The Travelers' Song

by Brendan O'Gara

  Chapter Twenty

  Darr burst into the Wayfinder, nearly knocking the heavy door and its steel bindings off the wall. Wandalor rushed past him and into the room, the patrons of the establishment all stunned into silence. Wandalor waved his arms at a long table and shouted incoherently at people to get out of his way. Thalin came next, darkening the door as he passed through it with Johan still on his shoulders, Gadlin not far behind.

  “Here, put him here,” Wandalor said as he shoved plates of food and pitchers of liquid scattering to the floor. Looking at the nearest person, he directed, “You, get an apothecary.” Gadlin reached with his left hand and thought better of it and reached with his right instead, grasping a man he took for a woodsman by his clothes and the visible calluses on his hands. “Woodsman, I ask you in the name of Vidar the god of silence and of the forest. Go bring a town’s guard and speak to the magistrate. Tell them what you have seen here, bid they come to our aid.”

  Wandalor shrugged, and his cloak stiffened for him to step out of it. The cloak stood in place. He moved quickly to pull his bag off of his shoulder and place it on the table near Johan, just a few inches from his head. Wandalor looked at his friend, closed his eyes, and spoke a single word in his heart before whispering, “Sanitatem”. He reached for and opened his satchel. He slowly rotated his hand into the darkness of the bag. He felt his hand and arm drag through the Eldritch of travel. He extended his fingers into the darkness, searching through the abyss, thick like mud and oil sludge. After a few decade-long minutes, he felt the spine of a book. The sorcerer ran his fingers down the back of it until he could feel the iron clasp. He snaked his fingers to touch the chain holding the book in place, attached to the shelf like an umbilical cord. Wandalor gripped the links and pulled mightily for the book to come to him. With a upward motion of his arm the book come out of the bag, still firmly attached to its home. The tome he pulled out of the bag was seemingly too big to have fit in the satchel, yet there it was. Sitting solid in the experienced hands of Wandalor. He whispered again, this time to the book. “Patentibus.”

  Before he let the tome fully rest on the table, the book sat up on its spine and opened for Wandalor. The pages fluttered and turned at the binding with great speed. The book appeared to be a living thing, searching the pages for an incantation for Wandalor to read. When the spell was found the tome obediently lay flat on its back. Wandalor read the words written in a language as ancient as the world. He spoke the words in that tongue, not bothering to translate, and called up Eldritch power. Wandalor began to glow with an iridescent blue flame all along his fingers, and beamed the same hue from his eyes. He focused his will into his friend who lay silent on the table before him. Thalin saw there was no change in Johan’s condition. The hostler, unaware of what he was walking into, came in from the stables. He stood for a moment, watching the crowd of onlookers that had formed.

  Darr moved from the front door to the table where all of his friends were gathered. He paused and scanned the crowd for possible threats or surprises. He was not disappointed. He found one; not a threat, but certainly a surprise. Darr saw Charlotte slip into the tavern from the side door that led out to the stables. What was it she said was her reason for traveling to Blackweb? Darr thought. Charlotte saw Johan on the table. She gasped. Not wanting to focus on what she could possibly be doing out on her own at the moment, Darr turned his attention to his companions and moved to help Johan.

  Gadlin finished speaking to the man at the door and almost tripped over Darr as the two men made their way to the table where Johan lay. Wandalor stood over him. Gadlin placed his hand on Darr to get his attention. “Thank you, Darr, and thank your God as well. Without you and Him I don’t even want to think about what kind of pain I would be in right now.”

  Darr looked at his friend. “We’re not mercenaries. We all have been pressed, conscripted, into the service of Mooreclasian. It is my sacred duty to keep you, all of us, as healthy and fit as possible. As things sit I now see Charlotte as a cadet to our little band, so I must keep her well also. I could no more let you suffer than I could cut off my own hand and you are welcome.”

