by Rex Hazelton
Fyreed, who knelt to tie the horse to a stake that had been driven into the hard gravel-strewn ground, knew what he was talking about since he was denied the opportunity to go with Jeaf when he went to find Andara's tears in the haunted city of Cara Lorn. If that wasn't bad enough, Fyreed was also prevented from accompanying his friend when he went to find the Hammer of Power that had abandoned him during the ceremony he was attending at the School of the Sword and Song five winters before, a venture that took Jeaf to Ar Warl once again.
"But if I was you, I wouldn't worry about it too much." Fyreed's eyes met Lowen's as he stood once the horse was secured, one of five that his longboat had transported to the Madara Spike for the Oakenfel brothers to use in their quest- four mounts and one pack animal. "Though their friends can't go with them everywhere they go, nor are we asked to do everything they're asked to do, there'll be plenty of times when the Oakenfels need our help. And if memory serves me right, each of these is filled with enough danger to satisfy the palate that wants to taste the same risks they're asked to take."
Memories of the Battle of the Cave of Forgetfulness shoved there way into the Bjork's mind as he spoke. The Hammer of Power's blue light swept over Fyreed and those who accomapanied Jeaf and Muriel as they went to face Schmar. Bear's roar was heard. Threats, hurled about by a vast host of river children, joined in. Fyreed watched his sword reach out and cut through the shiny-black leg of the giant spider he had been pursing. Angry snarling from the hunchmen he struggled with in the brutal fight was added to the mix. Blood was seen everywhere. Lots of blood. The Elf-Man's blindingly fast blades made sure this was so. The griffin's claws and fangs were busy evening out the insurmountable odds that the Prophetess and the Hammer Bearer faced in their quest to defeat the demon who ruled over the loathsome subterranean kingdom. Then in the midst of the chaotic tumult, a voice was heard as the Prophetess sang the Song of Breaking. And the inimitable magic the singing released shattered Schmar's power. Ending his reign of terror.
"Aye," Lowen's long red hair reached down and touched his chest as he nodded his agreement. "Knowing your history as I do, Old Man, I'd have to say you're right. But being left behind still chafes me."
"Old Man, you say?" Fyreed smiled in the way one who perceives a challenge does. "Remember, the mountains are old too, and the sea we love so dearly. How many winters one has seen isn't as important as how one has aged. And I assure you, the passing summers haven't weakened me, not yet. But it has given me time to learn more tricks than your young mind can conceive of. So, I wouldn't be bandying the word OLD about so freely. You might tempt me to show you a trick or two at the next Harvest Feast."
Laughing over the friendly banter, Lowen said, "Whatever you want. I'll not miss the feast because of your threat, if that's what you're thinking." But he didn't call Fyreed Old Man again, since he had no desire for the seasoned warrior to challenge him to a wrestling match that all in Thundyrkynd would see, one that he would lose even if he won, unless he won decisively, and Lowen doubted that would happen.
Bjork feast days were filled with contests centered on fighting. Games, where feats of strength and agility could be displayed were also included. Though losing to the famous Bjork wouldn’t be a dishonor, it would effectively put a muzzle on Lowen whenever Fyreed was around. And he didn't want that.
Snorting out a bit of laughter himself, Fyreed shook his head as he turned his attention to Ay'Roan and answered the question he had overheard as he walked up. "We believe the horses can survive the crossing."
The Madara Desert was an inhospitable place. Littered with rock outcroppings and sinewy brush that saw almost no rain at all, the few stream beds found in the place were as dry as sun-bleached bones. Though no one had tried to cross the desert in recent memory, those who had helped form the plan the Oakenfels would follow to gain entrance into Ar Warl believed this was the safest route to take. There were two reasons for this: one, the Sorcerer's spies would lest expect this, and two, Kaylan was sure he would find what little water could be found in that desolate place. His relationship to the waterkynd was cited as proof for his claim.
Marta's assurance that this was so, lent credence to his words, though the Otrodorian didn't tell all that she knew about Kaylan's relationship to Mythoria and a particular female who resided there. Nor did Kaylan divulge the extent of his dealings with the enigmatic waterkynd, except to tell his mother and grandmother. After all, parents should be told such things. Especially those who had the acumen to understand the magic employed to make this possible.
