The Tear of Gramal

by Phillip Jones

  Moments Later

  Anahita’s Shack

  Anahita flung open the door of the shack and stepped onto the threshold. “We need to get some air in here,” she grumbled.

  From across the room, Helga was standing in front of the mirror. Her fiery-red hair covered her chest and much of her back. Her ponytail dangled to her waist, and she was strong for a dwarf. “I don’t see why we have to change my name,” she argued.

  Rolling her eyes, Anahita extended her hand toward the darkness and called out a command in the language of the Ancient Mystics. As the darkness dissipated, the matter that floated around the outside of the shack was revealed. “Doggonit, Helga, we can’t keep calling you a woman’s name when you have a penis. It doesn’t feel right. We need to think of something that fits your anatomy ... one that folks can relate to.”

  Helga sighed. As she did, her bushy brows dropped. “I know you’re right, Child, but I like my name. I’ve had it for 248 seasons.”

  Anahita turned to face the dwarf. “What about Jamus? I like that name. You look like a Jamus to me.”

  Turning away from the mirror, Helga closed the distance. “I don’t like it. Nothing about my hair says Jamus to me.”

  “What about Jed or Jedediah? Amish people have a lot of hair,” Anahita surmised.

  The dwarf scowled. “What’s Amish?”

  “Not what ... who,” Anahita replied. She stepped back onto the threshold. “Oh, just forget it. You choose your own name. I need to create.”

  The angel lifted her hands. “Hold on, this might get a little bumpy.” She called out in the language of the Ancient Mystics again, “Potasa modres en ron molya!”

  As the last word of Anahita’s command was uttered, light shot out of her hands and collided with two large pieces of mass that were drifting past the front of the shack. A moment later, they began to move toward the structure and each other. Instead of the collision Helga expected, the pieces merged, almost as if they were made of liquid. It was not long before this new, larger piece of mass attached itself to the small parcel of earth the shack was sitting on.

  “Well done, Child!” Helga praised. “Your studies appear to be paying off. Michael would be proud if he was here.” The dwarf reached out and playfully poked her friend’s side.

  For a moment, Anahita’s laughter created a lighthearted mood, and it remained lighthearted until Anahita decided to step a few paces out onto her new creation. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! We’re finally getting somewhere!” she exclaimed. The angel turned and looked beyond the shack. She lifted her hands and commanded the darkness beyond to vacate a sizable area. “Oh my goodness-gracious!” she shouted.

  Helga rushed out of the shack. The dwarf stopped at Anahita’s side and turned around. Her jaw dropped. “Oh!”

  They both wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. Helga reached out, grabbed Anahita by the arm and squeezed. What happened next left them both speechless.

  “Hello, Anahita,” the Source said. “I was beginning to think you’d never step out of your refuge. I’ve come to help.”

  Neither the angel nor the dwarf could manage a response. The dragon was immense, and he was standing on a piece of land that stretched not much more than 500 paces from their current location. They were all literally standing at the beginning and the end of the world that would soon become the new Heaven.

  As they stared at the dragon’s size, the Ancient One continued. “Many seasons have passed since last we spoke, Anahita. It’s good to see you again.” The dragon took note of the dwarf. “It appears Gabriel was successful in finding you a host body. Are you pleased with the outcome?”

  Helga remained quiet, but Anahita managed a response. “She’s as pleased as one can be considering the circumstances.”

  The Source chuckled. His booming amusement forced Helga to cover her ears. “As her moments pass, I’m sure she’ll eventually adjust to her manhood.”

  The Ancient One took a moment to study the dwarf’s hair and the structure of his body before he continued. “I heard you speaking inside. Perhaps you’d allow me the honor of choosing your name?”

  Though Helga was still finding it hard to speak, she did manage to nod.

  “Wonderful,” the Source mused. “Anahita and I shall call you ... Dorick. I’m sure this name will be pleasing to you.” The Ancient One allowed the dwarf the moments to process.

