Wotan
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Guelph, ON
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« Reply #2 on: June 14, 2008, 11:02:50 PM » |
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Demi could only imagine how intensely the odours of the female sun-troph’s need hung around the keeper’s nose, as when the carriage stopped, the scent of the receptive female had hit him like a wave, its message in the secret language of smell both insistent and undeniable. Though it was not as irresistible a compulsion as the secret scents of a lupine bitch at her ripest—some days after the red gold had stopped its flow, and the heady pheromones began to drive away all other thoughts except Shava, the odour of the sun-troph female had an incredible, and undeniable power all its own.
And as Demi had watched the two massive creatures performing their ritual as old as time itself, he had felt his own arousal beginning to grow.
And what of young Barka back at the house, who appeared to only just be starting to trust him? Had that small, strangely-coloured sun-troph ever spilled his seed? Demi strongly suspected that he had not, especially if the slavers on his farm had truly considered him ‘cursed’. No uneducated, and deeply superstitious lupine would ever have attempted Shava with a cursed being. Not unless he wished to also be touched by that same curse!
So, it was quite possible young Barka had not yet been blessed by the experience of spilling his seed, and the profound release that accompanied it.
While Demi was letting his thoughts drift, the slaver ordered his charges to mate again, and the short performance was repeated once again in its perfection. As soon as it was completed, Demi called out an order to the driver, but it came out as a strangled whine. “I think we have seen enough of this. Please, let us be on our way!”
The human driver laughed at that, but it was clearly a good-natured and ribald laugh, not a malicious one, and he slapped the reins to the rumps of the horses to get them moving again.
“No shame in having a tilt in your kilt!” The driver snickered. “I’ve spent quite a few nights with the female ‘trophers in my time, and not just on Sevenmoon Eve. In fact, old Corva Fre’gan up the Moss Crick Road would let you spend the night plugging one of his ‘tropher wenches if you tossed him a couple of silvers...” The driver became more enthusiastic as he warmed to his topic, and his left hand unashamedly stole down to his lap, where it started the busywork of prodding and squeezing at the guy-pole of the little fabric tent that was quickly rising up from his trousers. “...Or, he could get one of the studs to plug you, if that was your fancy. Let me tell you...”
“Thank you sir, I think that that will be more than enough for now!” Demi barked, perhaps a trifle more harshly than he had intended. He then slid the window at the front of the carriage closed, effectively cutting off any further conversation from the driver.
After that, silence again reigned inside the carriage, and five pairs of eyes looked out of the windows, trying to forget what they had just seen, and instead try and think of what lay ahead in Dhag’arh Valley. Shortly thereafter, Jarsha hesitantly tried to spark up more conversation.
The horses began to strain in the harness as the road rose more and more steeply, and soon, they were completely surrounded by the hills. The carriage snaked its way through the jagged, tan coloured rock, which was now only broken by scrubby trees, bushes, and hummocks of grass that scrabbled for purchase between cracks in the stone. Soon, they found themselves rattling along on a gently-rising, long, slow, leftward sweep beside a wild river. The roaring water boiled its way over jutting boulders smoothed over by countless millennia of its violent flow. This was the Temple River, which eventually emptied into Viquat City Harbour, after flowing through the very grounds of the Central Temple. Demi looked at the white froth of water that would likely pass the Temple in less than two hours, and he suddenly felt awed by the sheer power and fury of that rushing water. Water that flowed with enough force to smash bodies against the boulders, rending flesh, and pulverising bone... Yet by the time that same water flowed through the sculpted and carefully-tended gardens of the temple grounds, its movement was slow and lazy, and its depths were cold and refreshing. He found himself saying a short, silent prayer to the Goddess, that whatever lesson She may fit to impart this day, he would have the mind and the wit to fully appreciate it. Likewise, he prayed that Jarsha and Jalna would gain a proper understanding of the rare and special honour that they were to be given.
They rode alongside the gradually narrowing Temple River for almost a half hour, before it took a sharp turn to the right, and the road crossed over it on a massive, wooden bridge. As the horses’ hooves thundered over the worn, heavy planks, Demi could see that perhaps a tho’tal ahead, the road became even steeper yet, before disappearing into a narrow pass between two massive, hulking hills. This was the entrance to Dhag’arh Valley: A pass that had been painstakingly carved and hammered out of the rock over two thousand darkskies before, the work having taken almost a century, and much the rock that was removed at the later stages had eventually been shaped into the very building blocks of the current Central Temple. ‘Sky after ‘sky, massive load after massive load, it had been hauled over this same road. Before the pass had been opened, Dhag’arh Valley had only been accessible on foot or on horseback through a far older, steeper, and much narrower pass, and it was this fact more than any other that had lent Dhag’arh Valley so beautifully to the Viquat Rebels as their greatest stronghold on the entire island. And even when the valley itself was finally breached by the invading forces, the Rebels were still able to retreat still further up into the hills to the Hermitage of the Crystal Lake.
The older, narrower pass was still visible about half a tho’tal to the left of the current road. Many of the rebels had climbed onto cracks and ledges high above, where they had smashed huge rocks down onto the soldiers of the Holy Imperial Army as they swarmed into the valley. Dozens upon dozens of them met their doom there, or upon the points of swords and pitchforks waiting at the far end of the pass.
The carriage breasted the rise at the top of the newer, wider pass, and then began to wind its way downwards to the long, narrow, green valley spread out before them, and the picturesque village of ancient, stone houses that stood at its centre, some five tho’tals distant. Some of the houses in Dhag’arh Valley pre-dated even the oldest homes in Viquat City by several centuries. And at the centre of the village rose the twin spires of its temple, the oldest still standing on the entire island of Viquat. It was many times smaller than the Central Temple in Viquat City, but the little temple of Dhag’arh Valley had a ponderous, rugged charm all its own, and a breathtaking air of antiquity about it. Closer to the pass stood most of the metal smelters on Viquat, and their tall, squared chimneys belched filthy coal smoke into the sky, where it hung high above the village, and the entire valley in a light, brownish haze, somewhat dulling the sunlight. If there was a fairly stiff breeze, most of it would blow away, across the ocean, but if the Goddess did not deign to raise any wind for a period of ‘skies in the hottest part of summer, the coal smoke would begin to settle back down onto Dhag’arh valley like a stifling shroud of death. At these times, the midwest region High Priest would order the smelters shut down until the winds rose once again, and the requests for metals from Pelagrin be damned. He would not allow himself, or the citizens of his region to choke on poison, because the Grand Master wanted more gold or silver, or the weapons-smiths on Nox and Wargyll wanted more iron and tin. At these times, the only wagons that left the valley were the ones loaded with building stone, and raw coal.
