Gilmreth the Awakening

by Raymond L. Weil

  Walking out into the yard, she went toward the barn, curious to see what supplies her father had traded for in Galvin. Fortunately, their farm was the most productive one in the local area. Their pastures were greener covered in thick grass. Their stock was healthier and bred true. Lynol often wondered if their good fortune had anything to do with Malcon Sylvar; if his sorcery had somehow purged the farm from the poisons that affected the ground of so many others; poisons left over from the legendary Worldfire and Gilmreth.

  Stock on other farms withered and died seemingly without any reason, their offspring often born deformed and having to be destroyed. There were even rumors that an occasional newborn child would vanish mysteriously, and the parents wouldn’t explain what had happened. Lynol wondered if the same problem with the stock not breeding true might occasionally happen to people. Just the thought made a cold shiver run down her back; she hoped the stories weren’t true.

  She wondered what that ancient world had been like. It had been the Golden Age of man when sorcery was at its highest and man dared to play God, when the great dragons were created through the powerful magic of the powerful sorcerers of that time.

  The great dragons had been created to be servants of man, only to be let loose inadvertently on the shattered world of humankind when the Worldfire descended upon the Golden Age. The Worldfire had hurled man back into the Stone Age, destroying the magnificent cities of that period. Nothing from that ancient era survived intact other than a few mysterious artifacts whose purposes remained uncertain.

  The world after the Worldfire was destitute and lacking in natural resources, most of its science and history lost. It barely supported the meager agricultural communities, which huddled close to the green areas near the mountains in an ever-growing-harsher world. It seemed as if life itself was gradually fading away. Plants, animals, and even people were less and less prevalent with each passing generation.

  “Good morning, Lynol,” her father said with a mysterious smile, coming out of the barn carrying several bulky cloth wrapped packages.

  “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” Lynol said in a pleasant voice. She was pleased that her father was already home.

  “Morning chores already done?” he asked as he walked up to her.

  “Most of them,” Lynol replied as she looked intriguingly at the packages her father was holding. “I expected you to spend more time in Galvin.”

  “I only had a few items I needed,” her father responded with a slight smile, as if hiding a secret.

  “What did you get?” Lynol asked curiously, wondering what her father was carrying.

  Normally they discussed any supplies needed, but this time her father had been evasive about what it was he needed to barter for in Galvin. Her father had only smiled and looked at her in that patient, paternal way.

  “Some items I thought you might need. After all, how many generations has it been since a member of our family possessed any of the old sorcery powers?” he commented with a straight face, walking past her and up the porch steps.

  Lynol found she was speechless. She stood frozen, dumbfounded, her face turning pale; the old sorcery powers! Her father knew! How had he found out? She had been so careful not to display any of her new abilities where anyone might observe or notice, especially her father. Just how much did he know? Concerned, she turned to follow him into the house, her mind a jumble of mixed emotions. She could feel the growing tension in her body and tried to will herself to relax.

  Damon stopped on the porch turning to wait for Lynol to catch up. He noticed her worried and questioning expression as she followed him up onto the porch. “I’ve seen the animals and how they act around you. I’ve seen that faraway look in your eyes on occasions as if you’re listening to some inner voice,” Damon explained in his fatherly tone, trying to ease his young daughter’s concerns. “I’ve suspected for a while what was happening and have been waiting for you to say something. How else can you explain totally wild animals coming up and eating out of your hand?”

  “I was afraid to say anything,” Lynol confessed hesitantly, looking into her father’s warm eyes. In some ways, she felt relieved the secret was finally out in the open. “I wasn’t sure myself what I was experiencing. I didn’t know if it really was sorcery or just my over active imagination. There has been no sorcery in our family in generations. I just didn’t know what to say, and I was also frightened by what it might mean.”