  Eventually, Dorick lifted his head, “I don’t know why, but I find the name appealing.”

  “So do I,” Anahita added.

  The Source lowered his head to a position just above the shack. “You like the name because it’s the one that both of you would’ve chosen if you had been given the moments to discover your fondness for it for yourselves.” The dragon focused on Dorick. “I simply looked into the future. Dorick was the name you would’ve suggested, and it was also the name Anahita would’ve agreed to without objection.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Dorick responded. “I’ve never ... never—”

  “Yes, I know,” the Ancient One interrupted. “You’ve never spoken to a dragon before. But fear not.” He winked. “I promise not to eat you.”

  Neither Dorick nor Anahita shared the Ancient One’s amusement as his booming chuckle forced Dorick to cover his ears again. When his laughter subsided, Anahita questioned, “You said you were here to help. Help with what?”

  The Source had to move his head to the side to avoid a large piece of mass as it floated past. Though it missed his horns by a narrow margin, it collided against his back and made a thunderous noise as it broke into many smaller pieces before they continued on a new path toward the darkness that waited beyond the Source’s tail.

  Anahita covered her mouth. “Oh, my!”

  “Are you okay?” Dorick asked. “That sounded painful.”

  The Ancient One smirked. “I’m fine, little ones.” The dragon reached up and flicked a chunk of earth with one of his massive nails. The sound it made as it shattered into thousands of pieces forced Dorick to cover his ears yet again. “When your shack was created in preparation for your visit, I promised Michael that I’d protect the structure from wandering mass after his departure.”

  The Source waited for Dorick to remove his hands from his ears. “These meager irritations that float about can’t hurt me, but I cannot say the same for you.”

  Anahita responded. “Thank you for protecting us.”

  “You’re most welcome.”

  “What’s your name?” Dorick inquired.

  “I am known by many names, but you may call me Mighty One.” Seeing the smile that appeared on Anahita’s face, the Source added, “No, Anahita. It’s not vanity to be addressed by such a name when there’s no other on this plane who can stand against me.”

  Anahita’s head dropped. “I’m sorry, Mighty One. I meant no offense by my thoughts.”

  Dorick’s heavy brows furrowed. “I don’t know that I like you listening in on my thoughts.” The dwarf covered his mouth. “Please forgive me. I don’t know what caused my boldness.”

  The Ancient One grinned. “There are many changes you’ll experience because of your new body. Testosterone can be hard to manage, and it makes men say the damndest things. You must also remember that there is another personality buried deep within the back of your mind. I believe leeway should be granted in your case. Should it not?”

  Dorick reached up and played with his beard. “Perhaps, considering the circumstances. But still, could you extend me the courtesy of privacy in my head. I’d like my thoughts to remain my own.”

  The Source nodded. “Your demand is granted.” The dragon rose and spread his wings. As he did, nearly 20 pieces of mass smashed into them and burst into thousands. A moment later, the Mighty One commanded everything around them to stop.

  “I can only imagine the depth of your magic!” Anahita shouted to ensure the dragon’s ears could hear since they were so high up.

  A moment went by before the Ancient
One folded his wings and then lowered his head back into a position just above the shack. When he spoke, he did not address Anahita’s comment. Instead, he ordered, “Go inside, shut the door and lie down. When next you venture out, a new world will exist beneath your feet, and a fresh star will warm its surface. Heaven will be your world to mold. It will be your task to use the book Michael left behind to create the beauty that is to become this plane’s most glorious creation.

  Anahita and Dorick stepped inside the shack and did as the Source commanded. A moment later, they fell into stasis.

  Meanwhile, Eastern Luvelles

  The Port Town of Drandel

  Fellow soul ... the docks west of Drandel spanned a stretch of coastline that equaled a 5 Peak ride on a krape. Though the majority of the town was built near the southern end of the docks, there was a long section that paralleled the distance.

  Drandel was a rugged, seafaring community, and many of its structures suffered because of the moisture in the air. Drandel was also the home of the Slave Master, a ruthless man named Grigs.