In the winter, the snow that fell on the village was sometimes black as soot, and over time, the rain and snow appeared to very gradually be eating away at the stone of the village’s buildings, so that almost all of them, including the temple, had a worn look, where almost all of the corners and cracks had been rounded and smoothed, and ancient carvings and writings had in some cases become almost completely illegible.
Yet, even with all the noisome fumes emanating from the smelters, natural beauty was still very much in evidence in Dhag’arh Valley. Over time, the Goddess had allowed the trees and plants of the valley to adapt to the activities of the mortals, who worked tirelessly to extract wealth from the beneath these mighty hills, and as a result, the vegetation in Dhag’arh Valley was almost exclusively the hardiest species that could be found anywhere, and it had its own unique beauty. Many of the ornamental trees common to other places around the island, even in Viquat City itself, would simply wither and die within a ‘sky or two, if brought here and planted.
Even the birds were harsher in Dhag’arh Valley. Instead of the colourful, twittering songbirds that could be seen flitting around the towns and villages elsewhere on the island, Dhag’arh Valley was filled with carrion birds*, and blood-hawks*, and the only songbirds to be found in the village were blue-billed blackbirds, and simple brown hoppers*
Along the edges of the valley, Demi could see the dark entrances to dozens of mine-shafts that had bored their way to unfathomable, secret depths beneath the mighty hills. It was said that only the Viquat Rebels had truly known these tunnels: Literally several thousand tho’tals of mysterious, dark places—places that it was said even the Goddess, Herself could not visit. It was even said that perhaps these were the places that Her forsaken eventually found their homes.
It was also told that marks and writings of many of the leaders of that rebellion over two millennia before could still be seen carved into the rock in many places; words in archaic forms of Pelagrin and Nox Common that few outside of the priesthood could understand any longer.
The one thing that Demi had always felt more than anything else in this place was the weight of its history. And if the superstitious folk beliefs about ghosts or spirits, who had never achieved the Grace of the Goddess’ Bosom had even a grain of truth to them, this place likely held hundreds upon hundreds of spirits, forever cursed to wander the places they had once known, but without physical form.
But then again, weren’t the ancient rituals of the church also like ghosts in their own right? Demi found himself pondering this as the village drew closer.
They made their way through the narrow, cobbled streets of the village without stopping anywhere, and less than ten minutes later, they left the last of the ancient houses behind. About two tho’tals past the village, Dhag’arh Valley began to narrow even further, and the road began to climb once again, as it moved towards the valley’s western pass, where the road continued on through the hills, and eventually to the beaches of the Western Hook.
Presently, they came to a place, where a narrow, steep trail forked off the road to the left. There was an old, stone signpost here that said:
___________________________________________________________________________
HERMITAGE OF THE CRYSTAL LAKE - DHAG’ARH VALLEY:
4 THO’TAL, 3 MAR’SUNTALS SOUTHWEST
ABSOLUTELY NO TRESPASSING.
THIS RESERVE IS UNDER EXCLUSIVE USE AND CONTROL OF THE CHURCH.
ACCESS IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN UNLESS PRIOR, WRITTEN DISPENSATION IS OBTAINED UNDER DIRECT AUTHORITY OF THE HIGH MASTER OF VIQUAT AND BELKLAND, OR THE VIQUAT SENIORMOST HIGH PRIEST.
PROOF OF DISPENSATION MUST BE PRESENTED AT THE GUARDHOUSE. FAILURE TO COMPLY CARRIES A PENALTY OF IMPRISONMENT.
___________________________________________________________________________
The signpost was perhaps three hundred years old, its deeply-carved letters now greatly smoothed, and the language almost charmingly archaic. Nevertheless, the basic intension of those words was unchanged.
The driver brought the carriage to a halt next to this sign, and rapped smartly on the window. Demi slid it open, and the driver said, “This is as far as I can take you. The trail to the Hermitage is much too steep and narrow for anything but a single horse, so you’ll be on foot. I’ll be waiting here to take you back when you’re finished.”
“Thank you,” Demi said, opening the carriage door, and stepping out, quickly followed by the others. As soon as they had all gathered themselves under the sign, Demi saw an older lupine clad in a red robe like his own making his way towards them, followed by two temple guards, who were armed with narrow, and wicked-looking long-swords. All three of the approaching company looked quite rangy and feral, when compared to the lupines that Demi was used to seeing in the towns. Demi also noticed that the scarlet sashes these two warriors had tied above their kilts were further embellished by a narrower sash laid, or more likely sewn over top. This narrower sash was about half the width of the red belt, and was laid in its direct centre. It was a rich, royal blue, with an even narrower strip of gold down its centre. So, these warriors’ sashes looked to have five bands of colour in total: two of scarlet, two of blue, and one of gold.
The noble blue of the all-encompassing sea, and the rich gold of bravery and virtue.
Demi was perhaps the only one present, who knew what this meant. These two, tough, and sinewy lupines were direct descendants of the Viquat loyalists, who had fought alongside the early human settlers of the island: Lupines that had once been called ‘traitors’, but were later named ‘defenders’. And they had been slaughtered by the hundreds, but kept on fighting down to the last bitch and pup—fighting with a fierceness that the Holy Imperial Army hadn’t encountered in centuries.
The Senior Priest of the hermitage, and his two escorts stopped in front of them, and Jarsha and Jalna, as well as the two City Hall guards stood at immediate attention.
