Dream of Legends

by Stephen Zimmer

  As if it were just seconds before, Gunther vividly remembered that very first time that he had touched the pendant. The sensations passed in due course, and a few moments later he felt like his normal self once again. Gunther wondered momentarily whether his mind had instigated the strange feelings, perhaps inventing the puissant sensations based upon his memories.

  There was also the alternative view, the one that he had first feared. Perhaps his mind had nothing to do with the sensations, and the medallion really did hold some sort of hidden strength within it.

  This time, however, he was not cowed by the thoughts of magic, and decided to keep the medallion on him. Closing the timber chest, he locked it up once again with the barrel-key. Digging around his dwelling, he managed to come up with some lengths of hempen rope. With them, he fabricated a makeshift harness that would allow him to carry the chest across his back.

  Though rather crude in contrivance, he found that the harness insured that the chest would cause him no great strain to carry back down to Oranim. There would be time enough to find a new home or hiding place for the chest, but Gunther knew that its current location would not suffice anymore.

  He conceded in his heart that, unless a wave of unexpected good fortune struck soon, he was likely going to be leaving his modest dwelling at the hillside far behind.

  With a deep, melancholic exhale, Gunther stood up, shouldered the newly added weight, and went to summon the two exiles that he had brought up to the surface with him. It was time to go back into the depths.

  *

  DEGANAWIDA

  *

  Deep within the cool shadows, underneath the thick covering of the forest, the Grand Council of the Five Realms met once again. Uneasiness and great concern were visibly splayed upon the faces of many of those present, and the rest had simply managed to retain a stoic facade. Even though the sun’s rays beamed down upon the forest, the clear day brought little comfort to the troubled souls of the Great Sachems seated amongst the trees.

  Fifty strings of white shell-beads were again displayed in the center of the gathering, arranged in an unbroken circle. The array of strings were placed near to the large, rectangular shell-bead belt, with its design of purple and white, the prominent symbol of their collective unity. Also present was the bundle of five wampum strings.

  Fifty sachems, bearing their ageless, hereditary titles, were gathered into two groupings on each side of a great fire. Many more of their number since the last gathering had received word that their villages had been reduced to rubble and splinters by the intense bombardments of stone from the returning Darroks.

  The proud confederacy, which clung loyally to the One Spirit, was being pushed farther eastward to avoid the rain of death and destruction from the air. There would be no miraculous defense. The tribes were greatly reduced in terms of the warriors available who had mastered the use of sky steeds.

  Even if there had been enough sky warriors to muster a defence, the enemy had come back this time with a strong escorting force of their own. It was no feeble guard either, as the new force of Trogen warriors mounted upon Harraks would have been more than enough to throw back the counterattack led by Ayenwatha during the enemy’s first assault.

  A few of the more heated minds among the warriors of the tribes had advocated the immediate seeking of vengeance, but the cooler mindsets of Ayenwatha and others had fortunately prevailed at the War Councils. The hearts of most of the beleagured tribal people, warrior or not, were increasingly focused upon petition to the One Spirit for answers and for deliverance.

  The darkest of tidings had arrived just a few hours earlier, hastening a meeting of the Grand Council. It had also spurred an emergency meeting of Ayenwatha and the lieutenants that had been chosen at the War Council following the initial Darrok attack.

  Border scouts that bravely, and vigorously, kept watch on the adjacent lands controlled by the massive Gallean force had returned with urgency. Every word coming from their lips had carried a dire sense of warning. The tidings that they brought gave further life to the malevolent darkness now casting its shadows upon the hearts of the tribal people, as it fed ravenously off of the maelstrom of fear and sorrow that wafted through the forests of the Five Realms like a poisonous mist.

  Enemy forces had begun to marshal, for what plainly appeared to be the final stages before the anticipated attack upon the outer boundaries of the Five Realms. The star insignia of the Unifier was being flown high from every area of the huge, diverse force’s encampment. Great numbers of warriors, both human and non-human, were assembling for impending war. A coalescing threat, like no other that the five tribes had ever faced before, was about to be unleashed upon them.

  There were even signs that the weakened Anishin tribes to the north were mustering to join in the rapidly approaching assault. To many, the news would have been disheartening in the extreme, but Deganawida knew that he had to keep his mind still in order to execute his duties effectively as a Great Sachem. He was well aware of the fact that he was not the only leader whose limits would be sorely challenged, even among those of his own village.

  He knew that Ayenwatha had numerous burdens to assume in carrying out the defense of the retreating tribal people. The task before the hardy war sachem was exceedingly difficult, and Deganawida felt an abiding sympathy for the ardent warrior.

  Fighting humans was one matter, but all kinds of possibilities were inherent within the invading force. It made planning for defense all the more complicated, with many more elements to constantly keep in mind.

  The Trogens, the brutish race that thrived upon drinking copiously from the cup of war, would be abundant in the skies above. With unfettered access to the high skies, the enemy would be able to ceaselessly watch for all movements being undertaken by the tribal defenders. That factor alone gave the enemy a tremendous advantage.

