‘As I promised you before, we will now delve more deeply into the story of the long sleep of the gods’, said the Keeper in a serious voice.
‘This part of the story is rarely addressed but you should at least get the chance to ask questions about it’.
He grasped his book that had been lying on the altar and began to read aloud from it. ‘The gods created the Custodian and then fell into a deep sleep.
The Custodian began to perform his task loyally. He kept watch over the creation, just as his rulers had ordered. But after eons and eons of watching, the Custodian began to feel jealous. He became jealous of the peoples he had been guarding, for he had never received a word of thanks.
Jealous of the gods who had realized their plans and were now lying in a deep slumber. Jealous of the fact that he too wanted to create a people and beings with his own will but knowing he did not possess the power for such a creative act.
And so, he fell into a rage and turned against his creators.
He took to himself some animals and FORCED them into a new form. He put them under his power by substituting their free will with his own will. But the peoples of the gods rose up against these abominations which had no place in the harmony of creation, and began to hunt the false creatures, which they now named the Dark Ones. And so the Custodian’s rage grew greater and he began a war against the peoples of the creation. The Dark Days had started.
He forced ever more creatures into a new form and altered their purpose. Even among the thinking peoples he did not desist and controlled the weak-willed amongst them within his power. The peoples looked with horror upon their enslaved brothers and sisters and named them the Low Fangs. He raised powerful armies of Dark Ones to destroy everything that resisted his will.
And he was named, He, who forces’.
There was a deathly silence in the room. The laughter and music from outside seemed out of place, almost surreal. The students looked at each other nervously. No one wanted to ask a question about the terrible events the priest had just described.
Ahren would have had a question last year, but since then he had found the answer. After his fight to free Culhen from the curse of the Adversary he had been so exhausted he couldn’t think any more. The gods had created a whole world. Was it surprising that they had ended up making one mistake? Once it became obvious that nobody was going to ask a question, the priest sighed and said, ‘then let us continue’. He raised his voice and carried on. The peoples fought against His army of Dark Ones but the Custodian’s power was too great, the enforced shapes of the enemy too ruthless.
And so, the peoples pleaded to the gods for support. For it was clear they would be defeated. The gods heard their cries of pain in their sleep but they were unable to awaken. And so they dreamed and gave to the priests the gift of magic.
The priests selected those who had a gift for magic and taught them too how to bend creation. And so, the magicians were born.
With the assistance of the magicians, the Betrayer’s army was held back but the victory was only short. He, who forces touched the spirit of some of those who knew magic, he brought them under his control and so had magicians fighting in his ranks.
And so, the triumphal march began again.
Again, the peoples pleaded for support but the gods were exhausted and their sleep became deeper, so deep that the priests could hardly make contact and many prayers went astray until finally the gods heard.
He, who moulds selected those people with a special gift, and granted them the ability to protect their innermost from the force of the Betrayer. He gave them immortality so that neither age nor hunger nor thirst nor sickness could harm them, only the vulnerability of the body remained.
She, who feels gave each of them a soul-animal to accompany them, as companion and custodian, as protection against the conflict of the coming days. She combined the disposition of Paladin and animal into one spirit so that their love for the creation would never be torn asunder.
He, who is gave them weapons and armour, forged from the depths of his flesh so that they could defend themselves and protect their vulnerable bodies from death.
Thirteen were chosen, and their power was as great as the Custodian’s, and it was divided equally amongst them, so they would not succumb to the same temptations as He, who forces had done.
And the peoples called them the Paladins.
The strength of the gods weakened further, and their sleep became deeper and deeper’.
The youngsters became restless, each of them had heard stories and legends concerning the heroic deeds of the Paladins, who had fought in huge battles and dark caves, many hundreds of years earlier when the Dark Days had been at their worst. These men and women had turned the tide in their favour and thwarted the certain destruction of the Creation. The youngsters were now calling for Keeper Jegral to relate some of these tales but he only smiled gently. ‘I’m sure the elders will be only too happy to tell you the stories later this evening around the bonfire’.
In order to calm the chatter, he read on. ‘The years passed and slowly the peoples of the gods gained the upper hand.
But the way was long, for a large part of the world lay in the darkness of His dominion.
The centuries of strife exhausted the souls and minds of the Paladins, and the gods again showed their mercy.
With all their remaining strength they dreamt up the soul-mates until their sleep became a dreamless blackness and the people were left on their own.
Whenever the spirit of a Paladin was at breaking point, they selected a soul-mate with whom they entered into an eternal bond.
And as soon as a child was born, then the Paladin began to age so they could pass on their task to their daughter or their son and find peace after centuries of battle and sacrifice.
Generation upon generation fought for victory against Him, who forces and the war was successful. Paladin followed Paladin and each one carried their burden with pride.
After three hundred years He, who forces was surrounded, his troops defeated.
