Through the Dark Wood

by Geno Allen

  Zam grabbed Griss’ arm. “Get inside! Now!” The moment they were inside, Zam closed the door, which bolted itself again. He heard the war cry once more.

  “What is it Zam? What do you hear?”

  Zam listened a long moment. “Nothing now.”

  Griss noticed the lantern. “How is that lit?”

  Zam needed a moment. He sat in one of two carved-stone chairs. “Have a seat and I’ll explain.”

  Zam told Griss of his encounter with the Argolen and Griss was amazed. “We turn east then,” he said as he looked about the room. Suddenly taken from that train of thought, he said, “During my time in Darlandis, Raim Sabbar and I have found many ancient chambers wherein scrolls and books were kept. None have compared to this, and still I have left those that I've found to be found again in later days by others. That I have been told to take a scroll from so hallowed a place is… overwhelming. Which do I choose? How do I choose?”

  Zam smiled at his friend’s response. “You said this place was more than a library. Why is that?”

  Griss paused from surveying the shelves about him. “We were not correct when we assumed we were the first to find this place in a thousand years. All that is carved upon the outer walls was put there after the Lost Hills were formed... either that or this place stood in the plains of Vendill as a prophecy before the hills and Ellerion’s Wall came to be.

  “As near as I can make out from the tale etched into the walls, the Lost Hills were formed largely to protect this place against those who would seek to destroy the writings it contains. You were correct that King Rivelin once took counsel here, as did many good kings before him. Here they received and perused writings.” He looked about the room again, in awe. “Writings not penned by mortal hand.”

  His attention turned once again to the shelves, to his task of choosing one scroll for his own. He stood up, engrossed in his thoughts. Not long after, Zam drifted to sleep.

  Zam saw the Lost Hills from above, row upon row, like mounds in fields where crops are planted and earth is raised above them for nourishment. As he looked upon the vastness of the hills his vision began to fly away east, following a winding path that opened before him. Now it turned north, now east again, but never south. Unlike the previous paths these did not close behind him. They kept the way open to the Place of Scrolls. After weeks’ worth of terrain passed, the path opened onto a small clearing half covered in ice. He thought it a strange sight in midsummer. It seemed to call to him, but his vision continued to fly. He covered three times the distance, and in moments he was standing at the bank of the Great River Moriella.

  Across the river the darkness seemed to swell as if it desired to reach out and consume him. He felt danger approach from the south. He heard a crackling in the brush and turned to face it. The river rushed and the wind rustled as a growling began to fill the air. Something moved just out of sight. As Zam drew his sword it drew closer. A blur leapt from the brush and—

  “Zam, the sun is up. We should begin.” Griss gave Zam’s shoulder a shake.

  Accompanying the leather wrap fastened to Griss’ pack, Zam noticed there was now an old leather case. That must contain the scroll Angeon instructed him to take. Griss now carried two mysteries strapped to his pack. Each played into the greater mystery of what had brought the kind warrior to Darlandis in the first place.

  Zam shook off sleep and stood. Griss had prepared a meal of bread and dried meat for him to eat as they traveled. He gathered the food and stepped outside into the crisp, early morning air. The clouds that had made the land so unwelcoming yesterday were gone and the sun which had newly crested the world’s edge seemed to fill every corner of the land. The sky was blue and the road lay ahead of them east, or so it would once the hills made way.

  Zam sealed the Place of Scrolls, tested the door to be sure, then turned east and made for the nearest hill. As they approached, the earth shook. Neither flinched. They were growing used to the land shaking and moving. Before them a narrow breach opened between the hills. As before, it was a shadowy path.

  Zam looked at Griss. “From here on the way will be easier.”

  They traveled steadily on for nearly four weeks in the craggy paths that opened before them. Unlike the paths before, these did not close behind them. At night the travelers made camp in the breaches and at times in the fields that opened to them. At intervals Griss would stop and show Zam how to read the land. “It is a useful skill, Zam. One you never know when you will need.”

