Flames of Awakening: Faemoch Cycle Book 1

by Reynolds, Michael

  Lot of good that'll do, with no body of my own.

  I know. We'll figure it out. And now that Jaxius knows, we can work together on it.

  I am just glad to finally know his name. I have known the man for three and a half full cycles of the moon and have only ever called him 'Stranger', Bergar admitted.

  Yes, names are something he holds dear. A trait that is definitely growing on me.

  ***

  Jaxius sat listening to his closest friend sing a heartwarming ballad in honor of a compatriot that he had recently thought was dearly departed. Jaxius decided that most things were not as they seemed anymore. Tolian and Bergar were two distinct souls crowded into a single body and Jaxius, himself, was supposed to recall memories that he didn't remember making. The whole concept was dizzying. Perhaps, the solitary mug of ale that he had was overcoming his senses. Either way, to do what the old mystic suggested, he would have to remember.

  He sat and contemplated during the majority of Tolian's sweeping ballad. When Tolian reached the part about their rescue attempt for Bergar, he remembered the battle in the tower vividly. But his mind, after a moment, wandered to a different engagement.

  At first, he thought that he recognized it from his dreams as the fight on the hill, but this one was different. He looked around and noticed he was atop a horse-like creature that stood on two legs instead of four and had wings growing from its side. As he peered down the line of warriors who also sat astride, no face looked unfamiliar. However, he could not place a single name to any one of them. Behind him, he heard the call for archers to ready their bows.

  The brilliant gold glint of his armor caught his attention. The perfectly aligned scales shimmered with superior craftsmanship. He reached backward and unsheathed his weapon. It was a viortassi, although it was not his sword. Its blade had a jade tint and was adorned with words in a language that teetered at the brink of his memory. The weight and craftsmanship of his fine weapon subtracted nothing from his ability to ride atop his bizarre mount. A voice from his side broke into his admiration of his elegant sword.

  "Your majesty," the all too familiar voice said. "All of the troops are ready to ride. You need only give the command."

  He looked over to see Chlora standing on the ground beside his steed. She smiled brightly, her eyes beaming enthusiasm.

  "Thank you, Chlora," Jaxius heard himself say. He was shocked. She had claimed to know him and called him cousin, but this was beyond his ability to comprehend. "Soldiers, ready? Advance!"

  Jaxius looked out at the sea of an army that stood in their path and then looked back at Chlora who stood barefoot, waving at her king marching to war. Jaxius felt his attention linger on her for just a second longer than he intended. That brought to him the realization that this was not really happening now, but in a memory or a dream of some sort. He turned back around to face his onrushing foe.

  An army, greater in number than any he had ever seen, marched against him this night. He looked about at the hundred or so warriors gathered at his command. He glanced back as his score of archers let arrow after arrow fly high into the blood red sky. Jaxius followed their path to see many more soldiers fall than his archers could possibly have fired upon.

  As his cavalry approached their target, their pace hastened. Each mount perfectly in step with the mount next to it. The hoofbeats echoed as a single, booming tone.

  Jaxius felt himself raise his finely crafted weapon and howl a wild battle cry. Deep inside himself, he felt a pulsating power well up and fill his entire being. He felt time slow to a crawl. Each step of his mighty winged horse encompassed several seconds. He had time to gaze upon each warrior in his army. His review told him that they, too, moved with the same dilated pace. He must be in a host of people with abilities comparable to his. He called upon some magic inherent in his weapon and it burst into sparkling green and blue heatless flames. Jaxius glanced down at the blade, not entirely certain of what he was doing. He had heard of enchanted weapons before, but he was sure he had never held one.

  One of his companions let loose an orb of glowing red energy. It struck the front line of the advancing army and exploded, creating a hole in the enemy ranks the size of a small house. Similar orbs struck the oncoming army at various intervals.

  Jaxius raised himself up on the back of his mount. Knowing, somehow, that he would not lose his balance, he rode standing on the bare back of his steed and waited to reach his target.

