing both of them dry clothing. “Do you need some help?” He asked Nadora, smiling.
Rolling her freezing eyes at him, she snatched her clothes from his arms, with her club-like hands. “I think I can manage.” Her teeth chattered as she tried to speak.
The heat was beginning to help. The giants stood with their coats up in the air and their backs turned to provide a make-shift privacy curtain for Nadora as she clumsily changed her clothes.
Shuffling his icy extremities, Vandorf joined her by the fire where the two slowly thawed out like melting glaciers. Gilgore threw his enormous fur coat around them to help warm them. Soon, they were both warmed up once again, courtesy of the giant and the dragons.
As night fell, the riders sat around the bonfire, Windsor, Gilgore and Vandorf puffing on their pipes. The heat of the fire licked the water from the wet clothes and drenched boots that hung beside it. Vandorf, perturbed that his boots had gotten soaking wet, frequently felt of them, anxious for them to dry out so he could polish them. Under the moonlight, the riders looked up to see the giant monster, sitting on a large rock watching them.
“I told you I saw somethin’,” Gilgore said.
“Me too,” Fleece injected. Vandorf gave Fleece a look that could have killed.
“This is goin’ to be a hell of a long trip,” Vandorf said with a sigh of disgust.
“Who is he?” Nadora asked, granting personhood to the creature.
“His name is Jimmy,” Gilgore replied, taking a greedy draw on his pipe. “He was a normal giant once; then, he lost his mind. It was aftah the war, with Dahvan and his hordes of Quadar. Jimmy just was nevah the same aftah that,” Gilgore explained.
“You mean you knew him?” Nuvatian asked.
“Oh yes. Grew up with him. Nice enough fellow; that is, until the war. I don’t know what happened. He was captuhed and no one knows exactly what he went through, but he retuhned home all crazy-like. He couldn’t handle civilization so he ran off into the mountains. Some say that Dahvan cuhsed him, othahs that he is possessed by an evil spirit, while othahs say that he just lost his mind from the torture he endured. Occasionally he is spotted. Pitiful it is. To tell you the truth, I plumb forgot about him. Figured he was dead by now.”
“I wouldn’t want to run across him alone,” said Zilgar who had heard the stories, but had never met Jimmy before until now. “Some say he’s hahmless; but, othahs tell stories of him biting people’s heads off.”
“Biting people’s heads off?” Nadora gasped at the thought of it.
“Oh, that’s just a tall tale,” Gilgore said. “I don’t think he is capable of huhting anyone. Personally, I think he was so mistreated and the war so horrible that he just couldn’t be with othahs anymore, so he retreated to these woods. I look at him and see a sad and lonely man life has abused. He’s tried to escape by running away, but he can’t run away from himself or his past no matter how hahd he tries.”
“Perhaps we should try to help him,” Nadora offered, always compassionate for those in need.
“In what way?” Vandorf considered it as he sharpened his sword between long drags on his pipe.
“Maybe we could try to befriend him and offer him the warmth of our fire,” suggested Nadora. “Look at him. He looks so sad and cold. Miserable and lonely.”
“Would you like to be the one to walk ovah there and ask him if he would care to join us?” Zilgar asked, laughing.
Nadora opened her mouth and then closed I without saying a word. After a moment, she dropped the blanket she had wrapped around her, stood up and squared her shoulders.
“Nadora, don’t go ovah there!” Nuvatian cried. “Zilgar didn’t mean that as a challenge.”
“No, No, not at all. I was just saying that I—I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Nadora started to walk slowly toward the giant.
“She’s bloody crazy!” Nimri couldn’t believe the boldness of this gal.
“Nadora! What are you doin’? Get back ovah here!” Nuvatian had risen now, and was walking along beside her trying to convince her of the insanity in this.
“Go back ovah there. I know what I’m doin’ and if you follow me, you will just mess it up.” He tried further, arguing, persuading, but finally grew frustrated at her usual hardheadedness. He stopped dead in his tracks and watched as Nadora approached the giant. She came to a standstill a short distance from him. From there, she extended an invitation. “Come, join us! You are welcome to sit around our fire and get warm.” She motioned for him to follow her.
The giant looked strangely at her, turning his head to one side as though he didn’t understand her. He grunted, seemingly threatened by her.
“Come, come join us,” she repeated. “Come on. You can get warmed up by the fire.” She waved her hands, motioning for him to follow her.
The giant stood up and grunted at Nadora. She stepped back. The giant stepped toward her. She felt her heart race and thought she felt tremors in the earth beneath her with each step he made. She really didn’t know what the giant would do.
As they watched from around the fire, Nuvatian and Zilgar both stood up and placed their hands on their swords.
“Wait!” Gilgore cried out. “Sit down, let’s see what he does. If he stahts to look threatening, I’ll take care of him.”
Nadora motioned again for the giant to follow her, walking backwards step by step back to the fire. The giant lumbered behind her. Gazing suspiciously at them, Jimmy slowly moved toward the riders, then hesitated, before sitting on the ground beside them.
Stretching out her hands to the fire, Nadora spoke to him. “It’s warm. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Jimmy grunted and stretched his hands to the fire, mimicking her. There was an awkward silence; then, all began to talk quietly among themselves. Jimmy seemed to be enjoyed both the fire and their company. The smile on his face proved that this was a better moment than many he had experienced in his lifetime. But he was still a bit jumpy. At one point, Windsor got up to get some tobacco out of his bag. Startled, the giant jumped, immediately standing on the defensive.
“It’s all right,” Windsor assured him. “I’m just gettin’ somethin’ out of my bag.” He slowly opened his bag and extracted the tobacco. As he sat back down, Jimmy relaxed again. Shortly, the ice that hung from the giant’s beard and long matted hair began to melt, forming a pool of water beneath the icy monster as he thawed. He even seemed to be warming
up to them.
Sitting down, he looked like he could drift off to sleep any minute now.
Now Gilgore tried to communicate. “Jimmy… you’re Jimmy, aren’t you?”
The giant’s sleepy eyes looked at Gilgore as though he didn’t quite understand him, but he seemed to recognize the name “Jimmy.”
“I remembah you. Your fathah was Drengo,” Gilgore said. The giant didn’t say anything but the look in his eyes told Gilgore that he was right.
“You and your people lived near my family. My fathah and your fathah were friends,” Gilgore explained. The giant grinned, showing his rotting teeth.
The warmth of the heat began to comfort the giant and before long he slumped over and nodded off into a hypnotic sleep. His dirty head hung down with his raggedy clothes. Before long, he was snoring. The riders talked freely about their mission knowing that he wasn’t hearing a word they said. He slept for a while but woke up when he heard one of the riders stand up and laugh out loud. He was half between the land of dreams and reality when he heard the word “Darvan.” Now, he was fully awake.
“Dahvan is going to be on his toes if he knows where the sword was found,” Nuvatian said.
Hearing the name ‘Darvan’, Jimmy’s countenance changed, his face becoming twisted with fear. “Darvan,” he grunted. “Darvan!” he cried out, his voice rising each time he repeated the words. Standing up, he now yelled it. “Darvan.” The giant’s face grew fierce. He stepped back, wrapped his large hands around one of the small timbers and began to shake the tree, shouting Darvan’s name over and over. Snow fell as if a storm had blown in. He shook the tree until its roots began to pop. “Darvan! Darvan!” he yelled, and then he ran away through the woods.
The riders sat frozen in fright. They had watched him go from a sleeping giant to an angry madman. They were unsure what the giant would do next. With the monster gone, they spoke about how they pitied him and wondered what Darvan had done to him.
“Poor lad,” Vandorf said, getting more tobacco for his pipe.
“I wish there were somethin’ we could do for him,” said Zilgar.
“Me, too,” said Gilgore, with resignation.
“There is,” Windsor reminded them. “We can get the Sword of Powah to King Justiz and help him permanently defeat Dahvan.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Vandorf agreed. “I suppose all we can do is get retribution for the poor fellow.”
“Maybe then we can come up here and help him. You know, spend enough time with him that he trusts us and then take him back to your land,” Nadora said to Gilgore, offering a solution. “No one should have to live like he’s living.”
Fleece agreed. But he wanted a quicker solution to the problem. “That might be a long time. I hate to think of the poor guy stayin’ out here that much longer. Isn’t there somethin’ we can do to help him now?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you flip that silly coin of yours and see what it suggests.” Vandorf couldn’t keep a lid on it any longer. Fleece just ignored him, even offered him a smile.
“He’s lived out here for yeahs now. There’s nothing we can do right now for him,” Windsor said. “We can’t bring a man like that on a mission like this.”
In a short time, the riders snuggled near the fire and drifted off to sleep. The drama of the day had exhausted them.
When they awoke in the morning, they could see the scruffy giant sitting curiously on the same rock he’d been sitting on the night before. He had been watching them all night. As they sipped on their coffee they spoke further about the peculiar giant.
Vandorf polished his damp boots as he sipped his morning brew, then cringed as he stuck one foot into his freezing cold and still wet boot. The Circle of Riders began to make ready for their ride, bundling up their blankets and gathering their belongings. They mounted their beasts and continued their journey towards the Tomb of Murdorf.
