The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith

by Douglas Van Dyke

  Petrow looked to his legs when he had the chance. His legs splayed at odd angles. There was no sensation of pain, yet he could remember what the pain of broken limbs was like. The faces at the edges of his vision danced about and laughed at his misery. The men of the Silver Trident howled in entertainment at watching the spectacle.

  The bull stomped on him again. Petrow shook as the bull pounded his body. The nightmare did not offer physical pain, but Petrow could remember the pain from that night.

  When the bull went away, the men still lingered. They joked at Petrow’s pleas for mercy. Someone stepped forward, someone whom at first glance might be considered beautiful. The blonde woman approached Petrow as he lay on the ground. Petrow knew her and felt fear. The cold, blue eyes of Savannah, abbess to the Death Goddess, stared down at him. Petrow wanted to crawl away, but his arms and legs would no longer heed his mental commands. His body lay broken and helpless. Savannah stepped up beside him, and Petrow remembered she was supposed to heal him like she had before. She was supposed to heal him so the bull could deliver more pain to him.

  Savannah did not heal him. Instead, the woman knelt over his chest, reaching her feminine hands up to his neck. With coldness in her eyes, she began to close her hands tightly about his throat. Petrow struggled to find air, but air would not come. The jeering faces in the background faded away, until all Petrow could see of the world were those cold, blue eyes.

  Petrow jumped out of bed as he awoke, taking a deep gasp of precious air. The noise of his frantic breathing shocked Leane, Lil’ Willy, and Leane awake. Every exhale he cried out in wordless terror at the fading images of the dream. Inedra called to him, but Petrow could not answer. His mind reeling from the familiar nightmare, he stumbled out of the house, ignoring the cries of his family.

  Inedra found him out in the field sometime later. Lil’ Willy and Leane had been soothed back to sleep with no help from their absent father. She approached him from behind cautiously. Inedra noticed he looked out into the darkness with his hands tightly gripped about his old woodcutter’s axe, like he had on many nights in the past.

  “I feel so angry, and yet so helpless,” Inedra called to him. “I love you and I always will. Yet, I can’t fight your nightmares away from you. I’m tired of putting our son and daughter to bed after they see you panic in the middle of the night. It makes me mad, even worse is that I feel as if there is naught I can do about it. I would wipe those bad memories from your mind if I could.”

  Petrow turned to her, and she could see the trails that tears had run over his cheeks. He released his axe with one hand, and reached out to pull Inedra to him. They embraced under the stars.

  “There is a part of me that wants to follow Trestan and Cat.” He felt Inedra’s body stiffen as he said it. “To ride out there, confront my fears, and once again make a difference for the village. A part of me wants to ride with them once more.”

  Petrow turned Inedra’s face to look him in the eyes. “But I can’t do it. My heart is here. Even if it wasn’t, a part of me is too afraid of what new nightmares I might face if I went out again. I just wanted you to know that an honest part of me yearns to go down that trail. I can’t do it. My heart is here with you and my children. Believe me, I wish I could get past the bad memories too.”

  Inedra spoke in her quiet voice, “You can’t go with them. You can’t leave me alone here.”

  “I know.” Petrow paused. “My home is by your side, I’m not leaving. Someday the nightmares will fade away.”

  * * * * *

  The nightmare struck like it often had during the past few years.

  When she awoke from it, she could not stop screaming in terror from the memory. Her thrashing sent her tumbling from the bed, onto the rolling wooden deck of her cabin. She looked about with wild blue eyes at the surrounding room. No more undead spirits came to torture her. The stench of zombies no longer clogged her nose. The nightmare sent by DeLaris, the Death Goddess, faded into memory.

  Savannah sat alone in the cramped ship’s cabin, with nothing to threaten her but her own recollection of the familiar nightmare. Her rapid breathing and scared eyes were all that remained from her nightly torment.

  She did not stay alone for long, as someone overhearing the screams thrust open the door. Her eyes shifted back to their cold, distant expression, as Jentan Mollamos appeared at the doorway with wand in hand. The mentalist looked to the cleric, sitting in disarray amongst her scattered blankets on the wooden floor. Then, his eyes searched the remainder of the room, looking for any danger.

