Blood Bride (Aarabassa World) (6 page)

Leon arrived at the emerald green lagoon. Misty fogs swirled around over the centre of the deep waters. No creature has ever been to the bottom and survived to tell the tale. Thus, no one knows the true depth of this eerie pond. Tales have emerged of long necked grey monsters rearing up through the surface to show giant ugly heads, and then disappearing down into the deep endless depths of the boggy waters. Some say these waters are an underwater entrance to the Darklands Archeronian Oceans, though never proved. Travelers will not linger long anywhere close to the lagoons sandy shores.  

However, Leon being a young man of brave stature did not care to listen to tales told to frighten children. He decided to camp on the beach of the lagoon that very night. With absolutely no regrets upon this decision. He doused out his small cooking fire and stretched out his grey canvas cover to rest for the moonsleep. His horse Jhapar had other ideas, he chose not to rest so close to the waters edge. Leaving his master behind, he climbed further up the embankment to a dusty barren piece of wasteland that had been colonised with colourful plants that may prove to be quite tasty.

The sun’s rays reflected from the green current of the lagoon creating an animated ripple that danced on the surface. Feeling a little agitated Leon watched the movement on the shore of the waters. He could only sleep in the darkness as he was used to blinds cutting out the light. He was finding the light of the sun distracting. Rolling over and turning his back to the reflection of light, he felt a cold chill, as if being watched. Frizzle had originally settled down in Leon’s camp but he also had slowly edged his way towards the horse’s choice of resting place. This had not gone unnoticed and further disturbed Leon’s fitful rest. It was usual for them to sleep back to back with the comfort of each others trusting friendship. Without his back covered he felt vulnerable and presumed this was why he felt so anxious.

Finally, burying his head under his large leather saddle, he began to fall into a false sense of relaxation. Although it was pleasantly dimmer with his eyes covered by the saddle, the sour smell of sweat and leather was quite stifling. At least the sun rays were not so bright undercover. 

Floating into a dreamy state of unconsciousness, he slowly became confused of the passing of time and realised he was not asleep but standing in the middle of the lagoon, walking on the waters.....

Disoriented, he sleepily staggered towards the waters edge. He could see Heather waiting for him, but the quicker he walked the further away the shoreline became......

But, nay, he was not wandering on a lagoon but upon a black-silver ocean, searching for Heather. His hackles prickled at the back of his neck, he knew something was amiss......

The waters churned creating a swirling pool, from its centre a gargantuan beast loomed before him drooling thick green slime between long black teeth and roaring with the bellow of a thousand trumpets. The stench of its breath was of decay and death itself. Quickly, he drew his sword, offering a duel. The beast opened its enormous wide jaws showing rows of sharpened blood dripping teeth. With no warning, the beast swallowed Leon completely, gurgling him deep into its acidy guts.....

The sound of creaking bones and swirling water, filled Leon’s eardrums. He waded through knee-deep stinging, stinking yellow acid water. Tiny plankton nibbled at his legs causing his skin to burn with little hot pinpricks. He waded towards a wall of tall dark cliff edges where he could see the shape of a dark opening. Reaching this entrance, he followed a damp cold passageway that echoed with the sound of dripping water and swirling pockets of wind.....

He reached a large opening in the floor, a bottomless black well. Peering into it, he toppled down. Floating in darkness, not knowing or even caring for his fate, it seemed an endless fall until, gently, he landed on a ledge revealing the opening of another long narrow tunnel. Clambering, with blood streaked injured hands and raw knees, he painfully crawled through the constricted burrow.    Arriving at an antechamber containing five exits, he could see symbols of creatures above the doorways. Leon glanced at the icon of a dragon, the silhouette of a human, the shape of a lizard, an outline of a giant insect and one more. He chose the last, depicting the flight of an eagle.....