But on the eve of victory, He sent forth his mightiest servant and put all his strength into a mental attack on the spirit of a soul-mate.
He sent her images of slaughtered children and promised to protect her son if she surrendered to his power’.
Sobbing could be heard from among the pupils but the Keeper continued relentlessly. ‘Her spirit broke, torn between her love for her partner and her fear for her son, and so she took a dagger and stabbed her partner to death in his sleep.
And so, the thirteenth Paladin was dead and with him each succeeding child of each Paladin. His companion disappeared into the night and was never seen again.
When the new morning broke, the will of the Paladins was broken. Only as thirteen could they destroy the power of Him, who forces and so the mightiest magicians of the peoples with the help of the twelve Paladins cast a spell on the weakened Adversary, he having used up all his strength in the night of blood.
The creation was saved and the enemy spellbound. And so, the Paladins have kept guard until the present day. They left their companions, for their vulnerability through their soul-mates had been revealed, and remained behind alone and ageless in the world’.
Keeper Jegral closed the book and now spoke without notes. ‘These great men and women have made a great sacrifice to protect those they love, and all of us. After all these centuries they are still out there, guarding us. Their names have been forgotten, just as they had wished. We only know of a few today, and they have made their own way’.
Ahren had already heard of the War Emperor from the South, who, according to rumour, was a Paladin. But from what had been reported, he didn’t exactly sound like one of the gods’ defenders, and so he had put it down to mindless gossip.
The priest looked around the group and saw he could not expect a discussion after such a heavy lesson.
‘The Three be with you’, he intoned and dismissed them with a wave of the hand.
The darkened mood was instantly forgotten and with a cry of joy, the boys and girls tumbled outside and into the festivities.
Ahren set off home to the cabin that night in high spirits. The food had been delicious and he had joked around with Likis and Holken and exchanged glances with some of the girls. Falk and he had achieved hero status and the white wolf at this side attracted looks.
He danced around Culhen playfully and the wolf, for his own part, ran barking and jumping between his legs. The light from the village shone from behind them, as the celebrations were still in full swing.
Suddenly the wolf pricked up his ears and stared into the darkness. Three shapes appeared out of the darkness in front of them. Sven and his cronies, armed with wooden planks, spiked with nails.
The three moved menacingly forwards and Sven snarled, ‘it’s payback time’.
Ahren almost burst into laughter. He’d been expecting something like this and his master had always drummed into him, ‘know the methods and goals of your opponents, and you have a big advantage over them’. Ahren had only drunk a little. This wasn’t like the Autumn Festival. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. He strode fearlessly up to the three boys, Culhen by this right leg. After the events of last winter he wasn’t afraid of the three.
The attackers looked at each other uncertainly. They hadn’t expected such a reaction. The first one raised his arm somewhat hesitantly to prepare to strike but Ahren kicked him in the standing leg and the bully landed in the dirt, his cudgel clattering harmlessly on the path.
The attackers froze for a moment, then Sven and his crony tried to attack him simultaneously, but Culhen was snarling and baring his teeth threateningly. In this way he kept the second attacker in check, so that the trainee Forest Guardian could concentrate on Sven.
The coward dropped back a step and prepared to strike but Ahren was already too close. He grabbed the hand holding the cudgel and twisted the miller’s son’s arm swiftly behind his back. He could only form a strange looking o-shape in his mouth as he was forced into a summersault and landed with a crash on the trampled earth. Ahren calmly picked up the two cudgels and turned to his last opponent, who was staring scared-stiff at Culhen.
‘Well?’, asked Ahren and threatened him with a weapon in each hand.
The rascal gave a quick scream, dropped his weapon and took to his heels.
Ahren flung the cudgel into the undergrowth and walked calmly onwards without looking back at the groaning boys.
He had hardly gone twenty paces further when he heard a voice among the leaves. ‘Good work, boy’.
Ahren looked quizzically at the edge of the forest and Falk stepped out of it. ‘Master, you’re not still celebrating?’ The apprentice had headed off earlier and had left Falk, deep in conversation with Mistress Dohlmen.
‘I’d been keeping an eye on those three and it was obvious they were up to something. Just wanted to see if you needed help’. Falk shrugged his shoulders.
He walked beside Ahren with an arm on his shoulder and so they continued towards the cabin.
Chapter 12
He found it difficult to maintain the necessary concentration as he awaited with suspense the return of the magician he had sent forth some weeks previously. He hated having to wait so long but caution made more sense now than unbecoming haste. Better a slow and certain result upon which he could build.
At last the air above the magic net vibrated and the trance within which he found himself enabled him to draw immediate conclusions regarding its source.
In Hjalgar then. The chalk drawing was becoming ever more crowded and complex as he added new lines.
The net was closing in.
Ahren’s training continued and the boy and his wolf grew in body and spirit. Falk had now moved on to training his apprentice in using bow and arrow while in motion and they were now camping more often in the wilderness as their trips often involved more than a day’s march.
