Updated content as of 11.24.2012
__________________________________________________________________________________
Prologue
How do you begin a story about a boy like Zam? A man
like Zam? Frankly once you’re my age all men seem as boys no matter their age.
How old am I? Well... I dwell with the ancient ones, among whom few have gray
hair, and I do. I am Graffeon, and I have written much of recorded history at
the will of Elyon. That is how you’ve found this book in your hand now. Whether
the ink has been dry for eons or you can still smell its pungent aroma, it is
my truest hope that Zam’s tale will not simply entertain you, but aid you in
understanding your own story.
His story begins, I suppose, as most men’s do… at
his birth. It was a dark time in the land of Cairemia. His first winter was a
bitter one and his entire family died. He would have died as well, but Zam’s
destiny lay along another path.
Elyon sent the messenger Angeon to deliver Zam to a
childless farmer—who should have raised him as a son. But, a few short years
later the farmer’s own son was born and Zam became more or less a servant. He
was moved from the family home to a shack bordering the fields where the sheep
grazed, and there he served the family faithfully, never begrudging his place
in the world. And… when Zam’s eighteenth year approached, the next chapter of
Elyon’s plan began to take shape.
It
was spring….
__________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter One: Strange Visitors
It was spring. The late afternoon sun played
over the hills like water dancing, touching down here and there, leaving
wide, shadowy gaps painted by the clouds, which retreated, then returned again,
only to be broken by golden light raining down upon the grasses. The wind blew
from the north, rustling the cloak of the young shepherd watching his master’s
flock. The darkest shadow fell for only a moment before sunlight burst through,
scattering the darkness, but the young shepherd felt something.
He scanned the flock for any sign of trouble. There rarely was when he
felt this way, but this time… something was different. A lamb was missing.
Running to the edge of the hill, he found strange tracks circled around a small
group of sheep. He frantically searched for signs of the missing lamb.
He heard bleating in the distance. His heart pounded. His master would be
angry if he lost a lamb to some wild creature.
The clouds grew darker and the light ceased to dance as the shepherd ran
toward the sound. The farther he ran the more light was driven from his
presence, until day was as night, and only one thin shaft of light fell… on the
lamb. Wind ripped through the meadow. Trees creaked and bent. The shutters of
the shepherd's distant dwelling clapped, and a broken branch from a nearby tree
hurtled, too closely, past him. Yet all around the lamb the wind was calm.
Within that shaft of light nothing moved.
Low growls began to rise with the wind until a cacophony of creatures just
out of sight deafened the shepherd. Paralyzed by fear, he stood in the dark,
his gaze fixed on the lamb at the center of the hellish gale.
A flitting shape beyond the light caught the shepherd's eye. A butterfly
danced, unhindered by the nightmare, circling the lamb. The animal took no
notice. The insect faded, replaced by a firefly, which continued the dance. The
lamb cocked its head and followed its glow as it drifted into the dark.
Shuffling in place, the lamb watched the flickering light as it passed
again and again, drifting farther into the dark each time. Enamored of the
firefly’s glow, it stepped partway out of the light and the shepherd screamed
for the animal to stay, but no sound escaped his mouth.
The naive creature stepped fully into the dark and the shaft of light
faded. The firefly’s glow—now a malignant green—grew brighter, reflecting in
the eyes of a hundred unearthly beasts, each drooling for this morsel that had
wandered from safety. The shepherd’s breath caught in his chest and all light
vanished. Standing there amidst the storm, deep in the abysmal darkness, he heard
the violence that befell the lamb—horrid rending, frantic bleating, and then—
In this, his moment of terror, standing helpless in the depths of the
dark, a thin shaft of light fell, slowly expanding, growing, shrouding him with
light. The wind stopped whipping. The growls fell silent. His fears began to
ebb. He took a deep breath. Outside the light was a deep and evil darkness and
the shepherd knew it. His heart sank, yet the light brought some comfort.
Just then, a butterfly flitted by outside the light, and terror gripped
the shepherd. He looked away. None of
this can be real.
He looked back, and there before him was the firefly. He shuddered, nearly
stumbling out of the light. The insect's glow was captivating, tempting him to
follow. A chill tore through him as he felt himself wanting to move, being
drawn unwillingly toward its evil intent.
The shepherd was uneasy in the cramped confines of the light. Against his
will he began to move. He shut his eyes tight, vowing to himself he would not
do as the lamb had done. Fear raged inside him and the world became liquid
around him. Dread and the echoes of the lamb's demise drowned him in a
catastrophic noise.
Then, amid the symphony of chaos, a voice whispered, drowning all other
sound. It whispered his name.
“Zam.”
The shepherd opened his eyes and found himself standing on the low hill by
his dwelling. The sun lit the meadow and all was well with his flock. He stood
there a moment, shaken by the vision, slowly realizing that’s what it must have
been.
A stranger appeared from just over the hill, walking toward him, wearing a
smile of friendship. He was quite old, but also decidedly strong—more than six
feet tall and clad as a warrior, though something in his countenance was more
fit to a poet. Zam couldn't place it, but he felt somehow he knew the man.
The stranger's voice rang out clear and strong, tinged with the wizened
depth of his years. “I thought I would be too late, possibly come in on a
fight, when I heard all the growling, but as I should have expected, Elyon had
other plans.”
Zam was bewildered, unsure whether his mind was still playing tricks or
whether this man truly approached.
The man repeated, “I said I thought I’d be too late….”
Zam had yet to come to himself, so the man moved on.
“Never mind that. Are you all right, Lad?”
Reconciling the reality of the moment, Zam asked hesitantly, “Did you say…
growling?”
A different sort of smile crossed the stranger’s face, the sort that
follows one who is not letting on all they know. “Did I? Hmm. Odd.” And with
that he changed the subject. “Are you Zam Windwater?”
Frustration and curiosity mingled in Zam’s reply. “I am. Who wants to
know?” but a sudden recollection of his position in life brought a quick
revision. “I apologize. I mean to say, yes, I am Zam Windwater. And I am at the
service of Master…?”
The pleasant old stranger smiled again. “Messenger.”
Zam’s brow furrowed at the off kilter name. “Master Messenger?”
“No, no.” The stranger laughed. “Messenger Graffeon. I don’t use the title
Master. It doesn’t suit my position. I would run the risk of getting puffed up
and looking down on people, when I’m already taller than most. No. I need look
no farther down on any person than the distance from my eyes to their heart...
eh... head. Yes.”
“Ah….” Zam’s bewilderment seemed only to grow as Graffeon talked to him.
Although he felt more at ease as the moments passed, something about the
stranger engendered a sense of... of something. He was a character, smiling
pleasantly at the young shepherd.
At last Zam returned to his usual polite and welcoming self. “Well,
Messenger Graffeon, the sun is nearly down and there are no other dwellings but
mine and my master’s for many miles upon the road. If my master’s is not your
destination, you are welcome to stay the night. It's a humble servant’s shack,
but I do keep it clean.”
Graffeon bowed slightly. “Your master’s dwelling is not my destination,
and I gladly accept.” A sheep bleated in the distance.
