Chapter 35
“Findelbres, wake up.”
Brythia looked up from the sleeping
faerie and over to Tolian. The druidess
shrugged her shoulders.
“The Good Folk are hard to wake,” she
observed.
She bent over and shouted “Wake up!”
into the slumbering elf’s ear.
He did not start as Tolian (watching
with amusement) expected him to. His
eyes popped open and he sat up in a slow methodical manner. He was unflustered.
“Yes,” he said calmly, “What can I do
for you two...”
His other-worldly calm disappeared as
he caught sight of Tolian or, more precisely, the glowing silver sword which
she held up. He was struck dumb for
once, thought Tolian.
“The Sword!” he shouted with delight.
“Yes,” said Tolian proudly. She displayed her prize with uncharacteristic
glee. “The Moonsword.”
“She did it,” Brythia said.
“She did what?” asked a sleepy and
distraught Davlin. “What’s going on
here?”
Brythia answered the renegade druid
with satisfaction, “Tolian is the Champion.
Behold the Moonsword.”
Davlin’s eyes widened as they spied
the transformed Moonstone in Tolian’s grasp.
In that moment, as Tolian returned the old man’s gaze, she saw his
spirit fall away. Disappointment now
mixed freely with the surprise (no, the utter shock) on his countenance. Hope seemed to flee him.
“Are you all right?” she asked him,
genuinely concerned.
He was shaking slightly as he lowered
his head. He said nothing in
return. He walked out of the room.
“I think someone should go with him,”
Tolian said.
“And tell him what?” asked
Findelbres, “Sorry, Davlin ol’ boy, looks like you wasted years of your life
for nothing.”
Brythia was amazed, “He should be
happy. There can be no doubt that Tolian
is the Champion. She can defeat the
Demon. That is good news.”
“I don’t think that will make him
feel any better about it,” Tolian said, “but, why don’t you try it. I don’t think he should be left alone right
now.”
Tolian’s compassion for the old man,
raised an eye brow from Brythia, but, nonetheless she did as she was bid. Kilfrie filed out behind her.
A pause.
“You did it!” laughed
Findelbres. “I knew you would. And from that look in your eye I would say
that you’ve learned the second lesson.”
Tolian blushed.
Kilfrie pounced back into the room
with a clear urgency. She looked at
Tolian. Tolian heard her words clearly
in her mind, “Hurry up, come on.”
She sped back the way she came. Tolian sprang after her down the narrow
hallway of the cottage. The panther
turned into Davlin’s room. Tolian
followed.
Brythia was bent over Davlin’s limp
body. An ornate druidic sword pierced
his heart and blood stained the floor.
Even then, as Tolian entered the room, he gave up his last breath.
Tolian regarded his lifeless corpse
for a moment then stared into her new blade.
She spoke in a dreamy manner.
“He had so wanted to save the
world. His desire for glory, however,
had exceeded his goal.”
Brythia was confused, “What
difference does it make who saves the world?
Just so long as it gets saved.”
They gathered much from the gardens
that surrounded the house: fruits and vegetables for their journey. Their horses had fed well on the grass and
rested in the warm air. It occurred to
Tolian that Brythic had planted this garden, a thousand years ago. He had cast powerful spells to control the
weather and maintain the temperate clime.
And he had done it for her.
Brythic had known where and when the Demon would come. He knew then that the Champion would have to
travel far to obtain the sword and then further to confront the Demon. This house and garden were maintained for the
use of the Champion in her quest. Tolian’s quest.
They placed Davlin’s body outside the
wall in proper druidic funery etiquette (or callous nonchalance, as Tolian
thought it) and left it for the wild things.
Tolian regarded the poor fellow before resuming her journey. She drove her old sword next to the dead man,
to mark his grave, as it were. She then
used that weapon’s sheath for the Moonsword.
Tolian knew that Brythia would have
loved to stay there in that house built by the mighty hands of her famous
ancestor and study the intricacies of rune work which was inscribed on nearly
every beam and wooden structure. It was
an amazing place, a magician’s garden, as it were. Tolian knew, however, that they had to move
on. Every day they stalled now would
mean the loss of countless lives in the Demon’s northern conquest. And she was ready. She was energized with purpose. Sure of herself for the first time. She did not even bother to hide her
contentment in her situation now.
Everything had changed. Whether it
was the lovemaking with Brythia or the power of the Moonsword she did not
know. She felt no melancholia now, no
sorrow over the change that had befallen her.
She was beginning to find enjoyment in her new found femininity, and she
felt too much power in herself to bother worrying about it.
They traveled from the warm of
Brythic’s ancient laboratory and garden into the early December chill. The snow still remained, but the flakes had
stopped falling. The North wind bit down
at them as it stirred the few leaves that still hung to on to their
branches. The contrast was quite extreme
to their senses, bringing a slight nausea to Tolian. It passed quickly.
As they descended the steep trail
that led away from the house, Tolian noticed that the level of fallen snow
gradually declined. They could not have
gone more than two miles before there were no traces left of the frozen white
blanket. Apparently the snow squall that
had impeded their progress on the way up to the house had been an extremely
local phenomenon. The wind even calmed
its chill bluster as they continued retracing their trek.
Tolian slowed Whisper to let Brythia
catch up to her. She turned back to
address her beloved and found an intense look of concentration on her face.
