CHAPTER FIVE
A Druid’s Advice.
Aftermath.
The sun began to set over Hybrand, its golden rays pierced through the trees offering Carym a shady view of the tangled trails upon which he traveled. It was deathly still this cool and damp evening and it seemed as though every stick and branch he touched crackled like thunder. Thankfully, the light from the setting sun made the onerous task of spotting those ankle breaking owl burrows much easier than in total darkness; something his ankles were regrettably familiar with. Burrowing owls and digger turtles were the more pesky creatures in this region, mainly because they enjoyed making their burrows in places where humans and horses routinely walked.
Carym made his way deeper into Blackthorne Forest, the home and sacred wood of the old druid. He had often sought the advice of Dryume who was a very old family friend. Carym’s mother and grandmother had been acquainted with the old man, and he was old even then.
Pine needles and dead leaves crunched underfoot and his warm breath formed a mist in the cool autumn air. A great elk raised his head from the tall grass of a nearby meadow, his eyes reflecting the golden light of the sun. Carym stopped and looked back, admiring the majestic beauty of this lord of the forest. The elk snorted, as though assessing the threat Carym posed to him. Carym stood very still, not wishing to be gored by the creature’s massive antlers, and he just waited for a few moments. Then, slowly, the elk turned and ambled away into the forest. Carym smiled and continued on towards the druid’s home.
The beautiful forest of pine, oak, and birch, opened into a clearing at the base of a magnificent stone formation. He stared into the clearing for many moments, collecting his thoughts and choosing how best to approach the often ornery old man. He marveled at the ring of granite and marble stones soaring twenty feet into the air, calling out a challenge the heavens. Every time he came to this grove, Carym truly felt as though he were in a holy place. Now, nearly nightfall, the setting sun cast a spray of orange and red light upon the henge, settling his nerves somewhat.
“Greetings, Carym of Hyrum.”
Carym nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to face the bearer of a voice as soft as a summer breeze and musical as an Elvish harp.
“You will not need that blade, I will not harm you.”
He was so mesmerized he could not have drawn his weapon had he been facing the hurkin horde alone. He was face to face with the most beautiful woman possessed of the most radiant green eyes he had ever seen. Her hair was at once red and gold and yellow and appeared to be woven from the fibers of fall leaves, yet looked as soft as a baby’s skin. She wore a crown of woven flowers atop her brow, and nothing else.
“Who are you?” he asked, unable to take his eyes from her naked beauty.
“To many I am known as the Goddess of the Wood. But the truth of the matter is that I am no more a god than you are,” she said sadly.
Carym appeared confused, her beauty bespoke of power and radiance, yet it did seem that the matter of godliness was lacking.
“The heavens are in turmoil, all that is known is soon to be unknown. Change of great magnitude is coming to the heavens and it will rock the faith of every mortal being on Llars.”
The power in her eyes locked him in place, her words striking fear deep within him. His mind was racing, his world had spun completely out of control in but one day. He wanted to believe he was dreaming, that he would wake up any moment mourning the loss of the beautiful forest lady. Sadly, he knew this was not to be. Ironically, he would not be sorry to take his leave of this shocking yet lovely woman.
“You have been chosen, Carym. Chosen to be an instrument of great change.”
Carym didn’t know what that meant, but found that any form of intelligent speech had left him and felt it wise to remain silent.
“The time of the many gods is over, the time of mortals is now at hand. The time comes for mortals to be responsible for their own paths,” she looked at him with those green eyes, seeing through his soul. “Mortals will soon learn the Truth of the heavens and the Truth of the Great Father.”
“Why me?” he demanded, anger helping him to regain his senses. He felt sad and joyful and angry and befuddled all at once. She stood scant inches from him, his heart pounded.
“You must leave your past behind, Carym, but you must never forget it. You carry with you the remembrance of Ariana and Elana.”
Carym flinched and pressed his hand to his pocket feeling the comfort of the wooden carving.
“You need to know they are safe, Carym.”
“Are they?” he sputtered, an angry tear rolled down his cheek. “The faithful of Qra’z would disagree, as would many of those who claim to be followers of the old ways of Zuhr.”