“At ease, warriors,” he said, “I am Gry’shan Flauca’a, Appointed Conservator of the Crystal Lake Hermitage, and these are Warriors of Conscience Narava Mur’toc, and Grenva Visouw. We are to escort you to your destination.”
Honoured Den Father Gry’shan then bowed to Demi, and said, “It is my deepest honour to make your acquaintance, Father Te’Dzaru. I have heard so many great things about you.”
Demi licked the priest’s forehead. “Rise, Good Conservator,” he said, “The Honour of our meeting is all mine. Let us proceed to our destination.”
Flauca’a rose from his bow, and said, “Very well, Honoured Father Demetrius. Please let us lead the way.”
“It is not necessary for you to bow to me,” Demi said, drooping his ears a little with embarrassment, “We are of equal rank, and you are of higher position in the church than I am! Especially to have earned the special honour of being named Conservator of Viquat’s holiest place!”
“Perhaps,” Father Gry’shan said, “But sometimes virtue is greater and more important than mere words and titles of honour... I have utmost respect for your virtue, young Father Demetrius. Had I boasted even half of your good qualities, when I had the same darkskies as you currently do, I would likely have achieved the rank of High Master by now!” Flauca’a chuckled, “Ask Seniormost about me some time. I was a pretty stupid student, and I really struggled with my studies. A couple of the instructors even made cracks that perhaps my dam had mated with a sun-troph stud—that that was the only possible explanation! I spent almost eight ‘skies in the monastery, before they finally tasked me,” he laughed again.
“I don’t know if I would have found being insulted by the instructors quite so amusing,” Demi frowned.
“I can assure you, Honoured Den Father; at the time, I didn’t either,” Flauca’a said, his good cheer faltering for just a moment, “Nevertheless, even though I had to work to a torturous extent to memorise and understand concepts that the other students seemed to find so much easier than I did, I eventually gained some powerful respect from Seniormost.”
“Every time he visited me after I left the monastery, he would start asking me question after question, sometimes for hours at a time, and his questions were always on some of the most obscure knowledge we had ever covered in our studies... Things that no student would have ever been expected to have remembered, let alone one as stupid as everyone seemed to think I was.” The Conservator gave a toothy grin, and Demi could see his tail wag underneath his robe.
“Even with the famed blessing of almost perfect memory that Den Te’Dzaru was given by the Goddess, I have my doubts that even you would have been able to answer some of his questions, Father Demetrius. For example, Seniormost visited the temple I was tasked to one day, and made a point of asking me the nastiest, most difficult question I can ever remember, in the middle of a service that I was preaching, no less! Asked it in such a way that I had to answer him, and instantly incorporate the answer into my sermon, for the entire congregation! Had I failed, I would have looked like a complete fool! And I can assure you that I have no natural gift for memory. Everything that I have within my head was literally pounded in there until it stayed. I am not now, and never have been a natural learner. I have to gain all my understanding through sheer, brute force of mind and will.”
“What did he ask you?” Demi prodded, suddenly, morbidly curious as to why Seniormost would have put one of his former students into such an awkward situation.
“He asked me about Supreme Mistress Ascalla.” Flauca’a answered, “not only things that a reasonably adept student might know, such as when and why she ruled, and for how long she occupied the Golden Seat, but he also wanted to know the salient points of her only decree.”
Demi just looked at the Conservator blankly.
Father Gry’shan dipped his muzzle at Demi’s reaction, and said, “I’m certain that you can imagine how I felt standing before a congregation of about thirty or so souls that morning! So tell me, Father Demetrius, what do you remember about Great and Noble Dam Ascalla?”
“Uhm...” Demi said, his ears lowered in concentration, “She was the mate of Grand Master Mirko II... He ruled from 508-517, and died from winter sickness. The Council of Elders chose the High Master of Irathat to become the next Grand Master, and replace him. If I remember the writings correctly, after the High Master accepted the Grand Council’s summons, he announced his intention to assume the name Temmon II, though some factions of the church insisted that he should have been designated Temmon IV instead, as they persisted in the belief that three consecutive Temmons ruled the early church, instead of just Temmon I. But it turned out to be a moot point in any case. The Irathat High Master set sail for Pelagrin for the ceremony of his installation, but he never made it. His entire flotilla was sunk in a fierce, freak storm.” Demi paused for a moment, as he warmed to his subject.
“The Council of Elders asked Supreme Mistress Ascalla to remain on the Golden Seat until such time as they could identify and nominate another as Grand Master. And I can only imagine how reluctant they were to do that!” Demi thought a little harder. “...I seem to recall that she was on the throne for something like eighty ‘rises, before the Council was able to find another that they deemed worthy of being Grand Master...” Demi hung his head, and looked away from the Conservator before speaking again. “Honoured Conservator, I am ashamed to admit that I cannot remember anything beyond that, and I have absolutely no recollection of any of Supreme Mistress Ascalla’s teachings, much less any decree that she made. Had Seniormost asked the same question of me, I would have looked like a fool!”
Flauca’a chuckled again, and said, “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Honoured Father Te’Dzaru. Seniormost later told me that he asked the same question of many of his former students, and I was the only one that was ever able to answer. And you have given almost the entire answer yourself! I am honestly impressed. The only information that you missed was that Ascalla was ruling Supreme Mistress for exactly eighty nine ‘rises, finally stepping down in Summer Sixmoon of 518, when Jaron III was installed. As for Jaron III, all that is known with any certainty about him was the date of his election. His records and writings were among those that burned up with the Great Library.” The good humour returned to Father Gry’shan’s speech. “But I take up too much time in such woolgathering. We really must be on our way.”
“But you still haven’t finished telling me about Ascalla’s decree!” Demi protested.
“Oh, right,” the Conservator chuckled, “Well, that part’s really quite simple. The decree itself was not all that important, as it was just a mere exercise in church administration with no real long-term impact. However, she made several powerful statements within it. And the most profound of these statements has been distilled down to three maxims that the church teaches to this very day. The great statement was: ‘The life given us by the Goddess is as fragile and tenuous as a spark from a flint. When the flint is struck, most of these sparks fall into the tinderbox, and wink from existence without a trace. Some smoulder and smoke, leaving a small trace behind; but it takes only one, the right spark, to create the mightiest blaze.’”
