“Was he carrying anything, Dravud?” Lydria leaned forward, reaching out and lightly gripping the boy by the arms in a comforting and controlled way, willing herself not to grip tighter and try to shake the answers she sought from him. They stared at each other, the boys’ eyes shifting back and forth between her blue and green eye as if trying to find what he was looking for, and then he blinked. “Yes, he was, as a matter of fact.”
“What was it?”
“It was nothing – literally, nothing in the form of a sword - a long length of darkness designed to destroy.” Lydria saw Dravud’s eyes stare far off away from them, his demeanor losing some of the frivolous spirit they had seen to this point. After a heartbeat’s silence, his eyes re-focused and he continued as if he’d never paused. “That’s odd for this place when you think about it, isn’t it? I mean, the sun always shines here. It’s never been dark on the beach – although I’ve heard it gets dark toward the center of the island. But that’s probably just a story.”
Lydria let the boy go and brushed his shoulders to keep herself steady and not give away that her hands trembled somewhat. “Thank you, Dravud, I think we’ll take some time to rest now.”
“You don’t need to rest, you know.” Dravud continued to tell them that food and rest were unnecessary in the Nethyn Plains, even as they closed the blue door to the cottage behind them.
Inside the cottage there was a single soft bed, a table and two chairs. Hokra lay across the bed and closed his eyes. “As gorgeous as everything is here, I may find it annoying if I can’t sleep. I do so enjoy a good nap. And here, the temperature is perfect, and the air has just enough motion, but the rock beneath us is too quiet.” He sat up on the edge of the bed and looked at the women who were giving him sympathetic looks.
“The rock is too quiet?” Haustis looked at the short prince urging him to tell her more, but he was interrupted before he could start.
“I’m sure it’s very interesting that rocks make noise,” Lydria started, wanting to press on and find Wynter, but Haustis held her hand, and looked again to the Chag Ca’Grae, urging him to continue.
“In fact, it is interesting, the speech of the rocks,” Hokra said, looking at Lydria and widening his eyes as if to remind her he was not a little boy to be shushed. “But the rocks here do not speak. They are dead, like they were on the other side of the lake. Much of what we see here has no life of its own. Even the breeze feels somehow false.”
“Dravud,” Lydria called, turning her head toward the door where she was sure the boy still waited.
“Yes?” The words were muffled by the closed door but clear enough, so they were sure Dravud was close by. After being invited inside, the door opened slowly, and the boy looked around the space carefully as if looking for something that might reach out to grab him.
“Dravud,” Lydria began again, her voice smooth and almost sultry in the warm air. “If we were to ask you to guide us through the trees, would you?”
The young man’s eyes widened for a moment and he shifted, his feet planted but his torso twitching ever so slightly to the left, toward the unseen cottages at the other end of the beach. “It is what I am required to do should my help be requested.” Dravud’s voice was clipped and his face taught, as if trying to suppress an emotion. “Few ask to be guided. Most people just know where to go. Not far into the woods, the path diverges into five paths like a sunburst. I’ve delivered people to that point, but usually they will choose their own path and continue by themselves.
“Can you take us there?”
“Now?”
“Is there anything to be gained by waiting, Dravud?” Haustis moved to him and held his hands in her own. “You’ve said yourself that time means little here, so now or later, makes no difference.”
The young man looked into the Eifen’s eyes. She was a good hand taller than he, and her deep black skin contrasted with his in a way Lydria thought was beautiful and pure. “Do you know where you want to go?” He almost tripped over his words as his eyes remained locked on Haustis’ until she answered only loudly enough for them all to hear, “I think we will know when we arrive at the path.”
Dravud extricated himself from Haustis’ touch and stood up straight. “If you desire a guide, I will guide you. I will return shortly.” Dravud left the cottage and walked away down the beach toward the cove. Lydria and the others left the cottage to wait for his return outside, the confinement of the building not sitting with them easily, and the drive to continue fierce within them. They were happy to see Dravud so serious about his duties as after he had finished his business at the cove, he could be seen running toward them.
“Others will watch the dock while I am away, though I expect my presence shall not be missed. I will be with you until you dismiss me, or until your journey is complete but be aware, I am a guide only. I will not, and I may not interfere.”
With that encouraging description of his duties, the others followed Dravud away from the beach and into the palm trees, which turned quickly into a forest such as those Lydria was familiar with on Eigrae. The path was free of undergrowth and debris but still seemed to be made of dirt and stone. Hokra twice stopped to touch the ground and each time shook his head when Lydria silently asked if he had heard anything from the stone. Haustis and Dravud walked ahead of the other two, the taller warrior occasionally reaching out and touching the boy’s hand or arm in a manner that would seem accidental to anyone not paying close attention but was meant to encourage the young man to keep speaking. Haustis was searching for information with Dravud while the Chag Ca’Grae searched for information in the dirt.
