Then something tangible popped into Maelich’s head. It was Mountain’s face. He glanced around, but the scrod was nowhere to be found. Mountain was almost the size of a lowland scarra, probably not near the size of a mountain scarra. He had the same pointy snout and ears though, and the same icy, blue eyes. Maelich had never actually seen a scarra in real life. He had only viewed them in paintings and pictures built in his own imagination based on things he had read in books. It occurred to him—based on what he did know of the mysterious pack animals—it was quite possible Mountain had scarra in his bloodline. He was quite a bit larger than any scrod Maelich had ever encountered. Where was that animal anyway?
“Mountain,” he called out, barely able to discern his own voice above the wind.
The dingy gray surrounding him slowly began to melt away. Melt wasn’t quite right though. Evaporated was more like it. It dissipated like thick fog burning off of a field beneath the fierce glare of a rising sun. After a few moments Maelich realized he was standing atop a mountain. Based on the snow beneath his feet it was a rather tall one. Immediately after he made the discovery, he realized the gray hadn’t completely left. It seemed as if he were inside a globe within a cloud. If not a globe, perhaps it was a dome on the mountaintop, forty feet tall and the same distance in any direction. The peak he stood upon was almost perfectly flat and ended just shy of the dome holding back the gray. Immediately to his left rested a perfectly round boulder that must have been at least ten feet tall and just as wide. Before he could question why it didn’t roll one way or the other being almost perfectly rounded while at the same time being blasted by the fierce wind, a familiar, white horse walked out from behind it.
“Your journey yet awaits,” the white horse’s tone was so matter-of-fact it was almost unsettling.
Maelich shrugged, “I thought I had already begun.” He scratched his head and added, “And I thought you weren’t going to visit me again until I reached the Sea of Sadness.”
The white horse replied in the same impossibly matter-of-fact tone, “You have meandered slightly off course and fallen a bit behind schedule. I told you I was your guide. I have come to guide you. Now you must make haste to the Sea of Sadness.”
Maelich realized the wind was no longer blowing but couldn’t figure when it had stopped. The thought held his mind briefly as he and the white horse stared at each other, both adding nothing but silence to the conversation. Finally, Maelich gave up the fruitless contemplation and said, “You told me you only knew the beginning and the end of my journey. The rest was to be my own. Have the rules changed, or did you lie to me?”
“The journey has not changed, and I have no cause to lie. As your guide, my only cause is to keep you on course.”
Maelich squinted with his left eye and said, “Why the need for haste?”
“The journey has begun, and now it must be finished.”
“The last time we met you told me it did not matter when I completed this journey just that it must be completed. I ask again, why the need for haste?”
“I said it did not matter when the journey was begun,” the white horse corrected. “Now that it has begun, it must be finished.”
Maelich turned and took a few steps away from the white horse and the big round boulder he was standing next to. As he turned back to continue speaking, he gasped instead. The mountaintop was gone along with the big, round boulder, the snow, the overbearing gray, and the invisible globe holding it at bay. Maelich now stood on top of perfectly-still water an equal distance from the white horse as he had been on the mountaintop. The stillness continued for roughly forty feet in any direction. Beyond that the waves were monstrous. They scraped the dull, red sky as they climbed ever higher before crashing down.
“You seem distressed, Maelich,” the white horse continued in his damnably matter-of-fact tone. “What troubles you?”
“I am still not overly fond of your games, horse,” Maelich’s tone was far off and distracted as he continued to examine his new surroundings.
“I have no games for you to play,” the white horse replied. “You remain in control here as you have always been. I am a bystander. If there is a game being played it is your game, and you play alone. As I have told you several times…”
Maelich finished his sentenced, “The journey is mine, and you are merely a guide to keep me on my path. Yes, you have told me that several times. It occurs to me though; you may not be the most trustworthy of guides.”
“Now that is not fair, Maelich,” it almost sounded as if there were something of a tone in his voice. “I have spoken only the truth to you.”
