by Rex Hazelton
A voice said, “You may come in.”
Awash in a most peculiar magical sensation that accompanied the voice, Jeaf wondered, By Parm Warl's glory, what is this? I'm enraptured by its grace and emboldened by its power!
The heavy door groaned as it opened by itself.
Passing over the threshold, Jeaf saw an old, but distinguished looking man sitting behind a thick stone table located in the middle of the room. A gray cloak's wide hood covered his head; a golden crown, a treasure chest and a ruby encrusted hammer lay upon the granite slab sitting in front of him. Light, radiating from his face, made it difficult for the young Woodswane to distinguish the old man's features. Yet its undulating quality- for it waxed and waned- allowed him, with a little persistence, to make out the stranger's gentle eyes. Crow's feet accentuated their friendliness; while a strong jaw held in place a mouth that looked both relaxed and confident.
“Fane J'Shrym... step near.”
“How do you know me?”
“I saw you in the Womb of Time, My Dear Child.”
“Who are you?” The young Woodswane quizzed the enigmatic stranger.
“I am the Dream-Messenger, the holder of the balances, the watcher and revealer of hearts.”
“Do you have a name?”
“You may call me Whistyme, if you like.” Turning to look over his left shoulder, the stranger's gray robe turned white as freshly fallen snow. His face became youthful. Continuing to gaze over his shoulder, he looked like he was listening to someone speaking from the back of the room.
Looking past the stranger, Jeaf could only see a large pile of embers glowing in a fireplace made of heavy stone.
When the man turned to face the young Woodswane, his original appearance returned. After gracefully sweeping his hand over the stone table, he began speaking. “Behold the Altar of Reckoning. Upon it, as you see, lay three objects from which you may choose only one. Tell me, what do you desire, the crown, the hammer, or the treasure chest?”
“Why must I choose?” Jeaf puzzled out loud.
“You must choose which direction your life will go. These three objects are three doorways leading to three different futures. Unlike some, you have been given the privilege of choice. Fate will not determine this for you.” When he said the word fate, the embers in the fireplace glowed more brightly than before, just for a moment.
“If you choose the crown, you will receive honor from men and find favor with all people. If you choose the treasure chest, you will gain wealth in your life and all the privileges that come with it. Finally, if you choose the hammer, you will be given the power to heal the Breach and deliver the oppressed. The first two choices come with their own set of problems; the third comes with the threat of death; yet, the reward for each is commensurate with the risks they entail.”
Speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, the stranger explained, “Obviously, the greatest of all of these objects is the hammer, for it has the power to mend the Breach and prepare the way for Parm Warl to come. But it also carries with it the greatest peril. In choosing the hammer, you will become the Hammer Bearer who the ancient prophecies have foretold would come to Nyeg Warl in her greatest hour of need. Yet, you must understand, once you place your hand upon the hammer, you can never take it away. For good or for evil, you will be joined to it forever. If this is your choice, you will have to face the darkness living in Nyeg Warl and see it for what it really is. To do this, you will also be confronted with the darkness residing in your own soul. You will look upon that which most people spend their entire lives running away from. All three of the choices sitting before you are good. You can't go wrong.”
Perplexed, Jeaf interjected, “But if all are good, why was I given the vision of the hammer in the Hall of the Eagle King. Isn't it the best of the choices?”
“The best? Maybe. Maybe not. This depends on you. But it is the most difficult choice. That's why you were given the vision. If you choose the hammer, you will be taking on responsibilities surpassing those that come with the crown and treasure chest. Therefore, you were given the Gift of Sight so you would understand what it means to choose the hammer.”
“Yes, my vision was full of darkness, fire, sorrow and pain!” The young Woodswane frowned at the recollection of these things. “Then in the end, the hammer was knocked out of my hand. How is that supposed to comfort me?”
“Comfort? Who said anything about comfort?” Whistyme added. “You were told the truth of what could happen. All the dark forces of Ar Warl will try to destroy you and the hammer. They must do this since you, as the Hammer Bearer, are the harbinger of their own destruction; that is, if you are successful.”
