Gilmreth the Awakening

by Raymond L. Weil

  “He didn’t take the time then to track down the other members of his family,” replied Damon, leaning back in his chair and taking another deep breath. “In despair, he traveled to a distant land, leaving behind everything and everyone he knew. Far across the Ralle Desert, he had heard of ancient ruins that dated back to the Worldfire itself!”

  “But the Ralle Desert is supposed to be impassable; no one has ever crossed it and returned!” Lynol objected, amazed that Malcon would attempt the desert crossing.

  “Perhaps the desert wasn’t so impassable then,” replied Damon, pausing to take a sip of water. “Malcon supposedly spent several years searching old ruins and ancient books for a way to destroy Gilmreth. Finally, in an ancient ruin that dated from just after the Worldfire, he discovered an old book of sorcery. In that book was a dangerous spell; the sleeping spell.”

  “The sleeping spell,” Lynol repeated, her eyes glowing. “That’s the spell he used to put Gilmreth to sleep.”

  “Malcon had been seeking this spell for many years,” replied Damon, nodding his head. “The book had belonged to a powerful sorcerer called Ramael, who had lived during the Golden Age itself. Ramael had supposedly been driven out of a great enclave of sorcerers and banished to a life of solidarity. Ramael claimed in the book that he had helped create the dragons, that he was one of the first sorcerers.”

  “Helped create the dragons! Was he telling the truth?” Lynol asked, amazed at the thought. Could this Ramael actually have been one of the powerful sorcerers that created Gilmreth? The power those ancient sorcerers had wielded; it almost seemed like they had dared to play God. Lynol shook her head in amazement.

  “Malcon believed so. Some of the spells in the book were truly powerful; so powerful that Malcon was afraid to invoke them,” replied Damon, gazing at his young daughter. “Realizing at long last that he had found what he was seeking he returned home, calling together the surviving members of his family telling them what was going to happen. Glaycon and Tirol had long since returned and were living in the village.”

  “So his family came back,” commented Lynol, wondering what they had said to Malcon about Lys’ death.

  “Yes, but they had even more disturbing news for Malcon,” Damon continued with a sad look upon his face. “In order to protect themselves from Gilmreth, the villagers had started up the sacrifices again.”

  “More sacrifices!” Lynol interrupted with wide eyes. “What were the villagers thinking?”

  “They just wanted to survive,” Damon replied, even he didn’t see how they could have sacrificed their daughters so willingly. “Before he left, Malcon gave detailed instructions to Glaycon and Tirol of what was to be done if he didn’t return from his confrontation with Gilmreth. Malcon journeyed to Firestorm Mountain late one moonless night, knowing Gilmreth was resting in his lair. Malcon accosted the dragon deep beneath the mountain and invoked the sleeping spell, putting Gilmreth to sleep, extinguishing his own power, and sacrificing his own life to weave the powerful all consuming spell.” Damon took another long drink of water before continuing. He knew Lynol would never be the same after tonight.

  “Malcon’s surviving family came together and over the years immediately after his death, methodically gathered and hid in a secure place all information about the dragon and what had happened,” continued Damon, looking at his daughter who was staring back in rapt fascination, listening to every word he was saying.

  “So they hid everything? All the books, the scrolls? Everything?” stated Lynol, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. That explained why she hadn’t been able to find anything on sorcery or Gilmreth. It didn’t matter how hard she looked, there was nothing to find.

  “He left very explicit instructions as to what was to be done,” replied Damon, nodding his head slightly. “He had known that he probably wouldn’t survive the incantation of the spell he was going to use against Gilmreth. Malcon was very familiar with the ancient prophecies, as was Glaycon. He had always known that there was a way to put Gilmreth into a deep sleep. It was what he had been searching for all those long years.”

  “So Glaycon and Tirol followed Malcon’s instructions,” Lynol murmured quietly. From her own searches, she knew they had been quite thorough.

