by James Dale
It was only a flickering spark at first, a weak, sputtering flame buffeted by the ferocious gale of despair raging within him, but it was enough to rekindle what little remained of his will to fight. And in this desolate place, even such a small spark was like blazing star in the vastness of an empty night sky.
But had it come too late?
A shadow moved at the edge of the crimson light created by the sorcerer's fire, lumbering and monstrous. At first Braedan thought it was merely a trick of the eye caused by the oppressive darkness and his own despair. But soon the horror became alive, stepping from the gloom into the ruddy circle of illumination. The being, for Jack could conjure up no other word to describe it in human terms, was at least ten feet tall, with almond shaped eyes glowing a baleful red. Whether they reflected the evil sorcerer's flame or they burned from within, fueled by some internal furnace of hate, he could not say. It was dressed in a short, sleeveless tunic of uncured leather, revealing long arms muscled with repressed violence and legs as rough and hoary as tree trunks. In one hand it carried a tremendous, double-bladed ax, pitted from much use, with a handle as long as Braedan was tall. On the belt around its thick waist, suspended from an iron ring forged in the likeness of a serpent devouring its own tail, dangled a single brass key nearly two feet long and as thick as man's wrist.
The Jailer had arrived.
"What have we here?" the creature asked in a voice rumbling like an avalanche of approaching doom. "More meat for the Jailer's ax?"
"Not this one," Nalon-Lox replied. "He is for the Master alone. The Warden wishes for you to hold him somewhere safe. A place where you can keep a close eye on him until the Master awakes."
The Jailer eyeing Jack curiously. "Important, is he?"
"Very," replied the sorcerer, but did not elaborate.
"I know just the place," the monster grinned, revealing a mouth full of square, yellow teeth. "Though he might not enjoy it so much."
"He is not to be harmed," Nalon-Lox repeated quickly. "Remember what I said. He is for the Master alone."
"I will treat him like he was my own brother," the Jailer replied, grasping Jack by the back of the neck and lifting him effortlessly off his feet. The creature's huge hand closed completely around Braedan's throat cutting off his air, and he began to struggle frantically against the vice like grip.
"Gently please!" the sorcerer cried. "We need him alive!"
"Don't worry, we don't have far to go." The monster laughed cruelly, its mirth erupting explosively in the dark corridor. It shook Jack until his struggles ceased. "I think we are going to become great friends. Great friends indeed!"
The monster carried Braedan from the circle of illumination, out of sight of the watching sorcerer and his guardsmen, and began to descend a long flight of stairs. Though they were engulfed now in total darkness, the monster's steps were sure and true and he did not stumble. They soon entered a cavernous chamber where the heavy footsteps of the Jailer echoed like thunder in the sudden emptiness.
Braedan's lungs were aching for air at this point and consciousness was slowly beginning to slip from his grasp. But before his senses totally abandoned him and a blackness darker than the gloom around him could stake its claim, the monster exited the chamber, traveled a short distance down another passageway, and then dumped him roughly on a cold stone floor. As he struggled to regain his breath, he heard the monster insert his key into a lock, heard tumblers protest from long disuse, then a heavy door was pushed open with a shriek of rusting iron.
"In you go," the Jailer said, picking Jack up by his shirt and tossing him unceremoniously into the cell. "Enjoy your company." The monster laughed heartily and closed the door with an ominous bang.
As the sound of its footsteps retreated in the distance, Jack struggled to regain his breath. His throat was bruised and swollen, but he was certain the creature had not damaged anything important. Not when Master wanted him. Even such a monster as the Jailer would not dare injure him seriously, even though the dark-King still slept. He reached up tentatively and felt his head where it had banged against the floor, his fingers coming away sticky and wet.
"You are bleeding," a deep voice said only inches from where he lay.
Jack groaned and scrambled away in the blackness until he encountered stone.
"Do not be afraid." the voice assured him quietly. "I will not harm you."
"Who…is there?" Braedan croaked, searching vainly in the gloom for the source of the voice.
"I am Maelcain." came the reply, "Of the Jahrkirin."
Jack gasped in surprise. Jahrkirin! The name was a curse in Ailfara. Translated into the common tongue of the west it meant 'Children of the Fallen.'
