by J R Marshall
This surprised me, for I thought there might be weak practitioners of craft, capable of simple conjuration.
“How does one befriend an assistant?” And my eagerness was hard to hide, especially from Tam, who seemed to read my mind as well as Sandy’s.
“You don’t, they do, and I’ve yet to be convinced of your need.” Tam, realising she had spoken with a degree of tactlessness, added, “Forgive me, for I spoke ungraciously, but allies are found because you need them.” She went on…
“You can hear their voices in the earth song, I know you can hear them, you’ve said it before.”
“Those voices deep in the bowels of the earth are entities, like Sandy?” I asked.
“Miller, have you forgotten my lessons so soon? There are many different forms of living sentient beings, energies, spirits elementals, even shades and demons.”
“Why would any ally seek such a friendship? It’s hard enough to find companions in my world.” I couldn’t see myself as desirable material. Tam yes, but not I.
“Ah! Now that is a good question.” And she knew why I asked. “Are you not drawn to the song, loving the experience? Perhaps the reverse is true, maybe when you were born, a companion was likewise? And if you join when you’re young, there’s an affinity to the association, a connection, a symbiosis, so that each gains.” And she faltered… “I guess too much, for the meaning of things, the why, is a subject for philosophers and… but, well, it was mutual for Sandy and I.”
Now I didn’t consider myself a child nor a youth, yet I clearly was. It was simply that I had passed from being thirteen, to very slowly approaching fourteen, from an idiot, arrogant in mind but powerful in body to someone who had undergone life-changing experiences.
Knowledge is power, knowledge is everything, and having studied I was sometimes slow in recalling lessons learnt during the night when the present bright daylight overwhelmed the senses.
Tam and I spoke of lands to the east and west, of failing kingdoms, and the ultimate collapse of Culanun interspersed with the need for me to study the crafting of my spells, for I had in truth fallen behind.
“My mind is growing in confidence, and maturity, I can concentrate so much more,” and I would have discussed with Tam the collapse of kingdoms, but I was only a child.
To the reader I must reiterate that orcs are mature by thirteen; our lifespan is so much less than other races, yet I was half human gaining what I believe to be the best of both races, the strength and stamina of my father, with the versatility of my mother’s human blood, yet at the time my arrogance was unsurpassed. Now in old age and looking back, there never was really a time when I was perfect, but having to choose and given a choice, twenty was probably the best for me, although my hands would be red with blood before that time.
We talked for an hour, perhaps longer, and I was aware time to meet Sandy was reducing.
So Tam walked to the door, and unbarred the room; it was a little thing, something I would not have thought to do, or rather not have bothered about, but she was a standard bearer, a light of decency, for eager to depart and having little consideration for others I would have left the room empty yet internally locked, much to the consternation of the innkeeper.
“Hold my hand, when you’re ready, it will take but a moment.”
And unlike in Cragtor, where Tam had without spoken words transported Grimnir and myself across one hundred and fifty miles, this time she spoke. Twisting her voice, her vocal cords stretched, uttering words of a convoluted style, difficult for humans, and presumably halflings to utter.
The world stopped, sound muted, and we stood in a room devoid of colour. Normal tapestries hung on walls, and gradually movement returned; shades of men could be seen walking as though they interacted perfectly with their surroundings. I tried to speak but my voice was muffled, and Tam, turning round looked at me, and raising her voice bade me wait.
I watched fascinated, these shadows couldn’t see me and I stretched out a hand trying to touch one, but he moved out of reach, nonetheless an ink quill lay resting on a table scarcely two feet away, and reaching out I tried to grasp it.
Tam for a moment held my hand back as though to ward against my actions, but changing her mind withdrew her arm yet her aborted action forewarned, instinctively I became wary. The quill totally incorporeal could not be felt, though an icy chill passed through my hand as though holding snow too long without gloves.
My hand recoiled without conscious thought, and the quill which had seemed no more substantial than mist, fell to one side. I had influenced it, yet had not felt any physical contact other than the intense cold.
Tam, squeezing tight around my other hand, muttered one syllable, a meaningless sound but probably a power word, a short spell, similar to the three second words I had used to stun the child soldier.
And the shades vanished, we were in a room identical in dimension but desks and furniture were different, arranged differently, and the quality was much improved. Colour and distant sounds returned, as in the blink of an eye all seemed normal, yet we were far from Hedgetown.
“What do you think happened, Miller?” asked Tam, sitting in a chair suitable for her size, and watching me closely.
“Are we in Cragtor, were we in Cragtor?”
“Yes on both accounts, you saw a different application of craft, for we stood awhile in a parallel plane of existence.”
And I wondered, for having heard Tam utter words rather than silently transporting us I had considered Tam’s powers reduced, at least for a while. The casting of craft is easier when words are spoken, less energy is used than the silent application of a spell, and I had thought Tam preserved her powers when we left Hedgetown, a hint of her limits.
“So you found that plane by accident?” I asked. It was an educated guess.
“You are clever!” She watched momentarily, slightly surprised by my perception. “Yes, it was found by the failure to complete an incantation many years ago.”