As they rode over the mountains, they occasionally spotted Jimmy. He followed them at a safe distance across the Ibea Mountains. His beard and hair again took the shape of an ice sculpture. He looked cold and lonely. A miserable soul lost in a complicated world, lost within himself.
The legs of the mounts rose and fell with effort as they trudged through dense blankets of snow. The hallowed sanctuary of the gods was losing its appeal quickly for the riders. They wondered if their frozen fingers and toes would ever thaw out.
When they descended down the back side of a mountain, they spotted the river again. The ever winding water shot off in many directions over the mountains. Their course had taken them momentarily away from it. Now they had need of crossing it. As their mounts tread down the snowbound mountain, Orpah stumbled. When she did, a small pouch that hung from her garments and carried Nadora’s personal belongings fell to the ground. Unaware that the bag had fallen, she continued to ride down the mountain, following the others.
As they approached the river, they dismounted to stretch their aching legs, while their mounts sucked up the water from the cold watering hole. They too drank the frigid liquid. It was then that Nadora noticed something was missing. “Oh no, I have lost my pouch with all my things in it.”
“Is there anything important in it?” Nuvatian asked, turning in his saddle to look at her.
“It has the herbs, some bandages and my hairbrush,” she answered. “I had it a few minutes ago. I bet it fell off when Orpah stumbled. Do you mind holding her reins while I go check?”
“Not at all. Do you want me to come with you?”
“Na, it was just up the hill a little piece. I’ll be right back.”
Nadora trudged up the hill through the snow and around the trees where she saw in the near distance the bright red pouch in the snow where Orpah had stumbled. “Ah there it is,” she whispered to herself. She picked it up and headed back down the mountain. Suddenly, Jimmy appeared from among a thicket of trees. He was covered in white and nearly blended in with his surroundings like a snowman on the prowl.
“Jimmy, back up and let me by.” Nadora spoke calmly, not wanting to stir up violence in the giant.
He grunted a lamenting grumble and then took one giant step toward her.
Frightened, Nadora pulled a dagger from its sheath holstered at her right ankle. “Jimmy, don’t come any closer,” she warned.
Ignoring her, Jimmy made another giant step towards her. His eyes were set on her. He made another giant step towards her. She was now only an arm’s length away for the giant.
“I’m warning you,” Nadora said, holding her weapon of choice up.
Jimmy wasn’t intimidated by her or her dagger. In fact, it made him angry. His sad eyes turned to stone. She had done it, exactly what she was trying not to do. Then, he reached for her. Nadora armed herself, stretching out the dagger, not wanting to draw her sword. She didn’t want to hurt him, only protect herself.
At the sight of the dagger now stretched out in a threatening manner, Jimmy’s eyes fell only upon the dagger. With one blow of the back of his hand, the dagger flew out of her hands. Nadora screamed bloody murder as Jimmy picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a prisoner. “Put me down!” she demanded, punching him in the back.
The circle of riders heard Nadora screaming and raced up the hill. Once at the top, they could see Jimmy carrying Nadora over his shoulder. Gilgore hurried after him; his large feet plowed down the little thickets of the forest buried beneath the blizzard of snow.
“Jimmy, put me down!” demanded Nadora. Pulling a dagger from its sheath around her waist, Nadora said it again, “Jimmy put me down. You can’t just come and take me.”
Although he could see Gilgore in hot pursuit of him, Jimmy was unaware that Nadora now had a dagger in her hand. He focused more on the chase and keeping his game.
“I don’t want to do this.” Raising the dagger, she stabbed it in the back of his hand and pulled it back out. Jimmy yelled in pain and opened his ha
nd. He knocked the blade out of her hand. He released his grip on her enough for her to throw in a thumb lock, twisting it powerfully and then she dug two fingers into the pressure points in his neck just behind his ear.
He wrestled to keep her. But now, she had enough control. She didn’t want to hurt him so she slapped both hand across his ears and knife handed him to the throat, hitting him right in the most sensitive pressure points. Now, she toppled over his shoulder and dropped to the ground. She threw in a kick to the back of his knee, folding them like paper. Then, she grabbed her dagger and stood to run, shoving it quickly into her ankle sheath.
In a rush to escape the frighten giant, her feet got tangled. Falling in the slippery mountain of snow, she tumbled down the mountain, hitting a couple of trees on the way down. She came to rest against a timber about midway down the slope. Jimmy shook his head, trying to get his coordination together. Then, he stood up and shook the blood that ran from his hand, spotting the snow with speckles of crimson.
Gilgore and Nuvatian rushed to Nadora’s aid. The other riders rushed up the snowy hillside behind them. Jimmy turned to go get Nadora, but when he saw Gilgore, he just stood there, a sad expression on his face.
“Nadora!” shouted Nuvatian. He ran through the snow to where Nadora lay against a tree, and knelt beside her. Her head was bleeding and her face was scratched up from the bark of the tree. “Are you all right,” he asked, brushing her hair from her face with his hand.
“Yes,” she said weakly. “Oh, my head!” She reached to feel the bump on her forehead and her hand came away with blood on it.
“Let me help you up,” offered Nuvatian. As he helped her to her feet, she quickly noticed that she had sprung her ankle. “Aw, I think I twisted it as I fell down the mountain,” she said.
“Here, let me help you down the mountain.” He was already deeply regretting that he had let her go—as if he could have stopped her, anyway.
Looking back up at Jimmy, Nadora watched him as he held his wounded hand. “Go talk to him and see if he can understand you,” she said to Gilgore.
“What! Are you crazy!” snapped Gilgore. "And what exactly would you like for me to tell him? That he can’t just come and carry a woman away on his shoulder, just because he likes her?”
“Just go try to talk to him,” said Nadora. “See if we can bandage up his hand. I feel bad for him.”
“And are you goin’ to feel bad for me if he kills me?” Gilgore couldn’t believe she was asking this of him.
“Oh, he’s not going to hurt you,” said Nadora. “Just try it. If he stahts to hurt you Zorgar will have your back.”
“Thanks a lot. I get nominated for the darndest things.” Zorgar looked down at her and shook his head. Nadora laughed and then winced at the pain in her head and foot.
Gilgore walked carefully toward Jimmy, slowly and non-threatening. Jimmy began to back up.
“It’s all right,” Gilgore said soothingly. “I’m not going to huht you.” He took another step forward. “Does your hand huht?”
Frightened, Jimmy turned and ran up the hill, Gilgore walked back towards Nadora. “It’s no use. He’s not goin’ to let me near him.”
“Here, let me try,” Nadora said.
“What?” snapped Nuvatian. This was now beyond his tolerance. “You’re not goin’ up there! You’ve sprung your ankle, and cut your head! Besides, you’re the one he wants!”
“I know,” she insisted, “but maybe I can talk to him and wrap his hand if you’ll watch my back.” She rose to her feet, her forehead dripping blood in a couple of places, from where she had hit the tree.
“For a smaht woman, you sure can come up with some dumb ideas.” Nuvatian was hoping the insult would bring her to her senses.
“I agree with Nuvatian. That’s crazy,” said Nimri. “He could have killed you. We already know you are brave; you don’t have to prove anything else to us.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything to you. He’s hurt and we can’t leave him like that.”
“Absolutely insane.” Windsor felt compelled to offer his take on her irrational thinking.
“You’re a wizard,” she said. “If he stahts to look like he’s going to huht me, then surely you can do something—make the snow overcome him or something!” She began to hobble up the snowy mountain.
“She’s a lunatic,” said Fleece, admiring her courage.
“You can say that again.” Vandorf wanted to stop her, but he knew what it was to be stopped by others opinions. He decided he would keep a watchful eye and see how this plays out. Surely the giant was smart enough not to do something foolish with the whole crew standing there now.
Keeping a distance the entire Circle followed Nadora up the mountain (except for Fleece, whom Vandorf ordered to stay with the mounts). On her way up she picked up her pouch. As she neared the top, Jimmy stood tall, yet timid; it appeared that a twinge of remorse had sprung into his soul. As she approached, he looked beyond her at the Circle of Riders. Then, he turned and ran.
“Wait!” yelled Nadora. “Don’t go.” Jimmy paused and looked back at her. “I didn’t mean to huht you. Let me wrap your hand.” Jimmy looked at her stupidly as she cautiously approached him. The Circle of Riders spied from a distance, inching their way closer to her.
“Let me wrap your hand.” Nadora pointed to his hand that still ran with fresh blood. He held out his hand as she approached him. She wondered if they were right: maybe this was crazy. She felt bad for hurting him and wanted to make it up to him. She could only imagine how much pain he had endured in life to drive him into the woods.
She opened her bag as he stood quietly and awkwardly. Nervous vibrations went through her as she took his gigantic hand into hers. They shook ever so slightly as she began to dab the open wound with some mambrogin root. She looked up at his face, hoping to find him calm, and was relieved that he was. She wrapped his hand with a clean strip of linen. The Circle of Riders looked on with uneasiness and readiness, just in case.
After wrapping Jimmy’s hand, Nadora turned to walk off. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed her arm. With fear in her eyes, she pulled back; then relaxed when she saw the tenderness in his eyes. The gang was about to spring into action when she put up her hand, signaling for them to stop.
