“Yes. The legends say that when the soul is loosed from the body, it is no longer able to cause physical harm, but their howls, screams, shrieks and torments can drive a man to madness, cause him to freeze with fear, and become paralyzed until his body is overtaken by a Draugr,” Gerron explained.
“What do you mean, when a soul is loosed from the body?” I asked.
“It is said that the Draugr are disembodied spirits,” Gerron continued. “Ghosts. Here on Haaret they have reentered the ancient bodies of the Lapisians that died when Alapis crumbled. The Draugr thought they could come back to life if they joined their eternally dead soul with a dead body, but they were wrong. What they became instead was grotesque; the living dead. An evil soul wrapped in bones and rotting flesh, still bound by the rules of the damned in that they are trapped within the fog and cannot walk our lands. Many, however, think that if a Draugr can possess the mind and body of a living person, then the Draugr would be able to break the rules of the dead, and walk among us in the light of our realm. That is why you must never look them in the eyes, try to cover your ears when seeing or hearing a wailing soul, and stay close. For if they overtake you, you are surely doomed.”
The sky above us turned grey, like a storm was coming, only there was no wind, clouds or rain. All was still and quiet. Then there was a distant moan that sounded like extreme pain mixed with anger. Each of us silently loosed our weapons and turned slowly in different directions. The sound echoed in the fog in such a way that we could not tell from whence it came.
“We are still protected by the light,” Gerron added.
“Yes,” said Patreus. “But not for long.” Up ahead the gloom thickened, and it seemed dark as night.
“You said they are afraid of the light. What if we made a fire, or lit torches? Would that keep them at bay?” I asked.
“It might,” said Gerron. “It is worth a try.”
“Aye, I’ve got a skin’a whalefish blub, if ye gots a staff and some cloth,” Agimus offered.
Gerron took a staff he had slung across his back and snapped it in two across his thick, muscular thigh. If I tried this with such a sturdy piece of wood I would break my leg, but the fire-hardened staff broke like a twig against Gerron’s massive leg. Patreus tore some fabric from the waistline of his tunic, and he and Gerron tied the fabric around each half of the broken staff, forming two torches.
“Let’s save the first torch for when we get further into the darkness,” Patreus suggested. “Then we will need the second torch to light our way back.”
“We should mark our path as well,” Peitus added.
“Agimus’ tracks should be easy enough to follow, but it is best to be safe,” Patreus said. “I shall leave that task to you?”
“Yes,” Peitus responded, making his first mark on the ground by digging his heel into the dirt and dragging a crude arrow pointing in the direction we came from.
We walked on. Peitus continuously marked the ground, and soon the grey sky overhead turned to what seemed like dusk. The air was so still around us that we could feel each other’s wind draft and body heat as we passed one another. Strange indistinct whispers seemed to fill the air around us. At times they seemed so close that we spun our heads to see who was there, but there was no one. We walked through patches of coldness, feeling as if something had drawn out the warmth.
Then there was another wailing sound, this time much closer. We drew nearer to each other in fear of the unknown; we were in a place where no sane man dared venture, even with an army behind him. It was time to light the torch; we could only see a few generous running strides ahead of ourselves. If something attacked swiftly, we would be ambushed in the dark. Gerron knelt down and struck his flint toward the torch until a spark flew onto to the oil soaked rag. There was light.
He rose to his feet and swung the torch around to our front, shining it in the direction we were heading, up a steady and sometimes rocky incline into the mountain of ruin. We squinted to sharpen our vision, because up ahead there was a figure; spindly and frail, dark and gaunt. It looked like a skeleton, standing on its feet with swirling blackness under the ribcage and between the bones. Its eyes glowed red, reflecting the torchlight in their emptiness. We were at a safe distance, but I did not want to get any closer. We knew not what these Draugr could do.
Then, the wraith opened its bony jaw and let out a blood curdling shriek that filled the lifeless air around us. Our hands instinctively went up to cover our ears. Then the Draugr turned and scurried in the opposite direction, disappearing into the smoky fog.