“And the final word completed the journey, finished the spell?”
“Yes, that was how it happened, but it was interesting don’t you think?”
I question Tam on so many matters, sitting on the floor, for even one of the larger chairs seemed too fragile for my weight, and Tam’s furniture looked fabulously expensive.
“Grimnir said that Hedgetown didn’t really pay for itself, that the taxes generated were insufficient to cover the upkeep?” Now my real question and Tam already guessed, was the amassing of wealth, and how she must be able to acquire or steal anything she needed.
“Is that what drives you, Miller? I never thought it would be.”
So we understood one another, and I didn’t really know how to answer, not given to self-analysis, introverted thoughts, or cross examining my motivation. Though that was also a lie, on occasion I did, but never dwelling too long on such matters. I wasn’t sure how to answer yet she deserved a reply.
“Having lived in poverty my heart is seduced, but I will add more to the answer, perhaps respect…” And I faltered.
“You will find your way as a warrior, and build a kingdom, and many will come and give you that respect, but not yet.” She looked seriously at me, yet with understanding and empathy.
*
I had forgotten she had spoken those words, only now as the story is being retold, scribes sitting on cushions before my feet, ink upon their hands, do I remember. Under normal circumstances those words would have been indelibly imprinted upon my mind, but overshadowing events were about to follow.
My throne is made by a craftsman probably no longer alive, carved from the trunk of a mighty tree and inlaid with silver runes, and sitting I observe, whilst watching scribes write, for my story includes this remembrance.
Yet, recalling those memories has precipitated a desire for solitude and rising from my throne without dismissing or explaining my actions I leave the hall and sit in my study, contemplating my wealth and power, brooding in the quiet shadows of
my mind, comforted by my ally in craft, memories reinforced, seeing the events being discussed in clearer focus.
My private chamber is strewn with books and scrolls, religious reliquiae, cabinets with locks, runes of power scribbled across the walls, secret notes of journeys and the pitfalls thereof, this room a sanctuary and impossible to enter, warded against any save myself, and not cleaned for more than a year.
Sitting in secret emotion, thinking I could have done more.
“Flukaggrrr, get me Flukaggrrr!” I bellow, sticking my head into the corridor connecting my library, study and chamber, and an orc ran away, despatched to summon my lieutenant. It would not be too late.
My scribes will sit for an hour, waiting, wondering whether they are dismissed, and eventually returning I will continue. Flukaggrrr, with duties he disagreed with, too soft, too sentimental, and they are, steels himself for his disagreeable task ahead.
*
Tam and I waited, each deep in thought, and after a while she looked up, and informed me Sandy was approaching, and shortly thereafter I also sensed his presence.
The room has no windows yet there is light carried by shafts that are carved between the stone walls and the grounds outside; a gentle breeze ruffles the leaves of an open book, and a lamp emits a golden glow, yet seems not to be lit for there is no scent of burning.
Tam rose to her feet, walking around, and said we should try again and, “If this fails we shall go back to your room at the Haggard Hen, let’s see.”
“It will be right, for I’ve remembered listening to the song whilst resting in your chambers, you said it wasn’t possible.”
“You heard the song, when you first arrived, the first floor?”
“I know I’ll need your support.” For my hand had brushed against the ground, and whilst such actions normally don’t precipitate the meditation required, I knew the ground would envelop me and I would hate this experience.
“Sandy’s ready, I shall go first as before,” Tam said after a minute or two, and sitting down on the floor, she touched the ground without fear.
Watching and waiting, allowing time to pass, for I knew there would be distress, Tam and her ally would be needed, my hand felt the ground and concentrating as an unwary swimmer enters a fast-flowing river unsure of their skill, I entered my meditation.
There would be no caress, no listening, no seeking the music. I would fall, and I did, racing across the ocean of altered perceptions, being sucked down as falling from a cliff yet elated and fearful, glad that this was it, no misdirection on my part, Tam would see.
The energies became intense, the music tumultuous, the speed of descent accelerating for this time I didn’t struggle, determined that she would see the reality, allowing the journey to unfold until sounds too strange and alien caused my anxiety to rise and I started to resist, my descent slowing yet not arresting entirely. Then I stopped; the rapture of sounds still played but the figments of energy no longer sped past like sharp knives, instead floating gently around ready to be harvested.
Enveloped by Sandy, cushioned against calamity, Tam entered my conscious thoughts, calming and counselling against fear.
“We will ascend, and talk.” Her words trickled across the music, my mind relaxing, and gently, as carried upon a wave I was washed ashore, waking once more in the depths of Tam’s castle.
“Wasn’t that wonderful?” said Tam, as Sandy rose from the ground.
“Err, no!” I looked at her askance. “I’m drowning, I lack control, surely you jest Tam?”
We sat, or rather Tam sat, as I paced around the room. Sandy whilst immense was not too confined for this chamber was larger than the accommodation at the Water Rat.
“Why is the experience so much more intense here yet not at Gledrill nor Hedgetown?” I asked the question that was on everyone’s mind, certainly mine.
“I don’t know,” said Tam, but she looked at Sandy, who growled and nodded, but more a rumble, not a sign of discontent nor malice for any sound seemed as thunder underground.
