“I knew little of the great Honce villages,” he said.
“You didn’t know your king?”
“I was already in the west when Aydrian ascended,” Talmadge explained, but just waved his hand and let it go at that. There would be plenty of time for explanations and proper introductions later.
He turned to see Aydrian running far from shore, that fabulous armor gleaming.
“What made the wave?” Talmadge asked Catriona, who was also obviously entranced by the sight of the man running atop Loch Beag.
“The monster,” Memmic answered for her.
“How does he run on water?” Catriona asked.
“Magic,” said Talmadge, and he quickly added, “Not Usgar!”
“This is the magic of the east?”
Talmadge nodded. “He can heal, too. If you have wounded, prepare them for Aydrian’s strong hand.”
“You speak like a fool,” said Catriona.
“That is why Car Seileach gave us the boat. Aydrian healed many. Many who would have died, now live. They rebuild homes instead of funeral pyres.”
“He is strong with magic?” asked Catriona.
“Very.”
“Strong enough to hide the sun? Strong enough to lift the waters of Loch Beag?”
Talmadge stuttered. There was no missing the threat there, and the man almost expected to be assaulted then and there! “No, no!” he sputtered. “No, he was with me when the sun hid, and with me when the lake waters rose.”
“In Memmic’s boat, and you survived?”
“No, on land, near Car Seileach. They had seen him. They sent me to find…” He took a deep breath, realizing that he was veering all over the place here. “Aydrian of the East was with me when the sun hid and the wave came,” he said more calmly, trying to exude confidence, trying to elicit confidence. “I came upon him in a meadow near the willows,” he said. “He is known to me.”
“He was your king.”
“I did’no know that. Not then, and not before when we met by a river far from this land. But I did know that he was no enemy, and so I found him once more, and together we watched the sun hide, and together we watched the water rise, and together we ran to Car Seileach to help them as we could. And we did, all through the day and night.”
“And night?” Catriona asked doubtfully, and murmurs arose around her.
Talmadge understood, and could only heave a sigh. He had just claimed to have spent the night across the lake in Car Seileach, but that story would hold little sway because it would make little sense to the folk of Fasach Crann, who knew that to get to the western village would take much more than one day of canoeing.
Talmadge answered the only way he could, by turning and sweeping his arm out to Aydrian, running across the water, already far from shore.
* * *
His hand glowed with a yellowish hue as he clutched a magical bit of amber, calling upon its powers to keep him above the waters. Of all the magical gems, this one most unnerved Aydrian, even more than flying with moonstone, for the feel of a watery cushion beneath his feet, not only supporting him, but lifting him in his bounds (which were accentuated even more by the weight-reducing powers of the malachite) seemed very strange to him indeed.
He glanced back to see the canoe launch behind him and that only spurred him on faster. If there was something bad out there, he wanted to discover it and be away before any more of the villagers could be caught and killed.
Another sprint, great, leaping bounds, moved him far from shore, and when he glanced back then, the canoe was a distant speck, while before him, the capsized boat loomed large. The beauty of the amber water-walking was that it barely left a ripple on the water, so the ranger let it all settle quickly about him, then peered through the translucent haze.
He was surprised to learn that he could see no hint of the bottom anywhere about. This mountain lake was clearly very deep.
He moved to the boat and knocked on the hull, then put his ear against it, quietly called out, and listened.
He could hear the water slightly lapping at the wood inside, but nothing more. He drew another gemstone from his belt pouch, a green agate, and sent his thoughts into it, that he could detect life.
He saw nothing, other than an occasional flitter that he knew to be a fish.
Still, Aydrian wasn’t satisfied. Anyone inside might simply be too exhausted or frightened to call back, or even unconscious and lashed to the rail. Aydrian rolled up the sleeve of his fine shirt to the edge of his breastplate and checked the knot on a green band of cloth that he had tied there.
