Pagewalker

by C. Mahood

  “Please Chris, I beg you to be kind in your writing.” Oisin said as he shook my hand “Sarah, take care of him,” He said to her then whispered something in her ear. Sarah later told me that he had said I needed taking care of as She was the stronger of the two of us. It still brings a smile to my face. As I think about it. We all embraced each other and then stood in the centre. Words were spoken over us. Loud and demanding. The feeling I had felt so many times while I had been here washed over us all one last time. I heard the phrasing and spelt the old paper smell. Then the smell of close forest air filled my nostrils and darkness came like a long blink. We landed together in the dark damp hole in which I had left from. The home of Abe, dark and wet. The roof was dripping, letting me know it was raining above. Nothing signifies returning to Ireland better than the sound and sight of rain. Hard, wet raid falling think overhead. Splashing off the fallen leaves and splatting on stones overhead.

  Sarah and I did not speak the rest of that journey home. What could be said? I lifted the book I was sitting on as I stood up and closed the pages. There was enough room at the back to write my promises to Oisin. I didn’t not want to waste any time on holding up end of the bargain.

  We made our way back to my car and started the engine. Driving home in silence but holding hands tighter than we ever had. I cannot express how much I loved driving the Bangor road again. Pulling into Newtownards, passing the many roundabouts there and driving the hill back to you little two bedroom, mid-terraced home. To understand my wife best is to know that a day or a holiday is never truly over until you end it with a strong cup of tea. Maybe it was because we had not had one in so long or that I was just so good at brewing a good cup, but that mug we had was the greatest cuppa I have ever consumed.

  No exaggeration.

  We did as any couple would do after an adventure such as ours, Well, not quite as cray as ours but you know what im getting at, right?

  We caught up on the TV we had missed. Sarah kissed me so hard when I told her I had pushed series record, on lots of it the night before she disappeared.

  That evening I sat down and put pen to paper. I told the story or Oisin and his adventures with the Bard of Aondor. I put it at the very start of Dertrid’s deed so the truth would shine through.

  We visited Northland many times after that. We still do from time to time. Tessa loved it there and honestly it’s quicker to page walk with her to the north coast of Northland, than it is to drive to the park a mile down the road.

  Call me lazy.

  I don’t care.

  Now I urge you reader to take what you will from this story, call it fiction, call it fantasy, I don't care but please, please believe me when I tell you the true power of magic is attainable. It is in your attitude, your outlook, the way you treat others, the way to talk about others. It is in the stories you tell yourself that rationalise every experience you have. It is in two things above all others.

  Love.

  Forgiveness.

  One cannot live without the other. You may have the visions I had, you may not need to travel into a magical world created by the scribbles of your angry teenage self. You may just shift your heart where you sit now. Please believe me. Nothing comes close to the joy of letting go and letting others go. There is no weight or burden as heavy as regret or grudges.

  Find your own magic, Find your own Truth.

  This is my truth.

  Call me a Liar.

  I still don’t care.

  Why?

  Because I’m a Pagewalker.

  The End

  Dertrid’s Deed

  Written By Christopher Mahood age 15

  Prologue

  Stories are told to men after momentous events.

  Myths are the same stories but men stop believing in them.

  Legends are the same stories again but the truth in them has vanished and been forgotten as storytellers change them for their audience.

  Fairy tales are the same stories turned into children’s bedtime stories at the expense of the men who shed blood for the telling of them.

  Like every story there is a hero. Usually a strong, well-built man adored by the ladies, respected and looked up to by the men. This story is different…

  Years ago in an ancient land of Dwarves, Eldar, humans, gargoyles, un-dead and goblins, there was a time of war and conflict between the four great races of Northland.

  Race of Men

  A race of many professions, skilled fishermen, Farmers and Merchants. As a race men were devout to their many gods and held religious ceremonies very seriously. From the Worship of Nature by the druids, a mysterious ancient faith to the worship of the nameless God. A new God in the land followed by more and more each day. Although as stories tell of constant battles in the heavens this led to a mirroring in men's hearts. The kingdoms of men were divided and at war. Only the Great City of Sáann that worshipped the nameless God stood strong.