  “Knowing the prophecies as they did, they believed that someday someone might find a way to awaken Gilmreth prematurely if the truth was general knowledge,” continued Damon. “Malcon’s surviving family encouraged the truth to become a myth passed down as a fairy tale from generation to generation to protect the prophecies. Supposedly, Malcon and Glaycon had known for years that one of the ancient prophecies had predicted both the death of Lys and Malcon. Malcon had hoped that his protective spell around his home would protect Lys until he could find a way to deal with Gilmreth.”

  “Malcon knew that Lys was destined to die and did nothing to prevent it; didn’t even tell her? Lynol asked, amazed, slowly shaking her head. “How could he not have protected his only daughter?”

  “Up until Malcon’s time, the prophecies were not believed in because they hadn’t happened yet, but he dared not take the chance. That was one of the reasons Malcon had taken such great pains to protect his home and to teach Lys sorcery. He hoped that Lys’ sorcery and the protective spell he had placed around his home would protect her.”

  Damon paused, watching the flame burn in one of the oil lamps. It seemed to possess a life of its own as it wavered and grew, and then flared back down again causing the shadows in the room to move and take on a life of their own.

  “It’s just so hard to imagine Malcon leaving Lys alone, knowing what the prophecy predicted,” Lynol spoke with sadness in her eyes.

  “He knew there was a possibility the prophecies could be true,” Damon replied. “They originated from a great sorcerer in the Sylvar family from back before Gilmreth returned to the mountain. Malcon had hoped to discover a method to either destroy Gilmreth or imprison the dragon, thus derailing the prophecies. But as you now know, that didn’t occur.”

  “Then after Malcon died enacting the sleeping spell, his family followed his instructions and gathered up all the books and scrolls. Where did they hide them? Where is this safe place they hid everything?” Lynol asked.

  Lynol gazed at her father with anticipation, holding her breath, hoping her father might know. If she could find this ancient repository, it could help answer many of her questions about her own fledgling powers. Lynol felt very worried knowing that Lys and Malcon had both fallen victim to the ancient prophecy, which had predicted their deaths.

  “I don’t know,” her father replied, shaking his head slowly. “It was a special place that Malcon himself had prepared to store much of the knowledge and artifacts that he brought back from his many journeys. Only Glaycon had access to it, and upon his death it became permanently sealed, its location lost.”

  Lynol hid her disappointment with another question. “Why did their power fade? What happened to sorcery?” Lynol asked. She hoped her father could shed some light on why the power had seemingly left the family. She knew that after Malcon’s time sorcery utterly vanished.

  “Only a few of Malcon’s immediate relatives possessed a trace of sorcery; his brother and several cousins,” replied Damon, looking into his daughter’s eyes. “The power had been focused in Malcon and Lys; the others had only a token amount, and it began to fade rapidly after Malcon’s death. Perhaps in some way, he and Lys were the source, or the focus, for the family’s powers. From what I was told, the family used their remaining sorcery to gather all the books and knowledge they could, storing it in Malcon’s secret hideaway, which only Glaycon could enter.”

  “Could the storage place be here on the farm?” Lynol asked breathlessly, remembering her experience at the Sylvar Stone earlier in the evening. Was her vision a clue to this ancient treasure trove of knowledge that Malcon Sylvar and his descendants had hidden?

  “I doubt it,” her father replied, rubbing his forehead and frowning.
“If it was, it would have been found by now. No, I think it’s somewhere beneath the mountain itself. Everything was safely put away in some hidden lair, far away from prying eyes where Malcon could research and practice his sorcery in solitude. I don’t believe it will ever be found.”

  Lynol felt disappointed. If all the books and scrolls about sorcery had been hidden away, what was she to do?

  -

  For several hours more, Lynol and her father talked, with Lynol asking questions and her father answering them. Damon told Lynol they would spend some time each night going over the old family knowledge, which Lynol would have to memorize word for word, as he had when he was her age.

  After going to her room, Lynol was too keyed up by what she had learned to go to sleep. “I must do something!” she said to the four walls of her room as she paced back and forth reviewing what her father had said earlier. “I will become a sorceress!” The statement took her by surprise and made her steps falter. Pausing, she gazed uncomfortably out her bedroom window toward the distant darkness of Firestorm Mountain. The mountain was now covered in total blackness, which not even the myriads of brightly glowing stars could penetrate with their distant light.