And in a sudden rush of memory, Demi realised that he knew all three of the maxims, and knew them well. And he recited them with Conservator Gry’shan, with a feeling of triumph.
“Every day that is given us by the Goddess should be lived as if it might be our last.” both Demi and Flauca’a chorused.
“It is more Blessed to strive towards greatness, and taste the misery of failing to achieve it, than to embrace the comfort of mediocrity.” This time, quite surprisingly, the City Hall guards had joined in as well; and when Demi spoke the last of the three maxims with Father Gry’shan, everyone present joined in.
“There is no happiness given of the Goddess without its price in hardship and misery, nor is there a night so dark that the suns will not eventually rise the next morning. Neither happiness, nor misery can ever be a constant state. Balance and moderation in all things is the Goddess’ greatest Legacy, and also the greatest Command for the well-being of all Her children.”
Conservator Gry’shan gave his best approximation of a grin once again. “Less than two moons cycles after I was able to answer Seniormiost’s question, I was named as Senior Priest, and Conservator of the Hermitage,” he said with quite obvious reverence. “Seniormost told me that few in the priesthood could understand or appreciate the unique honour of such a tasking, and that I had proven my worthiness for it above all others. To say that I was deeply emotional at his words—his faith in me—would be an understatement.” And with that, he turned and began to move up the trail, leading them all forwards.
And as they began walking up the Hermitage Road, Demi couldn’t help but join in the Conservator’s high spirits. Demi could scent that Conservator Gry’shan’s life and work in this lonely, cold, and airy place had given him a serenity and good humour that Demi had seen in few. And the senior priest also looked somewhat healthier than most lupines his age. Were Demi to guess, he would have bet that the Conservator hunted much of his own meat, rather than buying it. His odour was the subtle musk of wild places, overlaid with the fruity scent of young ferns, and the fallen needles of evergreens. His brilliant blue eyes sparkled with humour and good cheer, and his pelt was silvery-grey, accented with black tips on his ears, and white patches around his eyes and snout, his nose like a jet-black lump of coal.
Honoured Father Gry’shan and his two protectors continued to lead Demi and the others ever upwards on the steep, winding trail. Demi knew that it was only a little more than four tho’tals in length, but he soon found himself panting quite heavily. However, neither Father Gry’shan, nor any of the warriors made any sound of complaint. As the Hermitage drew closer, Demi could see beautiful vistas of dark green conifers laid out below him, and once in a while, the far-off sliver of blue ocean. He could also see where the Temple River, now little more than an icy-cold, rushing stream, made its way up to its source at the Crystal Lake. Demi had heard (and read of) of both the Crystal Lake, and the Hermitage that stood at its edge many times in the past, but he had never once been there. Everyone, who had seen it, talked about its rugged, and breath-taking beauty, but Demi knew that only his eyes would show him the full truth of the Goddess’ beauty and power in this place. As they climbed higher still, Demi noticed that the sky almost seemed to become a deeper, richer blue, and the clouds overhead had become massive, and ponderous mountains of white. From time to time, one, or both of the suns would be briefly hidden behind one of these large clouds, causing the surrounding hills to take on an almost sinister tone, as the brightness dimmed to near-twilight.
When it seemed as if he could climb no further, the narrow road finally turned a sudden, blind corner, and Demi saw the Crystal Lake spread out before him in a deep, flat royal blue. However, seconds after Demi first espied it, the suns came back out from behind the clouds, and the lake shone in sudden brilliance, like a perfect mirror, or a polished jewel of light blue. The peaks of several surrounding hills reflected on the surface of the water, their images sharp and clear. The edge of the lake was rimmed with bull-rushes and lily pads, and the bright, midday suns sparkled through the cold depths. Looking a little further around the shores, Demi could also see a number of small waterfalls cascading their way down the bare rocks, feeding the lake from springs even higher in the hills.
This lake was the starting point for two of the largest rivers on Viquat. The Temple River, which eventually made its way Northeast to Viquat City, and the Macumba River, which made its long, meandering journey Southeast, eventually emptying into Shas’Port Harbour.
Demi had only a few moments to enjoy the reflected brilliance of the suns upon the lake, before the Goddess decided to once again hide its full beauty. The suns moved behind an even larger cloud, returning the Hermitage to its gloom, and the lake to its bruised, deep blue.
The narrow road that they were currently on made a rather steep dip about twenty suntals downwards to almost the level of the water, before following the shoreline in a long, wide bend to the right, eventually ending at the Hermitage, on the southern shore. As for the Hermitage itself, its appearance was almost anti-climactic, when compared to the water that it stood beside. It was a long, low-slung building whose roughly-dressed, and even more roughly-laid stone was the exact colour of the surrounding hills.
To look at the fortress from a distance, it appeared to be some sort of miracle that such a haphazard jumble of stones should have remained standing for over two thousand ‘skies, but nevertheless, it had. Its outer walls had jagged, vaulted tops, where archers could be posted, and could easily have picked off the majority of any invading force, as the road was the only way into or out of the small valley, and the sight-lines between the Hermitage and the road’s approach were perfect.