Following the tunnel to the very end, he found himself perching on another ledge high up a mountain. Standing on a windy rocky ledge, he glanced up towards the light blue skies and watched as a strange black cloud approached. Small dark shapes increased in size as they neared him and he could see they resembled huge strange birds. Once upon him he watched each creature, pure white with a wingspan as wide as the sail of a ship, glide towards him. Prominent through the thin white skin of the bird were the dark lines of its skeletal shape. Was it a huge replica of the small bats he often watched flying from the rooftops of the buildings at home? What manner of creatures were these? Atop the leading bird, perched a different creature of a human shape but so very pale, it appeared painted. The beautiful features indicated this was a female. She seemed uncannily familiar yet he had never before seen these creatures. She flew close to him whilst he wavered on the ledge. His heart pounded at the sight of her. No, it could not be. He slumped down onto the cold stony floor and he knew in his heart that it was her; it was Heather....

Leon awoke with a start. Leaping up swiftly, he bumped his face on something over his head. Throwing off the cumbersome saddle that he had ingeniously used to shade himself with, he jumped to his feet to confront the imminent danger. Yet there he stood, alone at the waters edge. He realised it had been nothing but a simple dream. Laughing aloud at his childish nightmare he started to pack up camp. Where had that dog got to? No sooner had he looked up to find Frizz, he heard the waters of the lagoon swirling noisily. Slowly he turned to see the circling of a whirlpool forming on the surface. From its centre a colossal head appeared. Leon’s jaws opened as he yelled at the monster he recognised from his dream. There was only one course of action to be had. Promptly, he ran up the embankment and jumped on Jhapar’s back.

‘Quick boy, get us out of here, now!’

Frizz yelped, ears and tail cowardly lowering. Not even bothering to look behind. He had sensed it was better to just follow his master. Soon horse, dog and human were well away from the haunted lagoon. Leon had left behind his saddle and other meagre belongings that he owned. All they had left now were the few provisions that were contained in the saddlebag still hanging loosely over Jhaper’s back. He must now journey bare back on his horse. This was going to be a bumpy ride.

By the end of the moonwake they had made good time in their haste and arrived at the Morkodian Marshes. Never having been through the marshes alone, he trustingly followed a map the dwarves had provided for him. One wrong turn would see him swallowed up in the green marsh pools, never to be seen again. Following landmarks such as a particular shaped thorny Jujubi tree, a field of giant blue ferns, particular shaped rugged rocks, it was like a game of obstacles: find the item, move on a step, beware the deadly traps. Sometimes the surface was solid enough to walk upon with muddy sodden grasses that squelched underfoot. Other times the waterlogged land sank into slimy green pools that smelled of rotten eggs and bad gasses. At one point, the little group of weary travelers needed to cross over a black stinking pool of some green oily substance. They each balanced on a huge rotten tree trunk that had collapsed and fallen into its convenient position as an unstable bridge. The large trunk, not only soft with rotten wood, was also slippery with a covering of moist green moss. Not at all a kind surface to a horse’s hooves and dog’s paws. By the time they had arrived safely at the other side of the stinking bog, it was well into the moonsleep. They looked to camp down. It was difficult to find anywhere that did not smell foul or was not flooded with wet bogs. 

Finally, they all agreed on a group of large flat rocks. Jhapar made do with a small bag of oats, now that supplies were diminishing. Leon and Frizzle settled for chewy dried up salted meat, which always proved useful in hard times. Attempting to doze, they were constantly nervous of the noisy bubbly movements emanating from oily murky waters that practically surrounded them. Leon’s thighs were sore and achy from riding bare back. The air was damp and thickly humid. The rock was hot from the scorching sun and the surrounding hot bubbling waters. The human concealed himself completely under the protection of his cloak, which served to dull the sun’s warmth and light slightly, and keep out some of the fetid smell. Under his body lay dirty clothing, a feeble attempt to soften the hard stone floor. Feeling secure, with Frizzle’s body at his back, he steadily sank into a blissful sleep.....