  A small force of Gigans accompanying the enemy forces would also have to be closely watched. Much depended upon exactly where the immense beings would be bringing their legendary strength and fury. Concentrated, the towering, grotesque beings could punch through a massed defense all by themselves.

  The formidable Atagar, the strange, rodent-like race whose odd anatomy allowed for fluid, subtle shifts between four and two legged stances, would present a host of problems within the dense, woodland environment; not the least of which were the huge, dagger-toothed cats that they brought along with them.

  It was undeniably a potent, gravely threatening array of force, one that boded nothing but ill-fortune towards the future of the Five Realms.

  “And what do the scouts determine?” Deganawida had asked a young, sharp-faced warrior, who had been summoned to address the Grand Council and act as a speaker for his fellow scouts.

  The scout had replied to Deganawida’s query in a subdued voice, and the Great Sachem could tell that the scout deeply disliked being the bearer of such ill-tidings. “The enemy forces are ready for fighting within our forests. They are very numerous, and what disadvantages that the Galleans may have had in the forest they have planned for well, with the enlisting of the rat-men, the Gigans, and the Anishin tribes.”

  “Is there any sign of exactly when they will strike?” asked a portly figure named Dehonareken, the fifth Great Sachem of the Onondowa tribe.

  “To our eyes, the attack will occur at any moment … maybe it has already happened,” the scout answered gloomily. “When I left, their numbers were gathering in full strength.”

  “Then the time is upon us to defend our lands and our ways,” Deganawida stated with absolute certainty. “There is no other choice for us to take.”

  There was no hesitation in the Great Sachem’s voice. He walked closer to the fire, and slowly looked across the faces of the individuals on either side, brushing them with his own fiery gaze. The people of Deganawida’s tribe, the Onan, were known as the Keepers of the Sacred Fire. In that moment, it looked as if some of those very flames burned within the depth of his eyes.

/>   There was not one trace of disagreement to be found amongst the gathered Great Sachems during that momentous hour. They were not about to bow to the demands of the Unifier, and they were also not about to leave their families and fellow tribal members exposed and defenseless. The powerful statement of Deganawida was merely a reflection of their already hardened resolve.

  “Go back, and tell Ayenwatha that we must all prepare for battle,” Deganawida said to the scout. “The moment that they move against us, we must close our bite down upon them, with powerful jaws.”

  The scout balked for a moment, cowed by the icy, steely gaze from Deganawida. He recovered swiftly, and bowed his head in a gesture of deep respect, before ushering himself out of the Council’s sight, to begin the task that had been delegated to him.

  Deganawida himself bowed to the others of the Council, and the assemblage was brought to a close a short time later. Deganawida lingered for a few moments afterwards to remove his deer-antler headdress, giving it, his own shell-belt, and the bundle of five arrows that he had held during the Council over to a trusted Onan man for safekeeping. When he was finished, Deganawida strode outward from the Council fire, heading in the general direction that the scout had gone.

  Once away from the site of the Council, he looked towards a couple of warriors from his village, who were standing idly just a short distance away. Both were awaiting his presence, having been assigned to attend to the venerable sachem at the express desire of Ayenwatha. Deganawida did not delay in his purpose, quickly asking for them to bring forth his Brega steed, Coramm.

  The warriors hurried off, returning quickly with the mighty winged beast that Deganawida had trusted implicitly for more than eight years. The creature was already fitted out with a blanket, low padded saddle, and harness. The warriors handed Deganawida his tribal war club, which they had kept in their care during the Grand Council assembly.

  The Brega then lowered itself down to the ground so that Deganawida could get situated upon its back. Once Deganawida was seated, the Brega rose up and trotted forth under the Great Sachem’s guidance. Deganawida acknowledged the two warriors with a nod, bidding them well as he moved past them.

  The intertwining labyrinth of branches overhead effectively blocked any chance of upward passage, forcing rider and steed to search out a suitable place for ascent. It was one of the great limitations of using the Brega in the woodlands, especially when the tribal people no longer had any access to their hilltop villages.

  After less than half a league, they came to a small break in the forest’s naturally interwoven ceiling. It was an open space that was just large enough to allow the Brega and Deganawida a passage of escape up into the heights.

  Starting farther back under the tangle of overhead tree branches, Deganawida urged Coramm forward into a run. The creature rapidly built up speed, such that it was bounding by the time it reached the small clearing.

  As soon as it was clear of the trees, Coramm leapt upward. With powerful flexing of its broad wings, the Brega pulled itself above the trees, rising through the opening. The creature’s calculation was precise, as the Brega was in no danger of grazing the treetops on the farther side of the clearing.

  The Brega then angled itself downward almost immediately, at Deganawida’s behest, to keep a lower course that was more aligned with the treeline. Deganawida felt that there was little use in flying at a high altitude, especially when he could easily be seen, and then cut off, by marauding Trogen patrols. There were few good places to bring the steed down now that he was over the forest, which increased the risk of the solitary flight. Deganawida kept his gaze sweeping about, knowing that he was now under a constant threat of danger.

