The God-Stone War

Chapter 36

The ensuing months were placid and calm; a boring counterpoint to the terror of the gods’ attack on Castle Cameron. Marc’s death was followed, not with more challenges and obstacles, but with a lack of them, which only increased my anxiety and heightened my depression.

Losing my closest friend had deeply affected my mood, largely in ways that weren’t immediately obvious. After the intense grief of the first few weeks, I put it out of my mind as I attempted to focus on living and carrying on with life. The work on the World Road proceeded at an admirable pace, and after nearly a year the day had finally arrived when we would open the gates and connect the far flung corners of Lothion to one another.

I should have been happy, and I tried to appear so, as best I could, but my inner heart felt dead and cold. Penny had noticed my depression of course, despite my best efforts to act normally. She questioned me about it, and while I was honest about my grief initially, once the first month had passed, I began to excuse myself by citing anxiety over the whereabouts of the remaining two shining gods… and Mal’goroth. Let’s not forget Mal’goroth.

In truth, I had plenty of reasons to be anxious. The shiggreth had completely disappeared, though I felt certain they were not eradicated. The Knights of Stone had been decimated, and after the attack we had been left with only seven remaining. Dorian had done his best to find suitable replacements, but he was picky in his choices, and I fully supported him in that. I’d rather have been short-handed than give power to men I didn’t trust.

Dorian seemed to have gotten over his anger with me, but I still felt a faint coolness from him on occasion, and I knew it would take some time to completely heal the wound I had created in our friendship. We were both content at present to just get through each day and manage the tasks at hand. He had enough on his plate with the recent birth of his second child, little Carissa Thornbear.

In some ways it felt as though we were living under an executioner’s axe, constantly waiting for it to drop on our necks. Even so, I knew deep down that my illness wasn’t truly because of that. Marc was dead. While few realized how close we had been, to me he had been my closest family. Now the one person who knew me best was gone, and along with him went all the memories he alone had possessed.

Each of us has our own self-image, but what few realize, is that every person around us also possesses an image of us, no less real than our own. Every person close to us has a version of us in their hearts that no one else can replicate or replace. With Marc’s death, I had lost not only my dearest friend, but the image of myself that he had shown me in his own life.

Or you could simply be an over-sentimental, over-analytical fool, who merely makes things worse by constantly philosophizing and romanticizing everything to infinity! Life goes on, and so would you if you didn’t spend so much time gnawing at problems you can’t fix. Move on! The words came to me with Marc’s voice, as they often did these days. It said the things he would likely have told me, things that might have helped if he had been alive. Instead the memory of his voice brought tears to my eyes.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” asked Moira.

We were standing on a balcony overlooking the central yard within the keep that protected the World Road. The large gates on either side of the massive open area were open wide and crowds of people stood below, looking up at us. Two more gates within the yard were still closed, the ones that led down to the circular underground highway. King James was positioned in the center of the balcony, addressing the crowd. Penny and I were behind him, with Matthew and Moira on either side of us.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart,” I told her, “Daddy’s just happy.”

Penny glanced over at my words, and her eyes appraised me as I wiped away the tears. She knew better than to believe me. I have never been prone to crying when happy, and she was well aware of my depression, despite my claims otherwise. She stayed silent though, for every eye was directed toward us.

The King finished his speech and looked toward me, “Without further delay I present to you, Mordecai Illeniel, the Count di’Cameron, and our nation’s most ardent defender… the man responsible for the conception and creation of this marvelous edifice!”

Stepping forward I stood beside him and placed my hands on the stone rail. “People of Lothion,” I said, raising my voice, “long have I waited for this day, and at times I feared it would never come! Today we will open the gates and usher in a new era of prosperity. No longer will our traders and merchants need to devote weeks and months to long trips to carry goods from one end of this country to the other. No longer will farmers be forced to trek for days to reach the best markets. This dream, now a reality, will unite people from across our nation in a bond that transcends the distances which once kept us separate. It will transport goods from our ports and bring timbers from our forested lands. In essence it will form a vast artery connecting and transforming our land and our people with a new spirit of unity and optimism.”