  After a few more bolts of magical energy exploded into his enemy's ranks, Jaxius determined that he was close enough to launch his own attack.

  "Gittup!" he called to his steed. The great white wings flapped a few quick times, and the king was away, flying through the air. The oncoming army skidded to a stop as he and a handful of his soldiers flew overhead. When he was near the center of the opposing army he slipped backward, off of the flying two-legged horse beast. He rushed toward the ground. Inside his chest, he knew that this was true freedom. To fly. His calming descent ended abruptly as he landed, crouching to soften the blow. His flaming blade swung out in a great arc, slicing apart his foes two and three at a time. The ones he did not immediately fell with his blade ran screaming. It was as though his landing created a giant ripple in the army.

  Seizing the opportunity granted him by his flashy arrival, Jaxius sped to the top of the ridge from which his enemies had marched. Several of the opposing warriors circled him. He fought brilliantly, his blade moved at an impossibly fast speed in spite of, or possibly because of, his altered perception of time. Eventually, enough of the opposition crowded in on him that his heavy blade did little good either in defense of himself or in attacks on his foes.

  Feeling inordinate pressure, Jaxius thrust his elven blade into the soft ground at his feet. A ring of flame spurted outward, bowling over the ring of men surrounding him.

  Rain began to fall as the silky night closed in. He gazed around the battlefield, seeing some of his companions fighting for their lives. This part of the dream memory, Jaxius had seen before. This, now, was the hilltop battle of his previous dreams.

  The visions had started to feel more like memories than dreams, but Jaxius still questioned what was truly happening. He was sure that he would learn all of the truth soon. He felt more confident in that every moment.

  Jaxius looked up from his waking dream to see Tolian being pulled from atop one of the locals. The half-elf jumped to his feet and rushed to aid the men holding back the furious bard. He couldn't be sure which of his friends was in control of their shared body at the moment, but he had an idea.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  "Bard!" called Grundar, a tone of censure in his thunderous voice.

  Bergar recognized the ill-tempered, disapproving bellow of his father's that meant a probable thrashing for the beating he'd given out himself. But he would accept whatever punishment his father would heap on him.

  I certainly hope that the punishment isn't too severe. I would hate to accidentally swap places with you again and be bruised all over, Tolian thought wryly.

  Be praying that bruising is all he does... Bergar replied, trying to make his father sound much worse than he really was.

  Bergar forced his borrowed feet to make the trek to the clan chief, his eyes down and hands clasped tightly together. He truly did look like a scolded son awaiting his father's judgment. He stopped a few feet from the chair where Grundar sat and said, "Yes, sir?"

  "I wanted to be thankin' ye fer what ye singed about me son," Grundar growled. A solitary tear had formed at the base of each eye. As Grundar spoke those words, the tears blossomed and slipped down the sides of Grundar's square cheeks.

  Bergar's heart crushed and bled. He knew that his father was in enormous pain. The torment of his father grieving for a son who was standing in front of him was more than Bergar could bear to watch.

  We have to tell him now, Bergar thought to Tolian.

  You are the one who desired to wait. Not I.

  Fine, I will
tell him, but I wish it were you who could explain to him. You are much better with words than I am.

  If you can find a way for we two to exchange places, then by all means, enlighten me. I, for one, am not at all angry at the moment, so I don't believe I can force myself into the controlling position. Tolian's voice became more matter-of-fact than Bergar wanted to hear.

  "Fa..." Bergar caught himself. "Grundar, I have something of great importance that I have to speak with you about."

  "Alright lad, talk," Grundar said. The bags under his eyes showed the weight of his crumbling world.

  Bergar took a seat beside his father at the table and leaned forward, lowering his voice to avoid letting the rest of his clan know the terrible secret he was about to reveal. "You know how we told you that your son died?"

  "Ya, like a man. Wait, ye mean t' be tellin' me that 'e didna die honorably? Tha' 'e went out whimperin' fer his mama or somethin'?"

  "No, no, no. Nothing of the sort." Bergar hurried on. "It so happens that isn't the full story. Only he could possibly tell you the whole story. So, I will let him speak it to you."