“You’re pretty,” muttered Jimmy, though with poor articulation.
“Thank you,” replied Nadora. She paused for a moment and then said simply, “I hope that when all of this is over we can help you. I have to go.” She turned to walk off, this time, he didn’t stop her. Looking back over her shoulder, she took one more look at Jimmy. His icy hair and beard hung with frost, and his eyes looked deeply sad and troubled. He wore loneliness like a garment of clothes.
She hobbled down the mountain, picked up the other dagger and tucked it back in her boot, and joined the other riders. Nuvatian met her part way in order to help her down the mountain. Nadora held his hand tightly as the two slowly descended the slippery cliff. Looking up again, Nadora watched Jimmy as he turned and ran off into his freezing and isolated wilderness.
When they reached the river’s edge, Nuvatian rolled up her pant-leg. “Let’s take a look at that ankle.” He pulled out a boot-knife. “What have you got down here? How did you sprain your ankle with the boot knife against it? It looks like it would have supported your ankle.”
“It’s the othah one,” Nadora said sweetly.
“Oh,” remarked Nuvatian, pulling her pant-leg back down.
“You don’t have any othah shahp objects I should know about, do you?” he asked playfully, winking at her.
“Well, actually…” Nadora began, as he pulled up the other cuff, only to discover another boot-knife, this one strapped high on her calf. “You sure are one fully loaded lady!” he remarked. “You have another on your side with your sword?” She smiled innocently.
After her ankle had been wrapped, and her head-
wound patched, the Circle of Riders mounted their beasts and rode down the mountain.
Every now and then, they spotted Jimmy following them from a distance. He looked like he was lonelier than ever.
A few days later, they got over the snowy mountains, glad to be where they could thaw out a bit. They crossed over another mountain and into the valley where the temperatures were much warmer, especially with the afternoon sun now shining.
“It looks like we have lost Jimmy,” Nadora said, looking over her shoulder one last time.
“Yes,” Gilgore agreed, “they say he doesn’t leave the Ibea Mountains. He might come into portions of the forest below, but I’m sure he doesn’t go into the plains because he would feel vulnerable. Its people he’s most afraid of.”
As darkness approached, they reached the open plains. They rode on, with the light of Windsor’s orb and a couple of torches, expunging a sliver of darkness.
Meanwhile, the riders in the East sat at the Tomb of Murdorf, waiting and wondering. Navi gazed into his orb, but all he could see was that the Western half of the Circle was still traveling. He was unable to tell where in the world they were.
Wet Wood
It was pitch dark and crickets were chirping as the riders in the East sat around the campfire speechless, tearing the flame-cooked antelope with their teeth. They were hungry and were fortunate to have bagged a game so tasty.
In the near distance, they heard the sound of hooves pounding the ground. Tossing the antelope to the side, the men jumped to their feet and pulled their swords from their sheaths. In the flickering of the fire, the riders waited to see who was approaching. They hoped it was the riders from the West. The shifting glimmer of the flames confirmed it. Windsor and Nuvatian’s faces were disclosed through the flickering light of the torches and the light of Windsor’s orb.
“Cronies, are we glad to see you!” Navi stood with a wobble.
Gilmanza watched as Nuvatian helped Nadora dismount. He knew the man was eaten up with affection for her. In the background he heard Skeener moan under his breath. His moan came more from his sore buttocks and stiffness than his chest. Not to say that his chest didn’t still have some tenderness, but it was just about healed, thanks to the marvelous wonders of the mambrogin root and Frijias tree root.
The riders quickly gathered around, anxious to see each other and swap stories. Under the shifting flames, Gilmanza could see a bandage on Nadora’s forehead. “Nadora! Are you injuhed?”
“I’m fine!” she assured him. “I just got scratched up a little and sprained my ankle.”
“A few scratches?” he questioned her. “I’m more concerned about that head than I am that ankle.”
“Trust me, she has a hard head. I don’t think you have to worry about the outside wound as much as the inside where she has a boring hole.” Nuvatian didn’t mean it as an insult, but the evil eye she gave him indicated that she received it as one.
Meanwhile, Buldar, Ozni, Monguard, and Binko had also walked over to see how badly Skeener’s injuries were. Navi hobbled behind them. The wound on the inside of his leg had nearly healed while they were in Sagran and Amase’s village, but when they started riding again, the new and tender skin got rubbed nearly raw again.
Cozbi put his sword back down and watched the fire, staring as it hissed at the wood. He had been in deep thought and returned into himself.
“What about me?” Navi said. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious as to why I’m limping?” He addressed this to Windsor and Nuvatian. Even with his loud mouth, they simply ignored him.
“We had a little run in with a giant,” explained Vandorf.
“A giant? ” Gilmanza declared. “Sounds like we have some stories to exchange.”
Windsor noticed the unfamiliar faces among them and whispered to Gilmanza, inquiring about them. Gilmanza explained how they came to ride with them but Windsor didn’t seem pleased with virtual strangers riding on such an important mission. Gilmanza then turned the tables and asked about the unfamiliar Earthdweller, Fleece. Windsor was dumbfounded to give an answer. “You’re right, I’m just as guilty. That’s it though, no one else can ride.”
Noticing Navi hobbling, Nuvatian finally asked, “So what happened to your leg?”
“I thought you would nevah notice,” Navi said with a sigh. “A nomed bit me, crony!”
“You’re such a wimp,” Buldar teased him. “A nomed bit me too, but I’m not cryin’ over it!” Always the optimist, Ozni patted him on the shoulder, “You’ll be fine, mate.”
“That’s not the same one that bit you way back at that rivah is it?” They knew about it only because Windsor had seen it all happen through his orb. (Orbs can be tricky. And it takes power away from the wizard when he uses it in communication. For that reason, they chose to conserve their energy and only touch base on occasion).
“That should be healed by now.”
“Inside of my thigh, crony. Every time I ride I rub it raw. It was almost healed back at that village.”
“You need some crushed mambrogin root and Frijias tree root put on that, Navi,” Nadora advised.
“We saw that Skeener was injuhad across the chest.” Gilmanza was eager to find out how bad the injury was. “How are you doin’?”
“I’m fine,” answered Skeener, with a little perkiness to his voice.
“What I want to know is what in the world happened to your hat?” Windsor asked Navi still trying to wear the burned out thing occasionally, like now around the campfire. Navi laughed, finding the whole thing a bit humorous.
“Hhuuu! Let’s just say that Inka has a new friend.” He pointed to Zephlin, Amase’s dragon.
“Speaking of friends,” Binko quickly injected, “This is Sagran and Amase. They have proven to be great assets.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Windsor lied.
“No, we are pleased to meet you. We have heard much about you through the yeahs.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” warned Windsor. “People like to make much out of nothin’, you know.” His words slowed when Amase turned around. His dark eyes shone with a hint of mystery and a great deal of nobility. His sheepish face was unusual but not unmistakable for a man of many years such as Windsor. He shifted his gaze towards the boy’s bare hoof-like feet just to be sure. “You’re an Awnee,” he said with surprise. “I thought the Awnee people had been annihilated many yeahs ago. In fact, I’m sure of it. Where did you come from?” Something told him there was a purpose in this lad.
“I don’t know,” Amase answered truthfully. “My fathah found me in the woods when I was but a lad.”
“In the woods? Huh! Do you know where you came from or who your parents were?”
“No, I’ve nevah seen anothah like me.”
“That’s because there are none like you,” Windsor declared. “Your people have been wiped out for generations. But you don’t look all that old. Gad, what is that smell?” he asked, the stink finally breaking into his concentration. It wasn’t as though they had just noticed it, they smelt the stench when they all gathered around, but everyone was too busy greeting each other to say anything. The riders from the east burst into laughter as one.
Navi pulled Windsor off to the side and whispered, “The boy knows of the ancient prophecies. He knows of Shilly Shally Ford.”
“How can that be?” Windsor asked, puzzled.
“I don’t know. But I will be keeping a shahp eye on him.”
Standing behind Binko, Gilgore took a whiff of the fetid smell arising from the elf’s body. “Phew! You smell almost wohse than Zilgar’s feet!” Again, the riders laughed as Zilgar playfully whacked Gilgore on the head.
“Navi about got me killed with that bloody dragon,” complained Binko. He had given his clothes a good scrub back in the village, but the smell was not entirely gone. To make things worse, the inside of his boots got soaked in the dead fish. That was where much of
the odor was coming from. With each passing day the smell changed, finally settling on a sour fishy odor.
The riders who didn’t know one another were introduced and others got reacquainted. Fleece didn’t know hardly any of them. Nimri and Cozbi were young and new. Monguard didn’t know hardly anyone, but some had heard of him.
“I smell food,” Zorgar finally said.
“I’m starved,” his brother added.
“M-me too,” Skeener said, licking his chops.
With enthusiasm for food and fellowship, the riders gathered around the fire. Cozbi was glad to have his closest friends, Nimri and Nuvatian around him again. They joined him on the log next to the fire. Monguard resumed his place beside the fire, picked up the piece of wood he had been whittling, the same he had been working on for the pass few nights. It was beginning to take definite shape.
