by Rex Hazelton
While these three talked, the fourth soldier quietly sucked on his pipe, sniffing the air between drags. Jeaf hoped he couldn't smell his presence as Grog had claimed he could. Eerily enough, just as this thought passed through the young Woodswane's mind, the man's white face turned towards him. The whole time his comrades were talking, he persisted in gazing in his direction, searching the shadowy greenwood. Disconcerted by this, Jeaf reached for his bow.
“Yes, the fraethym were tracking the Fane J'Shrym through the swamp, but some kind of magic covered up his scent, keeping them from finding him,” the second soldier replied.
“There you have it!” the third soldier retorted. “Ab'Don wouldn't send those fire-blasted spirits unless he wanted to keep the hammer out of our master's grasp. I tell you, he fears Koyer.”
“That may be true. I've heard he sent a company of bangor to G'Lude. No doubt, to keep an eye on our master.” This time it was the first soldier who spoke.
“You're both wrong. The hammer is of no use to either one,” his comrade explained. “Vlad'War put his magic into the thing and no one except another Fane J'Shrym can unleash its power.”
“Then why do they want it?”
“To put it on ice, so no one can use its magic against them.”
As the time passed, Jeaf grew faint. The lack of nourishment, the intense effort he expended in the swamp, and now from having to remain motionless on his perch was taking its toll. Needing water, for he refused to drink the swamp's foul brew, his legs began cramping as he squatted on a huge bough sprouting out of the oak tree's trunk. Fearing being discovered, he gritted his teeth and endured the pain until he thought he would cry out in agony. Finally, when the young Woodswane couldn't take the misery any longer, he slowly stood up. To his utter horror, the fourth soldier, who had earlier been sniffing at the air, mirrored his movements and stood along with him. Jeaf froze, even before his legs had time to fully extend themselves. Expecting the worse, he inched his hand for his bow.
“Come on you slackers.” A hoarse voice cracked in the air with the force of a bull whip. The fourth man's cape fanned out behind him as he spun towards his horse and leapt into the saddle. “We better get to work before Grog finds out we took a break to smoke.” With that said, he rode off into the night. Soon, the others followed.
To his utter amazement, Jeaf was left alone.
Chapter 12: Muriel
One summer earlier, tragedy struck! It happened in the dank depths of an enormous cavern, boring its way into the heart of the Thangmor Mountains like a cavity in an enormous tooth. Orange light, a natural product of a vein of luminous stone that marbled the cave's walls, filled the gigantic chamber. Reflecting off the face of a dark-haired women, glowing like an oven's fire, it was a fitting hue for the torment she felt. Yet, the nightmarish qualities the eerie illumination cast could not distort the young woman's natural beauty, nor hide the tears streaming down her grime-smeared face.
A baby lay in front of the young woman on an altar made of cold stone, an altar standing between her and a short pear-shaped man. A woman clothed in a flowing black dress, tall and austere, stood beside him; arms, unnaturally long and slender, hung from her sides; fingers, tipped with black dagger like nails, drummed anxiously against her sinewy thighs. The man, who was not much more than a squat ball of fat, rubbed his greedy hands together as he stared at the infant. The tall woman's inky black eyes danced with glee in response to the mother's futile pleadings.
“Please let her live!” The young woman's cries rose upward until they bounced off the massive cavern's ceiling and began their return trip back to the place they had come from. Descending toward the four people who looked as tiny as insects in the distance below, the cries echoed in a chorus of sound, overlapping other cries already uttered and those sure to follow.
“Please don't hurt my baby,” the woman frantically begged. “Have mercy!” Disheveled, she was dressed in a tattered dress. Her countenance, dirty like the earth had clawed at her face, was, nonetheless, beautiful, her form lovely.
“You're not supposed to have children of your own,” the tall woman replied. Her expression of glee was now replaced with an icy glare. “If you have children of your own, how will you have time for me?” Looking down her aquiline noise, she explained, “It's only out of my good graces that I've allowed you to live and to enjoy my blessings. Your part, my dear, is to serve me and my husband's needs. Therefore, since you're my property, that makes this child mine as well. I can most certainly do with it as I want.”