  She was surprised at what she had just said and wondered what had caused her to say such words. She blinked her eyes and sat down on her bed to think. She felt an icy shiver crawl up her back as she thought of what her destiny might be if the ancient prophecies came to pass. The knowledge made her feel small, helpless, and worried for the future.

  Lynol had learned so much tonight, but it would take an extraordinarily powerful sorceress to defeat Gilmreth; a sorceress even stronger than Lys! Lynol knew that if she ever faced Gilmreth it would mean her premature death. Of that, there was no doubt. Lynol’s abilities were miniscule compared to the awesome power Lys had wielded against the dragon.

  Perhaps I’m not the sorceress mentioned in the prophecies, she thought. After all, in order to face Gilmreth it would take a very powerful sorceress. From what her father had told her tonight, she was now more confused than ever.

  There had to be another Sylvar sorceress who would face Gilmreth. One that would be extraordinarily powerful; someone she hadn’t yet met, or perhaps not yet even born. The prophecies were always extremely hard to understand; they may very well pertain to her future children. The thought frightened her, made her realize even more the fearsome responsibility of the Sylvars.

  She knew she would have to pass on to her own children what her father had told her tonight. Someday, perhaps in the not so distant future, there would be another powerful Sylvar sorceress, but she knew it wasn’t going to be her.

  -

  Later, Lynol lay in her bed feeling the light, cool breeze blowing across her through the partially open bedroom window. Starlight winked at her through the glass.

  She focused her thoughts, contemplating the mountain for a moment. When she felt she was ready, she reached out with her mind. She cast a tentative mental finger toward Firestorm Mountain, cautiously probing under the mountain. She could feel a cold, sinister presence deep beneath. “Gilmreth,” she breathed suddenly, her pulse quickening, her light blue eyes cast wide open. This was the first time she had tried to reach out toward the dragon, to touch Gilmreth with her mind, as she did on occasion to the other animals she coaxed into coming up to her.

  She cautiously touched the edges of the sleeping dragon’s consciousness. She fought down panic and a hollow feeling of fear at the coldness, the darkness, which that light touch revealed. There was no doubt the dragon was actually there. Withdrawing her mind from the sleeping dragon, she lay back on her pillow and closed her eyes, pondering what she had just done. She hadn’t known or believed that she could actually sense the dragon underneath the mountain. After doing this and thinking about the occurrence at the Sylvar Stone earlier tonight, Lynol wondered just what it all might mean.

  As she fell into a troubled sleep, her last waking thoughts were of Lys Sylvar, the daughter of Malcon Sylvar, imagining the courage it had taken to face Gilmreth alone. She wished she knew more about Lys, what she had been like, what her dreams had been; dreams that Gilmreth had brought to a sudden and cruel end.

  Chapter Three

  Early the next morning Lynol awoke sleepily to the old rooster crowing defiantly at the rising sun outside her partially open bedroom window. The chill early morning breeze, blowing lightly through the window, caused her unconsciously to snuggle deeper beneath the warm, protective blankets. Reaching out tentatively with her mind, she soothed the aging rooster, encouraging it to return to the still sleeping hens in the chicken coup down below the garden.

  Stretching, she opened her eyes and looked out the window to see the bright morning sunlight striking Firestorm Mountain. Its tall crags and peaks were covered with snow and glistening with reflected light masking the sinister, dark secret the mountain protected. Only during the hottest months of the summer did the heavy snow melt away entirely, revealing the dark mass of unyielding stone underneath, Gilmreth’s lair for over one thousand long years!

  Thinking about Gilmreth made Lynol feel uncomfortable. The startling revelations from the previous night swam slowly back into her mind; the horrific stories about Gilmreth and what had happened to Lys Sylvar. Dimly she could remember dreaming about Gilmreth, but what the dream had been about was rapidly fading from her mind as most dreams did. Perhaps she just didn’t want to remember.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to relax pushing those memories to the back of her mind. It was too early in the morning to worry about the night before. She lay there for a moment enjoying the warm, protective feeling of her bed. Pushing back the blankets, she reluctantly got up. She closed the window, blocking out the morning breeze and was soon dressed, pulling on a heavy flannel shirt to combat the morning chill.

