by James Dale
"It will help us pass the time," Tarsus smiled. "We are still a long way from the Amarian Hills."
"Everything huh?"
"Yes."
"Okay," Jack shrugged. "But I warn you, most of what I tell you will probably sound unbelievable.”
"Would I doubt the word of Bra'Adan’s heir?" the Amarian asked, feigning insult.
"Just hold that thought," Braedan grinned. Taking a deep breath, he began. "American History 101. America was a vast, virgin land when it was discovered. There were natives living there, but the civilized settlers, called them savages and took their land. It was not a pleasant beginning for my home, but times were different then.” Jack covered briefly the events leading to the American Revolution and the war that changed the world. His world. Even though he only told Tarsus the highlights, the story took a long time. There was just so much. The Civil War, World War One and Two, the rise of Communism and the resulting cold war between the superpowers.
He told him about the thing which was the glory of his world and the thing which would one day undoubtedly cause his downfall. Technology. He told the dumbfounded Amarian about electron microscopes and telescopes, the explosion of the combustion engine and the interstates, super-highways and traffic jams and air pollution it created. He told him about airplanes and jets, and space travel and the Apollo moon landings, satellites and televisions, smart phones, fast food burger joints and the microwave ovens, machine guns and experimental laser weapons. He told Tarsus about demons of his world, thermonuclear bombs, nuclear powered submarines and aircraft carriers, cruise missiles and ICBM's with MIRV warheads. When he finished, he could barely believe the story himself, not after living for almost five months in this world where none of these things existed.
Tarsus was silent for a long time. "You come from a strange land Jack Braedan," he finally said.
"No shit," Jack sighed. "There is something that puzzles me about your world and mine. I think when the Lords opened the doorway and sent Ljmarn’s heir into exile, they were actually pretty similar. Eight hundred years ago, my world believed in magic and dragons and mythical swords. Why do you think they took such different paths in the last eight centuries?"
"Who can say?" the Amarian shrugged. "Certainly not I. Perhaps it is because in Aralon, we chose to keep our magic. We have the Lords of the Staffclave and the Highswords and never found the need to replace them with your world's tech...tech.."
"Technology," Jack prompted.
"Technology," Tarsus nodded. "I do not like the sound of that word."
"Tell me Tarsus," Braedan asked, "What do you think a man like me, a man of science and technology, can do against demons and sorcerers and the power of the dark King's Bloodstone? Only…four months ago, I was living alone in the mountains of Maine. Now I’m supposed to believe I’m some sort of long lost heir…The Promised One, who will have Aralon from evil demi-god?"
"Do you still doubt?" the Amarian asked. "After passing through the Temple of the Door? After what Gretta said in her trance and what the blind priest told you. After killing two of Graith's sorcerers with your own hands?"
"It's just so...hard," Jack sighed.
"Then I will find a way to convince you," Tarsus vowed. "If you are unsure now, whatever you might learn from some dusty manuscript in Brythond will not make you a believer. And you must believe! If you are to take up Yhswyndyr and stop the rise of the dark King, you must have no doubt of who you are and what you must do. I wish Dorad were here. He would be better able to help you than I can. Alas that, it falls on me, a lowly Amarian, but...Of course!"
"What?"
"There may be something in the Hills of Amar which will suit your needs. It is an ancient ritual..." Tarsus began.
"What kind of ritual?" Jack interrupted.
"It is called the Elohara," Tarsus explained. "In the Amarian tongue it means Spirit Walk. The kings of Amar used it when confronted with difficult problems until the Lords of the Staffclave banned them from performing it."
"And why did they ban this...Elohara? Jack asked.
"Oh, well, something about leaving the dead to rest in peace," Tarsus shrugged. "But that..."
"The dead?" Braedan asked hesitantly.
"Of course," the Amarian grinned. "What else would Spirit Walk mean? In the Elohara, the dead ancestors of the kings appeared to them in visions and answered questions, and if they were lucky, it is said, revealed glimpsed of the future."
"I don't know," Jack said, more than a trace of apprehension creeping into his voice. "I don't think I like the sound of this."
