by Rex Hazelton
“You will have four sons. They are The Four Winds who, along with you, will rise up to gather that which has been lost- the scattered children of the Fane J'Shrym. If you and your sons survive the tests that will confront you, your family will help usher in the long-awaited Age of Parm Warl. This, NOW, is your destiny.”
“Whistyme,” Jeaf implored, “this may well be my future, but what am I to do now?”
“You must go to the Alabaster Mountains and find the School of the Sword and the Song. There, you will meet Ahrnosyn, the one who will teach you what you need to know. Also, you will find your heart's desire in that place. She who is the Prophetess, the one who is destined to give birth to The Four Winds and is herself a Storm Gale that will blow against G'Lude's dark gates, awaits you there!”
Without further ado, Whistyme turned away from the stone table laying shattered on the cottage floor and walked towards the glowing embers sitting in the fireplace. The hammer hung casually in his right hand as he went, his gray cloak turned bright white and his hood fell from off his head revealing long, golden hair cascading down upon his broad shoulders.
Looking back at Jeaf, he was now young again. “Farewell, Hammer Bearer.” And with this said, Whistyme was engulfed in radiant light that rapidly diminished in size until a glowing ember, suspended in air, was all that remained. Reduced to a coal of fire, the Dream-Messenger fell on top of the other embers filling the stone fireplace.
After taking one last look at the heap of coals, resting peacefully in the fireplace, the young Woodswane passed over the cottage's threshold and walked back up the flagstone trail. Once again, the demure musical notes returned as he reached down and picked some of the yellow and purple flowers growing in the valley. The sound of rustling grasses caught his attention. Lifting his head, Jeaf watched the herd of tiny deer pass out of the glen and slip into the shadows laying beneath the surrounding greenwood.
The young Woodswane jerked when a loud splash came from the pond. Surprised by the noise, and by the fact he had somehow fallen to the ground, Jeaf discovered his head was covered by a blanket that was preventing him from seeing what was going on around him. Tossing the cover away, the bright sun, hanging low in the eastern sky, made Jeaf squint. Disoriented and confused, the young Woodswane panicked until he saw Alynd removing packages out of the leaf-boat. The minstrel's movements had caused the craft to make the loud splashing noises that had awakened him out of his dream.
The young Woodswane shook his head to gather all his faculties together and bring his mind back to the real warl. So, it was just a dream, Jeaf said to himself as he stood and picked up the blanket Alynd had given him the previous night. Sweeping the cover up off the carpet of grass, a bouquet of yellow and purple flowers toppled back to the ground. Puzzled by what he saw, Jeaf picked up the blooms and smelled their sweet fragrance.
The minstrel smiled mischievously as he stepped over and took the flowers out of Jeaf's hand. “For me? Why, you shouldn't have.”
“Alynd, I picked those flowers in a dream,” Jeaf exclaimed.
“You've been busy in your sleep, I see.” A sly, knowing look crept over the minstrel's face, as he added, “You didn't happen to meet a very old, young man, or should I say, a very young. old man, did you?”
The young Woodswane replied, “Why yes, I did! Do you know him?”
“Let's just say, I've had the privilege of meeting him before.”
Alynd and Jeaf sat down and began eating breakfast while the young Woodswane explained what had happened to him.
Seeking clarification, Alynd asked, “Whistyme said, 'When death stares you in the eye, fire will reveal the hammer.'?”
“Yes. What do you make of it?”
Holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger, Alynd looked genuinely worried. “I don't know. But give me some time to think on it. For now, let's focus on those things we do understand.”
“Whistyme told you to go to the Alabaster Mountains and find the School of the Sword and Song, did he?” Alynd repeated Jeaf's words.
“Yes.”
“Well, we must be off then. First, we'll travel down the Eyrie River for a time and put some distance between us and those who might be pursuing. Then, we'll leave the river and head west towards the Alabaster Mountains.”
Chapter 11: Laviathon
It was the second morning since Jeaf's dream. The leaf-boat sped southward, carried on the great river's irresistible current.
