The Realms of Animar

by Owen Black

  The assassin turned to Fatalis, “He lies no more.”

  A maniacal grin formed on Fatalis’ lips. He stood up from his throne and boomed, “Well boys it looks like a change of plans for supper tonight!”

  Laughter erupted from around the room. Vulpo joined in, more out of respect than amusement. He had lost his appetite.

  Chapter 19

  Fatalis clutched the crackling torch as he quickly followed a dark winding passage, his frantic footsteps reflecting the anger that pulsed through his veins. The mission had failed and the boy might still be alive. He was furious.

  Misshapen shadows, evoked forth by the dancing flame, challenged from all sides as he navigated the cramped, cavernous passageway, ducking and twisting as he progressed toward his highly anticipated destination.

  The scowl that showed on his face was reflective of the conflicted thoughts that raced through his mind. The vulture had been a valuable resource, but his purpose had been filled, as was his master’s stomach. It seemed a fitting end for one who dared spill forth lies while in his service.

  But what if some of what he had said was true? Could Mordigal have turned on his own kind? Impossible! His loyalty was without question. No man would dare betray him. There had to be another explanation. He needed answers.

  Fatalis smiled when a yell, more of a scream actually, penetrated the silence around him. The sound of pain always seemed to lift his spirits. Judging by the depth of the agony, this shriek had come from an older man, and he briefly challenged himself to identify the prisoner that had been the source.

  The rocky passage eventually opened into a large square chamber that was lit by a number of wall sconces that were currently ablaze. The room was lined with nearly a dozen thick, wooden doors on all sides and in the center of the floor was a large oaken table, atop which sat various instruments of pain - blades and hooks, branding irons and shackles.

  A large hulking beast of a man stood behind the table. He stood, head down, mumbling in some incomprehensible language, as one by one he picked up the ominous devices, briefly examined each and returned it to the table. His long, unkempt patchwork brown hair, abnormally thick, wooly arms and tattered clothes were unfortunately his best features. Of more consequence was the fact that atop his shoulders sat a badly scarred and misshapen head that lacked a right eye and, where a nose might normally be expected, a pair of scarred holes were all that remained, evidence of a tragic event that had robbed the man of whatever remote attempt at a human appearance he might have once had.

  Apparently content with his condition, the creature smiled evilly when he noticed Fatalis. Perhaps it would be more accurately described as a grin, given that only three teeth remained attached to his otherwise delightful gums. A moan spilled forth from his crackled lips and, in a deep muffled voice, accompanied by an exhale of air through his visible nasal cavity, he spoke, “Maaassstttaaa! Maaassstttaaaa!”

  As if reunited with a long-lost pet, Fatalis greeted the colossal man warmly and, as he drew near, patted him gently on the back. This rare act of kindness was not without merit, Ogg was a long-time acquaintance, but more importantly, he was the best torturer that Fatalis had ever known. This was perhaps due to his lack of cognition for he operated with the mental capacity of a small child and thus it was possible that he simply did not understand the suffering that he inflicted on those under his watch. It was for these reasons, coupled with the smallest sliver of pity that Fatalis would surely never admit, that he had proudly taken care of dear Ogg and helped shape him into the useful specimen he had become.

  “Checking your tools I see,” Fatalis said. “Good, good Ogg. Have you had a pleasant day today?”

  With eyes affixed on the tools in front of him, the misshapen figure grunted and nodded. “Ooohh yessss. Yess. Lossst one though. Ogg sad. It was nice to Ogg.”

  Fatalis tilted his head while a scowl formed on his brow. “Please tell me it wasn’t my special prisoner. You know you are to be extra careful with that one.”

  “Yes - I mean no! It was just the squirrel mastaa! Just her! Ogg more careful like you asked him. Want me to give to the cooks?”

  Fatalis was clearly relieved. A number of more valuable prisoners were kept within the confines of the dungeon, including the one he had come to visit.

  “No, no…that’s fine Ogg. You can have her.” He watched the giant cackle with delight. “I’m here to visit the old man. I’m sure you won’t be bothering us - this time. You know I hate to punish you, it hurts me so.”

  In actuality, Fatalis rather enjoyed beating the massive man whose mental deficiencies transformed him into a quivering child when disciplined. Amusing as it was, he had many times considered putting the pathetic creature out of its misery, but alas, he just couldn’t quite bring himself to rid the world of his favorite pet.

  Ogg shook his head in understanding as he turned away from his master, his mind now on the treat that waited in another room.

  Fatalis walked to a door at the far end of the chamber. It had no openings or bars to allow inspection of the interior but he knew well enough what waited inside. The flickering torch in one hand, he removed a key from his pocket and quickly unlocked the door. It opened with a loud echoing creak.

  The shroud of darkness that previously resided in the tiny square chamber slowly dissipated when he entered. It was a barren room, containing no furniture and only an overturned wooden bowl whose mushy, white contents had been spilled onto the floor. Crouched into the far corner, with squinted eyes that peered up at the foreign light that had broken his gloom, was the grey wrinkled figure of a man. Mostly bones and rags, it appeared that he had not been bathed or seen sunlight in quite some time. He resembled more a ghost than a living creature as evidenced by his thin layer of milky, cracked skin that matched a thick dirty white beard and ratty hair. It was remarkable that any life flowed throw his veins at all.