"Do you not wish to be convinced?" the Amarian asked.
"Yes but...You said the Staffclave had banned this ritual? How long has it been since someone actually did this Spirit Walk."
"Roughly seven hundred years," Tarsus shrugged. "But the Regent of Amar can perform the Elohara. If he still lives. He was getting on in years when I last saw him, and that was almost twenty years ago. What do you say?"
"Do you think it will help?"
"I am sure of it."
"Why not?" Jack finally sighed. "I can't say that I like the idea of talking to the dead, but I'll give it a shot if you really think it do any good."
Once Braedan had agreed to undergo the ritual, a great haste seemed to overcome Tarsus. It was as if the Amarian felt every minute they spent lingering out on the plains was another minute the man capable of performing the Elohara could possibly die of old age. Tarsus set a swift pace across the open land and that first day allowed them to stop once to water the horses at a small stream and to refill their water skins. Then they were off again riding until late into the night.
The next day around noon they spotted a lonely mountain to the southeast, rising out of the plains like a white capped fist thrust angrily up at the sky. "Mount Aernin." Tarsus announced. "We are close now." A few hours later the land gradually began to rise until they entered gently rolling hills. Here they turned directly north, as much as the terrain would allow, and rode until dark.
That night the temperature dropped drastically in the higher elevation and the pair wished Annawyn had gifted them with another blanket or two. When morning arrived clear and bright, there was a thick frost on the ground and they knew that fall had definitely arrived in this part of the world. But the first leg of their journey was almost complete and Tarsus assured Jack tonight they would sleep under a roof, with thick furs and a roaring fire to warm them.
With that promise Tarsus led them directly north into the hills, which quickly became rugged and steep, not at all like the friendly, rolling terrain they had traveled the day before. The Amarian's course through this rough land of tall pines and limestone outcroppings zigzagged back and forth with no apparent reason. None that Braedan could see anyway. It appeared instead that Tarsus chose any valley or hollow that afforded the hardest passage through the hills.
But he wasn't lost. Braedan could see that by the confident and comfortable way he sat in his saddle. No, he was either being guided by some unwavering homing instinct or was traveling along some hidden trail imprinted permanently in his mind. So it went for most of the day. First they were traveling north, then south, then east, then north again until even Jack, a man who was seldom disoriented in even the darkest jungle or featureless desert, could not guess the direction from which they had entered the hills.
It was about midday when the pair entered a wide valley, thinly wooded and bordered on every side by steep, rocky cliffs. Through the center of the valley flowed a swift moving stream and at the end of it, forming a box canyon, was a sheer vertical cliff, perhaps two hundred feet high, over which the stream tumbled in a noisy cascade of mist and spray. At the foot of this cliff was the childhood village of Tarsus Aernin.
There were perhaps thirty or forty simple huts scattered on either side of the stream, each constructed of stone and rough-hewn timber. All were similar in shape and design and varied only in size. As they rode into the village, the two riders collected a crowd
of excited children, all dressed in furs and skins. Soon they were joined by a large, ferocious dog that barked savagely at their horses' heels. The snarling beast was all teeth and bristling gray fur and looked more wolf than hound. His noisy announcement of their arrival drew a large crowd as the two men stopped in the clearing which appeared to serve as the village square.
The villagers surrounding the pair were a hardy breed. The men were all tall and rugged as the hills that nourished them, with black hair and beards and hard blue eyes. Several of them had brought out swords or the odd woodsman's ax at the frenzied barking of the dog, thinking there might be trouble. Like their children they were dressed in skins and furs. The women, those who had ventured out to investigate the commotion, were for the most part old and bent, weathered by years of hard living in an ungentle land. There was a dozen or so who were younger and still pleasant to look upon. One in particular caught Jack's eye. She was perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, with midnight-black hair and blue-gray eyes the color of storm clouds. She returned his gaze with a frank, appraising stare of her own and he was forced to turn away, embarrassed by the boldness in her look and her clearly inviting smile.