Zam turned to the flock, “It has been an odd day indeed.” He looked back
to Graffeon. “I need to gather the sheep and pen them in for the night. If
you’ve traveled far, you may want to begin your rest. I won’t be long.”
Again the messenger bowed then turned and walked toward Zam’s home to
await the kind young shepherd. Zam Windwater was about to receive quite a
message.
When Zam entered his dwelling, Graffeon
already had a fire going to heat the humble living space. Its glow lit the
room. Two small chairs, a table, and low reclining cushions—obviously where Zam
slept—were all that filled the room. The messenger was already seated at the
table.
As Zam looked about, it seemed to him
more restful and pleasant than it had in many years. Curiosity arose regarding
his new acquaintance as he began heating some food for them to share. “It isn’t
much. I didn’t know I’d have a guest.”
Graffeon smiled. “Anything will be fine.
Were I not staying here this evening I would not eat at all.”
Zam thought that odd, but continued his
preparations. Tentatively, he said, “Messenger Graffeon, a man in your
profession must have traveled much in life.”
“Oh yes. I have traveled… perhaps even
more than you would imagine. And you may simply call me Graffeon if it pleases
you.”
Zam nodded. “Graffeon.” He was still
somewhat unsure regarding the strange old messenger.
Graffeon smiled at his awkwardness. “As
I say, I’ve been many places and weathered more than one individual’s share of
nights in the middle of nowhere.”
Zam listened while he cooked, and
Graffeon spoke of faraway lands. Places such as Cree, Kireoth, Turthan—none of
which Zam had ever heard of—and of other places Zam would not even try to
pronounce. He spoke of kings and queens he had met, noblemen and warlords, and
a great battle he had once been forced to fight his way through to deliver a
message. He also spoke of mysterious creatures he’d encountered during his
travels. Zam had never heard of anything like them, nor of the wars and few of
the places, but he was impressed nonetheless.
Setting the food on the table, he sat in
the rough-made chair opposite the stranger. They continued to talk as they ate,
and Zam was amazed. “You seem quite the warrior and a worthy messenger… aside
from being a most excellent storyteller.”
Graffeon bowed his head humbly. “My
thanks.”
As they finished the meal, Zam asked.
“Are you traveling far this time? That is... to deliver your message?”
“Well, I was in Tarnanis when I received
this charge, and I am very near to completing it.” There was that
not-letting-on-all-he-knows smile again.
Zam was intrigued. “Tarnanis? I don’t
believe I’ve ever heard of it. Though I’m certain I have not heard of a great
many places that exist.” Zam smiled, just a bit sheepishly.
“But you do wish to hear of them.” Graffeon’s
tone had changed.
Zam looked up. The words had gripped his
heart.
Seeing the look in Zam’s eyes, Graffeon
continued, “Places like Tarnanis, Gershas, Artolis—and you wish to experience
them I’d wager. It’s in your countenance, Zam. You wish to travel.”
Zam couldn’t contain his exuberance. “I
would love to travel!” he caught
himself, a bit embarrassed. “Ah… yes, I would. The farthest I have ever been
from my master’s land was to Sandrey. And though that trip is a treasured
memory, Sandrey is only a small village, not far to the east, where my master’s
brother lives. It was many years ago, when I was a child. I was actually
befriended there by a traveler and a girl my age—Terrice—but they passed to the
east, and I returned home never to travel again. I know there is much to see
and learn and experience beyond this land, beyond tending sheep….”
“Adventure.”
“I do love tending them….” Zam sighed,
his mind catching up to Graffeon's statement. “Yes. Adventure. But keeping the
sheep safe does make me feel as though…” An emotion he had never voiced before
rose to the surface, and he swallowed hard to keep it down. “As though I... am
worth something....”
Graffeon’s smile changed once more, this
time to one of understanding and sympathy, as he pulled a tattered book from
his belt and laid it on the table, its leather binding worn from many years of
use. “Worth, young Master Windwater, is truly an intriguing thing. Take this
book for example. It is obviously old. It has seen much use and more weather
than a sea captain. Of all my belongings it would acquire me the least money if
sold. It is the least likely thing anyone would ever desire to take from me.”
He rested his hand on it and said with deep reverence, “Yet, it is my most
treasured possession.”
Zam leaned in, awed by Graffeon's tone.
“What is it?”
“A book….” The messenger smiled, aware Zam
sought a more precise answer, “A book of poems and proverbs.”
Disbelieving, Zam repeated, “Poems and
proverbs?”
Graffeon patted the book. “And a few
stories. But that is exactly my point! You seem surprised that this would be
such a treasure to me. But I do adore this book.”
The quizzical feelings Zam had earlier
were growing again.
Graffeon continued. “To a rich man your
sheep would not be worth his notice unless for their wool or for a meal, but
you hold those sheep in high regard. You would risk injury, even death to
protect just one of them if the need arose.” He was speaking straight to Zam’s
heart again.
How can
he see these things in me?
“Though you were afraid today, Zam, I
know you would have gladly done battle with the creatures that tried to claim
the life of your lost sheep... if you could have seen them.”
At that Zam’s bewilderment reached its
peak and he had to ask the question that had been growing in his mind. “Are you
a wizard? You look nothing like what I hear wizards look like, but the things
you’ve said… the things you know… how? How do you know…? Are you a wizard?”
“No.” Graffeon said simply.
“Are you a sorcerer?”
“No.”
“A fortune teller?”
“Not that either.”
“A prophet? A seer? Something?”
Graffeon responded with his head
slightly cocked, and a smile, almost sly but jovial, curling the sides of his
mouth. “Something more like that.
Yes.”
Defeated, Zam asked, “Who are you?”
This was the moment Graffeon had been
waiting for. He stood and bowed. It was the first time Zam had seen him stand
inside the shack. His frame suddenly filled the room and he seemed too large a
being to fit in such a small space. As he spoke, fear coursed through Zam,
though the tone he used was pleasant.
“I am the messenger Graffeon and I have
traveled farther than you can possibly know to deliver a message from my
master, Elyon. Deliver it to one Zamuel Windwater.” He gave Zam a wry smile and
a knowing look as he sat back down and his presence diminished to the point it
had been before. “I believe he lives around here.”
“Me?” Zam was more perplexed than ever
and a little frightened. “I don’t know any Elyon, nor do I know anyone in… in
Tarnanis. I'm confused, and think you must be wrong, or this is some horrible
joke. And I do not appreciate–”
“Worth… as I began to say, is not measured by
great successes or the monetary value of a thing.” He paused and looked deeply
into Zam’s eyes. “And this is not a horrible joke. My message for you from
Elyon starts with this. You are valuable, Zam... you are worth something.”
Zam softened, his brow furrowing in an
expression of confusion, bewilderment, perplexity.
“It's in your heart to travel and
experience adventure. I am pleased to be the one to tell you, you will do
both.” He produced a small scroll from his cloak and offered it to Zam. “This
is for you.”