"Remember, you mustn’t leave the Madara Desert and enter the Stone Desert where they meet," Nazar Blood warned. "It is a place filled with magic that unravels all other power but its own. That's why the griffin can't fly there. Nor can we fly over the ocean that borders it as it sweeps off into the distant south."
The ring of amber light that encircled Travyn's irises glowed in the shadows cast by his hat's wide brim as he looked at the griffin, who was one of four winged-lions who had carried him and his brothers to the Madara Spike, and asked. "Why is that?"
Kaylan, who had an unquenchable desire to learn about things magical, looked on with eyes as dark as his brothers, though they lacked the amber rings. Twins as they were, the color of their hair distinguished one from the other more than anything else: Travyn had dark hair that was just long enough to hide his ears; Kaylan's honey-colored hair lightly touched his shoulders. Their builds were slightly different too. Kaylan was thinner. Both were built for speed and not strength like Ay'Roan.
"When the Warl's Magic made us," Nazar Blood began explaining, "it did so using the ashes that remained after the fires of our extinction had gone out. With so little material to use, and not wanting to add anything that would dilute our original essence, the Warl's Magic used things found in the place where enchantment dwells to make up for what was lacking. As a result, there is more magic in our composition than is found in man, or for that matter, in any other creature living in the warl, save the waterkynd. Constituted as we are, the Stone Desert's particular magic would dissolve our form as easily as sunlight vanquishes a morning fog."
"But if the Warl's Magic made you," Kaylan asked his question as he tried to understand what, to him, seemed illogical, "how can the Stone Desert unmake you?"
"Maybe there's more than one source of magic?" Nazar Blood's bright yellow eyes took Kaylan in as he spoke. The young man had always been the most interesting of all of Muriel Blood's cubs. "Or maybe the Warl's Magic wishes to confine our movements, to keep us from heading off to places where we shouldn't go."
Does he know about Lylah and me? Kaylan wondered as he listened to Nazar Blood talk about boundaries the Warl's Magic had erected. As mystical as the griffin were, maybe they had ways of finding things out about him that Kaylan wished they weren't privy to. Maybe they knew what the Nameless Evil had done to him and Travyn when, as unborn spirits firmly esconced in their mother's womb, they were held prisoner in the Warl of the Dead, a mystery he was trying to understand himself. Could his fascination with things strange be something that he inherited from one who was not his parent? Was it a gift given by Darkness? But how could that be when it led him to Lylah?
Bothered by anyone or anything who tried to confine his movements, Travyn added, "Why would the Warl's Magic want to restrain us? Is it afraid that we might learn something it doesn't want us to know? Could it be threatened by this?"
"First off," Nazar Blood was being patient with the man who looked at him with his unusual eyes, "we don't know what the Warl's Magic is exactly. Is it human-like? Or is it something akin to a griffin or waterkynd? I don't think so. Does it have volition? That seems safe to say. But exactly how its will works, and where it originates from, is a mystery.
“Yet, from all we've seen, the Warl’s Magic has the best interest of the living in mind. So, I wouldn't kick against the goads unless you have good reason too. The Hag are proof enough of this." After pausing in thought as he studied Travyn, the g
riffin added, "You wouldn't want to become a Hag would you?"
Not easily cowed, Travyn quickly replied, "Don't get ahead of yourself, I just want to know why a thing like the Stone Desert exists and what lies on the other side of it. Is that wrong?"
The Stone Desert ran the length of the Madara Desert, Ar Warl, and the Ice Desert put together. It lay east of Sky Master, the Great Ral Mountains, and the endless fields of ice that cover the warl's northern reaches. How far east it stretched none knew, for no one had ever crossed the place that swallowed up explorers like a ravenous wolf gulping down chunks of meat. Filled with countless black rocks more glass than stone, the desert looked like it had been blasted with great heat. Nothing lived there. The clouds that passed overhead dissipated quicker than chimney smoke caught in a gale. Most thought it was the end of the warl; an ocean of stone that was so wide it couldn't be crossed.
