Heirs of Prophecy

by M. A. Rothman

  “And even if he were a kind one,” the redbeard added, “we could never take him back to camp without frightening the rest of the clan.”

  “And,” said another, “once we allow an ogre on our land, how would we distinguish him from his violent brothers and sisters? They all look the same to me.”

  The graybeard, Mattias, nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right, my friends, as always. We need a way to ensure that this ogre is different from his brethren.” He turned to face Ohaobbok. “Ogre, do you have any suggestions?”

  Ohaobbok thought for a moment, then had an idea. “What if I were to crush some purple berries on my right shoulder? It would leave a stain. And in this way, you could tell me apart from other ogres.”

  Mattias looked unconvinced. “How could we be sure some other ogre might not do the same to trick us into trusting him?”

  Ohaobbok smiled. “I’m the only ogre in the Bloody Fist Clan who would consider even touching those berries, let alone mashing them into his shoulder.”

  Mattias returned his smile. “Then dat is a wonderful idea. Okay then. Let’s vote. All in favor of accepting Ohaobbok as a dwarf-friend as long as he maintains the peace and is willing to help us in times of dire need?”

  Of the six dwarves standing in a half circle, five said “Aye!” The other was the redbeard. For a long moment he remained silent. Then finally he mumbled a grudging “Aye.”

  With much flourish, Mattias bowed before Ohaobbok. “I, Mattias Hammerthrower, head of the Hammerthrower Clan and lead representative of dis council of chiefs, welcome you, Ohaobbok of the Bloody Fist Clan, as dwarf-friend.”

  Ohaobbok beamed.

  Mattias turned to the other dwarves. “Let your clans know to be lookin’ for dis ogre. Remember, if’n there is a purple stain on his shoulder, he isn’t to be attacked.”

  The other dwarves nodded, though the redbeard still looked unhappy.

  Mattias faced Ohaobbok once more. “You must understand, my new friend, dat it’ll be some time before da other dwarves know of dis agreement. So I believe dat, fer now, it be best for us to escort ye safely from our grounds.”

  Ohaobbok nodded. “This is more than I could have ever believed possible. I’ve always wanted to join your people. I have so many questions. There is only so much one can learn from observing a cave entrance.”

  Mattias laughed. “A cave entrance? Is dat what ye tink this is?”

  Ohaobbok shrugged.

  Mattias shook his head. “Dis is much more dan dat. Yer lookin’ at da entrance to da resting place of da First Protector.”

  Ohaobbok had no idea what that meant, but he did understand what a resting place was. “Someone’s buried in there?”

  Mattias smiled and looked at the others. “Let’s eat out here,” he said. “We can tell stories of days gone by.”

  The dwarves set up a fire and cooked a sizable quantity of food that was unfamiliar to Ohaobbok. There were roots and tubers, some of them brown, tiny, and round, others brightly colored and stick-like. One particularly unappetizing item looked rather like a tiny four-legged creature roasting on a skewer. Two of the dwarves rolled a barrel into the clearing, to the cheers of the rest. Mattias tapped the barrel, and an amber liquid spilled forth. He filled eight mugs.

  As the fire roared and the sun set, Mattias set a giant plate of food at Ohaobbok’s feet. “Here ye are, my new friend. Please enjoy the hospitality of the Hammerthrower Clan.” He handed one of the mugs up to him. “I’m sorry I dun have any ogre-sized mugs for the ale, but as you might suspect, I couldn’t have imagined needing such a ting when I left home dis morning.”

  Thanking Mattias, Ohaobbok took up one of the roots from his plate. He was surprised to find that he enjoyed it immensely. But the ale was bitter and had a strange, bubbly effervescence that didn’t appeal to him.

  “Those are called potatoes,” Mattias said as Ohaobbok ate. “And those are called carrots.”

  Ohaobbok ate the roots happily, but he avoided the piece of meat in the middle of his plate. As always, the thought of eating the flesh of an animal, with its crispy skin and charred fat, made him feel queasy. Instead, he tried the ale a few more times. He found that the more he drank it, the more he started to enjoy it.

  “You no be likin’ da meat?” Mattias asked him after a time.