The defences that Revisham and his forces had built didn’t stop there. Between the downward slope, and the entrance to the fortress itself, there were a series of three outlying stone walls with portico gates that could easily be lowered at a moment’s notice. And as Demi looked further, he saw that all three of these outlying walls also had perches for still more archers. He realised that as crude as the construction looked, it would likely have required the entire Imperial Army to have succeeded in taking this fort. And indeed, the Holy Imperial Army had never succeeded. After the general had finally fought his way through the passes into Dhag’arh Valley, and subsequently learned the location of the Viquat Rebels’ stronghold, he had tried to storm it on three separate occasions. The Imperial Forces had not managed to breach even the first outlying wall on any of these sorties. And on each occasion, after the archers on the walls had severely weakened the invading forces, the battle-hardened rebels had swarmed out of the Hermitage, and with minimal losses to themselves, had on all three occasions, mercilessly slaughtered the invaders down to the very last soldier. And even in the midst of the slaughter, the rebels would not allow so much as a single soldier’s body to fall into the lake. The few that did were quickly removed on the orders of Commander Behzd-R’eh Nox. Instead, the fallen soldiers were buried in three separate mounds of stones beside the road, just outside the first gates. After each of these battles, Revisham had promptly led a number of troops down into the valley to punish the invaders. On the first two occasions, the rebels managed to push them all the way back to the town. Revisham’s final capture outside of the village of Dhag’arh Valley had only come about because of a lightning-fast ambush, where the small raiding party that he was leading was completely and effectively cut off from the larger group of rebel fighters that was following, and backing him up. Commander Behzd-R’eh Nox and the loyal humans and lupines fighting alongside him were surrounded by the Imperial forces. And this was when the lupine general, assured of his final victory, offered Revisham the challenge, which instead sealed the general’s own doom, and ended the war in the defeat of the Holy Imperial Army.
But as interesting as the ancient, stone building, and all of the history, which surrounded it was, it was the lake that kept drawing Demi’s attention more than anything else. It was all that Demi could do to keep his footing as he made his way down the gravel-strewn slope, the small stones hurting his paws. But he barely felt it, as the beauty of the lake still held him captivated.
As with so many other things, mere words and illustrations in books could not convey the full beauty of the place. Demi was about to say something, anything, to convey to the others how he felt, looking out across the small, perfect lake. Strangely enough, Jalna spoke just then, taking everyone by surprise, and at the same time, saying words far more profound than any that Demi could have managed to utter.
“I never knew that places as beautiful as this could exist!” He exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder, “If nothing else were to happen today, just to have been allowed to see... to have set foot on this sacred ground is the greatest honour I can fathom! I understand now, why this is a forbidden place. Were everyone allowed to come here, its beauty would be ruined!” He suddenly stooped, and touched his right, front paw to the ground, and closed his eyes, pausing for a moment before continuing down the slope towards the outer wall, and the burial mounds before it.
Conservator Gry’shan and the two Warriors of Conscience led them to the first of the gates, stopping for a moment before the burial mounds, and whispering a quick prayer to the Goddess, before walking underneath the raised portico. The second wall was perhaps a mar’suntal from the first, and its portico was also raised, as was the third. Demi wondered if any of them could even be moved any longer, or if they had long ago rusted into place. After another five minutes of walking, they finally reached the massive, wooden gates of the fortress, itself. Father Flauca’a’s two protectors purposefully strode forwards, and with some effort, swung the gates open, and then led the group through them, and into the courtyard of the Hermitage.
If nothing else, Demi had to admit that Conservator Gry’shan, and all of his predecessors had cared for this place very well. As badly-laid as the stones that the Hermitage was built from appeared to be from a distance, from the inside, Demi could see that the construction was surprisingly solid. The central courtyard was quite austere, having nothing but simple rock, and five or six ancient trees that had likely been planted here as an afterthought by the builders of the fortress, so the naked, tan coloured rock of the courtyard looked a little less severe. Though, now that these trees were gnarled with incredible age, they lent the opposite effect to their surroundings, as they almost looked ready to fight a war of their own!
At the very centre of the courtyard was a small stone-rimmed pool of water, where Revisham had stood, whenever he needed to address the rebel forces. Demi knew that this pool was continually fed with icy-cold water from the springs above the fortress, and it overflowed into a stone channel leading out to the lake. This pool had always played a very important part in the initiation of young warriors joining the rebel forces.
The place, where Commander Behzd-R’eh Nox had always stood was marked by an inscription carved into the rock surrounding the pool. As they approached the pool, Demi was not surprised to see that Revisham’s spot was currently occupied by Mayor Merton. At the mayor’s feet was a large, stone jug of some kind, as well as a small, wooden chest. To his right stood Master Priest Gri’esh, and to his left was Raina, wearing the grey gown of her Spiritual Companionship. The Master Priest had his ceremonial blood dagger clutched in his right paw, and for the first time, Demi could see that Raina was armed. She had a small scabbard belted to her waist, from which the handle of a long creese* poked out. Demi recalled Raina telling him that she had been trained in self-defence as a child, but that she never wore her blade in public.
The Master Priest motioned Demi forwards, and Demi took his place beside Raina, drawing his own sword, and clutching it in his right paw.
For the second time, Jarsha and Jalna saw Merton clad not in his mayoral robes, but in the full regalia of a warrior. However, there was one immediately noticeable difference, and Jarsha and Jalna both saw and understood it even before Father Te’Dzaru did. The sword at Merton’s side was not his own—the one, which he had worn to Jarsha and Jalna’s investiture. At that ceremony, Merton had worn his own, simple blade on the left of his body, while hanging the one that had belonged to Jarsha and Jalna at his right. Though almost all of their attention had been on the massive blade of their sires, they had both had a decent look at Merton’s own blade as well. Its scabbard and hilt were plain and black, and the blade itself, while quite obviously finely-crafted, was unadorned, save for a small amount of gilded scroll-work on the grip.
The sword that Merton carried today, however, was much different. For starters, it was a bit larger than his own, and its scabbard was inlaid with gold filigree, and a line of seven iri-boc’cher pieces of differing sizes and varying background colours that vaguely resembled the moons... Or perhaps the iri’boc’cher pieces looked more like endlessly-staring eyes. On the sword’s hilt were an additional two boc’cher, also surrounded by gold filigree. And as Jarsha looked at this fascinating blade, something very old tugged at him—a bit of ancient, obscure knowledge. And he muttered under his breath, “The sword of Re’shum... The very honour of Viquat is couched... sheathed... in the virtues of the seven, but the naked blade carries the power of the unseen two: the destroyer, and the renewer...” And even as the words left his muzzle, he realised that he had no idea what they meant, specifically what he had said about the “power of the ‘Unseen Two’”.