  Fatalis greeted the old man as he entered the cell. “My dear friend, I see you have once again decided not to eat your food.”

  The prisoner cowered deeper into the corner without a reply.

  “I need to know if the boy is still alive,” Fatalis demanded, confident that the prisoner would know the subject of his inquiry.

  Again the man sat silent, picking at his beard and mumbling quietly to himself. Fatalis wondered if the old sage had finally lost his wits after months of imprisonment. Even so, with proper motivation surely answers could be found.

  As he looked at the pathetic creature frustration began to build. Fatalis was known to lack patience and this was a topic of utmost importance. He needed answers. With a diabolical grin upon his lips, he leaned down and brought the torch to the old man’s face.

  “I won’t ask again!” Fatalis roared. “Tell me now or I will add to your collection of scars.”

  ***

  His wits intact, though he at times wondered, the prisoner navigated the possibilities of a reply. With each answer he provided, he knew consequences would be felt. There were times when his visions were clear, at others more like dreams that needed time to be deciphered. Knowing pain would be brought upon him, he decided to reply.

  With a weak soft voice he spoke, “Yes.”

  His captor straightened up in disbelief. His greatest fear had been realized.

  “He lives? You are certain?”

  Knowing it to be true and also knowing the torment his answer would bring, the old man looked up at the torch-wielding figure that stood over him and replied, “He lives and he knows what he is now.”

  Fatalis began to strike but stopped; mindful that he might destroy his precious soothsayer with one powerful blow. The old man watched warily as his captor backed away and paced around the cell while he collected his thoughts.

  “And Mordigal, tell me where he is,” Fatalis then ordered.

  The oracle closed his eyes and focused his gift. This was not a name he knew but it seemed familiar, like a hint of a distant memory, something he once had heard but had forgo
tten with age. The image then came to him quickly along with that of a woman, a teacher of the young. Although he focused on the man named Mordigal he was drawn to the woman, which surprised him. He thought he knew her once but now she had an unknown relevance, a piece to a puzzle yet to be explained. He searched with his gift while the angry man glowered down at him. And then, like the sun breaking through dark clouds after a long, bitter storm, he understood.

  “I’m losing my patience you fool!” Fatalis boomed. “Tell me the truth or I will end your miserable existence now.”

  Sadly, there were times when these threats were actually an interesting proposition to the prisoner. He had lost track of time since he had been captured. Minutes slipped into hours and hours merged with days in an unrelenting nightmare of despair. He often pondered how he might drive his captor to kill him and at last end his suffering. Other times, like now, he would not eat for days with the desire that he might starve himself to death. However, each time he drew near the end and the freedom it meant if he left this world, something pulled him back, a light that forced its way through the blackness. He had given up hope of ever seeing his family again; perhaps they had moved on or worse, fallen prey to the beast standing above him. He decided to hang on a bit longer.

  “The assassin lives among them,” the old man at last replied.

  “Impossible!”

  “I cannot deceive when I tell of my visions,” the prisoner lied. This single pretense he had managed to maintain throughout his captivity. Although he had been honest about Mordigal, he had done so because the old man knew it would enrage his captor.

  Fatalis paced in the small room as he muttered and then spat on the ground. “So the vulture was telling the truth. Pity, but he had grown tiresome. I wonder what Ash will have to say about this. His own blood a traitor to his kind. Fascinating.”

  A few moments passed then Fatalis stopped and looked down at the sage while an evil glimmer of hope shined in his eyes. “Tell me – if we move on them now, can we make it through the mountains?”

  The old man warily shook his head, “I told you before, the winter will claim too many of your men. They will defeat you.”

  Had this been true, he surely would have hidden this fact from Fatalis and sent his men marching to their deaths.

  “Fine, fine. We will attack when winter passes. More time to build my army.” He then quickly turned to leave the cell as the torch sputtered with his movements. With his back to the prisoner he added, “It won’t be long until you will have your wish old man. Your usefulness will be gone when Avryn’s boy is dead.”

  The old man watched as Fatalis left the room and closed the door behind without as much as a glance back. A familiar darkness fell upon the tiny chamber and he flinched when the loud crack of the lock sounded in his ears.

  Alone once again, the sage crawled to the overturned bowl, feeling in the darkness as he moved. With tender, aching fingers, he scooped the unknown slop to his mouth and fed the previously ignored hunger. It was not his time to die. The vision of the teacher had stirred him. He needed his strength. Hope had returned.

  Chapter 20

  As dawn broke over Avryndale, Avryn peered over a large map spread out on a table in the Great Hall. A handful of other men including Semu and Guderian joined him as they gazed silently at the drawing before them as if waiting for inspiration.

  The stillness was broken when Guderian finally pointed at the map. “We can double our patrols here and here. These are the weak points.”

  Avryn nodded. “I agree. Semu?”

  Before Semu could respond the door to the hall suddenly opened and a small man, obviously out of breath, entered.

  “Yes?” Avryn asked.

