The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith

by Douglas Van Dyke

  Jentan shook his head as Savannah still prostrated herself on the ground. The abbess choked out to her cohorts, “We must find where the ship went down. We have to retrieve the other Earthrin stones.”

  The fact that the abbess pleaded, instead of using her usual commanding demeanor, sent shivers down Kemora’s spine. The domid realized she still held aloft the useless limes. She dropped the fruit back into the bag and casually discarded it.

  Jentan was still appraising the depth of their mistake. “So, we stole a mask from an illusionist.” Kemora and Revwar looked up as he began his tirade. “We revealed my allegiances and thus my treachery to my guild. We insulted a god, in nay less a fashion than the sabotage of his divine chariot. Noble families from the most jeweled city were dropped out of the sky. An impressive amount of coin wasted on arcana and information.”

  Jentan’s fists clenched and relaxed repeatedly. “And all of this…the sum of our efforts…bore nay fruit other than a stolen pair of limes!”

  The band remained silent, with the exception of Savannah’s sobs. Kemora, with a mischievous grin, decided to bring some levity in light of Jentan’s words.

  The halfling rogue deadpanned, “Imagine what we would have done to get our hands on a pair of watermelons!”

  None of her companions seemed to think it was funny.

  * * * * *

  “We have to find and retrieve those relics.” Trestan said. “That starts with guiding this lifeboat in the direction Doranil Star was flying.”

  Sondra shrank back, comprehending what he was asking of her. “I don’t think I can do that. You’re asking me for what I can’t give.”

  “You don’t think you have it in you, or you simply don’t want to try?”

  “I failed Ganden.” The acolyte whispered. “I should’ve gone down with his chariot. I wasn’t allowed to stay; I’m not even a Chosen. Duty compels me to go back to my temple and report the loss.”

  “Duty? You’re saying you don’t have a duty to recover what you can of his relics before the trail is lost?” Trestan did not sound harsh as he spoke. Cat could tell he was testing the young cleric’s rationalizations and feelings.

  Sondra Oskires was clearly confused by what she should do. It was plain to see she was having trouble deciding her priorities with the loss of her superiors. It seemed the woman favored running home to Orlaun, possibly seeking redemption for her own guilt.

  “I’m just an acolyte.” She spread her hands apologetically. “I can’t fly, nor should I. I can’t go out in this land alone like you ask.”

  Cat interjected a thought, “Well, in regards to that matter. Once we get on the ground Trestan and I have to go search for these relics. There is nay time to go for help. Revwar and Savannah are going to realize they have the wrong bag and will set out immediately. I know it’s a strange continent down there. If we go after the relics, and you go back towards Orlaun…we’re splitting up in dangerous territory. Not a very safe idea.”

  Trestan agreed with Cat’s thinking, but he worried about the tactics she used. He wanted to make sure Sondra’s heart was in it. “I was very much like you. I was afraid to really open myself up to my faith, until my beloved Cat lay dying.” Trestan’s hand reached over and clasped Cat’s hand in a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure you can pilot this boat if you try, and it will save us a lot of walking. It may give us the time we need to beat them to the relics. If we do beat them, lives will be saved.”

  Sondra stammered a reply that never really formed a full sentence. “But…but…” was mostly all she could say. She finally broke down into tears again. “You can’t ask this of me, I’m unimportant. I’m just a healer that cares for the poor.”

  Trestan smoothed over his mustache again as he pondered the acolyte of Ganden. He noticed the dog-shaped pendant on her neck. “You said something earlier…something about giving up all your hopes, dreams and ambitions for Ganden. Is that how you truly feel?”

  Sondra nodded. “In order to fully serve a god, you must be their tool in the world. You give everything over to them. I sacrificed myself willingly for all Ganden did for me when I was young. You wear Abriana’s crest, surely you know this?”

  Trestan leaned closer to the young cleric, grateful Lindon and Montanya kept their silence as he talked. “I once feared worshipping Abriana, feeling I would be giving up my future as well. I was afraid to give her my dedication for fear that nothing would be left of my desires. I was wrong.”