“So you say,” Maelich shrugged. “You say many things, but you provide little proof. In fact, you provide no proof just words. Words, words, words, you speak the same words over and over again.”
“The truth does not change much from this moment to that. Why would my words change if the truth they describe remains the same?”
“How can I know what you say is true?” Maelich asked. “Like I said, words are not truth they are merely words.”
The white horse paused briefly before replying, “You are correct. Words merely describe truth in the best way they can, and it is probably never perfect. Real truth is something you feel, and it is probably different for you than it would be for someone else. If you search yourself you will know I have only spoken truth to you.”
Maelich drew in a slow, deep breath and let it out between slightly parted lips. “I do not feel any truth. I feel like you haven’t told me anything.”
“I have told you all you need to know up to this point. Apparently, you need to know more, so I will tell you more.”
Silence filled the space between them for several moments until the white horse finally continued, “People will die if you spend too much time dawdling. The longer you take to complete your journey, the more innocent souls will make the journey home to the Lake far earlier than they should.”
Before Maelich could respond, the great, invisible dome that had been keeping the titanic, crashing waves at bay evaporated. He raised his eyes in time to see one falling on him. At the same moment the smooth water beneath his feet supporting him during his conversation with the white horse stopped supporting his weight. Sinking quickly into the drink, the crashing wave forced him down even deeper, pushing him to the depths. Darkness enveloped him as the crushing pressure swirled his body out of control. Once the pressure stopped, stillness surrounded him. He had no idea which direction he was heading in as he began to swim. Up or down didn’t make any sense. Wet and dark were the only tangible things. His lungs burned as his body began to convulse. He couldn’t hold his breath any longer. Water rushed into his lungs as an involuntary breath pulled the sea into his mouth and down his trachea.
Maelich jumped, tossing the water skin Ymitoth had been using to dribble water into his mouth. He flailed, rolling onto his belly as he slid off of Ymitoth’s lap. Three deep coughs pulled moisture from the back of his throat. Another deep breath launched him into a violent fit of coughing that quickly melted into vomiting. The thick, brownish-green liquid rocketing from his mouth looked just like swamp water and smelled twice as bad. He heaved five times before rolling onto his back and looking up at a darkening sky. Mountain sauntered over and licked his face. The scrod’s breath made him want to throw up again. Instead he reached up with his left hand, scratched the big animal behind the ear, and pushed his foul smelling mouth in a different direction in the process.
“Quite a dream ye been having,” Ymitoth noted.
Maelich struggled to a seated position. Ymitoth tilted and swayed with the trees behind him as Maelich fought to bring his world back into focus. “It was the white horse again.”
“What white horse be that, lad?” Ymitoth asked as he reached down to retrieve the water skin Maelich had forced from his hands.
Maelich scratched his head with his left hand as his right continued to scratch Mountain’s head, “The white horse I dreamt about t
hat sent us on this journey.”
Ymitoth shook his head, “Ye never did tell me about no white horse.”
Maelich squinted, “Didn’t I?”
“No, I’d be remembering something like that,” he took a long pull off the water skin and swallowed. Then he took a shallower hit, swished it around in his mouth, and spit it on the ground.
“I was sure I told you about it the first time,” Maelich shrugged. “No matter, a white horse came to me in a dream the night before we left our hut to take this journey. He pushed me off of a mountaintop in that dream. That is what startled me so. This time he didn’t push me or anything. I sunk into a great sea with horrible waves crashing on me. I could no longer hold my breath.” He paused and thought for a moment before asking, “Why were you pouring water down my throat? That’s probably why I thought I was drowning.”
Ymitoth squinted and said, “Ye been asleep for two days. I thought ye might be parched.”
“Two days?” Maelich shouted.
“Aye,” Ymitoth nodded and scratched his chin. “Ye passed out after battling Shellar. Ye ain’t woke since.”