  Savannah composed what dignity she had, standing up in her nightshift and gathering up her scattered linen. “There is nay threat here, Jentan, and I don’t approve of you taking such a close interest in my welfare.”

  Jentan smiled sweetly and tucked away his dangerous wand rather casually. Rather than leave, he strode into the cabin and allowed the door to shut behind him. “Alas, I must admit it was only by chance that I presented before your door at this moment. It is my humble honor to relay to you the news that we approach the harbor of the fabled City of Spires, Your Grace.”

  Jentan always retained charm and elegance in how he spoke to people. Such charm was lost on Savannah, who cared little for the man other than his participation in their mutual goals. “You’ve delivered the news, now leave me some privacy.”

  The abbess of DeLaris moved to the only small porthole the cabin offered. Looking out, Savannah could see parts of a shoreline, but not the harbor itself. The woman paid little attention to the scenery, instead replaying in her mind the nightmare and the events which caused it. Savannah noted that while Jentan nodded his head at her words, the mage made no move to remove himself from her presence. In contradiction, he moved closer.

  “Perhaps I could be of further service to my valued companion?”

  Savannah could have laughed at the absurd way in which he tried to charm her, if she felt in any mood to laugh.

  “If I may venture,” Jentan spoke, “Revwar told me of visions that haunt your sleep in the dark reaches of the night.”

  Savannah turned a glare at the man, her face expressing that he treaded on dangerous ground. Heedless of her look, he continued, “It does not assist our cause if there are demons which plague your sleep. Forgive me if I am perceptive enough to notice the phantoms which haunt your mornings, Your Grace. There is a strain about your eyes from lack of decent sleep. I could offer you assistance. There is a magic called hypnosis, by which one can…”

  Savannah scoffed, noting that Jentan’s gaze had fallen from her own eyes and drifted southward towards the womanly curves of her nightshift. “I would nay sooner allow myself under your hypnosis than I would walk naked into a sailor bar!”

  Jentan looked offended to be compared with such an environment. Savannah continued, “Nor would your mind tricks be of any help. My nightmares are sent by my goddess in punishment, and rightly so. You can’t help me. Leave now”

  Jentan hovered at the door a bit longer. He seemed about to say more, but changed his mind and started to leave. After the door closed behind him, Savannah continued to look beyond the shoreline, at images from the past.

  Savannah whispered to the memory of the blue-eyed handyman from the small village of Troutbrook. “I should have taken the opportunity when I had the chance, while we had all those armed men in Troutbrook. I was there, and yet I turned to follow the greater quest instead of killing you while I could. An abbess of Death delivers life or death as she will in the service to her goddess. I claimed your life Petrow, and it is an affront to my goddess that you still live. I will find nay relief from the nightmares as long as you still breathe.

  “Someday the nightmares will fade away.” The abbess stated with resolve, “They will be gone from my life after I go back to kill you.”

  * * * * *

  Morning came to the village. Despite Trestan’s insistence on getting started early, they did not leave his home without sharing a good breakfast with his fathe
r. Hebden looked and felt much better than he had the previous day. Trestan lent forth more of his miraculous healing powers to his father. The old smith declared he felt fit as ever to work the forge. Trestan brought forth the healing blessings of his goddess upon Katressa and himself as well; curing the physical injuries incurred by using the elvish sword’s healing magic. Both father and son expressed sadness at parting so soon after reuniting. Hebden encouraged Trestan to follow his heart, hiding his own lonely feelings at his son’s departure. Trestan felt odd to be leaving home so soon after returning from the long years at the seminary, but he felt the need of a quest before him. The young man questioned Cat about her feelings, but the half-elf supported him as well. As long as he had a destiny calling him, she wanted to be there to ride the trail with him.

