MANDORLA: Gods and Elves

By Dale Cameron Based on a story by James Culverhouse and Dale Cameron mandorlastory@gmail.com

Not where, whom. Let me tell you

Dale Cameron 2011

Contents 1st Arc Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine The Death of Stem Faar Stones and Bones Ash of Loneliness Keep in the Cellar Awakenings Chasing Birds A Rending and a Sending Do Not Suffer a Witch to Live Before Tomorrow First Letter to Eleanor 4 13

Dale Cameron 2011

CHAPTER ONE STONES & BONES

The storm descended. From atop the high branches of the Wold the storm swept in chaotic frozen blasts through the steep ravines in the Kithias Mountains and pummelled upon the Plains of Mara with chunks of ice until the Lake of Tears bubbled. Finally the storm whistled to a halt within the narrows of the Crack and the Upper Lords were able to break their fast with smoked eel and trout unperturbed. Not so the Lower Lords. They and their families, awakened by alert servants, had left the relative comforts of their wooden halls to weather the tempest in their fortresses of stone and forced to dine upon unappetising stores, set aside for sieges and other calamities. Such was the hour and the speed of the onslaught that not all could seek such sanctuary. Fishermen hauled their nets whilst prayers spittled from dry lips. On land babes cried into the blackened morn and families huddled together in their thin roofed, thatched dwellings, begging the gods to spare their fields or bring loved ones safely home. Their prayers sank as quickly as the fishermens boats.

Dale Cameron 2011

13

Yet, within this maelstrom of fear and wrath, a merchant wagon plodded across the Bog somehow finding a way over sunken ground. The merchants had given up all hope for their goods; barrels and their sodden contents were instead used as meagre protection against unrelenting downpour. Once there had been a makeshift canopy, made of rich womens clothing, roped over the barrels but this hastily erected shelter had shredded free in the fierce winds. One of their three horses had slipped in the mud and was lamed. No blade of mercy was granted and she had been unhitched and released to her watery fate. Their progress ever slower.

One lonely figure walked ahead of the wagon driving the two remaining horses. Her head was bowed against the buffeting rain and she was wrapped tightly in a thick fur cloak, too rich for such misuse. The woman had no whip but by word and gesture she forced the horses to greater effort still; for they were in great danger. The Bog was treacherous even in the dry but with swelling river waters, the Bog would soon return to its natural purpose, a flood plain.

The wagon shuddered to a halt, its wheels sinking immediately into the mud. Durjon glanced back from his seat, at the head of the wagon, to his companions. A boy, burned toe to chest by dragon fire, lay beside the large stone container salvaged from Stem Faar but belonging to the witch. Watching in distress over the boy was his dragontwin. The boys were called

Dale Cameron 2011

14

Teros. Renam, Durjons companion and friend of many years, kept vigil with the dragontwins. The burnt boy lived, yet such were his hideous injuries, he should have died days ago. Renam blamed the witch for the boys unnatural life but Durjon knew that in this, she was not responsible.

Durjon leapt down from the wagon to investigate why they had stopped. The water level was rising quickly and then, they would surely drown. He pulled himself through the wind, keeping gloved hand on wet-soaked wood or jittery horse, until he reached the woman who led them. She was dressed in clothes destined for another young woman, now they adorned a witch.

The witch was called Orielle. She acknowledged his presence by pointing ahead. A river surged and frothed before them. Whether the river was a tributary to the River Tael or formed de nova from the rain, Durjon could not say but even as he watched the waters restraining bank eroded further beneath the onrushing deluge. Orielle directed his attention to distant hills. She leaned into his ear, so her voice could be heard through the storm. Leave wagon! Go here! No! he shouted back as loud as he could, not willing to bring his person in contact with the witch. No. We stay with the wagon! She shook her head and made a mouthing face that he interpreted as meaning drowned. Then we must cross the river! What do you see? Durjon had learnt to trust those sky blue eyes of hers. Dale Cameron 2011 15

Orielle had no need to look again. High ground. Can you do it? Durjon asked. Orielle shrugged. At least it was not a direct no. The witch had a way with the horses that gave Durjon unexpected hope. It was not just that the horses obeyed her, he had never seen a better horse hand, it was that the beasts feared her. You must try Orielle! Why?" She gestured toward the wagon. "Teros dies and his bird will soon sing. He is meat. Leave him! Durjon tried not to let his horror at her answer betray his face. It is not for the boy that I need the wagon! She paused, angry comprehension dawning. His bird has flown! Leave wagon! Leave the wagon? Durjon wished it was that simple.

