Book III: The Silver Light - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Kiliordes sat on the corner of his cot.  He was lost in his thoughts.  One idea after another swirled through his dizzy brain.  Nothing seemed real to him.  How could it?  After everything he had been through.  It was almost impossible to believe it all had really happened.  The Demon.  The Princess.  The Faerie Warlord.  The Druidess.  The Chase.  And now, here he was newly appointed leader of the Solar Pilgrimage Festival.  He laughed out loud.  No, none of it could be real.  Except, of course, that it was.  It had all really happened.  And now he was sitting in his tent, trying to calm his breathing and make sense of the craziest thing of all.  His best friend’s disembodied, demonically possessed head lay on his table a few feet away cackling like a madman.

“Shut up,” he shouted at the thing without looking at it.  He could not bare to.  Then, he remembered that he was in a tent, and probably a great many people could hear him when he shouted.  They could probably hear the cackling head too.

“S-s-ssh!  Quit!” he commanded in a whisper.  “People will hear.”

The head’s laughter became more subdued, more of a sinister snicker.

Once again the panaroma of all that he had passed through recently assailed him.

Little more than a year ago he was some else entirely, two people actually.  He had been Rwiordes, a largely unsuccessful merchant turned would be sorcerer.  Rwiordes and his friends, Perelisk and Hertrid, had botched a magical ritual to summon earth elementals to guide them to treasure.  Instead they allowed a demon of unimaginable power to take possession of them one by one and launch a conquest to destroy the world.  He had also been the druid priestess, Kilfrie who had the gift of Hamfahring–the ability to take possession of any creature she wanted.  She attempted to take possession of the demonically controlled Rwiordes to stop the Demon.  For her trouble, both she and Rwiordes’ consciousness were banished to the very pit of chaos from which the Demon had come.  Together they unified what was left of themselves into a single being-a being of perfect unity that could not exist in the Demon’s realm of pure chaos.  As this new being he was able to regain control of Rwiordes’ body and helped Tolian defeat the Demon.  After that he was given the position of favorite advisor to the King of Lorm, a task at which he did his best.  He went by the name Kiliordes now–an amalgam of both the names his old selves went by.  He was neither of those people now.  He was someone new.  A being of perfect unity.  Just before Tolian was kidnapped he had been asked to lead the Solar Pilgrimage Festival.  He joined Princess Brythia’s quest to find her mate, but when the search led them to the Realm of Faerie, a place from whcih no mortal had hitherto returned, he bid his farewells and headed south to Surtiz and the Pilgrimage.  He wondered if the Court of Lorm missed him yet.  If they realized that he wasn’t coming back.  Probably not yet, at any rate.

It took Kiliordes a few weeks of lonely travel, leading the horse and belongings of Pagyrus, the pilgrima who recruited him, but whom had died by the hand of the traitor Delorick, Captian of the Royal Guard.  Pagyrus had died to save Kiliordes.

He had arrived at the Pilgrimage only a few hours ago, now.  According to Pagyrus, the previousl leader, Krin Gul, had upon his death bed, recommended Kiliordes as a replacement to lead the pilgrims.  Once Kiliordes had arrived the pilgrims would hear none of Kiliordes protestations of unworthiness, and they immediately installed him in Krin Gul’s tent.

It had not been five minutes since he had found Pagyrus’s bag which had been accidentally mixed in with Kiliordes’ personal items and placed in his tent.  And inside that bag, he found the demonically possessed head of Perelisk, his best friend and the first to be possessed by the Demon.

Just then, the head cackled again, drawing Kiliordes from his reverie.

“Ssssh,” he whispered again.

“But, my old friend, don’t you want to hear what I have to say?” asked the Demn’s head.

Kiliordes covered his face with his hands, “Why should I care what you have to say?  You’re probably not even real.”

How could it be real?  He had, himself, using Tolian’s Moonsword, severed this very head from his best friend’s possessed body, almost exactly one year ago in the ruins of fallen Keythion.  After all he had been through–he was doubtlessly exhausted and prone to this sort of delusion.  Most likely it stemmed from the guilt he felt over killing Perelisk.

