by Rex Hazelton
In a moment's time, the young Woodswane closed his eyes and stepped into the midst of the lively flames. Once he bumped into the spit that held the cooking rabbits, he opened his eyes and reached down to pick up the hammer. Cool to the touch, it seemed unscathed by the fire. Looking about himself, Jeaf could see the Tsadal warriors standing slack-jawed and befuddled at what they were witnessing: the young Woodswane standing in a fire that refused to burn his clothes or singe his flesh.
Once Jeaf emerged from the cooking fires, he lifted the hammer and calmly proclaimed, “I am the Hammer Bearer. I accept this mantle and the responsibilities that come with it.”
This was the first time he had made this unequivocal statement. And as he did, he bent over coughing. A dark cloud flowed out of his nostrils as if it were pipe smoke. Floating upward, it hovered near the cave's roof. If Jeaf hadn't seen the vapor leave, he would've mistaken it for campfire smoke clinging to the ceiling.
Freed from the intruder, the young Woodswane's Powers of Intuition were now fully operational. Looking about himself, he saw that most of the others were being squeezed by dark vapors that resembled serpents or chains. The numerous internal battles being fought in each of the warrior's minds was evidenced by the swords hanging in their hands, those no longer posed for battle. The young Woodswane's proclamation was already working to dismantle the spirits' spell.
Jeaf looked to Bacchanor for guidance.
The wizard smiled. Gently strumming his guitar, he replied, “Those who have freed themselves, gain magic to do the same for others.”
Intuitively, the young Woodswane spoke aloud. “I know you're here! And I'm telling you, you're not wanted! So, be gone foul vapors or I'll imprison you in this cavern forever!”
Instantly, the Tsadal warriors groaned and grabbed their nauseated stomachs until all the rotten smells had evacuated the cave for fear of being imprisoned by the magic they felt emanating from the Hammer Bearer.
As the room fell silent Bacchanor said, “Listen!”
The warriors, looking on in fear and wonder towards the mouth of the cave, heard scores of howling wolves running towards the cave at breakneck speeds. The sound of falling rocks attested to their haste. Soon, growling, yelping and snapping noises were heard just beyond eyesight, out in the dark.
“Be comforted, the danger is without not within.” The brown-clad wizard exhorted the battle-weary warriors.
Once they made certain they were safe as Bacchanor said, the company of warriors began eating their partially burned food. But still, they remained on their guard while the sound of wolves battling over the bodies of the dead hunchmen and horses accompanied their belated meal. Each took turns calming the mounts that had survived the past evening's attack.
The ravenous beasts spent most of the night fighting outside the cave. This made the men wonder if the evil spirits found other hosts to play the parts they intended the Tsadal to play. The sounds of savage rending reminded the warriors of the rage they felt just a short time earlier. Each looked at the others, embarrassed that they might have harmed one another.
Bacchanor, feeling the angst in the room, began explaining about the dark magic they had just faced. “Don't let remorse now do what Koyer's evil spirits failed to do. Apologize to one another and be done with it. You escaped a snare that many have not.” The brown-clad wizard spoke with paternal assurance. “You were not wrong for feeling anger over your friends' deaths. But you were wrong for letting your anger give way to darkness sincedarkness is where Ab'Don's power lies.”
“Now, own up to your mistakes, ask forgiveness from your brothers, then return the forgiveness that you yourself long for, and let it all go! By doing this, you will gain victory over powers that are far greater than you could possibly imagine.” Pausing for affect, the stout-wizard added, “The spirits you faced tonight were some of the very ones that caused the good kings to turn on one another in the early stages of the Battle of the Breach. Rejoice in your deliverance. It is no small thing.”
Bacchanor passed from man to man, gently laying his hands upon their heads. It seemed appropriate that the wizard had the hands of a warrior himself. It was a warrior, healing warriors. For if it were known, Bacchanor was a fighter of some renown among the champions of Nyeg Warl.
