“Dravud,” Haustis’ tone was pensive, and she asked her question slowly, thinking it through as she went as if she might discover the answer for herself. “If Griffis stands resolutely on the side of darkness, should there not be another here who stands as resolutely on the side of light?”
“If there is, that person has not shown herself, and perhaps that is why you can hold onto the hope that such a person exists. It may, however, be that such a person has not arrived yet; that their time will coincide with a need for balance to be created or restored.”
Dravud smiled at them again and turned slowly the way he had come. “Let us go. We are nearing Vul, but there is some way to go yet.”
They walked across the cavern expecting to hear their feet echo across the vastness of the ceiling of stone above them, but no such echo came. Any noise they made was feeble in the large space and the scuffing of their feet across the stone only registered because it was the only sound that existed. Following their guide through a much wider passage than that from the dragon’s prison, they came out on a hillside, with a view of the lights of Vul spread out before them reaching out across both sides of a wide river. On the side of the river where they stood, the lights were brighter and more abundant. Across the river, the lights were fewer, with small pockets of darkness. Evident on both sides was a major thoroughfare, lit well enough that they could see people moving along the paved avenue.
“Do you notice anything different about Vul?” Dravud stood watching the city as if it might reach out and grab him.
“The river moves,” Haustis said. “There is motion in the air and water here unlike anywhere else in the Plains. How is this?”
Haustis was correct, Lydria noted, scolding herself for not noticing such an obvious discrepancy.
“The land of Vul is connected to all five paths, and so the rules that bind nature in those places are loosened somewhat here. The river moves, yes, but it does nothing to clean the water. It is still stagnate and stale. It is a visual trick to make the people of Vul feel somehow special, greater than those of the other places. The air also feels more alive here, but it does not carry sound or smell in the way air does on Eigrae. It is a façade built to keep the citizens docile so that Griffis can go about his great work.”
“What great work would that be?” Hokra sniffed at the air as if trying to catch something from it that might disprove Dravud’s statement.
“His great work, that even now, finds its way to him. The man you seek has arrived before us. It was he who had defeated the dragon before. He did it in a spirit dream, a dream he took with your predecessor,” he looked pointedly at Haustis. “In that dream, he fought a red dragon and freed it. It is how he came to discover dragons, and I would wager, though I doubt even Wynter is aware, the enchantments to turn men into dragons as well.
“Somewhere, I wager, on the other side of the river, your prey walks along, finally free of the Shades who have harassed him since you sent them to menace him. That was, I must admit, both clever and merciful. Alas, Wynter carries Wilmamen’s sword thinking he has mastered this world. He is a hen walking into a coop of foxes.”
“What are we waiting for then? Let’s find him before he makes it to Griffis.” Lydria’s voice was cold and menacing. She wanted to make up for not doing what she had an opportunity to do in the Cobalt Tower. Every step she took within the Nethyn Plains acted as a pin prick, poking her repeatedly for her mercy, for failing to take the simple step of driving a blade through Wynter’s throat and ending his threat forever.
“We are waiting for a final guide. It is likely he has seen the man you follow, and it is a courtesy that we wait here. He will know we are here and that you have defeated Unshegrig. As it has never happened before, however, I think it unlikely he has been waiting for you.”
Lydria and the others said nothing but walked in slow circles away from the cavern entrance, never leaving sight of Dravud, but pushing slowly outwards trying to see this new guide as he made his way toward them.
It seemed like hours before someone arrived and when they did, they went straight to Dravud, whispered in his ear and ran back down the hill toward the town below.
“Our guide has been delayed and begs us to meet him by the bridge.”
“Is everything all right?” Lydria asked as the three gathered quickly around Dravud.
“It is unusual – but everything to do with you has been unusual so this is hardly noteworthy.” Dravud’s speech halted for a moment as he walked along the path toward the town. After rounding a small bend, the town opened up wide before them, and they all knew something was wrong when Dravud reached for his white sword. “Stay behind me as we enter the town. This is beyond unusual. Something is wrong here. I feel something that cannot be.”
Dravud moved off quickly, putting distance between himself and his charges, and Lydria held Hokra’s shoulder, keeping the Chag from chasing off after their guide. “He is changing again, have you noticed?” Lydria said to the others, and then without waiting for a response, she answered her own question. “Every time we enter a new territory he grows, and his armor becomes more pronounced. The first time was when we entered the path, his shirt became a shirt of green mail. It has continued to evolve as does he. His head is larger, and his jaw sharper than when we began. His body has grown, but it is not right. He holds his arms up, often crossing them over his chest. There may be something in Vul that is not right, but I think there is much that stands in front of us that is not right as well. Walk carefully.” Before her words were finished, she could feel the small energy that surrounded her, and she knew Hokra and Haustis were similarly protected.
“Do we walk into a fight?” Hokra seemed almost eager but Lydria could not help but think he was also afraid after his encounter with Truna.