  Trestan Karok and Katressa Bilil mounted their horses and rode towards Petrow’s farm. Trestan was dressed for the trail as he sat atop Belgard. His magical sword was strapped to his back, while he wore the armor that he had forged at the seminary. The symbols and colors of Abriana were about him as he began his new quest. Katressa wore her black riding leathers and helm. On her left arm, she wore a strange bracer. Something seemed hidden under a portion of it, but Cat would not give any secrets away as to what surprise lay hidden under a fold of leather and cloth. With sword and armor equipped, they were stopped partway out of town by one of the villagers.

  The maiden whose hand had been burnt hailed them to once again thank Trestan and Katressa for the healing miracle. The two companions talked with her briefly. She inquired about their destination. Trestan assured her he sought those who stole the relic, and if the gods blessed it he would see the relic back in the care of the village. When Trestan and Cat continued riding forth, the woman ran out of sight in a rather excited manner. The two companions did not ponder it at the time.

  After a short ride they arrived at Petrow’s farm. They saw Petrow walking about his field wearing his sandals and straw hat. Lil’ Willy played near the house. As Trestan and Cat approached, Petrow looked up to greet them with an uncertain visage. Both companions noted Petrow did not appear to be dressed or equipped for any type of journey. Cat recognized the emotions playing underneath the straw hat as Petrow looked to them, sighed, and seemed resigned that now was the moment he had to let down his friends.

  “I’m really sorry if you were still expecting me to leave today,” Petrow explained, “Believe me when I tell you I am tempted to go down that road.”

  Trestan was sad to see that Petrow was obviously not going, though after Cat’s intuitive guess the previous night the revelation was not unexpected. Even as they talked, Inedra came out of the house holding baby Leane in her arms. Lil’ Willy ran over to cling to his mother’s side.

  Petrow continued, “I have a place here that I can’t ignore. I have a loving wife, children, and property to watch over. I can’t go.”

  Trestan nodded, “Katressa knew you wouldn’t come. I would have loved to travel and quest again with you Petrow, but I understand the reasons which hold you back.”

  “I wasn’t built for adventuring, Tres.” Petrow conceded. “I suppose I thought I was trying to be more of a man or such when we left those years ago. However…I still have some terrible memories of the dangers from that time. It is nay place for me to go again and especially not now that I have a commitment here.”

  Cat leaned down from her horse and lifted Petrow’s straw hat, kissing him gently on the forehead. “Inue fa mersan quelo pesubla dun tieratir, ulos fa avianir quelo detreblo dun beleamos.”

  Petrow smiled in confusion, “That sounds pretty, but what does it mean?”

  To his surprise, Trestan answered, “It means, ‘May the trees be your walls against storms, and the birds be your sentries against enemies.’ She is blessing your home as we say goodbye.”

  Petrow smiled warmly to Cat, and then blinked up at Trestan. “You speak Elvish now?”

  Trestan laughed, “Oh, just a little.”

  “But I bet you still don’t know how to whistle!”

  More laughter erupted as Trestan acknowledged his inability to master the simple art of whistling.

  It was a good last laugh for the old Companions of the Relics to share before Trestan and Cat turned their horses southwards again. Petrow stood alongside his wife and children, waving as their friends went away to adventure. Trestan and Cat waved back. Cat saw the wetness in the corners of Trestan’s eyes. They talked about it on the dirt road. Trestan admitted believing Petrow would join them. He felt blessed to have Cat by his side, but he would miss the presence of his childhood friend.

  By the time the companions arrived at the main street of Troutbrook, an unexpected surprise awaited them.

  The maiden they talked to had told other villagers about Trestan’s intentions. Those fellow followers of Abriana quickly acted to give suitable farewell to their champion on his quest. Others inquired about the sudden bustle of activity and the tale spread. Trestan, already a hometown hero for recovering the relic and rescuing the local noble’s daughter during the first adventure, would receive an appropriate send off. In Troutbrook, where the shadow of mourning and lost loved ones lingered since the bloody assault, the people had reason to celebrate and feel hope once again.

