The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (10 page)

“What are you talking about?” gasped Cefiz weakly, his eyes darting between the huge figures.

Granu paused, his eyes still locked on the Ulrog. Finally, he turned and addressed Cefiz.

“She tells me to take up the ax and return to my people,” said Granu solemnly.

“What? You would be killed immediately. Besides, this ....”  Cefiz searched for the right word. “... message was written centuries ago. The stone warns ‘all who enter.' How can you think this was written to you?”

The Keltaran let the torch slip to the stone floor. It became too much. He lowered his head, lost in thought, wandered from the dais and stepped into the low light of the ravine. Cefiz turned back to Nostr, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What does he mean, scribe?” asked Cefiz. “How can he believe this message was left for him?”

“One must open their eyes to all possibilities, Guardsman. As you go through life building expectations, you begin to deny myriad possibilities. You read this epitaph and see a warning to all the children of Avra. Granu sees a message directed to his heart.”

“But how?....Why?” asked Cefiz.

“Handmaidens of the dead queen of Zodra raised a misshapen girl in the dark of a castle dungeon. For years the child remained nameless because her father never saw fit to give her one. These women took pity on the child and named her Gretcha, or ‘beautiful heart.'”

“I have heard this story,” replied Cefiz, still confused.

“Granu in the old tongue is ‘beautiful thought’,” stated Nostr. “Your friend believes the matriarch of his people challenges him to take up arms. Across the centuries of time she tells ‘beautiful thought’ to defend himself.”

“But that could be a coincidence,” scoffed Cefiz. “She uses a figure of speech.”

“It is no coincidence,” came Granu’s voice from the cave opening. “I was meant to see this message.”

“How can you be sure she speaks to you directly?” asked Cefiz.

“She tells of my brother’s deceit and mentions my father by name. Grannak is the ‘beautiful night’ of which she speaks,” stated Granu. “There are too many clues. Too many coincidences.”

Cefiz shook his head in denial and frowned.

“I agree. There are too many coincidences,” said the guardsman, looking sidelong at Nostr. “Too many to explain.”

Granu hesitated in his reply. Doubt clouded his vision and he too glanced at the Ulrog. Could this be a deceit to force him into a confrontation with his own brother?  Nostr’s placid expression changed. The Ulrog scribe’s nostrils flared and the corded muscles on his neck bulged.

“I say again, Guardsman. Separate yourself from your prejudices and accept that which is self evident,” growled the Ulrog. “You see but you do not observe. You seek but stumble past truth. You claim to be open-minded, but force all into your version of reality.”

“We exercise caution in a troubled time ...” began Granu.

“Caution!” roared the Ulrog. “What you must exercise is your minds!”

Nostr grew agitated. He was angry and Granu and Cefiz backed from the Ulrog.

“You look at me and see a beast, a product of the power of Amird and a being built for nothing but death and destruction.” roared Nostr. “Even after what I have told you, what I have done for you. Even after all you have learned about me, you cannot see past the shell of this body to the soul that lies within.”

The Ulrog stalked toward Granu.

“You call yourself a monk of Awoi, a follower of your patriarch’s ways. Awoi once stood in the dungeons of Zodra and beheld a woman most would call ugly, but he saw past to the beauty within.

 “Your eyes stare into mine and I see accusation. You see but do not observe. You strip back my sleeves and see the marks carved there by the fire tipped claws of the Malveel and you do not truly look. You see what you expect to see, not the possibilities.”

The Ulrog’s hand shot out and locked around the wrist of Granu. The giant struggled but couldn’t tear his arm from the iron grip. The Ulrog glared into Granu’s eyes.

“Sulgor, King of the Malveel, gathered his Ulrog servants at the base of this mountain one dark night a half century ago,” stated Nostr. “The Deceiver grew in power and wanted more priests for his army. Sulgor was to impart the power of Chaos into the bodies of mud and rock fashioned by his servants.

“They chose the place of Amird’s death for the incarnation, the place where the immortal blood of the Seraph was spilled upon the mud and rock of this mountain by the ax cradled in Awoi’s arms. Sulgor was to show those loyal to Amird the power of their master. From whence Amird’s life was taken, the Evil One would create life.

“Thousands of Ulrog covered the mountainside. Bonfires consumed whole trees. The Ulrog’s chanting was like thunder, rolling and echoing through the gorges. Dozens of captured Zodrians were brought forth. Men, women and children were sacrificed to Amird. Their blood muddied the mountainside and ran into the streams and falls.

“The priests prepared us for life. Pits were dug and in these pits we were fashioned. The symbols of Chaos and the prayers of the Ulrog fashioned with stone and etched across our bodies. Dozens of new Ulrog priests to replace the Zodrians just massacred. I was to be the first.

 “Sulgor crept forward and leaned over the pit where my stone and mud body lay. The Ulrog continued their chants and prayers to their master. Sulgor called forth the power of Chaos and channeled it into my body.

“It was as if a dark cloud passed from in front of the moon. I stared up from my pit, alive. Sentient. I knew who I was. I knew I was alive. Sulgor hunched over me and growled in delight. His master would be pleased. The first in a line of new servants would enter the world of Avra and fight to destroy it.

“The Ulrog cheered and chanted. The bonfires raged, and Amird’s servants were whipped into a frenzy. Sulgor drew forth my arm to brand me as a servant of Amird. My life and what trivial worth it held was to be given to the Lord of Chaos.