I focussed on Sandy. Moving over and touching him, I said, “But Sandy has an idea, doesn’t he?” For my intuition and the sideways glance between the two suggested they suspected something and as I placed my hand on his arm I could feel his strength, almost understanding the way he existed, his affinity to the ground, that he preferred certain mediums yet was capable of assuming other forms, not being bound in stone but comfortable in the shape he adopted, sensing that even his presence above ground was a slight discomfort not quite an affliction.
“Sandy doesn’t like air,” and looking at him, “isn’t that so, Sandy?”
Sandy said nothing, but I knew he communicated with her. I couldn’t hear the words, like listening down a corridor, knowing a discussion took place, not close enough to separate the sounds.
Sandy turned his head and looked down at me. “It is possible you have a synergy with the earth, like and yet different to mine.” And as he spoke the earth shook, the walls resonating with the modulation of his voice, and upstairs, farther above servants in Tam’s castle wondered at the vibrations.
“Surface dwellers cannot normally feel as you do.” He spoke the words soothing to me, marvellous as I could almost leap in between the syllables, he spoke so slowly.
“If you wish I will journey with you at your next attempt, but Tam will understand my inability to support.” He spoke to me, but I didn’t understand the implication, his meaning, not yet, not until later that day.
“We will try again,” said Tam. “There is a chance. Sandy has proposed an experiment, an idea, but it’s just a suggestion, possibly nothing.”
“What? Please explain.” Yet part of me didn’t care, I just wanted to journey with the two of them, for when Sandy had cushioned me from falling it was how I imagined a child would feel wrapped in the warmth of their parents’ arms, though never having experienced that security and love.
Tam disappeared for an hour for she had duties to perform, and perhaps for the very first time I accurately appreciated how limited her time was.
During my association with Grimnir and witnessing his responsibilities, the incessant demand of courtiers, advisers looking for guidance and support, the very real complexities of running a small city, I marvelled that Tam managed her time so expeditiously, it was clear that when my kingdom was established the choosing of competent and wise administrators would be as important as strong and loyal captains.
Sandy sank lower, the rough outline of a head appearing above the ground, like a giant caught in quicksand. He looked at me, inviting questions.
“Sandy, if a question is too intrusive, tactless or private, excuse my curiousness, but… when you appear, you have the form of a hewn man carved from stone, is that you, or for Tam and my benefit?”
He rose a little, changing shape, appearing as a simple rock. “Is this easier on your eye?” The sound was not emitted from a physical mouth for there was none. “But it seems convenient to have legs that walk and limbs and hands that can grasp.”
He, for that was how I perceived him, told of the marvels of the great deep, places of the world, of might caves, immense heat, rivers of lava, and of wonderful panoramas, of other creatures that lived underground, many living, with flesh and blood, but staying hidden.
“Like dwarves and goblins?” I asked.
“Like fish that live in the ocean, yet are not created through energy or consciousness, but sentient nonetheless, the world below is varied like yours on the surface.”
He told of journeys that he and Tam had shared, of dangers they had faced jointly, mainly above ground, but also of expeditions barely scratching the surface, a mile below the open air, in passageways and mines.
“When you are underground can Tam see as you do?” I tried to understand the experiences they shared.
“No, only in thought, for…” He stopped, mindful of her privacy careful not to reveal too much. “She has joined me deep in caves miles below the surface when I wanted
to show her caverns of great magnificence. In physical form she would join me.
“There are fires and waterfalls below the earth, great vistas, perhaps she might show you one day.”
“How old are you? Were you born, or bourne of the earth?” And to my surprise, and yet not wholly unexpected, Sandy explained that he would spend many years on this plane, the world I knew, but that one day he would cease to dwell. When Tam died, he would be drawn back to his original plane of existence; he simply existed, extant forever.
“When Tam leaves the world, I might linger, the choice would be mine, but probably not, and eventually I will return ultimately with the passage of time. I will have no choice,” he rumbled. “I suppose I die, but not really.”
The stories Sandy spoke were enhanced by very faint, intangible yet perceived emotional feelings that passed from Sandy to myself, my mind forming pictures, imagining the splendour.
The hour of Tam’s absence flew past. I was glad for the time with Sandy, hoping Tam would be delayed, but she wasn’t.
Entering the room, Sandy rose and returned to his humanoid form. Tam apologised for her absence, and suggested we would need two or three more journeys.
Standing between the two of us, I was surprised that Sandy would be transported with us, her application of craft not inhibited by his size, and grasping her right hand, her left hand surrounded by Sandy’s massive roughly hewn fingers, she uttered no words, and we vanished.
It was about an hour or two past the middle of the day, and we appeared near a shepherd’s hut, built upon a headland, surrounded on three sides by the sea, the huge expanse of the ocean dark blue, with white-topped waves breaking around rocks below.
Sandy stood looking at the sea whilst Tam opened the door of the hut and entered, leaving a silver piece on the threshold, and bade me follow her. Sandy, remaining outside, sank slowly into the ground. A gentle breeze blew and seagulls cried to warn against our presence.