Lifting her unusually long thin arm, she tapped her index finger on the side of her head as if she were trying to make up her mind. “You know… I don't think I want it to live, not if it's going to take your attention away from me.”
As if on cue, the little rotund man stepped forward and snatched the infant off the stone altar, quick as a cat. The baby's horrid crying increased, flushing hundreds of children and young people out of numerous dark holes found in the huge cavern's walls. Soon they were all staring at the little man, having quickly located the source of the commotion, transfixed by the macabre scene they beheld. Reflecting pain, horror, apathy or pleasure, each face held its own expression. Mostly, they looked troubled.
The baby shrieked in terror when the little fat man lifted her high above his head like she was a trophy he had won. The tall woman, and a few of the young people whose expressions reflected pleasure over the horrid proceedings, began pumping their fists, demanding the rotund man complete his evil deed, egging the beast on, hoping for a thrill.
Knowing the horrifying fate awaiting her child, the dark-haired woman charged forward. But two black creatures, slipping out of a subterranean river flowing through the middle of the enormous cavern, caught her in their restraining grasp. Saucer-shaped mouths, bristling with short razor-sharp teeth, slurped their warnings. Long red tongues wagged about as they growled their words.
Bound by arms stronger than her own, she squirmed helplessly. Is there no hope in this warl of sorrow and pain? Who will save my child? Who will hear her cry and have pity on her?
Lifting her head upward, looking towards the place some said the gods lived, she started to pray. But her quest for help was intercepted by a ceiling made of hard, cold stone that kept her from seeing the blue skies spreading over the mountain tops, far above. So, having no other recourse, she let her screams intermingle with her child's, rising above the grotesque din those who taunted the little man onward had created. If her arms could not embrace her daughter, then her voice would reach out instead... reach out until the two had become one again, one in intolerable torment, one in insufferable pain.
Suddenly, a deafening silence filled the cavern, perfectly orchestrated to accentuate the evil deed that would soon be done. Emptied of sound, the hellish orange illumination rushed in to fill the void with more dirty light. Time itself seemed to be suspended. A cacophony of expressions thrust forward on the faces of those present; not an eye blinked; not a muscled moved. The only sound heard was coming from the sobbing baby girl and the river that flowed by. No longer crying, it was as if the infant had become resigned to her fate.
The infant's mother had gone mute with horror. Feeling dizzy, the room began fading, distorting the young woman's vision, she wished she could lose. If only the bedraggled woman could reach the dagger hanging from her captor's side, she'd put out her eyes, cutting at the portals that enabled her to witness her child's anguish.
Shadows cast by the infant's flailing arms, reaching out to grab hold of her mother, moved along the cavern's uneven walls. A moment later... she was gone. The echoes of her last cries provided the only proof she had ever been there.
Laughing and chiding one another, the black creatures let loose of the dark-haired woman as they stole back into the underground river. In like manner, hundreds of children and young people turned their tormented faces away from the slaughter, returning to the dark holes from which they had come, moving silently as they did. In time, the y
oung woman was left alone with the rotund man and the tall black-eyed lady.
Not yet done with their game, the gruesome pair gazed upon the woman with a look of mock sympathy. “Come to Mommy and Daddy.” The tall woman cooed while pretending to have maternal instincts.
“You're not my parents!” the dark-haired woman shouted, struggling to keep a grasp on reality, fighting back as best she could. “You know what you both are, you're...”
The black-eyed woman clenched her fists, stiletto like nails clicking together as she did. Setting her jaw, she responded. “We're what, you fire-blasted, little wretch!?”
Noticing the tall woman's menacing posture, the young woman began to quake in fear. Lowering her eyes, she quietly answered, “Never mind.”