"A giant!" he hissed.
"So we are named by you in the south," the voice admitted. "Among our own people we name ourselves, 'Vestir'nah.'"
"Vestir'nah?" Jack asked. In spite of his situation, he intrigued by the unfamiliar word. As long as it was talking it wasn't killing him.
"The Outcasts," the Jahrkirin explained, his reply heavy with regret.
Jack knew of the Jahrkirin. Although Alnrodel had mentioned them only briefly, he had heard their full tale around the campfires in Tereil Annen’s village. The Jahrkirin were the offspring of humans and the fallen angels who had followed Yh’gar in his rebellion against heaven. Their kind had been shunned by all races of Aralon since the beginning of recorded history. First simply because of the evil their ancestors had done during the war between Yh‘Adan and Yh’gar and later because they had sided with Graith during the War of the Stones. They were creatures feared and hated, both for their supernatural heritage and for their great size and strength. The Jahrkirin were despised by men and Ailfar even more than grim'Hiru, yet here was one held as a prisoner in the Iron Tower. Why?
"Why?" Braedan asked, curiosity slowly overcoming his fear.
"Why do we call ourselves Outcasts?" the giant asked. "The story is well known. The Jahrkirin are..."
"No," Jack interrupted. "Why...why are you here?"
"Ah..." Maelcain replied, finally understanding, "Why you ask, is one who is the offspring of the fallen angels and a servant of the Bloodstone, a prisoner of the dark-king?"
"Yes."
"A painful tale," the giant answered, "but I will recount it. For the son of Bra'Adan."
Jack was too shocked by the giant's words to deny them. "You know who I am?"
"I do indeed," the Jahrkirin replied, its deep voice filled with a surprising note of humor. "It is for your sake I am imprisoned here."
"Among my people," the giant began before the dumbfounded Jack could interrupt, "I am Bahrah'nahir. In the Jahrkirin tongue it means 'The One Who Dreams.' Only once a generation is Bahrah'nahir born among the Jahrkirin. To him is given the power to see the path which his people must take to survive for another generation in the icy wasteland we inhabit. Since the dawn of history our path has always been to remain apart from the other races, for though our strength is great, we are few in number and cannot compete against the Children of Yh. Only once in our existence has the dreams of Bahrah'nahir taken my people from our solitary existence. Those dreams led us south, drawn to battle by the risen Bloodstone and the call of its new master, the dark-king Graith. You will recognize the period of which I speak as The War of the Stones."
Jack nodded silently in the darkness. Though he knew little of the Jahrkirin, he knew that much at least.
"An unfortunate time in our history,” the giant sighed. “It is known to the Jahrkirin as The Time of Sorrow. After the dark-King's forces were finally defeated at the siege of Gorthiel, the few Jahrkirin who escaped the battle separated themselves from the other races and we once again returned to our home in the north. There we have remained in isolation for the last eight centuries, shunned and hated by all."
"Why have you returned to the south now?" Jack asked fearfully, though he knew the answer already. Graith was stirring from his long slumber. The battle between the Sunheart and the Bl
oodstone was about to resume. Resume, if he had not been taken captive and had chosen a path leading him to Ljmarn’s sword and not to captivity and death.
The giant's reply however, was one he could never have expected. "I have come to serve you, Son of Bra'Adan."
"I...I don't understand." Jack whispered, "To serve me? I thought the Jahrkirin were..."
"We have been servants of the Bloodstone in the past," the giant admitted regretfully. "But no longer. The time has finally come for my people to assume their rightful place among the other races of Aralon. As Bahrah'nahir of the Vestir'nah, the task of this reconciliation has fallen upon me. This I will do. With the help of Aralon's High King."
"Aralon has no High King." Jack replied wearily.
"A fact soon to be rectified," the giant said. "Seeing how you have finally returned."
Though Jahrkirin's face was concealed by the darkness, Jack could hear the unmistakable confidence in his rumbling voice. "Are you saying that...that you're..." His mind whirling with confusion.
"I am here to insure the son of Bra'Adan fulfills his destiny." Maelcain finished for him. "I am here to ensure you draw Ljmarn's sword and assume his vacant throne."
