by Rex Hazelton
Gradually her nightmare changed, reminding her of an earlier battle she had fought with the river-children on the banks of the Dyne River, a battle where she first met Grour Blood. Hearing the mighty griffin's roar echoing through her dream, she looked up expecting to see her winged-guardian. Instead, she was surprised to see Stromane's towering white cliffs. There, hundreds of winged-lions were shouting out her name in deep rumbling voices that resonated off the crystalline cliffs.
“Muriel Blood! Muriel Blood! Muriel Blood!” they bellowed.
She wept at the memory of that noble place while gusts of wind repeatedly buffeted her face. Then the awesome whooshing noise that Grour Blood's majestic wings made, a sound she had become familiar with on the many trips she had taken astride her friend's muscular back, entered her dream.
With the clamor of fighting filling her ears, Muriel dreamt Schmar's children were carrying her down to the Fyne River. Jostling about in her uncaring captor's cruel arms, she looked to the left and saw Vav bending over aunt Hylde.
Once again, Grour Blood's roar invaded her dream, carrying her back to Stromane. There she witnessed money hungry men casting dead and dying birds, that had all their feathers plucked from their naked bodies, into a huge bonfire stinking from the scent of burning flesh.
A violent jerking sensation, repeating over-and-over again, shook the memory of Stromane out of Muriel's dream. Then, surprisingly enough, those who were carrying her began vanishing, one-at-a-time, a cacophony of hideous screams accompanying each disappearance.
Another jolt hurled her rudely to the ground, leaving her in the grasp of a lone desperate creature who dragged her along by the ankle. Hitting a rock, her head turned. Slowly blinking, Muriel dreamt that she saw Grour Blood tearing the wind pipe out of one of the river- children's throats.
Tossing the black, slimy thing aside, the awesome griffin let out a savage roar that threw her back into Stromane's skies where she saw Mittens and Slim flying alongside of her. “Little Sister, I know I've ridden you about your roar sounding like a bird call, but I want you to know I was only kidding. If you get in a pinch, go ahead and let her rip. Remember, you were taught by the best. I'll bet there's no one in all of Nyeg Warl that understands the art of roaring like a griffin does. Once those humans get a load of your voice, they'll know to steer clear of you and to respect your territory.”
Once again, Muriel's dream took her back to the banks of the Fyne River where a gruesome river-child, leering down at her, pulled her into the river. Though she felt she was only in a dream, the possibility of being submerged in water sent a wave of fear shuttering through her body. With Slim's words still fresh in her mind, she tried to gather enough strength to roar like a good griffin would if it were in her place.
“Roarrr!” Muriel feebly cried out.
With her lower body already beneath the river's surface, she frantically tried to roar one last time to mark her pacing from the warl. But when she opened her mouth, just as Slim had taught her, the roar she heard shook the air with volcanic force. Then she dreamt that Grour Blood sank his fangs into the neck of the black creature who was dragging her into the river.
Falling into the water, freed from the loathsome river-child's grasp, Muriel was set adrift in the current. But before going too far, she felt the great griffin's jaws picking her up like she was a cub and carrying her back to the river's bank.
Laying on the muddy shoreline, she heard a familiar voice calling out her name. “Muriel Blood, it's me, Grour Blood. I've returned!”
Eventually, Vav and Truamor appeared in the dream, joining Grour Blood in reassuring her that she was safe now.
As if waking from a long night's sleep, slowly but surely, Muriel cast off her stupor. Regaining an ability to focus on things surrounding her, she acknowledged her aunt and uncle, who were kneeling over her, checking her for wounds while they cut her free from her bonds.
Pulling herself up to a sitting position that allowed her to look directly into her winged-guardian's face, Muriel wept. Then standing to her feet, she hugged her friend's powerful neck until her arms grew numb from the force of the squeezing.
A crowd of villagers had gathered around Muriel by the time she finished hugging the mighty griffin. Standing slacked-jawed, they looked upon a creature that, as far as they knew, only lived in Nyeg Warl's legends. Strangely, none of them drew away from the fearsome beast. The picture of Muriel and her tawny friend hugging had dispelled their fears.
