Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  Deyvara's response to her father-in-law's attempt at complimenting her was a less than whole-hearted smile. Though part of her enjoyed what she heard, the part she had inherited from her mother kept Deyvara from enjoying the compliment too much.

  "Well," Deyvara said as she parried Jeaf's blade, "I'll have to do something about that. Ay"Roan shares Wylder duties with Vlad'Aeroth. For the time being, this must take precedence over our marriage."

  "At times, you remind me of Muriel. Have I told you that before?"

  "Every morning we practice together."

  "Well, you do."

  "Father, I think you miss Muriel so much you're probably telling the flowers that they remind you of your wife. Who else have you said this too?"

  "Well, you've got a point. There are a lot of things that remind me of my wife: my sons, the candle's your mother makes, even the look on the faces of the people who have come to join the rebellion reminds me of the early days I spent with the woman who agreed to marry me.

  "Did I tell you she's the bravest person I've ever met?"

  "Every morning we practice together."

  "Well, she is. Muriel returned to face her demons in the Cave of Forgetfulness when most people would have boarded a ship and sailed as far away from Nyeg Warl as they could.

  "Still, as brave as she is, Muriel's not fearless. Like those who flood in from the Great Ral Mountians, she knows the monsters are real and dangerous, and she would avoid them if she could, but when they threaten those she loves, or those too weak to defend themselves, Muriel always choses to fight back even when doing so might get her killed.

  Lowering his sword and looking Deyvara straight in the eyes, Jeaf added, "I see that same quality in you. With all that's happened, with all the bad things you’ve seen that's taught you that it's impossible to defeat Ab'Don and with the good you've seen in Ay'Roan that gives you hope the impossible can be done, you'll show up for the fight just like Muriel will. And so will I, though I'm worried that I have too little to offer when people are expecting so much from me."

  "Self-pity doesn't suite you." Deyvara didn't flinch as she spoke, nor did her eyes turn from her father-in-laws's steady gaze. "Like Mother says: Shake yourself man. Are you afraid of being embarassed?" Deyvara laughed out loud. "Ashes, we'll all probably die anyway. And if that's going to happen, we might as well bloody the fire-blasted Sorcerer's nose before we do."

  Laughing over his daughter-in-law's crude speech, knowing that wasn't the way she normally spoke, Jeaf said, "Well soldier, I doubt your husband sees things the same way you do. He's not going to die anytime soon if he can help it and miss out on the chance of growing old with you."

  Sheathing his sword, Jeaf added, "Now would be as good a time as any for you to go and tell your husband he’s thinking about you too much, like anything you'll say will make him change!" Bantering with his daughter-in-law had proven to be a tonic that unfailingly improved his mood. "Since you said we'll all probably die anyway, you might as well enjoy your husband before we do."

  "Look who's the soldier now," Deyvara slapped her father-in-law on the back before she sheathed her sword and called out to Ay'Roan. "Husband, follow me."

  Looking at his father for an explanation for the commanding tone in his wife's voice, Ay'Roan followed Deyvara as she strode off toward their home.

  "You married her Son, not me." Jeaf said a moment before the sight of Ay'Roan trotting to catch up with Deyvara turned his thoughts to Muriel.

  No one saw hide or hair of Deyvara and Ay'Roan for the rest of the morning.

  Later that day, when Vlad'Aeroth finally caught up to Ay'Roan and asked him why he missed their usual late-morning meeting, the young man just sputtered something about helping his wife around the house.

  Narrowing his eyes as he looked at the stammering man, Vald'Aeroth snarled, "Women, can't live with them and can't live without them.'"

  Ay'Roan's face turned red as he said, "I wouldn't want to live without them, at least, not without Deyvara."

  "Caught yourself a green-eyed wildcat, huh?"

  "I'd say, you sic’d the wildcat on me."

  "Would you like me to take her back?"

  "If you do, I'll kill you."

  "Aye, you're a Fane J'Shrym alright." Snorting out a burst of laughter, Vlad'Aeroth hitched up his belt and said, "Enough about the good things in life, we got people to train."

