The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door)

by William Timothy Murray

  "Then what went wrong?" Robby asked.

  "Much."

  "Will you tell us?"

  So Ashlord told them the tale, oft repeated in the West, but seldom in the eastern lands, except in and around Glareth where the Elifaen still abided in numbers. And Ashlord was a good storyteller, his voice deep and clear, and his way not too hurried, nor too slow. The first part of the tale he told went like this:

  • • •

  No one knows how it came to be, but there sprang a jealousy of Aperion from the Faerekind of the mountains. Not all of the Faere were jealous, but some of those among the elders of the Firstborn. They, who had been upon the earth the longest, felt one of their own should be leader of all the Faere, and they chafed against the authority of Aperion, their younger sibling. Into the deep recesses of their mountain caverns they withdrew. They ceased to take fellowship with the others of the Faere family, in sunlight or in moonlight, in forest or field or river, and so the Mountain Faerekind grew apart from the intent of Beras. They rejected Aperion's guidance and heard not his urgings to rejoin the others of their folk. It was one of those who came to power at last and who first brought sadness into the world by creating poison and death. This one, who was later called by the name of Morgasir, sought to have power over Aperion, and it was he who first spread death into the world, and deceit and treachery. Some say that it was through trickery that he gained from Beras the power to beget other creatures, and that it was he who brought dragons into the world. But I have heard none of the Elifaen bards say so, and they take offense that Beras could be tricked. In any case, Morgasir's creatures were made in the most foul and unspeakable way. The shadow of that power, a corruption of Beras, reaches into every age. It was Beras, not Aperion, who destroyed Morgasir, and his domains and the places where Morgasir and his followers once dwelt sank into the sea by the hand of Beras. That place remains unto this day, in the far reaches of the world to the south and west, and it is called the Craggy Sea, a vast sea choked with great rocks, full of treacherous currents and shallows, beset with fog and storms so that no ship can pass through it.

  Evil though Morgasir was, some of his followers and some of his creatures were permitted by Beras to escape his wrath, for no creature made by the hand of the Creator is purely evil. Eons passed. Peace and tranquility returned to the world, and the passing of time upon the earth was not counted or noticed. Then there appeared dragons in the lands of the far south, rising up from the depths of the sea, from that place of Morgasir that was destroyed, and they brought with them fire and destruction to the lush forests and fields. Like Morgasir, they, too, beget new creatures to toil and to labor for them and to be as slaves. Great alarm swept the Faerekind. They witnessed the death and disappearance of many trees and animals, and saw for the first time ever death come to some of their own Faere brethren. Thus the world was filled with fear. But it was at this time also that Beras made a way for offspring to come of all living creatures so that they might have some hope of continuing their own kind. And so, for the first time, the love of family came to the Faerekind, as children were born unto them.

  Many of the Faere retreated from the devastated lands, but some grumbled against Aperion and against Beras, too.

  "We do not know these dragon creatures, nor their slaves," Aperion argued, "and Beras is silent concerning them."

  "Let us fashion the land over," said some. "Let us make the rivers run dry from those lands, and let us coax Sir Sun with his heat to parch these unwanted ones."

  Those that spoke thus to Aperion then departed from him, and they strove in the earth and sky and changed the path of the rivers and made the land of the Dragonkind harsh and barren. This angered Aperion who said only Beras may have such power. Such was Aperion's ire that he grew fearsome in aspect to his own kind. Indeed, even those that reshaped the lands regretted what they had done, but they were powerless to undo their work. Yet, as a result of their labors, the dragons died away or receded back into the seas or burrowed into deep places into the earth where they yet grumble, sometimes sending forth their flames and their molten bile high into the sky and flowing across the lands, burning the plains with lava and covering vast areas with soot and ash. Even to this day, they sometimes do this.

  The Dragonkind, who were the offspring of the monsters and had been made to be their slaves, dwindled in numbers when their former masters were destroyed, and once again peace came into the world.

  But there was one among the Faerekind who sought to undo Aperion. He was called Secundur and had been a pupil of Morgasir. Secundur was fond of shadowy places and longed to take up the work of his former master. He nurtured resentment among the Faerekind who had lost their forests to the desert, and by his soft urges they were made to feel discontented. He gathered around him all those who, like himself, had escaped the destruction of Morgasir. Though they were few, they made much mischief among the other Faerekind by whispering against Aperion, and they even hissed against Beras when they dared. It is said that Secundur courted even the Dragonkind of the parched places, seeking to provoke them, but those people for the most part shunned and mistrusted him. The desert people eked out a miserable existence, but they considered themselves free of their former masters, the dragons who were now destroyed or in hiding.

  In spite of all these things, the world was still favored by Beras, and the Faere lived happily and without need but for sunlight and moonlight. Dew filled the ever-blooming flowers with nectar to delight the lips of the Faerekind, and the birds sang joyously to delight the ear. With their broad and airy wings, the Faere skipped along the waters and danced among the green forest treetops, and with the First Tongue, they took pleasure in conversation with every creature, every tree and blade of grass, and every stone. And their communion with each other brought forth for the first time children of their own kind, without pain or travail, and new joys were brought into the world.