“Many people will say many things, Carym. Trust that your loved ones are with the Great Father now, and there they await you with all your loved ones who have passed before you,” she said earnestly. She placed her hand on his shoulder and a vision overtook him.
He was back home watching himself, his little baby, his bride. He was seeing his life, seeing the happiness they shared so briefly. Too briefly. Then he saw more. He saw them again, she was holding Elana in her arms. She was looking at him. She touched his face with her hand, then embraced him, their baby between them. He began to sob; how he missed them so! How angry he was that they were taken from him; and how ashamed he was for the actions he took to avenge them.
Ariana pushed back from him then and spoke to him, “My beloved. I forgive you, Elana forgives you. You could do nothing for us that day. Our time was at hand. Yours was not.”
He tried to speak, to tell her he failed her, to tell her she was wrong. He was frozen.
“You are meant for great things, beloved. And a great burden shall be placed on you. You must let us go!” she said, kindly, warmly, with forgiveness in her eyes. “You must devote yourself to the task the Great Father will lay at your feet. This is your time. You cannot serve Him while you mourn me. It is time for you leave Hyrum and find your destiny. I will always be watching you, and we will meet again.”
Now Carym was sobbing uncontrollably. When he was able to open his eyes, he found himself in the embrace of the woman of the woods, his head on her shoulder, his guilt and shame rapidly departing his soul.
“You are forgiven, Carym. The Great Father is merciful and forgives your sins.”
“How is this possible?” he asked between sobs. “Was that really her? Was that really my baby?”
“All things are possible in the light of the Great Father! Faith is a wonderful thing Carym, and something you must keep. Even my sins, my own pride, have been forgiven. And now, I will serve Him as I should have done all along.”
Finally Carym was able calm down and he did in fact feel better. He did not know how long he stood there, in the arms of a woman worshipped as a goddess. This was Zerva! He stood apart from her again and bowed low to her in respect and thanks. He truly felt the weight of his burdens lifted, an open wound on his soul finally beginning to heal.
“Do not thank me, Carym. The journey for which you have been chosen will not be easy; you will face those who commit great evil for the sake of evil, and those who will commit great evil in the name of all that is good and pure. Fear not, however, for you will not be alone.”
The beautiful woman slowly faded from sight and Carym stood a moment with his hand on the wooden carving. Before she completely vanished her melodious voice drifted across the planes of existence to him one last time, “The Great Father has given you a gift Carym; do not misuse it!”
And suddenly his world seemed just a little bit brighter.
Carym finally made his way to the circular stone formation that served as the entrance to the old druid’s abode. He was glad for the journey and the time to collect himself. He was still trying to comprehend all that Zerva had told him. She had said that she was really not a goddess and that she in fact served Zuhr, who some said was the father of all gods. He shoo
k his head, gripping the wooden figurine, and inhaled deeply. There would be time to reflect on that later.
At the base of the stone formation a babbling brook with ice beginning to form at its edges flowed gently by. Carym approached the stones and saw that there were some faint carvings there; symbols that held magical power to those who could wield it, he suspected. Oddly enough, Carym did not ever remember seeing these particular symbols on the stone formation.
He studied them for a long time, tracing the symbols with his fingers. The shapes appeared somehow familiar to him and he was surprised as foreign words began to form in his mind. The surface of the stone changed suddenly beneath his fingers; it became nebulous like the morning mist and he could almost see into the stone itself! Carym reached forward and watched as his hand passed through stone all the way to his elbow; it was as if his hand had passed through a morning fog. He snatched his hand back, and stepped carefully away, relieved that his arm was indeed still attached to his body, staring in amazement.
Magic? he wondered. He had never any talent for magic that he could recall. Then he remembered the words of Zerva; could this be the gift from Zuhr?
Carym walked over to the stream and cupped some of the icy water into his hands. He rinsed his face with the cold water and looked into the stream, wondering what had happened to him. His life wasn’t supposed be this crazy! He wasn’t supposed to slink around in alleyways or run from the law, and he certainly wasn’t supposed to pass his hand through solid stone or talk to gods who weren’t really gods.