  Ohaobbok thought carefully about how to respond, for he didn’t want to upset his host. “I loved the roots,” he explained diplomatically. “I have never had carrots or potatoes, but I found them to be delicious. I like the ale as well—I didn’t care for it at first, but now I have started to enjoy it.”

  “And the meat?” Mattias repeated.

  “I’m sorry, Mattias, I cannot eat this meat. I’m sure it’s prepared well, but I don’t eat meat of any kind. You may have it, if you like.”

  Mattias stared up at Ohaobbok for a long moment, and the color drained from his cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?” Ohaobbok asked. “I hope I haven’t angered you. My refusal to eat meat infuriates my mother. She beats me extra hard every time.”

  Mattias shook his head. “No, my friend. You haven’t angered me. Rather, you have fulfilled a prophecy.” He stood to his full three feet and cupped his hands to either side of his mouth to announce his words to the small group chattering boisterously all around. “Everyone stop and listen. The days of awakenin’ are upon us!”

  The gabbing dwarves stopped in dead silence. Mattias had certainly gotten their attention.

  And then just as quickly as they had fallen silent, the dwarves broke into a cacophony of argument.

  “Grandfather,” Andrea said, tugging on the leg of the old dwarf’s pants, “what does that mean? What are the days of awakenin’?”

  Mattias motioned for everyone to gather round in a circle. Ohaobbok sat directly across from Mattias.

  “In da time of my great-great-grandfather,” Mattias began, “da dwarves of Trimoria were pitched in a life-and-death struggle against da demon horde. We all know da story of how da First Protector drove da demons back and sealed Trimoria off from further attack. And as we all know, in dis cave lies the First Protector. He is neither alive, nor is he dead. In dis way, he waits for the right time to come back into da world to help finish what he started.”

  “Is da First Protector’s state da reason we recall his great deeds in our dreams?” Andrea asked.

  Mattias nodded. “Aye, it be just so. Da dreams dat all sentient beings in Trimoria receive are derived from the still-living power of the First Protector. We harken to his purpose through the words of prophecy.”

  The old dwarf cleared his throat as if readying himself to recite something well remembered. “Through the battle dat has passed, da Protector lived for his people. Only when da Protector and his progeny die will he return to finish what was started.”

  Ohaobbok had never heard these words before, and wondered what they meant.

  “There is more to da prophecy dat few know,” Mattias continued. “Dis knowledge was handed directly from da First Protector to my great-great-grandfather, to his son, and his son, and eventually to me. I expected to pass dis information to my son near my death, but da time has come now to reveal it.”

  “Why now?” the red-bearded dwarf yelled.

  Mattias smiled at his friend. “Because da second part of the prophecy reveals da time and place for such things.”

  Again the old dwarf leaned back, readying himself to repeat a memorized passage. “There will be signs to signify da return of da First Protector. There will come a time when a humble mage arrives in Trimoria, a man possessed of wondrous magical powers. His children will be of both magic and might. The mage’s elder son will grow to lead the Protector’s wizard troops against da minions of da ultimate evil. His mighty younger son will come to lead da Protector’s army. You will know dat da time of da First Protector’s awakenin’ is upon you when you are greeted by a saintly ogre dat eats no meat. Dis ogre will serve as guardian in da abyss, when we face da ultimat
e evil.”

  With this, Ohaobbok felt all eyes turn to him and then to his plate—and to the chunks of meat that remained untouched.

  Chaos erupted. Everyone spoke at once. When one of the dwarves knelt before Ohaobbok and mumbled something with tears streaming down his face. Ohaobbok felt a sudden mixture of confusion and panic. But Andrea stepped up beside Ohaobbok and gave his arm a gentle hug. “I’m proud to consider ye a friend,” she whispered.

  Mattias silenced them all with a horn that seemed to shake the forest all around. The bickering dwarves covered their ears as if in pain.

  “Given dat our guest is clearly the ogre of prophecy,” Mattias said calmly, “I want to first apologize to him for da rude treatment we showed him at first. To put to rest any debate, I proclaim dat dis ogre, da honorable Ohaobbok of da Bloody Fist Clan, is da same ogre described in prophecy. What say you all?”

  The dwarf with the tiny bells woven into his beard narrowed his eyes at Ohaobbok. “Ogre, why did you eat only da vegetables dat you were given and not da meat?”