Leon’s heart beat rapidly, a constant pulse choking in his throat. His arms ached to the point of a deadening cramp as he swam vigorously in an overcast murky green pool. He was swimming for his life. A huge lizard beast made every effort to bite at his legs, long jaws crammed with rows of sharp teeth clamped up and down behind him..... 

Now he was walking alone, wading through tall tangled dripping grasses. A giant black vulture swooped down upon him and painfully raked its gripping talons at his shoulders, picking him out of the waters like a sea bird fishing its prey. Yet it did not desire to eat this human morsel, instead it dropped him softly onto a mountain ledge. The vulture landed beside him and swiftly turned into his loving best friend, Heather. She did not speak but reached out to give him a ring. He grasped it in his clenched fist but dared not to take his eyes from her, he did not want to lose her. Abruptly she disappeared into nothing.....

He lovingly placed the ring on his finger and was suddenly transported to his home of the Pyramid Palace. He quickly searched through empty corridors trying to find his father, the King. He wanted to ask him if he could abandon his quest and find his childhood sweetheart, he feared for her life. He could not find anyone anywhere.....

Then, launched into the midst of a state funeral and seated within a black carriage, he wondered at who had died.....

Next, he was within the compounds of a dark shadowed corner within the Lower Royal Gardens where they had buried his mother. She lay under the statue of a beautiful green marble carved woman. Commissioned by his father in remembrance of his beloved. A new statue had appeared. Curiously, he walked towards the new statue to take a closer look. It was a grand statue of the King. It was at this moment that he knew that his father was dead.....

Leon awoke with a frightful start, sweating beneath his protective coverlet.

‘No, father, no, surely not,’ he shouted out to no one. ‘How could this be? How would I know this? It must be wrong.’

He remained lying down after realising it was just another nightmare. Still he felt restless and uneasy. Rest and sleep would not return that moonsleep. He did not fear monsters but he did fear this dream of his father’s death.

They started out early that moonwake, Leon did not wish to linger any longer in the marshes where the gasses made him feel unwell. Frizzle ambled, ears and tail constantly pinned down. Even Jhapar had picked up on the mood and kept his head down, led by his master who tugged at the reigns.

By the end of their march that moonwake, they could see through the hazy heat waves, the very edges of the marshlands. Large flatlands spread out before them. Yet still they had to face the dangerous channels of boggy marshes that remained as they continued to weave in and out of the long thick grasses. This part would be difficult to navigate without a map, not that any record could map these marshes, they never remained static. Ever moving deep muddy pools made the way treacherous. Determined, was this little party of travelers. They had survived the enchanting dreams of the marshlands; they would survive the unpredictable moving lands. Slowly, with muddy feet, unsteady hooves and sore paws they plodded on. At one point Leon fell victim of an unseen brown pool of thick leafy sludge. With Frizzle and Jhapar tugging at his tunic with their bare teeth, bruised and bitten on his shoulders he managed to clamber up the edges of the pool.  Clinging onto Jhapars thin sturdy ankles for a hold, he pulled as they pulled and he eventually slipped onto safe land, exhausted. He lay there spitting out brown bubbles from his lungs, choking on bile and filth. He wanted to give in to his semi conscious state, but a constant nudge on his head would not let him sleep, his companions kept him moving. Frizzle had no bark left in him. He whined as he lay next to his master, pawing at Leon’s belly. Leon dragged himself up, praising his fellow travelers for saving his life. Onwards they marched together. 

It was well into the moonsleep before they felt confident that they had put the marshlands behind them. Fatigued and beaten from the arduous journey, Leon slept a long dreamless sleep on the soft velvety grasses of the Crakion Plains. Frizzle at his back and Jhapar grazing until his belly felt fit to burst.