Wild hope surged within Jack's breast. Had he truly found an ally in the heart of the citadel of the dark-King? Could this giant hidden by the darkness, an enemy of humankind since the beginning of time, be here to aid him in his greatest hour of need? Or Braedan thought suddenly, was this merely some cruel, elaborate hoax prepared by Nalon-Lox to give him false hope; hope that could be crushed later for the amusement of the dark-King and his minions when the ruse was revealed? No! It couldn't be! Not if Yh, or God, or whatever being shaping his destiny still had some measure of control over the universe. His fate was to claim Yhswyndyr and to face the Bloodstone! He had to believe that! He might lose the battle when it came, but was another matter entirely. The battle would be fought! Jack Braedan suddenly knew this with every fiber of his being. Whether this giant concealed by the gloom was lying to him now was of no consequence. Somehow, some way, Jack would escape his captors and the depths beneath the Iron Tower and fulfill his destiny.
"If what you say in true Jahrkirin," Braden said quietly, "tell me how you mean to do this. Aren’t you a prisoner the same as I am?"
"A minor...inconvenience," the giant replied. "Though in truth, I had not foreseen I would be imprisoned within these walls. My plan had been to take you from your grim'Hiru captors before they had reached Gorthiel. It was the course my visions foretold. I and four others had been lying in wait for you in the hills beyond Gorthiel. Our plan was to fall upon the beast-men as they reached the plain and take you safely away from this place before the Iron Tower knew of your arrival. Unfortunately, we were...betrayed."
"Betrayed?"
"By my brother," the giant said quietly. "The one now known as the Jailer."
"That...thing is your brother?" Jack whispered, recalling the monster who had carried him to this cell.
"He was." Maelcain spat, the pain and disgust in his voice clear. "His name was once Senicael, and...he was my twin."
"Twin!" the giant laughed bitterly. "A word of joy transformed into a curse! We were the first such pair in nearly three generations. It was seen as a great omen by the elders. Later, when I was revealed as the next Bahrah'nahir, it was thought to be further proof of the great events forth-coming. When I reached my fullness and dreamed of the future reconciliation between our people and the other races of Aralon, it was met with overwhelming joy by all Vestir'nah."
"All except Senicael?" Jack suddenly guessed.
"Yes," Maelcain sighed. "Though even to question the Bahrah'nahir is considered blasphemy among my people, he argued against making peace with the race of Man and the Ailfar. But Senicael was my brother, my twin and I bade the people overlooked his sin. How could I have known he also possessed the sight? Or his vision of the future was in direct conflict from mine? As time went on his objections became more vehement. Finally, our arguments resulted in blows, and I could no longer restrain the elders. Never in the history of our race had a Bahrah'nahir been struck by another of his kind. Senicael was imprisoned and sentenced to death."
"It was then Senicael revealed he also possessed the sight, and in his vision of the future the Jahrkirin would once again seek allegiance with the dark-king. After the final battle, he foresaw we would rule over the other races as masters, as our ancestors would have done if Yh’gar had defeated Yh’Adan. He passed all the tests. He was also a Bahrah'nahir. His execution was delayed while the elders debated the fate of our race, whether to follow my vision of the future or his. But before the council could decide which of us would lead, Senicael escaped."
"We followed of course, but a great blizzard arose out of the north the likes of which we had never seen before. The storm obliterated all trace of his trail. Many of his hunters died in the storm, overcome by the elements. I thought Senicael also dead, for no one, not even a Jahrkirin, could survive alone in such a tempest of ice and snow. Until he appeared that day leading a horde of grim'Hiru and ambushed my party in the hills. He slaughtered the four others with me while they were bound helpless before him, using the great ax he now carries, I...was draped in chains and brought to this cell. Here I have languished since, waiting for the one I came to save to join me in the darkness."
Braedan no longer doubted the giant. The truth could be clearly heard in the painful words of his tale. "So what do we do?" he asked.
"We wait." Maelcain said.
"For what?"
"I will know the moment when it comes Son of Bra'Adan," Maelcain stated confidently.
"My name is Jack, not Son of Bra’Adan," he said, and the giant began to chuckle softly. "What's so funny?" he asked, confused by the laughter.