  One day, some of the Dragonkind appeared among the green hills of the north saying they were invited to feast with the Faerekind. As it turned out, it was Secundur who had invited them and welcomed them. Yet many of the Faere were mistrustful of these crude creatures who walked with their feet and were covered with the dust of their travels. Many of the Faere who had been driven out from their lands by the dragons remained aloof and resentful of the guests. But Aperion welcomed them, saying, "Are you not also the children of Beras, though your coming into the world was sad and harsh? Why should we not enjoy together the taste of these fruits and share with one another our songs and our laughter?"

  Indeed, it was perceived by many that the Dragonkind and the Faerekind had much in common, and each found beauty where they lived. And it was shown by Secundur that, though the Dragonkind had no wings, they were little different from the Faere. The women of the Dragonkind were especially beautiful, and they aroused admiration for their poise and their grace. These women brought with them gifts made by their own hands of gold and ruby and lapis. Secundur was pleased, for it was he who showed them the art of making such things, and he well knew what the outcome would be.

  "What is this?" one of the Faere cried out upon seeing the ruby-encrusted staff being presented to Aperion. "This staff is the arm of my old friend, a great and mighty cedar who once lived in the southlands!"

  And another cried, seeing the emeralds that lined a headpiece being offered, "And these are the eyes of my dear friend the hare who danced and played in the meadows of the southlands!"

  And so great discord came among them, prodded by the smiling whispers of Secundur.

  "Aperion," Secundur breathed from the shadow of an elm tree, "it does not seem fitting that such gifts should be accepted. Our people grow angry, and their hearts turn against our guests. Give back these things and send the Dragonkind away."

  This Aperion reluctantly did, apologizing for the temperament of his own kind and begging the guests to take with them what food they wished.

  "I fear for you," he told them, "for I have never seen my peo
ple act in this manner. But I will see you safely home. Let us wish for a time when such things may be forgotten and when we may be friends."

  And so Aperion accompanied them away, back into the desert lands, and he walked upon the ground as they did to keep their company and to converse with them all along the way for many many leagues. At last, when they reached their homes, he bade them farewell and took to the air with his wings and returned to his own kind in the north.

  Some stories say that when Aperion returned, he spoke to his own people with anger in his face and in his voice, saying, "Who are we to deny communion with those others of this world who live and breathe? What fault of theirs is it that they may live in lands made barren by evil doers and misguided mischief-makers? What fault of theirs is it that they do not know how to speak with the things of the world? But are these not also children of Beras, who come from the same Font of Creation that brought forth us all? And look you at their plight, for they live but for a very short while, toiling against the ground without wings. Their lives are full of struggles, and then they quickly pass away. Yet we remain. I say unto you: Know now time, its measure and the weight of its passage! Let the day end, and let darkness come to the lands to cause you to think on the end of life for creatures such as these. And, after a while, let day come back anew to remind you that life has its beginnings out of darkness. Give thanks that you enjoy the creations of Beras as you do and are joined with him. Let your heart ponder what otherwise may be!"

  And as he spoke, Sir Sun shrank away and sank low into the ground for the first time ever since the world was made, and the sky was filled with the red fire of his trailing robes. Lady Moon followed soon afterwards, alone and without her bright husband, hiding her face behind her hands in shame. All of the Faerekind shuddered at the coming dark of the First Night upon the earth. Yet, by this act, the Dragonkind were given relief from Sir Sun's pitiless gaze, and for the first time the cool of the night air was known in their lands, and they praised and thanked Beras for the respite.

  Other stories say that the day and the night were made by Secundur's trickery, and was not Aperion's doing. Regardless, Secundur reveled in the hiding dark of night. He went about with ease and spoke to the others, whispering, "Why does Aperion put the creatures of the desert lands before us? Why does he give greater regard to those who live on lands that were taken from us?" And to others he said, "Aperion has turned away from Beras and has taken favor with those that Beras has punished." Thus he went, stirring dark thoughts among many.

  He went also to the far-off Dragonkind and floated amongst them while they rested in the cool of the evenings. There he went about from one to another.

  "Why should it be," he spoke, leaning over their shoulders with his lips near their ears, "that those of the northern lands may live easily and without struggle when you must scrape and toil?" And to others he declared, "Aperion sets himself up as a god, and he cares not if he offends you by refusing your gifts and your company. Yet you are the proud offspring of dragons!"

  Thus for many passings of the days and nights without count, Secundur patiently aroused some of the Faerekind to doubts and to subtle anger. And he did not neglect the Dragonkind, either, going amongst them to spread worry, resentment, and discord.

  There was one among the Firstborn who began to think as Secundur suggested, and yet he also sought to resist Secundur's words. These days, his name is remembered as Cupeldain, and he was one of those who had once favored the coastal forests far to the south and was driven out by the dragons who came from the sea. It was Cupeldain, too, some say, who had striven with rock and river to drive out the dragons and who, with some others lost to memory, angered Aperion by that work. Cupeldain had not forgotten Aperion's anger, nor the shame of his rebuke, but his spirit had arisen in those places now lost to the world, and Secundur's words filled him with melancholy longings for what was no more. Yet Cupeldain had not the power to restore the forests of the south, even though the dragons were gone. It was he who took to heart Aperion's admonishments, and he, more than the others, grieved not only at his loss but also at his failure to restore life to those lands and make them as they once were. Never could he forget the shame of attempting what only Beras might do.