  The Brega streaked swiftly onward, gracefully soaring just a few feet above the treetops as it rapidly covered the distance between the Council site and the outer borders of the Five Realms. Daylight was now ebbing towards dusk as rider and steed headed westward. Thicker cloud cover and a mild climate reigned in the upper skies, and Deganawida kept up an alert watch for any hint of the enemy.

  The border was not all that far away through the air, giving Deganawida a slightly queasy feeling as he realized just how close the Grand Council was to the massing enemy invaders. The stalwart Brega soon neared the forest’s edge, prompting Deganawida to slow the fleet creature down to a near-hover.

  At the very edges of the Five Realms, where the thinning trees gradually gave way to the open grassland of the plains beyond, Deganawida’s sharp eyes took in the fires from multitudinous campsites dotting the lands up and down the border.

  Deganawida brought the Brega down to land upon the solid earth, just beyond the last trees of the forest, dismounting the sky steed with little effort. The hard ground met his feet, and he took in a full breath of the approaching evening’s cooling air.

  He looked up into the darker blue-green shades of the sky, now fading towards the rich, violet gloaming of twilight that Deganawida normally found so enchanting. The skies of the western horizon were patchy with clouds, larger masses broken up by wispy, sporadic vapors in between.

  The sounds of insects filled his ears. Deganawida envied the creatures, in that they felt no threat at the moment. Deganawida’s heart felt very weighed down. He knew that he had to get away from the somber Council before he gave away the feelings that were tearing at his heart. Though he never dismissed the impossible, for he believed that all things were indeed possible in the One Spirit, his sense of reason shouted out to him that the end of the Five Realms was truly imminent.

  It was the reason why he did not deem the flight that he had just taken as an unnecessary risk. He wanted to see the border area for himself, and to take in the sight of the enemy campfires, all the while contemplating the ominious situation at hand.

  The lands that had been the heritage of generation after generation of Onan were now about to succumb to the insatiable appetite of the Unifier, a hunger that could only have been born out of the ravenous Darkness. Like the great, brilliant bolts of energy that flashed down from the skies during violent storms, often bringing fiery destruction to the woods in their wake, so was the presence of the enemy army.

  It was a vast, terrible storm teetering on the border region, filled with a host of searing bolts; all about to be discharged without mercy upon Deganawida’s homeland.

  Deganawida thought for a moment that this was perhaps the last time that his ears would listen to the gentle sounds of the evening, as a weary day lay itself down to rest. It was quite possibly the last evening that he would have in the knowledge and confidence that the lands surrounding him were those of the Onan, and the fellow tribes of the great confederacy.

  Even so, he felt honored at the truth that he was part of a people who were willing to remain steadfastly loyal to the One Spirit, even at the risk of their lives, and everything that they had ever known. He knew that they could have avoided the coming horror with great ease, as many kingdoms and lands already had, having simply agreed to accept the supreme sovereignty and authority of the Unifier.

  He knew that such a path was no choice for those of the Five Realms, and he took a fiercely intensive pride in the knowledge that his people had steadfastly rejected such a course. In the eyes of eternity, Deganawida knew that he was playing an infinitesimally small part in an unimaginably immense cosmic battle. He had seen so much during his long life, and there was nothing in his memories to dispute his current sentiments. It was all part of an ecompassing conflict between good and evil, waged amongst a spectrum of mortals and immortals.

  It was not an eternal struggle, he intimately knew. The war would be brought to an end some day. Perhaps that fateful hour would come sooner, or perhaps it would come later, but it would arrive nonetheless.

  Whatever the outcome might be, Deganawida was committed to fulfilling his own part in the terrible fight. The fires dotting the plains before him showed Deganawida that a final stand was likely in the offing for him and many of his people. In his heart, he was gir
ded and ready. The least that he felt that he could do for the One Spirit would be to lay down his life in the defense of his people and their lands.

  The thought brought some further images to the forefront of his mind. Deganawida bit down on his lower lip as sadness welled up sharply within him. He was only one man, and he could not possibly stop the dark tides gathering against his people. He was braced for the worst that could happen to his own person, but women, children, and the elderly would likely be put to the claw, fang, and the sword very soon.

  Suddenly, the huge number of enemy campfires seemed to be overwhelmingly daunting in the cold, unforgiving light of that knowledge. Deganawida wished that he could give up his life a thousand times over, so that his people might be spared the coming doom. He inwardly quivered at the thoughts of the terror that would soon be visited upon innocents, whose only fault was to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

  He knew well enough that theirs was always the greatest of tragedies within wars over the long ages. The blood of innocents flowed into the umber depths of war’s abyss. The sorrow that emerged from such a chasmic darkness was thunderous indeed, accompanied by a deafening chorus of unrequited cries for justice.

  Whether or not such galling inequity would ever be put to rights was wholly in the hands of the One Spirit. It was something far beyond the power of humankind, or even the greatest of Wizards, for that matter.

  Deganawida could not long ponder such things, lest he give in to the overwhelming power of despair. Each simply had to choose whether or not to do their own tiny part in the greater fight, even without the comfort of truly knowing the nature of the path’s destination.

  “Have strength, ageless one,” a gentle voice called forth from the growths behind him.