The scroll was barely as large as his hand. Zam unrolled it:
Travel
north, young one. The beasts from your vision approach your borders. They wish
for you to fear. Do not fear. Leave tomorrow when the sun is above the old
maple. No later. I will see to the care of your sheep. Take Graffeon’s book and
the staff he carries. You will hear from me.
Elyon
Zam could hardly think. Did it actually
say take Graffeon's book? His most treasured possession? He stared at the small
scroll a moment longer, trying to make sense of it. Something about it filled
him inside… it felt true. How does this
Elyon, or Graffeon for that matter, know about the vision?
Zam looked up at Graffeon and the chair
was empty. He was gone. It had taken only a moment to read and contemplate the
scroll. Although, it seemed it would take more contemplation to grasp how
exactly it was he now sat alone. Zam looked about the shack. It had been his
only home for many years. It still felt more inviting than usual, but not so
much like home. The peaceful air that filled the place now felt more like the
calm before a storm.
He puzzled at all that had transpired.
He noted the staff propped in the corner near the door. Graffeon’s staff. The worn old book still lay upon the table. Graffeon’s book. In a daze he opened it
and read from the first page:
On this date, (The date was the day of Zam’s
birth.)
By the request of Elyon, I dedicate this book and all its
contents to Zamuel Windwater, the only surviving member of his father’s line.
May he always choose right over wrong, light over dark. May this book help
guide him, and may he always know his worth.
Today I’ve hewn a branch from the second tree in Elyon’s
garden. It shall be a staff for Zam to use in his journeys. May it never break,
and may it serve him always as I serve Elyon.
Royal Recorder and Messenger - Graffeon
Time passed slowly for a while. Zam’s
world had changed in a moment. The door to the shack had not opened. Had
Graffeon stood to leave, Zam would have seen. The scroll, the message in the
book, the ink on both was old and weather worn.
Zam tried to make sense of it, but
trying only set his thoughts spinning. He decided sleep was required before he
could attempt to sort it all out. Lying upon his cushions, he read through a
few pages of Graffeon’s book—or rather his
book—and drifted off to sleep.
His dreams were the most pleasant he’d
had in years; filled with far-off lands, mysterious creatures and, of course,
adventure.
Dathan, the
golden haired son of Zam’s master—and would-be brother had life turned out
differently—shook Zam awake. It was startling. Zam hadn't seen Dathan in years
except as he passed by, riding off with his father, presumably to distant
places. Dathan had been crying.
“Zam… I’m
sorry.”
Zam blinked,
shook his head, and wiped sleep from his eyes all in an attempt to determine
whether this was yet another dream. Experiencing the now-familiar feeling of
perplexity, he realized he was awake. “Sorry for what, Dathan?” Innumerable
sorrows rushed to his heart as he spoke his could-be brother's name.
“I know my being here must cause you pain, but... I had a dream
last night.”
Zam simply stared at him, trying to make sense of the visit.
“In the dream I was a little boy, Zam. I was you, when you were
little... alone in this shack. My father...” he sighed. “Rather my master, had
left me here, content that he had a son of his own… and he didn’t need me
anymore. No. Worse. He did not want
me anymore. I was no longer a son. I was a servant.”
The story was familiar to Zam and brought up painful memories. He
marveled at Dathan having such a dream.
Weak from emotion, Dathan sat at the table, nearly crying as he
spoke. “Zam, the dream was so real I can still feel it. I saw me... through
your eyes. The could-be brother riding away with Father, smug that I was the
important one.” Dathan looked up at Zam, tears welling in his eyes. “Then alone
in the shack I felt the years pass. I felt the pain of loneliness, and somehow
moved beyond it. I found some way to accept my life and not…” his breath
started shuddering. “And not hate my could-be brother and father. I heard of my
master-brother’s accomplishments and–” This time Dathan did begin to cry. “And
I felt proud of him. You were proud of me?”
Zam’s eyes began to tear as he looked at his could-have-been
little brother and nodded.
Dathan wiped at his tears. “But I am appalled at me, Zam.”
“You knew no better, Dathan.”
He wouldn’t hear it. “No, Zam. When I woke... I knew that somehow
everything I dreamed was real, that you felt all of those things. And here I’ve
sat snugly in my world, not caring an ounce for you.” His voice broke for the
sadness. “And all the while you cared for me. That my father and I put you
through that… I cried to know it.” He scoffed at himself. “I still cry to know
it! I hate it! I know I can never
make it up to you, Zam, but I must try.”
“Dathan, you behaved as you were taught to. There is nothing you
need to make up to me. The simple fact of your coming here–”
Dathan’s face turned grim. “No, Zam, I must make it up to you.” He
stood and motioned as if to the whole countryside. “There is danger here for
you.”
Zam startled at that. “What?”
“Before the dream ended, I was watching over the flock. A lamb
went missing. I searched for it, and horrible creatures came. I believed they
would devour the lamb and there was nothing I could do, but I realized only too
late they were there for me... for you.
They seized violently upon me and I awoke in tears, my heart pounding. I knew
then that I had to come to you, to take your place tending the sheep. I know in
my heart that I will be safe, but if I don’t let you go, Zam, your life is in
danger.”
Zam didn't know what to think. The dream was a stunningly accurate
flash of his life from childhood to yesterday.
“In my dream, Zam, when the
creatures had nearly reached me, a kingly voice filled my hearing and said,
‘See? The sun has passed the old maple.’”
Recognition passed over Zam’s face and Dathan saw it. “That means something
to you, doesn’t it? You know my fear
is justified, Zam. You must go... to save your life. Leave. Do what you must.”
Zam stood up, unsure of his next move. “What do I do, Dathan? How
do I go? I am only a servant. I move at the will of my master.” He sighed.
Dathan smiled for the first time since Zam awoke. “No more, Zam.
You are free. I left a letter for father telling him where I would be, that I
had freed you from your service, and that I was giving you money for your
journeys.” He chuckled. “He may be angry with me.” Emotion caught in his throat
again. “But it’s truly the least I could do.”
Zam was dumbstruck. His whole life he had longed for a single kindness
from his could-be brother, and here Dathan stood offering more than kindness:
freedom.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Dathan placed his hand firmly upon his older—yet less worldly
wise—brother’s shoulder. “Then simply say… if ever you return to these parts,
you have no master. You have a brother.”
They stood before each other, both with tear-streaked faces, Zam
smiling and fighting back an absolute flood. He nodded.
Dathan said sincerely, “I would have liked to have known you, Zam.
Please forgive me for the past.”
It was a moment from Zam’s dreams, woven through with irony. I have a brother... but now I must leave.
He clasped hands with Dathan. “I do forgive you, Dathan. Thank you.”
Dathan gratefully bowed his head to Zam, then said in earnest.
“Now, Zam, whatever it meant the sun will have passed the old maple soon. You
must hurry.” He pulled a coin purse from his belt and held it out. “Take this,
gather your things, and be safely on your way.”
Zam fought overwhelming emotion as he took the purse, fastening it
to his belt, and grabbed Graffeon’s book—my
book. He donned his cloak, and took Graffeon’s staff—my staff.
For the first time ever, his brother embraced him.