Stem Faar was burning when Durjon had clambered back aboard. He had no explanation for why he, the first in the water, had escaped the wyrm, when other men only an arms breadth from him were devoured. The only evidence he had to show of his ordeal was two oozing wyrm bites upon his legs. A God, Durjon concluded with certainty, must surely have intervened. Which God his thanks were due, would take careful contemplation and prayer? Likely it was to Potamos the Lord of Rivers. Durjons thanksgiving offering would need to be suitably large to repay this debt.

Dale Cameron 2011

16

Through the smoke Durjon could see no sign of the living, or even much of the dead, except for the stench of roasting flesh and billowing ash. The dragon had swept along the length of Stem Faars deck at oar height and its flames were of such heat, that from what Durjon could fathom, the men had been cremated where they stood and then their charred bodies had been scattered by the force of the dragons breath. Stem Faar had fared somewhat better then his crew but his sail was afire and the mast a smoking ruin. If the mast fell upon the deck, the fire would rapidly consume the hull and Stem Faar would sink. Then the wyrm would have a second chance to feast on him. Durjon hoped whichever God had chosen to spare him, had not overlooked this eventuality. Yet Durjon could not start to save himself while the living died by wyrm. Renam might be one of those who yet lived. Durjon grasped a relatively undamaged oar with his gloved hands and directed it toward the men thrashing and screaming amongst the feasting wyrm. He had to try. Each time a man reached for the oar, full of fear and hope, the wyrm would devour him. One man, Durjon was able to lift high enough that he could grab his outstretched hand, though he lost the oar to the water in the process. Pulling hard and risking his own precarious balance, Durjon dragged the man aboard, only to find that all he had rescued was the mans dead torso. Other men, Durjon saw, had managed to climb the side of Stem Faar themselves, only to bleed to death amongst the remains of the feet and legs of their immolated comrades. The smoke and fire was spreading and Durjon thought once more of his own safety but one final time he leant far over the edge of Stem Faar, his hand stretching vainly toward flailing dying limbs. This time

Dale Cameron 2011

17

one hand leapt up from the depths of the water to grasp his. It was a womans hand, with leather bound wrists. For a moment Durjon contemplated releasing his grip. As if sensing this, the womans grasp grew strong and Durjon felt himself in danger of being dragged over and into the water. Holding the edge of Stem Faar with his free hand, he lifted the woman aboard. She was near naked in the rags she wore as clothes. But it was not her nakedness that held Durjons eyes, it was the realisation that not one wyrm had marked her skin.

By Ordeal of wyrm this woman was confirmed as a witch, owing a blood pact to Taelia the Mother. Whether the dragons arrival during the witchs Ordeal was merely chance, the vagaries of fate, or revealed some unholy alliance; Durjon did not know and at that moment he did not care. The woman raised her bound wrist to him. Your boat it burns, she said. Durjon stepped up the witch and with his knife, split the leather, freeing her. That it does. Perhaps you will help me? Together they loosed Stem Faars splintering mast and smouldering sail and flung them upon the wyrm, bringing a merciful death to those beyond help. As the witch doused the remaining fires, Durjon made a fateful discovery. There was life still aboard Stem Faar. One of the boys, who had first unchained the witch and lowered her into the water, was miraculously unharmed by dragon fire. His twin also lived but only just. He was burnt from his feet to his chest. There was no hope for him. The burnt boy was quiet and brave but when the other boy finally grasped the severity of his twins injuries, he screamed for the both of them. To lose a twin, Durjon knew of no worse