  Though their eyes had yet to spy any other creatures among the Lost Hills, the paths they trod began to give signs of woodland animals having recently passed by—if one could read the signs rightly. Griss also took many opportunities to further train Zam in how best to use a sword. He started by saying, “A simple traveler is merely a warrior who has yet to find his battle. One must be a willing warrior to take up any great journey.”

  Griss was impressed by Zam’s prowess, but worked him hard to improve it further. Each night when they were done Griss pulled out his scroll and read silently by firelight. Zam would pull out his book and read quietly as well. He learned much and grew in wisdom during that time, but one evening after traveling a particularly rough passage, he'd grown tired of silent evenings. “Griss, I know you are a solitary man. I too have been a solitary person. Watching over sheep, there was no one to converse with, but even then at times I would speak my thoughts to the air.”

  Griss looked up from his scroll. “Was it simply to the air?”

  Zam pressed on to his point. “My time in Rivertowne enamored me of conversation, and I am a curious soul. If we're to continue traveling together, can we not break the silence more often than to warn one another of loose stones in our path or to suggest we pause for a meal? I don’t really know anything about you. I trust you and travel with you because Elyon sent you to me, and for that I am truly grateful, but the monotony of this path, together with the silence... I can no longer bear.”

  Griss rolled up the scroll and placed it back in its case. “I have anticipated this conversation, and perhaps I should have offered more before now.” Pain filled his countenance. “There is simply so much I do not wish to remember... even more than my desire not to speak of it. Speaking of Darlandis, or the history of places, or even my time with Raim Sabbar... this I can do easily, and will at whiles to pass the time. Speaking of my history... well, that comes with greater effort.”

  His gaze met Zam’s. “I will share with you, but I cannot do so all at once, Zam.” The pain on his face reached his voice. “I would that most nights be a time of contemplation. There is much I seek to understand. During my years in the company of Raim Sabbar my heart has grown lighter, but as we make our way back to Cairemia… the night brings memory with it.”

  Zam could feel the sorrow that filled Griss, and wished he could unstart this conversation. “I am sorry to bring old pain fresh to your heart.”

  Griss nodded then settled in to begin his tale. “I will tell you of my flight to Darlandis, if it pleases you.”

  “You don’t have to. I was merely being impatient. I know you do not wish to speak of it.”

  “That may be, but you have been patient a long while, Zam, and I cannot remain prisoner to my pain.” As he stoked the fire, and the last hint of sunlight passed, he began, “To start, I will set the stage. Far to the north of Cairemia, before the white lands of snow, is the land of my people, Tasudar. In our tongue we call ourselves the Tasudari. My grandfather, Leonusko was ruler of clan Corwise. My father was his first born, Katrokleonu. He was born the slightest in stature of any child the Tasudari clans had known in generations of memory.

  “As he grew, he proved to be the weakest as well as the smallest of the brothers that followed. Unable to best them with force, he became the most cunning, and one day in contest with his younger brother, Sko, he won himself a bride, Zarikai, my mother, though he did so through trickery. She discovered his deception, but remained with him, knowing he would one day lead
our clan.

  “When I was yet a toddling child my father’s father drew close to death, but he did not pass the headship of the clan to my father. Instead he gave the rule to Sko, fearing that my father could not lead us against the other Tasudari clans, or that his stature would lessen our clan's preeminence. This enraged my father so much that he changed his name, ever after calling himself only Katrok, wanting no association with Leonusko, the one who refused him his birthright. But that rage did not compare to the anger that took him when Sko claimed also my mother as his wife.

  “My father and I were banished when one night he tried to take Sko’s life while he slept. My mother discovered him in the act and subdued him. She had willingly gone to Sko when he claimed her, for her heart had always been with him.”

  Zam couldn't understand. “But why would they banish you as well? It was his treachery.”

