by A. J. Smith
‘Did you know all this was here?’ Brom asked.
‘Of course… doesn’t everyone?’ Rham Jas lied with a maddening grin. ‘Well, not this precisely, no, but something like it.’
Rham Jas could see seated Dokkalfar within the auditorium and guessed that the Vithar shamans were arrayed before them.
‘Let me do the talking until they address you, okay?’
‘No problem,’ replied Brom. ‘But if it looks as if they’re going to attack us, try and give me some warning.’ Rham Jas thought he was joking, but he couldn’t be sure.
They stepped on to the swaying bridge and followed the Tyr on to a more stable platform at the front of the auditorium. Galleries comprised of twisted wood rose above it and spread out in irregular fashion, providing seats for several dozen Dokkalfar, though only a handful were currently occupied. Nanon and Sigurd held their position at the base of the auditorium and motioned for Rham Jas and Brom to pass them.
The Kirin put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and the two of them stepped in front of the raised seating. There was little light in the settlement, but something about this area made their features stand out as if they were held by a gaze that penetrated the obfuscating darkness. Before them sat green-robed Dokkalfar.
‘Rham Jas Rami dark-blood and friend to the Dokkalfar,’ said the figure seated in the middle. ‘You are welcome in the Heart.’
‘Thank you,’ Rham Jas replied, immediately thinking it a foolish thing to say. ‘I wish to ask something of you and your people.’
The Dokkalfar who had spoken raised his head and Rham Jas saw his dark grey skin; blacker than the others, he melded into the darkness around him, becoming distinct only when he spoke.
‘I am called Joror,’ he said in a faltering accent, and Rham Jas guessed he had not spoken the language of Ro for some time. ‘We are the Vithar and we will hear of your now.’
‘Wait,’ roared another voice from behind.
Rham Jas and Brom turned to see a large Tyr stride past Nanon and Sigurd, coming to a stop next to the humans. He was the largest Dokkalfar that Rham Jas had ever seen – not just tall but muscular and broad-shouldered. He wore a large leaf-sword across his back – a weapon that the Kirin doubted could be lifted by a man, let alone wielded in combat – and his black eyes looked at the humans with disdain.
‘You may speak, Rafn,’ said Joror with a bow of his head.
‘I didn’t ask permission,’ replied the huge Tyr. ‘I am not here for counsel. I am here to stop the now of these ignorant creatures being heard. Their poisonous words will serve only to damage us and I will see them killed before they talk.’
Rham Jas raised his eyebrows and turned away from the seated Dokkalfar to look up into the face of the creature called Rafn.
‘Those are big words for a little girl,’ he said, without a smile.
From behind him Nanon laughed, but every other Dokkalfar remained silent while Rham Jas stared up at Rafn.
‘You are Rham Jas Rami dark-blood, friend to the Dokkalfar,’ said Rafn. ‘But he is a Ro man of noble blood and I will kill him for his people’s murderous ways.’
The Tyr was angry at the human intrusion into his home and Rham Jas sized him up, looking for the best and quickest way to kill him if the need presented itself. He was huge, but the Kirin assassin knew he would bleed and die like any other creature.
‘I am your friend and he is mine.’ Rham Jas spoke loudly and with defiance. ‘If our presence bothers you that much, I invite you to stay and hear our words… along with your Vithar.’
‘You invite me? You invite me?’ Rafn shouted.
Rham Jas didn’t back away, though he could sense that Brom had taken a step to the side, trying to keep closer to the friendlier presence of Sigurd and Nanon.
‘I’m not a little boy who is scared of you, grey skin. Don’t forget that,’ Rham Jas said as he stared down the hulking Dokkalfar in front of him. ‘This man is my friend and I will take you apart before I see you harm him.’
The Vithar called Joror stood from his seat and approached the confrontation. Rham Jas knew the shamans had no authority over the other Dokkalfar, except when counsel was needed, but he hoped their wisdom would stop him having to fight Rafn.
‘This is foolish,’ said Joror. ‘This man is known to you… to all of us. He is our friend and if he says that the now of the other is worth listening to, we will hear it.’
