The Call of Agon: Book One of The Children of Telm

by Dean F. Wilson

  “What is that light?” Thalla called.

  Stricken with panic, Yavün shoved the Beldarian back into his shirt. “What light?” he said, his voice wavering. “I ... Perhaps it is the first light of dawn. Yes, it’s dawn.”

  “Maybe we can sleep then,” she called back to him. “I do not want to travel at night and sleep away the day.”

  And so they clambered in the dark for each other’s hands, and they clasped them and lay down in a crevice in the rock. There they fell into a deep and heedless slumber, comforted by the warmth in each other’s bodies. Dawn came, but not for many hours, and they were still in the clutches of sleep as it passed.

  * * *

  “Day is the Comforter,” Délin said as the sun rose. He was first to greet it, speaking an Old Arlinaic prayer.

  “Hail, indeed!” Herr’Don said, shifting from his not so comfortable rock bed. “Even the great weariness of an endless walk is more restful than this supposed resting place. I would that we came unto Eridúl ere now, for there, at least, the Plains are flat, not rugged and jagged like these forks and knives of rock!”

  “You are obviously more accustomed to beds of linen,” Aralus remarked. “For is that not the rightful place of a prince? If you were forced into the wild, then your body would have grown accustomed to its ways, be they calm or full of crags.”

  “I felt no rock last night,” Ifferon said, “for I was too deep in slumber. But that rest I shall surely pay for now, for my back is as jagged as the rock it lay against.”

  They began a new day away from the Vigil of Tol-Úmari, and they heard no cries or howls of wolves, nor, indeed, the sound of anything else upon the rocky downs. They travelled swiftly, following the direction of the sun, and stopped only twice, once to tend to Délin’s wounded hand, which he had tried to ignore long enough, and the other for a short rest and lunch. Before midday had come they journeyed many miles, but still there was no sight of their lost companions.

  * * *

  Yavün awoke to find Thalla already stirring, yet still she laid there in his embrace. “Good morning,” she said. He grinned widely and his face shone as brightly as the sun, which had been shining for many hours.

  After a few wordless moments, Thalla ran her hand across his chest until her fingers met with the cold, hard stone of the Beldarian, hidden deep within his vestments. He had forgotten to button up, so the chain was visible.

  “What is this?” she quizzed, her voice trembling.

  “This?” Yavün asked in reply, the quaver in his voice more noticeable than Thalla’s. He quickly drew back and fastened the top button of his shirt. “Oh, that ... that’s just ... that’s just something my father gave me years ago, a kind of lucky talisman. Helps keep the wolves away from the stables.”

  “I guess it did not help against those wolves last night,” Thalla said.

  “Well, the most beautiful mare is still safe,” Yavün replied. “That’s all that matters to me.”

  She smiled. “Can I see it?”

  Panic seized him and whispered dark thoughts. It clutched his heart and strangled the words that came flooding to his throat. “I ... no, I’m sorry. It’s kind of a family heirloom, and we’re a bit ... protective about it. You see, only the bearer is to look upon it or ... or its power will dissipate into the air and be lost forever.”

  “Do you think you will return to being a stableboy? Will you really need it?”

  The fear still held him, flushing his face red and forcing him to perspire. “It’s sentimental. I’d like to give it to my brother when I return to Boror, if I don’t remain as a stableboy. Maybe I will be an adventuring bard, singing songs of my exploits.”

  “I like that,” Thalla said. “That is what attracted me to Herr’Don at first. He was so gallant and adventurous, and he recited verse to me at times, though they were not his own. But it was enough to make any woman swoon.”

  “Does he make you swoon now?”

  “I do not know,” she sighed. “I would like to say yes, but then part of me would like to say no.”

  “Is that the part of you that’s with me now?” Yavün asked. “Is that the stronger part?”