Some of the riders were curious about his head occasionally jerking but now was not the time to point it out or ask questions.
Sitting around the blazing fire the riders swapped stories. Some were funny and some not so much. They rolled with laughter about the prank that Navi pulled on Skeener and Skeener threatened to pay him back for that one. Ozni and Navi’s prank on Binko and Darbi had them in stitches. Buldar had shoved a hat on his head after his incident with the dragon so none of the riders in the west were aware of his strange hair do. He shoved the front of his hair up under the hat so it would help hide the absence of hair that failed to hang down in the back. They compared notes of their encounters with Darvan’s hordes of hell as they called them. Soon, however, their subject shifted to the Tomb of Murdorf.
“The Tomb of Murdorf!” Vandorf pulled his boots off and started polishing them as they sat in front of the sculpted tomb. “Poor fella! Muhdahed by his own brothah!”
“The paramount of all stories of betrayal. Unfortunately, one that continues to repeat itself,” Binko chimed in.
Gilgore agreed. “After he killed his brothah he felt no remorse. In fact, it has been said that he laughed at him, even tauntin’ him as he pierced him with the sword. He supposedly laughed as he cut off his brothah’s head and mounted it to a stake.”
They continued to discuss the Tomb for a little longer, until silence fell upon the campsite. With full bellies, everyone realized they were dead-tired from their respective journeys.
But vibrations of inspiration were stirring in Navi’s belly. The wizard had to reveal what he knew.
Playing in the fire with his sword, Navi knocked a glowing ember out of the pile. He then poured a large amount of water on the single log. “The fire continues to burn,” he noted, “even though one log is removed and its light extinguished, as long as the othahs remain lit and remain in a pile togethah.”
He had the floor now, every ear turned towards the prophet.
He poured more water on the fire, extinguishing its light altogether. It was now pitch-dark, a darkness that could almost be felt. It was a darkness that called into question the very presence of another around the circle. They reached out their hands to touch each other, to remind themselves they were not alone, that someone was still sitting beside them. Navi stretched out his staff and relit the fire, miraculously drying out the moisture that had been poured over the wood. Then, with his staff, he reignited a flame.
Gilgore, his long legs nearly reaching the flames, kicked the other log back into the fire.
Navi kicked it back out. “Leave it there, it does not belong.” He raised his voice now to address the whole group. “There is one among us who does not belong.” He paused for a moment, and then continued, “Here, let me show you.” He picked up the log that had been saturated with water and placed it on the fire; the fire immediately began to dim, its energy dying. He knocked it back out, and the fire quickly regained its flame.
“There is one among us who does not belong; he is wet wood. We must leave him. He has already made up his mind. He seeks the sword for his own powah. There is dahkness and there is light, but there is nothin in between. You betray us all as well as yourself. You know who you are.”
There was dead silence. The only noise now was the chirping of crickets. No one moved a muscle. Each rider sat wondering who the wet wood was. Everyone, that is, except the one who had made up his mind. He knew what he wanted. His heart lusted for that sword, to feel its power, to be looked up to by everyone. He craved it, yearned for it, dreamed of it. The power. The position. The wealth. All that it offered, he wanted.
Windsor put his hands over his face. He regretted that they had allowed these extras to ride with them. Suddenly, as they pondered Navi’s prophecy, a falling star shot across the sky, its light now ceasing to be. The riders wondered who among them was like the falling star that would cease to shine. The prophecy had even put a sobering damper on Ozni who always had an optimistic word. But now he sat with nothing to say.
There was dead silence as the younger wizard got up to turn in for the night. His words set a suspicious mood, especially concerning the newer arrivals to their group. Vandorf wondered if he should have allowed Fleece to come, while many of the riders of the East were having qualms regarding their decision to let Sagran and Amase ride; after all, they hardly knew either of them. The riders who had gathered their group from the West were also skeptical about them. Each rider was silent, pretending he did not see the person beside him. No one knew who they could trust.
From what they knew, experientially unfortunately, about the innate corrupt soul of man and the enticing pull the sword has to arouse ambitious and sinful desires in their fragile and finite being, everyone was a potential threat. The hope for primordial harmony was lost the moment lust for position was cultivated in Darvan’s heart and acted upon. The evil propagated to all humanity corrupted them to the core of their being, now marking all humanity with a condition, a bend in their souls, for evil. Even women were not exempt, for there had been women in history who were pulled into the influence of the sword’s promising and enchanting ways. They too sought to rule. And they too lost the battle with the cursed blade.
Windsor had seen friends succumb to the temptation of the sword, mighty kings fall, good kings, even wizards who already possessed power gain a lust for more power. The divine initiated utterances and supernatural power became words and works of darkness in their hands. No, no one could be trusted. Windsor couldn’t even trust himself.
Tired, the riders slid into their bedrolls, the words of the prophecy accusing them, doubting others, suspecting one and then another. No one looked around, no one acknowledged the person beside them, too afraid to place trust in anyone. The only exceptions were Nuvatian and Nadora, who could not help but affirm the other’s presence, even as they tried to close their eyes and sleep.
Monguard sat his piece of work beside him as he lay down. The fire cast its light upon the little statue of Murdorf, an exact replica of the crafted stone.
The Passage of Crossing
The Tomb of Murdorf faded in and out with the gleaming rays of yellow in the early morning sunrise. Murdorf’s frightful face was incongruous with the warming and sparkling rays of the sun. Moments later, clouds rolled across the sun and the rays were gone.
Waking early, ahead of the others, Windsor, Gilmanza, Vandorf, Navi and Binko sat discussing which route would be the safest and swiftest to Shy Kadesh. Monguard joined them just as the coffee was ready.
They noticed his finished piece of art and marveled at the precision. After much amazement at Monguard’s talent, the men settled down into their more serious discussion.
“There is only one way into the city,” Windsor said. “It is walled and heavily fortified. There is only one gateway. I say we go straight toward the gateway through the Passage of Crossing. I’m sure we are going to meet some opposition. They will try to prevent us from going to the Immortals.”
“We could go northeast over the mountains and then travel east,” suggest
ed Binko. “That will at least get us around much opposition until we travel back west.” After pondering on the matter a bit more, he conceded, “Then again, that’s a lot of extra travelin’ that will only wear us out.”
Fleece, overhearing their conversation, was tossing his medallion. Entering the discourse, he offered his opinion. “I think we should go straight, meetin’ the opposition head-on.”
Raising one eyebrow at Fleece, Vandorf chided the young man. “Ya mean your stupid medallion happened to land on the side that you chose for going straight into the opposition. Your foolish superstition is gettin’ on my nehves. So, around the opposition it is!” Vandorf had no intention of catering to the boy’s superstitions.
Navi stepped in now. “Actually, he has a point. If we go around, then we will just be weary when we do meet the opposition. Although we’re likely to find less opposition that way, the opposition is inevitable. We might as well meet it straight on,” said Navi.
“I think that’s a bettah choice, too,” said Gilmanza. “There’s really no way to avoid it.”
“We can take them,” Fleece said confidently. The young knight was beginning to feel more comfortable with the group, a genuine part.
“Then north it is,” said Windsor.
By now everyone was up and sipping coffee.
“Did you know that an earthquake caused that split in the mountain?” Buldar informed, eager to enlighten them.
“Huh,” said Windsor, half acknowledging him. Buldar continued to ramble about some earthquake and some legend about the split being caused by King Justiz when he was angry at Darvan. The legend told a fantastic tale of King Justiz splitting the mount in half with his rage for Darvan. Buldar finally concluded that the legend was absurd and that the earthquake was the cause of the split in the mountain. He rattled off everything he knew about earthquakes.
Windsor had heard it all but he never chimed in to share his knowledge of the events.
Bedrolls were rolled up and the coffee was gone. It was time to mount up.
“If you’re wearing mail, now would be a good time to put it on,” Windsor said, certain of opposition. Most of them though opted to wait until it was deemed more necessary, like when they got into the mountains.
“Cronies, let’s ride!” said Navi, picking up his statue of Murdorf that Monguard had made him.
As Buldar was folding his bedroll, his hat fell off. It was then that Windsor noticed the back of his head. The night before, he had slept with the hat on with all his hair in the front tucked up under it. “What happened to the back of your hair?”
“That bloody dragon like to have killed me!” Buldar sputtered, reaching for his hat. “Navi just had to rescue the blasted thing.” Laughter permeated the campsite, as those who had traveled in the West now took a peak at Buldar’s head.
“I can make you some hair out of my mammoth,” Zilgar offered, rolling with laughter.
“No thanks, it will grow back soon enough.” The riders still laughed as they prepared for the next step in the journey.
“Ah, mate, you can have hair like mine,” said Zorgar.
“No thanks,” Buldar said quickly, laughing at the Viking’s peculiar head-covering. “Looks like a dog’s been bedding in that stuff.”
Nadora could hardly walk; she was stiff and sore from the day before. Holding her side, she limped to join the others. When they said something she down-played it, not wanting to show any sign of weakness.
When Nadora started to climb onto Orpah, Nuvatian offered to help her but she declined. She wasn’t in the mood for catering to his ego or his lust. Nonetheless, he watched her squirm her bottom around until she finally tucked it away on her mount.
