The Banished Lands- The Complete Series
Page 32
The Departure
The time had come for their departure. Pallin had gleaned what he could from the library, and Durian was fully on the mend. Though they had hoped for Sheabor's arrival, he had yet to appear and the monks had been more than generous in their hospitality. Pallin, in turn, had helped them to catalog and organize their documents. The collection of writings they housed were their prized possession, and the unique vantage point of Pallin had been indispensable. But the work was done and they couldn't linger.
The monks provided a small boat to travel the winding river through the Espion Forest and into the mainland of Kester. The pair waved their goodbyes and rowed across the crystal clear lake. Even at its deepest depth, Durian could see the bottom clearly. It fascinated him and he did little rowing.
As they passed the midpoint of the lake, a familiar hollering erupted from shore. It was the monk Durian had spoken with earlier, waving them goodbye with one hand, and a medium sized fish on a string in the other. Durian waved and laughed, shaking his head. One fish per day was apparently that man's destiny. Seeing the monk reminded Durian of the warnings he had voiced.
“Pallin, are the lands of Kester really as perilous as they say?” Durian asked.
“Who have you been speaking to?” Pallin asked with a laugh.
“When was the last time you visited them?” Durian asked.
Pallin's gaze grew distant.
“With the rise of the Horctura, the old roads between the kingdoms have fallen to disrepair,” Pallin began. “It has been at least three hundred years since I last set foot in the lands of Kester.”
Durian looked at him in wonder. That was many lifetimes. Suddenly, the warnings of the monk held more gravity than before.
“Things cannot have changed so greatly in that time,” Pallin assured. “But the further we are from the capital, the further we will be from orderly governance,” Pallin began. “Kester is too vast a region to be ruled by a single monarch. The lords of Kester each have dominion over their own regions by the leave of the king. They pay their taxes and keep to themselves and nothing more is required. And though they are all in title, nobles, not all the lords of Kester are in fact noble.”
“What will we say if we are discovered?”
“We will say nothing,” Pallin replied. “There's no reason we should be questioned. An old man and his grandson traveling westward is hardly a thing of note.”
“Grandson?”
“Your parents are both passed, yes?” Pallin asked.
Durian nodded.
“How old were you?” he asked.
“Just a boy,” Durian replied.
“Did you have other family in Suriya?”
“I had Baron and Blair.”
Pallin smiled warmly.
“If anyone questions us, we are traveling westward to the capital, to stay with your uncle, my son, after the tragic passing of your parents.”
“Is that where we're going? To the capital of Kester?”
“No,” responded Pallin. “If our course holds, we'll pass well north of there.”
“North?” questioned Durian. “I thought the Banished lands were southwest of here.”
“Tell that to the river,” Pallin said. “Unless you want to walk the next thousand leagues, the river flows north to the coast then the great beyond. From there, the stone will guide our way.”
“Are we not going to warn the lands of Kester?” Durian asked.
“Sheabor and the others will fulfill that task. Unless they fell in battle to Malfur. But we must hold to our own purpose: to find the final resting place of King Euthor.”
The mention of the king brought the vivid dream back to Durian's mind.
“Pallin, I've been having dreams.”
Pallin looked at him curiously. This was the first time Durian had mentioned it.
“It started happening just before Malfur came to Thob Forest. The first few were the same. I see a woman lying slain in a field and a rider on horseback finds her and carriers her away. It's what made me realize he had buried her somewhere in the plains of Cavanah. When we found her tomb, she looked identical to the woman I had seen in my dream. She even wore the same silken dress.”
Pallin wore a very surprised look, which turned to concern as he pondered.
“But at the monastery, I had another dream. I saw King Euthor standing midway atop a stony hill, his army gathered about him at the edge of the plains. You were there, and the other Keepers. Aravas spoke with him briefly and then you disappeared. I saw a glimpse of a terrible cyclone and after that, the dream ended.”
Pallin's brow furrowed as he pondered.
“Why have you not mentioned this until now?”
Durian only shook his head. He didn't rightly know.
“I remember that night,” Pallin said softly with a sigh. “King Euthor had gathered his forces at the borderlands of Cavanah. Corcoran's armies had already invaded the lands of Kester and Forthura. Only Cavanah remained. Such a small force was left to oppose the armies of Corcoran. I remember the look in King Euthor's eyes when he saw that we didn't mean to fight for him.”
Durian marveled. Pallin was describing the events exactly as Durian had seen them in his dream. How was that possible? The last line of the poem of King Euthor suddenly flashed through his mind.
Our unescaping memories will never fade away.
Could it really be that King Euthor was somehow communicating with him?
“I've been trying to put it all together,” Durian said. “The dreams began just as the strange things started happening in Thob Forest. That's when Malfur arrived, but also Sheabor and Straiah. Do you think King Euthor might somehow be communicating through Sheabor's hammer?”
Pallin's eyes narrowed but he didn't answer him. He clearly didn't know but the idea intrigued him.
“And what about the Soul Stone?” Durian continued. “The Forest Guard told me that a piece of it was missing. Do you think Corcoran may have taken it and used it to tie himself to the Banished Lands just like the Night Wanderers were tied to the forest?”