“Fire pulsed forth from the razor tipped claws of the Malveel King. Sulgor’s eyes were filled with the power of Chaos. He gnashed his teeth and spit forth chants to Amird. His claws raked across my arm and pain seared my soul. The Ulrog horde roared in approval.

“I cried out in pain.

“Sulgor froze and dropped my arm, quickly backing away. I rose and stumbled forward as blood streamed from my wounds. Not the oily, black blood of the Ulrog, but the pure crimson blood of Awoi flowed from my arm.”

Nostr’s left arm remained locked on Granu’s wrist. With his right he drew the sleeve of his robe up to his stony shoulder.

“Look again upon the brand of Amird carved into this shell of a body!” demanded Nostr. “In the past you used it to condemn me.”

Granu’s eyes shot down to the deep scars rent in the iron flesh of the Ulrog scribe.

“The Ulrog in attendance could not see the color of my blood in the firelight, but Sulgor could. They roared in approval of his work even as the Malveel King backed from my pit and curled his lips in a snarl. I held my arm out, and all there saw the name of their master claiming me as his own.

“I was confused and alone, until a voice in my head called me to silence the praise of the evil one. I roared for quiet and the mountainside stilled. My Ulrog brothers nervously waited for the wisdom of the Deceiver to be imparted through my lips. Sulgor lowered his head and growled in anger. I threw my arm over my head and shouted a word I did not know the meaning of.”

Nostr released Granu and the scribe’s arm shot up and angled over his head.  Granu and Cefiz stood staring at the inverted mark upon the Ulrog’s forearm.

“Awoi,” whispered Granu.

“In the name of Avra,” gasped Cefiz.

“Even that which is brought forth by the hand of evil cannot escape the powerful influence of the Creator of all things. My true maker refused to allow me to be branded by others. He set me free from the slavery of their lies. As I have said, to see you must open your mind as well as your eyes.”

The Ulrog lowered his arm and his sleeves fell back in place. Granu and Cefiz stood staring into the placid eyes of the Delvin prelate. Finally, Granu bowed his head to the Ulrog.

“I ask you for forgiveness Nostr, child of Avra. I could not conceive of an Ulrog as a child of my God.”

“Forgiveness for sins is not mine to give, but friendship and trust I have a plenty,” said Nostr. “I ask you one favor, prince of the Keltar.”

“Name it,” stated Granu.

“If you decide to take up the ax and fight for your people, you must remember the most important part of such an action,” said Nostr.

“Which is?” asked Granu.

“Knowing when to put it back down,” replied Nostr. “Too often men have turned to the blade in the name of justice, only to evolve into the unjust. Power breeds arrogance and arrogance leads to corruption. The Deceiver would have us convince ourselves that all we do is in the name of right. Often, the cloak of justice surrounds the servant of evil.

  “When you leave this place, leave with the knowledge that one day, if Avra be served, the ax will be returned, and peace, not war will be the true gift of Gretcha beautiful heart.”

  Granu set his jaw and turned to the dais upon which the remains of his forefather lay. He strode forward and put his hand on the handle of the ax.

 “I swear on the name of Awoi that when my people are safe I will lay down the ax, and only then will the creations of Avra truly begin to live the way he intended.”

 The giant slid the handle from between the arms of Awoi’s bones and held it aloft. Nostr smiled and bowed his head, muttering a quick prayer. A dumbfounded Cefiz stared at the scene in front of him. Never in all his years did he expect to be standing in the tomb of Awoi with mortal enemies, listening to a proclamation of peace. He eyed the Ulrog.

“Master Nostr...?” interrupted Cefiz hesitantly.

 Nostr allowed a slight smile, then continued.

 “I felt a great power surge within me. The Ulrog on the mountainside went silent
and I stepped from my pit. Sulgor snarled and spat on the ground.

“ ‘It is corrupted by the tainted soil,’ growled Sulgor. ‘The blood of the weak one flows through its body. Destroy it.’

“The Ulrog priests closest to me drew their cleavers and set to cut me down. They raised their blades and slashed down upon me. Instantly, a brilliant rainbow of light surrounded me. The priest’s cleavers rebounded from the aura and sprang from their hands. Sulgor fumed.

“ ‘If the blood of Awoi can flow from its wounds, it can die.’ snapped the Malveel.

“Sulgor’s eyes glowed crimson. A crown of flame encased his head and molten gauntlets appeared upon his claws. The Malveel king charged me.

“ ‘Be not afraid,’ said the voice in my head. ‘I am the Deliverer.’

“I stood steadfast, confident in the Word. Sulgor met the colorful aura about me and was thrown into the pit from whence I was created. The voice spoke through me, ringing clear in the gorge.

“ ‘All the creations of my creations are my children. Do not attempt to stand in my stead. Arrogance will be your undoing.’

“ Sulgor rallied from the pit and attacked once more. Again he was thrown back. The Ulrog on the mountainside shrank from the rainbow of brilliant light. The priests chanted but the Malveel’s power waned.

“ ‘None will hurt this one,’ boomed the voice. ‘It will be a seer and show the way to others.’

“The Ulrog fled from the mountainside as Sulgor stole from my birthing pit and crept from the firelight. I buried the Zodrian sacrifices in the pits beside the Ulrog priests who would never be raised. The sun rose in a shimmer of yellow and pink as clouds drifted in from west to east. By midmorning the rain started and continued all day. I sat in the rain staring at the muddied field around me, watching all signs of the previous evenings events wash away.