Several of the men, after wheeling a wagon down to the river, were busy loading the river-children's dead bodies, those that gave proof to Muriel's veracity. Ivy, Myra, and Anna, looking embarrassed for not standing with Muriel in her hour of need, shook their heads in disbelief. Stepping over to help those throwing the loathsome creatures onto the wagon, Ivy was heard muttering how he'd never let the Society bully him again.
While this repugnant job was being carried out, Muriel, who by now was as alert as ever, went over to check on the others. Visiting her aunt first, she was relieved to find that she had only sustained a badly twisted ankle during the battle. This explained why Muriel had seen her uncle bending over her, making sure Hylde would be all right before he returned to the fight.
Next, Muriel went over to Layrn whose wounds were being dressed by several of the local women. Struggling for his life, his best friend lay by his side. Hayrn's body had sustained numerous gashes from the rending the river creatures had wreaked upon him. His mother, holding his head in her lap, rocked back and forth imploring him not to leave her. Vav, kneeling over him, was tending to the horrible bite that was allowing the last of his blood to ooze out upon the ground. Village women were trying to keep the children, those who Haryn had faithfully watched over, from running to his side.
As Muriel touched his hand, Hayrn looked up into her face and smiled, weakly and only for a moment. Then his gaze lost its focus. A long, exhaled breath marked the last movement his body would make.
Immobilized by the disbelief death brought with it, not a breath was taken nor an eye blink as the villagers witnessed the transition that Hayrn underwent. The doorway to the Great Banquet Hall of Death had been opened and the people stood motionless in its intimidating presence.
The surreal silence, laying on the banks of the Fyne River, was eventually shattered by the bereaving mother's heart rending laments. Her voice rose to a shriek as the weight of her loss crushed her soul.
Muriel looked to Grour Blood for help as she lifted her fingers off Hayrn's hand, a hand rapidly losing the warmth that accompanies life.
Responding to her imploring gaze, looking like he was enacting a ceremony, the great griffin walked over and stood behind the frightened young woman. Sweeping his huge wings out over her head, he let loose an earth-shaking roar, sending it reverberating down the Fyne River Valley. As if awakened by the big cat's bellowing, Muriel's ring began vibrating gently atop her finger. The familiar amber glow, emanating from her father's gift, grew in intensity until it engulfed Muriel, Grour Blood, Vav, Hayrn and his mother.
The others, witnessing this spectacle, felt like they were looking through a portal into another warl, one different from their own, one where waist high grasses, stirred by sun-drenched breezes, could be seen waving about in a field where a man and woman, tenderly holding each other, could be seen standing on a distant rise. To everyone's amazement, if one were to look directly into the ring's light, only this and nothing of the Fyne River Valley could be seen.
Blurring, Haryn's body lost focus, looking like words on a parchment held too far from an old man's eyes, until his spirit lifted out of its fleshy casing and floated over to the field of tall grass. There, the spirit took shape... Looking back at his limp form, held in his mother's arms, Haryn frowned before he turned and walked toward the couple, awaiting him.
Not being able to restrain herself, Muriel cried out for help. “Mother! Father!”
“Sing!” Voices, sounding like wind blowing through the tops of a pine forest, swep
t across the verdant field from the direction of the hill top.
Compelled by the magic the comman had dispensed, but not knowing exactly what to do, Muriel lifted her head and began singing the first refrain of a song her mother had taught her as a child, one that spoke of Parm Warl.
“Evergreen, ever fair, Fane J'Shrym's glory share,
Until it washes over the warl and chases away each care.
Fields replete with golden wheat will spread across the land,
Until the granaries are filled and a harvest is at hand.”
Like a bucket drawing water out of a well, Muriel's childhood song tapped into her resident anointing, releasing the magic hidden in her soul, and once it did, an enchantment took control, one that changed the words she sang, adding lyrics that she didn't know.
“Care o'vey yon blesh tish'tay, con ver ish mah'toah poss,
Harken to my voice young man before your life is lost.