Pallin was struck by the idea.
“I've never considered that before,” Pallin said. “But you may well be right. I don't know of any other power in this world that could keep Corcoran's spirit tied to the earth.”
Then the pair were silent as each pondered. They soon left the lake behind, down the gently flowing river. Pallin used his oar as a rudder to steer them, and the two spent the whole of the morning silently enjoying their pleasant surroundings. But by midday, the sound of rushing water grabbed their attention.
“Well it was nice while it lasted,” Durian commented.
Their speed increased and Pallin dug his oar deeply into the water, slowing them to better gauge their course. Rocks jutted up roundabout them, and the once crystal waters were now white with foam. Pallin steered them skillfully past the larger rocks, shouting commands to Durian, who struggled to obey. The monks had warned them of rapids.
As they traveled, the boulders on the sides of the river rose up steadily higher and higher, until they could no longer see the lush forest, but only a column of churning water and stone. For better or worse, there was no going back.
“To the right!” Pallin shouted as the tip of their vessel neared a large stone.
They skirted it narrowly, scraping the side. At length, the shoreline leveled off a bit, and Pallin pointed to a small stretch of sandy beach. The two paddled furiously against the current but it seemed as though they were going to pass it by.
“Don't stop!” Pallin yelled, and turned their craft until it pointed diagonally upstream.
But it was an exercise in futility against the unyielding current. Pallin maneuvered their boat beside a large rock, grabbing hold of it with his oar and giving them time to rest. But the water still pulled fiercely around them, and it took considerable energy just to stay in place. They were only a few feet from shore.
Pallin glanced downstream. The waters grew
even more treacherous and if they could get to shore, they'd carry the boat in lieu of risking the rapids. But getting to shore was the problem at hand.
“Durian, can you leap the distance?” Pallin yelled.
“I can't leave you!”
“Do as I say boy!”
Pallin had his oar wedged into a crevice between two rocks, stabilizing the boat. Durian stood but stumbled. Muddling forward on hands and knees, every time he tried to stand, he quickly lost his balance. The shoreline was so close. Crouching and grabbing the rail of the boat, he took a deep breath.
Then, with a yell, he sprung from the craft toward the sandy shore, landing in the water shy of the edge, but digging his hands into the sand below to keep from being swept away. The current tugged at his body and his head was submerged beneath the water, the icy chill stealing the breath from his lungs. But he kicked and pulled and found himself on shore, turning quickly round to help Pallin, who was managing with difficulty in his absence, the tip of the boat curving back toward the river.
“Pallin!” Durian called out.
The boat tip was too far for Durian to reach, even with an oar, and he shot his eyes round for a derelict tree limb. But nothing was in reach. Pallin abandoned his oar and scrambled forward, leaping from the boat toward shore and landing in the water. Rushing to grab his hand, Durian pulled Pallin to safety while the boat gave way to the current.
“Quickly!” Pallin shouted, breathless, and arose slowly to his feet.
Pallin sprinted away without another word, and Durian set off after him. The boat was moving at incredible speed through the rapids, and appeared undamaged thus far. Without the weight of its two occupants, the vessel was faring quite well and Pallin clearly hoped to find it on the other side. Pallin, more surefooted than Durian, continued to outpace him along the slippery rock. But more of an accomplished traveler than both was their boat, which steadily gained ground, despite their best efforts.
The shoreline was becoming impassible, with tall boulders rising up in their path. Pallin took the opportunity and darted to his right toward the forest but Durian hesitated, knowing he'd soon lose him in the trees. Perhaps he could assist Pallin better if he climbed the tallest rock and directed Pallin through the forest. So setting off along the boulders, he ascended the tallest stone and scanned the river for their vessel. The river was largely obscured from sight, but at length, he saw the distant form of their boat still swiftly descending the river.
The river followed a broad course to the south, but then took a curve round to the west. Pallin had darted diagonally through the forest to make up the distance but the boat had already arrived to the curve in the river and was soon to travel speedily westward.
“Pallin, I see the boat! It's coming back west a half league ahead.”
He received no reply, but expected none. Durian hesitated for the moment, knowing he couldn't gain any more information from where he stood, but not knowing how to continue. He could make up some time by setting off into the forest after Pallin. But the threat of being lost and alone compelled him to stay along the riverbank, though the going was slow. And if, by chance, the boat ended its adventure in some eddy, Durian would surely stumble upon it while Pallin might pass it by.
It took Durian a few hours to reach the bend in the river he had seen from the top of the boulder. And though it was still far from evening, the day had turned to afternoon. He thought to call out again to Pallin, to see if he was in earshot. But something made him wary of making too much noise. So he continued onward, the river flattening and growing calm, the bouldered shoreline returning to trees and bushes.
As the day descended slowly to evening he suddenly saw something that surprised and scared him – their boat, stuck against the opposite shore in an outlying eddy, still afloat and largely undamaged by the look of it. But no sign of Pallin.
“Pallin!” Durian called out, and waited.
No reply. He was nowhere to be seen.