  Goblins

  Race of Slaves, Created by the Eldar they have only recently discovered freedom, The Eldar were the first race in Northland and created goblins to do every chore and task for the elder as they focused on ways to extend life and create buildings as high as they could build to mark their place in Northland. The Goblins grew ever weary of the mistreatment and the ban of religious freedom, As the centuries passed, goblin priests dug into the earth to unlock a God they could call their own, a foul demon by the name of “Sal Dest” a manipulative being after nothing more than to watch the fall of progress, to see a return to a baron world where peace and darkness were the only scenery. Sal Dest Gave power to the Goblins, Teaching them to forge weapons and magic deep in the earth, arming a legion with nothing more than revenge to fuel them, Disguised as a fight for freedom Sal Dest exacted his personal revenge on the Eldar that had locked him deep in the core of the world. The Eldar were caught unaware and suffered greatly at the hands of their Goblin slaves.

  Eldar

  The oldest race of Northland. Born with the planet they shaped the word. They Planted the trees, grew the mountains, Cleaned the Oceans and blessed the creatures that inhabited all of them. For a millennia the race of Eldar was an outward race, striving for the better of everyone, even when Men arrived in Northland The Eldar aided them in setting camp, teaching them the art of fishing, farming, livestock and the fine art of trade. Men However discovered Fire themselves and built industry on top of that discovery. As time passed men became unruled and passionate. Religious and jealous. War broke out and engulfed Northland, The Eldar were powerless to stop it.

  After an age the Eldar were sickened by man’s lack of love for the country side, peaks and rivers that graced their homes. The Eldar became much more inward, working on self development and self preservation, vowing to out live every race and renew the world once all new raced died out.

  Gnomes

  Of the four main races in Northland Gnomes remained border-less. They kept themselves to themselves. They were a peaceful race. They loved nothing more than to brew their own whiskeys and ales, Compete in wagers and gamble. They were a very rich race and death often with humans. They were known for the markets. Every week gnomes would set up markets in human towns and Eldar cities and sell the beautiful weapons, armour, pottery, crockery and fine silks that they made.

  Over time the Gnomes developed a fine military. Consisting of pikemen, archers, boar riders and sages. They would skirmish and expand. Never a threat to anyone but themselves. Still they grew and flourished without a God to restrict them….or bless them.

  Until the Queen from the Clan of Claw visited and brought her dark Gods and witchcraft. She corrupted them, twisted many of them with hate, destroyed their culture through civil war and tore the race in two. Half stayed and worshipped her power while the other half set out to preserve their culture and travelling markets, leaving with no place but the road to call home.

  Sáann and the Clan of Claw

  The Great King Sáann ruled the Clan of Claw and was someday prop
hesied to be the greatest ruler and hero of all time. It was also prophesied that he would be the father of the saviour of Northland.

  The Clan of Craft was ruled by Queen Dalton who was an evil and corrupted mistress of black witchcraft.

  She had her heart set on ruling the whole of Northland, but she did not take action until perfect opportunity arose.

  She had such a blackened hatred for the living and passionately yearned for darkness to cover the light. Her obsession of occult and dark magic lead her to the spells of the dead, in which the underworld would be at her command, re-animating corpses and enlisting them in her army of unholy death. It was said that the stench of her legions was the first thing noticed by all foes, before even the eagles could spot them on the horizon. The stench of death!

  She wanted and waited until the opportunity came at last to strike!

  For years the last of the goblin horde had put aside their petty squabbles and clan wars over who lay claim to land, title and what little riches they had. The shaman of the clans had read omens leading the race to blindly join together. The Goblin chieftains had set a plan in motion to attempt an almighty assault on the city of Sáann.

  The dark queen was ever aware of the rumblings beneath the dirt where goblins and foul creatures plotted, fought and rotted!

  She summoned all those she could gather with promises of shares of lands, riches and power!

  She knew that even these aside there was a uniting hatred of the light. She knew The Goblins would stand at arms with her awoken gargoyles, The lost, the cast outs, undesirables and the dead.