Taking a breath I paused to look across the crowd, and the look of wonder on their faces almost overwhelmed my reason. Stick to what you prepared, I reminded myself, and so I opened my mouth to continue, “It is my hope that someday this road will connect not just the people of our fair country, but the people of every country. There are many places along this road yet unoccupied, places which, if our resolve is strong and our intentions are good, will someday be occupied with gates leading to every nation in this world. The fullest realization of my dream will be when the rest of the world, looking upon our strength and unity, accepts this offer and joins hands with us.”

At that point I stopped and waited upon James, who stepped forward again. “What do you think of the Count di Cameron’s dream?” he shouted to the crowd. Their response was a deafening roar, one that was nearly impossible to decipher until it began to resolve into a rhythmic chant, ‘Open the gates!’ they cried. James listened for a moment before speaking directly to me, “The people have spoken, Lord Cameron. Open the gates!”

Reaching into my robe, I withdrew the control rod, a device which was a twin of the rod installed at the center of the Traveler’s Pinnacle. The enchantment upon it ensured that whatever actions were taken upon this rod would be replicated upon the original, which actually controlled the gate enchantments themselves. The rod itself was steel, inset with a variety of multihued metal rings that encircled it from top to bottom. Each ring could be twisted from one position to another, which would then cause some action to take place. Many of the rings were set to control the activation of one of the portals, while others were set to open or close one of the many gates that guarded the World Road.

Twisting six rings in quick succession, I activated the portals that led to Verningham, Cantley, Turlington, Malvern, Lancaster, and Arundel. As I did, I felt a massive surge of power, the God-Stone, hidden and protected deep beneath the center of the fortress came to life, pouring aythar into the magical conduits that fed the portal and gate enchantments. There was no audible or visible sign of this, but my arcane senses were very aware of the vast movements of magic beneath us. Once the portals were activated, I turned two more rings, and the gates that would allow people to enter the roads leading down to the great circular World Road itself, opened.

The crowd grew silent for a moment as the massive iron doors opened, and then a cheer went up. The World Road was open, and people from all parts of the nation would soon be traversing it. At each of the six towns, smaller matching keeps protected the other ends of the portals, and the gates there were already open, waiting. Today would be a day that none would forget.

We withdrew from the balcony after that, though my work wasn’t done. As momentous as the occasion was, it naturally had to be commemorated with a massive feast. Penny watched me carefully from the sides of her eyes as we went. “Are you alright, Mort?” she asked during a moment when there were no other ears close by.

“Yes, of course,” I said promptly, giving my voice a lighter tone than I truly felt. “Why?”

She shook her head, “No reason, you just seem as though you have a shadow hovering over you.”

As usual she had seen through my façade. “I’m just a bit pensive, worried about the future of the World Road. Nothing for you to be too concerned about,” I replied, hoping to redirect her train of thought.

“If you say so,” she said, but her tone implied she knew better.

The trees towering over me were massive, larger than anything I had seen before, but for some reason they seemed natural, and I hardly took note of them. Glancing down, I saw another hand in my own, a slender graceful hand, connected to an equally lovely arm. Following the arm to its conclusion, I realized I was walking beside perhaps one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.

“Lyralliantha,” I said softly, as her name sprang to my lips unbidden. Why did I say that? I wondered idly; normally I called her by her nickname, ‘Lyra’.

“Yes love?” she replied easily.

“Do you think the council will accept our proposal?” I asked.

She frowned, “I do not know. It is still hard for me to accept, and I am in love with you. They will have a difficult time adapting to the notion that your kind are not simple animals, but once they see what you have created, they cannot do otherwise.”

“It still isn’t true spell-weaving,” I told her again.