  Ohaobbok shrugged. “I find meat disgusting. I get physically ill simply thinking of it. My mother and siblings have beaten me repeatedly because they believe this aversion is abhorrent.”

  “And ye did nothing to change yer ways?”

  “I’ve tried,” Ohaobbok said sadly, “but nothing’s worked. I find that I can eat only berries and bark. Although now that I have tried these roots, I believe I’ll have to discover where they grow.”

  The red-bearded dwarf appeared almost to be crying. “So ye don’t eat meat of any kind?”

  “More than that,” Ohaobbok insisted. “I cannot eat meat of any kind.”

  “Mattias,” the red-beard said, tears now spilling down his cheeks, “I agree with your proclamation dat da ogre, Ohaobbok, is da ogre of prophecy. I also want to apologize for my behavior earlier today.”

  Mattias knelt before Ohaobbok. “I affirm thee guardian of the prophecy as well as dwarf-friend.”

  To Ohaobbok’s surprise, the other dwarves all bent the knee to swear their loyalty to him as well.

  Mattias was the first to stand. “I would invite ye to share the cave with us, but it would be difficult for you to enter, and assuredly quite uncomfortable for you. Instead, I’ll arrange fer a proper escort to guide ye home.”

  Ohaobbok’s mind reeled with what he’d just been told. Observer, attacker, rescuer, friend, and now guardian—all in the span of an evening?

  “But what about da prophecy?” Andrea asked. “Shouldn’t he stay to usher in the First Protector’s return?”

  Mattias shook his head. “Ohaobbok is merely da beginning of the prophecy. Da First Protector said nuthin’ of how long it would be after da ogre’s appearance before he returned. It could be a day. It could be a decade. Der’s no way to know.”

  “I would like to go back to collect a few of my possessions, in any case,” Ohaobbok said. “But if it please you, after tonight, I would prefer to stay among your people. I feel more welcome here, and if our fates are to be so enmeshed, then—”

  “Say no more,” Mattias interrupted with a smile. “It would be our great honor fer ye to stay amongst us.”

  As the moon rose in the sky, Ohaobbok followed his escort along a path leading up the mountain and into the territories of the Bloody Fist Clan. When they reached a large boulder, they stopped.

  “We’ll meet here in da morning,” the leader said, “and escort you back.”

  Ohaobbok waved his thanks and proceeded up the mountain. But as he neared his village, he decided he would rather sleep out here rather than enter into the main gathering of his clan. He would prefer to avoid his people for now. In the morning, he would sneak into his home and gather his things without being seen—and without facing his mother’s inevitable wrath.

  Finding a crevice beneath an overhang, Ohaobbok lay down to sleep in Bloody Fist territory for the last time.

  He slept longer than usual, because the sun’s position when he awoke suggested a late-morning hour. He rose and made his way to the village, moving as quietly as an ogre could. He expected not to see anyone around, since much of the village hunted during the day, but he didn’t want to take the chance of stumbling into someone who might recognize him.

  Fortunately, he encountered no one, and found his hut unoccupied. He went straight to the corner to lift the rock where he kept the collection of shiny objects he’d been gathering since he was a small ogre. But just as he set the rock back down, he heard a noise behind him.

  His mother was standing directly behind him.

  She loomed over him, twelve feet tall and more than twice his weight. And as she sniffed at him, her face filled with fury.

  “Dorf!” she grunted.

  Ohaobbok had never seen his mother look so angry. Her eyes had turned blood-red.

  “Dorf no food?” she barked. “Ohaobbok Dorf Clan!”

  With that pronouncement of guilt, Ohaobbok’s mother lifted him up and held him over her head. He struggled futilely in her grasp. She’d hit him in the past, and kicked him, but she’d never lifted him over her head in this way. And as she carried him from the hut and outside the village, Ohaobbok was paralyzed with fear.

  And with good reason. For before he could even deduce his mother’s intent, she had brought him to the precipice overlooking the valley below the clan’s territory. And without another word, just a final grunt, she flung him into the abyss.

  Is This Magic

  The sun had just dropped below the horizon as Ryan followed Sloane and his family along the road to the Lancaster home.

  “Ryan,” Dad said, “tomorrow morning, you and I will experiment with this lightning phenomenon. We can practice in the smithy where we’re free from prying eyes.”