Although there was a touch of humor that morning, the mood of the day had been set by the prophecy the night before, and each rider harbored deep suspicions. As they galloped past the image of Murdorf, none could resist taking one last glimpse at the haunting face. Silence now defined their ride as mystique that has set in from the prophecy remained in the forefront of their thoughts.
Although Monguard’s head twitching was subtle, it nevertheless did not go unnoticed. While most wondered about him silently, the Viking brothers and the Sorb made their inquiries in turn to Windsor and Navi who had no explanation.
“That’s just how he is,” Navi answered.
On the fifth morning, just before dawn, Monguard arose to seek his revenge on Navi. It was time for his payback for the prank back at Ozni’s house. Monguard never forgot, but he knew how to wait patiently until the return of the prank was unsuspecting. He had spotted some red berries just before they had ascended into the mountains. Pulling them, he stowed them away in his bag. Now, he warmed them over the smoldering remains of the fire and pressed them into a paste. He knew just how to get the thick paste to the color he desired: a bright pink. Next, he painted the wood of Navi’s bow pink, dyed some feathers he had snagged from a foul a few days back the same girlish color. He attached the pink feathers to his bow. Then, he painted a smiley face on the back of his riding jacket. He made sure that he placed it back where it was and turned the jacket to where the pinkish looking face would not be noticed. Next he couldn’t resist running a few strands of pink through Navi’s hair with what was left of the pink paste.
When morning dawned, the riders ate and geared up. Whispers had circulated not to say anything to Navi about the pink streaks in his hair. The giggles were hard to control though. Navi slung on his jacket without noticing the face, exactly what Monguard had hoped for. But he of course immediately noticed his bow now painted a faggish pink. Now he knew why everyone was laughing, or so he thought.
“Ozni,” Navi yelled, certain that he was the culprit. “Real funny. That’s just real funny, scamp.”
Bellowing laughter broke out in the camp. Finding the joke to be so brilliant, Ozni never denied it and Navi never suspected Monguard. His quiet demeanor kept him from the eye of suspicion.
None of the riders knew who had pulled the prank but no one coughed up the secret that Navi was wearing a smile on his back or gay-like hair. Every so often one of them would slip out a chuckle, but Navi thought it was his pink bow they were still laughing about. There was nothing he could do to change the color. He was now stuck with a girls bow. He offered to swap with Nadora but she refused, declaring it to be too girlish for her.
That same afternoon, riding north, they traveled through the low lands, crossed the Hill of Descent, the first mountain in the range of the Great Divide
"Legend has it that this hill is where Darvan landed when King Justiz threw him out of the Land of Shy Kadesh. That would mean that the Immortal King would have thrown him over the entire mountain range," Amase said.
"Legends, they grow with time," Windsor reminded the young lad.
"Another legend says that this is the mountain where Murdorf was murdered by his brother," Ozni injected. The last speculation rang with more truth. The Hill of Descent climbed high in the sky with spires that reached to the heavens. "They say that when the moon is full the mountain looks like Murdorf’s face."
"The range that this mountain is a part of, The Great Divide, was named for the barrier it creates between the lofty mountains that are home to the Immortals and the mortal lands below. The manifold legends associated with the mountains are as tall and lofty as the mountains themselves," Buldar explained.
At sunset of the twelfth day they stopped to camp atop one of the mountains, the sheltering cliffs being safer than the mountainous regions they were about to embark upon.
The next morning, they rode into the chilly mountains. The higher they climbed the cooler the temperature became. In fact, it became downright freezing. Accumulative snow carved a crystal cathedral out of the mountains that showcased a work of art that was out of this world. Icicles glistened from the trees like diamonds on display.
Monguard was hardly dressed for the climate change but he never comp
lained or even looked as though he were cold. But the riders knew he had to be freezing. After much insisting, Monguard finally accepted a coat from Ozni.
“Why would anyone want to live up here in this cold?” Cozbi asked. “I would rather be mortal and live in nice weather than live forevah in this freezing cold.”
Windsor overheard him and grinned but didn’t say a word.
Ascending one of the three mountains that bordered the Immortal Land, a smudge of fresh green slime discolored the glistening white snow, evidence of derves.
They descended a steep cliff, then began crossing through the Passage of Crossings, a natural passageway between two sheets of solid rocks that protruded out from the lofty monoliths. This was the split that Buldar had talked so much about. It was rather peculiar, as if the towering mountain had been slit right in half and separated. The jagged edges looked like they would fit right back together perfectly if they were moved. It was a narrow stretch, with just enough room for the dragons and mammoths to pass through comfortably. The legends told of this passageway were likely as numerous as the ones associated with the Hill of Descent.
This natural passageway spared them from having to climb over the steep mountains that would have been impossible for the beasts of burden to climb.
Single-file, they hiked between the boulders, trying to ignore both Buldar’s running travelogue and Fleece’s superstitions. The lad was becoming increasingly excited with the prospect of seeing the Land of Shy Kadesh, a marvelous land he had heard so many wondrous stories about.
Suddenly, as they came upon the halfway point of the long and narrow passageway, the rocks began to move, closing in on them from both sides. Windsor stretched out his crooked staff and both hands, holding the massive boulders back by his power as the riders heeled their mounts into a run. Navi stretched his own staff toward one boulder and Windsor turned his to the other. Each held back a side, as the others drew their swords and sped swiftly toward the end of the passage. The winged creatures became a bundle of nerves as they flapped their wings excitably but could not get any wind beneath them to fly.
“Run!” shouted Navi. “Get out from between the rocks!”
Suddenly, Dero, an evil wizard of Darvan and one that Windsor knew better than he wished, appeared, standing on top of one of the boulders. His cold eyes stewed with callousness, his long silver hair signaled age, but his preoccupation with Windsor suggested that these two wizards had history.
Looking down at the riders, he jeered at them, reveling that he had them right where he wanted them. There was no way he was going to let them escape from the now deadly passageway. It was closing in on them and the Passage of Crossing was becoming a monolith of demise.
“Dero!” Windsor’s tone suggested a bitter and long history. “I knew you would eventually come crawling out of your hole.”
Seeking a way out of the closing walls, the riders raced to get through the limestone portal. Suddenly, Riders of Quadar stepped into view, trapping the Circle of Riders between the large rocks that continued to inch in on them. Zephlin, Amase’s dragon, grew agitated. Amase tried to calm him, since if he breathed fire it would set the riders in front of him ablaze. The zebra, sensing the presence of danger, became a vaporous image, nearly invisible to the naked eye, transforming Binko into the vaporous world as well. But like the stelletoes and the dragons, it couldn’t get its wings spread.
Windsor and Navi were now holding back the rocks, resisting the evil force that pressed from the opposite side of the great monoliths. Inka roared ferociously.
Unexpectedly, the force of power resulted in an explosion of a portion of the hallway-like-boulder sending fragments of rock flying through the air. Dero bolted unwillingly into the sky with the shattered debris. Rocks crumbed, some falling inside the passageway. But now there was enough room for the wingspan of the flying mounts and they took to the sky. The riders charged ahead down the passageway, and sprang out from the rubble and began fighting the Riders of Quadar that had populated the area.
The faint image of Binko on his flying zebra darted this way and that way among the trees, shooting arrows through the air, and sometimes swinging his sword, cutting dark riders down to size. Nomeds and derves came running through the forest, excited to see the fighting.
Supernatural warfare began as Windsor stretched out his staff, lifting Dero off the ground and knocking him against a rock. He pinned him to the monstrous wall high in the air. With his back pressed against the boulder, Dero fought to lift his wrist, eventually succeeding at pointed his own staff toward Windsor.
Windsor was now suspended in mid-air, trapped by the force of Dero’s powers. The efficiency of the evil wizard’s energy forced Windsor back, broadsiding the mountainside where he was now bound. Spotting the predicament Windsor was in, Navi stretched out his staff toward Dero, sending him into a spiral rotation. Dero’s power was lifted from Windsor, who dropped suddenly and swiftly toward the ground. Windsor lost his grip on his staff as both plummeted towards the ground. Navi now turned his staff from Dero to Windsor.
With Navi’s power now directed towards saving Windsor, he broke the deadly fall and reduced it to nothing more than a bump. Dero curbed his fall with his own powers. He crashed to the ground receiving no injuries and immediately sprang to his feet. Now, spotting Navi, Dero stretched his staff toward the wizard and thrust him against the rocks. The rocky walls of the mountain side began to tremble. Dero was aiming to bury Navi beneath the weight of the collapsed side of the mountain, leaving him for dead in the rumble. But his plan was thwarted when Windsor exercised the power within, holding back the rocks.
The wizards were in a powerful fight, one powerful force against another. They warred with powers that they did not own; the powers they possessed were gifts that came with responsibility, Dero having chosen to misuse the powers he had been given.
Navi now leapt out from between the rocks and together with Windsor turned his staff toward Dero again.
Between them they elevated the evil wizard back into the air and slammed him against the mountain, knocking him unconscious.