Dale Cameron 2011

18

loss. As he explored toward the bow of Stem Faar, Durjon was delighted to discover that the wagon, many barrels of his merchandise and three of the horses had all escaped completely unscathed. The dragon must have lifted his fiery breath, before completing the full length of Stem Faar. Then Durjon made his most miraculous discovery, squashed beneath the burnt dead mare, that had broken free from her restraints and knocked Durjon overboard, was Renam. Dragging the mare off his friend, Renam gave a moan of life. Despite concussion, minor burns and cracked ribs, he would live. Together Orielle and Durjon bailed the sinking waters and manned the oars as best they could and following the cry of a heron through the mist, made for land.

As Durjon leapt onto marshy soil, the feel of land beneath his feet had never felt as good. The feeling lasted only a moment, for it was here within the Bog, that Durjon faced the full impact of his terrible dilemma. He had aided a witch and for this his life was forfeit. At the dragons attack he had witnessed the Captain of Stem Faar slice his forearm to reveal the vapours of blue spirit. Durjon had the knowledge and the wit to interpret what his eyes had revealed: oh that he had not. A mentashade, essence of a God, inhabited the Captain of Stem Faar, just as Durjon well knew mentashades inhabited the nine Readers of Dragons. The great secret of the Isles and the surety for Baladas covenant between man and dragons, that allowed the Islemen dragons safe passage

Dale Cameron 2011

19

through the Wash, was betrayed. For witnessing this, his and Renams lives were forfeit. Upon the Bog, where no dragon should be, a dragon had attacked and destroyed a dragon ship, perhaps breaking and invalidating this same Isleman immunity; for this his, Renams and any they revealed this secret to or were even suspected of revealing too, lives were forfeit. Durjon, Renam, Orielle and the Teros twins, were a plague bringing unsuspecting death to all those they would meet, for such would be the Islemen and Readers response. What bargain could Durjon make for their lives? A witch, a stone container taken from the witchs home and a burnt dragontwin who refused to die. Which would prove most useful only the Gods knew but for now he needed them all? Salvaging what merchandise he could onto the reconstructed wagon and led by Orielle, they had headed south out of the Bog. Stem Faar was left rotting in the mud.

Durjon glanced at Orielle and the raging river before them. He leaned in close to her ear, desperation putting aside any reluctance. The Bog Witch; that is what men call you. Sailors fear you but the Readers have sought you for many years. I know of their searches, I have been with them before but always they have failed, until now. Why now Orielle. I think it was you, who found us. Why, why did you want to be found, after so long? Perhaps it was the overhead lightning but an ember of white fire flared within her sky eyes and then disappeared. To find my fathers spirit and be

Dale Cameron 2011

20

judged. Durjon pointed toward the hills, the ones where Orielle had desired they go. See those hills, he had no doubt that she did, you will find no spirit there. But you might among men, men who live on the River. Come with me and I will help you find an Augur Priest, he may be able to contact your fathers spirit from beyond the Wold. She paused and then nodded, the bargain sealed, just as Renam appeared at Durjons right shoulder.

Giving the witch wide berth Renam hobbled up to Durjon, The boy is asking for you. Another flash of lightning lit the raging torrent of water before them. Were not going through that are we? Yes, said the witch pointing at Durjon, he wills it. We must Renam, Durjon said to his old companion. Trust me, it is the only way. Renam did trust Durjon but he could not disguise his fear. Orielle, asked Durjon, is there anything you would have us do, to prepare? Should we lighten the wagon? She shook her head. Leave weight or, she gestured showing them washed away. But the wagon will bog down in the river bed. The horses will never pull us through! said Renam. They will Renam have faith, said Durjon looking straight at Orielle, or

Dale Cameron 2011

21

they will die trying. Wait for my signal.