  ****

  The mists sitting on top of the Great Ral Moutain served as a canopy that softened the sun's rays that the ubiquitous vapors could not completely dissuaded from beating down on the prospective Candle Makers that were being trained by Jeaf, his sons, and a Neflin Healer named Kolosha. Divided into four groups, the magically inclined Fane J'Shrym and Neflin who called themselves Candle Wielders were positioned near a junction in the root-like system of roads that wound there way through Shtytl. Keeping the four groups within earshot of each other allowed them to merge when it came time to address the larger gathering.

  Kolosha worked with a different group each day, giving them instruction on the nuances associated with the Healing Arts. Having joined his brother, Kotalik, to accompany the Hammer Bearer on his quest to the haunted city of Cara Lorn, where Jeaf found the Tears of Ankara he used to pull his wife out of the depression that accompanied the pregnancy that resulted in Kaylan and Travyn's birth, Kolosha was given a tear of his own by the wizard who had filled the tiny orbs with his inimitable magic.

  But before Andara gave Kolosha his tear as a gift, the wizard made the Neflin vow that he would never use the miniscules, golden sphere's power to harm another. A stipulation of the agreement, made between Andara and the Neflin he was entrusting his magic to, required Kolosha to get rid of his weapons. The only thing he was allowed to carry- to defend himself against any elf, man, or beast who wanted to injure him or those in his care- was a stout wooden staff.

  Unlike Kolosha, Jeaf and his sons would not hesitant to use the sharp edge of a blade to deal with danger.

  Having spent as much time as he had in the School of the Candle that sits atop of the massive spire of stone called the Eyre of the Eagle in the realm of the Valamorians, Jeaf was gifted at using the magical candles' power. The son of Elamor, who had ascended to the role of Candle Master, the Hammer Bearer had been exposed to the candle's magic since he was a child. Following the Battle of Decision, he and Muriel spent as much time at the School of the Candle as they did at the School of the Sword and the Song that was located in Vestylkynd where Ahrnosyn served as the institution's Chief Mentor. At first, they were students completing their studies; later, due to their exceptional talents, Jeaf and Muriel served as teachers.

  The School of the Candle's explanation for Jeaf's unusual abiltiy to use their magic was derived from the prophetic utterances that came from the benevolent wizards themselves that made it clear that the Hammer Bearer would come to be known as the greatest Candle Maker to have ever lived. So why wouldn't Jeaf excel in Candle Craft?

  The only problem with this was that Jeaf refused to put on a Candle Maker's robes. Fully respecting the company of wizards his own mother belonged to and now led, he was reticent to confine himself to the vows of fielty he would have to make to enter the renowned order.

  The more conservative Candle Makers blamed Aryl Oakenfel and his Woodswane ways for this. Loyal to Nyeg Warl as a whole, the Woodswane refused to pledge allegiance to any kingdom in particular. Some went so far as to label Aryl a rabble rouser who absconded with one of their most promising young Candle Makers when he married Elamor and whose influence kept the Hammer Bearer from assuming his place in their order. The fact that the one who would wield the Hammer of Power would come from the bloodline of the Fane J'Shrym, which was one of the gifts Aryl gave Jeaf, was ignored when the critics expounded on their beliefs.

  On the other hand, the teachers at the School of the Sword and the Song attributed Jeaf and Muriel's unusual abilities to the measure of both Andara and Vlad'War's Magic that dwelt inside of them. Interm
ingling the seemingly desparate types of magic uniqually equipped the two to be able to manipulate the Supernatural Warl in ways that few, in the present age, could do.

  "The candles," Jeaf explained to the Fane J'Shrym and Neflin students he was giving the day's lesson to, "have been infused with enough magic to enable them to understand the minds of those who awaken them. Thus, the wielder is more important than the wielded. Nevertheless, the benevolent wizards, who chose candles to become the talismans they would use to work their magic, thought long and hard before their choice was made. At the end of their extensive deliberations, a simple candle was selected to define the emerging order of wizards that became the modern day Candle Makers.