After he was finished, the wizard picked up his guitar and released his power into the room through the melody he played. Strolling among the Tsadal, the music's magic gave Bacchanor supernatural knowledge of those he sang to. Taking this, he wove memories of friendship that the men had experienced with one another into his song. He sang of fishing trips, of nights listening to hound dogs chasing the wily fox, of swimming holes and of holiday feasts. He sang of childhoods shared and of the camaraderie that warriors know.
Once Bacchanor became silent, except for the magic-laced melody he continued to softly play, the men began reminiscing about all they had experienced with one another. This led into a time of giving and receiving forgiveness. A sense of deep relief followed. Before long, in Tsadal fashion, they were laughing at the funny stories they told about one another and the healing that Bacchanor had initiated was made complete.
****
The crisp morning air, bearing the first hint of autumn, gave no sign of the events that had happened the past two nights. The wind still blew through the top of the towering pine forest, the river still danced along following gravity's lead, and fifty Tsadal warriors returned to Credylnor. Some sat upright in their saddles; others lay across their horse's back, wrapped in their bed role like a package being brought home from the market place.
Earlier Goldan had said his good-byes to his Tsadal brethren. Most of them just nodded without any trace of malice toward Jeaf after they finished clasping arms with their former commander. Bacchanor concluded the time of parting by saying, “Brave Tsadal warriors, the death of your brothers was not in vain. Though it is not clear what part the Hammer Bearer will play in the coming days of doubt, it is certain that his role is indispensable to Nyeg Warl's pursuit of victory. You and your people, because of the great sacrifice you have made these past two nights, have guaranteed that the Hammer Bearer will fulfill his part in prophecy. So, bid you a farewell and leave you with a blessing: May your journey home be filled with peace. But once you reach the safety of your valley… seek to encourage your people to prepare themselves for the role that they themselves will play in the coming conflict.”
At the end of Bacchanor's parting words, the young Tsadal warrior whose outburst of grief driven rage had almost become the match that lit the flame of regrettable and violent conflict, stepped forward to speak for his brethren. “Though shocked by the evil that has befallen us, we, because of all the strange things we have seen, know our friends died in a battle all the Tsadal will soon have to fight.” Striding over to the young Woodswane, the warrior extended his hand and said, “Jeaf, we wish you well. But before we part, know this, if the day comes when we join you on the battlefield where Nyeg Warl's future is to be determined, we will stand together and fight the forces of darkness as we did two nights ago. And if it comes to that, let us pray we will prevail once again.”
Chapter 28: Thundyrkynd
Jeaf and Goldan mounted their powerful Tsadal horses and began their journey into an uncertain future. Bacchanor, who insisted on traveling on foot, lifted his arm up to an eagle that soared overhead as gracefully as a ship sailing on the sea and let out a call that was an amazing impersonation of a raptor's high-pitched cry. Hearing the wizard, the great bird folded its wings against its sides and dropped like a stone down a well as it sped toward the upraised arm. At the last moment, the magestic bird unfurled its huge feathers and landed softly on the perch.
Looking into the eagle's resolute gaze, Bacchanor's head bobbed about in an imitation of the raptor's movements while the two exchanged faint sqwuaking noises like they were engaged in deep conversation. In time, the brown-clad wizard swung his arm into the air and launched the huge bird back into flight.
When Bacchanor turned, Jeaf could have sworn that his eyes looked as yellow as an eagle's. A moment later, they were again their normal reddish-brown hue. “The trail is clear up ahead.”
“How do you know that?” Jeaf felt foolish after he had asked this.
“The eagle told me.” The stout wizard smiled mischievously. “Remember… I've dedicated my life to studying the Magic of Friendship.”
Bacchanor's smile broadened while Jeaf puzzled over how the Magic of Friendship and talking to birds was related.
“My Dear Boy, this power's manifestations are manifold. Indeed, one of the many spokes attached to the Wheel of Friendship is a form of magic that enables me to take on the form and mind of whatever I've befriended. What you just witnessed is exactly what you've been suspecting these last few moments.” The wizard's eyes, once again, took on the color and piercing gaze of a predatory raptor before he continued. “I just had a chat with my feathered-friend, and he gave me the information I just shared with you. I also asked him to fly ahead and return if he sees any unusual activity. Since he was a rather congenial fellow, he readily agreed to my request.”