The summer was wet and often very cloudy but Ahren only noticed this in passing. He was now catching his own game and was able to exchange this for Culhen’s favourite meat. The lessons in bare hand-to-hand combat were now expanded as he learned fighting techniques with the dagger, which up to now Ahren had been carrying with him unused.
The time for picking new apprentices had passed by and not a single craftsman or woman had registered. The boy was doubly delighted that he had been chosen the previous year and threw himself even more into his training. This didn’t go unnoticed and so Falk made the lessons even more challenging. Falk didn’t beat around the bush but now set him tasks that he would have demanded of himself. Every evening Ahren fell into bed exhausted but happy, while Falk lay in front of the cabin under a tree and had hushed conversations with Selsena.
What are you thinking about? she asked silently one dreary summer’s evening.
About the Blood Wolf, answered the Forest Guardian tersely.
Why? The animal is dead and the young one is developing splendidly, was the impatient answer.
Falk wasn’t sure if she meant the wolf or his apprentice. His reward for this thought was an uncomfortable head butt from the horse.
It makes no sense, said Falk in his thoughts. She was crippled and pregnant, that’s why we noticed her so late. She was old enough to be careful and have regard for her weaknesses.
The Elven horse rolled her eyes. We’ve gone over this ten times already. It wasn’t your fault, her behaviour was completely untypical.
Falk responded, That’s not what I mean. There were at least a dozen better hiding places between the Pall Pillar and this forest. Why here of all places?
You think too much, Selsena calmly replied.
Falk stared out into the forest and hoped she was right.
The year went by and soon autumn was coming to an end. The Autumn Festival came and went. At the end of his fifteenth summer Ahren got new leather gear because he had outgrown the old set, and he gave his master a carving of the Blood Wolf they had killed.
‘You never took a trophy with you that time. Now you have one, master’, Ahren said proudly.
‘Should I be running around the place with one of his mother’s fangs?’ said Falk with a knowing look, pointing at Culhen, who had pricked up his ears immediately and tilted his head to the side. Then he ruffled Ahren’s hair and said, ‘thank you, that’s good work’.
The Autumn Festival had been a pleasant distraction but was soon a distant memory. Ahren had laughed a lot and drunk a little with his friends. He and Sven avoided each other. He had seen nothing of his father, but he had heard that he was continuing to exchange his unexpected fortune for alcohol, with grim determination. Perhaps that was the only form of peace that the troubled man could achieve.
The winter was mild and stormy, a somewhat colder version of the previous summer, and Falk now let the boy spend the occasional night in the forest so the that he could put what he had learnt into practice. When the spring returned, Falk grunted contentedly, ‘keep going like this and the year after next you can do your Long Week’.
Ahren was happy to hear this. The Long Week was the final test to become a Forest Guardian. The subject was taken into the wilderness where he had to survive for a week with only his dagger, bow and a quiver with five arrows. If the apprentice returned, he was a Guardian. And he would receive a distinction if he brought a trophy back with him.
But two years was a long time and Ahren wanted to learn as much as he could. Who knew, perhaps his master would send him away then.
The winter finally came to an end and the weather improved considerably. The Spring Ceremony began with great joy, for the villagers were thankful for the unusually mild winter. There had been no deaths this year.
Ahren sat in the front row of the chapel along with Rufus, Likis and Holken. They were beginning their sixteenth summer and now it was time for them to swear on the Gods’ Rock. Likis wore a garment in the colours of the merchants’ guild, while Rufus had simply
chosen his Godsday costume and had attached a pin cushion to his sleeve. Holken and Ahren both sat in the leather gear of their professions, for the oath, according to tradition, had to show the villagers who they were accepting among them and how seriously the person taking the oath was taking his or her responsibilities.
Falk grumbled from the second row. ‘These festivities aren’t really my thing, but his way they’ll get used to the fact that someday it’ll be you guarding the forest. I’m not going to be there forever’.
Before Ahren could react to this morbid thought, the Keeper indicated to them to stand up. The four youths obediently climbed up to the altar.
Keeper Jegral intoned, ‘do you swear to protect the community of the peoples and to respect the Three?’
‘We do swear it’, they responded.
‘Do you swear allegiance to the Three against all false images of life?’
‘We do swear it’ was the ritualistic response.
‘And do you swear to take on the tasks which the Three have prepared for you, and to fulfil them however long they take?’
Ahren found this last question very pompous. Tradition demanded that each of them came forward individually and placed their hand on the bare triangular rock which symbolized the rock of the gods.
Holken thundered in a resounding voice, ‘I do swear it’. And he reverently laid his right hand on the rock.
Rufus followed his example with a more hesitant exclamation. The poor boy’s voice hadn’t completely broken yet and he didn’t want to show any weakness.
Ahren- the 13th Paladin Page 17