For a moment, Jarsha and Jalna heard and shared one another’s thoughts. Jarsha’s muttered words had been far too quiet for anyone else to have heard, nevertheless, his brother answered them. Jarsha heard Jalna’s voice with his mind, rather than his ears. And without even thinking about it, much less dwelling on the strangeness of it, he answered his brother back in the same fashion—with thought alone.
I see now, Brother. I really see! I had no real idea of how significant this place has been in the Goddess’ overall plans for Her children, but I think I begin to understand. The true spirit of the Goddess’ church no longer resides in the Great City of Dragsgow... It left that place a very long time ago. Yet I would never have guessed that it now resides here! The church’s name, and its traditions are still practised in the Great Temple, but they have become nothing more than empty words and rituals. The true goodness of the faith is right here, and within all of us! Jalna spoke within Jarsha’s mind.
Yes. Jarsha answered, and I don’t know the sword that the mayor carries, yet at the same time, I do.... I can feel the very weight of history hanging around it... It can only be the very blade, which protected this place... This place of such incredible beauty and history... The sword of our ancestors was touched by the blood of Harvoid II, but the Mayor’s blade was touched by the spirit of the Goddess, Herself! What honour we are to receive today! What incredible honour!
And just like that, the unexplainable mental link that had formed between the brothers was gone, but they marched towards the waiting mayor, and Master Priest with determination, and purpose. Especially since Brother Te’Dzaru and Lady Raina had also taken positions in front of Jarsha and Jalna. The two brothers smartly halted, and stood at attention perhaps ten suntals before the others, who now surrounded the pool of water. The Conservator, and his two protectors stood beside the brothers, with the senior priest in the centre, and one warrior on each side.
“Well-met and Goddess Bless, brave, anointed warriors!” The mayor exclaimed. On this day, you shall receive the greatest honour that it is within my power to give.”
Merton turned to Brother Te’Dzaru, and said, “Truly, it is the Goddess’ own Providence that your Anointed Guardians’ strict adherence to their duty should bring you here as well. Your presence will allow us to form the perfect Warriors’ Circle of the Nine Witnesses. Honoured Master, Honoured Den Father Te’Dzaru, Honoured Conservator, Warriors of Conscience, Defenders of Viquat, Lady Raina, and finally myself, in the humble position of my Clan Ancestor Revisham. Let us present arms, and form the circle now!”
Conservator Gry’shan, and the two guardians of the Hermitage took up positions at the rear of the round pool. They turned, and faced the water, and all three drew their blades. They then quickly sliced into their paws, so that the blood began to flow, and then grabbed their weapons by the blade, just above the hilt, and held them out directly in front of themselves, and angled downwards towards the clear, icy water. Blood began to sluggishly trickle down the surface of each of their weapons. The two City Hall guards then joined them, taking up positions of their own, and lowering their pikes over the water, after first cutting themselves with the tips. Next came Raina, who drew her creese with a flash, and also joined the circle, red flowing down the wavy steel. Finally, the Master Priest took his own place, and all stood in silence, eight weapons dropping eight scarlet, spreading flowers into the water below the blades.
“Brothers, will you take your place at the centre of the Warriors’ Circle?” Merton asked Jarsha and Jalna.
“Yes!” the brothers chorused.
Merton nodded.
“As the Goddess wills!” he said, “Join us now, and let your blood mingle with ours, and with all throughout time, who have fought for what is right and good, no matter what the odds against them may have been! Let the essence of our Goddess-given life bless and honour all those, who have died so that we might live! Let us make and re-affirm our oaths to protect the just and to punish the unjust! Warriors, enter the circle!”
With a strange feeling swelling throughout themselves, which neither brother could have described, both Jarsha and Jalna strode forward, and stepped into the pool. It was much deeper than it looked, and Jalna almost yelped as the icy wetness tickled between his legs. The water was instantly, bone-numbingly cold, and the stones on the bottom of the pool were slippery underneath their paws.
Instinctively, the brothers stood back to back, and bowed their heads slightly to the circle of drawn, blood-dripping weapons that now surrounded them. Merton drew the sword of Revisham, and added his own redness to the blade. Soon, the first drops hit the water, and the circle of the Nine Witnesses was complete.
The Master Priest spoke then. “In the darkest ‘rises of the war for conquest of this island, Behzd-R’eh Nox Revisham and a number of others made the decision to fight to the death, to the very last among them to defend their lives and homes from what they saw as the extreme corruption of the Goddess’ Holy Church at that time. Corruption that in many ways grows like an evil weed, whose roots cannot ever be completely eradicated, no matter how much of the plant is cut away, and which will re-grow if given the slightest opportunity. The stance that these brave rebels took was called ‘treason’ by the invading forces, but still they fought unfailingly, and unceasingly for what was right and just, and in the end, the Goddess gave them victory, and humbled the corrupt. To this very day, there are many in the church: The descendants of those, who so long ago ordered the extermination of the Holy Warriors guarding the infant Harvoid, who would mercilessly stamp out our traditions of resistance, here on Viquat. But for two millennia, the Goddess has not forgotten Her Warriors of Conscience, and has not forgotten the solemn promise that was made on this very spot by the two, who led the revolution.” He paused for a moment.
“And it is here that the two greatest blades of the Viquat Rebels’ struggle were pledged to the blood, and here that they are now re-united in affirmation of that ancient, unbreakable pledge. It was here that life-long friends and companions Merchant Behzd-R’eh Nox Revisham, of the humans, and Anointed Warrior Mho’ra Kraulon, of the lupines, Keeper of one of the Sacred Swords of Mho’ra met, and crossed their blades, mingling their blood, and making their pledge before the Goddess, and all present that they, and all, who followed them would die before allowing the church’s corruption to overtake their homes and lives. It is also here that my own ancestor, Senior Priest Rintalun-se-Hafula Denton, blessed and witnessed the blood oath made by Revisham and Kraulon... And in so doing, Denton also became a traitor to the church, itself. However, he, too elected to follow his conscience, and for the remainder of his days, he never again left the Hermitage, and never returned to the fold of the church. Like Revisham, and Kraulon, Denton understood that what is right and proper is not always what is approved, and more often than not, it is a path of immense sacrifice and hardship. Defrocked, and stripped of his authority and position within the church, all Denton was able to offer was a simple prayer for the Goddess’ blessing... Yet his prayer, humble as it was, was answered!”