She nodded, “No, it isn’t, but it is something new, something never seen before, and it is akin to spell-weaving, in a way.”

A thought crossed my mind and I looked around anxiously, “You don’t suppose they can hear us?” I said, indicating the mother-trees on either side of our path.

Lyra laughed, “They are sleeping. They hear nothing unless we awaken them. Do not fear.” She leaned closer, and her lips met mine for a pleasant moment. “Perhaps that will distract you,” she said, with a twinkle in her eyes.

I kissed her again, and my mind drifted away, the scene fading. When my eyes opened again it was to a different scene. People were screaming, dying, as open wounds appeared spontaneously on their skin. Some writhed on the ground, clawing at themselves even as they bled and died. My magesight showed me the cause of their affliction, but I was powerless to stop it, if I lowered my shields for a moment it would kill me too.

“Save us!” a woman cried, clawing at the shield of power I had extended around myself, but I looked away. I could not meet her terrible, dying eyes. Inside I knew the truth, this was your fault! You caused this, my inner voice accused.

Death was everywhere, a tangible thing, and I could smell it, taste it. Worse, I could hear it… a terrible dissonance that played in direct counterpoint to the harmony of the living world. I shut my eyes and clapped my hands to my ears, wishing I could shut out the sensation of it, but this was one voice I could not block out.

Screaming I sat up in bed, clutching my head to shut out the terrible sound of it. Penny was beside me, her arms around me. “Mort, wake up!” it’s just a dream.

Desperate, I clutched her to me, burying my head in her neck hoping the sweet scent of her hair would drive away the vivid images that still floated before my eyes. She stroked my head, repeating soft, soothing words while I gradually began to calm down. Slowly I came to realize it had just been a dream, a horrible, terrifying and all too real dream.

No it wasn’t, said a voice in the back of my mind. It happened, and if you aren’t careful, it will happen again. The truth of it sank into me and I began to weep, softly at first, and then more loudly, as if I were a child again. Through it all, I heard the dissonant song of death… just as I had in the dream… only now I was awake.

“Is it Marc?” asked Penny gently, “Did you dream of him?”

“No,” I said finally, my voice hoarse and thick. “It was the memories again.” I had explained my strange memories to her before, after the visit with Marcus, when he had given me the tablet, but I still didn’t understand them very well. Every time I began to examine them deliberately, fear seemed to clutch at my heart until I closed the door and shut the memories away again.

“You’re having dreams about them now?” she said, concern on her face.

I nodded. And I hear the voice of death now, I added mentally.

“Why haven’t you tried to examine them? Maybe they’d be less frightening if you let them see the light of day?” she suggested.

It was a completely rational suggestion, but at that moment I couldn’t bear the thought of looking any closer at what lurked in the back of my mind… much like every other moment. Still, I knew I had to eventually face them, otherwise I’d go mad from dreams I barely understood. “You’re right,” I admitted.

She stared at me for a long minute.

“What, right now?” I said, flabbergasted.

“Is there a better time?”

“Certainly not in the middle of the night,” I replied. “I’m still not sure I’ll ever sleep soundly again after what I just dreamed about.”

“Tell me about that then,” she said reasonably. I hated it when she was reasonable.

I spent the next ten minutes describing my dream-memory as well as I could. Unlike an ordinary dream, which would fade upon waking, this one remained crystal clear. When I finished she gave me an odd look.

“I’m not sure how to feel about you dreaming about strange women,” she said.

“I don’t think it was my dream,” I answered. “I mean it was my dream, but I think it was really someone else’s memory. It’s just stuck in my head somehow… and Lyra wasn’t a woman, exactly.”

“Now you’re referring to her by her nickname,” Penny teased, “but you certainly described her as a woman. You kissed her.”

“Someone else kissed her,” I protested, “I’m just remembering it, and yes, she’s female… sort of, but she isn’t human.”

