by Sam Ferguson
The satyr snarled and grabbed the side of the wooden shelves and overturned them, shattering jars along his floor and spilling their contents. He walked toward the stone wall off to the side of the room and waved his hand. A doorway appeared, granting him access to an inner library hidden within the center of his home. As he stepped through the portal, gold and blue flames burst into existence. There were seven book cases here, each situated at the point of a seven-pointed star drawn in gold inlay along the black marble floor.
This was the inner sanctum of the satyr chief, the accumulation of centuries of knowledge and wisdom. He moved to stand in the center of the room, firmly planting his feet down in the middle of the star. The doorway to the house closed, sealing off all contact to the outside world. Njar stamped his right foot three times. The stomps echoed in the chamber and a rush of wind came from above, circling the satyr. He stamped his left foot three times, and the floor seemed to vanish, revealing a vast, empty void beneath him. The bookcases still stood on the points of the golden star, suspended in the magical chamber. Njar clapped his hands, and the walls receded into the void. The torches that had hung on them now hovered in the air, still and constant like stars. The circling wind rushed faster and faster, tugging and pulling at Njar’s fur. Then it shot upward and the ceiling vanished, revealing a sky full of stars and wondrous colors.
The chamber’s transformation was complete. Now, he would be able to confer with those that had come before, and hopefully with Terramyr herself.
“Ancestors, I call out to you now. Wake Mother Terramyr, and guide me to understand her wisdom.” He continued on with the chant until the first of the torches along the wall flickered and nearly died out.
A silver outline, almost like that of a thick mist, appeared near the torch.
“Njar, what troubles you?” the form asked in a voice that was at once both thunderous, and soft.
“Nonac has been poisoned, and we have been attacked,” Njar said with a bowed head. “I have failed in my duties, and now I do not see the way out.”
“You have not failed,” the form said, remaining where it stood. “This was always meant to be.”
Njar shook his head. “No, we are in peril. A powerful shadowfiend threatens to destroy us all. If Nonac falls, then so shall Viverandon.”
A second torch flickered, and a second form of mist grew in the void. “Njar, this day has been coming for a long time. Now it is up to you to face it with dignity, honor, and courage.”
“What day do you speak of?” Njar asked. “I know of no prophecy that speaks of this. Nonac is to stand for all time.”
A third form appeared, and Njar held his silence. He had never seen more than two spirits at any one time in the sacred council chamber. He had heard that in times of great importance more spirits could come, each one representing a point on the star, which in turn symbolized Terramyr’s chronological epochs. To see three meant that this was indeed a serious event, and not just because of the danger it posed.
As Njar stood there, more forms appeared in the darkness, each coming to stand near the star. He spun around, counting six of the satyr spirits and then found himself barely able to breathe. Were the spirits angry with him? Did they blame him for Nonac’s disease?
“I will do what I can to make this right,” Njar said. “I swear I will find a way to heal Nonac, and I will put a stop to the magical assaults on Viverandon.”
None of the spirits spoke. They stared at him with silvery, unblinking eyes. All of the torches flickered and died, leaving Njar in total darkness. Several seconds passed, and then the fires burst back into flame. The fires grew and began to arch over the center of the star above Njar’s head. As the blue and gold flames mingled, a seventh form began to take shape. Its limbs were not made of mist, as the other spirits were, but of living flame. The fiery satyr descended from the air and gently touched down a few feet away from Njar. This one, Njar knew, for only one satyr chief danced with the power of fire, and that was Rameun, the third chief of Viverandon. Njar fell to his knees and bowed his head in reverence.
“Njar Somoricliar, the Son of Thunder, lift your head,” Rameun said.
Njar raised his eyes, but was hesitant to look upon the powerful spirit of Rameun.
“Look upon me,” Rameun demanded. “Set your eyes upon mine so there can be no misunderstanding.”
Njar reluctantly looked to Rameun. “I am sorry,” Njar said in a trembling whisper.