  “I do not know, Yavün. If truth be told, I have never been so confused. Things have not been great with Herr’Don. I mean, his first love is really himself. And his second is probably Délin, or at least the whole notion of being an honourable knight. I do not really know how far down the list I actually lie. But I guess I took it for granted. I never thought about it before, never really considered my options. I never had options before.” Sorrow marred her face and flooded her eyes, and it looked as though she was fighting back a painful memory. “I was with him and that was it, the end of the story. It is different now.”

  “I’m glad it is,” Yavün said.

  She smiled and kissed him, and then withdrew again with a curious look in her eyes. “I did not know you had a brother,” she said.

  “Oh,” Yavün squeaked. The fear returned. “Yes, I ... I just didn’t talk about him.”

  “And I thought you were an orphan,” she recalled. “I thought you did not know who your mother and father were.”

  The panic spread, taking his voice. He gulped hard. “I ... Well ... you see ... he gave me the talisman when I was really young and then left before I got to know him. The same with my mother.”

  “Oh,” she said. “That is very sad.” She hugged him again, but the curious look did not leave her eyes.

  * * *

  “Aha!” Aralus cried. “Who might these two be?”

  Thalla and Yavün stood up swiftly and stepped away from one another, but already Herr’Don had seen them, as had the others who came down into the ravine.

  “So it seems they have been scratching!” Aralus said, and he laughed aloud, before spitting out a greasy strand of hair that had gone into his mouth.

  Herr’Don glowered at Aralus, then at Yavün, and then at Thalla. It seemed as though he struggled with his fury, for he tried to speak, but then turned and walked away with anger in his strides. Ifferon heard him mumble to himself, but he could not understand his wrathful words.

  Délin shook his head. “Is youth so tempting?”

  “Judge me as you will,” Thalla replied, but she could not endure their stares, so she clambered up and walked away.

  “So we found them,” Aralus observed, “and now we’ve split up again. This is, I must say, a rather entertaining bunch. I’m glad I get to tag along.”

  But they did not split up, for Délin and Aralus followed Herr’Don and brought him back, and Yavün and Ifferon did the same for Thalla. The two did not speak—Herr’Don out of anger, Thalla out of guilt.

  “We must continue on,” Délin told them. “If there is aught to be done about this, let it be done when the Céalari dictate. Doom lies ever the closer, but let it not lie festering in the pits of our hearts.”

  They ventured further into Telarym, trudging closer to the River Soldím and the Chasm-bridge that lay across it. Strange birds were aflight, circling in the sky, and it seemed to the company that they were being led closer to the Chasm, as if the birds had been expecting them.

  Thus they came to the Chasm of Issarí before nightfall, spotting a familiar figure sitting in wait amidst the gloaming.

  “I thought you would never arrive,” Elithéa said, and they saw her resting on a slab of rock by the bridge. “Your race is a slow one, both in mind and leg, it seems. What, indeed, did Éala see in your creation? But tarry not to answer that, for it is time we kept to our journey.”

  “So I see you’ve been relaxing here while we were being hunted by the wolves,” Aralus said. “So brave you are, Elly, in the flurry of your flight, and so very loyal, lacking any will to search for the scattered.”

  “I lack not the will,” she replied, yet she did not stir from her seat, “for I sent out birds to find you all, though, indeed, it may be true to say that I lacked the will to find you, Aralus. Why I have not slain you already is b
eyond my ken, for you are wilder than the worst of beasts, and the earth would be thankful for the ridding of you. But mercy is a gift that few of the Éalgarth possess, and thus I feel all the more honoured to grant it.”

  “Mercy,” Aralus scoffed. “Letting me live long enough to hear you speak is not mercy but cruelty, dear Elly. Regardless, I need not your mercy, nor the mercy of any who walk upon Iraldas.”

  “Yet you still need the mercy of Éala,” the Ferian replied. “For were it not for the mercy of he, Iraldas would not accept your footsteps.”

  * * *

  Thus they found the last of their companions, and their quest was restored. They rested at the brink of the Chasm, peering now and then into the great gorge below. It was not long before the curtain of night was pulled across the sky, and then they saw little in the canyon, yet the sound of its ravaging waters continued long into the night and into the caverns of their dreams.