Singing all that morning, Alynd seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the adventure when a massive mound of water came rushing their way. It was like a great boulder had been dislodged by the river's persistent current and was now rolling directly at them. But instead of rolling downstream, it was, oddly enough, rolling upstream. Higher-and-higher it heaped up until it had become a mountain of liquid, a mountain that soon cracked open revealing a terrifying creature: a neck as large as a tree's trunk snaked high above the river's surface; a long reptilian snout, filled with sharp overlapping teeth, snapped savagely as the neck continued to rise higher still; a long tail thrashed about in the water behind it; great mottled eyes, filled with equal measures of malevolence and confidence, surveyed the leaf-boat as it floated by. Jeaf guessed the creature to be more than three times as long as their craft. I sense arrogance, arrogance and pride, he told himself.
“It's the sea serpent Laviathon, Koyer's ally and Ab'Don's servant!” Alynd's attitude had quickly changed. No longer jovial, a pale of concern washed over his face. Reaching for the leather pouch hanging on his belt, he shouted out a warnin, “Be careful Jeaf, he is a great evil and the father of the crocodon. A spewer of fire and a wrecker of ships, his hunger knows no bounds!” Alynd was steering the leaf-boat towards shore as quickly as he could. “Because he has the ability to speak, Ab'Don has empowered his words with a remnant of his own hypnotic magic. BEWARE!”
While Alynd spoke, the horrible crocodon's neck churned as his fire glands were busy working to conjure up its deadly liquid. Looking like a waterfowl getting ready to spear a passing fish, Laviathon arched his neck backward. Then he lunged forward, spewing his inferno liquid towards the boat. AAAAAAARGH! Igniting into flames as it hit the air, the scorching liquid drove down upon Alynd just as the magical amber light began emanating from the small golden sphere held in his hand. But before Jeaf knew what had happened, his companion was swallowed by the devouring flames exploding upon the river, flames that left a partially charred boat behind… and nothing else.
Vapor rose above the water's super-heated surface, shrouding the reptile's huge shape. Only its triangular-shaped head could be seen poking out of the hot mist. Looking pleased with himself, Laviathon's slit-shaped pupils widened with pleasure before he addressed the young Woodswane. “Greetings mighty Hammer Bearer.” The guttural voice feigned fear as the great reptile slipped into a theatrical mode. “If I weren't so scared, I'd say it's an honor to meet you.”
Jeaf had fallen to one knee as the horrifying scene unfolded before his helpless eyes.
Recovering from his initial shock, stunned but not incapacitated, he reached for a bow and quiver of arrows laying nearby. After throwing them over his shoulder, he defiantly shouted, “Horrible lizard! What do you want with me?”
“Well let's see... how about your hammer or your life,” the huge serpent smiled over the joy he felt in the game he was playing, “or maybe your hammer and your life?”
After pausing to allow the affects of his words to sink in, the crocodon continued. “Ah, it's just you and me now, isn't it? Unless you have other friends to shield you from the kisses I'll blow your way.”
Jeaf noticed a rolling motion in the lizard's neck. Having weathered the first attack, he knew Laviathon was busy producing more of his flammable excretions he would soon regurgitate on the young Woodswane.
“If you'll give me the hammer, I promise I won't try to kiss you again.” Having lied, the giant crocodon swiftly arched his neck to blow the young Woodswane one of his deadly kisses. But befo
re Laviathon could complete his evil deed, Jeaf plunged into the river. As he did, a burst of flame engulfed the craft, sending another pillar of steam rising around the boat as the Woodswane swam frantically towards land.
Scrambling to his feet, on the narrow shoreline, the sound of boiling water greeted Jeaf as he turned to face the monster. Once again, a mountain of liquid raced towards him. And as before, the huge mound of water opened like it were a massive mouth that vomited Laviathon's enormous lurching body onto the riverbank, sending it sliding grotesquely through the mud towards the young Woodswane.
Jeaf scrambled backward to avoid the mass of muscle and scales writhing its way towards him, until he could go no farther, trapped by a steep embankment.