Now the two wizards had an opportunity to scan the situation below. A larger group of Riders of Quadar had now appeared from the thick of the forest. They seemed to just keep coming, as scores of dark riders now swarmed the region. To make matters worse, these dark riders were wearing mail, putting them on equal footing with the Circle of Riders when it comes to protection. Derves gathered into the trees above, jumping up and down with excitement. The four dragons—Moridar, Inka, Orpah and Zephlin—all breathed gusts of flame, being threatened by their evil presence.
While Windsor and Navi became preoccupied with the legion of dark riders streaming onto the mountain side, Dero began to regain his consciousness. Still lying down, he spotted Windsor and Navi and stretched his staff out toward the rocks just above their heads. Suddenly, large rocks lifted off the ground and flew straightway towards the two wizards. Windsor and Navi stretched out their staffs to the rocks just in time. Then Dero used his power to make rocks fly in every direction. Navi stepped up to keep them from hitting their fellow riders. One barely missed Gilgore. Windsor now used his power to force the rocks towards Dero, one nearly crushing him to the ground. Dero fell backwards out of Windsor’s sight. He leapt back onto his feet and plotted his next move.
Being surefooted, as well as having the edge of invisibility, Binko was an irreplaceable asset. If a rider was overwhelmed by sheer numbers, he served like a secret weapon, going in and taking out the enemy completely unseen. The dark riders never even saw him coming.
Nuvatian was one of those he rescued that day. Swarmed by dark riders, he was skillfully taking them on, holding his own. He dropped several to the ground with a grand example of his excellent swordsmanship. But from behind him, as he cut through the abdomen of one dark rider, another appeared, with sword raised, its razor edge eager for his blood. Just as that dark rider
started to swing his blade, an arrow grounded itself between his eyes, and he toppled to the ground. Within a matter of moments, the arrows from the Elf and Nuvatian’s blade combined to drop the horde of devilish dark riders that had surrounded the knight. Binko now became momentarily fully visible on his magical zebra, giving Nuvatian a thumb’s up.
Monguard was the most impressive. He moved like a lion, leaping and killing his prey with finesse and speed. He leapt off the sides of rocks and trees like it was an intrinsic quality of the human species. In the brevity of a moment without a sword to combat, Gilmanza observed Monguard. He was amazed. He had never seen a man fight like this man. For that matter, he had never seen a man move like this man. We would really be in trouble if he got ahold of the Sword of Powah. Then, three swords eager to shed blood were upon Gilmanza and his thoughts and instincts switched to self-preservation.
When the Viking brothers and the Sorb witnessed Monguard in action they too concluded that he must be possessed with either a god or a devil. They only hoped that it was the former. The Sword of Power would be even worse in the hands of a man of his skill.
Gilmanza cut down three riders and paused. He scanned the scene hoping to get a glimpse of Amase and Sagran—and he did. He wondered where they had learned their superb skills; not everyone could fight like them. Although they seemed sincere, he was now even more concerned, hoping their motives were pure. I will keep a watchful eye on them. Then, just like before, swords were upon him.
The mail proved to be of no use when it came up against Gilgore. Gilgore plucked Riders of Quadar off their horses and threw them across the ridge of rocks. The impact of the throws killed most of them instantly. His large body tore through the woods and his giant sword did grave damage. In one instance, Gilgore snatched a sword from a dark rider and plunged it through him. As he continued to war around the dying Quadarist, the evil rider rolled his dagger edge up right where Gilgore was placing his gigantic foot. The sharp edge sliced clear through his animal skin boot and into his tough skin. The giant roared in pain. Next, he snatched up the rider and slung him clear into the top of a large tree.
Gilmanza was effectively fighting off nearly a dozen riders with a master’s skill. In a short time, all of them lay dead on the ground. However, by now the riders were growing weary of the seemingly endless string of dark riders that continued to flood the hills, emerging from the thick of the trees. A swarm of dark riders encircled Amase, Monguard’s hand got cut, and one sword broke through Sagran’s chain-mail, cutting his side. Cozbi was nearly killed, sparred only when Vandorf threw a dagger at a dark rider whose sword was moving in the direction of Cozbi’s chest.
With fluidity and skill taught only by a master swordsman, Fleece demonstrated that he had earned the right to fight with the most elite warriors in the world. When Vandorf got a glimpse of him in action he was proud of the young man. He never folded under pressure, the thing that worried Vandorf the most. But the boy was growing tired and Vandorf knew that is when mistakes happen.
Things turned worse when Windsor looked up across the horizon and saw the blackness moving towards them. The sky was crawling with dark riders astride fierce dragons. Now, it appeared that the situation could not get much worse. Windsor would have to think of something quick. But Dero was up and at his mischief again, thrusting Windsor back on the cliff he stood upon; but Windsor resisted and his power fought back against Dero, the forces meeting in the middle causing wind to whip up. Finally, Dero fell backwards. But he wasn’t finished yet.
At that moment, two derves jumped down onto Nadora, unseating her from Orpah and knocking her bow from her hand. When she looked up, she saw a Rider of Quadar on his black horse, a few feet away galloping toward her. His grisly face looked starkly hollow, his eyes desolate and unremorseful. His horse snorted and its nostrils flared. Because her bow was out of reach, she reached into her boot to get her dagger, but found it had slipped down inside the boot. She stared at the double edge blade that seemed eager to take her life. Her natural instinct was to freeze even though she told herself to roll. He charged. Just as she was about to roll, perhaps a little too late, an arrow from out of nowhere shot through the dark rider and he fell limp over his horse. Nadora grabbed her bow and leapt to her feet. She had no idea where the arrow had come from.
Just then, the fortunes of the riders took a turn for the good. From out of nowhere arrows flew through the air, piercing the ranks of the Quadarist. With precision and speed, they shot through the forest popping dark knight and dropping them to the ground. The dark riders quickly began to scatter, making a furious escape.
Looking beyond the trees, Nadora saw a powerful-looking female rider, mounted on a white polished stelleto with a host of riders behind her. Her complexion was fair, and her long straight golden hair blew behind her as she rode. The appearance of the riders seemed almost angelic. They were well-built physically, and they fought with incredible strength and skill.
Now, Nadora knew that she was the one who had saved her life.
In the air, Windsor could see an army of white stelletoes bearing immortals. They covered the ground and the sky. Above the snowcapped peaks, soaring in the thick atmosphere, was a show, a standoff, between good and evil, as dark beasts circled the high peak of one mountain and Immortals on white stelletoes circled another. It was crystal clear who belonged to which side and who stood for who.
On one side, dark heavy wings resonating with the mystery of iniquity scarred the sky with its evil intent. Above the other mountain peak, angelic white wings of the stelletoes spread enormously across the sky mystifying the dark beasts and disclosing the mystery of their threatening ways. They held an astonishing presence. Each group winged it around in circles until intimidation mounted.
Soon, the dark riders left one by one, the older and more experienced riders flying away first.
Dero was among the last to leave, giving it one more last go at Windsor and Navi before he flew off. He had already mounted his dragon, eager to get away from the Immortals. With his staff stretched out, a gust of power shot out towards Navi, slinging him into a tail spin and nearly over the cliff. Navi held on for dear life, his staff fallen to the ground below.
Then, he summoned one of the dragons, calling it forth to unleash its fiery breath onto Windsor. Strange words came out of his mouth and the dragon mounted the sky with a wide wingspan, making a direct flight towards Windsor who now stood atop a cliff. It shot through the open sky, creating a gulf of wind with its mighty wings. It plunged over the peak of a mountain and did a nose-dive descent upon Windsor. As it dove, it opened its mouth, the gust of fire coiled in the back of its throat.
Spotting the beast, Windsor stretched out his staff and murmured unintelligible words. The roaring force that proceeded from his staff nearly took him back, but none the less, he stood, his silver hair blowing in every direction from the chaotic wind from the turbulence created by the endowment of his special gift of wizardry.
The might power that went forth from his staff brought the great dragon to a halt in midair, although his mighty wings continued to flap. His mouth was open but the force of the air squelched its ability to thrust fire from its lips. The dragon hacked, its mouth still wide opened, as it was forced back by the power conjured by the great seer.
Fuming with anger, Dero shouted a warning to Navi and Windsor that he would meet them again, and soon. The defeated dragon spun and high tailed it out, a white stelleto on its heels. Seconds later, there was not a trace of a single dark rider or any other creature associated with Darvan. All had fled swiftly at the presence of the Immortals.
Windsor had little power left, but what he had, he executed on Navi. With his staff extended, he lifted Navi from the cliff and planted his feet safely on flat ground. Navi snagged his staff and joined the others. With little left to give, Windsor had to leg it down from the high place.
In all, the battle had not last
ed long, although it felt like a day.
The golden-haired lady approached now, and spoke. “King Justiz heard there were some friends of his coming to see him. He sent us to see that you arrive safely.” She appeared to be leading the unit. She looked at Windsor and smiled, her refined facial features imparting an air of strength to complement her beauty. Her light-colored clothing shone brightly against the shimmering white stelleto she rode astride.
“Navi responded first. “We are sure glad to see you.” Then, with a hint of flirtation, he asked, “And your name is?”
“My name is Akiylah,” she answered, eyeing Windsor. He was of course looking back at her.
“Would that be Miss. or Mrs. Akiylah?” Navi continued.