“You have been betrayed,” Rameun replied evenly. “This was always to be so. We have seen it coming since the beginning.”
“Then why have I not seen it?” Njar said. “Why should I allow my house to be destroyed? My home, my people, everything that I love?”
Rameun stepped forward, his form burning with a bright orange flame and eyes of gold. “For millennia, we satyrs have protected the balance. We have sought to keep the evil from overtaking the light in Terramyr. That is the purpose we were created for.”
“Then why allow me to fail?” Njar cried out.
Rameun stepped toward him and knelt down before Njar. “Because, the Son of Thunder would have seen a way to prevent this tragedy, if allowed to foresee his destiny in the Pools of Fate.”
The first form of mist came closer and added, “Sometimes we must travail through the pain to attain our true purpose. There is nothing like the fire of tribulation that will help burn away the impurities that weigh us down.”
Njar shook his head, failing to understand. “What could be so important that it is worth losing Nonac?” Anger swelled within him like he had never felt before. Anger, pain, and resentment. If these satyrs knew what was coming, they should have warned him. The Pools of Fate should have shown him. What was the wisdom in letting everything come under such an attack? “How can I keep balance like this?” Njar pleaded. "Tell me! All my life, I have sought to do the right thing. I have helped others temper their desires and lusts, I have pruned the dead growth on the trees of men’s spirits and thus allowed them to blossom into fruitful beings that have protected Terramyr, so why this? Why is this my reward?”
Rameun reached out and put his flaming hand on Njar’s shoulder. To Njar’s surprise, the fire did not hurt. “Because no longer are we to seek balance,” Rameun said. “Terramyr senses a great danger. The events of late have pushed her into a corner, and her very existence is threatened once again, not only by the rebellious, fallen gods, but from forces beyond the stars that have begun to take notice of her. The only way to protect the Mother now, is to do away with balance, and to conquer our foes.”
Njar’s mouth hung open. “Do away with balance?” he said incredulously. “But balance…”
“Balance was the tenet of the past, now we must show our strength. A new age is dawning, and those who would threaten Terramyr must be destroyed.”
Rameun placed his other hand on Njar’s forehead and the two were whisked away to another plane.
Hot air stifled Njar’s breathing and stung his nose and lungs. A heavy pressure bore down on him from above as thick clouds, bursting with lightning and hail rolled in. He looked around to get his bearings, and saw several forms moving in and out of the shadows dancing on the edge of a burning city.
Winter’s Beak was ablaze. Dragon’s flew in the sky, and dragon-slayers fought from the ground. Women and children were shrieking and running for their lives, carrying only what they could hold in sheets and blankets that had been turned into hasty sacks. Walking in their midst, firing magical missiles at the sky, were men in hoods, led by a singular beast, a shadowfiend with spikes and great fire erupting from his mouth.
“What evil is this?” Njar asked as he coughed against the blistering air.
“This is the near future,” Rameun said. “Nonac will die, and Viverandon will be exposed. How you handle that fact will decide whether the brutality you see here becomes reality, or dies as one of hundreds of possible futures that is not triggered.”
“How do I stop this?” Njar asked as a
large, silver dragon swooped down and bathed several buildings in a wave of fire. Screams of dying people were drowned out by the thunderous response of the shadowfiend and his minions as they fired lightning and other spells into the air. The dragon was ripped in twain, and his sizzling body fell to the ground, crushing three houses under its weight.
“If you save Viverandon, then this future will come to pass, and the number of the dead will be vastly more than if you had let Viverandon fall.”
“Let it fall?” Njar echoed. “You want me to abandon my people?” Njar shook his head. “I cannot do that!”
“Then Terramyr will die, bathed in the blood of her children.”