Master Gri’esh bowed his head. “I offer you this same prayer now,” he said.
“Great Goddess, who is the source of all strength, and goodness; I earnestly pray that You will bless Your children in their struggle for what they truly believe to be right, and in Your Name I beseech that their struggle not be in vain. May these warriors never lose sight of Your Goodness and Love, may their actions be always righteous, and may their blades strike down corruption and evil wherever they might find it.”
“Blessed Be Your Name!” everyone present shouted. The Master Priest then led everyone in the beautiful simplicity of the Goddess’ Prayer, after which everyone was silent for several moments, before the silence was broken once again by the mayor raising his voice in a shout that echoed around the surrounding peaks.
“Anointed Warriors!” Merton called out, “let your blades join ours in the circle, and let your blood be as one with all those Warriors of Conscience, who have gone before!”
Without a sound, Jarsha and Jalna both unsheathed their blades: Jalna drawing the sword of their sires, and Jarsha pulling the weapon he had obtained from the armoury underneath the Central Temple. Jalna pulled the keen edge of the Mhota’ah blade, (no, the Mho’ra blade, he mentally corrected himself), across his paw-pads, and couldn’t stifle a small hiss under his breath, as the blade, still incredibly sharp after these countless ‘skies, cut into his flesh like a line of brilliant, white fire, and the blood began to run down the polished surface. Jalna reflected that this was perhaps the first blood that this blade had tasted in centuries. Would it soon taste even more? He held the blade within his paw, to keep the wound open, and watched in fascination as the trail of red slowly meandered its way downwards over almost two suntals of gleaming metal. Finally, it reached the tip of the sword, where a drop began to gather, and gradually grow fatter, as if the scarlet drop were some sort of divine pregnancy.
Finally, the blood drop fell from the tip of the blade, and down to the water, with a tiny ‘plip!’ sound. Yet, that sound suddenly seemed as large as the universe, itself, and as countless, tiny tendrils of red spread outwards into the clear water, like they were forming a miniature rose, Jalna felt something incredibly profound and powerful within himself. And from the sudden tenseness of his brother’s back against his own, and the change in his scent Jalna knew that Jarsha felt it as well. Through the thick fabric their kilts, their tails thumped against one another.
Again, that feeling of being at the very centre of something almost as old as time itself; the sensation of being surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of voices just outside of their mortal ability to hear was incredibly strong. And as Jarsha and Jalna squeezed their blades tighter still, causing the blood to flow faster, the voices swelled... The voices of their Guardian ancestors now mixed with all those, who had defended this island to the death, following their consciences, and their understanding of what was right and just even to actions that those in power had called ‘treason’. The Warriors of Conscience, who had defied the earthly authority of the Council of Elders, so that they could shelter and protect the infant Harvoid, to those, who had later defied the corruption of Edron XVI and his sycophants, and vowed to preserve what they truly believed was the Goddess’ Will for the rule of Viquat.
And all of those voices shouted together as one. One mind, across the years, the decades, the centuries, and the millennia, that their struggles and sacrifices might not have been in vain. Calling to the Brothers to join them... To truly join them in the blood, and not just in the name.
“Brave Warriors!” Merton called out, “Do you swear to follow your conscience in all things, and to above everything else, uphold all that is right and good, in the Sight of the Goddess, even if such a path brings you into direct opposition with mortal authority, or should require the sacrifice of your own life? Do you willingly take up the duty and the honour of Warriors of Conscience?”
“We do!” The brothers howled in unison.
“Do you pledge your blood, your flesh, your strength, and your very, mortal life to always protect the innocent, and to wield your blade only for that, which is just, and in so doing, truly defend the spirits and ideals of those, who died to liberate this island? Do you willingly take up the symbolic duty and honour of Defenders of Viquat in full knowledge of what such honour symbolises?”
“We do!” Jarsha and Jalna howled even louder.
“Immerse yourselves in the blood of all those, who have gone before, as well as those, here today! Let the blood of Conscience, and the water of the Goddess’ Love cover you, and fill you from within!”
Jarsha and Jalna lowered themselves fully into the pool, wetting every part of their bodies, as well as their blades, the sudden shock of the coldness like a physical catharsis. Both of the brothers also drank a small amount of the water, the faint, metallic taste of blood quite evident. They then pulled their heads under the surface. When neither could hold their breath any longer, their heads broke the surface again, and they panted and gasped, their chests heaving.
“Arise, Warriors of Conscience!” Merton said, “Arise with honour at the legacy you are now a part of! Arise, Defenders of Viquat! Arise, Sacred and Anointed Guardians of the Blessed Child! Arise and receive our humble thanks!”
And the brothers stood, water pouring from their now sodden kilts. All nine of the others stepped back from the edge of the pool, and formed a line on either side of the mayor and the Master Priest. The two brothers stepped out of the pool, and stood in front of all the others. All nine sunk down in front of Jarsha and Jalna; the humans on their knees, and the lupines on their haunches, and all laid their weapons at the feet of the two brothers, raising left hand or paw. And not a word needed to be said. The brothers knew exactly what to do.
After a few moments, Jarsha picked up the Sword of Revisham, and looked at it. For some reason, he felt the emotion welling up within him as he personally gave the sword back to Merton. Merton took it in hand, and extended it forward. Jalna in turn extended the Blade of Mho’ra, and the two weapons crossed. And as they did so, the suns suddenly came out from behind a cloud, and bathed the scene with incredible brilliance, the crossed blades shining so brightly that they were painful to look at; the gold filigree, and iri-boc’cher pieces on the hilt of Revisham’s sword flashing like flames. All who were present felt an absolute surety that the Goddess was indeed present right then.
“The two blades are re-united, and we re-affirm the oaths of our ancestors!” Jalna said.