Held in the grip of deepest sorrow, she slowly moved away from the sight of the tragedy. Chortling laughter, coming from the tall woman and fat, little man who was playfully patting his distended stomach, escorted her out of the cavern, laughter that buffeted her with nausea. Entering a familiar hole, her mind began to do its customary work of expunging the memory of the horrible event, like it was so much smoke in the wind. This was something she had to do. Her survival depended on it. It would be impossible for her to remain sane if she allowed the insidious memory to keep her company and all the others like it.
Sitting in a dark corner, she continued sobbing over what had become a passing shadow, a fading nightmare, the type of nightmare she had become an expert in hiding from her conscious mind.
Clothed in morbid solitude, the young woman somehow found the strength to reflect on her existence. Somewhere, in a thick fog of forgetfulness Schmar's magic had created, lay the answers she sought. She had lived in the beast's cave for as long as she could remember, but she intuitively knew she had not been born here. Hating the life of servitude Schmar and his wife had forced upon her, she vowed to escape this hell hole if the opportunity ever presented itself... Yet, life had taught her this was not possible. How could it be? She had never been given the privilege of choosing even the slightest detail of her life, so the idea of options existing was unthinkable.
Reaching for a stone she had painstakingly shaped into a dagger, the young woman began her ritual of pondering the escape route this sharp doorway could offer her, a ritual she had increasingly engaged in, religiously, one that was more a prayer for freedom than a desire to hurt herself. Death! Maybe this was the one thing she had power over, the one act that would prove she had some measure of control, an identity of her own, even if that act would extinguish her light. She would be like a bursting bubble whose explosion catches the attention of those who would have otherwise missed seeing it pass by. And then, when they finally did see it... it was gone.
The dark-haired woman pressed her homemade knife's razor-sharp edge against her flesh, weeping as it cruelly caressed her skin. But she did not weep long. Strangely enough, a new sensation began to grip her mind, one she had not dared to feel in this loathsome prison. Whether it came from the remnants of the fading memory of her child's death or not, she could not tell. But come it did. Hot anger, stoked by the fires of hatred, now slipped into her body, filling her with resolve, spurring her on to plan her revenge against Schmar, the beast who had taken her daughter from her. Staring at the knife, whose shape was muted by the darkness she sat in, she turned it over in her hands while she rethought its use. No longer fantasizing about the escape it could grant her, she now saw it as an ally that would help her kill the beast, exacting her retribution
Hiding the stony dagger in her ragged clothes, she slipped out of the hole and reentered the cavern's orange light. Creeping through the filthy shadows, she passed the altar her daughter had laid upon. Making the mistake of looking at the cruel stone, once again, its spell was cast over her. Invisible to the eye, a barrier thicker than the cavern's cold stone walls rose up before her. Fear returned, assaulting her resolve. Hands, dripping with perspiration, struggled to hold onto the makeshift knife. Her heart raced. Her plans started unraveling. No doubt, the woman would have fled in dismay if she hadn't caught sight of Schmar.
There, just beyond the altar, the beast was hunched over one of the children, exacting his toll for a life he allowed the boy to live in his dark kingdom. This scene resurrected the memory of her own terrified child. It came flooding back into her mind, clarifying the task she had given herself to do. Rage returned... rage that was rekindled as she witnessed the victim's plight, one that for some reason felt all too familiar to her.
Though she couldn't find the courage to save herself, the black-haired woman did find the bravery needed to help another, another she wished had been her own child.
After looking about the cavern, the young woman was surprised to find Schmar was not accompanied by his wife. The beast's back was unprotected, and no one was around to warn him of her approach, so, she slipped off her ragged shoes and moved swiftly and silently toward her target.
It didn't matter that she ran as quietly as she did, for the rotund little man was so engrossed in inflicting woe upon the hapless child, he wouldn't have heard a fully armored soldier approaching. Nevertheless, as Schmar was feeding on the pain reflecting from the child's eyes, he noticed the change of expression on his victim's face, a change heralding her arrival. Turning abruptly, Schmar threw up his arm as a precaution and intercepted the blade's razor-sharp edge with his blubbery shoulder. Tossing the child aside, the pain shooting through his body only inflamed his malice. Wheeling about to face his adversary, the fat, little man seemed to grow in size, even as sticky black liquid oozed from his wounded shoulder. Recognizing the woman, he yelled, “YOU! Why you horrible little wench, I'll have you for dessert!”
