The travelers followed the long sharp edge of the plateau north for the entire day. Looking down over the western valley, the plateau and the valley below slowly merged into the same elevation far to their north, near the southern base of the Ossuary Mountain Range. They still had a long trek ahead of them before this joining of terrain, but night was settling in and traveling in the dark could lead them right over the cliff. It was time to stop and rest after a long days walk.
Words from the Mountain King’s scrolls quickly filled the air as Brimmelle recited them as he did every night while Grewen cleared the area for camp.
Thorik prepared camp bedding for the night with the help of Avanda at his side. Although he was still in slight denial, a special bond had been created between the two during their time together. They had saved each other’s lives, they had warmed each other in the freezing caverns, they had suffered violent pain, and they had nearly died together. It was only natural that deep emotions would come from it. But he questioned if there was enough depth of emotion to last outside of Della Estovia, in the real world.
Grewen moved several large rocks into place for fire containment as well as some to sit on, while Bryus established a secondary campfire for himself.
Helping the Alchemist set up his campsite, Avanda noticed his belt. “What kind of animal talon is that which holds your belt tight?”
Bryus looked down at his leather belt and the clasp made from a claw. “It’s just from a Fesh’Unday’s claw. A pet of mine.” He talked in a low tone and turned his head, making it obvious that he didn’t want to discuss it. “I can finish up my camp; you should help with your own.”
It was obvious that he wasn’t in a talkative mood, so she shrugged her shoulders and left just as Thorik approached Bryus, winking at each other as the two Nums passed.
“Why don’t you sleep near our campfire?” Thorik asked Bryus.
“I prefer my own space. Gives me time by myself to think,” he replied.
“Time to think? You spend all day by yourself, never adding to any of our discussions. How will you ever get to know us if you don’t join our conversations?”
Bryus’ eye and cheek twitched at the comment. “Who said I wanted to get to know you?”
“Well, no one. But since we’re traveling together, it would be nice to know a little about you.”
“Is that necessary?” he replied with a grimace.
“Yes. The only conversations you’ve had with us are about enchanted relics and ancient symbols. It seems to me that you care more about things than you do people. Surely that’s not true.”
“It might very well be. I don’t know you. And to be truthful, you don’t really know each other as well as you may think. Given the right circumstances, most people are willing to give up on, or double-cross, each other.”
“I don’t believe that to be true, especially with us. We are what the Ov’Unday call a family pod. We aren’t related, and we may bicker from time to time, but we are a family of sorts, none the less. We are there for each other and always will be. Do you have any family?”
“Family?” The word seemed to have struck an emotional cord.
“Yes, family or close friends.” Thorik’s hesitation was due to the man’s reaction.
“Do you not understand who I was? I was the Prominent of EverSpring, until that…” He paused as he placed a hand over his eye to keep it from twitching. Emotionally and powerfully, he let loose on Thorik with his background. “…I ruled EverSpring until my friend’s fear of Darkmere was greater than our own relationships. Those that I trusted conspired against me and helped the Dark Lord overthrow my power. They turned me into an enemy of my own province, enslaved my family, and imprisoned me in an effort to help him sacrifice Ambrosius’ son.”
Dropping his head for a moment, Bryus regained control of his facial tic. “Friendship is based on convenience and the need for something from someone else. Once that need is gone, so is the relationship!”
“Surely they didn’t all just turn their back on you,” Thorik said to Bryus before turning to Grewen for conformation. “People wouldn’t give up on their close friends so easily, would they?”
Grewen tilted his big bald leathery head. “It is an unfortunate truth for many. Trust takes years to embed in the hearts of others, but only moments of doubt to rip out, regardless of any proof being provided.”
Bryus nodded in agreement with the Mognin while looking at Thorik. “And people like you have the nerve to question why I care more about enchanted items than people. It’s because I know where I stand with these objects. They don’t discriminate or judge or change based on threats of greed or cowardice.”
Thorik was not expecting the lecture, and wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Tell me, Num. Do you feel better knowing that I have lost everything and don’t even know where to start looking for the ones I love? My family is locked away, not knowing of my fate or their own. I don’t know of my wife’s health or my daughter’s pain. Have they been tortured? Have they been violated? These are the thoughts that fester in my mind when you say the word family. So, are you pleased with yourself for bringing up such a painful issue?”