Do not another step now take until you hear my voice,
That calls to you and gives to you another time of choice.
Will you traverse the fields so green and journey to the end?
Or will you turn back to the warl and watch your body mend?
For I do not release your soul, you cannot journey on,
And pass beyond my reach within the light of eternal dawn.
So stop your trek to Death's Great Hall, don't let its splendor lure.
A better thing awaits you here, the Warl's Magic and its cure.”
Standing mesmerized by the sight of the huge griffin's majestic wings spreading out over the young woman, covering her in regal authority, the villagers watched Muriel lay her hands on Haryn's head as she continued singing, but now using a different melody.
“Awake Hayrn from the sleep of death and in your lungs receive now breath,
To feed your heart and clothe your soul that of the Warl's Magic all may know,
That hope still lies within her root that will spring forth to bear much fruit,
And save this man and the light of day in which he was meant to find his way.”
As Haryn approached the couple standing atop the grassy rise, the two stretched out their arms and aimed their palms and the young man. “GO BACK!” They ordered the young man. “You've been summoned.”
Looking startled, not knowing where he had been summoned to- for his memory of the warl was already fading and his grasp of his new reality was quickly firming up- Haryn turned to where the man was pointing, to a place that lay beyond a cloud of amber light.
Seeing his mother, hearing her cries, Haryn's memories returned, encouraging him to go back down the grassy hill so that he might comfort her, and as he walked, more verses followed, those that the villagers could not discern.
Words that Muriel had never heard before sprung out of the reservoir of intuition hidden in her soul. It was as if she had always known the songs that flowed so effortlessly forth... And when she was done singing, dawn bloomed across the valley, washing away the amber light, leaving Hayrn, who was once again smiling at Muriel, bathed in the glory of a new day.
Feeling her son's chest rising and falling with each breath he took, Hayrn's mother wept for joy while profusely kissing him on the face.
Turning to face the villagers, Muriel was greeted by scores of flames that flickered on top of a host of Candle Maker candles the women of Barm had lit to help her in her work and by whispers that spoke of Parm Warl's glory.
After speaking into Muriel's ear, Grour Blood lifted his head and addressed the villagers. “Good people of Barm,” His deep voice rumbled through the valley, “remember the things you have witnessed here today, for you have seen the first fruits of the conflict that is, even now, encroaching on Nyeg Warl's life.” Nodding his huge head at the wagon, he added, “You have seen the evil that lives among us with your own eyes. But these river-children are not the only enemies we must be concerned with. As long as Koyer rules in the Isle of Regret, the warl will never be safe.”
Then standing up on his hind legs, he spread out his wings before speaking again. “I adjure you to remember the magic you saw flowing through Muriel Blood, for she is the Prophetess who the sages say will help usher in the age of Parm Warl. Though she must leave you now, I encourage you to pledge your loyalty to her before she does. For the day will come when she will need your help to fight against the inequity that lives among us.”
Having said all that he wanted to, Grour Blood fell back on all fours and leapt into the air. Then, after making a pass over those who had gathered on the banks of the Fyne River, the mighty griffin soared off towards the Thangmor Mountain's towering heights.
Once the great beast had departed, the villagers approached Muriel, family-by-family, each laying a candle at her feet and repeating the name, Muriel Blood. By this act, they pledged her their support.
Following the spontaneous ceremony, the people reentered Barm, quietly. Some went to their homes to eat breakfast and regain their strength, others- like Muriel and Vav- went to eat and talk at Ivy's Inn. The river-children's corpses were deposited in a large shed, standing beside the village's main stable.
During the subsequent discussions, Vav and the others concluded that the grotesque bodies should be placed in separate wagons and taken to other villages, so proof of this morning's battle could be undeniably established. But as they were putting the finishing touches on this plan, a bell rang out, alerting the village to a fire burning somewhere within Barm's borders.
Rushing outside, Vav and the others discovered that the shed housing the river-children's corpses was ablaze. The flames burned so hot and furious they quickly reduced the building and its contents to ashes. Only a bucket brigade's feverish efforts spared the stable from the same fate.