  The two times Trestan left the village during the course of their first adventure, both exits were done secretly under cover of night. Now Trestan rode out in broad daylight through the village, with several of his old friends and neighbors well aware of his plans. People gathered in streets, many more watched from windows, as their knight in armor and his companion half-elf rode back through the village. Trestan and Cat rode in wide-eyed surprise as villagers crowded along the street to cheer the chosen of Abriana. Businesses halted as everyone came out to see the one who would take up a cause for them. Petals of wild flowers sprinkled the blackened street, scenting the path as if a wild garden. Children and maidens alike threw more blossoms ahead of the two horses. A number of seeds were thrown over them: a blessing for the future from a farming community. Someone from the second floor of the inn threw rice as the two companions rode past. Cat giggled as she shook some from her long, black hair. Belgard reared his head tall and proud as he carried Trestan over a street full of colors.

  The villager’s show of support bolstered his confidence. Never had he expected to receive a gathering such as his hometown presented. Trestan sat atop his warhorse as straight and tall as any stonemason could carve into statue. People cheered, prayed, waved or saluted him with tankards in hand. An innocent young boy eagerly banged together a wooden sword and shield in excitement. A surviving priest of Yestreal played a fiddle in front of the burned out church; its notes carried on the air in honor of the departing heroes. One of the villagers who had proclaimed himself as a follower to Abriana knelt and prayed as the companions went past. Cat observed the way Trestan’s quest had energized the people. Once again they had hope in the future of their world. Their own local lord had shown little regard or concern for the village. Now, riding amongst them and larger than life, was a paladin of a goddess willing to see justice done. The people cheered their savior, as if Trestan was already returning with the relic.

  Trestan smiled when he passed the smithy. From beside the anvil, Hebden Karok wore his work apron in preparation for a busy day. The healed smith held up a hammer as he saluted his son. Cat saw the fatherly pride shining in Hebden’s eyes.

  Trestan and Cat arrived at the other end of the village. The stone bridge spanning the brook was wrapped in ribbons and thread. The crowd fell behind them as the two riders began crossing the bridge. Cat reached the other side, but noticed that Trestan had stopped mid-bridge and turned to face the crowd of onlookers. Trestan sat tall above Belgard as the people gave another rowdy cheer. Wanting to give them a suitable goodbye, Trestan reached over his shoulder and drew forth the Sword of the Spirit. He started to salute with the sword up high, and then prompted Belgard into a practiced motion. Abriana’s champion slowly swung
the sword low and to the side as Belgard dipped his head and one of his forward legs. Horse and rider bowed, to the delight of the crowd. The people cheered their hero.

  With a flourish, Trestan turned and took to the southern road, Cat by his side. Together the two of them sought out their new adventure.

  And their adventure gave them pause a few miles down the road, when they stopped to remove the seeds and rice settled in their boots.

  CHAPTER 6 “Lindon, Minstrel of Orlaun”

  An insistent knock during the late afternoon hours brought the old man shuffling along, wondering who could be interrupting his latest musical composition. By the sound of the pounding rain on the roof, the aged inhabitant could only guess what urgency would bring someone in such weather. The occupant wrapped a cloak around his own frame to better dress for a visitor, as well as protect from the chilly weather.

  “Who dares face dreary onslaught and risks a soaked wardrobe in order to grace my abode with his presence?” The aged composer asked as he swung open the door.

  At first, the man worried he had made a mistake allowing entry to the unknown party outside. It alarmed him to see that the man who stood at his door was armed with a smallsword and various other implements of combat. The smallsword design included a loop of leather passing through the circular pommel. A crossbow hung visible, as was a small metal buckler strapped to one forearm. The features of the stranger’s face hid under a broad-rimmed hat, decorated by reddish feathers in the hatband which drooped under the weight of rainwater. The older man’s fears were slightly offset by the presence of a mandolin case strapped over the stranger’s back. The unknown visitor seemed to be a fellow musician, despite knowing how to defend himself.

  The composer started to shrink back into the door when at last the visitor lifted his head against the patter of the rain. The red beard shook rain droplets as the voice beneath the hat spoke, “It is a former student, come to visit his favorite mentor after a bit of traveling.”