Scars of the Past
THE AGREEMENT
Curiously, Adalamon examines her with weary green eyes. Her round shaped facial features boast a wide hairline and a pleasant fullness below her cheekbones that accentuate full ruby lips. Long raven black hair spills across her shoulders and the bed. His eyes trace her hair leisurely down across her ample breasts. After pausing briefly, he compels his eyes to resume their study downwards and over her shapely hips and thighs. Occasionally, he lingers to observe a proportionately small number of soft coloured freckles that attractively adorn her fair skin. She is not as slender and delicate as other women he has seen but she is definitely more pleasing to his eyes. He wonders what she is doing alone in the forest then gives way to her intrusion. Disdain pastes itself on his face and he mumbles in an irritated whisper; “Just what I need, a woman to interrupt my efforts!”
He tries to recall what clan may wear such strange attire. ***what is she wearing?*** No recollection comes to him. He studies the sword that she clings to so tightly even in her sleep. The engraved hawk’s eyes reflect an aura of light that beckons him. Adalamon feels the intensity of the sword. Consciously aware that this sword is fashioned for courageous battle, he considers, “Only a righteous warrior
carries a sword of such significance.”
Inhaling deeply, he take pleasure in the mysterious aroma of her skin that is carried to his nostrils with the cleansing sweetness of the forest night air.
Adalamon keeps watch through the night.
Morning breaks softly with the quiet stirrings of the forest. Voices are heard somewhere in the distance. Kasandriana stirs. She lies in the warmth of the moment and turns her head slowly as she investigates her surroundings before memory and awareness take full hold. She is startled by Adalamon’s presence as stands over her. His rugged looking countenance gives the appearance that he has other important matters to attend to. Several days of stubble outline a strong jaw line and close set eyes depict a dramatic, sultry look. She looks deeper into faded green eyes and senses a weary soul in turmoil. His eyes reveal anger, hatred, fear, kindness and so much more. She feels as though she could fall into them and travel downwards into the depths of his soul. She senses his sorrow and longing for something to fill his emptiness. His shoulder length brunette hair is tinged with grey and falls just above his shoulders and curls upwards ever so slightly. The grey is much more prominent at his temples and sides which give him a more distinguished look. He reminds her of a defeated warrior who came home when the battle ended. Her eyes attach themselves to his bronzed chest where a golden amulet dangles amidst long grey hairs protruding outwards from the v-shape in his white shirt. She always felt an attraction to warriors with hairy chests, yet his stature was not one she would envision as being a warrior. The warriors she knew all surpassed her in height and she doubted he barely stood taller than her self. In spite of his sombre appearance she sensed he possessed a gentle and benevolent heart. A subtle nervous smile crosses her face.
“Are you the warrior who has right to the sword?” she questions. Adalamon takes notice of her evenly spaced hazel eyes as she speaks. They lift upward at the outer corners and are framed with dark long lashes. He finds them noticeably large and captivating.
“Not I, but yourself. Even in your sleep your grasp is strong.”
Kasandriana becomes aware of how tightly her hand is forged around the sword and releases her grasp slightly.
“The sword is not mine. It lay on the path where I fell. I know neither why I nor the sword came to be here.”
“From what clan are you and how are you named?”
“I am Kasandriana from the twelfth tribe of Brianna.
“Never in all my journeys have I heard of Brianna. Where is this place: by Nastargan? By Haygar? By Rianah? By Aphrisia?”
“I, myself, have heard nothing of the places of which you speak. I stood on the pinnacle of Brianna and watching the heavens on the darkest night of the year. This was the night that was to open for me a future path. The night was tranquil and cloudless; the stars more prominent and shimmering with more purpose this night. A million more stars luminated the heavens that night. I stood gazing and marvelling at the stars and as I began to chart a path I observed the brightest star falling. As it fell downwards it exploded into the largest sphere of blue and white light. The brilliant spiralling light took its course and swallowed me until I was tossed to a strange pathway. As I wandered the strange pathway, two small emissions of light flickered from under the dark shadows of a flourishing bush. In all my curiosity I sought to understand what peculiar thing would sparkle so in the shady darkness. The sword lay on the damp ground as if carefully placed there with gentle hands. No soil or dust lay upon its shaft or handle. I called out but no sounds came forth except those natural to the forest itself. It seemed absurd to leave the sword so I carry its weight and seek the owner.”