Njar looked back to the ghastly scene before him. The rage boiled hot in his chest. He watched as the shadowfiend commanded an army of men against the dragons. The two forces were evenly matched, balanced even. Njar took in a breath of the stifling air, allowing it to scorch his insides without flinching. Once, he had seen a young girl reach into the past during a vision at the Pools of Fate. She had reached into the past and touched the events. The change had been slight, but it had been real.
The satyr chief did not question whether he could do the same now. He simply let his rage propel him forward. Without his staff, he strode toward the city and approached a group of four dragon-slayers. They each wore their tell-tale Telarian steel armor, which was designed to withstand the heat of a dragon’s flame.
They saw him coming and motioned for him to help.
“The dragons! Help us defend ourselves!” one of the men shouted.
Njar shook his head. “No.” In his mind’s eye he saw the dying Nonac raising its root to attack him once more, and the feeling of total betrayal that had plagued him ever since now boiled into a rage the likes of which he had never experienced.
“Help us!” a wizard called out from the side as he aimed up at a dragon with a spell.
“No,” Njar replied as he kept walking closer.
“That is right, fair satyr, help us wipe these creatures from the land!” a red and black dragon roared as it flew overhead.
“No,” Njar replied. He was not there to help any of them. It had not made sense before, but now Njar felt the meaning of what Rameun had said. The time for balance was past. Now it was time for strength. Njar dashed forward and slammed into the wizard, the top of his horned-head breaking the wizard’s ribs and denting the man’s chest inward.
Three of the four dragon-slayers came to the wizard’s aid, but Njar roared at them and summoned a mighty snake of coiled lightning. The silver and blue cords shot out from his hands and blasted into the first, and then held him in an electrifying embrace while reaching out for the second, and then the third. Telarian steel was impervious to fire, but metal was a great conductor. The men shook and jerked until their legs gave out and they fell to the ground.
A mighty roar sounded above as the red and black dragon soared toward what little remained of Winter’s Beak. Njar looked up and summoned the powers of Terramyr herself. A green energy shot up in columns, stretching from the ground to the sky. The dragon crashed into them, breaking his left wing and cracking his neck. The beast fell to the ground, where Njar cast a spell to bind the creature with thick vines that covered every inch of the dragon and then began to squeeze until it stopped wriggling.
A blast of blue fire streaked in toward Njar then as the shadowfiend turned his attention to the satyr. Njar dodged the flame only to see a trio of dragons sailing toward him. The fourth and final dragon-slayer was also preparing to strike, a long spear in one hand and an axe in the other.
“Surrender now,” the dragon-slayer shouted. “You cannot hope to defeat us all!”
Njar smiled. “No.”
The vision ended in a flurry of fire and lightning. Njar moved through his enemies like a tidal wave crushing sand castles on the beach. When he finished, a smoldering heap of bodies lay at his feet. He turned to regard Rameun, who was standing where he had been at the beginning of the vision. The fiery satyr smiled and bowed his head to Njar. The other six ghosts from the sacred council chamber appeared and knelt on the ground, three to Rameun’s left, and three more to his right.
“The Son of Thunder has awakened,” Rameun said. Rameun then knelt on the ground as well, and the vision went dark.
*****
Erik and Lady Arkyn stood at the front of the schooner. The fog was thick in The Breaks, making for slow, treacherous travel with a lot of sudden, sharp turns to avoid rock outcroppings. Gerald and his daughters proved more than capable though, steering them through safely enough. Erik found himself more than a little uncomfortable however. Whether it was the limited field of vision, or the worry that they were being followed, he couldn’t be sure.
Gerald’s wife assumed the position of cook, working in the kitchen below deck to provide meals for everyone on board. On the menu today was shark, since they had come upon a lone shark that had bumped into the vessel and tested the hull with its teeth. Lady Arkyn had quickly put it down, and they all had worked to pull the thing aboard the ship. Gerald had cleaned it, tossing the innards to the sea and then happily let his wife take over preparing it from there. With any luck, the shark meat would last them the entire voyage, which was only expected to take a few days.