  Light broke through the curtain swiftly the next morning, but it did not shine as brightly as it had the day before. The company awoke early, for Elithéa bid them cross the Chasm and the Plains of Eridúl before the next night fell, but many were unhappy to be greeted by such a dour sight.

  “And another day dawns with less light than the last,” Aralus moaned, standing on the brink of the Chasm beside Herr’Don.

  “Perhaps my prayers were not strong enough,” Délin said, shaking his head. He began another silent appeal to the Lord and Lady.

  “These rocks are old and ragged,” Aralus pointed out, peering into the Chasm and kicking dust over the edge, “like dear Elly, and they hold wisdom that she can never know, but I sense there is something lurking here that I do not wish to meet. If we happen upon anything, slay it without question, Herr’Don.”

  “I would have it no other way,” the prince replied, patting the handle of his sword. “Slay now, bray later. But I notice that you want me to do all the slaying, eh? I cannot blame you, in truth, for when there’s slaying to do, who better to call upon than Herr’Don the Great?”

  “My thoughts exactly!” Aralus said, smiling a crooked smile. “Though possibly slightly influenced by lethargy and fear of being eaten alive.”

  * * *

  After they packed their things they gathered near the bridge, where Ifferon kept his eyes on the jagged rocks that jutted out from the walls of the gulf below. The billowing water splashed up, and he could almost make out where giant clumps of stone were hurled upwards into the faces of the cliffs on either side. He gulped harshly.

  “This bridge should take the weight of four of us, though no more without risking our safety,” Elithéa explained. “Ifferon, Yavün, Thalla, and I shall go first, for we are the lightest, I deem. Herr’Don, make sure the ropes on this end remain stable.”

  “They will not budge now that Herr’Don the Great holds them!” he bellowed, his voice echoing into the Chasm.

  “I’ll help,” Aralus said. “I wouldn’t like to see my favourite Ferian come to any harm.”

  “I will help,” Délin said, noting her intent glare.

  Elithéa placed a wary foot upon the first plank. Ifferon closed his eyes, but he could not close his ears to the creaking of the weathered wood. Elitheá stepped forward again, her hand holding tightly to the single hand rope to her right. She balanced her weight with her other arm outstretched, wavering with each footfall and ominous creak. Ifferon could no longer endure his imagination and so he opened his eyes again. He looked down and saw where the other hand rope had fallen, a thin line strewn across the scree far below.

  “Keep moving,” Elithéa called.

  “Aye!” Herr’Don shouted. “Do not fear. You’d hardly make a dent in the ground if you fell from here.”

  “Thank you,” Ifferon said. “I was just contemplating what sort of mark my corpse would make on the ground below.”

  “Yes, yes, enough banter,” Délin said. “I fear this bridge may collapse from old age as we talk.”

  “More walking, less talking,” Herr’Don added.

  Yavün stepped forward, grabbing the rope with both hands and stepping out quickly without bobbing his head to look down. He continued on, watching the back of Elithéa as she slowly advanced across the bridge.

  Thalla followed, though she was more hesitant, and she whispered something to calm herself before gazing over the edge of the precipice. She stepped back, bumping into Ifferon, and then eased out, making that first trembling step, the appearance of which made Ifferon uneasy. He mustered what little courage he had and stepped forward, following behind her. The journey was slow and the fury of nature seemed against them, unleashing a torrent of winds that whipped and lashed at them, slaying their balance and burying their courage. At these moments they grabbed the rope firmly and closed their eyes. When the wind died down, they found that they remained on the bridge, shattered and shivering, but still living. To Ifferon the gaping ground and ravaging waters below seemed to hint and taunt at him with a subtle beckon to miss a footfall or lose a grip, but that only made him cling tighter and make every wary step with the fullness of his attention.

  But after the third heavy wind had come and gone, Ifferon heard voices from behind. He looked back and saw Herr’Don trying to keep Aralus off the bridge, but already Aralus had placed a foot upon the first plank, defying Herr’Don’s commands. The bridge creaked and the rope grew tense. Thalla shrieked, Yavün froze, and Elithéa turned sharply as she tried to make out what was going on. The creaking grew louder and Ifferon felt the tension form in the wood below. The ground and the waters seemed to smile at him in bleak anticipation.