Together Renam and Durjon climbed up onto the wagon. Strap everything you can down, instructed Durjon. Ill see what the boy wants. The boy was lying alongside the large stone container taken from Orielles home. Durjon had made no attempt to investigate its contents, though his suspicions had grown. Time enough for that if they survived. Both boys were soaked through but at least the container and barrels kept the wind partially at bay. They both looked up at his approach but it was the dying boy who caught his eye. The boy had thrown back his blanket and the weeping burns of black and clotted blood were visible. Orielles pronouncement of the boys fate returned to Durjon, she had called him meat and such was his flesh but the boys keen gaze held no death. I must know merchant, am I Captain now? he asked. Durjon had been expecting this. He leant against the stone container peering down at the boys. That depends on the nature of the mentashade that has inhabited you? answered Durjon. The uninjured Teros reached for the sword at his side. You dare speak of the secret! It is death to know such things. Hush Teros, said Durjon. You have not yet sought to kill me, though that is your law. Let your twin have his answer first then kill me later; if you must. Ask your Mentashade, is he Peacock or, his heart was pounding as he gambled on his comprehension, "Ibis." Dale Cameron 2011 22

At Durjons words Teros leaned in closer to his injured dragontwin. The boy touched the burnt leg of his twin but Teros could not feel him, he was speaking into himself. He says, he says he is Ibis, the seventh essence of Potamos, Lord of Rivers. To emphasise this statement flickers of blue flame emerged around the boys burnt leg directly around the hand of his dragontwin. That burns, cried the Teros twin drawing away his hand from his twins leg. Blood Protect. I was right! Durjon sat back astonished. It took him a moment to compose himself. Potamos be praised for choosing you above all others for this glory and for keeping you from your death. Yes you are Captain now but alas your dragon, Stem Faar is no more. I do not know what words I should speak to you now but once I witnessed a new Reader chosen and those words seem right to me. Teros you have no father, no mother, no wife, no child, no family; no twin. All that you have now dwells in you. Subserve your will to the essence of Potamos. This cant be! said the unburnt Teros placing his hand to his sword. Who are you know such things about us? You claim that the Readers are with mentashade. You lie, for where is the Readers mentashade? If my twin is Captain, then I must be Reader! He looked at Durjon suspiciously. Or you must have it inside you! No Teros, I fear the mentashade peacock that lived in the Reader was lost, when the dragon snatched him from us. How far the dragon travelled before the Reader died and his mentashade was released to seek a new host,

Dale Cameron 2011

23

we cannot know. But his mentashade is not with us, so you can put back your sword. You will not become Reader by killing one of us. There is only one mentashade here and that dwells in your former twin. He is Captain now." Durjon softened his tone. "It is a hard truth, I know. You and he have been as one and now he has been exalted above you Teros. Your life like your twins begins anew from this point, not as dragontwin, for you will not be accepted back on a dragon again. The Dragon Captain has no twin, as you know. What you make of your new life Teros, is up to you and the Gods. I am sorry. Durjon saw his words impact as he knew they would but he hoped not too unkindly. Death came to all, and even Islemen dragontwins seldom died together, unless by tragedy or compact. To see ones twin rise above you in glory, when to be a twin was to have only a shared identity; well to lose a twin like this was bitter poison indeed. Durjon watched as Teros drank deep on the truth he had conveyed. What would you know merchant? Teros spat reaching again for his sword. Durjon thrust his two arms before Teros and pulled off one of his long gloves to reveal a hand and forearm heavily tattooed with glyphs and sigils. Think these the hands of a merchant Teros? Is that why you think I journey with you? Reflect on what I have said, for now we must cross a river in full flood. If we delay any longer we will all die and the Mentashade will be lost, just like the Readers. Ibis wishes to tell you something Durjon, interrupted the new Captain.