  Much of the wealth the inhabitants of the town possessed was acquired by trafficking weaker beings that had been shipped from most any continent. However, Western Luvelles was off limits to the Slave Master since the kings and the chancellors would not allow Grigs to scout their territories.

  With the Peak of Bailem approaching, George and the owner of the Misplaced Inn called their krapes to a halt and then commanded them to lower to the ground.

  George patted his krape on the neck. “I still say it would’ve been more fun to ride the krape lords.”

  Jackson wrapped his reins around the saddle horn and stretched. “I told you, the Order won’t allow it. You must be a member of the army or possess magic strong enough to command a beast of that size.”

  The warlock lowered to the ground. “The strength of my magic would not be a problem, I assure you.” As he pulled the beast’s reins over its head and tied them to a pole that had been driven into the earth just outside of the Slave Master’s office, he looked up at his krape. “You’re not as big as your cousin, but you were fun to ride. It’s not your fault you can’t fly, is it?” After scratching the krape above its muzzle, George turned around to face the Slave Master’s office. “I hope Grigs is in.”

  “I wouldn’t be worryin’ none, lad. The lady at The Barnacle said he’d be here for the rest of the Peak.” Jackson hopped to the ground and tethered his krape’s reins to the same pole. “Grigs and I have ourselves a bond. If he ain’t here now, he’ll be along soon enough. I know he’ll want to see me.”

  Hearing the name “The Barnacle,” George smirked. “I thought you were going to drink that place dry. You know you’re a lush, right? I’ve never seen anyone drink like you.”

  Jackson had to unbutton his vest. It was stretched so tightly around his chubby belly that he could not reach inside to retrieve his flask. “Every good Shalonean can hold his liquor, lad. You’ve got yourself a lotta catchin’ up to do before you’re as accomplished as I.” He tilted his flask and poured a hefty sum to the back of his throat.

  “You’re a freak of nature, Jackson. No wonder I like you.”

  George turned to study the exterior of the Slave Master’s office. Unlike the other structures in town they had passed, the wood of this building was in better shape. Welcome to Bar Harbor Maine, the warlock thought. Smirking, he whispered to himself, “Granted, there’s no running water, street lights or anything that matches the class of Bar Harbor, but that’s all I’ve got right now.”

  “What are you mumblin’ about?” Jackson inquired.

  “Oh nothing. I was just thinking about a place I visited before I ended up on these worlds.”

  “Whatdaya mean? You speak as if there are other worlds that this old skate doesn’t know about.”

  George smiled. “I simply misspoke, that’s all. I should’ve said, before I ended up on this world. I told you I came here from Grayham.”

  Nodding, Jackson walked up the steps, across the porch and then pushed through the swinging doors. “I’ll be right back, lad!”

  “Good! I want to get going as soon as I can!”

  The warlock untied the leather straps on his krape’s saddle to retrieve his staff. The doors to the Slave Master’s office had barely stopped swinging when Jackson came crashing back through them.

  “What the hell?” George blurted as Jackson tumbled off the porch and across the back of his kneeling krape before he fell onto the dirt of the road. “Garesh, man! Are you okay?”

  Jackson smiled as he stood and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. “I think he’s still angry with me. I’ll be right back, lad. Don’t you worry none about me.” His belly bounced as he barreled back up the steps and plowed through the doors.

  George cringed as the sound of two men’s fists and threats filled the evening air. Eventually, Jackson was knocked back through the doors where he landed flat on his back at the top of the steps. “I give!” he hollered. “You win! She’s yours!”

  A moment later, a man about Jackson’s height and build pushed his way through the doors. He was wearing brown leather pants with a belt that barely saved the button of his pants from popping off. His yellow shirt had been torn open and the black hair on his barrel chest was showing.

  The Slave Master kicked Jackson’s right leg with a heavy-soled boot that matched the color of his pants. “Get up, bugger! She ain’t gonna behave for me unless you introduce me properly.”