  "Aperion's words were true," Cupeldain said to Secundur. "Look at our failure. It was we, not Aperion, who strove to be gods and to do what Beras has not seen fit to do. The dragons are gone, but our seeds grow not in the southlands. Sand and rock are parched, and the rivers we took away cannot be put back in their old courses. Surely it is as Aperion has spoken, that it is not our place to create but only to rejoice in that which is, and, if it must be so, to mourn and remember that which is no more."

  This angered Secundur, for he knew Cupeldain to be powerful and that Cupeldain enjoyed the conversation of rock and river and would be a mighty ally if only he could be convinced.

  "If Beras is in all things the intent of Creation," Secundur countered, "then how may it be that those things have come to pass and that the spawn of the dragons now roam the dry lands once lush with leaf, root, and twig? Is it not given to us by Beras to decide and to judge? Is that not why Aperion claims to speak for Beras?"

  In this manner Secundur slowly urged Cupeldain, coming to him in the shadows of the forest or in the darkness of night. But Cupeldain listened not, it seemed, and Secundur grew impatient and went then to the Dragonkind.

  "Why should you struggle so?" he asked them, "when just over yon mountains is cool-flowing water, vines heavy with sweet grape and berry, trees laden with hearty nuts and with peaches gold and juicy?"

  "We are not welcome there," was the reply from one.

  "This is our place," said another, "given to us by our dragon-fathers."

  So Secundur set about causing strife among the Dragonkind, and with his whisperings and shadowy words he created turmoil among them so that they fought among themselves and increased their struggles. This was difficult for Secundur to do, for there are few shadows in the Dragonlands, and Lady Moon watches brightly at night. And the Dragonkind people were mysterious to him. Though he knew that they were the products of dragons and that those dragons somehow were the creatures of his former tutor, Morgasir, Secundur did not understand their resistance to him nor the mystery of their existence. For how could the rude dragon sire such a fair likeness, though crude, of the form of the Faere folk?

  Still, for generation after generation of Dragonkind, Secundur patiently plied them with doubts and with longings until there rose up among them one who heeded Secundur's words. His name was Kalzar, a chief of one of the great tribes of the barren lands. To this tribe Secundur showed the secrets of smelting iron and forging weapons and tools. He suggested to Kalzar that he, among all his peoples, was the true descendant of the dragons, and that, with the secret of fire and steel, he held the power of the sun itself.

  As Kalzar came to have greater power over his kind, Secundur went also to Cupeldain and said, "Do you not see the stirrings of the south? Yet Aperion does nothing and claims to have kinship with them through Beras. Yet they do not rejoice in life as we do. They do not follow the intent of creation. See how they fight and slay one another? This they do without remorse. And now there is one, named Kalzar, who rises to great power in those lands. He builds cities and commands legions who worship him as a god. Yet Aperion cares not that they do these things."

  "What is it to us?" Cupeldain replied. "We have our lands and they have theirs. If Beras is offended, let him make a change. Why do you whisper to me these thoughts and try to put fear in my heart?"

  "Is it fear to be aware? Is it fear to be prepared to protect our lands? Or is it folly to be idle as Aperion is and to invite the followers of Kalzar into these untouched valleys."

  "What may we do, anyway? Look at our last efforts! In our effort to destroy the dragon, we only made a place for these Dragonkind."

  "You must learn what they have learned," said Secundur. "Make steel as they have. Forge and mill. Cut stone and
raise up walls."

  To this Cupeldain eventually agreed, and so he and those also convinced by Secundur delved into rock and fire, forged weapons and built airy cities of glass and stone. They ceased in their conversations with oak and granite, refrained from singing with river and reed.

  Aperion, when he saw this, went to Cupeldain and said, "Why have you forsaken our ways and taken up the works of your own hands over that which Beras has provided?"

  "We seek not to offend Beras," Cupeldain replied, "but only to learn and take joy in the abilities that Beras gave us. We wish to fashion with our own hands pleasing things for ourselves and, in doing so, to discover and rejoice in new things."

  "For what purpose do you build these temples? Are not the halls of the forest and the columns of the mountains seemly enough places to rejoice?"

  "We build them in fond imitation of the earth."

  "Why do you then strike iron from the stones and make fire to forge metals?"

  "The stone and the trees are willing to our hands, or else they would not give up their metal or their heat."

  "For what use do you make, then, these sharp implements of bright steel? And what do you make when you stretch sinew across the cut and carved branch?"

  "These swords we make because they are beautiful to hold, and they have within them mysterious powers of life and death. These instruments we make with wood and string to invent music like the brook does or the gurgling stream. Also, we may use these to send short branches far into the air as birds in swift flight."