  Sondra shook her head slightly, but Trestan continued. “You had a teacher that you admired, correct? What was her name?”

  “Mother Evine. She…last I saw she was keeping the ship alive for us all to escape.”

  “Did she have a hobby?”

  Sondra blinked at the unexpected question. “Well, she did needlework in her spare time. She loved to knit things for the poor.”

  “Do you have a hobby?”

  She shrugged, “I read a lot, mostly scriptures.” As Trestan continued to stare into her eyes, she blushed as she added, “I’ve also read tales of romance.”

  Trestan reached forward with a cloth, drying a moist spot on Sondra’s cheek. “And what goals do you set for yourself in the future? Do you look for romance and a husband? Do you plan to create things with needlework?”

  Her eyes went wide with shock that he would pry into her affairs, “Nay, none of that. I only hoped to be a Chosen one day and guide the divine chariot. That is lost to me now. It is not for myself that I covet anything, but for Ganden. All my life is reserved for him.”

  Trestan sighed, “With nothing left for yourself?”

  Montanya snickered, “Holier then others, eh? She is blind, except for the one thing that rules her life.”

  Sondra angrily snapped back, “You would be an expert on such matters. Your life is ruled by vengeance…”

  “Stop it. I want silence now.” Trestan spoke so firm and with such authority that both women leaned away from him even as they quieted down.

  Trestan continued in his normal, softer tone. He faced Sondra, his words for her alone. “I was afraid to give myself to Abriana for just that reason. I feared she would rule my life, and my dreams would be replaced by her desires. I was afraid that I would somehow enslave myself to her.”

  Sondra didn’t disagree, continuing to hang onto his words. Trestan did not pause, “I came to realize Abriana accepted me for who I was already…not some ideal into which she wanted to mold me. Abriana did not want a servant; she wanted a champion who already stood for her ideals. It was only because I already lived a life she approved which allowed me to ascend further into her graces. I’m sure Ganden sees you the same way. He loves you for who you are…and what you are includes any of your hopes, dreams, and zeal for life.”

  Her soft, blue eyes were locked on him as he spoke. She wanted to believe what he told her. The woman had spent her life in service and didn’t think there was any way that it would change. In fact, she wanted to continue giving back to others. It was intriguing listening to Trestan explain that she could give as much as she wanted and yet still retain something of her own.

  Trestan noticed the way Lindon still cradled his mandolin, and it gave him an idea. “When you tend to the homeless, do you ever play an instrument for them?”

  Sondra’s jaw dropped, “I don’t know how to play music!”

  “Ganden doesn’t forbid you from playing, does he?” With no immediate answer from the woman, Trestan continued, “I know Ganden appreciates your service, but how can you truly benefit him if you don’t see to your own needs?”

  “I’m confused.” By Sondra’s expression, she clearly was having trouble grasping the concept that she was missing something important from her own life.

  “What I’m trying to say is Ganden does not want your selfless service. He wants someone who can nourish themselves in order to better serve the world around them. I’m sure he wants you to smile over your own children, or play music to motivate the poor into dancing with nay thou
ght of what they lack in life, or knit things of bright color and beauty.”

  Trestan reached out and touched her pendant, “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings Sondra, I’m trying to save them. Ganden wants more than a blindly obedient lapdog.”

  Sondra frowned and immediately tucked the dog-shaped pendant under her collar. She was about to form a protest, but Trestan didn’t give her the chance.

  “Ganden wants someone to realize that, in a way, his ship and those other clerics of his died trying to safeguard those relics. That nay matter what life throws at us, we need to be ready to adjust and respond to it. We need to get to those relics before Revwar and Savannah or great harm will come to others. We need to do it, all of us here, because none know what we know or could help in time. Don’t hide behind your fears and doubts Sondra. You are here because you are needed.”