He sent his thoughts into that band, feeling the magic of the elves ready and waiting for him.
Simply out of habit, for there was certainly no need, he took a deep breath and let go of his amber magic, sliding under the lake waters, under the edge of the boat and around to come back up inside the overturned craft.
No survivors were waiting for him. Just an empty hull.
He knew he couldn’t stay under the water for long, for it was very cold, but he wanted to explore more. He came back up to the surface, took another deep breath, simply out of habit, and dove again, this time swimming straight down and releasing the malachite magic of his armor, so it weighed on him like an anchor. The elves had taught him to be careful of his descent in deep waters, so he used the malachite, even the amber, to slow himself, and to pause more than once. Breathing underwater was no problem with the green armband of purity.
Down he went, and it began to grow darker all about him. Still, he could see, much farther than from the surface, and gradually began to make out shapes far, far below, to the lake’s deep bottom, he supposed.
He made out one shape—it seemed an underwater mountain, huge and even-sided.
How he wanted to go and investigate further! But he could feel the press of the water upon him and knew that he could not. For all his magic, he could not dive that deep, and worse, the cold of the waters was beginning to creep into his limbs. He feet grew numb.
He called on the malachite to fully free him from the weight of his breastplate, then began to slowly swim upward, going just a few feet, then pausing to let his body acclimate to the lessened pressure. In that moment, he threw as much of himself as he could into the green agate, widening its range in detecting living creatures.
Fish, fish, and more fish. Something else, then, which Aydrian came to realize as a rather large lizard. But no people. He had cast a wide net, and if any of the missing villagers from Fasach Crann were in that net, they were not alive.
Up he went some more, continuing to power the agate most of all, searching to the very end. He had moved for some time, though was still far below the surface, when he sensed something.
Something not human.
Something much greater and more powerful than any human.
He paused in his ascent and followed the sensations of the gemstone, peering down, down, into the gloom.
Then he saw it—not the creature, but its shadow, its snake-like silhouette going on and on, wider than a team of fat oxen standing side by side, longer than a caravan of wagons stretched end to end.
Larger than Agradeleous, the dragon of Behr, a great and gigantic snake-like shadow slithering through the water far below!
It couldn’t be. Aydrian could not wrap his sensibilities around something this … huge, swimming about in an inland lake. Or even in the Mirianic Ocean. He had heard the tales of journeys to the distant island of the ring stones, and never had even those obvious exaggerations come close to the reality of the shadow beneath him.
He thought it might be a trick of the water, some distortion that made this creature, whatever it was, seem larger. Or a giant school of fish, swimming in tight formation.
But no, the agate was screaming in his mind. The sheer power of this living being, this singular living being, overwhelmed everything else.
He saw it. He couldn’t deny it. And then, as it turned, Aydrian realized that it saw him.
His hand went reflexively to his sword hilt, but even as he touched the weapon, he felt himself a fool.
He couldn’t fight this thing with a weapon, any weapon, not even Tempest, his sword, or Hawkwing, his bow. He would need magic, powerful spells—spells that he knew to be beyond him.
Aydrian shook himself from his stupor.
“Magic?” he said skeptically, though it came out as merely bubbles.
He would need an army, and probably a dragon of his own!
But the beast had seen him and had turned, and he felt its approach. He would be swallowed whole, and perhaps that would be the best possible outcome.
Hardly even thinking of the movement, Aydrian threw himself into his amber, the stone of water walking, and flung its magic all about. Upward he shot, slicing through the water like a fired arrow. He drew his sword and put it up before him, thinking the narrower leading tip would give him more speed and some measure of control. He saw the daylight approaching fast, and then he was in it, but breaking the surface didn’t stop his ascent, no, for the amber would not be satisfied until he was out of the water, above the water.
He shot up into the air like a graceful Mirianic dolphin, rising above the water a dozen feet and more before he played out his momentum and dropped back down—but down only to the top of the water, where he began to run.