  “But what about Throll’s counsel on magic?” Mom protested.

  Dad offered a calming hand to his wife. “We need to understand his abilities if he’s to learn how to control them. We don’t want him hurting himself—or anyone else.”

  “Well, the two of you aren’t going to be doing any testing without me around,” Mom said. “If someone gets hurt, I want to be there to help.”

  Ryan saw his father draw a breath to protest, but the look that crossed his face suggested he knew better than to argue. “Fine.”

  “I can’t wait,” Aaron said, hopping and pumping his fists at the air. “This is going to be awesome!”

  “Sorry, Aaron. You’re not invited,” Dad said.

  Aaron stopped shadowboxing. “What? Why? That isn’t fair! I’m the one who loves working in the smithy! Why should I have to stay home when Ryan gets to go?”

  “I’m not saying you can’t come back to the smithy ever again. Just tomorrow, for Ryan’s first day of practice. It could be dangerous, and I don’t want to put you in harm’s way.” He turned to Sloane. “Can Aaron help you with your chores tomorrow morning? I’ll need you to keep him out of trouble.”

  Sloane winked at Aaron. “You bet. I have lots of work he can do. Tomorrow we’ll be plowing the eastern field in preparation for the summer crop.”

  “Great,” Aaron grumbled. “More digging in the dirt.”

  “There’s a beautiful view for you to enjoy, at least,” Sloane said with a chuckle. “The eastern field lies beneath the mountains. Plenty to see.”

  “Joy,” Aaron said.

  Sloane ribbed him. “Cheer up. You get to drive the ox!”

  Aaron’s expression turned hopeful in an instant. “Drive an ox?”

  Sloane smiled. “I’ll explain it all tomorrow morning.”

  They reached the house and walked inside. Ryan immediately breathed in the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meat. His mouth watered in anticipation.

  “Throll isn’t home yet, but I expect him at any minute,” Gwen announced. She was working a wooden mixing bowl in her hand. “Sloane, help me by setting the table.”

  Ryan hurried to help Sloane, and his mother went to help Gwen. Dad stopped to examine t
he glowing hammer from the smithy, peering at it from all sides.

  A few minutes later, Throll entered. He stopped short and raised an eyebrow at the hammer in Dad’s hands. “I’m sure that hammer has a story.”

  Dad laughed. “A long one. We should save that for dinner. For now, would you like to see the rest of the day’s work?”

  Ryan was eager to see Throll’s reaction, so he quickly finished his portion of the table-setting duties and joined the men in the living room. Throll was looking at the bag of arrowheads they’d made.

  “These are perfect!” he said happily. “How many did you make?”

  “About three hundred,” Dad said, sounding proud.

  Ryan’s heart quickened as his father next handed over the leather-bound package. “This is a gift,” Dad said.

  Throll looked surprised, but accepted the offering. “What is it?” he asked.

  Dad laughed. “Where I come, it’s a tradition that a gift is wrapped before presented to a friend. It’s also tradition that the receiver of the gift not ask what it is before unwrapping it.”

  Throll grinned and began unraveling the leather apron. As he pulled aside the last wrapping, the new blade glittered in the firelight. A look of astonishment crossed his face.

  “You did this today?” Throll asked.

  “It was a group effort,” Dad said, motioning to Ryan and Aaron, “but yes.” He went on to explain the unique construction methods he had employed, and how it would lead to the sword being extremely tough and flexible while also maintaining its sharp edge. He shared how he’d hacked several logs to pieces during the blade’s test run.

  Looking doubtful, Throll tested the edge of the sword with his thumb. He then swung it a bit, apparently measuring its balance. “You actually chopped logs with this? Are you crazy?”

  Dad shrugged sheepishly. “I wanted to test its capabilities.”

  “Jared, my friend,” Throll said through a chuckle, “you are a genius. I’ve never seen a sword to match the likes of this. It almost feels alive in my hand.” He swung the sword in the air a few times before sitting down and laying the blade over his thighs. By now, his expression had turned serious. “But I would suggest that you not make all your swords to this same quality. If you were to make swords unrivaled in these lands, it would draw too much attention to you. Besides, I would hate to see a sword such as this turned against me or our families.”