“Fare you well, Brother.”
Holding tightly, Zam replied, “And you... Brother. Thank you.”
At that, Dathan simply smiled, and Zam set out north.
It was a glorious spring day. The wind moved through the trees
like a whisper, barely audible. Long grasses lolled to and fro, and birds sang
sweeter songs than any Zam could recall.
Dathan stood atop the hill near the shack, watching over the
sheep, watching and waiting for the moment his father would ride up and
chastise him for making “so foolish a choice.” It wouldn’t be long now. But he
had done the right thing. Of that he was sure.
He breathed in the morning air and looked to the west. A dark
cloud appeared, coming his way faster than the breeze and against the wind. As
it approached, he saw it for what it was: a cloud of eerie green fireflies out
in the daylight. They hovered a few feet above him, and his skin crawled. He
had the unpleasant suspicion that these were somehow part of Zam's danger. They
remained a moment as if assessing him. A moment more and they frantically
swarmed him.
He closed his eyes tight and could not help but hold his breath.
If he believed insects capable of emotion, he would have said rage fueled their
swarming, for that’s what surrounded him. Rage. Loathing. Hatred. His mind
flooded with images of the beasts from his dream. Then, as suddenly as they
came, they shot away west.
Dathan opened his eyes and breathed again, his heart racing. He
looked about, and the sky was clear. Though he couldn't understand what had
happened, he knew the danger had passed. He was safe, and so was Zam… for now.
As Zam approached the stone that marked the northern border, he
surveyed the hills and fields he’d called home for so long. Beyond lay a large
wood into which he had never stepped foot. Well... here I am.
His heart beat with the thrill of the unknown. He took a deep
breath and stepped beyond the marker, beaming. The wide world stood before him.
He glanced back to his former home. It was no longer home. A small dark cloud
seemed to hover over the hilltop, shifting and moving. He blinked to clear his
eyes, and it was gone.
The sun hung directly above the old maple. He’d left just in
time—for what, he did not know. But his adventure had begun. He thought of
Graffeon's words. It's in your heart to travel and experience adventure...
you will do both.
“Thank you,” he whispered to the air,
and took another step north.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter Two: The River’s Edge
Zam continued north for many days, first through light and airy
woods, then through forest that began to tangle and close in, all while
traveling jutting, rocky hills that were pocked here and there with boulders.
He grew weary. There had been no signs of villages or people, he'd seen no
animals or creatures of note, and he'd found nothing to hunt. Frankly, nothing had
brought interest to his monotonous march. Beyond that, the weather had turned
for the worse, letting loose great sheets of water from the sky. Zam was now soaked
to the bone and feeling impatient. This isn't adventure! He grumbled, “This is nothing but a
blind march through inhospitable lands at the word of some... some...” He
didn't have a word. “What was he even?”
He stopped his march through the rain and gave that a bit of
thought. A moment later he threw his hands up and sighed. “A man who vanished
into thin air.” The words reminded him how miraculous the event had been, and
that softened him. “And… a man who knew things about me that no one could
know... how I feel inside.”
The truth was, in a very brief encounter, Graffeon had profoundly
moved him. Not since his childhood visit to Sandrey had his heart connected so
instantly with an individual. He’d spent a very short time with the messenger,
but now the name Graffeon would be forever written on his heart.
Zam's spirit brightened at the thought and he determined to press
on no matter how rough the travel. Around midday the clouds broke and the first
glimpse of sunlight came piercing through, lighting a clearing as he passed.
The breeze was cool, but the sun slowly warmed his face and hands, further
improving his mood.
He sat on a round, flat boulder in the middle of the clearing and
bathed in sunlight. “I’d wager many have found this a pleasant enough place to
rest when traveling this way.”
“I’d wager not,” a voice said from behind him.
He spun around, startled. Thick trees lined the edge of the
clearing with gnarled brush peppered here and there about their feet. An
unpleasant feeling crept its way up his spine. He shouted with what he hoped
was a menacing tone, “Who’s there!”
He was greeted with wind through leaves and nothing more. He
pulled out the small knife he kept strapped to his side. It was more for
preparing meals than protection, but it was all he had at the moment. The
silence continued and he began to doubt what he had heard. After a long while
he lowered his guard and sat upon the stone. A while after that he dismissed it
altogether. “Don’t be so jumpy, Zam.”
Still uneasy, he set to eating. Just beyond the clearing a pair of
invisible eyes watched him. Planning. Malevolence growing. Enjoying his fear.
Waiting for the perfect moment.
Zam put the knife away, pulled some provisions out of his satchel,
and opened his book once again. Thumbing through the pages, he read the
headings aloud.
“Days? No. Un-careful?” He chuckled at that. “No again. Rest?
Safety? Safety… I could use a little of that.” Something about the clearing
left him with an eerie feeling. He began to read aloud.
“The truth it seems is unmistakable.”
The waiting eyes narrowed.
“But how it seems it may not be.”
The creature crouched low.
“Though much may lay upon the table,
beware of all you may not see.”
It slithered close behind.
“If you desire to keep your safety,
find out what’s held beneath the table.”
A murky black vision began to congeal behind him.
“Plots and death hid there may be,
but that is such you cannot see, without me.”
Fully visible in its coal black, serpentine form, the creature
bared it razor teeth.
“I can see what’s above and beneath the table,
I am able. ~ Elyon”
The creature lunged and struck—nothing. It squinted and looked
around the clearing. Its prey was gone and night had fallen. The creature was
dumbfounded, wondering how its prey had escaped.
Zam had finished the poem and mostly, but not entirely, said to
himself, “I’d like that kind of safety, Elyon.”
If one could have looked from the outside, one would have seen the
creature as it lunged for Zam and stopped halfway to its mark, remaining there;
all the rage in the world on its face, and an evil glee in its eye at the
impending fate of the boy before it. But Zam just turned the page and chomped
down on dried meat. The creature remained poised to destroy him—invisible and
unmoving.
When Zam finished, he packed up what little food was left and
moved on. The beast remained. At nightfall the creature’s attack resumed… to no
avail. Its quarry was gone, miles away, taking a well-deserved rest out of the
reach of evil things.
Several more days passed and Zam’s spirits improved, as did the
weather. One glorious morning, as the sun broke over the mountains, he moved
with renewed vigor. Something wonderful would happen this day. He would reach
the crest of the farthest in a range of hills he used to glimpse on clear days
back home.
This hill was farther from home than Sandrey, which was more to
the east, and Zam had no knowledge of what lay beyond. It had long been the
most distant point he could imagine traveling to. He’d always thought the
likelihood of traveling so great a distance was somewhat akin to making his way
to the moon. Now here he was working his way up the side of that very hill. He
couldn't help but smile. I've almost reached the moon.
A few hours later he reached the crest. It was nearly noon. He
breathed in the crisp, clean air. It felt like freedom. He look out over a
small valley split in the middle by a large river. There was only one way to
cross: a stone bridge set in the middle of a quaint little town right in the
middle the valley.
