The golem crafter, p.44
The Golem Crafter, page 44
part #2 of Ethria Series
“You know that necromancer that upstart Pyromancer claimed to have killed?”
“Totally preposterous. There is no possible way she was slain by the likes of him.”
“Yes, well. That dagger made its way to me through a less than legal connection I have in Laketown. It came from her personal collection. See, the necromancer had literally thousands of those things and she used them in the creation of her pets.” The cardinal shook his head confused.
“Are you telling me that the pyromancer was telling the truth? He killed the third circle's High Priestess? You can’t be serious.” The cardinal’s breath had returned to normal as they stood over the dead body. The black metal of the dagger, had Telik bothered to look, was melting and seemingly melding with the corpse.
“Oh, I am. I don’t know how but it is true. The pyromancer killed her. Or at least, that incarnation of her.”
“That, that might be true.” Telik finally conceded. Jekkel moved towards the open cage, positioning himself so he could close it at a whim. “Her body might die, but her soul might have gone to Tesh. Which means she might very well return!” The Cardinal, or rather the Priest of the third circle of Tesh, grew excited at the prospect. “My mistress might return. I must go and tell the others. The entire circle will…” The body at Telik’s feet jerked violently, as the black tar-like substance engulfed the remaining exposed skin.
The cardinal’s attention shifted as the sounds of cracking bones and shifting organs came from the newly undead creature. Jekkel closed the cell door with a hard clang, then pulled the key and disappeared it into his robes. “What is this?! What, what are you doing?”
“I’m not doing anything Cardinal. That creature is your creation. Surely, you have the power over death strong enough to control the creature. No?”
“No! I’m not a mage, I'm a priest!”
“Ah, well. Then why did you use the dagger? Did you not read the notification when you picked it up?” The cardinal’s eyes went wide. He had not, so few who were not warriors ever did bother to read notifications about item attributes. Jekkel shook his head and tisked loudly. “Well, in that case, Cardinal, your creation there? It's going to go wild here in about…” The creature's arm shot out and gripped Telik’s ankle, but the cardinal shook off the still weak grip of the creature. “... about now. I would run.”
“You!” The cardinal pointed a finger at Jekkel. “You did this to me! Tesh will not be pleased. You will be cursed, cursed!” He tried to cast a spell at the sorcerer, but the carefully crafted magical defenses of the cage protected him. The spell dissipated into mana and was absorbed by the tower to fuel its defenses.
“I would run if I were you. Those things get strong quickly. I’ve seen one take down a…” The Cardinal hiked his robe and ran for all he was worth. He got about six steps up to the main floor before the tar coated creature caught up with him. The screams were short-lived. The undead puppet Jekkel would make with the Cardinal’s bones would be less so.
Jekkel stormed past the dead and dying, up the stairs and to the second story of his tower. In that dark room, away from all light, he found the nexus of his home. “All I need is time…” The control crystal for his entire estate. All the defenses, the guardians he had made, the spells he had cast, and the enchantments he had crafted. With the swift motion of placing his hand on the crystal and a single mental command, they all activated. “... that should give me plenty.”
Epilogue 2: Songs and Hope
“For my soul delighted in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” - D&C 25:12
Winters Rest, Frega 60th, 2988 AoR
New Years Eve
Father Ruderal sat at the desk, blanket wrapped around him and fire slowly dying behind attempting to stave off the cold. The quill in his hand scraped against the harsh vellum he had purchased across the river. The small city of Laketown had proven a stalwart trading partner. Most of the goodwill earned by some unknown benefactor. Well, unknown to Ruderal anyway. The Laketown folk and leadership had extolled the young man’s bravery, though less so his manors and intelligence.
Ruderal wasn’t too concerned on that front. The man had been summoned from another world by the lady of silver light after all. The new Goddess that Ruderal had pledged himself too. She was no fool and would suffer none. What Ruderal did feel worried over was the man's heart. Would he be true? Would he make a good leader? Would he be their leader at all? Or was he more of a guide and protector? The Silver Lady had been silent on that.
What Father Ruderal hoped was that the wizard and his companions - who had all been whisked away on some vital errand to the south - would be compassionate, and powerful. That on the one hand they could help heal the broken hearts of the people that Ruderal found himself guiding. And on the other that the wizard would be able to provide the needed protection that Winter's Rest needed.
As it was, the elves were doing what they could. Providing patrols, hunting deer and other game in the forest that seemed to loom over the seemingly ramshackle settlement. In general, they provided protection for the slowly growing settlement of nearly two thousand people. All while attempting to build more and more of the longhouse shelters that the Goddesses people needed. So many needed shelter.