  Thalin stood on the opposite side of the table from Wandalor. His hands gripped the sea-weathered planks of what was once the deck of a ship that had made countless voyages to who knows where, that were now the long table in the Wayfinder on which Johan now rested. Seeing that the ancient Eldritch used by Wandalor had no effect on Johan, Thalin’s own heart sank and he bowed his head. Charlotte moved in to comfort Thalin. She placed her hand on his shoulder as he looked at her, unable to hide his emotion from this girl who was a stranger still to him.

  Wandalor, not deterred, picked up the book, slammed it closed, stuffed it back into the bag, and concentrated one more time. Charlotte took close note of his actions. “Fike,” Wandalor cursed in Dwarven, then concentrated again. “Sanitatem” came once more from his lips. Wandalor reached in the bag again, deeper this time. Onlookers were shocked, as his arm did not appear at the other side of the table. He rooted around in the cold, viscous traveling Eldritch until a glint could be seen in his eye. Charlotte, watching him, studied his every move and expression. Wandalor shifted his weight and pulled forth a book. With relief in his eyes he said, “Patentibus.”

  Before the tome was fully out of the bag, it began to open for Wandalor. Like the first book the pages fluttered and turned at speeds so fast they threatened to tear from the book. The movement stopped at an incantation that Wandalor was wanting to read. In a language as ancient as the Dwarves’ tongue that called up Eldritch power, Wandalor read. He began to glow with a strong blue green flame all along his fingers and beaming from his eyes. He focused his will onto Johan, who lay silent on the table before him. There was still no change. Johan’s wounds continued to bleed, his body still trembled, and his breathing slowed.

  Wandalor cursed aloud again and, unabashed, slammed his hands flat on the table. “Johan, you clod-headed, beef brained bugbear! Get up! I just hit you with two of the most powerful incantations I can summon! You should be dancing a jig in the corner with the barmaids! Not lying there like a dead snake!” Wandalor screamed down at his friend. The owner of the establishment, One Cut, moved to the doorway and out his door, looking for the men in black, wary.

  Darr snorted, and moved around the table to the opposite side of Wandalor. He said with quiet authority, “For a person who seems to read as much as you do, you are quite boneheaded.”

  “The hades did you just say to me, Paladin,” Wandalor shot back at Darr, pointing at him.

  “Wandalor, you are a Sorcerer, Thalin is a Druid, but neither one of you is a healer. Almost every fight we get into afterwards, I heal you and everyone else. I use the power of the God of Light to heal.” Darr’s tone dripped with thick condescension like a cold pail of water on Wandalor. With his last statement Darr took a knee where he stood. He pulled his holy symbol from around his neck, held it in his left hand, and placed his right hand on Johan. Then Darr began to pray.

  “Almighty Lord of Light, Protector of souls, witness me in my time of need. Grant me wisdom so I might shed my hardships. I request this of You with true devotion, Oh infinite light. Provide me with Your eternal wisdom. Magnificent Father, Creator of all life, with troubled heart I come to You. Cleanse this soul so he might go forth in Your name. I plead this of You with a sincere heart, Oh Bringer of Light. Anoint me with Your infinite favor. Heal this man.”

  The air within the Wayfinder grew heavy as a stillness fell over the people in the place. A flash of amber light came up from the floor under where Darr’s knee rested. Johan’s cuts and gashes sealed as light washed over him. The same was true for all the patrons and persons present. Any light wound that was evident healed. Any bruise lost its color. Those in the tavern with broken bones, their bones mended. Within the span of one minute, Darr’s prayer ended and the amber light faded. The patrons of the tavern were amazed at the power of Darr and his God of Light. No one spoke. Wandalor lo
oked down at Johan and waited. Charlotte grasped Thalin’s shoulder as he reached out to hold Johan’s hand.

  After several minutes, Gadlin finally spoke. “No change.” Gadlin sighed and continued, “That was amazing, Darr. Your God is powerful. That-that healing went beyond any healing you have ever done. It’s just not enough.”

  Thalin placed both hands on Johan.

  “What, now you think you can do better? Go ahead, give it a try.” Darr shot at Thalin in despair.

  “No, I know I can’t. I can still feel his life. The air and blood that flows is slowing down inside of him. Darr, this is a curse of the old gods. That kimera was created using old Eldritch, so we must use old Eldritch to cure him or find a way to do so,” Thalin said flatly. There was a long silence. No murmurings from the full room were heard.