“No, of course not.”
“But yet, you do want me to set all that aside and become one of your happy family pod members so we can save your grandmother. Again, the hand of friendship is reached out to me; as long as I help you obtain what you need. Tell me that I’m wrong!” he said skeptically.
“Well-”
“Well, what’s my other option?” Bryus flung his arms in the air as he spoke in a loud demanding voice. “I can’t return home to my province without being captured again, and I don’t know where my family is being held, so I might as well help you until I figure out what I’m going to do next.”
Thorik nodded as though he was accepting Bryus’ request to stay with them.
“But I’ll tell you this, Num. You need me more than I need you. Therefore, if I want a second camp set up so I can keep to myself, then I expect to have one.”
Agreeing with him, Thorik stood there silently as he watched Bryus return to his private campsite.
Grewen leaned forward and grabbed Thorik’s head from the back in order to stop his nodding in agreement. “Is it me, or do you get the slight impression Bryus wants to be left alone?” The Mognin let out a slight chuckle.
It wasn’t long before it became dark, leaving the rising moon as the only light source.
Brimmelle had continued to recite the Mountain King’s Runestone scrolls from his memory. Thrashers had destroyed the actual scrolls when they had first left Farbank, but his exceptional memory and a lifetime of teaching them enabled him to recall each scroll to the very letter.
In the soft light, Thorik stood silent and watched his companions. He noticed that Brimmelle’s eyes were closed and his telling of the sacred scrolls had changed since they left Farbank from his once dull and dry monotone readings. His presentation skills had improved as he now added examples and short stories to teach the laws according to the Mountain King. He was slowly becoming interesting to listen to and much easier to understand.
The night was relatively calm aside from Brimmelle’s readings and Bryus whistling to catch beetles.
Grewen sighed in relief as he plucked stones from the bottom of his enormous feet. The thick hide on his soles took a lot of abuse, seeing that he didn’t wear any sandals or other protection. Then again most Mognins didn’t.
Flicking stones out of his skin, he made a game of it and shot them out in the desert to hit various objects. He missed more often than he hit, but he had nothing else to do other than feeding his face with whatever shrubs he could find.
Thorik chuckled at the sight of his giant friend. He never seemed to have a care in the world. Nothing ever got under his skin, figuratively or literally. There was only one other person in his life that lived so carefree.
“Granna,” Thorik said softly to the dagger Varacon, which was completely wrap
ped up for protection and tied solidly to his belt, “I’m going to bring you back, no matter what it takes.” Placing his hand firmly onto the dagger’s hilt, he thought about her. Thorik missed her deeply as he recalled the many times when she got him out of trouble or into trouble as so often happened with her. He closed his eyes and smiled at the memories.
A second hand was placed on top of his, which still held the dagger’s hilt. This one was soft and slightly smaller. It belonged to Avanda. “Can you tell if she is well?” she softly asked Thorik.
He shook his head as he opened his eyes. “No, I can’t tell anything.”
She slid her fingers in between his so she could touch the cloth covering the dagger. “I’m sure she is fine.”
The palms of his hands began to sweat and his ability to form basic sentences seemed to be impaired from her soft touch. “What makes you…um…say that?” His voice was soft as it cracked with nervousness.
“Do you know anyone more likely to be trapped in a dagger and still survive?” A shy smile grew upon her face.
“No,” was all he could muster.
“Close your eyes.” She moved in closer to him. “Breathe softly and call to her in your mind.” Watching him for a few minutes, she finally asked, “Did you hear anything?”
“Yes.”
“Really? What?” she asked quickly in her soft voice.
“Fir Brimmelle’s words from the scrolls, Grewen chewing on local weeds, and your breathing in my ear.”
Avanda laughed sweetly at his response. “Come on, it’s time to cook some dinner.”
Brimmelle opened his eyes and looked up from his absent congregation. “Haven’t you started working on lighting a campfire yet? What have you two been doing?”