A chill breeze whipped about him, chilling him to the bone. He looked up from the stream and his blue eyes met the piercing gaze of the old brown-skinned druid with jet-black hair. The old man held a smoothly finished staff of black wood topped with a carved wolf’s head in his hand, beady eyes glittered in the failing light. Carym wondered why it was necessary for everyone to sneak up on him today.
“What can I do for you, Carym of Hyrum?” he asked with an eerie, but strong voice. The old man stood a mere five and a half feet tall, not exactly intimidating in his demeanor. His forest green cloak whipped about him in the breeze displaying his relatively fit, if somewhat stooped, frame.
Carym quickly stood and bowed low to the old man, as was proper, deciding it best not to mention his encounter with the Goddess of the Wood, or whatever she was now. “I am pleased to see that you have survived your encounter with the bishop. I’m afraid I have need of your advice, Wise One, and I had hoped that you might be able to assist me.”
The old man furrowed his brow as he peered at Carym, then he motioned for Carym to follow.
“Come, come. It is getting quite cold out here,” he said as he turned toward the larger stone in the center of the henge.
Carym cautiously followed the druid, but then he stopped short as the druid seemed to walk right through the solid stone! Carym waited a few moments in the chilly autumn air to see if the druid would return for him, expecting to see a hidden door open with the old man waiting inside. A crow called in the distance and leaves rustled in the trees above, but the druid did not come back.
When it became apparent that the druid was not going to come back for him, Carym cautiously approached the stone that the old druid vanished into and waved his hand across its surface; it was solid and firm. With some trepidation, Carym found his way to the carved stone. He repeated the words and motions he made earlier, wondering if something magical would happen. When nothing apparent happened, he passed his arm over the stone and, again, it passed right through! Well, he certainly wasn’t imagining this. He took a deep breath, and walked into the stone pillar after the old man. As he followed, a very cold and damp sensation washed over him. He felt chilled to the bone and his stomach turned, nauseating him; waves of dizziness made his head spin. For a brief moment he was overcome by claustrophobia and felt as though he might empty his stomach. Then it was over, and he was through the mystical entrance. Squatting on the cold stone floor inside the druid’s home, breathing heavily, he peered into the darkness and waited for his nerves to calm.
As his eyes adjusted, he began to see a faint glow from a few feet away. Gradually, he was able to make out a staircase and shuffled his way toward it as his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. Finally able to see, he reached the top of a spiral stairway and saw that the light grew brighter towards the bottom. Brushing himself off, and thankful he hadn’t tumbled down the narrow stairs, Carym cautiously made his way down. At the bottom, he emerged in a large circular room where the druid was standing, expectantly. On the opposite side of the room, Carym saw the old druid’s wolf companion, Merkhan, with his frost colored fur, sleeping on a pile of pine straw.
Merkhan was fiercely loyal to the old man who insisted that he held no spell of domination over the wolf. In fact, Dryume had hinted that this great wolf was in fact the spirit of a great man who lived long ago. A Ra’nzher, the druid called him. One who had had the ear of kings, the power of a druid, and strength of the earth; a deadly warrior and champion of righteousness. Carym had seen Merkhan in action more than once. He and Zach, and other local Cklathmen, had taken on the job that the Arnathians wanted nothing to do with: ridding the land of bandits and trolls. Merkhan had dispatched several trolls during the various missions Carym had embarked upon. Merkhan always seemed to know where he was needed and when, something the Cklathish of Hyrum were grateful for. Something which made this wolf something more than an ordinary wolf. Merkhan opened one eye, peering at him, and flicked an ear in recognition. Carym smiled.
“I was wondering if you were going to join me sometime today,” said the old man dryly. “Have a seat by the fire, young man. Take a drink from the cauldron there and warm up.”
Carym did as he was told and felt the chill leave his bones as he sat on a pile of thick furs. The druid’s sharp features and harsh tone bespoke a stern appearance that belied his otherwise kind and gentle heart.