“What’s wrong?” the Champion asked
the druidess.
“Ssssh!”
“Is there a problem up there?”
Findelbres called.
“Will both of you keep quiet for a
second!” Brythia demanded sternly.
Both Tolian and Findelbres fell
silent and watched the druidess with curiosity as she strained to hear
something in the distance. Tolian
listened. All that she could hear were
the calls of some birds off in the distance though Brythia must have heard
something that pleased her, for at length a smile spread over her mouth.
“It’s a Quarrel,” she announced with
glee.
“A quarrel?” asked Tolian in
confusion.
“Like a fight or argument?” queried
the faerie with equal bewilderment.
“What’s so good about that?”
“You’ll see,” she answered. “Come on.
We’ll leave the horses here and go on foot. It’s not that far.”
Tolian had no doubts about
Brythia. She dismounted without another
word and prepared to follow her.
Findelbres looked skeptical, but did the same.
Brythia did not speak again, she slid
off her own faerie stead and pushed her way through the undergrowth that lined
the trail and headed into the surrounding forest. They made their way slowly at first, but with
Brythia’s expertise in trail blazing they began to quicken their pace. It became quite clear to Tolian that they
were headed in the direction where the bird calls originated.
Brythia surprised them by speaking,
“A Quarrel is the closest thing in the kingdom of birds to warfare, though it
is far different than the human version.
It is a strategic contest, a battle without blood.”
It was interesting, certainly, but
not enough to divert them from their purpose, thought Tolian. She kept that to herself, however.
Findelbres was more blunt, “So?”
Brythia smiled, “You’ll see my
reasoning soon enough.”
To support this assertion, Kilfrie
nodded in agreement.
Finally they approached the
scene. It was amongst the most unusual
sights that Tolian had ever seen. There
stood an oak tree of great age and size.
It was taller than sixty feet and its branches stretched out wide. It was bare of leaves, of course, but its
branches were far from empty. More than
a hundred birds filled its mighty boughs.
Tolian quickly realized that half of the birds were blackbirds and the
other half were bluejays. The combined
calls produced quite a ruckus, as they screeched and shouted at each other in
clear antagonism. They did not, however engage in combat with each other, although
from the attitude of the feathered creatures they would have welcomed the
opportunity to pounce upon each other.
Instead, they took turns, one bird at a time repositioning themselves in
the branches. A bluejay would move to a
branch just above a blackbird, and then begin anew cries of intimidation. Another blackbird flew next to that
blackbird, and together they barked fiercely at the threatening bluejay.
To Tolian it had the appearance of
two armies squaring off against each other without yet striking blows. Two bluejays took off together and landed
above another of the blackbird army.
This action provoked a new bird call, different altogether than the war
cries of the blackbirds and bluejays.
“Peet!” repeated the call.
Tolian then saw that there was
another bird there in the tree. A
solitary Cardinal was watching the proceedings from the center of the great
oak. The rest of the birds fell silent
astonishingly immediately.
Both of the two jays that had just
moved flew out of the tree and alighted in the boughs of a nearby cedar. To Tolian it seemed (though impossibly) that
the two birds had broken the rules of the Quarrel and had been expelled from
the contest by the red-crested bird.
Once the two interlopers had departed the two armies once again renewed
their war cries with vigor. The cardinal
watched every move with amazing intent.
Was it possible that these winged-animals had devised a bloodless way to
settle territorial disputes, refereed, as it were, by the dignified cardinal?
“Is this possible?” asked Tolian.
“Obviously,” replied Brythia. “They usually do it in the spring, but if a
problem erupts before then, they will have a Quarrel.”
“It’s quite a remarkable sight, I’ll
agree,” said Findelbres “but, what advantage does this offer us?”
In response, the druidess pursed her
lips and let out a surprisingly loud, “Peet, peet, peet!”
The noise of the Quarrel stopped
again. The cardinal looked over at them
and glided through the air towards them.
It landed squarely on Brythia’s shoulder. The bird and the druidess then seemed to
enter into a conversation in bird language.
As they talked the two armies remained poised in their positions,
patiently waiting for the return of the red bird. Not one bird shifted its position in the tree
as Brythia spoke to the cardinal. When
they had finished their conversation it returned to its original position in the
tree and the Quarrel resumed immediately.
“Well,” said Brythia. “I definitely didn’t expect that.”
“What?” asked Tolian.
“The Cardinal is the most well
respected of the avian clans. It is a
Holy Bird, which performs a great many political and religious functions in the
bird kingdom. For example, in a Quarrel,
they act as mediators and rule enforcers.
I knew that if there was a Quarrel there was sure to be a Cardinal
present. We may not be able to trust any
other creature in the forest due to the Demon’s influence, but he would never
have power over the Cardinal. I thought
we would be able to send a message to Magara, you know, to tell her that we
have completed the first phase of our quest.”
“And did you?” asked Findelbres.
“Yes, but that surprising thing is
that the Cardinal had a message from Magara.”
Her voice grew grim. “Apparently
the Demon must have learned of the Prophecy and has changed his plans
accordingly. He has sent an army with a
contingent of dragons towards Lorm.”
Tolian’s head began to spin. “Towards Lorm,” she repeated.
“Yes, towards Lorm.”
Copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt
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