Thorik shrugged his shoulders like a child would when asked about missing treats that resembled crumbs on their face. Avanda’s soft touch and voice had affected him more than he had expected.
Avanda squeezed his hand, stopping him from answering before she did. “We were so taken with your readings, Fir Brimmelle, that we failed in our duties.”
“Duties need to be maintained.” In spite of his words, Brimmelle easily accepted the excuse and returned to his hour-long sermon.
Avanda winked at Thorik, giving him permission to exhale and move. Even he had to chuckle with her. She knew how to make him feel good and smile.
“Sorry I kept you from your responsibilities,” she said.
“It’s all right. It doesn’t really matter.” Not willing to receive a second warning from Brimmelle, they both laughed it off as she left to collect more brush for the fire.
Bryus Grum interrupted their soft laughter as he walked into the main camp to collect a handful of leaves and twigs for his own fire. He was still struggling with a twitch he had acquired during Darkmere’s attack on him in the Surod Temple. “It’s good to see that you finally understand.”
Slightly confused, Thorik started pulling out his cookware. “Understand what?”
“That it doesn’t matter,” Bryus replied.
“What doesn’t matter?”
Bryus chuckled as he looked at the young Num. “Anything.”
“Nothing matters?” Thorik asked Bryus to clarify, as he attempted to light the fire.
“Exactly.”
“Why do you say that?” Thorik decided to start his duties while they talked, before Brimmelle looked over at him.
“For it will all end in disaster anyway. So why even try?”
Thorik didn’t like the sound of that. “You mean Bakalor’s War? We may still be able to stop it from happening.”
Bryus laughed. “It’s already written. There are no other options. We are at the end of this cycle. The forth age of Australis will come to its climatic finale in this war.”
Opening his backpack to remove his cooking spoon, his face crunched up from the Alchemist’s comment. “We are? By whose words? The Mountain King never wrote about such things.”
“Wyrlyn. The greatest E’rudite of all time. His ancient prophecy speaks of these final days, when the dead rise from Della Estovia and return to the land of the living.”
“Sounds dreadful. How would he know of these events to come? Who is this Wyrlyn? I’ve never heard of him.”
Bryus looked shocked at the news. “How is it possible that you don’t know his name? He has influenced everything in everyone’s life. Aside from the Oracles themselves, he was the supreme architect of our world.”
Removing the wrapped dagger from his belt, Thorik placed it snugly in his backpack before attempting to light the campfire. “I’m a little surprised at your respect for him. It was my understanding that Alchemist and E’rudite have been at odds for thousands of years. And yet, you have nothing but praise for an E’rudite that has informed you of our doom.”
Avanda returned with a handful of dead shrubs for the fire. But before tossing them near the future campfire location, Bryus grabbed specific plants from her arms.
“Clovik Ty,” Bryus told her as he held up the first plant. “Dungelier.” He held up the second plant as his face twitched.
Avanda stared at him, confused to what he was doing.
Bryus turned back to Thorik as he began ripping the branches into long thin strips. “I use to be a single-minded spell caster.”
It was apparent to Thorik that this was a chance to finally understand him better. So, he kept pressing the conversation forward. “What caused you to be single-minded?”
“Higher magical academics,” he spit back. “They gave me the basics, but along with it they plant seeds of their own vision of how the world works. Their own version of what truth really is.”
Thorik continued to struggle to light the campfire. Prior to their arrival, the mountain rains had bled over into the desert valley and drenched the land, so nothing was dry. “Isn’t that why you went? To understand how magic works?”
Bryus laughed as he ripped more strands from Avanda’s plants. “That’s not what I’m referring to. It’s the philosophies of those who are right and wrong in our world that were inserted during our normal lectures.”
Thorik was confused, again.
Bryus handed the strips of Clovik Ty branches to Avanda. “Tie them end to end.” He then ignored her as though she wasn’t even there.
Avanda didn’t like being ordered around, but with a wink from Thorik, she began tying the ends together. The branch strips were course and rough to her touch, but she managed to learn how to handle them without cutting up her hands.
Again, Thorik tried to create a spark for the fire, but failed. “Why is identifying wrong and right actions bad?”
“What?” Bryus asked while tearing strips from the Dungelier plant.