“I have known you a very long time. Never have you shown any interest or ability in the arcane powers. Yet now, it appears that you have a gift,” the old druid appeared quite amazed as he watched the young man, not unconcerned. Carym had come seeking advice about the chaotic turn of events in his life, yet now he felt as though his character was being measured. Thinking briefly of mentioning his encounter with the Goddess of the Wood, Carym was struck with a sensation in his gut, like butterflies dancing in his stomach and he decided this wasn’t the right time.
Mistaking the nauseated look on Carym’s face for puzzlement, the druid continued. “There are many kinds of magic in this world, Carym. But there is one arcane power which has not been practiced on Llars for five centuries,” the old man looked Carym in the eye. “Sigil magic!” he said as he puffed on his pipe.
“Truly powerful, the Sigil Tides were blocked from the world these past centuries as punishment for the Dark Paladin’s transgressions upon Llars,” the old man paused as he puffed rings of smoke into the otherwise clean air of the room. Then he glanced meaningfully at Carym and said, “The Great Lord wanted none to be tempted to repeat that terrible period.
“All hope for the return of the Sigil power was gone. For three hundred years, each of the known branches of the Sigil craft kept the lore of their respective Sigils, good and evil both, watching for some sign of the return of the powers of their ancestors. Two centuries ago the prophet, Araknial, foretold of the return of the Sigils to Llars.”
Carym knew of this prophecy, everyone did. But he could never have fathomed himself so intricately, and inextricably, involved in it. He sat back more comfortably on the cushions and sighed, the road ahead was definitely not going to be an easy one.
“Araknial said that a powerful being would come to Llars, bringing with him great darkness and a terrible threat to all the people of the lands. He also foretold that Zuhr will return the power of the Sigils to combat the power of the Shadow; the watchers will be revealed and the heavens will shake.
“The Prophet was so distraught by his visi
on that he died after delivering the prophecy.” The old druid paused and took a long drink of what appeared to be some sort of tea. Then he continued. “Some believe it was the possibility that there could be a repeat of the horrors of the Dark Paladin that stole the very spirit from his body. I only hope I don’t live to see the day the heavens shake.”
Carym guiltily kept his silence. Dryume didn’t know that the first tremors had already begun. His encounter with the druid’s goddess was a very personal experience and he did not know how the druid would handle knowing that he had been privileged to meet her.
“Umber’s dark forces are a stir in the Far East, in the dark lands called Hurkromin.” The wolf growled from his bed as the old man continued, “That news can only be of dark portent. Many of my colleagues believe the time for the return of the Sigils has come, and so now the pieces of Araknial’s prophecy begin to make sense.”
“What does that have to do with me, Wise One?” he asked, but he feared he already knew after his conversation with Zerva.
“I believe the Great Lord Zuhr has chosen you to bring this power to the world!”
Carym’s head was spinning. He was just a carpenter, a Cklathish peasant. And one who has become a renegade criminal, talked to a goddess in the flesh, and wove a magic spell to pass through stone, all in the span of a few hours, he thought wryly.
“If you aren’t the chosen one you are going to be associated with him.”
“But how-”
“Enough questions. You know me well, Carym. I waste little breath on things that need not be said. Although I have not foreseen your destiny, the goddess has shown me that you will walk in Zuhr’s Light. It is a great honor and responsibility; do not question it!”
“Yes, Master Druid,” he said wisely. He felt a bit relieved that the old druid confirmed some of what Zerva had told him in the wood; he really had not been sure he didn’t imagine the encounter.
“If you are in fact the Chosen, I dare say you are the only man on Llars who can use this power. At least for now. According to the prophecy there will be others like you, yet it may be your burden to pass on your talent to them.” The old druid paused as he refilled his pipe with leaf. His eyes glinted in the firelight. “Do not take this burden lightly. The secret societies who have dedicated their existence to preserving Sigil lore have powerful agents everywhere. They are many and they are of varied backgrounds; warriors, assassins, thieves, warlocks. Precious little is known about the Wardens of the Shadow Sigil, while all we know of the Flame Sigil is that the Crimson Elves have been the guardians of the Flame Sigil these many centuries.
The Dragon Writers Collection Page 19