Half of the reason they had come through The Breaks was to harvest kelp for adding to the various dishes Gerald’s wife would prepare. Erik had never tasted kelp before, but it had proved a better experience than he had expected. It was thick, but not tough. Firm in the center and soft on the edges, it was like nothing he had ever had before. He liked it best in soup, especially with the shark meat, but it wasn’t bad dried and wrapped around seared bits of meat either. Had life not worked out for him the way it had, Erik thought he might have made a good seaman. The food was good, the air was different and fresh to him, and the rocking of the ship was a lot more fun than he had expected. It was nothing compared to flying, of course, but it was fun nonetheless.
A break in the fog flashed before them just enough for Lady Arkyn to spot a large column of rock jutting out of the water.
“Rock on the starboard bow!” she cried.
The schooner tilted and swung left as Gerald’s daughters worked the rigging and he expertly used the wheel to pass by the column. Erik smiled at Minrielle. She gave him a wink and then walked away, heading for the kitchen below deck. Erik let his eyes linger on her for a moment. His smile widened considerably, and then he turned back to lean on the railing of the ship. He had worried that seeing her again might be awkward after being apart for so long. He was more than a little happy to find out that he was mistaken. It was as if the years had been nothing at all. He surmised that was likely in part due to the fact that she was an elf. She would live for a long time, hundreds of years, in fact. In light of that, what was one or two spent apart?
Perhaps after this business was finished and the murderer was caught, he might take a page out of Master Lepkin’s book, and settle down for a while. With any luck, Minrielle might join him.
For now, he contented himself with reading from Lady Dimwater’s book. It was a thick tome with well over a thousand pages. Since it was organized by topic, Erik had a hard time deciding where to start. Ultimately, he decided to begin with the summary of ‘Ascension’ which was about Gorliad, the dragon prince Dimwater had mentioned by name in her introduction page. As the schooner rocked back and forth, he lost himself in Dimwater’s recounting of the story, and was for once able to clear his mind of all the doubts and fears that plagued him so long as he put himself into the world of Gorliad.
CHAPTER 10
Njar found himself lying on the floor in his inner sanctum. The torches burned weakly upon the walls, but the doorway to his home was still closed. He pushed up to his feet and rubbed a hand over his face. What just happened?
He spun around, looking for Rameun or the other satyr spirits, but he saw none. He was alone. He hurriedly waved his hand and opened the doorway out of the inner sanc
tum. He rushed out, hopped over the mess of broken glass and spilled ingredients, and made his way outside. His stomach formed a knot and his throat started to dry as he thought about the implications of his vision. Had the attack already hit Viverandon? Had his actions in the vision sped up Nonac’s degeneration?
He ripped his door open to find that not only was Viverandon unharmed, but the other satyrs were outside, playing and working. He saw younglings kicking a ball around a large tree and chasing each other. Older satyrs worked in their gardens or drew water from the stream nearby. Birds sang in the trees, and the sky was clear.
He trekked out toward Nonac, hoping that somehow the tree had regained its strength. If all of the others were going about their business as usual, then surely Nonac must have fended off the magical attack that Dremathor had sent.
Njar made his way to the tree and was utterly devastated to see that a sickly gray color was creeping into a large number of leaves. Nonac was not healing. He ran toward the pair of satyrs set to guard the tree.
“Good morrow, Njar,” one of them said as he turned and offered a slight nod.
Njar returned the greeting. “Why have you not sent for me?” Njar asked, pointing up to the gray leaves. “Nonac is sick, can’t you see?”
The two guards glanced at each other and then up to the massive tree.
“I see nothing wrong,” the first guard replied.
“Nor I,” said the second.
“Come, look at the leaves,” Njar said.
The two looked up and shrugged.
“There, look!” Njar exclaimed as a pair of leaves fell from Nonac’s branches. “The falling leaves, don’t you see them?”