Laughing, but offering no further response, she turned her mount around toward the Land of Shy Kadesh. “I like your pink bow,” she said snickering.
“Thank you. I’ll trade ya.”
“No thanks. The color suits you very well.”
“It’s borrowed,” Navi lied, not wanting to admit that it was his and not wanting to go into detail about the prank.
“I’m sure it is. I’m not real sure about that hair though.”
“Why does everyone have to pick on my hair,” Navi said, thinking that she was talking about his green and purple braids. There was much snickering but no one was willing to ruin the gag.
“A bit late, aren’t you?” Vandorf asked, wiping blood from a cut on his arm.
“No, I am right on time,” Akiylah said.
“What is a woman doin’ leadin’ this group of warriors?” Cozbi whispered to Nimri.
“I don’t know.” The issue was dead to Nimri now. He was clearly impressed with Nadora and this woman sure didn’t seem like one easily intimidated.
“Well, a woman has no business out here in the battlefield. She should be home cooking or somethin’,” snapped Cozbi.
Nadora, riding in front of them, heard their whispers. Looking back at them, she raised her eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. Passing by a branch that was in her way, she grabbed it and held on to it. Cozbi was still looking at Nimri, rolling his eyes and spewing off about the discrepancies of a woman warrior. Just then, Nadora let go of the branch; it swung back, whipping Cozbi in the face.
“Aaahhh!” he whimpered. Looking back, she raised her eyebrow again; then, with a triumphant laugh, she dug her heels into her mount and rode ahead.
“She really is a great archah,” Nimri said, nodding his head toward Nadora. “In fact, I’ve nevah seen a woman like her.”
“Humph!” Cozbi sneered.
Back at the front of the line, Akiylah was still speaking. “Some among you are injured,” she noted, first noticing the steady stream of blood that poured from Gilgore’s foot he was attempting to hobble on and then Sagran.
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” said Sagran, holding a cloth drenched in blood.
“It looks bad to me. Let me see it.”
As she removed the cloth, blood poured out of the wound. Akiylah touched the wound and it immediately closed up. It didn’t even leave a scar.
“Amazin’! How’d you do that?” Sagran asked.
She now went about, touching each injured rider. Instantly, each was healed as wounds grew together, not even leaving a sign of injury. Gilgore’s foot and Nadora’s ankle were instantly healed by a single touch from this mysterious lady. But she couldn’t salvage Gilgore’s shoe and the snow was freezing on his bare feet.
Meanwhile, Gilmanza wished to press the matter at hand. “We appeal to the graciousness of the Immortal King,” he began. “We have need of seeing him.”
“I know why you have come,” Akiylah answered. “He sent us to bring you safely into his kingdom.” The riders looked at each other with relief, knowing that they were going to see the king.
Navi interrupted. “While you’re on this healing spree, you think you might could make this raw place bettah? A nomed bit me and all this riding just keeps it raw,” Navi explained, offering a wide smile.
When she touched Navi’s thigh, he smiled at her. “You have a soft touch,” he said. Akiylah just laughed, but Windsor rolled his eyes. As she looked up at Windsor, their eyes caught and they smiled at each other.
They sallied forth for the palace now free of the opposition that was delaying them. As they rode along, Windsor ruminated on the days when he had once been immortal. It was so long ago, but now being around the immortals made him remember what life had once been like. He secretly longed for the days when he was invincible and had no fear of death. He recalled the power he had possessed, power to heal, power to fight and power to overcome. The Elves could become nearly invisible on their magical zebras, but the immortals could become invisible at will, without the magic of anything outside their own eternal selves.
Most of all, Windsor remembered the days of eternal youthfulness, love and happiness. As he rode along, reflecting on days gone by, he unconsciously turned the ring on his finger, fumbling with it. He almost dreaded going into the land of the immortals now, because he knew he would have to leave, something he didn’t want to do. But he was no longer an immortal, and thus would not be allowed to stay permanently. He was mortal now, and he was old too; he knew that one day, he would die.
Shy Kadesh
Led by the Immortal Riders, the Circle of Riders ascended the towering mountain, the Mountain of Infinity (or so the mortals called it). It was the last of the great mountains in the Great Divide. They rode throughout the day, climbing its snow-capped peaks.
It was evening when they reached the top, home to the enormous and unbreachable walls of the Land of the Immortals. Cozbi and Nimri wondered why in the world they would want to live in this freezing tundra.
Following their escort, they rode along the edges of the elaborate city-walls. The walls encircled the entire land; no other land had walls like these. The walls of other lands merely encompassed the city, not all of the land, and none compared to these in strength or beauty. Every ten yards of wall, there was an engraved image of a strapping knight, the detailed work of a master craftsman. Between each carved knight were chiseled olive branches, intertwined with ram’s horns. The large steel gates were themselves crafted with many twists and turns. From a distance, the winding steel created the image of the head of a lion.
A large stone-crafted chariot pulled by several stelletoes stood on each side of the steel gates. The stelletoes pulling the chariots stood outside of the walls, carved in a full run and appearing as though they pulled the walls and all that was within them. Their nostrils flared, their muscular bodies were well-defined, and their eyes were full of strength. Fleece ran his hand across the side of one of the stone horses. Monguard held the magnificent sculpture in awe. He wanted to remember it, to carve it in his next sculpture. The walls and gates alone were very impressive, but the statue made it exquisite.
A strong tower hosted a group of immortal knights at the gate. Behind the steel gates was another gate made of a rare wood as solid as steel. At the sight of the riders, the unconquerable gates were raised and they were allowed passage into the city.
“I heahd that this giant wall was built in a day,” Buldar said to one immortal. “Is that true?”
The immortal smiled but did not answer Buldar.
The riders who had never been to Shy Kadesh before (only Windsor and Gilmanza had visited the land) were shocked when they entered the gates of the city. To begin with, there was a sudden climate-change as the cold temperatures of the snow-capped mountains suddenly vanished, and the riders rode into a tropical paradise. The temperature was always pleasant in Shy Kadesh. It was never too cold or too hot, simply pleasant. The flowers were always in bloom and the grass was always green. The trees grew tall, the ivy large; philodendrons grew both ways, and the air always smelt fresh.
Gigantic mushrooms speckled with hues of color stood in clusters beneath the skyward trees. Philodendrons and
large ivy streamed down the sides of cliffs. Rainbow Eucalyptus trees and a rare variety of Eucalyptus trees gave the land a delicious aroma. Clove trees with huge buds stood tall across the land. Enormous Gerber Daisies of fantastic colors grew wild, seemingly everywhere. Light blue forget-me-nots grew in clusters. There were tulips and mums growing at the same time. Small white flowers softened up the rainbow of colors. A faint mist from the many waterfalls kept the land and air freshly moist. The serene beauty of it all was breathtaking.
When they walked through the gates, they found themselves riding beneath a canopy of braided trees. Arching the trail that led into the kingdom were two lines of braided trees, grafted together at the tops. Their trunks were sturdy, their branches intertwined and braided together, creating a long arched canopy as though giving a spectacular welcoming to everyone who entered their land. Ivy with soft white flowers streamed across the grafted canopy. Not one weed was seen in all the land.
When they rode out from under the intertwined trees, they stood with mouths agape. Some of the riders stared in disbelief at the overgrown Sandalwood and Ginkgo trees, their branches reaching into the blue sky. An assortment of trees of fantastic shapes and sizes captured their amazement. The flowers, the green pasture, the colors, the waterfalls, it was all breathtaking.
The welcoming canopy was not the only grafted landscaping design they would encounter. These artistic designs of tall trees grafted and braided together amazed the riders. A large group of trees were planted in a circle and joined to create a durable support structure for swinging. Swings made from rope and a wood plank seat hung from the trees; children were swinging and laughing. Near the swings was a tree grafted in the shape of a huge sailboat; it looked as though it could set sail at any moment. Children were climbing the boat and swinging from the ropes of the sail.
In the distance, antelope ran across the hills and kangaroos jumped through the meadows. Elephants roamed free without the threat of poachers, and giraffes ate foliage from the limbs of the trees. Further in the distance, the riders could see and hear the wondrous Guardian Falls, thundering down over an eight-hundred foot drop, with puissance and beauty. The falls spanned across the ridges of mountains wider than they were tall.
They traveled down a dirt pathway that gave way to sneaky suspicions that there was more to this path than dirt and rock. The ground shimmered with sparkles of crystal like slivers, capturing the rays of the sun, and cast illuminations of glory.
The path led them through the growths of the forest where the Redwoods grow. The sound of a raging river signaled to the riders that water was nearby. As they came nigh to the river, they beheld the most spectacular bridge. Wide and strong, it was made of living trees grafted together, forming a sturdy passageway with side rails, shaded by the enormous Redwoods. The riders marveled at such magnificence. As they rode over the sturdy bridge, glittery sparkles shimmered in the riverbed bellow, increasing their suspicions that, like the dirt pathway, there was also more to this riverbed than mere rock and dirt.
Riding through the rolling hills, the riders caught glimpses of the colossal castle looming in the distance, its towering spires reaching into the heavens. As they closed the distance, the castle grew more spectacular, its lofty towers numerous and its symmetry approaching perfection. The entire land was simply enchanting and awe-inspiring.