  “Sorry to disturb you sire,” the man responded before bending over to catch his breath. “But we spotted a bird heading this way.”

  The men in the room exchanged glances. Visitors usually meant trouble.

  “What kind is it?” Guderian asked.

  The man shook his head. “We can’t tell yet, something small.”

  “Small is good,” Semu grunted.

  Avryn nodded then turned back to the messenger. “Run and get Trussil. Have her meet us at the gate.”

  ***

  Fighting a cold wind, Avryn waited at the village gate along with Trussil, Guderian, Semu and two guards. They were bundled in thick coats but still struggled to fight off the bitter air that engulfed them while they watched a small sparrow descend from the sky.

  Guderian peered at Trussil. “Were we not clear?” he asked. “No outsiders were to know of our location.”

  Trussil frowned and looked to Avryn for support. His silence said plenty and she turned back to Guderian.

  “I know and I’m sorry,” she responded. “I trust her. She is like a sister to me. There is only one reason she would come.” Trussil eyed the bird as it soared down from the sky and then added, “We’re in danger.”

  The group watched the tiny bird land before them and quickly transform into a middle-aged Avian woman with soft, pleasant features despite the fact that she was shivering terribly. Trussil ran forward and embraced the woman in a brief hug before wrapping a cloak around her trembling shoulders.

  “Melodia,” Trussil said. “How nice to see you. I—”

  “T…Trussil you have to leave this place,” the woman said anxiously.

  “What is it?” Trussil asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Some carnivores came to Ovion recruiting soldiers for an army. I heard Avryn’s name and came right away.”

  Avryn peered at Guderian and shook his head.

  “Mordigal was right,” Avryn said.

  “Avians!” Guderian said angrily. “It doesn’t surprise me they would side with the carnivores.”

  Trussil scowled at him. “Watch it hoof. We don’t know that they agreed to help. I highly doubt it.”

  “When are they coming?” Avryn asked Melodia. “Did they say?”

  She nodded. “As soon as winter passes. If you stay here you are doomed.”

  Avryn shook his head. “We are trapped. Surrounded on all sides by water except for the mountains. We chose this place for the seclusion and now it’s our prison.”

  “Some might make it through,” Guderian said.

  “Only the strong,” Avryn replied. “Too many would die.” He then paused and looked back at the village. “We have no choice but to fight.”

  ***

  Avryn closed the door behind him and then blew into his hands to gather warmth. Felia smiled when she saw him and then noticed the concern on his face.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Sit down,” he replied. “We need to talk.”

  Avryn and Felia sat down at the dining table. Sensing pain in her husband she reached over and took his hands in hers. Their eyes meet.

  “What is it Avryn? Tell me.”

  “We’ve had a good run here, haven’t we? Tell me it was worth it.”

  Felia sat back in her chair a bit as she deciphered the words of her husband. It struck her quickly. This was it.

  “Our time is up, isn’t it?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  Avryn nodded. “A few months at most then the carnivores will be here. Listen, you and Thane, you need to leave. If you go now maybe you can make it.”

  “And you? What are you going to do?”

  Avryn straightened up. “Stay and fight. I won’t go out any other way.”

  “Always the noble one. And you expect me to leave you?”

  Avryn squeezed her hands and became animated. “You must. Please, I beg you. Maybe we can win, maybe some day—”

  Felia lifted a finger and gently placed in on Avryn’s lips.

  “I would never leave you, nor would Thane. He is as stubborn as his father.”

  Avryn slumped back in his chair, defeated.

  He looked down, shook his head and then abruptly stood up.

  “Where are you going?” Felia asked.

&
nbsp; “First to meet with the council. We need to tell the people what is going on. Then I’m going to pull Thane from school.”

  Avryn headed for the door then looked back at Felia and added, “It’s time to begin his training.”

  ***

  A blaring chorus from a group of elephants stirred the village to life the next morning. This was the typical call to assembly for the people of Avryndale although it was quite unusual to do so in winter when most preferred to stay in their homes and keep warm. The council had met at length the day before and, based on what Avryn and Mordigal had explained, they had no choice but to seek help from their people.

  Although snow had stopped falling, the ground and rooftops showed signs of the event having been painted with a majestic white glaze while the dark sky above ominously foretold the threat of more.

  The villagers fought off the elements as they anxiously gathered in front of the steps that led up to the Great Hall. Many were wrapped in blankets or huddled close together while a collection of children were busy gathering snow to hurl at one another. Although it was cold the mood was light. The reason for the assembly, however, would soon be revealed and quickly extinguish all signs of merriment.

  As was custom for public gatherings, the ten members of the Council stood side by side, with Avryn and Papio positioned in the middle and slightly ahead of the others. Mordigal also joined them on the improvised stage and stood alongside Semu some twenty steps above the large crowd that had formed in front of them. A loud murmur flowed from the crowd as rumors circulated and friends greeted one another.

  Avryn spotted Thane and Felia standing near the front of the crowd, next to Javan and his parents that shared his significant girth.

  On the stage Papio rubbed his hands together to generate warmth, secured his thick wool coat and slowly walked forward. He generally presided over large meetings and this was no different. He raised his hands to quiet the crowd.