“Shellar,” Maelich’s eyes opened wide. “I killed that vile beast. What of Braggon?”
Ymitoth scoffed, “That vile, treacherous bastard be dead. He’d been nothing but a servant to that beast what ye killed.”
Maelich scratched his head, “It was far too easy for him to trick us. Am I that eager to find adventure I dive in head first without a care for danger?”
“Aye,” Ymitoth nodded and curled the edges of him mouth down, “ye be that.”
After a few moments of silence, Maelich tested his feet. They were far less than sturdy, but he didn’t fall. A dull ache behind his forehead refused to be ignored. He absently rubbed it with the first two fingers of his right hand. Mountain—apparently satisfied his new friend was beyond danger—glanced up at him and then lay down where he stood. Maelich walked a slow circle around the puddle of vomit that had just gushed out of him.
“I must have swallowed some of,” he paused, looked at the disgusting brownish-green puddle, and added, “whatever filled her.”
“Swamp water,” Ymitoth shrugged. “That witch be nothing but a thin skin, swamp water, a big brain, and a hungry stomach. Well,” he paused, “she be nothing but dead now.”
“Where are her remains?” Maelich asked.
“I burned them up,” Ymitoth replied.
“What about the crests for Goechal? We promised we would return any we found. Did you examine the remains?” Maelich’s lips barely kept pace with his thoughts.
Ymitoth chuckled, “Look at ye there, prancing about like a scared child. Have ye no faith in me?” A sly grin found its way onto his face as he kicked over the open sack sitting next to his right foot. Hundreds of prang crests spilled out onto the ground in a pile. “Hopefully, the one she be wanting be lying among this pile I scavenged from that foul carcass before burning the lousy mess up.”
Maelich clenched both fists and thrust them above his head as he let out a triumphant howl. “Yes,” he added as if the howl needed any additional emphasis. “You are a true hero. Forgive me for doubting you.”
Ymitoth smiled, clasped his hands together, raised them above the left side of his head, shook them twice, and then moved them to the right side to repeat the gesture.
As Maelich watched the old warrior cheer himself in mock fashion, he noticed the blood covered tear in the mail of his sleeve, “What of your arm? Are you hurt?
Ymitoth bent his left elbow, peered down at the same forearm, and replied, “Aye, that bastard took me by surprise and got a hold of me blade. I had nothing to block him with so I used me arm.” After examining it for a few moments he added, “Hmm, would ye look at that. It be all healed on its own. She was a deep one too, clear to the bone.”
“Interesting,” Maelich scratched his chin and contemplated the idea for the briefest of moments. Then he added, “We should move. After all of the loss Goechal has suffered in her life, I don’t want her worrying over us for any longer than necessary.”
Ymitoth shook his head, “The sun already be low, and ye be needing a night of untroubled rest to be getting your strength back.”
“Wise counsel as usual,” Maelich nodded. “We can rest and start out at first light.” He rubbed his belly and added, “How about some food then?”
chapter 37
the long, slow road
Small circles of wagons dotted the landscape between the river and the road. They were packed as tightly as possible given the terrain and the sheer number of them. People milled about sticking close the wagons. Some washed along the river while others ate or chatted. Most just wished for something to keep their minds from contemplating their current situation or what dark terrors the future might bring. Leisha and Perrin sat beside a small fire burning in the middle of one of the circled groups of wagons. Both nursed bowls of some kind of stew far less compelling than the thoughts troubling their minds.
“How long?” Perrin asked as she examined her spoon.
Leisha looked up from her bowl, thrilled to have something to do other than stir its contents or think. “How long until what, dear?” she asked.
Perrin sighed, set her spoon in her bowl, and then set the bowl next to her on the log she sat upon, “How long before it stops hurting so much?”