Rafn had not turned from the Kirin, but he was evidently reluctant to answer the challenge with violence and, after another moment’s tilting his head, he lowered his eyes and stepped back.
‘Rham Jas Rami dark-blood, I will not strike you.’ He turned to Joror and said, ‘I will remain and hear the now of the Ro man.’
Calm returned to the platform and Rham Jas was secretly thankful he hadn’t needed to test his skill against so intimidating an opponent. Brom also relaxed a little as he stepped back next to his friend.
‘Could you have beaten him?’ he asked in a whisper.
‘No idea,’ replied Rham Jas, ‘but I stood more of a chance than you.’ His wide grin returned and Brom chuckled involuntarily.
‘Why do they call you dark-blood?’ he asked.
‘I’m not totally sure. I think it’s got something to do with a darkwood tree I was pinned against for a few hours.’ He had been called dark-blood before and had never given it much thought. ‘They fear and respect the tree, so my having some of its sap in my bloodstream is a big deal to them, I suppose.’
Rafn took a seat next to Joror and, with Nanon and Sigurd standing behind them, the two men stepped forward to be heard by the assembled Vithar shamans.
‘My friend is called Bromvy of Canarn, he is a noble of Tor Funweir, the lands of Ro, and he has need of your help.’ Rham Jas tried to speak as loudly and as formally as he could. ‘He is an outlaw in his own lands, a Black Guard in the language of the clerics, and his father has been murdered by Red knights of the One God.’ This caused a slight ripple among the Dokkalfar and Rham Jas was glad the forest-dwellers still loathed the church of Ro.
‘Why does this concern us?’ asked Rafn dismissively. ‘Ro killing Ro simply means they will leave the forests alone for a time.’
A few nods from the others showed Rham Jas that the Dokkalfar were still too concerned with their own survival to care about Brom’s predicament.
‘I have words,’ said Nanon from behind them.
‘Tyr Nanon may speak,’ announced Joror with a wave of his hand.
‘I know this Kirin man better than most and I see his heart in his words. He is concerned by a maleficium that abides in the city of men.’
Rham Jas had not heard the term before, but the reaction of the Dokkalfar was instant and startling. The Vithar clenched their fists and shivered uncomfortably, and the Tyr almost involuntarily adopted a protective posture. The reaction calmed down after a moment, but Rham Jas had never seen anything like this among the forest-dwellers.
Nanon was looking into Rham Jas’s eyes, searching for something. The Kirin knew that the longer a man spent with a Dokkalfar, the more understanding would exist between the two. In this case, it meant Nanon understood his humour better than the other Dokkalfar and had a rudimentary ability to know his mind.
‘She is called the Lady of Spiders and she has the hearts of the Red men in her evil hands,’ he said, plucking the knowledge from Rham Jas’s mind.
‘You know of the Seven Sisters?’ asked Brom, forgetting his friend’s advice to stay quiet.
‘Silence, lesser being,’ commanded Rafn, still uncomfortable with Brom’s presence. ‘You could not hope to understand what this being is capable of.’ He was obviously disturbed by talk of the maleficium – apparently a Dokkalfar term that referred to the enchantresses of Karesia.
Brom took a step forward. ‘This woman has manipulated the knights of the Red into invading my homeland, slaughtering my people and executing my father. I know what she is capable of.’ He spoke defiantly.
Rafn was silent for a moment as he studied Brom’s face. Then he turned to Joror and said quietly, ‘The now of man coincides with the forever of the Dokkalfar… I would never have thought it possible.’ Then a laugh erupted from the huge Tyr and Rafn stood and strode purposefully towards Brom.
Rham Jas made a move to intercept him, but Nanon held his arm and stopped him. Rafn didn’t attack and Brom was in any case too angry to be cowed by the huge warrior before him.
‘Tell me your name again, Ro man?’ asked Rafn in a low growling voice.
‘I am Lord Bromvy of Canarn, son to Duke Hector, and Black Guard of Tor Funweir.’
It was the first time that Rham Jas had heard Brom admit to being of the Black Guard and he thought his friend’s predicament must have finally sunk in.
‘Bromvy,’ repeated Rafn, sounding out the strange human name. ‘Your now is more dangerous than you know, for the maleficium seek to bring your lands crashing down and your gods to ruin.’