A deep-rooted recollection of tales told around the campfires tugs at Adalamon’s memory. One told of a prophecy that would come to pass when the dark days fell upon the realm. The prophecy foretold of a dark evil force that encircles the realm with darkness. Resentment and deception have festered in its soul since birth. The portal would open once upon the invocation of the high priestess and a great warrior would be born to bear a silver sword. A shiver ran up his spine to the nape of his neck as he recalled the warning: If the warrior was to succeed one must desire from a pure heart to serve the warrior and secure safe travel of both the sword and the warrior to Jasperia where the sword is to be placed at the feet of the great wizard Saros. As a child he envisioned himself as the prophesied warrior engaging in battles with the dark forces. Others that played with him were not so willing to let him be as mighty as he is brave. A slighted frown falls over Adalamon’s face as he remembers all too clearly how one such dark force held him over the thundering waterfall of Brashtabur. He pushes the thoughts of bitterness aside and makes way for the present.
Adalamon looks out of the tent and announces to his men, “On my pledge, I will keep watch over the woman and this sword. Prepare to break camp!”
He turns to Kasandriana with conviction in his voice, “A sword such as this must belong to a mighty warrior. It must be kept safe. I will escort you on the journey to Jasperia where you and the sword will be safe. There has been rumour through the night that the dark days have arrived and Sequeller is gaining allegiance to her cause rapidly. We must travel near Haygar where death lies in want of those who dare to pass. If we make it past Haygar then only I can sail the waters of Lake Sapheria. Giant bracidilous swim the waters in search of those that provoke their loyalty. The giants protect the source of Sapheria’s waters. The bracidilous remember me well. As a young boy I went to the gardens of Jasperia many times with my father. My father was somewhat of a rebel in his days as am I. He sought out Sequeller’s followers with heroic endurance. He gave his life to gain back the crystal. The book of wisdom and power was given to him to keep secret from the darker forces. He hid it well before his death. I have been trained by my father, but not even I know the place of hiding.”
“I will follow where you lead, Adalamon.”
“Let us make haste then. The journey is long and treacherous.”
Adalamon and his well trained men gather supplies together. They fill their casks with fresh water from the brook. Mushrooms and fresh berries are picked and placed in small baskets. Strings of fish and meat are gathered from the trees where they were hung to dry. Blankets rolled and tied are fastened to the horses. Carts are almost overloaded with baskets of food that will provide nourishment as they pass the wastelands of Haygar. Adalamon goes over the supplies mentally, grabs a change of clothes then turns to Kassandriana, “Change into these garments. We must not attract any cullion.”
Kasandriana agreeably changes and feels somewhat uncomfortable in the strange garments. Adalamon takes a well muscled chestnut brown horse to her side. It has long ears and a short neck. Its main and tail are quite long and thick. Adalamon states as he assists her mount, “This horse has a strong character, high speed, and strength. It should do you well.” He hands her the reigns and climbs his own. Together they ride towards the wastelands of Haygar where not a blade of grass trembles in the wind.
THE CLIFFS OF LYSIS
Adalamon leads Kasandriana and his men through the forest. Sequeller’s many supporters have been ill-advised that they will be protected by her vile powers. They lay in wait on the well travelled path towards the entrance of the cliffs. Those that are willing or weak to achieve their allegiance and to kill those who do not join her.
Hours pass slowly and even more so when they arrive at the treacherous granite cliffs. Vertical walls with crags and spikes tower in an effort to support the sky. A snakelike twist of steep peaks and treacherous overhangs allow only a meagre path to hug the wall on one side while the other side of the path descends without mercy.
Adalamon orders, “Dismount. Lighten the loads. Take only a weeks worth of food and supplies.”
Carts are left and horses are lead single file with loads tied tight upon their backs.
Kasandriana wishes she was home working in serene golden fields talking to Keyon about strangers that passed their way. They would be making up stories about who they are and where they come from. Keyon always gave the best account of things. She misses him a great deal right now and wonders if she made the right decision to leave Brianna. She shrugs the thoughts away and concentrates on the monolithic cliffs with its constricted path that lay in front of her. She follows Adalamon closely admiring the way he moves along the edge.
For a brief moment she considers, ”He is quite gallant and cautious in his efforts; he will make a decent companion.”
Rocks crush under their feet plunging to the bottomless cliff. No one dares look over for fear of becoming dizzy and collapse into the sharp grey rocks below. As they climb steadily the horses become restless and moving any faster on the harsh and rugged path would mean increasing the chance of falling to one’s demise. Everyone’s mouths are dry and the men become increasingly anxious. Adalamon tries to calm them by humming. At each blind turn Kasssandriana feels like she has come to the end of the earth where there is no future to move onward to. Cautiously, Adalamon steps over a wide gap. He reaches his hand backwards for Kasandriana to grasp onto it. She in turn does the same thing and each man after her until the men that lead the horses. It helps relieve some of the fear. The sixth horse in the line loses her footing as some of the rocks give way. The horse panics, whines, and stumbles to her death. Kasandriana’s heart palpitates rapidly as the horse disappears into deadly silence. No one moves for what feel like hours and then once again, they cautiously move forward. The climb is strenuous and everyone is rasping heavily. Some men choose to let their loads fall over the cliff. Adalamon says nothing believing it far better to lose supplies rather than the men their lives. Suddenly, a harsh wind stirs. It gathers in strength and whips small particles of dust in their faces. It becomes harder to move forwards. Adalamon cries out, “Keep moving forward; there is a cave to rest the night!” Eyes are sore and tearing from the wind and dust but they continue to push forward. Each person stays close behind the other to shield their faces from biting dust particles. Adalamon shouts, “We’re at the cave!”