  Finally the bubbling pot erupted and war was inevitable.

  The battle took place along the city walls. Without warning or sound the hordes had appeared at the Kings doorstep! Nothing but a foul stench to give any signal before the black horns were blown!

  The third charge of goblins has almost breeched over the walls into the city when the front gates of Sáann opened, revealing to the remaining goblins, two figures dressed in royal blue capes. The ‘Throne guard’ were revered throughout the kingdom as proven men.

  No man without pure heart, scared hands and bloodied steel, ever dawned the blue cloak known as ‘Heaven cloth’ A long cloak attached from the rear of the helm draping to the stone. The Blue and silver tapestry, embroidered onto each cloak, depict the angel Sif tearing cloth from Heavens throne room and fashioning cloaks to be given the the bravest of men of Sáann the highest honour the Gods court would Grant.

  The Throne Guard were the Kings greatest weapon. They stood as a moving was, thought to be impenetrable and often described as an ocean dock shielding the city from the sea.

  Behind them stood four minor knights wearing full plated armour and long shields painted with the crests of their families Houses and Guilds.. The Knights boldly marched out of the front gates, unwavered, unrelenting and unstoppable. Solidly striding toward the goblins that had frozen from fear. They had heard the stories of the Throne Guards, They knew who the Knights were. They knew the old name they were first given…

  They were the Knights of Xill.

  Here is an account of the event written by Sir Duron who was one of the Throne Guards on that day;

  I fought my way through the almost endless hordes of goblins wielding my blade around me, almost carelessly, forgetting my training as adrenalin took over, all before I composed myself, severing limbs and body pieces from the dirty disgusting beasts that can only have come from the pits of the dark spirit world. My blade felt like it was an extension of my arm as I slid it through demon and undead flesh, I loved every minute of the combat. That is what I was born to do it’s what I was trained to do and now I’m using my skills by working my magic for the freedom of all humanity.

  That’s when I was split up from the others. A small group of goblin scouts had broken a small hole in the so called “Unbreakable” walls of my glorious city Sáann, I can still remember the anger that surged through me that day, I still feel the pain of abandoning the spirits will. By staying with my group of bothers I would surely have died so I headed toward the group of scouts who were starting to climb into the city through the hole he has made. I dived into the middle of them and started thrashing my blade around without car for honour or mercy but with anger and hatred toward these hideous beasts I killed every last one the scouts and didn’t give a second thought about what I had done because the first thing that I thought about was the King and Sir Gladwin. I rushed back toward the front of the city to find my three fellow Knights dead together. I faced the sky and cursed the Gods for what they had done. I turned around to see the remaining few goblins preparing their final assault on my city. I waited for them to taste my steel and they did. When the final horde ran over the hill the King ran in front of us and stopped about one hundred yards in front of me. He was muttering an ancient spell, some kind of summoning spell. Then Sir Gladwin stood out beside him and a strange light was formed around the whole city. I knew in my heart that we were a long way from victory for after the light disappeared I was ordered to go back to the city and guard the gates. I did so but as I was walking away I heard a strange hum, the sound of footsteps. Then I realised who it was as the flags and helmets of the Queen’s men appeared over the hill. I ran into the city to gather the troops I lead them out of the gates and into combat. We fought bravely and victory against the Clan of Craft was in sight, but then hope faded as the King was struck down by a group of Craft was chiefs.

  My heart faded, as it does now when I think of the death of my true ruler. Walking corpses dragged their limbs over his body, over the threshold of my beautiful city, bringing the stench with them, killing hope with an unfocused death stare that they had, they were the worst, more than goblins, gnomes, giants, they were foul, putrid scum, when struck they would arise, he had little power, no strength but simply sheer numbers, like an army of ants, smothering and clambering on top of foes suffocating them slowly.

  The kingdom now belongs to the Clan of Claw and my duty as a Knight of Sáann is over, we now wait for the second prophecy to be fulfilled as the book says,

  “The son of the beloved will be the saviour of the land”.