"It's never wrong to pursue the truth of things," Nazar Blood said. "But it's wrong to pursue truth without wisdom's guiding hand being involved. Once again, I point to the Hag." The griffin was not afraid to offend the young man. Since Travyn's mother had been adopted by the Blood Community, so was he, and the Blood were brutally honest with each other in such grave matters. "You must realize this before you enter Ar Warl, or the same things that entrapped the Hag will catch you, Son of Muriel Blood."
"I'll never be trapped!" The ring of amber light encircling Travyn's irises looked like the sun's corona during a total eclipse.
"But your mother was." Nazar Blood spoke in measured tones as he hearkened to the time when the Prophetess was held captive in the Temple of the Oak Tree, an event that led to her spirit being brought before the Evil One who rules over the darkness encroaching on the Warl of Dead and the Mountain of Song that stands there.
"Nazar Blood!" J'Aryl's dark, wavy hair was tossed about by a wind that increased right along with the tension that filled the camp. "Let up on Travyn."
"If I love the four of you," Nazar Blood, who Muriel Blood had given the nick-name Mittens to back when he was a cub, looked at each of the young men who were about to set off on a quest that few would undertake, "and I very much do, I will not let up, for what you will face in the Sorcerer's kingdom far surpasses any evil you've known: trickery lurks around every corner; snares will line the roads you travel on; guile will be the sun that rules the day; deceit will govern the night. Everything in that place will seek to lay hold of you, and if it can't have your bodies, it will try to control your minds. Without wisdom being your guide, you'll never reach your father, let alone set him free. And if you're not careful, even though you find Jeaf in that dark place, you could be unalterably changed in the process and not for the good.
"Didn't the trap set for your mother at the Temple of the Oak Tree reveal the Evil One's plans for you? The foul thing wants to possess your souls. So beware. Be on guard. And in all that you do, use the wisdom that people like Ahrnosyn, Illumanor, Alynd, and your grandmother, Elamor, have passed on to you. Most of all, remember who your mother is. Remember that she is the Griffin-Woman and you are her sons."
Then with that said, Nazar Blood called the brothers close and nuzzled each in turn, making certain Travyn got enough attention to turn his scowl disappeared.
Several of the Bjork, who where not used to such shows of affection, smiled nervously as they wished the emotional display would end. More stood lost in reverie over the times they said good bye to their loved ones before they went out on a particularly dangerous raid.
After giving Nazar Blood time to talk to the brothers in quiet sharing, Lowen joined the griffin and the Oakenfel brothers before they finished their exchange. Then he took Ay'Roan off to the side to talk to him alone. Before long the two were seen laughing and shoving each other before they returned to camp.
****
"This fire-blasted desert's going to kill us," Ay'Roan bellowed out before he licked his lips that were parched by a half of a moon's worth of nights riding through the dry wasteland. The days were spent in the shadows cast by the larger boulders that were scattered across the desert, though the midday sun did its best to chase the shadows away. So what if someone heard him? He'd rather die in a fight than from thirst anyway. The thought of that happening was maddening to the powerful young man. What good was his size and strength against a desert? He couldn't pummel the arid ground until it gave up what little water it had hidden away. So why not shout?
"It'll take the horses before it does us," J'Aryl replied as he patted his weakened mount on the neck grateful for its sacrifice.
Once the beasts gave out, and give out they would if water wasn't found soon, the Oakenfels would have to travel the rest of the way to Mishal Parm on foot. But without finding water to refill the skins they carried, this would never happen. The logistics were against them. The terrain was too difficult to cross with any speed. Dying of thirst was inevitable. Their father would not be freed.
Unlike the Stone Desert where the rocks looked like thick shards of broken glass, the stones in the Madara Desert were boulder-shaped. Some were massive. Most were smaller. Still the lesser stones, scattered about as they were, provided uneven footing, while the larger ones were found in great heaps that the four men expended precious time and energy going around. And as for the wiry vegetation, it proved surprisingly difficult to pass through.