For all his life, Aydrian ran, maintaining the amber, calling upon the malachite, leaping and bounding, twenty feet, thirty feet at a stride. He couldn’t know if the monster was in pursuit, if it was right behind him, even, because he had released the magic of the agate out of necessity, to focus all of his energy on the two gems that could get him out of there the fastest.
He spotted the canoe, far ahead of him, not so far out from shore.
“Go back!” he yelled, waving his arms. “Turn about! Turn about!”
They couldn’t understand him, of course, not his words anyway, but neither could they miss the frantic waving, or the fact that this stranger, so splendidly armored, was running for his life. They began to turn the canoe, but as skilled as they were on the waters, Aydrian could see that they’d never get it turned about and back to shore in time.
So he ran for them, and he fell deeper into the malachite, and he called upon the bloodstone set in his armor to enhance his strength, and he grabbed the turning canoe by the prow, and he pulled. For all his life he pulled. For both of their lives, he pulled.
The villagers paddled wildly, trying to help, but there was no doubt of what, or who, was propelling this boat as it sped along, as fast as if it had great and wide sails that were full of a wintry gale!
As they neared the shoreline, the gathering there, almost all of the tribe, began to cheer them on, begging for speed. A quick glance over his shoulder told Aydrian why, for a large swell was following the craft.
He knew what it was.
So he ran faster, driving his legs, pushing his feet against the water and leaping off. As he neared the beach, the gathering broke apart, retreating, screaming, and so, when Aydrian hit the beach, he kept running, and kept pulling, and used his malachite to steal most of the weight from the raft and its paddlers behind him. But then they were out, and running by, and Aydrian dropped the boat and sped away.
A swell rolled up onto the beach and broke apart harmlessly, the monster, if it was the monster, not showing itself above the water.
Aydrian stumbled and let himself fall to the sand, thoroughly exhausted.
Talmadge came to him soon after, along with the man he had called Memmic and the woman named Catriona.
“Was it?”
Aydrian nodded. “There are no people alive out there,” he said. “Tell them that their friends are lost. And tell them to stay off the water for a long while.”
“It was the lake monster?” Talmadge asked.
Aydrian nodded again.
“A dragon? A demon?”
“I have seen a dragon,” Aydrian said. “A true dragon, terrible and breathing fire. I do not think it more terrible than this beast.”
Talmadge stared at him, then turned to translate for his Fasach Crann companions.
“Tell them to stay off the water,” Aydrian said breathlessly. “Just stay off the water.”
* * *
Aydrian and Talmadge, too, stayed off the water, when they left Fasach Crann the next morning. They had helped as they could that previous night, clearing debris, and Aydrian using his soul stone to heal many minor wounds—but only minor, to the great credit of the folk of the village, who had fled without question or pause when the wave had been spotted. In this regard, they had found a huge advantage over the victims in Car Seileach, for that town, in a sheltered cove, did not have so wide and clear a view of the open lake waters.
Nor did the next village over to the west, Carrachan Shoal, they were told, and so, with the gratitude of the folk of Fasach Crann, the pair headed straight out to where their efforts and magical healing might prove more critical.
But not on the lake. None were going out on the lake, except one boat Aydrian towed out from shore and anchored, a boat flying a flag of warning to all the other villages.
Even by land, it was not a long journey to Carrachan Shoal—it was actually shorter in distance, though the terrain was much rougher. It would have taken a villager more than a day to make the crossing over the rocky ridge that separated the communities, but with Aydrian’s magic, he and Talmadge scooted up in short order, and from the top, they spied the village of Carrachan Shoal, and saw, to their relief, that the wave had not done considerable damage there. For while the cove itself was shallow, as with Car Seileach, the bend of it had sent the bulk of the wave off to the western side, where there were no structures.
“Hopefully, you will be back in Fasach Crann tomorrow,” Aydrian said.
“Hopefully, we both will.”