  “Because my father had attempted a brother-killing—a grave and unheard of act among my people—the clan believed his evil would pass to me and be perpetuated, further tainting our clan. My mother feared also that I would prove weak and slight, as my father had. She looked forward to the sons she would bear to Sko, who were sure to be strong.”

  The words came more easily than Griss expected as he told of their trek south away from their people. How Katrok had lead him day and night along frightening paths, passing through wastes and over mountains, coming at last to the borders of Cairemia, a land the Tasudari had never known.

  “There my father found that, though slight in stature among our people, he was more than the average man among the men of Cairemia. This he used to advantage, stealing what he could to clothe us in the garb of this new country. Once he had learned the ways of Cairemia he began competing in tournaments to feed us, and I served as his squire. It was a hard life and he was a cruel man. Eventually his reputation grew, and he gained the favor of King Targanon, who took him into service.” Griss paused as a long-suppressed pain crossed his face.

  “I did not prove to be weak or slight as my father had, and by the time I was eleven, I surpassed him in strength, and not long after, in stature. He could no longer frighten me with threats and he knew it. Out of jealousy and to gain greater favor, he gave me as a gift to the king, who put me into service working in his dungeon. That was when I changed my name from Grisskatrok to Griss.”

  Griss paused long, gazing at the crackling fire, and Zam could think of nothing to say that would ease his friend’s pain. Eventually the story continued. “My size was imposing as was my strength, and soon they found other uses for me.” A slight choke came to his voice. “Mine was the task of exacting the king’s punishment, a duty I performed with skill. I cannot count the number of lives I had taken by the time I was your age, Zam. And they were not just grown men.” He sighed a heavy sigh.

  “I know that some were guilty and deserved death, but there were others. I became bitter and calloused in order to survive the deeds I was made to perform, and on my twentieth birthday the king called for yet another public execution, but this one would be grand. Every noble in the kingdom was commanded to attend. His cousin had wronged him, and it was my duty to carry out the sentence—beheading—so that all would know the king was not to be trifled with. When they bound the man before me, he looked up into my eyes.

  “I had seen terror in a prisoner’s eyes many times, but this was not terror. Under his gaze I felt weak and insecure, and before I could complete my duty, he spoke. ‘Son, I see that you have a good heart. Would that we had met at a different time.’ Then he said, ‘Bless you.’ Zam, he actually said ‘bless you’ to me.” Griss paused, breathing deep. “The callous on my heart was removed for a moment, and the pain made me angry. Closing his eyes, the man said, ‘May Elyon decide for you.’ then he told me to do what I must… and I did.”

  A tear made it way down Griss’ cheek and he fell silent. Zam struggled to find the words. “I… I am sorry, Griss.”

  After a long and contemplative silence the broken warrior replied, “It is well, Zam, though I would like to sleep now. We can speak more in the morning.”

  Zam nodded, and both lay down. Eventually the night wrapped itself around their thoughts, and they slept.

  Morning came with a chill air winding its way through the rocky pass. The sun was up before either traveler awoke. It was the wintry cold that first woke Zam. He sat up recalling his dream in the Place of Scrolls.

  Griss stirred. “An uncharacteristic cold for a day with such sun. We have overslept.”

  “It seems we have,” Zam suddenly remembered the sorrow he'd drawn out of Griss the night before. “I am sorry, Griss, for pushing you to share.”

  “It is well, Zam. It was easier to speak of than I had dreamed it could be. There are simply some things of which the memory is harder, and they have yet to be shared. Come. We will begin the march and I’ll continue my tale.”

  He stood and gathered his belongings, as did Zam. He then pulled more dried meat from his pack and they began. As they pressed eastward, Griss continued. “I learned that the man I beheaded was Cindegair II, King Targanon’s cousin, yes, but I learned also there was a dispute over to whom the crown rightfully belonged. That dispute lead to Cindegair’s execution. I learned too that he had been a good man, one who would have likely been a good ruler... and I claimed his life at the will of a tyrant.” Griss shook his head in disgust at the memory.