Penny’s eyes narrowed for a moment, “She didn’t happen to look similar to Elaine did she?”

“No,” I said, mildly irritated, “she looked nothing like Elaine. She had silver hair, so white it seemed to shimmer, and her eyes were a light blue, like ice.”

“That seems a bit unusual.”

“No, all the people of her grove had hair and eyes like that,” I remarked without thinking, “Their ears tapered to soft points as well.”

“Her grove?” asked Penny.

“She was one of the She’Har,” I answered, and then I realized that more information was coming out in my replies than I was consciously aware of. Unfortunately, the realization caused my mind to clamp shut in fear and nothing more was forthcoming.

“So who was it that knew her?”

I stared at her for a moment, confused.

Penny sighed. “I mean, whose memory were you reliving? Who was it that she kissed?”

It was the obvious question, but unfortunately I didn’t have a good answer. “The problem is that when I’m remembering, I only remember what happened and what they were thinking. Most people don’t think about their own names, or other useful details… like what year it was or where they were located, so I’m left guessing,” I explained.

“But if you followed the memories far enough, you would probably eventually get those details… wouldn’t you?” insisted my lovely wife.

“Most likely,” I agreed. “I just haven’t been able to force myself to do it. Plus there are so many… I can’t be sure, but I get the impression that the memories span thousands of years and hundreds of different people’s lifetimes.”

“Surely it couldn’t all be bad,” said Penny.

“You’re right, it probably isn’t, but there’s something really bad in the middle of it all. Every time I try to recall the reason why I have these memories… and I know that that fact is in there… every time I try to get close to it, I find something else,” I told her.

“What about other things? Like Illeniel’s Promise, or Illeniel’s Doom… you mentioned those before, can you get near those memories?” she asked.

“They’re all linked together,” I said. “I try to stare it in the face, but my inner self instinctively flinches away whenever I get close.”

“Well this woman Lyra, if she really is one of the She’Har, then your memories are at least two thousand years old,” she noted.

I didn’t respond. Closing my eyes I held Penny to me and tried to block out the dark song that seemed to persist around me at all times now. I had begun hearing it shortly after bringing Walter back from the brink of death, but it had only gained in volume since then. It seemed to portend something dark in my future. “I need to find out what these memories mean, but I have a side trip I intend to take first,” I said at last.

“Side trip?”

“I need to explore the ruins of the Gaelyn household, near Agraden.”

“You’ve waited almost a year since Marc’s death, why now?” said Penny rationally.

I didn’t have a good answer though, just a hunch. Whenever I thought about seeking the heart of my memories, or Illeniel’s Doom… the dark song grew stronger. I had an intuitive feeling that whatever I found would lead to my ruin, or perhaps even my immediate demise. “It feels safer,” I admitted, “And if I can find a way to convince Gareth Gaelyn to help us, it will gain us a mighty ally.”

Penny giggled at my choice of words. “A ‘mighty ally’, eh? I think I’ll stick with the one I already have. I’m married to the most powerful archmage in all the world,” she teased, “perhaps in all of history.” She was attempting to distract me from my dark thoughts.

“I don’t think there’s any way we can know that…,” I said modestly.

Penny leaned in close to kiss me before responding, “Of course there is.”

“Oh, really?”

“Definitely,” she said, letting her hands roam.

My breath caught in my throat for a moment. “That isn’t my staff,” I informed her.

“I beg to differ sir,” Penny replied flirtatiously, “… like a mighty oak it grows!”

I snorted with laughter and began to choke, “I can’t believe you just said that! Do you know how corny that sounded?”

“You should be grateful for my witty bedroom banter,” she answered, before kissing me again.

I was still laughing, “You can’t see the forest for the tree.”

She snickered into my neck, “And you say my jokes are bad.”

We told one another bad jokes for several minutes before we were finally unable to continue, having run out of good, or even bad lines. We had better things to occupy ourselves with anyway.