Whatever Haustis was saying, Lydria didn’t pay attention to, as she was engrossed with Hokra’s concern for the rocks and her own investigation of the lifeless forest around her. The trees that grew up after the palms were tall and straight and narrow, reaching out as if searching for an unseen sun – despite the continuous presence of the light in the sky, a light that was more red than yellow and cast an almost hypnotic aura around everything, making it seem more beautiful and wholesome than it actually was. A movement ahead of her drew Lydria’s attention and Haustis’ hand whipped up behind her, a signal that let her sister know she should pay attention. She moved slightly closer with each step and focused on Dravud, listening to him as he told Haustis what he knew about the Nethyn Plains.
“Those who live here will always live here,” he said, his smile turning down as he finished. “It isn’t like the place on the other side of the lake. We all start there, but only some of us come here. Those who remain in the Melting Grae, they can go on, but we cannot. That is our curse, to remain here forever.”
Lydria and her friends stopped in their tracks and Dravud took two more steps forward before turning to them. “When she touched me,” he indicated Lydria who had grabbed his shoulders, “I could tell that you live; I could feel your heartbeat through your hands, and then I watched, and I saw your chest rise and fall. People who come here quickly learn they do not need to breathe. Some do, out of a perverse desire to not succumb to all the things this place dictates, but most do not.
“I have never seen nor heard of living people coming to this place, but I cannot foresee a reason for your arrival that would be anything but ill. If, however, I am wrong, yet you do not wish anyone to know you live, you may wish to disguise your true selves, and do not let anyone touch you.” Having their full attention, Dravud stood straight before them all and collecting their eyes to him, he added, “Much of the weaponry you carry here is useless,” he pointed specifically to Hokra’s hammer. “The dead cannot be effected by weapons such as these, and where you go only those aligned with Vul Griffis and the Guides carry weapons. If you would bring weapons, conceal them.”
Dravud waited until each of them concealed the weapons they carried, and after they had begun, he continued telling them some of what he knew about the Nethyn Plains. “Each kingdom has its own guide, but only those who Vul Griffis has granted permission ca
n travel throughout all the kingdoms. I am the only one who has been granted this permission, and likely only because my task requires it.” He waited until the last knife was stowed and turned sideways to show them the crossroads, “You have arrived at the crossroads where only the dead may roam freely. And while you are not dead, you are still here, and so I must uphold my position and guide you as best I may. It is time to choose.”
Without noticing it, the trees behind Dravud had changed while he spoke and when he finished and turned, they found themselves in a small clearing with dull green grass filling the space between five well-tended and stone-paved paths. The ever-present sun was bright but provided none of the warmth that makes you lift your head and bask in the late spring heat. The path they had followed ended in a large circle paved with brick with two paths leading to their right and left. A single path led straight ahead, and two other paths led to the left and right between the first paths and the one going forward.
“Where do most people go from here?”
Dravud’s demeanor seemed to change with the question, becoming more wise, older, and more given to thought. “That is up to you. I have watched many people choose their paths and whether they lead to good or ill is not for me to know.”
“But you said you would guide us.” Lydria looked to the boy to see if he would go back on his pledge.
“As I will,” he said. “In the next instant he was older, and stood as tall as Haustis, with long breeches and boots of leather and a rough wool tunic the color of muddy snow. His eyes had lost some of their youthfulness and as Lydria looked at him, a shiver ran up her spine. For a single instant, Dravud’s eyes reminded her of another. “Which way do you choose?”
“Which way did the man go? The man who carried darkness in front of him?” Even though Haustis heard Dravud say he wasn’t asked to guide the man, she felt he would know the answer. She knew she was correct when the boy’s eyes fell, and his chest rose as if he drew breath to sigh.
“He follows a path where few are called. He is pulled toward Vul Griffis.”
10-Eigroth
Dravud’s eyes came up slowly, as if he hoped those whom he would guide had changed their minds, and when he realized they had not, he held up his left arm and pointed to the path leading to the northeast. “You have chosen,” and he waited for them to make their way across the threshold of the circle and onto the path itself.
As Hokra’s foot left the circle, the change was immediate and startling. The sunlight had been replaced with deep dusk, with enough light to see only a short distance. The sky was empty. A complete blackness with no visible stars or moon to account for the dull light. Turning backward, they saw Dravud, his hands locked together in front of his waist. Behind him, where they expected to see the head of the path and the circle, there was nothing but empty field stretching as far as the meager light would allow them to see.
“Your path is chosen, and so you must now follow it. I put it plainly to you now - what is it that brings the living to such a place?” Dravud walked slowly with them and his clothes and form shifted gradually again. His breeches were now leather, with hardened leather patches at the hips and lower leg. His wool tunic was replaced with a fine mesh of green mail, and at his back hung a two-handed sword with a blade that stood out clearly in the gloom as if made of bone. He turned to them, his face aged, now at least a decade into his manhood, his face dark and hard under a short, well-cropped beard showing no hint of his real age. Dravud stopped walking and waited for a reply.
“We seek the man with the sword of darkness,” Haustis replied. “His coming has created a path for those of the Melting Grae to move to Eigrae. When they arrive back in that place, they turn to dust. We would stop him from doing more damage and reverse the damage if we may.”