“Which pain would that be, dear? I’m afraid you have suffered many different kinds of pain in a very short amount of time. I am unable to help with the burn or your husband’s dishonorable behavior. I have never suffered a burn like that, nor has my husband ever acted in such a way. Sadly, my answer to the one question I can help you with will probably not fill you with joy.” Leisha paused and tugged at the right side of her hair. “The pain never goes away. I ached for my boy until he returned to me. That is not to say you will never find joy while he is absent from you, but he will always be on your mind. Even if you manage to push it back to the farthest depths of your consciousness, it will always remain waiting for those moments when there is nothing to distract you from the sorrow. It is during those times when it will squeeze your heart and make you question whether or not you want to continue living.”
Perrin managed a dry chuckle, “Ye be correct, Leisha. That answer don’t be filling me with no joy. As for them other two things, this burn don’t really be causing me no more grief, and I be just about done with your son. I love him. I do. But he put a hurt to me like none I ever felt, and it may be quite a time before I’ll be forgiving him for that.”
“I can find no fault with that,” Leisha shrugged. “If I could lay hands upon my son right now, he would need Dragon’s Fire to protect him from my wrath. Mind you, this is not merely for the pain he is putting us through, but all of these people need him. A whisper from his mouth would have ended this war before it began. There would have been no reason for us to flee like rodents in the face of a coming storm.”
“Aye,” Perrin agreed as her gaze peered deep into the dancing flames of the fire.
“Let us not forget the great Dragon’s sister,” Leisha picked her bowl back up and shoved a spoonful of stew in her mouth. She chewed twice before continuing around the mouthful, “She is as culpable in this as her brother. I birth two champions, two gods, and when my life and the lives of those they have sworn to protect are in the greatest peril many of them have ever seen, they are buried in their own sorrows and dramas.”
She shook her head, swallowed the mouthful of stew, and continued the diatribe, “Look at Maelich. I can understand sorrow at the loss of his father, but I cannot imagine the dark place he occupies. I do not even want to think about it. That man has stood face to face with Coeptus. All of the secrets have been revealed to him. He should rejoice at Ymitoth’s good fortune for being called home to peace. Yet he selfishly laments like any common simpleton who knows nothing of the good word or the real truths of this world. Cialia is no better. She is her brother’s equal in all ways except believing in herself.
She sits and waits for him to teach her. Did she not stand before Coeptus just as he did? Yes she did. She stood before Coeptus and was told the same truth from their mouths as her brother. Yet she still behaves as if he is greatness and she is his humble servant. That is why she is absent. She is afraid to lead. Someone always needs to tell her where to go or how to be.” By the end of her rant, Leisha’s voice was just shy of a shout.
Perrin had no more words. As she stared into the fire letting Leisha’s comments sink in they at least took her mind from a place of lamenting the loss of Geillan to a place of deep anger with her absent husband. Anger was far more empowering than hopelessness, and she let it consume her. Maelich should be ruling by her side, and his mother was quite correct in her assessment of the situation. One word from Maelich’s lips could have rained a storm of fire on those invading ships, and the people of Havenstahl would still be safe in their own beds. Instead they were strewn loosely about a dangerous trail with far too little to eat and far too little protection. Her hands clenched into tight fists as she watched the flames dance and thought about the words she would have for him if she ever saw him again. He would know all of the pain and hurt he had caused her, how it felt being cast aside for the company of a corpse, left unprotected with a son who had powers she couldn’t possibly understand, and he would know in no uncertain terms she would never depend on him for anything again.
“The road be secure, highness,” Glord’s voice shattered the silence of the circle. “Ye both should be getting some rest.”
“How safe are we, Glord?” Leisha looked up at him.
“I tell ye that we been at this trail for better than a week now, and we ain’t lost more than twelve.” He nodded before adding, “And those we lost to sickness, not any monsters this trail be offering up. Me men be watching the river to the South, the trees to the North, and the trail to the East and West. We be safe me lady.”
Perrin looked up and asked, “What sickness be taking twelve of us home? Where be Meelah?”
Kallum's Fury (Lake of Dragons Book 2) Page 26