Charging the woman, with a terrifying quickness his cumbersome physic belied, the beast knocked the stone knife from her hand. Grabbing her by the hair, he threw her against the cavern's wall. After she slumped to the floor, Schmar bent down and took hold of her, lifting her high above his head with gelatinous arms that didn't look like they were up to the task. Then, after throwing her against the unforgiving rock floor, he pounced on her, looking like a bulbous cat. Clutching her throat with vice-like power, he began choking her. “I told you I'd kill you if you ever resisted me. Now you'll learn that I'm a man of my word.”
“You're no man!” the woman rasped out her reply while spitting in Schmar's face.
With the beast squeezing tighter-and-tighter, her life began flowing out of her body. Struggling for air, she grew lightheaded. With her eyes rolling back in her head, the scttered memories of her life began replaying themselves in her mind, a phenomenon she had heard was a prelude to death. This was something she had learned huddled near her comrades in pain while eating a tasteless meal or on those rare moments when they were able to socialize. Schmar usually forbade this, thinking it would be easier to control his captives if they were isolated from one another and not able to form bonds that would act as the catalyst for an insurrection.
First, the death of her daughter appeared, then the preceding days began to unfold backward in time. A myriad of memories cascaded by, memories in which Schmar's face repeatedly appeared pressed up against her own. Sometimes she saw the tall woman's inky black eyes, or felt her long black finger nails scratching her, cutting at her vulnerable flesh. At other times, she saw the river creatures leering at her, red tongues lolling about. And on a few occasions, she saw other young people smirking in her face, Schmar- like.
Finally, all became still and she found herself standing on the banks of a pool of water, gazing at the reflection of a blacked-haired girl. Who are you, little girl? What is your name? The child just smiled. Then the reflection of a handsome man she intuitively knew was the little girl's father appeared standing behind the child. The picture was so vivid, the dark-haired women turned around to see if the man was standing behind her. And, indeed, he was, smiling.
Bewildered, but unafraid, she felt him lifting her up into his arms and hugging her tightly. Flooded with wonderful feeli
ngs, those she had not known while living in the dark underworld, she, once again, looked down at the pool of water and beheld the reflection of the man holding the little, dark-haired girl in his arms. She, herself, was nowhere to be seen. Surprised, but not deterred by her absence, the woman wept as she watched the man and child holding each other in a warm embrace.
Then, in the midst of her weeping, she noticed an exquisite ring, sitting on the girl's finger, fall off her hand and into the pool of water. Watching the reflection of the child and her father distorting in the ripples the ring made, she was startled when a high-pitched scream filled her brain, a scream that chased her vision away, robbing her of her joy.
Regaining her sense of time and place, she was surprised to discover she could breathe again. Life flowed back into her body, and once her eyes focused, she saw a most amazing sight: Schmar stood above her, grasping at the stone dagger now protruding from his thigh. Did I do that? She wondered. But she wasn't the one who had struck the blow, the credit went to the boy Schmar had been tormenting.
In time, the beast wrenched the knife out of his leg and threw it at the fleeing child. The surprise attack made Schmar, who quickly followed the knife in its pursuit of the terrified boy, forget the disheveled woman, at least for the time being. With the stone knife bouncing along the cavern's rocky floor, the child sped off into one of the many holes lining the huge chamber. The cursed beast followed close behind.
Amazingly enough, the woman found she was left alone in the cavern with only the echoes of racing footsteps to keep her company. Befuddled by what had just transpired, she finally realized the child Schmar was torturing must have picked up her dagger and attacked him with it, even as he was viciously choking the life out of her. Confusion over what she should do set in like a bad case of flu, causing her to tremble. But before confusion had time to transform into panic, a pin point of light burst before her eyes, and a man's voice was heard saying, “You must follow me… now!”