Dale Cameron 2011

24

I am listening said Durjon. Ibis says, You must not let the witchs prize be lost. I know. What is the prize? Is it him? Ibis says, That is not your concern. Ibis says, It was your pride, pride in your own intellect. That was why you were rejected. Yes, so I was told that day. I have learnt much humility since then, said Durjon. The boys face changed, growing inquisitive and keen intelligence regarded Durjon. When the boy spoke it was in a voice not his own. Perhaps I would not mind you as my host. The boys body is ruined, yet I am forbidden release. Kill the boy and I will join with you. You know I will not spill his blood upon the earth Ibis, so why would Potamos desire such evil of me? Ask Potamos to save us, as he saved me from the wyrm and I will burn two, no three carafes of the best Callisto wine and two measures of Royal Nectar. I am the seventh essence of the Lord of Rivers and I tell you death will come if you cross my river. Death will come regardless of how I choose. But for now, seventh essence of the Lord of Rivers, you are bound within the boy and the boy is crossing your river. Save yourself if you will. Teros strap the Captain down and hold on! Durjon jumped up into the wagon seat. Orielle was waiting for him reins in her hands. It was probably not the wisest action to insult the River God

Dale Cameron 2011

25

immediately before risking your life in a raging river; but Ibis had rubbed at old wounds that Durjon had thought healed. He glanced back to check all were ready. The Captain was roped around a barrel and the boys face was more himself. Teros held tightly to another rope and Renam had tied himself to the wagon seat that Durjon and Orielle perched upon. He gave Durjon a grim nod of preparedness. Durjon shouted, Go Orielle! Go! Blood Protect us! Orielle screeched at the two horses in command, using a tongue only Durjon and the horses could understand. The horses frothed and neighed wild into the storm. Then with a curdling scream she released them. Durjon had just a moment to consider his further folly of trusting all their lives to a witch, when the horses hit the water and the wagon was plunged into the torrent.

For a moment it seemed the horses would have no problem crossing; then the contact of the rushing water upon the wagon tore the legs out from under the animals. Frightened and petrified beyond anything instinct had taught them, the horses plunged ahead into the river. The wagon barely took the strain of the current and its occupants held on, their knuckles white with contortion as the wagon became yet another piece of floating debris in the river. Durjon heard a scream from behind him. He wanted nothing more than to hang on for his own life but the scream came from Renam. He dared to glance back. A lightning flash illuminated all he feared. Teros had his sword in his hand and his face was full of rage and smeared in Dale Cameron 2011 26

blood. He ran his dragontwin through the chest before Durjon could even utter a sound of protest. Again and again he pierced his twin. An apparition of an Ibis head appeared out of the holes in the dead boys chest before merging into the waiting and triumphant Teros. I should be Captain! screamed the boy at his dead twin. No Durjon! shouted Orielle as Durjon launched himself at Teros. The sudden unbalancing of the wagon seat, was added to by a surge of flood water across the top of the wagon. The wood of the seat ripped away and Orielle was lifted clear and plunged into the cold rushing water. Renam too had but a moment to cry out, before the rope that bound him to the dislodged wagon seat carried him also into the river. Durjon landed atop the boy and the rush of the water drove them both hard against the stone container. Its solid protection was all that prevented them from being swept off the wagon. The dead twin, roped to a barrel, broke free and buffeted lifelessly against them, before being washed to a watery grave. The sensation of muddy ground underfoot, gave the horses renewed reason to drive forward. The panicked animals having found solid ground at last, surged onwards snapping the wagon shafts restraining them. Just as the wagon found ground the supporting bolts came loose, spinning a wheel free from the axle. Durjon and Teros fell over the side and the whole wagon came crashing down upon them. The wagons axle passed through Teross abdomen, to complete its momentum in the sodden ground. Angled down and with no ropes to restrain it, the stone container shifted under its own weight

Dale Cameron 2011

27

and began to descend upon Teros. He watched it come, as it smashed through the wagons side, heading for his head. There was only an instant of pain before he felt no more. The stone container flipped over on top of itself, spilling its contents upon the mud.