“Teach me their language.”
“It would take months,” said Talmadge.
Aydrian held up a soul stone. “I know an easier way, but let us discuss that another day.”
Talmadge looked at him curiously as Aydrian led the way down the other side of the ridgeline. He knew that stone as the one Aydrian was using for healing. He didn’t know, however, that it could also be used for possession, or a spiritual, mental link.
The greeting at Carrachan Shoal was the same as at Fasach Crann—colder, even, and more threatening, for while Talmadge was known there, he was not nearly as friendly with these villagers as with those in the town over the ridge. Still, it was going well enough as he introduced them to Aydrian and explained that this was the man who had brought the boat with the warning flag out upon Loch Beag at the request of Catriona of Fasach Crann.
“He can heal your wounded, as well,” Talmadge was saying. “He is possessed of great magic from the east. Not evil and destructive, as the Usgar, but gentle and warm.”
Many nods came back at him, and whispered conversations went on all about as the villagers tried to come to terms with these two visitors after so devastating an event on their precious lake.
Talmadge took in as much as he could garner from the whispers, giving them time, and looked over at Aydrian with a smile and a nod.
A nod that froze halfway through.
A smile that fell with a figurative thump into a frown.
For there, past Aydrian, was another of the villagers of Carrachan Shoal, though hardly a native.
There, on a roller cart, rested a one-legged woman.
“Khotai,” Talmadge mouthed, but hadn’t the strength to say aloud, and then he toppled and would have hit the ground had not the agile and strong Aydrian caught him in mid-fall.
PART 2
CIZINFOZZA’S BASTARDS
They say and it’s been told that Miczilan, the Time of Great Darkness, engulfed Zalanatl, the world between the seas. In this time did the mict children of Cizinfozza roam the lands, killing all they could find: Xoconai, human, animal, it did not matter. They served their god of dark
ness. Darkness is death.
And Cizinfozza fed on the souls of Xoconai, and on the bodies of the humans and animals, who have no souls. And his children were fruitful. Like the broods of mice were the litters of Cizinfozza’s children, the mict, that the humans call the goblins.
The god of darkness and death did thus grow stronger, and the darkness deepened, and the world knew despair, and the skies above did weep, and the golden light from above could not get through the deep weeping veil of Cizinfozza. The sky itself did cry, echoing the lamentations of the countless dead.
* * *
They say and it’s been told that there is but one way through despair to enlightenment, and so did the whispers of Scathmizzane burn in quiet hope. Scathmizzane saw the darkness and was sad. He freed the bright and fiery sky orb, Tonalli, from the shadows of Cizinfozza, and in so doing made the day, and each day grew longer, and every shadow lightened. But the children of Scathmizzane were few, and those of Cizinfozza uncounted! For a thousand years, the gods battled for Zalanatl, the world between the seas, light to burn the darkness, darkness to dim the light, ever to dim the light. Scathmizzane ruled the day under the fire light of Tonalli, and the dark nights bowed to Cizinfozza.
Scathmizzane was not pleased, and his anger grew great, but he is one of mercy, and anger is not of mercy, and so he excised the darkness within himself.
“Do not kill the children of Cizinfozza,” Scathmizzane commanded his children, the Xoconai. “No more to war, but to love.”
And with that love did we Xoconai accept the mict, and together we did multiply, and though the xelquiza, these half-blood children, were ugly to we Xoconai, they were beautiful to the goblins, and bigger, and stronger.
But then did Cizinfozza of the Darkness see his doomed future, as the light brightened on the world, and every day did the fires of Tonalli shine, brightening all the lands of Zalanatl. And then there came Citalli, specks of light twinkling in the dark nights of Cizinfozza, and then did Metzalli, the young sister of Tonalli, rise in the night sky, with pale light to lessen the darkness of Cizinfozza. The god of darkness and death could not escape.
Reckoning of Fallen Gods Page 17