As they approached the last hill, they could now see a mighty fortress reaching to the heavens, its icy-blue towers like ice peaks on a frozen glacier. This looked more like a place for gods to congregate.
They were silent as they rode down the path that led to the enormous castle. Its premises were adorned with a variety of tree-art. There were twelve trees woven together, creating an organic work of art that looked like a woven basket. The inside of the tree was hollow and the branches met at the top, pruned and shaped to perfection. A vine with small purple flowers climbed partway up one side of the basketlike tree. Another tree resembled a spiral staircase, whereby one could climb the steps of the trunk and relax in its branches, the tops woven into hammock-like contraptions.
The outside of the castle was made of pearl-white stone and garnished with bluish stones bordering the windows and trim. In front of the palace were two large fountains. Large Eucalyptus trees stood by the side and a gentle breeze blew their pleasant aroma toward the riders. The riders took deep breaths, enjoying the pleasant fragrance.
Coming within a stone’s throw away from the spectacular castle, Akiylah led the riders beneath a gracefully chiseled stone crafted archway and into a gorgeous courtyard. The riders dismounted and left their animals with the stable keepers. The army of Immortals stayed positioned until the riders unseated, and then they rode off. As they entered the castle, they were once again awestruck, its magnificence was intimidating.
As they waited for the king in the anteroom, they admired the mosaic floors, the gold drapes edged with tassels, and the exquisite water fountains. His castle was well-lit and airy, with many windows—not dark and dank like most castles. It was far more stately and welcoming than any built.
From around the corner, King Justiz Japhia Cervanius appeared. An aura of importance and wisdom accompanied him, his royal presence being grander than all the kings of the earth. Everyone took notice when he entered the room. Even so, he was not arrogant or self-imposed; rather, he was kind, charitable and quick to inquire of the well-being of his guests. His youthful and handsome appearance in no way diminished his authoritative presence. His vibrant green eyes radiated with life and his smile demonstrated a welcoming spirit.
At first sight of him, the riders fell to one knee and bowed their heads, showing respect for the Immortal King. King Japhia Cervanius Justiz acknowledged their show of respect but showed no signs of ego. His face beaming with joy, he acknowledged each one of them by name. This stunned many of them who wondered how he knew them by name. Windsor, on the other hand knew the acquaintances of King Justiz well, reaching as far back as the days when he himself was an Immortal. Gilmanza also knew him well.
Nadora was surprised though that he knew her by name, assuming that he paid no mind to mortal kings and their doings.
“It is so good to see you,” King Justiz said. Noticing Navi’s burnt-out purple hat, the King chuckled, and began with the younger wizard, “Don’t you think it’s about time for a new top, Navi?”
“Aahhh, I made a new friend,” Navi replied. “Some friends are easia to make than othahs, my Lord.”
“Yes, well, we will see if we can’t do something about that hat, or perhaps about that friend,” King Justiz answered, laughing.
“So, is pink you’re new favorite color?” the king asked, a gigantic smirk across his face. Navi wondered how he knew about his bow since he had left it on his mount. He still didn’t know that his hair had pink running through it. He assumed that someone must have told him about the bow since he seemed to know everything else.
“Not exactly. That’s another friend that you can do something about if you don’t mind, my Lord.” Navi glared down the line of friends, setting his piercing eyes on Ozni. Ozni laughed, wishing he had been that clever.
The king laughed too, catching on that Navi had been the victim of a practical joke.
“You wouldn’t by any chance know who turned my bow pink would you?”
“Well, I think I would be more concerned about the hair if I were you.” Now Navi was curious, but people who didn’t know him always made comments about his hair.
“I like being different,” Navi chimed.
“Yes, I see.” The king smirked. Now he directed his attention to another. Monguard, I have heard what a great warrior you have become.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” Monguard answered, his head twitching as he stood in the presence of this mighty king, himself bearing a smirk as he stood next to Navi and his pink hair. He wanted to pat himself on the back for this long-lasting prank.
“I bet you l
ike to have frozen out in these mountains,” the king said.
“I’m good, Sire. Thank you for your concern.”
“Would you like some more berries?”
A shocked look came over Monguard’s face but he couldn’t hold back the smirk. “No, Sire. But thank you for the offer.” How did he know? Monguard wondered.
“And who do we have here? If it isn’t Princess Nadora. It is so good to see you.
“Thank you, my Lord. It is good to finally meet you, Sire.”
“How is your father?”
“He is well, my Lord,” she answered.
“You have grown into such a courageous woman of many talents and skills.”
“Thank you, my Lord.”
“And Nuvatian, so good to see you.” Nuvatian was now impressed with more than the awe-inspiring beauty of the land. Wow! This king is really on top of things. He knows our names. “Quiet a fight on your hands I see.” The king said it with a smirk. Nuvatian had an idea he was talking more about his personal life than about the wars on the battlefield. “You are strong and have what it takes.”
“Skeener, good to see you.”
“Thank you, Sire.”
“What happened to your hair?” King Justiz asked Buldar, noticing his burnt-out head.
“Navi’s friend, Sire.”
“Well, with friends like that, who needs any enemies?”
“If you would like, tomorrow morning you can take one of the flying mounts, along with anyone else who might want to join you, and fly to the coast.”
“The coast, Sire?”
“The ocean. It’s just north of here.”
“Really? You mean I get to see the ocean?”
“If you would like.”
Buldar was ecstatic. A beaming smile filled his face that no one could have wiped off.
Coming to Binko, the King turned his nose up at the odor. Binko was quick to apologize. “Navi’s friend got me, too, Sire!”
“I see. Well, it looks like we need to do something about Navi’s friend,” laughed the king.
Now coming to Amase, King Justiz nodded his head and smiled tenderly. “Amase, you look well and strong.” Amase was floored that he knew his name, assuming that the others had met him before. The king leaned in, almost whispering, assuring the lad, “You won’t do it alone.”
“Won’t do what alone?” Sagran whispered, looking around for an answer.
“Strong?” Navi sneered, pointing to Amase’s not-so-impressive bicep. Squeezing Amase’s arm, he repeated, “Strong? Looks rather scrawny to me.” Amase playfully turned his nose up and laughed. He didn't have big bulging arms, but they weren't spaghetti arms either.
When the king came to Windsor he hugged him as though he were an old friend. “You’ve chosen well,” he whispered, reassuring the wizard’s deep concerns.
King Justiz continued to go around to each rider, making some acknowledgements of each one in turn. Then he stepped back and addressed them all. “I know you did not travel this far for small talk. I am also sure you are hungry. Come, let’s get you all cleaned up—especially you, Binko!” The riders laughed. “And let’s do something about Navi’s friend,” he chuckled.
“I will have a change of clothing for each of you, new clothes acceptable for your journey. New boots too, especially you Binko and you Gilgore. I have made arrangements for all of you to stay here for the night.”
“You have giant size boots?” Gilgore was impressed. The king grinned.
“We are much obliged,” Windsor said, bowing once again.
The king smiled and led the riders down a hall, past his immense throne-room.
Peeping into the room as they passed, they could see a throne of gold, with steps leading up to it. It was elegant but not gaudy. The mosaic-tiled floors were embellished with crushed pearls, their design also celebrating the kingdom. The ecru stone walls were carved into a woven design of intricate detail, as though they had been finely crocheted. The refined elegance of the walls was the work of the most excellent stone craftsmen, inspiring and delicate at the same time. What was unusual about the feel of this castle was that it felt breezy, not stuffy like most castles; it smelt fresh, not stale.
Leading them to the far corner of the castle, the King showed them to the bathing areas. Within the palace there were private bathing rooms, fed by the hot springs that piped warm water right into the palace. The king stood stately as the riders passed by him to get cleaned up. As Navi passed by the king noticed the pink smiley face decorating the back of his jacket. A big smirk came across his face, finding the jokester to be very clever in deed.
It was not until after Navi was cleaning up that he got a glimmer of the hair through a shinned piece of metal in the bathing house. He felt like he had scrubbed his head a thousand times but all the pink did was fade. After he gave up, and put on the clothes the king provided, he picked up his dirty clothes. That’s when he noticed the smiley face on his jacket. This too could not be undone, although he scrub it, it would not come out.
He had a sneaky suspicion who was behind this little prank. Berries hu. He wondered how the Immortal King knew about this. He didn’t know Monguard was such a prankster. Navi would get him back—all in time he thought.
When Navi walked out of the bathing area, he had a surprise awaiting him. A new riding jacket hung outside the door. A note was pinned to it that read: Navi. Navi smiled and slid it on. It was not only brown like he wanted but it was the most comfortable and best he had ever owned.
The private bathing areas were magnificent with columns that reached to the ceilings, elaborate stone work of an excellent masonry, and tumbling vines thriving among the moisture. Sheer curtains laced with gold threads strung down wall and fountains ran down other walls. The areas were clean and fragrant with fresh cut lavender standing in a large vase, while thick cotton towels sat on a stone- crafted stand. Vandorf was excited that he was going to get to bathe and even more excited when he saw the cleanliness and exquisite bathing areas fit for a king.
“I could get used to this,” he said smiling.