  Gadlin moved closer to the table and stood at Johan’s feet. He reached for him with one hand and grasped Johan’s boot, a tear trickling down Gadlin’s cheek. Then fury overtook grief. “I don’t claim to know what amounts to worm shit about Eldritch. What I do know is that one of you three is going to do something, anything, and it’s going to make him better. Figure it out and do it now!” Gadlin’s volume increased with each word he spoke.

  “And if we can’t? Threatening us for our failing to revive our friend won’t help him. Why not go back to the cave, dig up the kimera, and see if you can make up a poultice from the remnants you find... Oh wait, you can’t do that since the ground swallowed up the cave,” Darr said to Gadlin, his voice full of anger and pain.

  “Look, I know we don’t get along all the time. I know you just shot your wad with the best you could do but he didn’t get up,” Gadlin shot back and flung his arms out over Johan. Thalin looked at the onlookers and assured them that the conversation being had was a real one. One Cut nervously bounced on his feet and looked out again. He could see down the road to where the town square was located. He saw dust begin to turn up in the air. He hoped it was the mayor and not the men in black coming back.

  Charlotte decided to go to the head of the table next to Wandalor. She clamored and pushed around tables, chairs, gawkers, and crying women to get there. “I agree, Wandalor; the Eldritch of the old gods is the only thing that will heal Johan.” Charlotte spoke with the same authoritative tone that Darr had used a few minutes before, only her voice held compassion. She looked at the book Wandalor held open. Something told her it was the wrong book. She concentrated her focus, placing her right hand on Johan. She drove her left hand into Wandalor’s open bag and searched around. Her hand felt as though she had just plunged into ice water like when she washed her undergarments in winter. Then it felt on fire. Soon it seemed to feel is if she were digging around through oatmeal; warm and thick. Finally her hand came free and she extended her fingertips until they caressed a glossy finish of what felt like a book cover.

  Wandalor stood agape, as the woman had done what he thought impossible for anyone but himself. Quietly and calmly he closed the book he held and waited for Charlotte to recover her hand. Seeing them all look at her with gaping mouths Charlotte retorted, “What? Have you never seen a woman take charge and do for herself? You lot do it.”

  “We always have a plan; we never improvise,” Darr stated flatly. “What is she doing? This can’t end well.”

  “Wandalor, she has... her hand... in your sack,” Thalin stated the obvious.

  Gadlin glanced at Wandalor, waiting for him to stop her. However, the sorcerer did not.

  Charlotte withdrew her hand from the bag, holding a book that appeared heavy. It was one foot by one foot wide by six inches, its cover black and glossy. The letters of the title were in gold, embossed deeply on the cover. The font changed and swirled to be readable in many languages at one time. No matter from what region of the world the reader hailed and no matter what language they spoke, this tome was readable by all who held it. The title Sanctorum Quintessence was visible, as was something that swirled below it: “Ve”.

  “Ve,” Thalin read. “I just said that aloud, but I didn’t mean to do so.” Thalin looked at Wandalor.

  “I just hope it is not his book,” Wandalor said as Thalin looked at him.

  “Let us hope not,” Charlotte said.

  “Ve? Who or what is Ve?” Darr queried, and as he did everyone looked at him in awe.

  “What did they teach you in the monastery about the world you live in, Darr?” Wandalor said.

  “I know this is going to be hard for you, Darr, so I’ll make it as simple as I can,” Charlotte said. “You are not going to want to be told anything by a woman. I know you feel it makes you seem weak. We all know you’re not weak by any description; even by Thor you are strong. Now, I know you learned a great deal; however, Ve is one of the three gods of creation. Ve is brother to Odin and Vili...” Charlotte was cut off before she could continue.

  “Odin, as in Odin?” Darr stepped back from the table.