Though the great lizard had legs on which he could stand, he chose to slither through the mud looking like a huge bloated snake. Moving within kissing distance, the serpent stopped and let a deep rumbling chuckle escape from the fortress of teeth guarding his mouth. “I don't see why everyone's so worried about you. Koyer said I should bring some of my children with me, but I told him you'd be no problem to deal with on my own.” Another volley of laughter escaped from the creature's steel-like jaws. “Hammer Bearer, or whatever your name is, you look like you're not much more than a boy. Damn it, my youngest would tear you to pieces!”
Like a cat playing with a mouse, Laviathon, changed tactics. Assuming a conciliatory air, he added, “If Koyer had only known you were just a boy, he would have never roughed up your family like he did. Look, he promises to leave your parents alone if you'll just get rid of the hammer.”
Having said this, the crocodon's malleable demeanor reshaped itself once more. No longer cajoling, he now chose to throw a well-aimed threat at the young Woodswane. “If not…” Laviathon snorted out smoke from his nostrils that magically portrayed a picture of Jeaf's parents chained to a wall of stone, screaming in pain. The picture undulating upon the bulging vapors crept along the riverbank, drifted towards Jeaf like a bad mood.
“No!” the young Woodswane cried out as the evil, carried on Laviathon's breath, assaulted his mind, making him feel dizzy and confused.
Soon, the reptile's magic forced questions to race through his brain. Tormented, he began wrestling with the turbulent emotions assailing him. What am I doing! They were just dreams and visions!
Satisfied with these results, the crocodon continued his speech. “If you have the audacity to take the path shown to you, then you and everything you love will be destroyed. Are you ready to experience the unimaginable guilt and loneliness this will bring?”
Snorting out more smoke, he displayed a picture of Jeaf's own face twisted in agony.
Staring at his pathetic visage, the young Woodswane watched himself sobbing and heard himself say, “What happened to everyone? What have I done? Where will I go?”
In time, another voice spoke out of the smoke, a taunting voice that urged him to forget the prophecies. “They're only myths men use to cope with life's cruelties, lies that give hope when reason can't, stories children need to hear so they can sleep better.”
“You ugly monster,” Jeaf shook his head, trying to clear his mind, “I don't have the hammer!”
“LIAR!” Laviathon bellowed his displeasure. “Ab'Don's a powerful sorcerer whose skill in the black arts is unrivaled.” Laviathon hissed out his words. “He knows you already have Vlad'War's Child in your possession.”
“He must not be that powerful, because I don't have it!”
“LIAR!” he shouted again, angered at the young Woodswane's petulance. “Toss the hammer into the abyss! Even if you don't have it, today's your last. You'll not see another sunrise. I promise you that!” Enraged, the giant serpent dug its sharp claws deep into the shoreline's rock and mud and angrily slammed its massive tail against the steep embankment. Boulders were batted about. An old oak tree, growing on the edge of the embankment, teetered when its exposed roots absorbed the powerful blow. BLAMMM! The embankment was struck again. Roots snapped. Gravel and earth were tossed into the smoke-laden air. Wearied by the assault, the old oak tree began dipping down towards the river's edge.
This time, struggling to regain control of his thoughts, Jeaf was unprepared for the fiery assault rushing his way. His only warning was a bright flash of light that illuminated the evil serpent's vapors. A moment later, the flames were upon him, engulfing him in orange and red-colored flame, burning him and all that was near him. But he was not entirely consumed. For unbeknownst to the young Woodswane, the amber mist Alynd had used to heal the wounds he sustained in his battle with Schmar's river-children was still at work in his body.
Resisting the fire's devastation, the magical mist allowed Jeaf to endure, at least for a few moments. At the same time, it kept the young Woodswane's clothes, shoes, belt, and bow from being devoured, those things the mist had also touched. But he was not spared the fire's pain, a pain that made every nerve ending in his body cry out in agony.
Then the serpent's tormenting vapors parted and Laviathon's long neck snaked through the opening. His mottled eyes were now cold as the grave. His unsmiling mouth was open wide. It was time to eat.
When death stares you in the eye, fire will reveal the hammer. Whistyme's voice filled Jeaf's mind, pulling his attention away from his pain.