“Jeaf,” the old man called out the young Woodswane's name as if to accentuate his next words, “you're a Fane J'Shrym! Do you know what that means?”
“My mother told me about this the night before I left for the Eyrie of the Eagle,” Jeaf replied. “She said the Fane J'Shrym are the key to Ab'Don's undoing.”
“She is right,” Whistyme added. Then standing taller than Jeaf thought he could, with his head reaching nearly to the rafters, he continued. “In ages past, Shloman J'Shrym ruled over a vast kingdom covering one fourth of the Warl. His reign is still known as the Age of Star's Blood because of the unparalleled peace and prosperity existing at the time. Drawing upon his great wisdom, Shloman wrote the Code of J'Shrym, insuring equity for all people no matter if they were rich, poor, young or old. His glorious reign captured the imaginations of the wizards and the seers of his day bringing them together in the royal city of Mishal Parm. There they formed, what was once called, the House of Light. The magic this place created, caused the blessings of Shloman's reign to flow out into the rest of the Warl. Soon, the Code of J'Shrym was adopted by the other kings and the Age of Star's Blood reached its zenith.”
But alas, as happens with men, while the winters passed by, Shloman's descendants strayed from his example and plunged the Warl into a war bred by selfishness, pride and jealousy. At that time, the remnant of the once great House of Light began to release prophecies telling of a day when a king would rise from among the Fane J'Shrym and lead the Warl into an age greater than the Age of Star's Blood.
“Tragically, the prophecies stirred up jealousy and suspicion among the rulers. To establish the greatness of their own bloodlines, many of the kings founded Houses of Light in their own realms. Using their wealth and power, they enticed Wisdom Hunters to reinterpret the old prophecies in a way that made them and their children appear to be Shloman's true prophetic heirs. Once they had these prophecies in hand, they attacked the remnant of the Fane J'Shrym, driving them into hiding”.
This is how Ab'Don came to power. He had his supporters go about the land claiming he was the embodiment of the Code of J'Shrym and the one who had the prophetic right to Shloman's throne. This along with his beauty and charisma, drew multitudes into his web of deceit. Subsequently, many kings allied themselves with him in hopes the prosperity of the Age of Star's Blood would return to the Warl. They gladly joined him as he marched upon Mishal Parm that was by then in gross decline, to claim Shloman's throne for his own. After a brief and bloody battle with the Motsha, the people who had been inhabiting the old and decaying city, Ab'Don prevailed and claimed the Age of Star's Blood had, indeed, returned to the Warl. Taking the title, Ab'Don Fane J'Shrym, King of Mishal Parm and Lord of the Age of Star's Blood, he began to extend his rule over the rest of the Warl.”
Whistyme's kindly face turned suddenly fierce, startling the young Woodswane by how quickly it changed. A roaring noise swept out of the fireplace; flames lept up into the chimney; the stone table shook. “It soon became apparent to all Ab'Don had not reestablished the Age of Star's Blood,” the dream-messenger growled. “Instead, he birthed an age of darkness whose hallmark has been tyranny and death. In time… the kings rebelled. With the storm clouds of war pouring out death and despair across the Warl, prophecies emerged, bringing hope to those who resisted Ab'Don's will. These forete
llings stripped him of the pretense of being Shloman's heir, and reaffirmed the old prophecies about the true Fane J'Shrym that proclaimed how a king, like unto Shloman, would one day rise out of the ashes of the Fane J'Shrym and usher in the Age of Parm Warl, an era which would surpass the Age of Star's Blood as much as the glory of a man surpasses that of a child.”
When the Warl was rent asunder and the Ar and Nyeg came into being, prophecies about the Hammer Bearer sprang forth out of the hope bathing Nyeg Warl's infancy. It was said, a Fane J'Shrym would reclaim Vlad'War's lost hammer and use it to crush the rock of offense that separated the Warls. The rock is Ab'Don and all he represents. It was prophesied, once this is done, the ancient magic that created the Breach would return to heal the wound that rent the Warls apart.”
“Who's Vlad'War,” Jeaf couldn't help but ask.