  “That one,” Thalin said

  “Charlotte, open the book. He can get a history lesson later’ we have work to do, so let’s do it,” Gadlin said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Charlotte opened the book and as she did it emanated warm light from the first page and directly into her eyes, holding them open. The book itself was not being read, she was. The book read Charlotte. The book read about her past. It looked through her mind and into her soul. The book saw her beginning. Charlotte’s mother, Queen Fayla, barren and unable to conceive, took the potion that the old wise one gave her in the promise of a baby. The potion Fayla sought and acquired in secret by veiled means without the knowledge of the king was the only way she could produce an heir, which was demanded of her. The Eldritch knitted Charlotte inside of Fayla. Magic-born, the words floated inside Charlotte’s consciousness.

  Her skin tingled as the light illuminated her face more brightly as the book assessed her later years. It saw the plans made for her by the king. He had arranged a marriage for Charlotte with a man she loathed. Even in her hatred, she had done her duty as a daughter to a mighty ruler and agreed to the match. Later to decide better of it and set on a path to change her fate. Then the book saw in her heart a crimson dragon, fierce and mighty, with wings of gold. Charlotte promised to help the beast, and as a reward he vowed to help her. A man’s face flickered in the light. He with dark hair and royal blood. His hands cupping her face as she let him kiss her. He was not the man to whom she was betrothed, but love filled her when she remembered him. Love warmed the book.

  The book looked deep into the woman’s heart and soul. It was the beginning of her soul from before she was born. Her soul swirled and formed around a second soul. The book, having seen all that was necessary, decided the woman who had called it was worthy of reading the words.

  Those standing close to Charlotte watched as the light danced in patterns of numbers and letters that were unrecognizable to them. Only Wandalor understood what the book was doing to Charlotte. The book read her to decide if she was worthy to read it. Old books often chose their reader. Sometimes with subtle hints and twinkles. Other times with blaring insistence and demands of attention.

  The book shuddered, turned the pages and began to speak silently to Charlotte, teaching her its secrets. The book stilled, and appearing on the pages was a map of the region of Blackweb and surrounding lands. Traced on to the map was a track recognizable and clear. At the end was a mark that blinked the names of countries, changing, as did the boundaries. The path never changed, teaching Charlotte that this had been the site of the Sanctum through time. The book also taught Charlotte that there would be a guardian who would know the secrets and hold the tools of life and death. The men were all transfixed on Charlotte, as this light beaming into her was unyielding, unceasing, and all- consuming.

  Quiet conversations began throughout the tavern as more and more people arrived. One-Cut admitted some of the town’s guards. He was pleased that the dust had indeed been the mayor and his entourage. Four of the town’s guards took up posi
tion around the table where Johan still lay silent so as not to allow the other patrons too close.

  The light from the book faded and Charlotte lay the book on the table. “Look,” she said, and pointed to the page. “You must go there. It is the Sanctum of the old gods.”

  Darr lamented, “I am telling you. I stood here and I prayed. I knelt and called for the very hand of the God of Light to come down to this, our plane of existence, to sully Himself by touching his divine flesh to this ground in the presence of these people; these non-believers.” Tears were welling up in Darr’s eyes as he spoke. “And He did. He was here and we can all see Johan has not risen. He has not gotten any better. That thing out there,” he said loudly as he pointed out into the woods, “chose to kill Johan. It chose to curse him. Curse him for what? His greed? It has punished Johan for his sin. The sin of greed!” Darr was nearly screaming as tears began to run down his cheeks.

  “We each have seen things that cannot be explained through normal means since we have taken up this burden with Emeranthia,” Wandalor said. “You know it and I know it. You are a Paladin, a Mystic Warrior; you honor your god in your heart. When that heart is pure you have been granted incredible strength and endurance. You have been given the ability to defeat many creatures in battle. Why, you have even stood in and survived dragon’s breath. No one here will be able to understand that; not unless, like us, they saw it. You also keep the company of four heretics to your religion. None of us believe as you do and none of us ridicule you for your beliefs even when faced with things such as this. Nor do you proselytize your religion and attempt to convert us. We simply are who we are, Darr. We are here and we must abide.” Wandalor could see that Gadlin wanted to speak to Darr as well. Before Gadlin could open his mouth, Wandalor silenced him with a motion of his hand.