  Lynol stepped closer to her father, staring questionably at him. She felt confused and hesitant. She certainly didn’t want to mention what had happened at the Sylvar Stone the previous night, which was just too strange. It might cause him to worry. Nor did she want to mention her brief mental contact with Gilmreth. That memory still sent chills down her back. There were also those few moments when it seemed as if she was back in time, when Gilmreth had killed Lys. So much had happened so quickly. She was at a loss for words; she didn’t know what to say to her father. His revelation had taken her totally by surprise.

  “You are the first child in generations with eyes so brilliantly blue,” Damon said softly, raising his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead, and giving her a long, caring look recalling a past memory. “Did you know light blue eyes in the Sylvar family are almost always a sign of the ancient family power? For many long generations, since before the time of Malcon, blue eyes like yours were usually a sign of the ability to wield the magical powers of sorcery, which were so prevalent in our family in those early years. I didn’t think about it much when you were born because your mother’s eyes were the same captivating blue.”

  “Mother’s eyes were blue?” Lynol’s hand went to her throat, surprised and intrigued. It was so seldom her father ever spoke of Kathryn. She knew it always made her father feel very sad. All the wonderful years they could have shared together; if only that deadly fever hadn’t struck their village, taking her away while she was still so young and full of life.

  “The old stories say that Lys Sylvar’s eyes were also a light blue,” Damon continued in the same soft voice, opening the door and letting Lynol enter before following.

  Once inside, he went to the kitchen table and set the bulky packages down. Meticulously, Damon slowly took the wrappings off the first large package, handing their surprising contents to Lynol with a mystifying satisfied smile. The first item was a new snow-white blouse made from one of the expensive, rare fabrics, which came from the fancy clothing shops in distant Draydon. Along with the blouse were a new pair of dark blue denim jeans and a handcrafted pair of leather hiking boots.

  “Father, these things are so expensive!” exclaimed Lynol, running her fingers over the supple material of the blouse, admiring the fine texture, and imagining how it would feel against her skin. This material was much stronger than her normal clothes, though it looked much more delicate. It would surely beat the material most of her clothes were made from.

  “Gwen Mystol was quite happy to help me pick these out for you. She said it was about time I bought you some decent clothes,” Damon replied with a smile, recalling how pleased and excited Gwen had been when he told her what he wanted for Lynol.

  “Why did you buy these?” asked Lynol, holding the clothes in her arms and finding it hard to believe she actually held such attire.

  Most of her clothes she cut and sewed by hand, or were made by Gwen at the trading store in Galvin. Gwen had been like a mother to her for years, treating her as if she were her own child. Lynol could just imagine Gwen’s excitement at getting to help pick these clothes out.

  “It’s time the people around here remember just who the Sylvars are!” Damon replied in a determined voice, his brown eyes meeting Lynol’s blue ones.

  “I don’t understand,” Lynol spoke, wondering what was in the other package.

  “If Gilmreth is about to awaken, it’s our duty to prepare them. For far too long we have allowed them to laugh and scoff at our stories,” continued Damon, allowing the irritation he felt at the villager’
s disbelief creep into his voice. “They must understand that the legends and prophecies of the past are part of our community’s true history. They must be prepared if Gilmreth is truly awakening!”

  “But father, our own family hid much of the history of what happened with Gilmreth. Isn’t it our own fault that they refuse to believe?” Lynol asked with a rueful expression, remembering what her father had told her the night before.

  Lynol knew many of the villagers would never believe in Gilmreth or sorcery, no matter what they told them. To them, a dragon was just too unbelievable. Malcon and Gilmreth were just fairy tales; too much time had passed.

  “Yes,” Damon sighed, nodding slowly with a grimace. “We caused part of this problem because of the horror of what Gilmreth had done. We tired to protect the villagers and others from the horrible truth. Even so, we always told them Gilmreth was real and that someday he would return. Perhaps I have been remiss myself in not stressing the existence of Gilmreth more forcefully, perhaps after so much time even our own family began to have doubts.”