The cave, although cold, damp, and dark, is a warm welcome of safety to the weary group. The men light a small fire with some supplies they kept. Kassandrianna ate pieces of bread and dried meat hungrily.
The winding cliff diminishes safely into the forest. Trees shelter the group from the wind that now has gained even more intensity. Quickly the men put the loads together to see what comfort they can make for the night. Horses are tied to strong branches so they don’t run off in the night. Adalamon thinks it better not to make a fire for the night for fear they may be seen. They make their beds under massive trees that have fallen on other trees. The trees lend a sense of protection and shelter for the night. Kasandriana pulls her blanket tighter around herself as the chills seep through her aching bones. Sometime in the night she falls into a dream. The blue light swallows her and she spins round and round, a horse falls, someone calls in the distance, a cry is heard, and she keeps spinning and spinning into the endless night.
THE VOTE
A restless wind stirs as day breaks. Members of the council are anxious to get to Mount Abranasan. Hastily they move their way to the council chamber with no word spoken amongst them selves. Each member fears to enter discussion prior to meeting. Silently they sit in chamber waiting Tarilaous.
Tarilaous listens intently as Porcella speaks. “Tarilaous, my dearest and noblest amongst dragons; distressing news I offer you this day. Aracalis kept watch through the night and watched Ramsor as he took his father’s life.”
Tarilaous lets out a deafening roar of grief for his faithful companion. Tarilaous mourns for a short time as he understands that he must move quickly and convene with council.
Solemnly, Tarilaous enters the chamber and takes his place. He keeps silent on the matter of Drakasor and Ramsor because he understands he must not influence the vote. “Members of the council, is your vote to be heard this day?” All members claw the table in agreement. “What say those in favour of Ramsor this day?”
“Where is Drakasor? No dragon has been absent from a council meeting,” the members question.
Tarilaous replies, “Drakasor will not vote this day. Members, of the council, will your vote be heard this day?”
All the members claw the table in agreement without questioning further.
“What say those in favour of Ramsor this day?”
“Ramsor is strong. Garilaous can not compare to Ramsor in battle. They have both been tested equally and with fair chance. Garilaous has failed the test of dragon hood. My vote is with Ramsor.” Pyrosor states steadfastly.
“And I”, testifies Trepasor, “have watched the two in trial. Ramsor flies at superior speed and breathes his fire with skill. Garilaous has failed. What will he prove to seek out the wizard? To have a spell put on him is to deceive the truth.”
Dagelous asserts, “Garilaous has struggled through the trials but it is Ramsor that has proven himself. My vote is also with Ramsor.”
Tarilaous speaks softly, “The vote is with Ramsor. Let us allow the others their voice in the matter.”
Bragolous rises, “Ramsor has proven himself in the tests that we have set. I can neither deny his power nor his strength. Yet, it is Garilaous who has rightful place as master dragon. Garilaous must be allowed to prove himself. If he succeeds the journey to the wizard, that is enough in itself. If he does not make the journey and falls to his demise then he himself forfeits his place to Ramsor. My conclusion on the matter is that Garilaous make the journey and prove himself or Ramsor as master dragon.”
“I stand with Bragolous. My vote is for Garilaous to decide himself who will be master dragon. We all know the perils that lay in wait on the journey to the wizard. The dangers can not compare to the tests that a dragon must endure to rule Castargan. Who of you have dared to venture on such a quest? Allow Garilaous to prove himself. Will one of you withdraw your vote and give it to Garilaous who is the rightful heir?”
Condrator disputes.
The council members that cast their decision in favour of Ramsor remain silent in their unyielding votes.
Silence breaks as Tarilaous cannot constrain the fury that has been building inside the pit of his stomach. He rises to his massive height and roars discordantly, “It is according to vote that Ramsor will be next master dragon. Castargan has fallen to its fate. The dark days have enshrouded Castargan in suffering and death. Drakasor, last night was slain. The very heart that served me was torn from its place. The Council of Seven is divided. I will take my leave now and protect the crystal as is still my duty. I vow on my word that never will Ramsor set eyes on the crystal. I take my leave now to prepare for the entombment of my dearest comrade Drakasor.”
Tarilaous takes leave while Bragolous and Condrator follow close behind. The remainder of the members sit and discuss the implementation plans for the new master dragon.
Written by Beverley Woznica