The humans known as the Cherok tribes are the finest horse riders in all of the Lightlands.  They are a proud race of tall stature, dark skin and long dark hair, traditionally plaited with colourful cottons and beads, indicating their tribal status. Each colourfully decorated plait, indicates a full suncircle of their life. The older generations are well respected for their full head of colourful braids. The males do not develop the typical male hair on their chins and so remain clean-shaven throughout life. Equally, the elderly do not lose their head hair, as can be an indication of age in other humans. The specific colours indicate the tribe of their origin. Warriors mark themselves with tattoos telling the stories they wish to portray. A warriors arm can be covered in pictures of weapons to show he has fought and won many fights (usually tribal battles). A hunter will draw animals to show he has provided food for his people. A woman will take great pride in the drawing of children on her arms for each babe she brings into the world. Their hair and their tattoos represent their status in life, reading as an auto biography. 

They also take great pride in their huge herds of wild horses and permit no other creatures to capture a wild horse from their lands. If they did they would be hunted down until the horse was returned, or stolen back again. Occasionally they trade one of their horses, but only with people or creatures that they know and trust. To the Cherok, the horse is a sacred beast. In one of their larger villages, they do not build cities, they run the School of Equestrian Skills for those who wish to learn good riding techniques. Students who attend are occasionally given a horse from their lands, but only if they prove worthy. 

A female Cherok will ride upon the back of a wild horse whereas most Cherok adult males ride the backs of the larger and stronger centaurs, whom they will partner-up with for life.

A centaur is an intelligent creature with the body and legs of a mighty horse but an almost human upper torso, arms and head. The centaurs live as neighbours with the human Cherok tribes. They are treated with the greatest of respect. Every village boasts a centaur herd amongst its occupancy.  Centaurs are considered their equals.

* * *

Leon awoke to a loud snuffling in his ear. 

‘Frizzle boy, stop that.’

Something gently nudged at his back, not at all like a dog’s paw. Sensing he had unexpected company, Leon swiftly moved to reach for his sword, but it was not nearby.

‘That would not do much good, my son,’ a deep rumbling voice spoke. 

Leon looked up at a dark silhouette, blinded by the sun’s glare he could not make out who it was. Slowly he stood, squinting with his hand shading his eyes to clear his vision. 

‘You must be Prince Leon?’ The husky voice asked.

Moving position to he could see better, he realised he was surrounded by many figures. Stumbling slightly as he stepped backwards, a strong arm steadied him from behind. A strong aroma of horseflesh meandered around his nose. Turning around to thank the man who had kindly saved him, he found himself staring into the strong proud eyes of a huge centaur with the face of a bearded man, smiling at him. The centaur had a long plaited string of hair on his chin that fell into a neat tail, with a colourful string intricately entwined into its display. His large naked torso bared strong muscled hairy arms that had reached out to stop Leon from taking a fall in his shock.  The human-looking body merged into a horse’s torso with four thick horse’s legs. A swishing tail at the back was also neatly plaited with beads and ribbons. He had heard of these centaurs but never had he imagined what one would actually look like. He turned to face the rest of the group, only to notice even more of these beautiful creatures, amongst them stood a group of tall human men.  Leon knew that where there were centaurs, then there would also be the human tribesmen known as the Cheroks.

‘Yes, I am Leon,’ he stuttered, a little stunned and lost for words.

‘I am Phellip.’ A tall dark skinned, lean young man stood forward and spoke. ‘My father has sent me to greet you and guide you safely to our village.’ 

‘How did you know of my arrival?’ asked Leon curiously.

‘The dwarves sent pigeons with brief message of your quest. We communicate often in this way. Very useful on many occasion,’ Phellip explained with a wide grin. ‘Come, Leon, not far.  We go to Ruling Village. Close to border. Other border close to River Wharfdon. Too much risk to house Ruler there.’

Phellip spoke with a broken Lairkish accent to his deep, strong voice. ‘Marshes very difficult passage, you now know this. Make it hard for enemies to invade our lands.’

‘Why would you fear invaders? There haven’t been any battles for at least three human generations,’ Leon puzzled at such a statement from these people.