  “Do you believe Gilmreth is about to awaken that the rumbling in the mountain is a sign of Malcon’s spell coming to an end?” Lynol managed to ask in a nervous and worried voice, fearing her father’s answer. She hoped the dragon would continue to sleep.

  Her father was silent for a long moment before he slowly answered. “I don’t know. The mountain has rumbled before but never this powerfully or for this long. It could be the dragon, but then again it could just be an unusually large amount of snow on the peaks causing avalanches. It was so dry this past winter. I just don’t see how all the rumbling can be caused just by the winter snow melting.”

  Lynol was silent lost in thought. Her father must believe that Gilmreth was about to awaken if he was telling her all of this. The trembling of the mountain recently must be related to Gilmreth. She felt an icy chill run down her neck at the significance of that thought. At the deadly implications if she was indeed the Sylvar sorceress of the ancient prophesies. For a moment, her mind wandered back to Lys and what her fate had been when she had tried to stop Gilmreth. Was she destined to suffer the same fate?

  Did her father believe that she was the powerful sorceress mentioned in those ancient writings? Lynol didn’t see how she possibly could be. The things she could do were so insignificant compared to what the sorcerers of those ancient times had been able to achieve. Her father had to be misinterpreting the signs.

  However, she reminded herself, she could sense the other sorceress on the far side of Firestorm Mountain. She had touched Gilmreth’s mind in his lair, there was the incident at the Sylvar Stone the night before, and the strange experience of Lys’ confrontation with Gilmreth. She still wondered if she should tell her father all of this. Lynol’s mind was full of many questions, but most she was afraid to voice.

  “But I know so little,” Lynol finally admitted cautiously, still not sure just how much her father knew of her fledgling abilities. “There is no one to teach me what I need to know, and my abilities are so slight. I can influence the animals and a few other things, but nothing like what you have told me the sorcerers and sorceresses of the past could do.”

  Her father only nodded, encouraging Lynol to continue. He wanted to hear what she had to say.

  “What will we do if Gilmreth is awakening?” Lynol spoke in a worried voice, allowing a hint of fear to creep in. “The prophecies speak of a powerful sorceress, but I am so inadequate. I don’t see myself ever having the powers that it would take to face Gilmreth. I can’t be the sorceress of the prophecies. It has to be someone else! Perhaps the prophecies are meant for one of my children, for some sorceress not yet born who will face Gilmreth in the future.”

  “You’re still very young,” replied Damon with a reassuring smile, understanding his daughter’s fears. He had also asked himself the same questions, but he knew a few things about sorcery that Lynol didn’t. “You are only sixteen years old and your powers are just beginning to manifest themselves. I suspect your powers will become much stronger in the years to come. You and I are the last of the Sylvars. As much as we both would like for it not to be so, you may indeed be the sorceress that is mentioned in the prophecies. There is nobody else!”

  “I just can’t be that sorceress!” Lynol denied fervently, shaking her head, not wanting it to be so. “It must be one of my descendants the prophecies speak of. Besides, I don’t know anything about enacting sorcery spells. Isn’t it possible that Gilmreth isn’t awakening and that the trembling and rumblings from the mountain are nothing more than the melting of the winter snows?” Lynol felt uneasy about her future as she tried to deny her worst fear, shifting slightly on her feet, trying to deny what her father was implying. “Even if my abilities do get stronger, I have no way to learn how to use them or control them. I will never be a powerful sorceress!”

  “Yes, Lynol, I understand that,” her father caught and held her eyes and smiled in that comfortable and protective fatherly way. “The powers of sorcery don’t come about overnight; they appear at the onset of adolescence and gradually increase. Moreover, while it’s true that it could be one of your descendants spoken of in the prophecies, we must assume that it’s not. To do otherwise would be to place all of us in grave danger, particularly you. Sorcery is a skill that is learned. It takes rigid training and stringent studies to produce a truly powerful sorcerer or sorceress.”