The wizard, who had more tricks up his sleeve than Jeaf or Goldan had anticipated, added, “Now I want to ask you two a favor.” Bacchanor chuckled a bit before continuing. “Please don't shoot any animals you run across today, unless, of course, they're threatening you.”
“Why do you ask such a thing?” Goldan inquired.
“Because eagles aren't the only friends I have.” After finishing his explanation, the wizard swung about and headed up the trail towards Thundyrkynd.
Jeaf was surprised to find that the horses had a hard time keeping up with the enigmatic wizard, and once Bacchanor passed out sight, slipping around a sharp turn in the trail, the two men didn't see him again all that morning. But strangely enough, a large, brown buck with a huge set of antlers and brownish-red eyes was seen making its way through the thick forest growing on the mountain heights above them. It appeared to be taking a parallel course.
The memory of the magnificent stag that accompanied him and the elves on their trip to Mystlkynd came to mind. I wonder? Jeaf's eyebrows lifted as he pondered this thought. Rubbing the back of his neck, the young Woodswane spoke to no one in particular. “No wonder he could follow me without being seen.”
He and Goldan laughed when they made eye contact, each knowing the other had come to the same conclusion about this amazing wizard and the large, brown buck.
The two men worked their way diligently along the trail that meandered through the verdant pines. Making the best of the trip, they spent the day sharing their hopes and dreams, and in the telling, each found they were more alike than they thought was possible, given where each had come from.
The closer they came to the coast, the steeper and rockier the sides of the mountains became. It was as if the crust of the warl had been snapped apart like peanut brittle and stacked against itself like books on a shelf.
In time, the Norstlyk River poured into the tip of a slender finger of salt water that reached inland from the Largryk Sea, a half day's horseback ride in length.
Forced to enter a thick coastal fog that looked like it hid unfathomable mysteries inside its expanse, the two men grew silent. With the coming of the fog, the large, brown buck stepped out onto the trail and led the men deeper into the heavy, gray mists. When the light of day began to fail, Bacchanor assumed his former shape. The persistent fog prevented the two riders from getting a good look at the spectacle. If they had been able to witness it, they would have been amazed to see the wizard's transformation included the return of his weapons and his beloved guitar.
Spending the night on a rock shelf, the three men huddled around a small fire that stubbornly burned in spite of the dampness assailing it. Once darkness took total control of the warl, the young Woodswane covered himself in his blanket and fell into a sleep that he hoped would refresh him for his visit to Thundyrkynd the next day.
After much time had passed, Jeaf's dark dreamless slumber was interrupted by the hooting of a large white-faced owl. Stirring from his sleep, the young Woodswane searched the shelf for a loose piece of rock he could use to drive the noisome bird away. But once he saw that Bacchanor was absent, he changed his mind and stood to greet the wizard who had been faithfully watching over the men through the long stretch of night.
“Is it morning already?” Jeaf asked the owl just before it transformed into a multicolored pillar of smoke that continued metamorphasizing until it took on the shape of the robust wizard.
“Yes, it is,” Bacchanor replied. “The fog has thickened since yesterday and obscures the dawn.”
Jeaf rekindled the fading fire, so that they could boil water for the fragrant herbal teas Bacchanor carried with him. The hot drink would help take the edge off the cold damp air. After awakening Goldan to breakfast, they pulled out a supply of jerky and wheat cakes. Once they ate, the brown buck, like the previous day, led the two men over the treacherous mountain path. Much later, when the autumn sun's warmth finally lifted the fog from off the warl, glorious Thundyrkynd, the great city adorning the cove beneath them, appeared.
Even from their elevation, Jeaf could make out sturdy long houses built with heavy timbers that the Bjork cut out of the Alabaster Mountains' thick forests. Scores of longboats, trimmed with vivid hues and embellished with carvings, floated in the bay looking like flowers adrift on the Largryk Sea's dark green waters. Hundreds of people, crisscrossing over a lattice work of streets running through Thundyrkynd, could also be seen. A twin city sat on the opposite shore that had the same appearance as the one spreading out along the water's edge below. Bacchanor, now in his own shape, came to stand by Jeaf's horse and pointed to a dozen riders who were moving up the trail towards them. They were large men with long braided hair. Many of them had beards growing down to their chests.