“Oh, I’m real enough,” hissed the head.

It did, certainly, seem real.  Perelisk’s head, hardly decomposed, cut smoothly at mid neck with no significant gore.  The eyes were all black.  No whites.  Just a deep blackness.

“You should be dead,” Kiliordes replied finally.

“Why?”

“Because I killed you.”

 He head snickered, “What makes you think you could ever kill me?  I am immortal.  I am as old as the universe itself.  No mortal can kill me.”

“But, we assumed that I met the criteria of the prophecy,” responded the new pilgrim.

“Oh please, spare me that druidic nonsense.  Do I seem dead to you, my old friend?”

Well, the Demon’s head did have a point, Kiliordes realized.

“You are just a decapitated head,” he said.  “You may yet live, but in such a state, I fail to see how you pose much of a threat.  I shall find a way to finish the job I started.”

“You will not be able to,” stated the head matter-of-factly.

Kiliordes sighed, “Then I shall lock you away in trunk and leave you there forever.  What mischief could you do from there?  Little, I expect.”

“Perhaps you are right, perhaps not.  You cannot imagine the mischief I have already caused in this condition.  But, if you continue to talk to me in a civilized manner, I will obey you.  There are many things I can teach you.  Secrets” The Demon’s head promised.

“You have no secrets that interest me,” Kiliordes declared defiantly.  “You are a thing of chaos.  A twisted creature of evil.  I am a being of unity.  Others may care to hear your words, but I am beyond the need to discourse with you.”

And with that, Kiliordes walked over to the table, gingerly picked up the head by the hair.  It stared at him with hatred.  He stuffed the head back in the bag from whence it had come, and placed the bag inside the chest that sat against the side of the tent.  He wiped his hands on his tunic and stepped outside of his tent.

The clean air was chill and instantly invigorating.  Around him dozens of colorful tents were pitched.  Orange, Red, Pink, Blue.  Yellow.  The colors lifted his spirits immediately.  Pilgrims moved here and there about the camp, signing or humming.  Laughter rang out from every corner of the encampment.  Above, the sun shone down, its golden rays bringing warmth to the January afternoon.  Kiliordes breathed in all in deeply.  Once again joy entered his heart.  A red haired pilgrim girl, walked by with a smile bright on her face and a curtsie to him.  The frown that marked his face was replaced by a smile in return.  He let the unpleasantness fade from his memory and headed towards the food tent.

Bright smiles greeted him at every turn.  As he moved through the pilgrims, all decked out in colorful outfits he remembered more of his time with the pilgrimage over a year ago.  He had escpaed the Demon’s thrall and found his way to the pilgrimage.  He travelled with them, disguised as a pilgrim, until Krin Gul could get him to Lorm to warn them of the Demon’s coming invasion.  That was the happiest time in Rwiordes’ life.  He realized that he had not changed into the pilgrim clothing that had been provided for him.  He looked completely out of place in his drab Lormian gear.  He would change soon enough.  Right now, he needed wine or ale and some food.  The pilgrims ate only the best food and enjoyed only the finest of beverages.

The Solar Pilgrimmage Festival had existed for the last three hundred years.  The pilgrims were devotees of the Sun’s influence.  They believed that everything owes its existence to the sun.  They travel south in the winter and north in the summer in a joyous caravan that is always moving following the path of the sun’s journey.  They spread the love and joy of the sun to all.  They often stay on the estates of nobles and enjoy the patronage of the wealthy.  Their presence is considered good luck and as such the pilgrims are always welcomed.  They travel, always singing hymns and carols to the Solar Fire, always feasting and drinking, stopping only for a few days in each district their journey takes them through.

Kiliordes paused before the entrance to the dining tent.  A breeze that whispered the promise of spring caressed his cheeks and reminded him that life was going to be so much more pleasant now.  He regarded the tent.  It was just as he remembered from the previous year.  It was the largest tent of the encampment, a patchwork of brilliant color, looking more like a giant quilt than a tent.  On the door flap was stitched a design showing pilgrims engaged in a lavish feast.  It brought a smile to his face.  He pulled aside the flap and entered.