"You'd better watch out for that one," Tarsus grinned, catching the exchange. "Husbands are hard to come by in these hills and I definitely think she's in the market."
"Hell Tarsus," Jack whispered, growing even more embarrassed. "I'm almost old enough to be well…I much older!"
"She's not much younger than Thessa," the Amarian observed. "Or Annawyn for that matter. Besides, it makes no difference here."
As Tarsus was speaking an old man stepped out of the gathered villagers to stand before them. His hair, probably once as dark as the other men of the hills, was now entirely white, and you could almost read his age by the wrinkles on his brown, weather-beaten face. There was a black leather patch over his left eye, but his right was a piercing blue and full of intelligence and the wisdom of the ages. The large dog gave one final bark, then went to sit at his feet. He reached down and scratched it between the ears, then looked up curiously at the pair.
"Greetings to you Tereil Annen," Tarsus said to the old man with a tone of respect Braedan had never heard him use before. "I am glad to see you still live. The years have been kind."
"More kind than my wandering grandson," the man replied, then he smiled and years fell from his wrinkled face. "Greetings to you Tarsus."
"It's Tarsus!" some of the villagers whispered excitedly. "Tarsus has returned!"
An astonished Braedan watched as his friend dismounted and gave the old man a tremendous hug. Grandson! Now this was an unexpected surprise.
"Let me have a look at you," Tereil laughed, holding the huge man at arm’s length. "How long has it been?"
"About twenty years grandfather," Tarsus grinned.
"Yes," the old man nodded. "I'd say that's about right. If not longer. What brings you back after all this time? Not just to visit me I'll warrant."
"Empty stomachs and parched throats to start," Tarsus laughed.
"I thought as much," Tereil snorted.
"Then perhaps a talk with the Regent of Amar. In private?" Tarsus asked, eyeing the large crowd.
The old man's good eye widened in surprise at this news, but he made no reply. "And who's this?" he asked, looking up at Braedan.
"Grandfather, I'd like you to meet Jack Braedan," answered Tarsus. "A good friend and a stout fighter. He has pulled me out of many a tight spot in the last few months."
"I'm honored to meet one of Tarsus' relatives," Jack said, dismounting and shaking the old man's hand. His grip was firm and strong. "I was beginning to think he'd been carved from stone or hammered out by some blacksmith."
The old man beamed at the compliment. "Greetings to you Jack Braedan. Are those Val'anna you're riding?" he asked, nodding his head at the horses.
"Yes, they are," Jack replied, patting Eaudreuil's neck.
"Didn't think my eye was deceiving me," Tereil nodded. "I take it you passed through Doridan then?"
"Now that is a fun story," laughed Tarsus.
"Well you'll just have to tell it to me," the old man grinned. "While I see what I can do about those empty stomachs and parched throats. Could you stand a stout mug of ale to wash the taste of travel from you mouths?"
"We could," Tarsus nodded. "It's been some time since we last had a proper drink. We left Dorshev in some small hurry and have had nothing but water for as long as I can remember."
"Left in a hurry, eh?" Tereil said, shaking his head. "If you've grown to be anything like you father, I can well imagine. Follow me and I'll see if I can find a taste of last summer's brew. It was quite good, if I say so myself."
Since none of the villagers had been invited to join the old man for a drink with Tarsus and the stranger, the disappointed crowd slowly dispersed as Tereil led the two men to his hut. It was located at the back of the valley at the foot of the cliff, and was identical to all the other huts of the village except for being almost twice as large as any two of them. "Just tie your mounts here," he said, pointing to a lone post that stood in what passed for his front yard. "I'll see to them shortly."
"We can look after them Grandfather," Tarsus replied.
"Nonsense!" the old man retorted. "You two look like you’re half-starved. Besides, it'll be my pleasure to care for such a fine pair of Val'anna stallions."
Eaudreuil whinnied loudly and pawed the ground as Jack tied him to the post. "I'll see if he has any," he replied, chuckling at the horse's thought.
"What's that?" Tereil asked, pausing in the door.
"Umm...Eaudreuil was wondering if you might have any apples." The other stallion snorted and shook his mane. "Yes of course, you too Gilasha."