“He was one of the greatest wizards to stand among those who established the venerable House of Light, in the summer of Mishal Parm's glory.” Whistyme began tapping his hand on the stone slab as he spoke, near to the hammer, and as he did, his hand began to glow like steel when it's put in a furnace. “Like your father, not only was he a Fane J'Shrym, he was both a blacksmith and an artisan of some fame. The Hammer of Power, his consummate creation, contains the full extent of his magical prowess. In his day, it was also called the Guardian of Mishal Parm.”
The light coming from the old man's face intensified, as he added, “There are prophecies telling how the marriage of a Candle Maker who is not a Fane J'Shrym and a forger of steel who is born to this bloodline will give birth to the Hammer Bearer. Since this marriage symbolizes the healing of the breach that still exists between the peoples of the Warls and the Fane J'Shrym, it is only fitting the union, exemplifying this healing, would birth one who will prepare the way for Parm Warl to come.”
Ab'Don and his servant Koyer know this well. So, they will bend all their power to prevent this from happening. That is why you were shown the hammer being knocked out of your hand in the vision you were given in the Great Hall of the Eagle King. Is it any wonder, the risks you will take are as great as the prophecies themselves?”
“What are you saying? Am I destined to become the king you've spoke about?” Jeaf was troubled by this prospect.
“The king?” Once again, the stranger looked towards the fireplace before he spoke. And as before, his face took on a youthful appearance, his robes turned bright white. “That, Fane J'Shrym, is for another dream. And whether you'll be the one to dream the dream, I will not say. But for now, I will submit, Vlad'War was no king.”
Bending forward and resting his hands on the stone table, hands now glowing like molten steel, Whistyme came to the point. “Now, Jeaf Fane J'Shrym, you must choose!”
“Sir, I have no choice but one. I must either pick up the hammer or decline to do so!” Jeaf spoke from frustration that comes from the harsh inevitability truth sometimes imposes on guileless people. Struggling with the idea his life was predetermined, the young Woodswane felt trapped and was venting his dilemma.
“You're wrong, Jeaf” Whistyme quietly but firmly replied. “Your fate is held in your own hands. You don't have to become the Hammer Bearer. If you choose a different path to follow, another will arise and attempt to fulfill the prophecies, maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but one day.”
Suddenly Jeaf found himself standing in a cave filled with a small herd of goats and sheep. In the corner, where a makeshift home had been constructed, the young Woodswane watched a woman giving birth, beside her hung a Candle Maker's robe. Behind her husband, who was caught up in his wife's painful screaming, an anvil stood among a brace of swords. The air, in that place, was filled with residual smoke. It grated against the young Woodswane's lungs as he breathed it in.
I have felt air like this before, Jeaf surmised, remembering his vision at the Eyrie of the Eagle, in Ar Warl! And with that thought still in his mind, he found himself standing before Whistyme, once again.
“This is too much to ask, too soon!” Jeaf objected.
“You are wrong again. All the choices you've made in your short life have been leading up to this moment. You would not have been offered the hammer, if you had not been willing to cleanse your own soul from the darkness hiding within.”
Jeaf understood Whistyme was referring to his dream about the hill of dirt and his battle with the odious creatures that made their homes there. “So, today's choice is not the first of its kind I've had to make?”
“Nor shall it be the last, Fane J'Shrym,” Whistyme replied. “For the hammer cannot be knocked out of your hand, as you saw it being done in your vision, unless you choose to release it.”
The young Woodswane could hear his heart throbbing in his ears. Koyer's rotting breath, coming as a threat, suddenly permeated the air. The memory of the twirling candles he summoned to himself filled his mind. What should I do? Who will help me make my choice?