  Sondra looked down at the floor of the boat in silence. No one said a word. Trestan’s last words rang enticingly in her thoughts. She was here, alive, because Ganden needed her. Eventually, she left her bench and made her way past Cat and Trestan to the front of the boat. The young acolyte folded her hands in her lap as she kneeled by the glowing orb at the bow. They could hear her reciting some of the words to the mantra to herself, recalling it as best she could.

  Lindon began to strum the rhythm of the mantra on his mandolin. He hoped the tune would embolden the cleric into a proper recital of it. The minstrel did not mind that their course went away from civilization. His purpose in performing for Korrelothar had been fulfilled, and now a new adventure waited. Montanya did not complain about their course either. She vowed to fight thieves, and they were doing just that.

  Sondra lifted her voice in the throes of the mantra. If Ganden willed it, she could be a Chosen for this one time. If Ganden denied her, then she would crawl back to her superiors in Orlaun, heartbroken, and inform them off the loss of the last divine chariot.

  Lindon’s mandolin helped pace her voice. Sondra became lost in the flow of the mantra. The others felt the levitating craft moving slowly forward even as it continued to drop lower. They could not see where they were going, but the craft was pointed in the direction the Doranil Star had drifted. Wisps of clouds parted before the bow as they felt the keel slide through the breeze.

  The mantra formed from Sondra’s lips wrapped about the small vessel and gave it life. Despite her outer look of concentration, her feelings became joyful. Her faith pushed them towards their destination, flying like a Chosen. Her heart was warmed in a blanket of contentment even as she felt more alive than she ever had.

  Over uncharted territory the small craft journeyed, a cast-off child searching through mists for the corpse of its forerunner.

  CHAPTER 23 “Taleweaver”

  “The more this fog clears, the more I’m surprised we descended safely through that tangle of branches.” Trestan remarked.

  Beside him, standing in fog lit by a pale morning light, the minstrel from Orlaun nodded in agreement. Lindon was rolling up the cloak he had used as a bedroll. None of them had enjoyed more than a couple hours with shut eyes.

  Sondra’s mantra had kept them aloft as far as her endurance would allow. The miracle of flight had severely drained her strength. By the time her mantra failed they were already skimming treetops. The young woman fell asleep even as the boat finished descending gracefully to the ground in the early morning hours. They could never even be sure when they left the clouds due to the amount of fog covering this wood. It was as good a plan as any to fall asleep on or around the levitation boat until the sun’s light woke them.

  Only the illumination of the haze surrounding them gave clue to the sun trying to burn away the fog. It made the foreign wilderness seem even more unwelcoming. They were in a strange land, looking for that which had been lost, in a fog that forbade them from seeing any farther than a few strides would take them. All they could see of their world was a tangle of virgin forest, thick with vegetation that had never felt the sting of a lumberjack’s axe.

  “I’ll be happier when the sun shines down through those branches a bit more.” Lindon responded, “This endless fog can play tricks on the mind’s perceptions. I could swear I saw something glistening up there. It seemed like branches made entirely of morning dew. The mind sure has a way of playing tricks on itself.”

  Trestan looked up to the canopy of limbs, smoothing his mustache absently while in thought. “I’ve had uneasy feelings too. It will be good to get underway. A soul feels better when walking towards a purpose. I feel nervous about these woods. Cat must feel it too, she was insistent about scouting the area.”

  The half-elf left anything she considered nonessential by the levitation craft. She resumed her role as infiltrator and melted into the fog, looking for any trouble lurking nearby. Trestan remembered her saying that the forest didn’t feel receptive, whatever that meant. He trusted her feelings.

  The squire looked about, yawning from his own lack of rest as he examined their surroundings. “Where are Sondra and Montanya?”

  Lindon motioned over his shoulder. “They should be just at the fringes of the fog. They should probably have some quiet time to straighten some of their differences. They seem to have some strong disagreements, so I urged them to have a civilized discussion about the matter.”

  Trestan nudged the minstrel. As Lindon looked up, the young paladin was already moving towards some noise at the edge of their vision. His focus was on the figures silhouetted by the fog as he spoke. “It looks like your idea isn’t working out too well.”