The Awakening
Baron could hear before he could see – muffled yells calling his name and hands shaking his shoulders. As time passed, he slowly gained consciousness. His cheek was resting against the cold surface of stone and he pushed himself from it but suddenly stopped with a jerk. Blinking his eyes open, he saw that his hands were affixed firmly inside the Soul Stone, which had solidified around them. Baron stood to his feet and tugged frantically to free himself, to no avail.
“Baron, how did you manipulate the Soul Stone?” Estrien asked.
Baron looked up at her in confusion.
“I don’t know,” Baron responded. “I don’t remember.”
Estrien came round behind him and placed her hands on his temples.
“Close your eyes,” Estrien said. “Calm your thoughts.”
Baron nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Feel your heart beating. Concentrate on it. Take deep breaths. It is through the bloodlines that the abilities of the First Age are passed from generation to generation. In your blood you carry the power to free yourself from the grip of the stone. Feel the blood pumping from your heart, flowing down though your arms and into your hands. With every pump of your heart, feel the stone around your hands soften.”
Baron could tell all eyes watched him. His heart pounded but he focused on his breathing in and out. With each beat of his heart, he imagined blood pumping down his arms and into his fingertips. At first, nothing happened, but slowly the bluish white of the Soul Stone began to swirl ever so faintly around his wrists. Baron gazed at it in disbelief for long moments.
“Try to pull yourself free,” Estrien said.
Tugging against the stone, Baron made slow headway. But concentrating once more, he softened the stone even further and slipped his hands free of the now liquid stone, which solidified instantly when his fingers left the surface. The crowd was deathly silent as Baron just stood there, staring at his hands, at a loss to remember what had really happened. The last thing he remembered was staring at the Soul Stone and feeling a strange sensation come over him.
“The Soul Stone has awakened his gift,” Estrien said. “I don’t know how. But the Soul Stone has never been fully understood. It must have seen in Baron his dormant gift, and it drew him forward.”
“Is that even possible?” Straiah asked.
“In many, the old nature isn’t gone,” Estrien answered. “It’s simply asleep, unable to manifest itself. It would be as though you, for instance, had the skill of a great musician. But being a woodsman, never taking to instruments, how would you ever know your latent talent? Even in Melanor, there are many whose gifts never awaken. At a young age, every child in Melanor goes through rigorous training, though only a fraction are able to finish. Because Baron and Blair are twins, their abilities are nearer to the surface. No one knows why. I can help him deepen his talents but he should go to Melanor for full training, as should Blair. His ability will awaken in time as well, if Baron’s continues to grow.”
Baron and Blair shot each other a look of disbelief.
“We should return to Ogrindal,” Aravas said in a loud voice.
Then, as one, the crowd ambled toward the city. The group was loud with conversation, the events of the day more surprising than any could have guessed. Blair quickly found his brother among the crowd and hooked him round the shoulder.
“Now I know it’s in your nature to upstage whoever's in the spotlight,” Blair began. “But the last great king of Ogrindal?...”
Baron let out a laugh and looked around for Ariadra. But she was nowhere to be seen, undoubtedly with her father and the leading elders of Ogrindal. The group reentered the city in loud conversation as the afternoon sun began to dip behind the mountains. This was a day for the ages – the day Melanor, Eulsiphion, and Ogrindal met to release the souls of the Night Wanderers and to witness the dawn of the first Builder to arise since the days of King Euthor, twelve hundred years ago.
The midday meal was ready in town square and even music filled the ai
r. It was as if the war had never come here. Baron and Blair each claimed their bowls of stew, Baron still searching intently for Ariadra. But he noticed King Froamb seated beside Straiah and Estrien and veered toward them. Not far away, Gwaren was seated by himself on a log. Calling to him, King Froamb beckoned him to join them. Gwaren hesitated but assented.
“That was quite a spectacle today,” King Froamb said to Gwaren. “I hope the defender of Ogrindal can still function adequately as ambassador. I have plans for you.”
Gwaren gave a curt nod, while the rest smiled at the exchange, especially Straiah, who could see by the look in King Froamb's eyes that he'd found someone new to torment. Estrien noticed the same, squeezing Straiah's arm and giving him a wide smile.
“This is a wonderful city,” Straiah said to Gwaren. “I can see how you've survived apart from the rest of the world for so many centuries. It seems you need little else here.”
“Some wine, perhaps,” Froamb interjected, still poking at his stew.
“There is no wine in Ogrindal,” Gwaren said, which brought a round of soft laughter.
“If I were the defender of Ogrindal...”
“You are not the defender of Ogrindal, good King,” Gwaren interrupted.
“Is that so? And to just what kingdom is your lot beholden?”
“The kingdom of Ogrindal.”
“It takes more than a pile of rubble to be considered a kingdom.”
Their exchange continued on. Straiah whispered something to Estrien and then rose to leave. But he walked a few short paces and sat down with Sheabor, who was seated alone nearby, seemingly lost in thought.
“What's going on in that mind of yours?” Straiah questioned as he sat down next to his friend. “I’ve seen the wheels turning in your head for days now.”