Immediately the delightful scents of roast spiced goose caught his attention.  His mouth began to water.  His attention was distracted by the calls of greeting that rang out through the tent.

“Hail, Kiliordes!”

Seated throughout the the tables and chairs were dozens of smiling pilgrims.  All wore simple expressions of joy at the sight of him.  He stopped, his smile widening.

“Hail, to you all, my fine pilgrims,” he said.

Jortish,a stout, balding fellow with a near crimson beard, who had been acting chief pilgrim until Kiliordes had arrived, sprang to his feet,

“Here, good Kiliordes,” he gestured to the unoccupied seat next to his.  “Please join me.”

 Kiliordes nodded, and made his way to the offered seat.

“Greetings, Jortish,”

With a deep laugh, “And to you, our new captain,” he said.  Then turning his attention to the youth on serving duty, “Cerdo, some food, for the new Head Pilgrim.”

“I don’t remember officially accepting that position yet.”

Jortish laughed with even more gusto, “Ha, as if you have a choice, friend Kiliordes.  But you do not.  Look around you.  See all these faces?  They need you.”

Kiliordes cast his gaze around the dining hall.  All the faces were trained on him, each with a look of joyous hope, of expectation.  These were good people.  The very best.  They did not care for power, either political or supernatural.  They were lovers of life.  Revelers in existence, in being.  And all that they wanted in this world, at that moment, was for Kiliordes to accept the charge of leading them.  He could feel it emanating from them, as an almost palatable force.

“How can you deny them the simple gift of your guidance, my lord?”  Jortish asked.

Indeed, he wondered.  How could he?  He felt such peace in their presence. Such happiness.  Feelings of contentment (which grew even more as a plate of duck and mushrooms was set before him) drove away bitter memories of the Demon, and the constant struggles to maintain the peace in Lorm.  Deep in his heart he understood this was where he belonged.

“Who better to lead us than the Champion of Keythion?  Savior of the World?  How could we ever hope to replace Krin Gul with a more esteemed person?  I would not be surprised if Krin Gul, would have stepped down for you to take his place had you returned to us sooner.”

All around pilgrims nodded in agreement, the hope written on their faces becoming more and more pronounced.  How could he deny them?  They had accepted him.  They had wrapped him their warm embrace of welcome.  All that they asked was for him to lead them in their wandering celebrations.  His heart was burning with happiness and love for these people.

Chants of “Kiliordes” now rang out through the tent.  This attracted other pilgrims from outside who came pouring into the tent to join in the entreaty.

“Kiliordes, Kiliordes, Kiliordes!”

Their hope was contagious.  He wanted nothing more than to travel in quiet retirement with these people, simply celebrating life.  If they wanted him to lead them, he could not refuse.  With smile turned to laughter, he stood up at his place.  He waved down the cheering with his hands before he spoke.

“Okay, Okay!  It is with great happiness that I accept the leadership of the Solar Pilgrimmage Festival.  I shall do my very best to follow in the tradition that Krin Gul has established.  I am honored to be your humble servant.  I will do as you ask.  I offer my sincerest gratitude to you for this warm welcome.  Let us work together to spread the love of life that the Sun teaches us.  Hallah!  Hallah!  Hallah!”

The call of “Hallah!  Hallah!  Hallah!” was used as the pilgrims entered a new district.  The head pilgrim would enter a town shouting the salutation to announce the arrival of the pilgrimage.  The towns folk would then shout it back in excitement.  For the Solar Pilgrimage Festival always brought good fortune.  Kiliordes had shouted with Krin Gul many times in their journeys together.

Now the pilgrims returned his call,   “Hallah!  Hallah!  Hallah!”

His face hurt from smiling, and his cheeks were bright red.  In his heart Kiliordes knew that this was where he was supposed to be.  This was his purpose.

Copyright 2015 Diana Hignutt