“People,” he said quietly. He'd been traveling for nearly two
weeks, and although he was accustomed to lonely times, lonely times away from
home in inhospitable woods seemed bleak to Zam in a way he’d never known—which
made the possibility of human contact quite appealing.
He made his way quickly down the slope. Just beyond the bridge was
a large inn with smoke pouring from the chimney. He imagined he caught the
scent of something delicious cooking inside. The inn acted as centerpiece on
the march from some larger place to another place presumably more important. Here
the people lived simple lives, except for the travelers whose horses and
carriages could be easily distinguished from the locals. A large-ish crowd,
some poor and others of seemingly high stature, gathered outside the inn
awaiting the chime of the dinner bell.
As Zam approached, he spied some children playing near a stream that
trickled down the hill to meet the river. Not far from them, an elderly man sat
against a small, ruggedly built shelter, watching the children—a broadsword
resting on his lap. He twirled the sword in lackadaisical circles.
As Zam got closer to the children the elderly man took note of him
and the lackadaisical spinning of the sword stopped, a firm grasp replacing it.
The children had yet to notice Zam, so once he was within earshot he called
out. “Good day to you!”
The children froze, then turned to see Zam approaching and ran to
the shelter.
The elderly man stood slowly, the tip of the sword in the dirt as
if a walking stick rather than a sword. He was dressed in a simple tunic and
trousers with high leather boots. His white hair shone bright in the sunlight.
He nodded to Zam and something in his eyes belied the weakness his actions implied.
“And good day to you too, Stranger.” The man hunched over slightly
as if trying to stand comfortably. “What brings you to our little shire?” His
tone was pleasant enough, but his look was mistrusting.
Zam approached, choosing to match the man’s tone. “I am on a
quest. I’ve been traveling for nearly two weeks and your town is the first I’ve
come across since I set out.”
“A quest? To where are you traveling?” The skepticism the old man
obviously felt crept into his voice.
Zam figured it couldn’t hurt to tell. “That’s just it, Sir. I
don’t know the aim of my quest. Merely that I was directed to set out and the
quest would find me... I think.” He knew he wasn’t making much sense but he figured
honesty would serve him better than pretense.
The old man shifted his weight again, but did not actually put it
on the sword. “Hmm... a treasure seeker no doubt, but where is your sword, boy?
How can you seek treasure without a sword?”
Zam half chuckled at how ridiculous that must seem. “I was simply
told to take this staff and a book that was given to me. I don’t own a sword.
And as far as treasure goes, it would be nice to find, but I’m not specifically
seeking it.” Zam smiled at the thought and continued. “Truly, Sir, I have yet
to determine what my quest is. I was simply told to go north, so north I came.”
The old man looked hard into Zam’s eyes and perceived he was an
honest soul. “You don’t have a lie in you, do you, Boy?” He straightened up,
flipped his sword into the air, caught it by the hilt, and sheathed it. With
all pretense of weakness gone, the old man smiled. “Welcome to Rivertowne.
Boring name, I know. Name’s Jacob Galwen Dorria. Townspeople and friends call
me Galwen. I own the inn you were spying as you approached. These are my
grandchildren.” He glanced toward the children, the elder of whom had crept to
the door of the shelter. “It’s all right. This one is safe. Come on out.”
Each child came out and bowed in succession as Galwen introduced
them. “This is Dorrin, age thirteen; Keerin, eleven; the twins, Laise and
Tannis, both ten; Rheen, eight; Keer, seven, and....” The last was an adorable
little girl with auburn colored hair and piercing green eyes. She came shyly
out then curtsied, wearing an odd expression as she looked at Zam.
“... this little one's name is Tearis.”
“I’m six.” she said, gazing at him with a smile.
Galwen passed a quizzical look from her to Zam. “She doesn’t often
speak to strangers, Master…?”
Zam realized it was a question. “Zam. Uh… Windwater.”
“Well, Master Zam Uh
Windwater,” Galwen said with a good-natured smile, making the children snicker.
“You say you’ve been traveling for many days… perhaps you could use a room?”
“Yes!” Zam said with more zeal than he intended. “A warm place to
sleep and a bed would make this day as good a day as I had hoped it would be.”
“Very well.” A smile added wrinkles to Galwen’s face. “Then… you
do have money, eh?”
Zam chuckled and held up a few coins.
Galwen nodded. “Good, good. Wouldn’t want to give you the wrong
impression of my establishment. Children, follow.” He picked up Tearis and
ruffled Dorrin's sandy brown hair as he passed.
Galwen and the children led Zam down the slope. Soon they reached
the River’s Edge, an aptly named inn, as it sat only a short distance from the
edge of the river.
Upon showing Zam to his room Galwen said, “I have a good feeling
about you, Lad. Perhaps you’ll find the aim of your quest here.” He eyed Zam
with a questioning look. “We’ll be having supper shortly. Don’t be late if you
want to eat. My patrons don’t have the best manners. When the dinner bell
rings, be ready.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
After Galwen left, Zam sat on the bed. Not very soft, but definitely better than the rocks and twigs I've been
calling my bed these last few weeks. He opened his book, leaned back on the
bed and began to read, but his body had other plans and he fell fast asleep.
He woke to the sound of the supper bell and was up and out in a
moment. Two maids were serving food to several patrons and already there were
only a few seats left. Zam grabbed one nearest the door, which set him also
nearest the bar.
A young woman dropped a plate in front of him. “There you go, Love.”
She stood a little too close and her smile was a little too friendly. It made
Zam uncomfortable.
A dumpy looking man at the bar called after her. “You don’t look
at me ‘at way anymore, Reena. What’s ’is pup got ‘at I aint got?”
“I never looked at you
that way, Mort!” she called back, and shot Zam one more overfriendly look as
she walked back to the kitchen. Mort scowled at Zam.
The man next to him spoke up. “Don’t worry ‘bout Mort here. He
knows he’s too old for Reena, but I tell you what: watch out for ‘er. She’s pretty,
but she aint got your best interest at heart... if you follow me.”
Zam thanked him for the warning, and Mort just kept on scowling.
Just then a tall, gentlemanly looking fellow took the seat next to
Zam, and Mort and his companion began referring to him in such polite ways as
“Fancy Pants,” “Your grace,” and “Oh most esteemed one.” Zam wondered at the
man’s patience.
He must have read Zam’s thoughts because a moment later he struck
up a conversation. “You have to consider the source of comments like that. It
is likely the stubby one was drunk before the sun reached its peak, and will probably
pass out before the moon is halfway to its. My name is Phillip Dorgair. And
yours?”
Mort was still spouting what Zam would have called fighting words.
“Zam Windwater. You are a patient man.”
Phillip smiled. “It pays to be patient in my line of work.”
“Oh… what do you do?”
“I’m the innkeeper.”
Zam frowned. “I thought Galwen was the innkeeper.”
“Oh, he likes to tell people that. I let him work here some of the
time. It helps him feed all those grandchildren.”
Zam noticed that Mort and his companion had gone silent. A quick
glance to the side informed him why. They were now intently watching Zam and
Phillip. Something brushed against Zam’s side and when he turned back Phillip
was standing.