Having learned to survive with almost no water, the tough desert brush had branches that were hard as dry sticks. Yet, the minimal moisture they retained made them difficult to break. As a result, a person had to bull their way through any brush they were forced to encounter; the branches stubbornly grabbing the horses’ legs the whole time they did, determined to slow their progress through the arid warl the resilient foliage called home.
Sitting on the other side of the Madara Desert, the ancient city of Mishal Parm was the Oakenfels' initial destination. Now only a collection of weather-worn stones that had once been used to build the city with, haphazardly cast about and nearly buried beneath the dust that the passing centuries had heaped upon them, the quest to find their father would begin here. For it was here, long before the place fell into ruins, that Vlad'War fashioned the Hammer of Power with magic only he knew how to use.
Foreseeing the end of the Fane J'Shrym's glory, knowing this would open the door to a darkness that longed to gain access to a warl it had been banished from, Vlad'War brought his child to life using a blacksmith's tools and mystical might only he understood. It stood to reason that Jeaf Oakenfel would come to Mishal Parm in his own quest and so would his sons to begin their’s.
At the same time that Vlad'War poured the essence of his own magic into the talisman he was fashioning, he also placed a portion of his personality into it to. That's why he chose to mold his power into a shape that reflected his view of things since a hammer could be used as both a tool and a weapon. As such, in times of peace its magic would be used to ensure that everyone partook of the present blessings. In times of war, it would become a weapon that could deal swift justice to those responsible for instigating the madness that would invariably harm so many.
More than that, the Hammer of Power was created to confront the foreboding darkness that would inevitably rise up in the Warl of the Living. For not only was Vlad'War a wizard without peer, he was a prophet who saw the day when evil would return to the warl, an ancient evil whose hunger would not be sated until every living thing had been consumed. With this in mind, he created a magical device that had the promise of stopping wickedness from burying the warl beneath its horrible influence.
Still, for this to happen, a Fane J'Shrym had to be found who could call Vlad'War's people back to their former glory, for he knew the fate of the Fane J'Shrym was inextricably connected to the warl itself. This was the legacy that Shloman the Great bequeathed to his descendents.
The greatest of all of the rulers to hold power during the Age of Star's Blood longed for his progeny to be a source of blessing to all of mankind, a blessing that would come as a res
ult of the Fane J'Shrym emulating Shloman's ways. By choosing a life dedicated to serving others, he hoped the subsequent rewards the Fane J'shrym garnered for using their magic in a selfless way would encourage the other kingdoms to imitate their actions.
As the Oakenfels traveled inland toward Mishal Parm, for they moved in an ever northeasterly direction, the temperature grew increasingly warmer. Concomitantly, the volume of brush decreased. In the spaces the bushes depleted numbers gave way to, plants covered with long, sharp needles appeared. Some looked like shriveled-up fence posts with nail-sized spikes sticking out of them. Others looked like oblong balls had been chaotically stacked on top of one another, each bristling with finger length needles as sharp as fish hooks and just as thin. Small brown birds, covered with uneven black markings, made nests here. Using sticks and leaves harvested from the brush that still remained, the flitting winged-creatures moved through the fortress of needles as effortlessly as mice scurrying through a field of tall grass.
The water the young men carried with them had run out the day before, though they had brought along a pack horse dedicated to carrying their supplies, most of which was water. Reckoning that the horses had no say in whether they would risk crossing the Madara Desert or not, the Oakenfels chose to share what might be their last drink with their mounts. Encouraged by Kaylan's unwavering confidence that he could find water in this arid wasteland, his brothers willingly capitulated to his promptings to give the animals their due.
After the empty skins were stored away for the time that Kaylan would make good his claim, the Oakenfels began the usual night's march . The lack of water made it imperative that they travel as long as they could in daytime as well. They had to escape the desert while they had the energy to do so.
And as the temperature rose the following day, the thorn-laden plant life became increasingly scarce and stunted in size. The impediment the leathery bushes had once posed was long gone. Tufts of wiry grass now became the norm. A stone's throw away from one another, the tufts sat atop piles of sand as fine as that which lined the warl's sea shores. And as the sand appeared, the boulders disappeared. The rock outcroppings that were prevalent in the Madara Desert's western reaches became as scarce as the needle-laden plant life that once dominated the landscape.