“I do not think so,” Haustis replied. Even here people scream. If there were fighting, we would have heard something by now – and look, Dravud walks into the town unmolested.”
Indeed, in the dim light, they could see their guide being motioned to a point near the bridge, his naked blade clearing a path by its very presence. It was far to the right of their position as they came off the small hill, and they followed quickly through the mass of people who had started to gather and move forward slowly now that Dravud had arrived.
The bustle of activity carried them swiftly to the bridge where Dravud was found speaking with a very short bald man. “Is that…” Lydria began.
“It is a Chag Ca’Grae.” Hokra whispered the words, not sure he believed them himself. “How does one of my people come to be here in this place where we have yet only seen Eifen, and Humans?”
“Really, Hokra? How many humans wear a tail like Karjan, or have six fingers like the white guide? And need I remind you that Wilmamen’s servants were neither human nor Eifen. I suspect there are many types here,” Haustis said. “Perhaps this is the only place in all the afterlives where such a place has been built?”
Their conversation took them to the bridge – or to the place where the bridge had been.
“It appears your prey knew he was being followed – or the master of the sword has felt your presence.” Dravud looked at the three and quickly remembered his place as guide. “This is S’rolek, our guide to the gates of Griffis.
“Well, Dravud, you did not tell me.” S’rolek looked very much like Hokra, his bald head and ponytail plaited in a similar way, and their size and mud brown color nearly identical. S’rolek, however, had deep blue eyes which were glaring due to their size and when his upper and lower lids blinked, Lydria found herself staring at him.
“Your eyes are very fetching too, lass,” he said with a generous and affable smile. He turned to Hokra and put his hands on the other’s shoulders. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen an Eichag. Come, let us go to my home and speak. It seems our bridge has been destroyed and it will take time before it is rebuilt. I’m sure it has been some time since I was on Eigrae, and I would have you tell me, how
is life in Nethyngal?”
Hokra looked at the others as S’rolek led him away with his arm across his shoulder. The small crowd that had gathered said nothing, but filtered away slowly, breaking into smaller groups and not going far from the banks of the river.
The house of S’rolek was nearby and despite Lydria’s glances toward Dravud and comments to Hokra, they continued until they were sitting in a well-furnished home a block from where they had started. As was typical for the Chag Ca’Grae, most of the home was made of stone, though in the fashion of the humans of Eigrae. Lydria saw their host had honed his art, as every surface was pinched into stunning reliefs of Nethyngal featuring, primarily, three people.
“These are my family, my wife and daughter,” S’rolek said just beside Lydria. “I carved these long ago, but I can still see them clearly. Still, you did not come here to listen to my stories, you have come to tell me yours. Please, everyone, sit.” S’rolek motioned for all of them to take seats around the single table and only Dravud refused. He stood by the door, arms crossed, his green armor the only color in the brown and grey space, his sword returned once again, a bone-white spine along his back.
“How is Nethyngal? Who rules and what trade comes from the west?”
Hokra took a long time to respond and his face told S’rolek more than perhaps he wanted to hear. “I am afraid,” Hokra began, “that Nethyngal,” he was unable to say more before S’rolek held up his hands pleading for him to stop.
“No, do not tell me. If ill fates have befallen my city, then I would prefer not to know. But I would be interested to know how a living Eichag makes his way to my home?” S’rolek looked directly at Dravud. “I felt his life when we walked from the river. Must I assume these others are alive as well?”
Dravud bowed his head in agreement. “S’rolek, I have the honor to present you with Hokra, Prince if the Chag Ca’Grae.”
“Ca’Grae? Then Nethyngal is lost?”
“I am sorry, but it is true.” Hokra leaned back in the low-back chair and told S’rolek of the history of the Chags as far back as he knew.
“How long have I been in this place?”
“Generations. The roads to the west and our home in Nethyngal have been lost for many decades. We have not mined the Farn’Nethyn since long before I was born, and there are none that we know either amongst ourselves or in the wider world who are skilled enough to forge the metal any longer.”
“That makes me sad, and yet, all kingdoms will eventually fall. I had held out hope, however, that our people would rise above.”
“We are not lost, S’rolek. We are merely, delayed. Nethyngal will be retaken as it has been recently cleared of those who cost us our home.”
S’rolek looked to each of those sitting nearby, and to Dravud he asked, “will they find their way home?”
“It is not for me to decide, yet they have found their way here, and that is not without hope.”
S’rolek stood and motioned for Hokra to join him, and together they left the house speaking quietly with each other. Dravud kept the others behind and they followed at a discrete distance, waiting to see when they might be called forward again. They walked up and down the streets, S’rolek speaking always in hushed tones and in the language of the Chag Ca’Grae, until finally they walked up along the river bank and to the remains of the bridge pilings. A tall, thin man ran up to speak with S’rolek and was sent away, the Chag swinging his foot at his backside as he ran.
“I am sorry, but I cannot help you. The bridge is destroyed and will not be repaired for some time. You cannot pass into Vul.”