  "Instead of choosing a gem, an amulent made of metal, or even a hammer," Jeaf paused to let his students ponder his words, "the wizards focused their attention on cylinders of wax and the wicks they held. As counter intuitive as this may seem, the candle is the ideal talisman since its structure and function provide a perfect picture of how the Warl's Magic works."

  Jeaf lifted the candle he was holding, "Let me explain: Wax represents the natural warl- soil, water, skin, bone, and the like; the wick represents a person who, while living in the physical realm, can reach beyond its limitations to touch the sky where magic dwells; air represents the mystical realm that provides the fuel that sets a person aflame with supernatural might.

  "All that is needed is a spark to get the fire going. Oddly enough, the candle itself provides the spark that lights the wick by focusing a mind on the warl that exists beyond the reach of a person's five natural senses. It makes them believe they can draw on the magic that fuels the flame. With this belief in place, all one has to do is utter a Word of Power to send theings into motion.

  "One last thing before we begin practice," Jeaf added. "Remember, a candle cannot burn forever. It has limits just like the reservoir of magic that time and rest allows you to accumulate. And once your reservoir is emptied, you'll need time to replace its contents. Later we will discuss how we can overcome these limitations while we are on the field of battle."

  Jeaf was refering to the technique where the Candle Wielders, for that is the name the Ar Warlers came to call themselves, would work in shifts when they fought. Like paddles on a mill's wheel that reaches into a stream, while some are emptying their payload, others are taking time to scoop up more of the stream's water before they change places. If properly implemented, this technique can ensure that an endless supply of magic can be found on the field of battle.

  Having said all that he wanted to say by way of instruction, Jeaf looked at the students and shouted: "Candles at the ready!"

  Fifty candles were lifted before fifty voices joined the Hammer Bearer in uttering a Word of Power that made fifty flames burst to life and engulf the wicks that sustained them. A moment later, at Jeaf's command, the candles were sent twirling around the students hands. On and on they went, faster and faster, as the flames spred out into a shield made of magical fire.

  As another command was shouted, half of the students stretched their shields into spears while those carrying shields turned and waited for them to attack. After a time of controlled fighting, the students changed roles. Later, the Candle Wielders reshaped their candles' flame into fiery lances that they made reach out and strike blocks of wood that had been set up for targets.

  With the smell of burned wood filling the air and when the last fragment of shattered wood had fallen to the ground, Jeaf sent the students scrambling to make a shield wall of interlocking candle magic. This was a timed exercise meant to show the Candle Wielders' progress. Once the impressive barrier was in place, Jeaf shaped his own candle into a lance made of searing flame he used to probe the shield wall for weaknesses.

  Satisfied with what the students had done, Jeaf shouted: "Turtle formation."

  In reply, half of the students extinguished their candle's flame and retreated two steps where they spoke a Word of Power and reignited their talismans. Once they had remade their shields of magical might, the Candle Wielders lifted them up and stepped forward to lock them to the remaining shield wall that waited for their return. As the magic was joined, the students standing at the barrier's edges carefully worked their way backwards like they were connected to the shield wall by hinges. These would protect the flanks of the barrier that had now taken on a bowed look.

  "Now!" Jeaf shouted.

  Less than a heartbeat later, rivulets of fire- looking like wind driven rain defying gravity as it dripped sideways from the cracks in a wall- flew out of the barrier. Lacking the strength that they might have had, the outer most droplets dissipated too soon.

  Nodding his head in satisfaction, Jeaf thought, Dolfon would be proud of the students for learning to use two candles so quickly. This was a technique the Master Candle Warrior had taught him and his sons. The rivulets of flame had come from the second candles.

  With the progress their showing, Jeaf reasoned as he got ready to call and end to the exercise, it won't be long before they're as good at using two candles as they are one.

  "Father, wait!" J'Aryl could barely contain his excitement as he came running with his unsheathed sword, aglow with blue light that could easily be seen in daylight, in his hand. "Keep the shieldwall up."

  "Son, have you sent your students on their run?"