From a daze Durjon heard a voice calling his name. He struggled to a sitting position. Who had called him? No one was nearby. The voice called again. Thrice it called and then was silent. Sudden dawning came to him. Ibis? A presence, like a waking dream, whispered within him. Death came, as The Lord of Rivers proclaimed it would. This can not be. I didnt want it like this. A strong feeling of ongoing danger from the rising flood waters arose in Durjon, forcing him to take stock of his surroundings. Bones, there were bones, human bones, at his feet. This was the contents of Orielles stone chest. Durjon retched. Not just because of the bones, though it was a terrible fate to lie unburnt and your spirit to be left lingering in your bones. No Durjon retched because he was a man, and flesh could only bear so much. Baladas bones, you must gather them quickly, before the waters take them! Renam! called Durjon ignoring the voice from within.

Dale Cameron 2011

28

He is gone and I will not seek for him. The bones! Orielle! Bones. The bones quickly. Durjon refused to believe his friend Renam was gone or the witch. He called their name into the storm until his throat was parched. In his despair Durjon followed drag marks in the mud leading from the water. He trundled through the mud until he found the horses, lying dead where they had fallen. The animals had died to save them just as Orielle promised they would. Out of the darkness a pale figure materialised closing on him. The apparition was not a spirit , it was Orielle. He took her hands into his own in thanksgiving. It was then he noted the cost she had paid for her life. The flesh of her left wrist was torn to the bone by the reins that had saved her. Orielle, your wrist! It will heal. I need rest." Durjon doubted her words. He had seen such injuries before; the hand would have to come off but she might yet live. First, he had to find some bandage to cover Orielles exposed bone. He at once removed the soft but soaked woven cloak he wore. It was already torn and he easily ripped a piece of it free. Orielle took the proffered bandage and wrapped it around her left wrist. Bones! Baladas bones! Together they returned to the wagon. The bones were scattered and

Dale Cameron 2011

29

already some were lost to the river. Were these as Ibis claimed, the bones of Balada the Great, First King of Men. Durjon glanced at Orielle. The woman shrugged. His spirit is gone," she said as if that was all to say on the matter. She lies. He will return. It is known to us. Durjon scooped the skull of Balada and the other bones he could save, into the remnant of his cloak. We must find shelter Orielle. The storm has not yet reached its zenith. How Durjon knew this was true he did not know. But it was true, he was sure of it. Was it knowledge he gained through Ibis? But first let us throw the body of Teros into the river and commit him to the keeping of Potamos. Better that, then leave him to the earth where he will rot more slowly. And if we can, I would push the wagon and everything we cant carry into the river. It is best if we forget this ill fated journey.

*****

Astor sat alone near the central hearth of Termors wooden manor house while trying to ignore the raging storm outside. It was morning but still as dark as night outside. He caressed the money pouch he held in his hands. A chill swept over him. Even with the shutters closed, gusts of wind blew against them, filtering through the open spaces and disturbing the flames before him. It was a terrible storm, the Three Gods preserve them, and it had

Dale Cameron 2011

30

descended so fast. He hoped the fishermen of the village were all home safe. A loud banging on the door broke through his private thoughts. He did not seek to answer it, expecting someone else to do so, but as the banging grew louder he realised there was only him. Most of the servants were with their families and their homes. Those few that remained, were busy manning the signal fire atop the manor house or placing buckets where the water leaked through the lead of the roof. To think he, the bailiff and Lord Ioles man in Termor, would have to answer his own door. His wife, bless her departed spirit, would not have stood for it. Astor smiled to himself and replaced the money pouch back onto his belt, as he stood and walked to the door. There was no relenting to the incessant banging and his smile had grown surly by the time he had reached the door. Hold your knocking! This is no inn that you may come and go as you please! Astor removed the wooden plank that held the door shut. The door blew open to reveal a mud covered young woman and an equally dishevelled man cowering behind her in the wind. Strangers in Termor, on such a night, what portent was this? He was so shocked at the spectacle that he considered shutting the door in their faces. Astor changed his mind when the woman spoke to him, in a tone that demanded attention, almost like she was commanding him. Are we safe? Can we rest? Astor nodded dumbfounded and opened the door wide to admit them. The woman collapsed before she even reached his chair by the fire.

Dale Cameron 2011

31