Reluctantly, we pressed onward into the abyss. The terrain beneath us was a steady incline for some time, with boulders and rubble dotting our path. Likely the remains of elegant and ancient Lapisian architecture, now subsumed into the dead ground of the Sepulcre here on Ahaareta.
Our torch soon flickered and fizzled without notice. We were in darkness. Gerron rustled about to strike his flint on the other torch. The moans and wails began almost immediately. The Draugr were near. With each strike of Gerron’s flint, he illuminated a small area around us, but not enough to see anything with confidence, and only for a split moment. I felt their presence. The air became cold, like winter, and the whispers began. Then Gerron’s spark took hold and the torch was lit, only to reveal with one shocking flash that we were surrounded by the wraiths. Without thought, Gerron plunged the torch into the earth, standing it up like a fence post. He unsheathed his sword. The ring of his blade was overpowered by the maddened screams of the Draugr. The rest of us had our weapons at the ready and began to slash wildly into the frozen air.
The torch did not seem to scare them. They closed in on us. The bones that once held beautiful Lapisian wings majestically into the air rose above the hideous monsters like the spires of Mir’Dinaas, bearing down on us, suffocating us. I averted my glance from theirs, fighting them with my eyes fixed downward, using my peripheral vision to sense their movement. The smoke inside the corpses flickered within like a black flame, giving off no light, only darkness. But out of the corner of my eye I could see their glinting red eyes swirling among the blackness that filled their skulls.
Peitus struck first; his blade clanged against the ribs of one of the wraiths. The walking skeleton then crumbled to the ground into a heap of bones with all limbs disarticulated. A blackness that resembled both smoke and flickering flame rose up out of the heap in the crude, horrid shape of a man. Then it began to moan a deep, low, drone-like hum. The sound was mesmerizing. It filled the air around us, so loud that it was numbing. It was the only thing any of us could hear, and it seemed to drain us of energy and strength. I strained to hear Patreus' muffled commands buzzing in the distance: “Cover your ears!” he repeated, over and over. He was barely audible.
Everyone did as he said and tried their best to remain in a position to fight. Our energy drained from us. Peitus swung again at the spirit but his blade passed through it without harming the Draugr. We were doomed. The sight of this seemed to sap everything from the others. Our weapons were useless against such evil. But I remembered my blade and what it did to the worg in Hem’l Canopy. With one hand on my left ear and the other holding the sword Kalvis gave to me, I lashed out at the disembodied Draugr with all the strength I had left.
My blade seemed to slice the fog itself as it sang through the air toward the wraith. A swirl of light trailed behind its path, and it cut through the Draugr with no resistance from the strike; it went cleanly through the other side, like I swung at nothing. Then the Draugr burst into white hot flames and exploded, leaving behind a hole in the fog for a moment that seemed to let the light back in. There was a peaceful silence that offered a temporary refuge from the drone and gaze of the disembodied Draugr. The Draugr were like black flames that added darkness to the area around them, and my sword was like a gust of wind that blew out the flames, leaving behind light instead of darkness.
The other Draugr howled and turned from us, scattering into the darkness beyond. Th
eir scurrying footsteps clattered and rattled, sounding like wood and sticks rustling rather than the movement of men. Everyone stood in awe upon seeing what had happened.
“A sword of banishment!” Gerron cheered.
“Sending them right back to the realm in which they belong, on the other side,” Patreus added.
“Keep moving back toward the light." Gerron hurried us along. "Our torch may extinguish while we are still in the fog.”
We traced Peitus’ steps back toward the stone wall, and we reached a place where the fog was less thick, and the sky above us was grey. When the torch went out, we were in a safe place, as long as there was still daylight.
“We must be better prepared the next time we go in,” Peitus said. “We will need more torches at the ready, we must light the second before the first goes out, and Valdren must be nearby with his sword when any of us strike down a Draugr and loose it from the host body.”