  The Queen invaded Sáann and claimed it as her own, breaking all vows she made to the goblins. Once she sat on the throne all changed. Her dark witchcraft tainted the halls, The light stopped shining, the birds stopped singing, the rains came and all colour was stripped from the Kingdom.

  All Love, All hope…

  The Queen new of prophecies and welcomed herself to the city but publicly burning the priests. Tied to mounds of books she set them alight and promised the same fate to any who uttered words of ‘false prophecy.’

  Her focus then was to wipe the bloodline of Sáann clean, sever the head from decedants and nail it to the family tree. She Knew of the boy and kept him as a trophy, a plaything to be disposed of when she became bored….

  However…..the boy was not going to be as easily disposed of as she had hoped…

  Chapter 1

  Escape from Sáann

  Sparks lit up the night sky as the cold steel of the two swords sliced and collided together making the deafening high pitched noises of ringing metal. The pitch of knives being sharpened, of scraping the bottom of a metal pot. The sparks were like a blacksmith forging new horseshoes on a cold winter night.

  Dertrid’s cloak swished in the wind as he drove his blade into Samuel’s again and again, he did this, tiring himself out as he did so. Samuel kept blocking Dertrid’s large strong overhead swings until his hands and arms were aching with the pain of the impact Samuel rose up ad Dertrid was bringing down another vicious blow.

  However, before Dertrid had time to follow through his attack Samuel slid under his legs, letting Dertrid drive his cold blade straight onto the wall behind him. The relentless attacks seemed to go on forever. The two were almost going to collapse from exhaustion when Dertrid kicked Samuel off the steps of the palace’s main keep. Samuel fell to the stone cobbled floor wit
h an almighty thud and the sound of metal and wood dropping, Samuel’s blade slide across the court yard floor and was stopped by a large keg of ale. Dertrid slowly descended the stairs towards the lifeless looking Samuel who lay in a small puddle of blood which seemed to be trickling from his back. The wound must have been caused by his armour nipping his skin on impact with the ground as he fell. Dertrid walked over to Samuel and poked his tiff looking body a few times with his blade. By the looks of things Dertrid has finally killed Samuel. Dertrid turned around and started to climb the stairs to the keep when he heard an almost demon like, deep breathing. He turned around to see Samuel standing in the middle of the courtyards looking straight at him, they both stared into each other’s eyes for a short time until Dertrid quickly glanced over to Samuel’s blade on the other side of the court yard. Samuel spotted Dertrid’s quick glance and turned toward the blade. He started walking toward it, Dertrid jumped off the stairs and landed in a large flowerbed almost flattening all the roses that the royal gardeners had spent their lives growing. He ran toward Samuel’s blade to try and get it before Samuel could but he was too late. Samuel had dived and grabbed the blade before Dertrid had to time to do the same. When Dertrid came to a halt Samuel back flipped and spun around slicing his blade just short of Dertrid’s eye but leaving a large gash on his left cheek. Dertrid fell back in pain, he touched the wound but when he looked at his hand it was worse than he had expected. Blood was all over his hand and it was dripping onto his shirt. Dertrid stood up and looked at Samuel with a glare that could easily kill the wildest bore. He slowly bent down and picked up his blade, not taking his eye off Samuel as he did so Samuel was standing in the natural fencing position, blade forward, legs slightly bent, body tuned to the side and his left arm in the air behind his head. Dertrid did the same but as their blades touched Dertrid put both hands on his sword’s hilt and bashed Samuels blade out of the way leaving Samuel’s chest but he ducked out of the way and only got his cloak caught by the blow. As he stood up he realised that Dertrid had pinned him to the wall but before Dertrid had time to draw his dagger from the small sheath in his boot, Samuel kicked his hard in the gut punching him back and causing him to lose his balance. Dertrid fell to the cold cobbled floor as Samuel jumped on top of him hitting him until Dertrid was sure he had broken every bone there was to break. Samuel stood up and spat on Dertrid, ‘I will not kill you now, I will do it tomorrow when the whole city will be watching’ he said, dragging Dertrid toward the stalls in the city centre. Dertrid was locked into the stalls. His vision went very blurry and then he lapsed into unconscious darkness.