Looking at the golden crown laying upon the stone table, Jeaf was able to visualize himself following in his father's footsteps, forging swords of such beauty and strength his fame became known all over Nyeg Warl. Turning to the treasure chest, he saw pictures of kings coming to lay down untold wealth to purchase his handiwork. Scenes of feasts, castles, lords and ladies flashed before Jeaf's eyes. He saw himself as the master of a school dedicated to the sword and the candle, a school where he trained the cream of Nyeg Warl's youth in the art of swordsmanship and in the knowledge of the magic dwelling in the candle's flame. Yet, a blemish remained throughout all these wonderfully tantalizing scenes. In the midst of the festal crowds, Jeaf saw the tall man with the milky-white face standing, watching, waiting, his presence telling Jeaf the choices came with a fly in the ointment.
Burn him to ashes! Anger and frustration filled the young Woodswane's mind.
The Soldier of Truth's mocking presence strengthened Jeaf's resolve to make his choice. He knew all would be in vain if he were not willing to extract the odious creatures that hid themselves in the dark holes boring their way into the warl's heart. He must not allow them to remain! As long as what they represented lived, all else would be in jeopardy.
Pointing to the hammer the young Woodswane said, “I've made my choice!”
Whistyme, whose garments flashed whiter than a lightning bolt and whose face became as youthful as Jeaf's own, snatched up the hammer and shouted in triumph, “YES!” Lifting the ruddy weapon high above his head, he brought the hammer down upon the table's top. An explosion was heard and the Altar of Reckoning was shattered on impact.
“There'll be no more children sacrificed on the altar!” Whistyme shouted as his appearance flickered from old and wizened to young and vibrant, time-and-again.
“Now, before I give you the hammer, you must be told the law govering its use.”
Magic crackled in the air surrounding the mysterious stranger, charging it with invisible currents of energy Jeaf could feel vibrating against his skin. The man's voice echoed upon itself, layer-upon-layer, accentuating the importance of the instructions that would follow. “The hammer is, indeed, your's forever, but you must first pass a test before its full power will be entrusted to you.”
“And what might that test be?” Jeaf shouted so he could be heard above the echoing voice resonating throughout the room.
“The first three times you use the hammer, its full power will be unleashed; but your first three strokes must be made in wisdom, or else the hammer's power will be uncertain from that time forth.”
“What do you mean, its power will be uncertain!” Jeaf had to shout even louder to counter a roaring sound coming from the midst of the coals laying in the fireplace, a roar that grew in volume as each moment passed.
“First, it will lose much of its virtue. Second, it will not always respond as you want it to; it will develop its own mind and try to bend your will to its own. Third, the hammer will emulate your soul's imperfections.”
“If what you say is true, then by giving me this hammer, aren't you ris
king unleashing a potentially harmful force into Nyeg Warl if I fail the test,” Jeaf exclaimed as he braced himself to withstand the stranger's reverberating voice.
“Very astute, Fane J'Shrym! But that's a risk we're willing to take.” Whistyme's eyes momentarily flashed, filling the room with sky blue light before he continued to explain. “The hammer is not being casually given. We have been watching you, your father, his father and his father's father. You are ready! The hammer's power will soon be given to you.”
“We? I don't understand!” As Jeaf spoke, the coals sitting in the fireplace burned bright like his lungs had become a bellows and his words the wind that brought the coals to life.
“YES, we are The Dream-Messengers, The Time Watchers, The Holders of the Balance, those who reveal man's heart. We are the substance of magic. We are the heart of the warl and the mind of the heavens above.”
“Are you the Singer?”
“NO!” A thousand voices joined Whistyme's, as he exclaimed, “We are his servants and the notes of his songs!”
Once this was said, the roaring noise quickly faded and the room became quiet.
“Jeaf, heed my words.” For the first time, Whistyme's eyes looked sad, maybe a little worried; his face no longer glowed; his youthfulness departed; his voice ceased echoing. “When death stares you in the eye, fire will reveal the hammer.”
Not allowing time for questions, the old man added, “I must tell you one more part of the Law of the Hammer before you wake. By becoming the Hammer Bearer, you cannot accept a throne in Nyeg Warl. You will be a great leader of men and a counselor to kings, but you must not rule here. You can only lead by persuasion. By accepting the Hammer, you have chosen to become Nyeg Warl's servant and the instrument that will mend the Breach. Your magic will one day be great. If you survive… it may become unparalleled in the warl's history.”