“I apologize. I must see to some of the other patrons.”
Zam instinctively reached to his side and found his coin purse
missing. “Hey! Phillip!”
Phillip kept walking toward the door.
Zam stood to give chase, but Mort and his fellow were already
there in his way.
“‘Ey boy… you aint finished yer supper yet. Where you off to?”
Zam couldn't pay for his room without that money. Then it struck
him. “My book is in that purse!” He tried to move around them. “Gentlemen,
please. I must–”
“Gen’lmen?” Mort scoffed. “You ‘ear that, Randec? ‘Is pup jus'
called us gen’lmen. Them’s is fighting words if I ever ‘eard any.”
Mort drew his sword and Randec said, “Where’s your sword, Boy? A
cloak, a staff, and a purse with a book? Well, I don’t see no purse now, but
really... that’s no way to go on a journey. How you ‘spect to protect yourself
‘gainst dangerous ruffians?” Mort started jabbing his sword at Zam.
Another voice joined in. “He makes a good point, Lad.” A sword
struck Mort’s and swung around flipping it into the air, disarming him. As Mort’s
blade came down, Galwen caught it by its hilt and handed it to Zam, who was
still trying to catch up to what had just happened.
The old innkeeper’s tone was calm, but intense. “I told the three
of you if you caused any more trouble in my inn I’d beat you so you’d remember
it. But, as my grandchildren are here and watching, the thrashing I have in
mind will have to wait for another day. Now get
out. And never cross through my door again.”
Randec took a frightened step back, and Galwen scowled at him. “You
can pick up Phillip on your way out. He’s lying unconscious in the hall.”
Galwen tossed Zam’s purse back to him, and Mort stepped toward the
old innkeeper. “But ‘at’s my sword! I paid a pretty penny for it!”
Placing his blade alongside Mort’s throat, Galwen calmly said, “Be
glad, Mort, that your sword is all I’m taking.” The tone of voice and stern
look—not to mention the sword lingering so near to his jugular—made Mort pale.
“Fine… never was much of a sword anyway.” He shouted, “Keep it!”
then he and Randec exited. Zam could hear them fumbling in the hall, trying to
carry Phillip out.
Galwen turned back to Zam. “Perhaps it would be best if you dined
with my family this evening. You really never have been anywhere or done
anything, have you?”
Zam shook his head, embarrassed.
Galwen gave him a fatherly look. “Well, we all start somewhere,
Lad. You will need my help… but later. Now we eat.”
A new thought struck Zam as he looked around the dining hall at
all the people. This adventure thing is going to be difficult.
As they entered the family's private dining room Galwen introduced
his remaining family members. “Zam Windwater, may I introduce my late son’s
wife, Molly, and my daughter Barea.” They both greeted him warmly, as did the
children who awaited their grandfather to begin the meal. Zam was ushered to a
seat across from Molly with Tearis and Dorrin on either side. Molly was a
beautiful woman. Her amber hair—laced through with the lightest hint of gray—was
bound in a kerchief that brought out brilliant flecks of blue in her eyes. Her
smile was warm and motherly. Zam liked her instantly.
Galwen took his seat at the head of the table. “This is my family.
I assure you none here will pick your purse.”
Dorrin shook his head and spoke, presumably out of turn. “If Raine
were here she wouldn’t have let you fall prey to those thieving fools. Reena
doesn’t care what goes on.”
Molly’s expression turned instantly sorrowful.
“Dorrin!” Galwen said—his voice raised not so much in anger as in
shock. “We do not speak of such things.” He shifted his gaze, indicating the
effect the statement had on Molly.
Dorrin cringed. “I am so sorry, Aunt Molly. I wasn’t thinking.”
She half-smiled. “It is well, Dorrin.” She brightened a bit. “And
you are correct. She would not have tolerated such things.”
Zam eyed the whole scene curiously. It seemed every member of the
family had been shaken by Dorrin’s remark. Heaviness had fallen over the table.
All the while little Tearis continued to stare at Zam with an expression he had
yet to figure out.
Molly could read the curiosity in Zam’s face and felt it impolite
to leave their new friend in the dark. With a bittersweet smile, she said, “Raine
is the name of my daughter, my only child. She used to work in Reena’s place,
and no traveler need worry, for though she was gentle, she could be fierce when
needed.”
“What happened to her?”
Molly looked off as if remembering and stifling emotion. “It is a
sorrow that starts in beauty. Raine was graced with a gift… she could heal the
sick and the injured. Never did we think to hide her gift because so many in Rivertowne
benefited from it, but word spread beyond our little border. Not long after,
the steward of this region, Lord Neereth, came with his soldiers requiring a
‘one-time tax.’”
Galwen interjected. “No doubt unauthorized by the king.”
Molly nodded and continued. “It was a sum greater than the inn’s
worth. Even more than we could have earned in a week of years. My husband, Tolwyn,
had long since been conscripted as a soldier and was lost to us, so there was
no way to pay.” She shook her head sadly. “But, it was a ruse. There was no
tax. If there was, we were the only family who paid it. It was simply an excuse
to claim a member of our family… my daughter… as a slave. Raine was taken from
us to serve the steward in Knighton.”
Zam’s heart grew heavy with the hearing.
Galwen continued the tale. “I set my dear friend Darik in charge
of the inn and my family so I could inquire in person as to my granddaughter’s
welfare. When I found her, she was living in the lord's keep and being treated
very well, almost as a royal for the great services she rendered the Steward.
She wrote to us at every chance and we received letters often. We thought—” His
voice broke and he swallowed hard to keep back emotion. “I thought she was not at risk of harm, but when Lord Neereth’s son
was injured attacking an innocent man, the steward discovered that Raine cannot
heal at will. It must be inspired.”
Molly concluded. “Lord Neereth’s son died, and Raine was sold as a
common slave. It’s been two years with no knowledge of her whereabouts, and we
fear for her.”
Zam felt for them. “I am sorry for you all. Such a heavy loss… I–”
he choked back an unexpected emotion that rose within him. Here he saw a family
that deeply loved, and who had lost a piece of themselves. What must it be like to be a part of such a family…? … What a selfish a
thought, Zam. This family is grieved. “I apologize. I am overcome with
sorrow for you.” Zam looked at Molly. “And for your daughter Raine.”
Molly took a deep breath and looked at Zam. “Elyon will decide in
mine and my daughter’s life.”
The family raised their cups at that, and Galwen said, “Indeed.”
The others agreed. “Indeed.”
Zam sat bewildered at the mention of that name. This family knows Elyon? He looked at
them in wonder. I don’t actually know
Elyon, yet it was he who set me on this quest. He wanted to ask questions,
but felt foolish to do so at such a time.
Molly offered a wan smile. “Let us speak of lighter things for
now. Zam, have you traveled far?”
“I have.” He thought better of it. “Well, farther than I ever have
before. Until a few weeks ago I was a shepherd.”
Barea asked, with a jovial smile, “And what are you now?”
“To be honest, Ma’am, I don’t know yet.”