"And they told you that did they?" the old man asked, cocking his head to one side.
"Leave it be grandfather," Tarsus grinned. "I'll tell you about it later."
They entered the hut through a small anteroom, where Tereil bid them kick what dirt they could off their boots, then they followed him into a wide, spacious great room. The walls were rough stone and the floor was bare wooden boards, worn smooth by countless years of foot travel. Against the west wall was a huge fireplace where a roaring flame burned, and above the mantel was a tremendous broadsword resting on pegs. On either side of the stone hearth there was a comfortable looking chair, and before each chair was a bearskin rug where a man could remove his boots and warm his feet by the fire.
This room opened up into a smaller kitchen and dining area at the back of the house, where Tereil sat the two men at a large rectangular table made from oak or some similar hardwood. He rummaged through his cabinets until he found three pewter mugs, sat them on the table, then without a word, left the hut through a back door. He returned shortly with a clay jug, glistening with beads of water. Removing the cork stopper, he poured out three generous glasses of strong, dark ale.
"When are you going to get another wife to do these things for you?" Tarsus asked.
"I do just fine for myself," the old man replied. "Have ever since your grandmother died all those years ago."
"Don't you get lonely all by yourself?" his grandson asked.
"There are a few of the village widows who warm by bed," Tereil said with a mischievous gleam in his single blue eye. "When I feel the urge. But none of them measure up to Iaotha. Anyway, I have Wraith to keep me company."
"Wraith?" Jack asked, taking a sip of the chilled ale.
"The ferocious monster that wanted to eat your horses when you rode in," Tereil grinned. "He showed up on my doorstep a few years ago, a sickly pup no bigger than a rat, all ears and paws. I nursed the poor whelp back to health and he decided to stay. He comes and goes as he pleases, leaving like a shadow in the night, and then the next thing you know he's panting at your side. So I named him Wraith. But enough about me and mine, what have you been up to Tarsus?"
"Same as every Amarian for the last eight hundred years." he replied. "I've been selling
my sword to whomever paid the most silver or gold. For the last three years I've been a pirate in the Free Brothers of the Sea. That's where I met Jack. We've only just escaped being crucified in Dorshev."
"Crucified?" Tereil asked, surprised. "Have the Horse Kings fallen so low since I was there forty years ago? I seem to recall them to be a courteous people, even to an uncouth Amarian mercenary like me."
"It's only Duke Kiathan Ellgaer of Raashan, grandfather," Tarsus replied. "He seems to be the power in Dorshev now, even though he's not an Ellgereth. In fact, we were aided...well, more than aided, by Duke Morgan and Princess Annawyn. If they had not thwarted Kiathan's plans the crows would have picked our bones clean long ago."
"I remember Morgan," the old man nodded. "Rode with his squadron as a snot nosed banner man against Denalad during the Shael Uprising. You'll have to recount that tale tonight at the celebration."
"A celebration is not necessary grandfather," Tarsus sighed.
"Not necessary!" Tereil argued. "It's not every day Tarsus Aernin, the King of Amar, returns to his homeland!"
"The King of Amar?" Braedan coughed, almost choking on a swallow of beer. "Tarsus?" Then he suddenly understood the story his friend had told the day they crossed the Cilawen. "The young man who left Amar because he couldn't live with what his country had become, that was you wasn't it?"
"So, you've heard that story eh?" the old man muttered. "Did he tell you all of it?"
"There is nothing more to tell," Tarsus said quietly. Taking his mug, he went to stand beside the fire.
"There's more," Tereil said, refilling Braedan's mug with ale. "Maybe if I leave you two alone for a spell, he'll finish it for you." With that the old man left the kitchen, muttering under his breath about youngsters with no sense of honor. No sense of honor? Tarsus was perhaps one of the most honorable men Braedan had ever known. Obviously there was some disagreement between the two Amarians about what Tarsus had done. Something Tereil thought important enough for him to know to risk opening old wounds.
Braedan hesitated for a second, then picked up his beer and joined his friend by the fire.