“Indeed. And we must have something to protect our ears. Perhaps a wad of fabric or some small stones could be placed into our ears to muffle the sounds,” Gerron suggested.
“Dough. We could use bread dough if we had it,” Patreus suggested.
Soon the fog lifted and we were back in the light of day, what was left of it anyway. The sun was about to set. We watched it do so from atop the stone wall. Patreus and Agimus lit a pipe and we sat in quiet contemplation as the day came to an end.
Spirits were high at the budding settlement. Many had gathered fieldstone to build out the wall, and others had found a small stream nearby for water, a wooded area for lumber, and there was even a successful hunt; a large turkfowl, big enough to feed the whole community with the addition of some edible wildflowers, mushrooms, and, of course, my seemingly unending bread ration.
A fire was lit, and the turkfowl glistened as it roasted on a spit in the slow flickering blaze. Every so often a dripping of fat and juices would hiss as it fell to the fire below. A pot of broth bubbled and smoked aside it, positioned just such that the rising steam wafted over toward the turkfowl, infusing it with the delicate flavors of cooked mushrooms, wildflowers and the various herbs that adorned the stew. A large pile of broken bread toasted gently on the lid of the pot, which sat on the ground close enough for the fire to keep it warm, but far enough to keep it from burning. This would be a much awaited and delicious meal.
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Each morning at first light we geared up and ventured into the Sepulcre, our nerves still dulled by our sleepy morning demeanor. I imagined if we had gone in with the full faculties of our wakened minds, we would be much more apprehensive to make this a daily routine. Each day we needed more torches as we went deeper and deeper, higher and higher, into the darkness, further and further from life and light. We each carried a spare torch, slung across our back, and one was always held at the ready to light as the previous torch fizzled. Our makeshift earplugs made of wadded bread seemed to work, but one could not be too cautious. It was best for us to never hear that sound again.
Along the way we passed dead lakes with nothing but puddles of stagnant muck in the center. We crossed dried rivers. We discovered large, strange machines unlike anything we had ever seen; lost Lapisian knowledge, I thought. We wandered through the ruins of Lapisian homes, towns, and statues that were once part of the great Alapis realm. Draped in dust and decay, the statues of ancient heroes stood like ghosts in the lifeless fog. When we held the torchlight to them the light danced upon their faces, seemingly bringing them to life for one last flicker of glory.
Occasionally we would hear the moans of the Draugr, reminding us of the danger within the Sepulcre. Some days we would fight, and others there would be no confrontation from the dead. But as we made our way further into the void, we came upon the Draugr more often. Peitus’ strategy proved to be a good one. I stood in wait until a spirit was loosed from its host body by someone else's sword. My sword seemed to be the only weapon that could banish the disembodied Draugr once it was apart from the body.
One day on a particularly long trip into the Sepulcre, Gerron said that at the top of the mount stood the cemetery that once was part of the great city of Aspina. That was our ultimate destination, where Scievah’s tear in the realms let death into our world. We would not make it there in one day’s’ journey, he said. We would have to make camp overnight in the Sepulcre to reach it. At the cemetery, there would be many disembodied Draugr, for that is where they come into Haaret from the other side, through an old catacomb that lies underneath a crypt, or so it is told. No man was ever there in our lifetime to verify the story; it was something passed down from legend. There would be hundreds of grotesque wraiths as well, since the cemetery housed many ancient bodies of dead Lapisians. We would certainly need more men, more supplies, and more courage to get there.
I feared what would happen if there were too many Draugr for us to handle at once. If more than one or two disembodied wraiths were to overwhelm us and emit the dreaded noise, then that could freeze us in our tracks and allow us to be overtaken by the evil spirits. As we went deeper into the Sepulcre the lone Draugr became a pair, the pair became a few, and the few became many. We needed more men if we were to survive going any further into the heart of the Sepulcre.