  Physical exercise was as important as gaining skill in Candle Craft. A person's body could fatigue before their candle's magic had waned, though the later gave a measure of strength to the former. The demands of marching long distances had to be considered, as well as the physical strength required in hand to hand combat that would take place once the candles burned out. And who wanted to be too fatigued to carry a wounded friend off the field of battle? That's why running, lifting and throwing rocks of various sizes, and training with the sword, dagger, and spear was required by all. Even the oldest female and the youngest child had to learn to defend themselves in a war against the Sorcerer who would show no mercy.

  "No," J'Aryl replied, "They're waiting for my return. Just keep the shieldwall up and watch."

  Lifting the sword that had been remade on top of Vlad'War's Anvil, J'Aryl rushed over to the fiery barrier and shoved his sword into one of the bent edges. Instantly, the shield wall flared up like a fire stoked and the tepid rivulets of flames thickened with magic until they were fully developed fiery lances.

  Seeing that his father had nearly been skewered by one of the robust lances when it unexpectedly and quickly grew in length, J'Aryl quickly withdrew his blade.

  "Father, take out the Hammer of Power and touch it to the shieldwall."

  "I don't hink that's a good idea."

  "It's not a good idea to see what our talismans are capable of doing? That doesn't make sense. What better time to experiment than now? It's unwise to try and figure things out once were in the heat of battle. I stumbled onto something important. We need to see what Vlad'War's Child can do. I've sent for Ay'Roan so we can see what our swords can do together. Come on Father. We need to know."

  He looks so much like his mother, Jeaf thought as he considered his son's request. He has Muriel's eyes, her nose, her cheekbones; the color of their skin and hair is the same; only his hair is curly when Muriel's is straight.

  This, more than the need to ascertain his talisman's capabilities, moved Jeaf to comply. How could he turn Muriel's son down?

  Then, as Jeaf's thoughts inexorably drifted to his wife, he withdrew the Hammer of Power from its holster-like sheath and stepped over to the fiery shieldwall. Ay'Roan and his students were seen hurrying his way as he did.

  Feeling Vlad'War's Child respond to the magic it was approaching, Jeaf hesitated. With the hammer's handle vibrating so hard in his hand his fingers were growing numb, Jeaf was certain that touching it to the shieldwall was a bad idea. With being so close to the Candle Wielders' barrier, he decided to go ahead and complete the task. But before he had time to do so, the Hammer of Power's silver head began to melt; sending sl
ender streams of liquid metal flowing into the Names of Power that had been etched into the vibrating handle and out over his fist.

  On it went until a lattice work of silver was wrapped around his forearm. But instead of being absorbed into Jeaf's flesh like it had done so many times before, Vlad'War's Child lifted the hammer Bearer off of his feet and into the air. Looking like a huge insect, Jeaf was soon flitting across the nearby rooftops and off into the canyon where Shtytl had been built.

  Fortunately, enough of the Hammer of Power's magic flowed into Jeaf's body to keep his bones from being broken by the violent force used to pull him through the air: first this way, then that way, but always upward toward the mountain heights.

  Helpless as he was, Jeaf was becoming despondent over the way the Hammer of Power had taken control of him. In his mind, the distressing experience was a microcosm of his life where he felt greater powers left him with little say over his own life. Am I a puppet dancing on strings held in the hands of one who is hidden? Is that one Vlad'War? Is Andara directing the drama that is unfolding around me? Or, are they puppets too? Who really benefits from the war? How important are peoples' lives? Are elves and men merely mindless arrows waiting in a quiver for another to nock them to their bowstring and send them flying off for reasons the arrows are ignorant about?

  The image of puppets and arrows seemed appropo given that Jeaf flew through the air while dangling in the Hammer of Power's grip.

  A particularly hard jerk pulled Jeaf out of his cynical reverie, making him attend to his present circumstances.

  Reaching up with his free hand, Jeaf took hold of the Hammer of Power's handle to keep from being thrown around like he was dancing with a brutally powerful partner who refused to relinquish their hold on his arm as they whirled about in step with what a wild tune dictates.

  Gaining a measure of stability, Jeaf watched the rocky heights pass below. As the temperature cooled and the mists thickened with the change in elevation, rocky outcroppings appeared and disappeared below like denisons of the deep that came up short of breaking the sea's undulalting surface.