Tearis chimed in with a whimsical tone that matched her gaze. “Yes
you do, Zam.” And that was all. She went back to gazing at him, whimsically.
Galwen chimed in, “He’s an adventurer. Look, Zam, you even have
you a sword now.”
Zam smiled at that, and Dorrin piped up again. “But does he know
how to use it? I could teach him, Grandfather. That would be fun.” A
good-natured but impish grin crossed his face.
The other children moaned at the suggestion, and Galwen said,
“Now, Dorrin, your methods of teaching seem to rely solely on showing off your skill
with a blade, and never giving a bit of instruction. That will never do.”
The entire family laughed at that, even Dorrin.
Zam felt
oddly happy sitting at this table with these people. Each one asked him
questions about himself, and though he felt most of the answers quite dull, the
family seemed to enjoy every minute. Later when both the meal and conversation
were done, Galwen asked Dorrin to lead Zam back to his room, and to be sure
that no one tried to reclaim that sword. Zam puzzled at that.
“Don’t
worry, Zam,” Galwen said as he stood. “Neither age nor stature will win a battle. Rather heart and
skill are what’s required. Dorrin is an excellent swordsman. Even at his young age his reputation
with a blade will keep certain thieving fools away.”
Zam thanked
everyone for a wonderful meal and Galwen for rescuing his purse.
The old
innkeeper chuckled. “Well, I couldn’t leave you without a way to pay for the
room.” Molly gave him a good-natured jab with her left elbow. It made Zam
smile.
All the
children were clearing out, and just before Zam stepped into the hall he heard
Barea say in a hushed tone to Molly and Galwen, “Did you see the way Tearis was
looking at him? What was that?”
Galwen said
mater-of-factly, “She sees something in him.”
Molly agreed.
“That's true, but it seems more as though she knows him.”
Dorrin
pulled on Zam's arm. “Come on, Zam… you don’t want to wait around here. You’ll
need some shuteye if Grandfather and I are to teach you how to fight tomorrow.”
“Oh, I can
fight, Dorrin… just not with a sword.” He listened, but heard no more of the
hushed conversation.
The morning
dawned with a thirteen year old boy waiting, hovering, at Zam’s door. “Come on.
Enough sleeping. It’s time to fight.”
This must be what having a younger brother is like…
“Come on, I
said.”
I think I might like that.
Dorrin was
ready with two wooden training swords. Once he and Zam were outside he threw
one to Zam. “Here’s yours.”
Zam looked
around. The morning was beautiful, the brightest day he had seen in weeks even
before leaving home. Many of Galwen’s grandchildren were gathered around to see
the bout between Zam and Dorrin. Galwen hadn’t come out yet.
Dorrin
struck Zam in the back.
“Hey! I
wasn’t ready to start!”
Dorrin's
impish smile returned. “Your enemy won’t say, ‘By the way, would you mind if I
attacked you now?’ Will he?”
“All right
then.” Zam set a large grin on his face and took a battle ready stance.
Dorrin took
a swing. Zam tried to block it, but Dorrin’s sword came down on his fingers and
Zam dropped the sword. “Ouch!”
“You have to
protect your hands… they’re important.” Dorrin chuckled at how clever he was
and continued swinging. Zam dodged each swing as he reached for his sparring
sword.
“You’re
pretty fast,” Dorrin said as he moved around for another strike.
For a moment
it seemed the world slowed down, and an unpleasant change came over Dorrin.
Something crept into his countenance, some ill toward Zam. He violently swung
for Zam’s face as Tearis shouted a warning.
Zam moved
just in time. “Hey! Be more careful, Dorrin! That would have really hurt!”
Dorrin's
eyes were glassy, almost vacant. He didn’t speak at all as he lunged at Zam,
becoming more aggressive with each swipe of the wooden blade.
Zam couldn't
understand the rancor coming from Dorrin and the darkness that seemed to
gather. He blocked several blows in Dorrin’s onslaught, but one struck him in
the shoulder. It hurt. He looked for a moment at his shoulder and found blood
there. When he looked back at Dorrin to protest, he wasn’t there.
Nor was Zam
himself, it seemed. Instead he found himself standing in a clearing, surrounded
by a dark and tangled wood. Panic began to take hold of him as he looked about
for Dorrin and the other children. They were all gone. Zam turned a circle
about the clearing. And when his gaze fell to the place he had last seen
Dorrin, a large black dragon with armor-like scales, razor-sharp talons, and
teeth like scythes was standing in his place. Terror ran through Zam.
The black
dragon spoke. “You will not claim my prize, Boy. I have captured her and she is
mine. I will have my supper, and I might add you to the meal. Or perhaps I’ll
save you for breakfast.” A swipe of the dragon’s massive talons tore past Zam’s
ear as he dodged the blow, but just barely. His wooden sparing sword was gone,
and he was holding the sword that once belonged to Mort.
Zam tried to
spy the prize of which the dragon spoke. Dodging another strike, he saw: on a
large rock at the edge of the clearing, with a wall of dragon’s fire separating
her from the rest of the forest, Tearis lay unconscious. Zam was first seized
with fear and then confusion as he tried to understand how the dragon had taken
Tearis and how he himself had come to be here.
A rage began
to boil up in him, and recognition struck. Tearis
looks at me as though I’m a hero. Now she needs me to be one. Otherwise she
will die, and she is far too young for that!
To this
point the dragon had been toying with Zam, but now it leapt on him like a lion
on its prey, its right foreleg pinning him to the ground under its massive
weight. Its razor teeth snapped shut so close Zam could feel the breath on his
face. He wedged the sword between himself and the dragon’s head to keep its maw
from closing a death grip about him. The sharp point slipped between two scales
and cut the dragon. The beast reeled back.
Tearis awoke
and looked around in terror. “Zam!” He turned to her and the dragon swept him
aside, coiling most of its frame around his body. It began toying with him
again, snapping its monstrous jaws shut inches from his arm, his chest, his
head. It repeatedly knocked him to the ground with its horns. Tearis stood on
the rock watching in horror.
Bruised and
bloodied, Zam refused to give up against this impossible foe. Standing once
again, on legs less steady than he desired, Zam pointed the tip of his sword at
the dragon’s heart, “Beast, she is not
your prize! You may try to claim her, but she... is... not yours....” His
strength was failing, and that struck a deeper fear in him for what would
befall Tearis, who stood now in shocked silence.
The dragon
spoke in a sickeningly peaceful tone. “Boy, you are going to die, as will the
girl. But for all your valiance perhaps I’ll dine on you this night and save
her for breakfassst.”
“No!” Zam
shouted and leapt with all his remaining strength, striking the dragon with his
sword. The force of the blow hurt Zam’s hands but the dragon was unfazed. Zam swung
wildly at the dragon’s neck, chipping at scales, which threw sparks with every
strike.
The dragon
coiled back and hissed out a trail of smoke. “Careful, Boy.” The smoke made
Zam’s eyes burn so badly he couldn’t keep them open.
Eyes closed
and burning from the fumes, he continued swinging, hoping against hope he would
strike some weak point. He couldn't see that the dragon was scheming, slowly
bringing the lance-like tip of its tail into position behind him.