20-Crossing
Lydria couldn’t help but laugh at the solemnity with which S’rolek made his pronouncement. The remains of the bridge lay still in the water, not creating a ripple of disturbance. The pilings stood tall and some of the timbers that spanned the river were nearly whole. “Can we not just walk across the spans, or wade the river? It’s not like it will sweep us away?”
Dravud and S’rolek both turned their heads slowly and silently to look at the wielder. “Will it not?” S’rolek looked past Lydria to the small crowd that had re-gathered behind them. “I need a volunteer.”
His words caused immediate commotion in the crowd as those in back pushed those in front and those in front tried desperately to burrow their way to the back. Finally, however, a single person was left standing as the crowd moved backward as one.
“Excellent, Privna, is it? Well done. Come on now, lass, you know what needs to be done. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure none of these take your house. It will be waiting when you come back.” At this, the crowd let out an audible groan as if heaving Privna forward should have allowed one of them to claim her home.
“You know that’s not true,” the woman responded, understanding her fate. She walked past S’rolek and toward the riverbank. The rest of the crowd rushed forward, eager to see the spectacle play out.
“Have you done this before, S’rolek?” Dravud looked down his nose, which was Lydria noticed, now covered in its own armor – armor that had grown to cover his neck and back of his head as well.
S’rolek looked slightly embarrassed, steadfastly avoiding the eyes of the taller guide. “Every now and then, as a bit of sport, we have a contest and the loser has to swim the river.”
“And the winner? What does the winner get?”
“The winner doesn’t have to swim the river.” S’rolek laughed out loud and soon all those along the line of bystanders were laughing as well. “Oh, it’s fine, they usually find their way back. It’s not as if I’m killing them.” The crowd laughed again but quickly fell silent as they noted the visitors did not share their laughter.
“Usually?” Hokra asked.
“Well, yes. I mean, you go back to the beach, and that’s not a bad place there, is it eh, Dravud?”
“It is not.”
“But then, you have to get sick of that place enough to go into the forest, and by then, you don’t remember any of this anyway. You have to pick the right path too – except that, if you’re coming here, you don’t really as they all eventually lead here.”
“The further one progresses into the kingdoms, the more ones’ memory is restored,” Dravud offered. “By the time Privna were to make it back here, she would likely remember her home, and most likely, she will remember this as well.”
S’rolek could feel the weight of six eyes upon him, judging him. “I make sure no one has to do it more than once.”
“Have you ever done it?” Hokra asked, his royal tone coming to the fore as he stood straight in front of the dead Chag.
“More than once, lad, and I don’t care for your tone; no matter who you were on Eigrae, you’re not that here. This is my domain, not yours and I’ll rule it as I see fit. Now, you shut your noise before I have you out there trying your luck.”
“I am disappointed to have found you,” Hokra said stiffly. “To have a Chag Ca’Grae in this place at all is unsettling.”
There was a long silence as the two stared at each other across a span of only a couple feet and the crowd had begun to ignore Privna who stood by the water, instead watching the two Chags hold a staring contest.
S’rolek turned away from Hokra in disgust, waving his hand at the prince as if he held no interest for him, and turned his attention back to the woman he had sent to the water’s edge. “Get in there then, girl, what are you waiting for?”
“I have a case of wine in my house that better be there when I get back,” she shouted. The crowd laughed out loud, and S’rolek murmured to his guests, “She shouldn’t have said that. That wine will be gone before she realizes she’s on the beach.” He laughed again and turned away from Hokra who held his face stern.
“In you go, now.”
The crowd started to count backward from five and as the ‘one’ rang out from dozens of throats, Privna placed a foot in the water and then the next. The crowd gasped as if anticipating something that did not come. Even Privna looked ba
ck smiling, her hands out to her sides. She took another step toward the center of the river and bowed to those waiting for her demise. “Looks like you’ll not get my wine today,” she taunted.
Lydria looked to S’rolek who was holding his hands in front of him, rhythmically moving his fingers until he curled them in one by one into his fists. As his last thumb curled up over his fingers, Privna screamed.
A giant wall of water appeared feet from where she stood and smashed down upon her with such force Lydria knew she must be broken into pieces in the shallow rock bed. The crowd erupted with cheering, turning to each other and exclaiming about the ferocity of the water which left only a shoe behind. There was nothing left of Privna, nor was any of the remnants of the bridge. The remains of the structure were gone as if they had never existed. The water moved but it carried no flotsam.
“So, you see, young lady, you can’t cross the river without a bridge,” S’rolek spoke politely to Lydria, ignoring the fact that he had taken great efforts and a good deal of time to show them this thing when simply telling them would have sufficed.
“Can we rebuild the bridge?” Haustis asked.
“No. Only Vul Griffis’ chosen may rebuild the bridge. What you have witnessed we call the Wailing of the Vul, and many on the other side believe it only happens when Vul Griffis is angry. Or,” he smiled again at the keenness of his own joke, “if S’rolek is bored.”
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