"In the language of the Vestir’nah," Maelcain replied, "Jha'ak means 'Bridge.' Can there be any doubt? You will be the one who bridges the gulf between my people and the other races of Aralon."
As the Jahrkirin continued to chuckle quietly in the darkness, Jack removed his shirt and began to dab carefully at the wound on his scalp. His struggles soon drew the attention of his cell mate and a rustle of chains could be heard in the darkness.
"Forgive my manners…Jack, the bridge between our two peoples should not meet in the dark," Maelcain said, and began to chant quietly. Soon a soft, yellow glow appeared in the gloom. As the light grew, Jack realized the source of the light was coming from something the giant held in his hands.
"The Tears of Yh’Adan," the Jahrkirin said reverently, placing three egg shaped stones on the floor between them.
With the darkness dispelled, Jack received his first glimpse of his cellmate. It was difficult to believe the person sitting so close to him could be the brother, the twin, of the thing who had met Nalon-Lox in the darkened corridor. The monster known as the Jailer had been a misshapen horror, a creature lacking the barest shred of humanity. Maelcain however, except for his tremendous size, was not at all frightening. He was well formed and handsome, with sharp, angular features and eyes like two pools of old ice, a cold gray reflecting the glow of the yellow stones with a surprising warmth. Close cropped hair the color of rusting iron crowned his head, and a short beard bristled like steel spikes from his jutting chin. When he smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkled like sun dried leather.
"From the look on your face," the giant laughed, "I am not quiet the monster you expected."
"No." Jack admitted softly, "You are not all at like..."
"Senicael has changed," Maelcain nodded slowly. "Once looking into his face was like viewing my own reflection in a still, mountain pool. But now...it is as if his coming here to this evil place has warped his flesh to match the hate decaying in his soul.
"It is the Bloodstone," Jack said quietly. "It's somewhere close. I can...feel it."
"Yes," Maelcain sighed heavily. "It is close. And it becomes stronger with each passing day. As does..."
"I know," Jack whispered. "He
is close too."
"At night He taunts me in my dreams," the giant said, "Mocking my hope for the future of my people. Only you, Son of Bra'Adan, can prevent the doom He has bestowed upon Senicael from becoming the fate of all Vestir'nah."
With those words Maelcain extinguished the glowing stones and returned to his corner of the darkened cell, leaving Braedan to contemplate his destiny. Only you, Son of Bra’Adan. Only you. First Tereil. Now this Jahrkirin Bahrah’nahir was entrusting the future of his people to him. And they were his enemies! They were not even human! For the first time Jack began to truly understand it was not only the people of the Whesguard who depended on him to save them from the return of the Bloodstone, but all races of Aralon. Including those who served its evil master. He sat for a long time in the darkness, struggling with the terrible realization his responsibility encompassed an entire continent.
Perhaps even this entire world.
The march of time passed slowly in the dungeon beneath the Iron Tower. Days, weeks, months went by perhaps, the tedium broken only once a day when the Jailer brought food to his two prisoners. If the thin, tasteless gruel he shoved through the slot in their cell door could be called such. Occasionally, small chunks of a stringy, half cooked meat was added to this meager fare. Without any way to determine what kind of animal the flesh originated, or if it came from an animal at all, Jack was reluctant to sample this inclusion to their diet. When he saw Maelcain also treated this portion of their meal with distaste, he felt his suspicions confirmed and left the meat untouched in the bowl. This amused Senicael immensely and he took great pleasure in devouring what they discarded as if it were a choice delicacy.
"You do not know what you are missing," he taunted, licking his fingers noisily. "Or who." The Jailer's maniacal laughter at his jest echoed through the subterranean corridors of the Iron Tower long after he left the pair alone in the darkness.
Far beneath the earth in the gloomy dungeons of Gorthiel, unknown to the Right Hand of Darkness or Nalon-Lox, or even to the insane Jailer, a dangerous alliance was slowly being formed. In the blackness at the heart of doom, two mortal enemies, a Bahrah'nahir of the giants and a man of destiny, were slowly becoming friends. Surrounded by servants of hell, chained beneath a citadel mortared with blood and powered bones, the fight against evil yet sleeping had begun. And all because of boredom. All because two prisoners, trapped in the crushing gloom of confinement, began to share stories of happier times to pass the time.