“I also re-affirm the blood oath,” Merton replied, “and the friendship of Revisham and Kraulon, true even to the death!” The Mayor reached down into the wooden box, and removed two narrow, blue and gold sashes. “Please, give me your Temple Guard sashes,” Merton said, “It will be my duty and my pleasure to personally affix your new colours to your old.”
Without a word, the brothers removed their wet, red sashes, and handed them to Merton, and he laid the blue and gold against the red, folded them together, and put them back into the box. Merton then lifted up the stone jug, and said, “Only one thing remains, and that is to share the fellowship and friendship of simple warriors. Will you share this with us now, brothers of the blade?”
Jarsha spoke then, with words that surprised everyone present. “I will gladly do so, honoured Mayor,” he said. “But, I would make a request of you first.”
“Absolutely,” Merton said. “You have only to ask.”
“Very well,” Jarsha said, “in the spirit of the ancient friendship of our ancestors, I ask that Velna-se-Onturc Yargo, and Hamo-Jai Artana also be named Warriors of Conscience. They have served the City well, and performed their duties with honour, and have now been part of the Circle of the Nine Witnesses. To offer them anything less than what my brother and I have been given this day would be a grievous insult.”
Merton looked almost ashamed for a moment.
“You are right,” he said. If the Honoured Master approves, Yargo, and Artana shall also be named as Warriors of Conscience today.”
Merton turned to the Master Priest, and before he could even ask, Master Gri’esh said, “I agree with Jarsha. It shall be done.”
“Very well,” Merton said, “Jarsha, and Jalna, you shall now be part of the Circle of the Nine. Let us re-form the circle.”
And the entire ritual that the brothers had been a part of was repeated, this time with the City Hall guards standing in the water, which came half-way up their chests.
Afterwards, Merton passed around the stone jug, which contained strong, red wine, and they all drank from it, and then lifted their blades to the sky, howling with warrior’s triumph, the sound amplified and echoed by the surrounding peaks, and the suns shining brilliantly overhead. Finally, Merton dumped the remainder of the wine onto Jarsha and Jalna, and then onto Yargo and Artana. All laughed uproariously, and Jalna grabbed the jug from Merton, and up-ended it over his head. Merton then smashed it on the stones and embraced all four of the lupines into a powerful hug, one after the other, giving each of them a kiss above the eyes.
And even to Demi, this strange, bawdy, and irreverent end to the ceremony seemed very appropriate indeed, like a celebration of life and laughter, even in the midst of the sacred and solemn oaths. He once again found himself thinking of the Maxims of Ascalla. Specifically about living every moment of one’s life as if it might be the last.
As the group made its way back down to the waiting carriage, Demi found himself walking alongside Merton, and asked him a question. One that might have seemed strange, perhaps even improper at another time, but not so much now.
“I am curious, Honoured Mayor,” Demi asked Merton in a whisper, “You mentioned that Revisham and Kraulon were friends and companions. Does that mean...”
Merton chuckled, and answered Demi’s awkward question before he could even finish. “Yes, Honoured Father,” he whispered back to Demi, “it is certain that Revisham and Kraulon engaged in Shava from time to time, even though both were also mated with females of their own kind, and both of them had children. They were very devoted to one another in ways different, and perhaps even more profound than mere matehood. Had Kraulon been a priest, rather than a warrior, they would likely have been named Spiritual Companions. Does this shock you?”
And Demi found that with everything else he had seen and felt this day, such thoughts did not shock him in the least. Very soon, they were seated back in the mayoral carriage, heading back to Viquat City, Merton humming happily, as he industriously sewed the narrow, blue and gold sashes onto the brothers’ wider, red sashes. This surprised Demi a little, as he was unaware that Merton could sew. And he was fairly skilled at it. Perhaps not as skilled as the Ren’Talen tailors and clothiers, but clearly quite good nonetheless.
GLOSSARY:
Blood-Hawk - A small, falcon-like bird of prey, with mottled plumage, found on the colder, northern islands of Viquat, Belkland, Greshna’a, and Zumdwe, though occasionally seen as far south as Nox.
Brown Hopper - A small songbird similar to a Terran sparrow.
Carrion Bird - A large, corvid scavenger bird with brilliant, shiny, black plumage, and brilliant yellow legs and beak, that is the Viquat equivalent to a Terran crow.
Creese - A long and slender serpentine dagger. (also known as a ‘kris’).
Empty Paw (To Extend The) - A profound gesture of respect that one warrior will perform for another, especially one of higher rank. Extending the empty paw is a humble request for friendship and peace, the empty paw signifying the warrior’s ultimately peaceful intentions, as the weapons are first laid at the feet of the other warrior, and are no longer within easy reach of the one extending the empty paw. If friendship and peace is accepted, the empty paw will be taken by the other warrior, and embraced. Generally upon embracing the empty paw, the warrior will say, “We meet in peace, and we go in peace, my brother (or sister) warrior. Well-met, and Goddess Bless.” If it is rejected, the warrior will simply say, “Fighter, please, take up your weapons,” and will put his own blade across his chest. This is a grievous insult indeed, as it means that the warrior either considers you a blood enemy, and/or that he has no respect for you whatsoever. If he has called you ‘fighter’, he has not even deigned to use the more honourable term ‘warrior’. In the ancient rules of the church, a rejection of the empty paw was sometimes considered a discourtesy serious enough to be justifiable grounds for challenging the other to an Honour Duel.
Nelpa - A very expensive fabric produced on the island of Irathat, which is perhaps three times as soft as Terran cotton. Its most popular uses on Northern Insularis are for medical pads and bandages, as well as for the softest bed-sheets money can buy. And unlike ‘flannelette’ bed-sheets woven from cotton, Nelpa flannel offers much greater temperature control, keeping the sleeper wonderfully warm in winter, and cool in the hot summer nights.
Nelpa’s use and value is such that even poor families will try to keep at least a small amount on hand for medical use, even if they have to save up for many weeks to be able to afford a roll of nelpa fabric bandage (3683 price =27 boc’cher per ten suntal roll of bandage). However, only the wealthiest families can afford more frivolous items made of the fabric, such as bed-sheets, or in the case of more well-to-do human merchants, undergarments woven from nelpa.
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