Sulfurous
vapors still blinded Zam, yet slowly he began to see all that played out. His
eyes were still closed, he was still swinging his sword without any real aim,
and he still felt a mix of terror and rage, but somehow he could see Tearis on
the rock, see the tears running down her cheek. He could see the dragon coiling
its tail behind him—his own stature so small and weak in comparison. Then, as
the last moment of his life was about to pass, he saw the razor tip of the
dragon’s tail swing around and strike him squarely in the back, piercing him
with a deathblow.
Tearis
screamed his name and Zam slumped forward, away from that part of the beast
which claimed his life. The scaly lance flowed back down to the ground stained
with Zam’s own blood. As these visions passed through his mind, the world slipped
into inky black, and Tearis’ sobs echoed through his mind along with sorrow for
his failure and the second great loss that Galwen’s family would now have to
endure. Then he saw nothing.
“Zam! Zam
are you all right?” The voice was Dorrin’s, then Galwen’s.
“Zam, speak
to me!”
Zam wasn't
yet sure what was happening. Didn’t I
just die?
“I only hit
him once.” Dorrin said hurriedly. “Well, twice. Once when I gave him the sword,
but that was nothing, and once I hit his fingers when he was blocking wrong. I
was going to go easy on him, I promise. I didn’t–”
“Quiet!”
Galwen held up his hand to silence Dorrin.
Zam was
moving, coming around. He opened his eyes to see Galwen looking down on him
with concern then noticed that Tearis was also at his side. There were tears
welling in her eyes.
Tearis!
Fear for her
surged through him as he flashed back to what might have happened once the
dragon finished him. But we’re here…!
He was more than a bit confused, but thankful.
“There you
are, Lad.” Galwen leaned down and whispered, “You should really save those
visions for moments when weapons aren’t being hurled at you.”
“What? How
did you...? ” Zam was bewildered again, and growing quite accustomed to it.
“Later, Zam...
we will discuss it later.”
Zam looked
around and saw that the whole clan, as well as several others who dwelt in Rivertowne,
had gathered around in concern for him. It was an odd feeling since Zam
couldn't recall anyone ever having been concerned for him until recently. He
gazed at the family, still disoriented.
From the
corner of his eye, he spied Mort standing among the townsfolk, eyeing him,
Galwen, and the children. There was malice in his look and he was plotting.
Galwen
dusted Zam off and spoke to the crowd. “Look at these sad faces. He’s fine. Go
back to what you were doing, and thank you for your concern.”
Some of the
villagers nodded and went on their way, but the family all closed in to be sure
Zam was truly unharmed.
Keer, the
seven year old, asked, “Did Dorrin hurt you? I’ll kick him for you.”
Zam smiled
at that, “No, Keer, your brother did me no harm. I’m all right.”
Keer and
Tearis grabbed Zam by the hand, attempting to help him up.
Having heard
that interchange, Galwen ruffled Keer’s hair playfully and took Zam’s hand
also, helping him to his feet. “Breakfast first,” he
said. “Then after, Dorrin and I will teach Zam to use his sword.”
Zam
agreed, and finally feeling stable on his feet, he picked Tearis up and carried
her. He needed to keep her safe. The dragon’s fire and Tearis’ terrified look
flashed through his mind. The effects of the vision would linger, as would the
weight of Mort’s evil glare.
Zam shifted Tearis to his other side, farther from Mort, and
whispered, “I’m all right, Tearis, and I will always protect you.”
She leaned her head close against his shoulder, contented. “I
know, Zam.”
This must be what it’s like having a
little sister…. I think I would like that as well.
Breakfast was over. The women and children cleared out, and Galwen
sat with Zam alone at the table. “There are times when my granddaughter just
knows things. She often will not share what she knows, but she knows
nonetheless.”
“She knows something about me. I heard you, Molly and Barea
talking about it. That was all I heard, but I’ve felt since our first meeting
that she knew something about me. It was unsettling at first.” His demeanor was
grim. “But now it’s more.” Zam started to choke up, thinking of what would
befall her if his vision proved true.
Galwen sensed a deeper issue at hand. “Outside you asked how I knew
about your vision.”
Zam nodded.
“Well, sometimes that's just how it is. Like my granddaughter
knows things, when you came to, I simply understood what had happened.” Zam
didn't understand so Galwen changed tactics. “Do you know Elyon?”
There’s the question of the year. “No... and yes.” He sighed. “It was he
who sent me on this quest… but I knew nothing of him until the messenger came….”
he tried to find the right words.
Galwen chuckled and shook his head. “Elyon and a messenger? That’s
why you don’t know the aim of your quest, Lad. That’s often how he does things,
in my experience. Tell me what you can, and I will counsel you as well as I am
able.”
Zam shared all that had transpired since his first vision while
watching over the flock to his vision of the dragon.
When he was done, Galwen sat deep in thought with much heaviness
on his heart. “You have done well thus far, Zam. I believe, though it chills me
to say, that this most recent vision may truly be a vision of things to come.”
Zam was heartsick at such a thought, and sorrow filled his voice. “Tearis....”
Galwen paused a long moment, looking at Zam, before he smiled and
spoke again. “Do not fear, Zam Windwater—truly. Instead hear this. I just told
you, in essence, that you may die soon, and this is the man that you are: your
concern was not for yourself, but for my granddaughter. You’ve shown me Elyon’s
scroll, and from all I know of him, he would not send you north simply to die—leastwise
to die in vain. I believe this is a vision of what might be. You were allowed
to see it so you may thwart it. Take heart.” He clapped Zam on the shoulder.
“Elyon will decide in yours and my granddaughter’s life.”
Oddly those words did bring Zam comfort; even though they’d said
the same about Raine who was now living as a slave in territories unknown. They
had moved to Galwen’s study when it became obvious the conversation would consume
most of the day. Now, after many hours discussion, Zam and Galwen were
exhausted.
Handing Zam a belt and sheath for his sword, Galwen said, “We’ll
pick up your training in the morning. Your charge for the remainder of this day
is to rest. Think not on dragons or tragedy.” Zam smiled halfheartedly in
acceptance of his mandate. They returned to the dining area just as Tearis and
Keer came bursting in.
Tearis said. “Zam, come and play with us!”
Keer added. “Yeah. The sun won’t be up much longer. There isn’t
much time left to play. Come! Quick!”
Galwen smiled. “Well, that might be just the kind of rest you need.
Go on.”
Zam’s heart lightened as the two children took his hands and
pulled him out the door.
Molly entered as Galwen took a seat at the table. He shook his
head and said, “That boy has a good heart.”
Molly nodded. “He reminds me of Raine.”
“Indeed… though he still needs to learn to use a sword.” Galwen’s
brow furrowed. “Molly, ask Darik to keep a lookout for dragons on his watch
tonight.”
“There hasn’t been a dragon cross out of Darlandis in your
lifetime, Galwen.”
“Nonetheless, ask him. And, Molly… pray.”
_________________________________________________________________________________
Thanks' for reading!