  Lindon soon realized Trestan’s observation was an understatement. Montanya tried to get a point across by ripping apart the gray clerical vestments that Sondra wore. For her part, Sondra accentuated her difference of opinion with a firm tug on Montanya’s long red braid, while using her other hand like a claw near the younger woman’s face. The two women rolled to the ground while voicing nonsensical shrieks.

  Trestan and Lindon ran to the squabble and each moved to whichever woman was closest. They reached for handholds that would help them pull the women apart and yet still be gentleman about it. Sondra and Montanya fought furiously to get in more shots as Trestan and Lindon were dragged into the foliage. The women put up a stronger fight than the men would have given them credit. Finally, Trestan heaved Sondra into some tall grass and held on like an anchor. Lindon tackled Montanya against the base of a tree, and then sat on her as she tried to get back up.

  The next several seconds were a confused sparring of words as the women remembered the use of their voices as a means of communicating thoughts. Lindon and Trestan shouted for calm as the other two yelled at their rescuers as well as their opponent. Trestan did his best to calm the raging storm, but they were more interested in shouting rather than listening.

  Another angry voice cut into their conversation as Cat ran out of the mist. The half-elf scooped up her pack by the boat as she ran by it. “Nay shouting and cursing in the presence of the Treemother,” she voiced as she ran. “Keep your words respectful, lest you awaken one of her nasty children lurking in the mists nearby.”

  The rest paused at Cat’s words, long enough to hear something inhuman scuttling in the woods from where the half-elf approached. A multi-legged monstrosity stalked into sight. Cat was watching behind her as it came into view. She did not break stride as she ran to the others, though she did reach for a throwing dagger.

  “Too late!” Cat stood in front of them as they gaped at the chitinous torso in their camp. “I can’t believe I allowed my crossbow to be left in Orlaun. Beware the poison in its mandibles!”

  The spider loomed larger than any of them, except Cat, had ever seen. Only in the deep, untamed woods of the world did such monstrosities exist. Giant insects and vermin could be found in abundance in such places that were a far travel from most humanoid lands. Although no taller than Cat, the leg span of the spider stretched over eight feet. It cautiously moved closer as it made chittering noises. The companions could see som
e excreted fluids dripping from around its mouth.

  Cat had a dagger palmed and ready to throw as she whispered to them. “It also has the ability to spray a fluid that will quickly form a sticky mass of strands. If it launches that at us, which it can likely do only once, you may be hampered greatly by the web.”

  Montanya and Sondra were released as Lindon and Trestan faced the arachnid. As it stood there watching them, they froze in place so as to not provoke it any further. Lindon cast a futile glance at his mandolin lying close to their adversary. Sondra began praying. Trestan wondered if she was casting a miracle, but it became plain she was simply offering a prayer of mercy.

  “Can you kill it with your dagger throw?” Montanya whispered.

  “Unlikely. I think swords would be needed here, but this species is not to be underestimated. Any of us could easily be poisoned. I’m hoping it decides to leave us alone.”

  Trestan slowly edged past Cat. “I think I can help it to change its mind peacefully.”

  The half-elf allowed him to pass. “Be careful, whatever you are planning. These spiders can move fast.”

  Trestan stood in a relaxed manner before the dark eyes of the creature. The spider quieted its chittering noises, though it did focus its attention on him. A few of its multi-jointed legs flexed a bit, testing for a good stance. Trestan reached forward with one hand. The squire’s brown eyes fixed on the monster with compassion. The spider froze as Trestan probed its mind.

  Cat remembered the test of the beast at the seminary on the day of the Embarking. She recalled how Trestan had soothed the angered bear. The half-elf wanted to whisper to the others to remain still and quiet, but the warning didn’t seem necessary. The others held their breath as they stood like statues.

  In an instant the situation changed from a frozen painting to that of action. Cat assumed the contact failed as the spider suddenly charged. The adventuress, with arm still cocked and ready to throw, launched the dagger in a blink. The arachnid stalled just short of Trestan’s leg as the dagger took an eye out. Its mandibles were still spread wide as it prepared to inject its venom.