Dravud considered this for a moment and held up his hand before they could say more. “We will walk. There is a small village not far from here where we may find a fire.” To their unasked question, he offered a slight smile that showed them the young Dravud from the beach. “We do not need food, or breath, or fire. But, even here, we long for companionship, and fire has always brought people together.”
Lydria’s head moved back and forth as they walked, looking to each side as though something might jump from the trees, though they were few and bare, and too thin to make for good hiding. After some time, it was apparent they had been climbing steadily as the trees gave way to scrub and rocks. The paved path had turned to dirt and though they could not see far, the steepness of the path was impossible to overlook.
“The mountain we climb is called Grus. It is the only peak of any great size in the Nethyn Plains and from its height we will be able to see all that you have come to see.” Dravud never broke stride as he spoke and never turned to look at the others. “The people of the Nethyn Plains cannot die here. However, you are not of the Nethyn Plains. A sword here will kill you as easily as if you were in Eigrae. If that happens, perhaps you will not come to my shores again, or if you do, perhaps you will stay on the beach.”
Moving up the stony path was effortless. Where Lydria knew she should be drawing huge breaths, her chest barely moved. Her legs were fresh, and the hill had no more impact on her than if she walked in a flower garden. At the top of the climb there was a small space where they gathered around Dravud and he pointed out several prominent features aglow in the distance.
“These are the kingdoms of the Nethyn Plains. Each path you could have chosen would have taken you to a different part of the Plains. At the end of each path there is a view similar to this; a hill overlooking the kingdoms that make up the Nethyn Plains. There are five paths and five such views. None of the others lead to a view that is darker than the path you have chosen.
“The small village below us, just beyond the foothills of Grus, is Eigroth. We need to start your journey there. Vul Griffis is not someone who allows people to simply walk to his door; he is the very heart of the Nethyn Plains, though his influence is less in the outer kingdoms than it is in Vul, it would be wise to not speak ill of him – or to just not speak of him at all.
“It is said the whole of the plains was created for him because he alone could not be trusted in the world beyond the sea. His living ambitions followed him into his afterlife, and so he was cast inside this new place, and outside was formed the Placid Abyss and the creatures that reside within it. The boat that carried you, that carries all who come here, is alone among vessels that can cross the Abyss in peace.”
Lydria and the others said nothing in the silence Dravud left. The sight before them reminded her of the view from the top of the Frostspines, on the doorstep of Dragaven, first home of the dragons, with a view that took in Solwyn to the east and Bayside to the south, the expanse of the Great Lake spread below. But the scene in this place was not the Frostspines. It was devoid of sunshine or hope. It was dark and bare. The trees that stood had no foliage, only stark, dead branches that pierced the all-encompassing dusk to give some form to the blank sky above. Lights from fires burned in Eigroth illuminating pools of black water that were as still as the Abyss. The small rivers and pools would have looked inviting under the sun of Eigrae, but here they looked tepid and brackish, a place where things hide rather than live. Beyond the collection of a few dozen buildings in Eigroth, there was a thin ribbon of grey that cut through the landscape, a road, Dravud told them, that connected Eigroth to Herewist, the next kingdom. From this distance Herewist looked larger than the small town below them, and further on were two more sconces of flickering light far off in the distance.
“Each of the five paths would have led you to a place not unlike this,” Dravud repeated. “Each path leads to four cities, that we call kingdoms. The first three are different as cities are likely to be, but in each of the five paths, the fourth kingdom is always Vul – and it is the same Vul, where Griffis sits upon his throne and watches over all of the Nethyn Plains.”
After saying his piece, Dravud continued directly into a description
of the land in front of them. “Beyond Herewist you will find Agubend, the gateway to Vul in the far distance,” Dravud spoke calmly, his hands never leaving his side as he helped guide the eyes of his guests around the world in front of them.
“What is the space outside of the villages?” Hokra had moved to stand beside Dravud and pointed his thick fingers to the west of Eigroth.
“You see well, Chag Ca’Grae. Those lands are where you will find those who no longer seek the comfort of their fellows. Many of those who live in The Shade have been here since the very beginning, and others have simply not adapted well to their surroundings. All of them share one thing - they still retain hope. Hope of a way out, or the hope of a true death. They have been told many times that there is no such ending for those who make their homes in the Nethyn Plains, but they will not listen. You can sometimes hear their cries, calling out for mercy from gods who no longer exist for them, if ever they did. If they are not already so when they move away from the towns, those who choose The Shade end up mad. Best to avoid those places where the fires do not burn and where the paths do not lead.”
“Dravud, if Vul Griffis stands at the end of each of the paths, why did you ask us to choose?’
The guide smiled at Lydria with a warmth and empathy that made her feel she should not have asked the question. “Each of the paths is different and it is our choices that make us what we are. That you have chosen the most difficult path tells me only that what you seek and the reasons you seek it must be grave in consequence else fate might have treated with you more fairly. Never was an important thing purchased with a trifle.”
With a brief look to his charges Dravud turned silently to the right and made his way down a dirt path that twisted side to side down the mountain, and as they went Lydria neither saw nor heard any other thing except their footfalls crunching on the dirt and small rocks
Magic's Genesis- Reckoning Page 9