  “It was fully three years from that time before I took my leave of Targanon’s service. At first I tried to cover my sorrow with wine, but that would not drive it out completely. With every execution—and there were many, for Targanon relished bloodshed—I was reminded of Cindegair, and he was not the only one… there were others under whose gaze I could barely perform my duty.

  “One young woman looked into my soul and, lowering her gaze so I could strike, said that she forgave me. An elderly man, a mother, her son and numerous others met death with that same grace. I realized there was a difference in those people, and I desired to discover it.

  “The day I took my leave, I left early in the morning so as not to be seen. I disguised myself as best I could, for the master of the dungeon would not have been pleased at his strongest worker leaving unannounced.

  “When I had reached the edge of the village a loud cry went up, ‘Death to Targanon and all who serve him!’ That was enough to send me running. I stopped when I reached the next village and remained there a few days. At first I felt I was safe from the slaughter that befell Targanon’s house. But one morning I was recognized, and a group of men attacked me.

  “They called me butcher, murderer and things I will never repeat. I could deny none of it. I was forced to battle them, for they would not suffer my retreat. In the end, seven lay dead and four broken. I had proven their epithets, and it broke my heart. Again I began running. For weeks on end I felt the eyes of pursuers, and those weeks passed to months. I traveled as far from Artolis as I could, and one day found myself wandering in a foreign wood. The following day I met a stony monster who took me under his wing, and here in Darlandis I have remained.”

  Zam was sure he couldn't begin to know the anguish of Griss’ past.

  “Will you ever return to Cairemia to stay?” Zam asked, attempting some sort of response.

  “Twice I have broken the border of the land while aiding travelers, but I have not ventured far into Cairemia for many years. Till now there has been nothing to draw me there.” Griss drifted into pondering and fell silent again.

  The two walked for a time before a truly cold wind lashed at them. Through these narrow paths the wind picked up great force at times, but the chill in the air disturbed Griss. “Something is not right here, Zam. Though our current path lies in shadow, the cold upon the air is too much. It does not fit the season. Were we approaching a mountain peak I would perhaps expect this, but–”

  “There is something I have not shared with you,” Zam said, and Griss looked at him quizzically. “The night you chose your scroll, I
had a dream that I have pondered much. I dreamed of this very path. In my dream as I moved east a small clearing opened and, though it was midsummer and all the land around was dry and barren, the clearing was itself covered in ice and snow. The place called to me. I believe we approach it now.”

  Griss considered that. “An icy clearing amid this arid land? I should like to see such a thing, but I do not know if it bodes well or ill.”

  Zam smiled at him. “Angeon said the hills would accommodate us, and not to fear passing the wrong way. So I will trust that Elyon has led us here. That is all we can do.”

  “Indeed.” Griss seemed to catch something far off in his mind, then nodded again. “Yes indeed. Let us make haste, for I do believe the Argolen suggested haste as well.” Zam agreed and they redoubled their speed. The icy clearing was calling to him.

  Within the hour they were approaching the end of the path. The shadows at it mouth were dispelled by a brilliant light reflected from the clearing. At first, they could not see the details of the clearing, just blinding white. Keeping their eyes fixed on the stony path at their feet so their eyes could adjust, they made their way out of the pass.

  Stepping suddenly into a drift of snow was the last thing either of them would have expected on a normal day. As their eyes adjusted to the whiteness, it proved to be just as in Zam’s dream… only close up, majestic, and magical. The clearing was covered in ice and snow which stretched up the hills and ended abruptly—as distant mountains seem to turn abruptly white at their snowy caps, only in reverse. The hills about this clearing were capped in brown grasses dried by the summer sun.

  The snowdrifts were not terribly deep, nor were they beginning to melt as one would expect. Here and there boulders and the frozen remnants of shrubs protruded, but farther on were patches of ice scattered about, and in a few places there were sheets the size of ponds. In every case the ice was so thick one could not see the ground beneath.