Though no one knew for sure how the fire got started, Fadoris' quick exit, along with the Society's entire membership living in Barm, caused many an eyebrow to rise with suspicion. Many thought he and his cronies set the fire to destroy the evidence that threatened to refute many of the Society's doctrines. They surmised that even though the entire village of over five-hundred souls had seen Schmar's children, Fadoris' actions were intended to quarantine the plague of doubt that would have spread over the warl if the gruesome bodies had been distributed as planned.
Chapter 20: Vestlkynd
Early the next morning, Muriel, Truamor and her father were winding their way through the woods west of the Fyne River, moving toward the copse of trees where they knew Gour Blood waited. Muriel was dressed in the forest green clothes that had belonged to Mystlnor the Elf-Man. Her old leather pouch- now holding her dress, a small supply of food, water, as well as the candles the people of Barm had honored her with the previous morning- bounced against her side as she made her way through the greenwood.
Truamor, having also exchanged her dress for a pair of leather pants and a vest that covered a white cotton shirt, carried a large pouch, thrown over her back. A sword hung at her side. Her father, who held her hand as they walked, was heavily armed with a sword, dagger, bow and a quiver of arrows.
Muriel walked ahead of the two, wanting to give her relatives as much time alone as possible. Since Truamor had accepted the griffin's offer to accompany her to Vestlkynd, she knew her uncle Vav might not see his daughter again for some time to come.
Truamor, Hylde and Vav, after being told what Grour Blood had whispered into Muriel's ears on the banks of the Fyne River, spent much of the previous afternoon discussing the opportunity the griffin offered their daughter. Finally, just before it was time to eat supper, they concluded what they knew was the right thing to do all along. Walking arm-in-arm, they went over to Ivy's Inn and gave Muriel their answer.
Eating their evening meal at the inn, Vav and Hylde agreed to let Truamor escort Muriel during her stay at Vestlkynd, feeling their daughter would gain valuable experience in the process. Besides, Truamor's heart had become so bonded to her cousin's, they knew their daughter would want to be with Muriel even if she pl
anned on storming G'Lude's dark walls.
Continuing the journey through the forest, the three approached the meeting place. As they did, they caught sight of Grour blood moving out from under the giant arbors where he had hidden himself. Smiling, glad to see Truamor was dressed in traveling clothes, he was relieved to know Muriel would have human companionship. Aware that the two cousins liked each other and having seen Truamor display her valor on the banks of the Fyne River, the winged-lion reasoned that she was the perfect choice.
“Greetings, My Friends. I see Truamor has prepared herself for the trip,” Grour Blood said, warmly.
“Yes, My Lord,” Truamor replied, curtseying as she did. “Thank you for extending me the invitation.”
“There's no need to call me lord, though in my community I am an elder. Please, just call me Grour Blood,” the griffin exhorted the young woman. “I'm more than glad you've decided to come. Your presence is a boon to Muriel.”
Stepping forward, Vav spoke to Grour Blood. “Muriel told us that you have spent the last few days trying to discover what is transpiring in Nyeg Warl. May I ask what you have found?”
“Tremors are rumbling across the land that are harbingers of a terrible earthquake that will soon move out of the Isle of Regret to shake the kings' defenses, testing their strength... I fear none shall escape the examination.” Gour Blood lifted his head higher as he continued speaking. “I flew to Koyer's realm, risking my life to walk among the perilous peaks that jut upward like so many broken pieces of glass. There, I discovered the island is busy preparing for war: a steady stream of Ar Warl ships, whose holds are filled with provisions needed to mount an invasion, are crossing the Breach Sea; carts and wagons, of varying kinds, are being loaded with the stores; and the tall Malamor walk among their Archan brothers.” Pausing to reflect on this last fact, the winged-lion added, “Who knows how many of their kind sleep in G'Lude's tunnels, cloistered far from Nyeg Warl's sight? No doubt, it would not serve Koyer's purpose to have others know about their presence. Such knowledge would dispel the propaganda claiming he's no longer tethered to Ab'Don's leash.”