‘I ask for your aid against the Lady of Spiders and her Red knight thralls.’ Brom spoke with conviction, fighting the urge to back away from the huge Tyr.
A female voice spoke from under a hood several seats down from Joror. ‘Listen to our forever, Bromvy and Rham Jas Rami of the lands of men.’ The words were more lyrical and softer than those of the male Dokkalfar. ‘The better you will understand why we will help you.’
The speaker pushed back her hood to reveal lighter grey skin – almost white in comparison with the males – and her ears were more elongated, parting her black hair as they rose in an elegant leaf shape.
‘I am called Jofn and I speak the forever of ages past,’ the female Dokkalfar began, holding the attention of all those present.
‘We were much as your kind are now – with birth, life, love and death. We had lands, society and homes to call by our own names and a god whom we cherished.’
She spoke of things unknown even to Rham Jas. He had always thought the forest-dwellers to be a lost remnant of the Dead God’s followers.
‘Our Shadow Giant deity was slain ages past by the being you know as the Dead God – a Forest Giant of pleasure and blood, a chaotic being of purest malevolence, whom we served out of fear. Our own god was lost, one of many causalities of the Long War.’
The other Dokkalfar bowed their heads in remembrance, though Rham Jas could not truly comprehend the timescale of which she spoke. He knew that the forest-dwellers were long-lived and that they had dwelt in the land long before the rise of men, but the span of millennia it would require for gods to rise and fall made his head spin.
‘The Dark Young of the Dead God were ours to birth. He twisted our forms from beings of light and beauty into the black countenances you see before you and used our deaths to create more of his monstrous servants.’
Rham Jas had heard the term ‘Dark Young’ applied to the darkwood trees, but he was confused as to their significance.
‘And then, in the gaps between Deep Time, other gods rose and, as a bold move in the game they named the Long War, those Giants you call Rowanoco, Jaa and the One conspired to slay the Forest Giant and his twisted servitors, just as he had done to our forgotten Shadow Giant god, the one we loved.’ A black tear appeared in her eye as she recounted the oldest tales of the Dokkalfar.
‘The One found him, Rowanoco fought him and Jaa stole his power, thinking him dead. The arrogant Fire Giant gifted the Dokkalfar with immolation upon death, so we would no longer spawn the Dark Young, and that was how the world remained for countless millennia.
‘Then, with the rise of man, the three Giants chose followers from the young races and gave them power to enforce their laws and to fight the Long War. Rowanoco and the One gave of their own being to strengthen their priesthoods, but Jaa… Jaa sought to gain advantage by giving none of his own strength. He used the stolen power of the Dead God to empower his enchantresses, unknowingly freeing them from the Fire Giant’s laws.’
Brom and Rham Jas looked at one another in surprise and confusion at the Vithar’s words. She spoke as if legend and myth were history.
‘We are but men and you speak of things beyond us,’ said Rham Jas as respectfully as he could.
‘The maleficium in your city, Bromvy of Canarn, seeks to sever the power of the three and to bring back the worship of the Black God of the woods with a thousand young. The not so Dead God.’
‘But that Giant was slain, how can it come back?’ Rham Jas asked, already suspecting the answer.
‘The power Jaa stole resides within the maleficium witches – the Seven Sisters of Karesia – and so long as they live the Dead God can never truly be dead.’ She paused and a deep sadness entered her black eyes. ‘In strange aeons even death may die.’
Rham Jas felt the enormity of the Vithar’s words and knew that he was as nobody in comparison – a Kirin assassin who had, for whatever reason, decided to help one of his few friends.
‘Rham Jas has killed one before,’ said Brom, making the Kirin smile awkwardly as all those present turned to look at him.
The female Vithar called Jofn returned his smile, though hers was somehow more knowing.
‘You also possess the power of the Dead God, Rham Jas Rami dark-blood. The essence of a Dark Young flows within your body, gifting you strength, speed and resilience. Their stolen powers do not work on you and you will never be their thrall and you will never be helpless in their presence.’ She snapped out these last words as if she were speaking to spite the enchantresses. ‘Our goals coincide, for the maleficium witches have realized the realities of their power and have willingly turned aside from Jaa to lay themselves at the feet of the Dead God.’