  George called up the steps, “Do you need my help, Jackson? I can take care of him for you if you want me to.”

  Hearing George’s voice, the Slave Master moved to the end of the porch and looked down. “You’re a brave one, aren’t ya?” Grigs turned his head and looked over his shoulder at Jackson who was still crawling to his feet. “Has no one taught your friend to mind his tongue?” He pointed at George. “Is this skate the one you sent word about?”

  Jackson spit blood off the side of the porch. “That he is,” he groaned. “And as much as I hate to say it, Wendy is yours.”

  Reaching inside his front pants pocket, Jackson pulled out a piece of dried fruit and then tossed it to Grigs. “Feed her this. She’ll love you for it.”

  Without another word, Grigs bounded down the steps toward Jackson’s krape. He placed one hand beneath the beast’s chin and then dangled the piece of fruit in front of her nose with the other. It did not take long before the krape scooped the delicacy out of his fingers with her tongue and began chewing.

  The Slave Master scratched the bottom of the krape’s jaw. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” He looked back up the steps. “So ... you named her Wendy?”

  “Aye. It seemed to suit her.”

  Shaking his head, George looked up at Jackson. “You’re giving him your mount? Why?”

  Grigs was the one to respond. “A Shale must pay his debts. I won the beast without bias. That skate should’ve brought her to me seasons ago.” The Slave Master looked at Jackson. “You should thank the gods that I don’t claim your teeth as well.”

  The warlock rolled his eyes and then looked back at Jackson. “Are you really going to let him take your ride?”

  Jackson’s brows furrowed at the odd way George had phrased his question. “Aye, lad, Wendy is his. Has been since the Peak she was hatched.”

  George would have responded, but the gem on the end of his staff began to glow. The Senate of Brandor was summoning him with Lasidious’ Promise. “Damn it! I’m never going to get to that island,” he griped.

  Untying his krape, the warlock addressed the Slave Master. “Now that I know where you’re located, I’ll be back. We have something to discuss when I return.”

  As the warlock hopped onto the back of his krape, Grigs reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch that was filled with a substance that looked like tobacco. He grabbed a wad, shoved it in his mouth and packed it into the pocket of his right cheek. “Lad, you must have me confused with a man who car
es. I see no reason for your return.”

  George leaned forward. “The people around these parts might think you’re somebody, but to me, you’re just another schmuck.” The warlock reached out and grabbed the reins of the Slave Master’s new krape. “Wendy’s coming with me. When I return, you’ll tell me everything I want to know, or I’ll end you.”

  To punctuate his message, George flipped his wrist and used his power to knock the Slave Master a few paces backward. Grigs’ legs hit the edge of a water trough, and then he toppled into it.

  George grinned as he watched the Slave Master flail about. When Grigs finally surfaced, the warlock lowered the tone of his voice and quoted one of his favorite movies from Earth. “I’ll be back.” He vanished.

  Moments Later, Southern Grayham

  The Castle of Brandor

  When George reappeared, he was outside the Castle of Brandor in the royal courtyard. The interim General Absolute, Bouldon, and four of his men were entering the side door of the castle with the senators, Tardin and Kolton, on their heels.

  From across the courtyard, a woman screamed at the sight of the krapes. Her shriek captured the attention of Bouldon. The general’s men were quick to unsheathe their swords and run down the steps.

  George quickly wrapped Wendy’s reins around the saddle horn of his krape and then held up his hands. “Tell the king, the prophet has responded to the Senate’s summons!” he shouted. He then placed his hands on the necks of both krapes and patted them to soothe their anxiety.

  Senator Kolton shouted, “Sheathe your swords, and welcome the Prophet with respect!”

  Bouldon was quick to add, “And be quick about it!”

  George continued to pat the krapes until the change of environment was no longer an issue. Eventually, they settled, and he was able to command his krape to kneel. Sliding to the ground, he handed the reins to the sergeant whose mouth remained opened as he stared at the odd appearance of the prophet’s mounts. “What is your name, Sergeant?”