“Your academic seeds of right and wrong,” Thorik repeated.
“Who’s to say what’s right?” Bryus looked confused as a series of twitches erupted on his face.
“I thought you said you had single-minded thought when it came to spells.”
“Oh, not anymore. Not since I accepted the words of Wyrlyn. Once that happened, the head masters of Alchemy tossed me out on my ear. Lucky for me they didn’t strike me down where I stood. Brave are those who search for new truths, but fools they are called by the educated leaders, for the brave put in question what the leaders have taught. Therefore, they put into question those who have taught it.”
Thorik thought it was comical how candid Bryus was about the fact that they could have killed him. His contained laughter worked against him as he crouched on his knees while attempting to ignite the wild grass. “How did you get involved in the teaching of Wyrlyn?”
“Ambrosius Dovenar told me about them,” Bryus said to Thorik before addressing Avanda. “Now, tie these Dungeliers from end to end like you did on the Clovik Ty and then weave the two plants together.”
Avanda had just finished the first set and wasn’t looking for more work to do. Nevertheless, she grudgingly took them from him and began her next task, in spite of the
fact she didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish.
Bryus turned back to Thorik. “Once I accepted the science of Wyrlyn, everything seemed to fall into place.”
“So, you gave up on being an Alchemist and now you are an E’rudite?”
Abruptly, Bryus sat straight up stared at Thorik for several uncomfortable seconds as one long twitch shook the side of his face. “An alchemist does not just give up spell casting. It is my faith. It is what I believe in.” His voice was loud and words were sharply pronounced. “Can I not just add the teachings of the E’rudites to what I already know to be true? Why must it be one or the other and never a combination of the two?”
Thorik suddenly felt like he was under attack from something larger and more menacing than the frail man who sat next to him. The man’s change in demeanor was always so sudden that Thorik could never prepare for any extensive discussions.
Bryus roared with anger over Thorik’s original question. “I am proud to be an Alchemist! How dare you assume otherwise. I studied my entire life to achieve and master the most complex spells of our time.” Pointing at Thorik, he continued in a thunderous voice, “Do you have faith in your Mountain King? Have all new ideas ripped away at the fabric of your beliefs or are you capable of adding to them?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been questioning my faith for quite some time now. The stories we’ve heard from other cultures tend to be in conflict with the writings of the Mountain King. Instead of being so quick to dismiss my own culture, perhaps I too need to be proud of what we have while accepting what others have as well.”
Thorik looked at Bryus for some level of approval.
A twitch on his cheek and a few blinks later, Bryus replied in a very casual way. “Doesn’t matter much to me, it’s your life.”
Bryus then looked directly at Avanda and smiled from ear to ear. “Excellent work.” She had weaved the two long strips of plants into one thick one. Placing the ends in each of her hands, he had her allow the strips to sag into an upside-down arch. “Now spin them around like a barrel rolling down a hill.”
She did as she was told, concerned about Bryus raising his voice like he had to Thorik. Once she had the strips spinning so fast it was difficult to see, he told her to pull her arms apart, thus tightening the spin in front of her. The smaller radius of the spin caused the strips to speed up.
“Now loosen,” Bryus instructed her. And as she did the spinning strips slowed and became wider. “Now tighten, again. Back and forth while saying the word ‘Jungere’ as you do it.”
She did as she was instructed, pulling the spinning strips in tight and then back out again several times as she said the word he had given her. Her hands where now starting to get hot from the friction and she began to break a sweat.
“Faster,” Bryus yelled. “Yell it out!”
“Jungere!” She screamed as the heat increased and her arms began to tire. “Jungere!”
The strips ignited into flames as they spun around in front of her. “Jungere!” she screamed even louder.
Bryus laughed as he watched her. “The spell is over. You don’t have to do it anymore.”
Feeling foolish she stopped the spinning and tossed the flaming strips onto the pile of campfire kindling, where they instantly ignited the rest of the shrubs that she had already stacked.
Bryus clapped his hands before rubbing them together. “So, what’s for supper?” His demeanor was oddly light and friendly as though he had been invited over for tea.
Chapter 12
Bryus’ Story
Essence of Gluic Page 14