  “That’s what I fear,” Lynol groaned quietly, a look of worry and frustration crossing her face, knowing that if she ever had to face Gilmreth she was doomed to fail. “How can I learn sorcery without someone to teach me?”

  “The Sylvars have known for generations that there might come a time when a new sorceress would appear and need training,” Damon replied with a mysterious twinkle in his eyes, slowly removing the heavy cloth from the last package. “It was always believed that sorcery would return just prior to Gilmreth awakening. So this was placed in a secure place for just that occurrence.”

  Whatever it was, the heavy protective cloth looked dusty, old, and frayed as if it hadn’t been exposed to the light of day for a very long time. With a sudden indrawn breath, Lynol saw her father fold the last of the cloth back to reveal a book, a remarkably large and indisputably old book.

  “What is it?” Lynol asked in a low tone of voice, a stir of curiosity and excitement prickling the back of her neck. She held her breath, knowing intuitively what the ancient book must be, what it had to be!

  “Malcon Sylvar created this book for Lys,” her father responded, handing the heavy book to Lynol. “It’s a book of sorcery spells. In it, Malcon put down many of the spells that Lys was to memorize and practice while he was gone on his prolonged journeys. It contains the incantations necessary to invoke many of the formidable spells he and she used.”

  “This is a sorcery book!” Lynol exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with sudden excitement, not able to believe what she held in her hands. “One of Malcon’s sorcery books; this is what I have been searching for!”

  She gazed at the cover of the book, running her hands gently over it. The cover was covered with arcane symbols, and the name Sylvar was prominently displayed. Dragons spewing flame were emblazoned on each corner of the cover. It was the age old family symbol.

  Lynol held the book with awe, almost afraid to open it lest any of the ancient pages crumble. She found that, for the moment, she was speechless. This was Lys’ book, she thought in reverence, Malcon’s own daughter, and now here I am holding it in my hands nearly a thousand years later! Slowly opening the thick cover, she glanced at the pages. Much to her surprise, the sheets consisted of some type of mysterious metallic substance that felt as pliable as paper and unclouded as if written only yesterday. The writing inside hadn’t faded at all over the ages. Inside the front cover was an inscription, which she read slowly aloud.

  -

  To Lys Sylvar, my loving, beautiful daughter, this book contains much of the knowledge needed to develop your growing po
wers of sorcery. As my daughter, you will someday be a tremendously powerful sorceress. Your powers may even rival my own. Learn what this book contains carefully, and remember always use your abilities wisely. I wish we could spend more time together. A father really should be available to answer his daughter’s questions, but I must continue to search for a way to destroy Gilmreth, to rid our community of this deadly scourge. If you have any questions about what’s contained in these pages, ask your Uncle Glaycon. He will be glad to assist.

  -

  Your loving father: Malcon Sylvar.

  -

  Lynol was silent for a few moments, knowing that Malcon had cared deeply for his daughter. She could sense it in the writing; her features clouded and a single wet tear ran down her cheek while remembering the awful tragedy of Lys. She could only imagine the grief that Malcon must have felt upon learning of his daughter’s tragic end.

  “Malcon wrote this to Lys,” Lynol said softly, afraid to touch the writing lest it fade away.

  “Where was this book hidden? I’ve searched everywhere for something like this,” she asked curiously, still not believing she actually held one of Malcon’s legendary sorcery books in her trembling hands. Relief and hope flooded over her as the possibilities this book could offer grew in her mind. Perhaps not everything was quite as hopeless as she had first thought.

  “On the remote edge of the farm, there is a hidden alcove in the rocks where the book has been safely hidden away,” replied Damon, seeing the relieved and excited look on his daughter’s face. “I believe the alcove was protected by a magical spell, which prevented this book from aging. As long as it was in the alcove it would remain as it was since the day it was placed there.”

  “Are there any other books in the alcove?” asked Lynol, looking up at her father.