  Sitting in front of her mirror, Lynol brushed an errant strand of brown hair back into place and surveyed her image critically; her shoulder length hair lay slightly curled upon her shoulders. She was satisfied that her hair was at least reasonably presentable. She smiled at her reflection and examined the smile with careful detachment. Her light blue eyes gazed appreciatively back at her from the mirror. Her face was young and vibrant as any 16-year-old girl's should be. A slight tinge of red, on her cheeks, showed that she hadn’t quite thrown off the early morning chill.

  Walking into the kitchen, she stirred the ashes in the cold fireplace, uncovering some still glowing cherry red coals buried deep within. Adding some wood kindling and a few larger logs, Lynol watched the fire breathe almost magically back to life. The first few hesitant jets of yellow flame appeared through the kindling, licking at the waiting logs above. In a few more moments, a roaring flame erupted, throwing out a pleasant, comforting heat and driving away the early morning chill. Lynol stood before the fireplace enjoying the spreading heat from the fire, holding her hands out toward the warming flames. Finally, feeling warm, she walked to the kitchen door that led outside.

  Stepping out onto the porch, she shivered in the crisp morning breeze, relishing the freshness of the early morning air. She hugged her arms against her chest and trembled, not just from the morning chill, as she gazed pensively at Firestorm Mountain.

  The morning fog was slowly beginning to dissipate. In the distant grassy meadow where their few cattle were grazing, the secretive gray fog hid the animals in its wet, protective mist. Their occasionally ambiguous shapes shrouded in the grayness, causing the animals forms to be vague and mysterious. With her imagination, it was possible to visualize all types of enchanting creatures in the drifting shapes generated by the morning fog.

  Her father had risen earlier, before sunup, and went off to Galvin. Her father had explained to her the night before that he was going to trade some milk and vegetables for some necessary supplies. In Galvin, most business was done by trade or bartering. A smoked ham might purchase a bolt of cloth, fresh eggs, or freshly baked bread. Gold coins were the accepted currency, but they were scarce, and
most people hoarded the rare coins for winter emergencies. Lynol knew that even in Galvin hunger was almost always present in the small agricultural village.

  It was just so difficult to raise enough food to feed everyone adequately anymore. The soil refused to produce the bountiful harvests of the past. Sometimes Lynol felt guilty; hunger was something she had never experienced. Their farm was the rarity. Its soil continued to raise relatively abundant crops. A lot of the food sold in Galvin came from the excess crops raised on their farm and the Gor farm next to them.

  Going back inside, Lynol started a fire in the heavy cast iron cooking stove and placed a skillet on top, and in just a few minutes she had made a quick breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast. She coated the crisp toast thickly with strawberry jam from the previous year's canning, enjoying the sweet, tart taste. During the long summer months, she did an abundance of canning, trading the excess in Galvin. It helped to bring in some extra money and allowed her to purchase a few items that made living out on the farm more comfortable.

  -

  Lynol worked around the house for several hours, cleaning and doing the odd jobs required in maintaining a pleasant, immaculate home. She had just finished wiping down the kitchen table when a commotion outside drew her attention. Looking out the window, she saw her father leading one of their horses, a bay mare harnessed to a creaky two-wheeled wooden cart, into the barn. He was back much earlier than she had expected.

  Lynol had many pleasant memories associated with that old two-story wooden farm building. She had spent much of her childhood playing in the musty straw piles inside, acting as if she was a captive princess hiding from the evil dragon Gilmreth. Her two childhood friends, Kalvin and Dresdia Gor, would join her, coming to her rescue as they enacted their favorite fantasies in the safety of the old barn.

  In many ways, she missed those carefree childhood days. Days in which she and her friends had used their growing childhood imaginations to keep themselves occupied. She well remembered all the laughter and lighthearted fun that ensued from their fanciful childhood games.