When we returned to camp that evening, we made a plan to take the following day to gather enough wood, fabric and oil for torches to last a few days in the Sepulcre. Our next trip in would be our last, with any luck. We would reach the cemetery and find the Divinae. We needed rest as well, since sleep in the Sepulcre would likely not come easily.
CHAPTER 19
I heard my mother scream out in pain, and then there was silence. There were no comforting tones from Hemela to calm me. No soothing musical angelic voices to let me know that everything would be alright. I awoke in a cold sweat, the sky still dark in the early break of morning. The remains of the campfire died out with a cool breeze and smoldered into deep orange embers before turning black. I could not fall back to sleep.
My tunic was tight and uncomfortable across my back, where my wings emerged. It seemed they had grown, now sized to cover a good portion of my upper back. I could move them as well. They felt like small arms. I could bend them at the joint in the middle of the wing, extend them outward, or fold them up to form two ridges. Like my arms, they were made up of two major bone spans, though one was short, which connected to my body near my shoulder blade in a socket. The other, the long part of the wing, connected with the small bone and extended downward to a point.
When I removed my tunic to fix it so that my new appendages were comfortable I felt the cool air breeze through tiny bristles of feathers that began to form on my wings. A chill ran from the tip of my wing, down to my shoulder blade and then right down my spine. I cut a slit into the back of my tunic, leaving enough room to slip my wings through but still keep the rest of my back covered. It was a challenge to put the clothing back on, but I soon learned the way to bend and contort my body and wings to slip in quickly and comfortably.
“Ready to take flight?” joked Patreus, who had just emerged from his tent.
“I’m not sure they are strong enough, but I can move them now.” I turned, showing my progress.
“I would say to keep them covered for safety, but not even the corrupt and impure dare visit these parts of Ahaareta,” Patreus added.
“I will cover them when I don’t need to be agile for fighting,” I assured him. “Patreus I have a feeling my mother is in great danger today, more so than any other day that she is in my thoughts.” I spoke of my dream. “I want to go to her, to my parents, to try to set them free.”
“Valdren, it is far too dangerous. I assure you they would not approve of you doing such a thing, putting yourself and even all of Haaret at risk. It is madness to go there. Madness,” he repeated.
“But if the prophecy is true, then what I do doesn’t matter. It will come to pass regardless of the dangers I experience along the way,” I reasoned.
“It doesn’t work
that way, my boy. A prophecy is a guide. Yes, it is said to surely happen, but free will is always there to change the possibilities. For example, you could jump off a cliff and die today. Perhaps then some other child in the future with the blood of the four races will be bestowed with the powers of the stone. You see?” he instructed. “I can’t even begin to understand how hard this must be for you, Valdren. Please have patience with me.”
I understood his reasoning, but it ached my heart not to try to rescue my parents. If I couldn't save myself in this prophecy, I should at least try to save them, I thought.
Later in the morning I wandered out across the grassland, scanning the ground for anything useful. I gathered some branches for making torches. I quickly fashioned one into a spear as I neared the small stream that ran down along the south end of the wood. The chubfish were plentiful; their oil would be useful. I stopped after catching nearly more than I could carry back. We would roast them for food and catch their oil drippings for lanterns, soaking our torches, and keeping campfires lit in the Sepulcre. When I returned there was a commotion in the awakening community.
“Valdren, come!” Peitus yelled out, smiling. I trotted over to him, dropping my supplies near my sleeping area. Peitus pointed out across the encampment.
There were people; lots of them. We had visitors, men in battle gear, even women and children as well. The men were huddled around something. The herd of them parted as they looked over at me strangely, noticing my wings. At the end of the line stood a man. He lifted his head to meet my eyes. I squinted to see him, but I knew his grin immediately. It was my father!
#
My father laughed heartily with his hands in the air, and I ran to him with a grin on my face that I thought would never fade.
“Father!” I yelled as I embraced him, nearly tackling him to the ground. My hands felt the familiar work of stitched chubfish scaling. He was wearing the cloak I made for him.
The Return of the Fifth Stone Page 26