“LOOK!” the Dream-Messenger's voice was heard shouting into the steam-filled air.
Instinctively, the young Woodswane looked passed Laviathon, and there, wrapped in the oak tree's exposed roots, lay an old anvil. Though the river's rising and falling over the course of many summers had eroded the bank nearly to the base of the tree's trunk, Laviathon's thrashing tail had dislodged the last bit of earth covering the anvil.
How long had it been there, one could only guess, five-hundred summers, a thousand winters, who knew?
In the instant Jeaf made his discovery, Laviathon's huge head lurched downward. Dagger-like teeth snapped up a huge mouthful of gravel the serpent's target had been standing on, just a moment before. But the young Woodswane was already on the move. Aided by the amber light's healing powers, and driven by an instinct to survive, Jeaf dashed past the serpent and toward the old oak tree.
Having arrived, he pulled on the anvil. Entwined in the roots' strong grasp, the hunk of metal refused to budge. It must be here, somewhere! Jeaf was now committed to the idea that his chances for survival hinged on finding the Hammer of Power. Frantically digging, the young Woodswane scoured the anvil's edges. But all was for naught. And his time had run out!
Once again, the hot vapors, laying heavily on the shoreline, exploded with light and Laviathon's fire bore down on Jeaf.
AAAHHH! The young Woodswane screamed in pain. This time, the amber light's magic began to fail. The smell of singed flesh and clothing filled Jeaf's nostrils. The hot air, he breathed, burned his lungs. Still, the magic's power was not entirely spent. Though quickly waning, it kept the young Woodswane from being completely roasted. But all else was burned. The old oak tree burst into flames and fell over Jeaf, protecting him from Laviathon's powerful jaws. Its exposed roots were quickly consumed by fire. All seemed lost. And then, freed from the roots' embrace, the anvil fell to the ground and a blacksmith's hammer, hidden behind the anvil, fell with it.
Picking up the hammer, Jeaf was dismayed to see it looked no different than any of the hammers his father owned, except for a lattice work of slender grooves running along its wooden handle, grooves the young Woodswane had seen in the vision he had at the Eyrie of the Eagle and four red stones encircling the hammer's top. Yet, he didn't need the memory of this vision to tell him this was no ordinary hammer. He could feel its magic rippling along his burnt flesh. He could sense its power wanting to be released. The Hammer of Power had lain dormant for too long. Now it was time to awaken, and the young Woodswane's touch had done just that!
Cloaked by the old oak tree's burning branches, Jeaf looked down at his arms. They were swelling up like meat on a spit. Why am I not already dead, he thought?
Laviathon was already poised to snap up his meal and crush the young Woodswane between his deadly jaws. Quivering lips parted, revealing a brace of fangs. But he did not strike. It was a rare day when the evil serpent allowed his anger to overwhelm his calculating intellect. And today would be no different from any other. Snarling, the sea serpent studied the young Woodswane, trying to determine how he had survived his incendiaries. Then he spotted something laying in Jeaf's hand, something interesting, something that cut his rumbling growls short. “What are you holding?” Laviathon's voice was deeper than before. And, for the first time, a shadow of doubt crossed his eyes. But he was no pushover. Seeing the hammer only stirred up his competitive juices. The real game was now on.
The crocodon's thorny head weaved from side-to-side as he waited for Jeaf's reply. Saliva, falling from his mouth, burst into flames as it hit the mud, burning like the Fires of Darkness as it did.
The globs of incendiary, sounding like bacon sizzling on a frying pan, startled the young Woodswane. Lifting his face, Jeaf looked up at his ruthless adversary. The smug reptilian smile spreading across Laviathon's long, toothy snout reminded him of Alynd's gruesome death. “NOOO!” he shouted. The anger welling up in him, drove the terrible lizard's toxic magical speech right out of his system. Looking down at the hammer, he wrapped his fingers tightly about its handle.
Seeing what had happened, Laviathon's pupils narrowed to vertical slits as he went into action. Roaring, the serpent sprayed a fountain of fire high above his uplifted head.