‘I young, you Leon, young,’ Phellip continued. ‘Our peoples not forget Serpent Wars.’ Phellips smile had faded, replaced with a grim expression of deep thought. ‘Our peoples, we remember when Cold Water Serpent invade, further down River Wharfdon,’ he pointed. ‘Many talks we shall have while you stay. Now, we moving to Ruling Village this moonwake, not the next one.’ Leon took that as an indication to hurry.

Leon searched for Frizzle and noticed that Jhapar was enjoying some fuss and attention from one of the centaurs. Frizzle was rarely afraid of anything, other than ‘pond monsters’, and showed no fear of the huge centaurs. In fact, he had taken kindly to one of the Cherok’s human partner and wallowed in the fuss and attention.

The group travelled north at a slow pace to begin with. Leon felt quite small on Jhapar’s back, compared to the Cherok males who rode high on their tall centaurs. Frizzle had wormed his way onto the back of the centaur that his Cherok friend was riding. It was unusual for a centaur to allow any human upon their backs other than a Cherok male, Leon wondered how they felt about dogs. 

By the end of the moonwake they were still traveling. The centaurs did not gallop at full speed, allowing Jhapar’s pace to lead them. Leon looked over the flat dry landscape and could just make out some large dark shapes on the horizon. He hoped they had finally reached the end of their trek and the Ruling Village was now within sight.

They had ridden through many fields of short dry yellow grasses and passed over flat dry dusty terrain that appeared never ending. There had been a few small rolling hills covered in purple heathers with an occasional black rock jutting out, as if it had fallen from the skies and landed randomly. Within Leon’s travels that moonwake, he had not noticed many trees, but the Cherok’s had assured him that there were ancient woodlands scattered around their homelands. 

They arrived at the outskirts of a large bustling village. As they passed by the fringes, he watched with interest as the farm workers tended their fields. They too stopped to stare at his arrival with curiosity. 

Mud-brick huts created drab little quarters set out in long rows of straight streets. Cherok villages are designed with two main roads cutting vertically and horizontally through the middle to meet at a cross roads in the centre thus splitting the community into four sections. One section accommodates the horses and Centaurs with large stables and open paddocks. Another quarter houses larger buildings for the leaders such as chiefs, healers, head tradesmen, teachers and their families. A further segment is allocated to farming of vegetables and livestock such as pigs and cattle. This is the working sector where villagers trade with markets. The last quarter is mainly for villagers’ dwellings of smaller mud-brick houses all built closer together than in the Ruling sector.

Labour is divided by gender. The males are mainly horsemen, hunters and warriors. Females are typically farmers, cooks and heads of households. Throughout history, this has worked well and there are many such villages scattered throughout the Crackon Kingdom.

Riding slowly down the main street of the farming quarters towards the centre point, they arrived at a large square courtyard. This is created  for communal events, and here the people had already begun to gather to see who it was their chief waited for.

The people parted to allow the stranger to pass through the crowd. A quiet humming of many voices murmured in the air. Curious little faces of children poked through the frontline of adults who pushed them back, just incase this stranger was a danger. Leon’s party came to a halt and the young Cheroks that had accompanied him dismounted, Leon followed suit. Phellip approached him with an old man, Chief Dallheim his father, ruler over all the Cherok Tribes.

‘Greetings Prince Leon,’ the Chief hailed in an aged croaky voice. ‘You honour Cherok people. We greet Royal guest.’

‘The honour is all mine Chief,’ Leon replied feeling quite confident with the necessary royal etiquette, he was after all trained to be an ambassador for his people. ‘I am pleased to enter your Royal Village and have parley with the Chief of the Cheroks.’

‘Come, Leon. We talk. I have bad news I speak with you, in peace.’

Leon imagined this news was probably of his lost brother, Raphael. He had felt so sure that Raphael still lived.