  Jaxius' eyes widened at the surprising timing of the revelations about to be revealed. He sat quietly and calmly beside Grundar, closely watching Tolian.

  "Wha'?! How could 'e speak it t' me? M' boy is dead; I burned 'is body meself, or d' ye no' recollect?" Grundar's voice trembled with shock and anger.

  "Well, that's the story part of it all. You see, when the witch used her magic to kill your son, she really only sent him to the final judgment. And since the witch had worked her foul magics upon Bergar, her darker goddess claimed his soul. In the afterlife, she gave him a choice. He could rise up as an undead in service to her or share this body that you see before you with the bard, Tolian."

  "I-I-I be not understandin'," Grundar said.

  "To put it a little more simply, father, I didn't completely die and pass on like you thought I had."

  "Ye'd be rather presum'tuous t' think I'd be believin' ye be me own son. Ye're dafter than I thought ye could be."

  "But I am your son," Bergar pleaded, but his father was impossible to argue with when his stubborn streak was aggravated. And Bergar knew it. Then like a jolt from above, Bergar had an idea. "I can prove who I am in a way that only you and I know about."

  Grundar considered this and tried to figure out how this could be a trick or trap, but could not find a way. He would be forced to endure whatever trickery the bard had in store for him. Becoming agitated and wanting this to be over with, he said, "Get on wit' it, then."

  What amazingly brilliant plan have you come up with now, Bergar? The bard chuckled.

  I don't know. Shut up and let me think. Bergar responded.

  "Well? What're ye waitin' fer?" The agitation in Grundar's voice growled and threatened a roar.

  "Umm, when I was fourteen I fell and broke my arm on my first trek back to Werlgart as a protector."

  "Anyone'd knowed tha' happen'd t' me boy who'd heared any o' 'is tales at all."

  Actually, friend, I did know that. If this is going to work, you'll have to concentrate. Come up with something embarrassing, or titillating, Tolian offered.

  Like what? Bergar whined. He was running out of ideas.

  Well, if I knew, that would entirely defeat the purpose of this exercise, would it not?

  Then shut your mouth if you aren't going to help.

  As you command. Tolian hoped Bergar could feel the eye-roll.

  "If'n tha's th' best ye can come up wit', then ye are wastin' yer and my time." Grundar frowned.

  "Ugh, when I was ten, you sat me down and scolded me for sucking my thumb like a baby when I slept. That's one that I would never tell anyone."

  You did what? You really sucked your thumb until you were ten? The bard was giggling at Bergar's revelation.

  Yes, now shut your mouth. I thought you weren't going to talk unless you could find something helpful to talk about.

  Well, now, I was, but that tidbit is simply too juicy to pass over.

  "Well, mebbe I can be seein' tha he wouldna be tellin' anyone o' that talk. But, it'll take more tha' tha' t' make me change me mind."

  I thought you surely had him with that one, Tolian thought wryly. Think a little deeper.

  Bergar breathed in a great chest full of air, refusing to be undone by his father's stubbornness. He looked around the tent for a moment, trying to clear his head of any detail that Tolian could easily learn about him.

  "If'n ye are done makin' fun o' a father who'd rather be left t' 'imself...." Grundar let unfinished statement speak for itself.

  Say something now, Bergar. This is your last shot. You'd better make it count.

  "Look here, Grumble Bear, I AM your son. I know more about you than I know about anything or anyone."

  "What'd ye call me?"

  "Grumble Bear," Bergar's voice waxed weak when he realized that he had just called his father by a name not used outside of their home.

  No, that's it. The name. There is no way that anyone outside of your family would know it? Tolian asked.

  No, we never talk about that or anything much having to do with family.

  "Ye tell me where ye heared that name," Grundar's agitation rose and pulled him up out of his seat. His cheeks glowed red, and his chest heaved with angered breath.