Halfway down the trail the two companies converged on each other, warily, like two bullmoose trying to size each other up. The long, braided hair and beards that the Bjork wore, as well as the tattoos adorning their faces, created a threatening impression. Tall men all, they rode bareback on long-haired horses. Swords, axes, bows, arrows and long handled hammers were numbered in their personal arsenals.
Studying the hammers, Jeaf was reminded of what Bacchanor had said the previous night. The Bjork worship a god who carries a hammer. Running his strong fingers through his curly beard, wizard added: The seafarers believe he gathered half of heaven's stars and beat them together with this hammer to form the warl. Jeaf, I'm certain the Hammer of Power will duly impress them and gain us their favor.
Soon a Bjork, with hair as golden as Goldan's, rode his shaggy, tan-colored horse up to the blue-clad warrior. Pointing at his uniform, he said, “Tsadal are not welcome here!” The proclamation was made with a sense of satisfaction that comes from doing to another the thing that had done to them.
“Hail, brave warriors!” Bacchanor responded with a robust greeting that conveyed the kind of bravery the Bjork highly valued. “Do not be concerned with irritating feuds when greater matters are at hand.” The rosey-cheeked wizard signaled for Jeaf to reveal his hammer as he exclaimed, “Behold, Vlad'War's Child… the Hammer of Power!”
The golden-haired Bjork dismounted his shaggy mount and strode up to the young Woodswane asking if he could look at the precious thing. With a reassuring nod, Bacchanor encouraged Jeaf to oblige. Soon, the ruby-adorned hammer was being passed among the surprised Bjork warriors who now looked more like young fathers caressing their first born in their gentle arms than the fierce fighters they really were.
After each man had an opportunity to hold the hammer, an energetic discussion ensued in the ancient Bjork tongue. Seeing that Bacchanor seemed pleased by what they were saying, Jeaf and Goldan relaxed and waited for what would happen next. In time, the warrior, whose sober face was decorated with an ornate sky blue tattoo, approached the young Woodswane and returned the hammer, reverentially.
&n
bsp; “And who might you be?”
“He is Jeaf Oakenfel, the Hammer Bearer of prophecy.” Bacchanor spoke loud enough for all to hear.
With his arm still tingling from having touched the hammer's magic, the Bjork acquiesced to the moment. “My name is Fyreed. Will you please follow us?” The tall Bjork warrior acknowledged Jeaf with a nod of his head. Pointing at Goldan, he added, “If the Tsadal is your friend, he may come too.”
“He is more than my friend,” the young Woodswane replied. “He is responsible for saving my life.” The Bjork turned to reassess the blue-clad Tsadal as the young Woodswane added, “Goldan is his name and this is Bacchanor. Lead on, we'll gladly follow you back to Thundyrkynd.”
****
The streets were filled with people busy decorating buildings with colorful ribbons and flowers. Tables and chairs were set up in the streets. Wood, piled up intermittently along the road, would be used to make the bonfires that would provide a celebratory light. Tall poles with elaborate carvings of fish, fowl and mammals were set up at the head of each avenue. Wheelbarrows full of vegetables, meats, pastries and fruit were being pushed through the streets; kegs of beer and wine followed close behind.
“What's happening?” Jeaf puzzled over the buzz of activity that swept around him and the others who accompanied him.
“Tonight is the Feast of Autumn's Glory!” Fyreed's eyes sparkled with excitement as he explained. “It's our annual harvest celebration. You couldn't have picked a better time to visit our city.”
“When does the feast begin?” Jeff was intrigued at the prospect of such an event.
“Soon! Soon! We must hurry!”
As Fyreed led the company of men through the harried streets, Bjork men, women and children, dressed in bright festive apparel, began pouring into the cobblestone streets. Many of the young people carried masks with images of animals and heavenly bodies carved on them.