  “The bridge is breaking! Go!” he screamed, but Yavün did not move, and Thalla shoved him in the shoulder as she joined in Ifferon’s pleas. Elithéa charged forward, almost reaching the end of the bridge, but then a large wooden moan came about them and she yelped as the force of the rope’s swing pulled her back. The bridge collapsed down from the opposite side and Ifferon’s arms wrapped around the hand rope. The air whisked through him, catching his breath. The rope swung down, and he could see Thalla slide down until she met the sheer fear of Yavün’s grip. Elithéa was but a momentary figure in the distance below, slipping from view as the brutality of the cliff-face took his body. His grip loosened and he fell a little, tangling around the rope even more. He screamed and caught it again, though now his hold was weak and strained. He looked up and tried to regain some strength, and there he saw Aralus hanging upside down, his right foot caught precariously between two wooden planks. Further up were Herr’Don and Délin pulling the rope with all their might, but even they were slipping, and a river of dust washed over Aralus and Ifferon as Herr’Don’s boots scraped off the ground above. He coughed and choked, and his strength grew weaker.

  * * *

  Elithéa swung to and fro on the end of the rope, her hands burning, though moistened by the spit and froth of the rampaging waters below. Her feet kicked as rocks and stones hurled upwards, as if thrown by some malevolent spirit in the gorge. One stone sliced past and caught her face. She slipped further, but managed to pull herself up again, biting her lip to distract her from the sharp sting in her cheek.

  Then figures emerged from the water below, hands and bodies created in the waves. They came so sudden and yet so subtle that in moments it seemed as though there was a river of dismembered body parts, all toiling and crashing and tugging upwards, as if to escape the mayhem of the rapids. The arms grew longer and the hands grew bigger as they reached ever upwards, grey and blue, stretching out to maul and take her. She shrieked and kicked, and a few of her winged companions came fluttering down, howling at the hands, biting and clawing at them as they tried to consume Elithéa. But they too were consumed as the fluid fingers wrapped around them and pulled the screeching birds under, until there was but the din of the waters and the rocks.

  Then Elithéa heard a shout from above, and she looked up to see that Yavün was falling, only one faltering hand keeping him in place. “Yavün!” someone called,
though she could not tell who over the tumult of the gorge. A splatter of blood dropped onto her face and she saw that an outcrop of rock had torn through his arm. His moans came slowly down into the chaos and he slipped further and further until, to her shock, his hand let go completely and his lumbering body plummeted down on top of her. There she also lost her grip and came down with him, and as she felt several groping hands come about her, she looked up to see the others falling. The water rose up around her, steaming and frothing, and she struggled to keep her breath as more tumbling bodies joined the liquid fray.

  XV – REVELATIONS ON THE RIVER EDGE

  The waters took them and tore them and threw them. It ate them whole in canyon jaws with riverbed teeth and spit them out like pebbles when their bones had been crushed and their skin torn like old parchment. But it did not spit them all out.

  Light crept warily into Ifferon’s mind. It stung like nettles and burned like fire, but most of all it seemed to dash inside his head and pound against his brain with iron fists. His eyes blazed, but he felt a coolness across the left side of his head and cheek, and then the coarseness of stone against his skin. He jerked when a sudden sharp pain shot through his leg from the bowl of his foot to the tip of his knee. He froze until the pain died down, but when he stirred again it returned with even greater intensity. Stillness was his friend now. He laid motionless, hoping and praying silently.

  But there were no answers to his prayers and no sound to be heard but for the ringing in his ears. The wind had died down, and there was no tumult and tumble of stone and limb and foam. But there was pain, and it reared its ugly head, flashed its wicked teeth and smiled its fiercest smile. Ifferon could not lay there any longer. There did not seem to be anyone around. He was alone with his pain and his torment, and the sun was beating down on him with harsh red rays.