  "My mother called you that when she was dying. I snuck out after you put me to bed because I knew something was wrong with her and wanted to talk to her. To tell her goodnight or goodbye. Or that I would be good. I stood outside your tent and heard her call you her 'Grumble Bear.' Those were the last words I ever heard her say. I… I never got to tell her goodbye. Or goodnight. Or any of those other things that don't really seem all that important now."

  Both men stared at each other with tears streaming down their cheeks. The memory of their mother and wife was the breaking point between the two of them.

  "I never telled anyone 'bout tha' night. We were alone on th' tundra, jest our family. And I ne'er said a word o' it to anyone. Ye are me son."

  Bergar nodded and wiped away two cheeks full of tears. He was his father's son after all, and couldn't be seen blubbering in front of the whole clan.

  Grundar snatched Bergar up in a hug that almost squeezed the life from younger man.

  "Me son..." Grundar's smile returned.

  The four men in their three bodies sat for the next several hours discussing how they were going to repair things and what the proper course of action would be. Finally, it was decided that Jaxius and Tolian and Bergar should leave together in an attempt to uncover alternative solutions to their individual dilemmas.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Once more, Jaxius braved the freezing snow and gusting wind to visit the old shaman's tent. He toe-stepped his way through the snow trying to stay as silent as he could. Once outside of the old man's tent, he started to clear his throat to announce his presence but was interrupted by an eerie melody hummed by a not very pleasant voice. The song was more akin to animal screeches and growls than any kind of tune. Jaxius smiled wide, thinking the old man was singing in his sleep. Then, in the midst of the scratchy crooning, the old man's voice intoned, "You may come in Ja-a-axi-u-ugh-u-ssssss."

  Any thought of humor left Jaxius and was replaced by the uncomfortable sensation that this old man knew more about the world than he was letting on. He exhaled deeply, trying to mentally push his misgivings and doubts out with the breath. The nervous half-elf pulled back the flap to the wise one's tent and slipped inside the welcome warmth.

  The bald little man sat, eyes closed, in the same place behind the fire that had, by all appearances, the same wood as earlier. That was not the only peculiarity that Jaxius noticed about the old man. Jaxius' eyes darted around the tent noting that dust thickly caked the tops of several containers. He also began to question the rug that the old man sat upon. The curled up, thick red rug looked overly settled for someone to be using it regularly. Many of the folds looked permanentl
y creased and faded. Even the diminutive Nordrasian looked out of place on the front line of the clan's defensive force. There were definitely more questions here than explanations.

  Jaxius took his seat across from the still humming mystic. He opened his mouth to ask one of the many new questions that cropped up in his mind but was cut short by the old man's hand shooting up in protest. The shaman waved away the questions as if he were waving out a rancid odor. Jaxius decided to keep the questions to himself and simply observe until the old man invited him to speak.

  Jaxius watched on for quite some time as the old man alternately hummed, sang, and chanted. He stared at the man, trying to discern the most subtle indicators that said everything was definitely not as it seemed. The most alarming of these clues was that the old man, though he was already thin by Nordrasian standards, seemed to diminish even as they sat. Something was definitely happening. Something that made Jaxius cringe. That discomfort took up residence in Jaxius' mind and consumed his every thought.

  The ancient wise man continued to chant, his eyes remaining tightly closed. Sweat formed on Jaxius' palms and forehead as he watched the last remnants of the old man's hair drift to the crimson rug around him. Finally, when the old man's ribs started to protrude, Jaxius could take it no longer. He had to speak out.

  "What is happening to you?!" Jaxius exclaimed.

  "Oh?" The old man's voice wavered and creaked showing the suddenly advanced signs of age. "Knowing things sometimes takes a toll on a person. There are always prices to pay for such power. Do not worry, I know what I am doing. I have lived quite a long time, and I know how to do what is necessary for the good of man."

  "All this, this … confusion is for the good of man? I can't even make sense of it all. Much less see how it affects all people of the world." Jaxius nearly sobbed at the aging man.

  "That is because you don't have the burden of knowledge that others do. Listen closely and hear well, old soul, for I do not have long to tell you what you must know."