Following the Chief and Phellip to a house much the same as the others but larger, Leon dreaded all the while what the news could possibly be. They entered through a rather small doorway for such large people, and then passed through a low roofed room. Any who carried weapons hung them on various hooks and shelves, Leon followed suit and placed his two daggers on a table. The chief smiled at this respectful gesture. They continued through the building and entered a large hall with a much higher ceiling. Chief Dallheim introduced Leon to various head figures.

‘This Head Trader. He make sure all village equal share of trading. He take care trading arguments.’

The Chief continued down a line of men.  They spoke to him in their native language. Leon understood some words but not enough.

‘Head Healer, teacher of good and bad herbs to women folk. Head Farmer, make sure all village equal share from crop and livestock. Head Scholar. He Leader of teachers for my people. Head Horse Trainer and Head Horse Teacher, both instruct students’ important skills of riding and handling. Chief Centaur Zarkeella. He Leader of Centaurs. They need own leader. They live different to Cherok people. We live side by side but ways not always same. Many more leaders you can meet later,’ the Cherok Chief waved his hand in dismissal of his Chiefs.

‘Now we talk private. My sons, they join us.’

Entering another large cool dark room, a set of stone stairs led down to a subterranean chamber. Passageways led to various places which did not surprise Leon. The Lightlands were forever warm and bright, so many races had designed underground homes or lived in mountain caves to seek the coolness of Aarabassa’s earth. These underground chambers were not as large or as grand as the under dwellings of his homeland, but they were adequate. 

Chief Dallheim had five sons and they were all seated and waiting on a thickly woven rug laid out across most of the floor. Leon took his place by the Chief, as instructed.

‘On this moonwake I speak to you as a son, Leon.’

He spread his arm as if introducing the row of young men. ‘My sons, they are brothers to you,’ he said, putting down his arm.

‘My people understand the love of family. We consider Cherok nation one family. We all equal. We respect those with skills to lead. Your people are our friends. Your father, good friend to me.’

‘This is a most gracious welcome Chief Dallheim,’ Leon replied, surprised at such intimate words.

‘Leon, you my friend’s son. Make you my son.  My heart break this moonwake to tell you of Father’s death.’

Leon’s blood drained, leaving his face drip white. A knot twisted inside of him. He held his breath.

‘The dwarves, they send word of this and of your quest,’ the Chief explained.

Too shocked to reply, Leon remained in a confused daze, suddenly aware he wasn’t breathing. He took a few deep breaths and remembered his dream, had it been a vision. Perhaps Heather had known of this and, unable to Mindtalk such long distances, she had used her powers to convey this sadness to him.

‘You take time. Time to mourn. We speak of it when you ready.’

‘Thank you. I – I am truly saddened at the loss of my father. If I had thought I would lose him I – I don’t know. I cannot … I would not be here.’

Leon’s throat tightened as he tried to speak. His pain cut deeply inside. The man he had loved all of his life had suddenly left him, disappeared, gone. This man, the King who the people of Lairkland had loved so dearly, along with his wife their Queen, was no more. How could he ever learn to live with such an empty space in his life?

He recalled the memory of when he had lost his mother and now the pain of losing his father returned to wrench and twist at his insides.  Pain he could not endure alone. Phellip sat at his side and placed a strong arm around Leon’s burdened shoulders. Leon felt as though his brother Amos was at his side and slowly let his pain flow. He swallowed a hard lump down a dry throat. His eyes watered as the grief poured from his body. The Chief’s sons bowed their heads in respect, to allow Leon to let go of his controlled feelings and let his grief take a hold. Leon felt that he truly was with his family and cried a heart-rending sob. His voice husky whispered for his father’s presence, his mother’s presence and each of his brothers. He just simply longed to hold his father in his arms. He clung on to Phellip, who in turn tightened his hug to help his brother overcome his grief. All within the room felt his pain, his sadness, he was not alone. Leon was cared for with the best they could provide.