Tyr Rafn, who had been silent throughout the tale, now raised his chin and spoke clearly. ‘These… witches have designed the severing of the three Giants and their evil scheme nears its end. They have only to sever the power of the Ice Giant Rowanoco and they will be free to implement fresh worship throughout your lands of men.’
‘You knew this before today,’ stated Brom. ‘Why have you not acted? I see strength in your people, strength I hadn’t dreamt of.’
The others turned to Joror, who, Rham Jas guessed, was as close to being an elder shaman as any of them.
The Dokkalfar Vithar cleared his throat and said, ‘The now of man is a blink of an eye to us. The maleficium witches are human and their movements are too fast and too erratic for us to keep up with them. Dokkalfar do not adapt well to change. We know it to be true, as each of us can feel that Jaa’s gift of immolation upon death has left us. This would only be possible if the last Fire Giant old-blood had been killed.’
Rham Jas knew a little of the old-bloods, but he could see confusion in his friend’s eyes. However, the lord of Canarn shook off the confusion and stepped forward to stand close to Joror.
Looking down at the seated Dokkalfar, Bromvy said, ‘What will you ask of me in exchange for your aid?’
‘Ask of us,’ corrected Rham Jas.
Joror didn’t turn from Bromvy. ‘You must give us your word that you will join us in opposing the maleficium. The Heart will remain free from the interference of men and in return we will aid you. Rham Jas Rami dark-blood may be the only creature able to slay the witches and we would ally with him.’
Rham Jas again felt the unwelcome weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He could handle killing and had hurt all manner of people in all manner of ways, but to think that he was in any way special or significant made him feel nauseous.
‘I think I need a drink,’ he said suddenly, causing everyone to stare at him with various sorts of disapproving looks. ‘Just to steady my nerves.’ He grinned nervously. ‘Some Darkwald red would be nice.’
* * *
The Dokkalfar were not particularly interested in alcohol. After a few hours of trying to convince them that drinking oneself insensible was sometimes a desirable thing, Rham Jas had given up and settled for some kind of strange plant tea.
Nanon had taken Brom and Rham
Jas to a high balcony, well above the Vithar auditorium, and they sat looking out over the beautiful Dokkalfar settlement. Rham Jas wasn’t sure whether or not the Heart was their name for the place or just a description of its importance, but either way he’d learned more about the forest-dwellers in the past few hours than in the entirety of his life.
He tried to focus on the fact that Joror had agreed to help them and not to dwell on the Rham Jas Rami saves the world element. He’d killed one of the Seven Sisters, almost by accident, but to conspire to kill them all struck him as a little out of his league.
Brom and Nanon had been talking about Canarn and they had similar ideas about how to approach a potential assault. Nanon had spent enough time with Rham Jas to have a good grasp of humour and irony, and Brom had responded well to the forest-dweller’s blunt appraisal of their chances.
‘If we kill enough of them quickly, we can win,’ Nanon was saying. ‘If not, we’ll all get killed.’
‘We don’t know how many there are,’ responded Brom as he took a sip of his own tea. ‘And Joror has yet to tell me how many of you will be coming with us.’
Nanon tilted his head, indicating that, despite his peculiarities, he was still Dokkalfar.
‘Does it matter?’ he asked.
Rham Jas knew that the forest-dwellers had a strange grasp of numbers. They found the concept of armies difficult to understand, because they generally thought in terms of individuals. As a long-lived race, they did not think of anyone as expendable or less important than any other, whereas the race of men had a habit of fielding masses of faceless soldiers. Rank, wealth and law left humans constantly questioning their station in life, and the habit of placing one man above another inevitably created a structure of perceived importance. This was bewildering to the Dokkalfar, who had no concept of leadership or seniority, but rather a society built on shared need and respect.
Brom was unaware of this and said, ‘Of course it matters. If they have two thousand knights, we need enough to stand against them.’
‘We’ll have whoever comes with us,’ responded Nanon, in a way that infuriated Brom. ‘And that will have to be enough.’