There were dozens of longhouses already built, with one or two going up every week despite winter's heavy snowfall. Despite that many like Father Ruderal still lived in tents surrounding the construction site. But how long could the refugees of the Great March North survive on elvish goodwill? How long would the people of Laketown permit a settlement already rivaling their own population to exist so close by? Competing for resources, fishing the river, logging the forests. Until violence seemed like the only proper answer?
He himself felt a great sense of guilt at being unable to do little more than comfort the sick and afflicted. He had access to several spells now, but none of them could properly heal. They could comfort, relieve pain, and provide light or reveal unwanted and unseen eyes. All useful perhaps during other times. But now? He needed something to heal frostbite. Something more than the mere salves, ointments, and what little warmth he could provide. Here too the elves provided for those truly injured. And again, his concerns about the longevity of their grace towards the human settlers were tangible.
These thoughts and concerns plagued Ruderal as he dipped his quill in the inkwell on his desk and put the pen back to paper. He found his hand hovering above the page, trying to describe the nature of virtue. He had been tasked some time ago with writing the Silver Ladies books of scripture. An extremely laborious process, and one he felt he was not cut out for. “I’m not a scribe” he whispered in mild frustration. “Or some philosophizing scholar! I’m a healer, a worker. I’m more used to dirt and blood under my fingernails than I am ink.”
After a few more moments of frustrated hesitation as to what he should say next on the page, he felt the light of the lady quiver. The light of the lady was his connection to her. It was a familiar feeling to him and had been for some time. Whenever he had been in disharmony with Dominus, even on the slightest of things, the connection he had with his God would quiver slightly. Here it was the same principle with his new Silver Lady.
Ruderal sighed, putting aside the meaning of whatever that quivering meant, as he stretched his arms and the muscles in his back. The tent flap was pushed open when a slight breeze brought in a deeper chill. The old priest shivered slightly and moved to stand and restoke the fire. As he did, words came on the air. Happy and light, playful, and lyrical it was the voice of a child singing a tune.
“How many miles to Avelon?
The city of light and warmth?
Three score miles and ten perhaps?
My shoes are weathered and worn.
Can I get there by candle-light?
Yes, and back again!
If your heels are nimble and light,
You can escape the dungeon.
If your spurs be sharp and bright,
And your name be true.
Perhaps you can see Avelon’s light,
And just make it back too.
If your feet are slow as a slug,
And your name be false.
Your candle will flicker and die my friend,
And you won’t make it home at all.”
The song had a simple, chipper tune only using three or maybe four notes on the traditional Torish scale. And like most children's songs Father Ruderal had read or listened too in his lifetime, it was surprisingly terrifying if one looked too closely at the lyrics. This particular song seemed to be about Avelon, the ancient city of light. A city that was thought in children's stories and folk tales to lead the unwary traveler to their doom. Or village child depending on who told the story. As the legend went, the city would appear only during the harshest winters, in the most perilous of storms. Even then only on the Winter Solstice. The shortest, and darkest day of the year when not even the brightest moons were visible.
The city would offer shelter and comfort to all. But none where ever swift enough to reach it before it vanished again. The mere act of trying over the countless thousands of years had become synonymous with a wintery death from frostbite. In other places, particularly further south, the city was seen as a safe haven to travelers. A place of refuge and grace. Of light, and warmth. The girl singing must have been from farther south then Ruderal had ever been for the song to be so positive about the legendary city.
As he listened, the words of the music shifted in his ears. The light of the lady swelled, and in his heart, he felt a deep stirring. A demand by his Goddess to write what was coming now to his mind.
The newly minted high priest desperately put wet ink to parchment and scribbled furiously. He wrote with swiftness and clarity he had seldom known in his life. After just a few moments, he stopped and examined his work, beaming brightly with pride. The song was simple, but it would more than do as the beginning of a new hymnal. When he put the last jot down on the page he felt it then. Power. The power he could use to heal the sick, the power fueled by his faith, and his willingness to obey his patron. Ethria itself acknowledged as much and his vision was filled with a holy text saying exactly that.
For so long he had felt the feeling of connection with the Lady of Silver Light but had reaped little of a reward from it save guidance and reassurance that more good things would come. Now, however, he had access to at least some of the powers he once had. They were… different. As different as the ocean is vast. But also remarkably familiar. At that moment Ruderal likened it to how autumn and spring are so similar, and yet so different in their purpose and direction.
Still holding to the parchment Ruderal ran outside, as fast as a priest could run in a robe in winter. Once out of his tent the bitter chill turned into a howling gale as the wind and snow buffeted him. A storm had picked up without his notice as he worked. But he knew. Somehow he knew were that simple child's song had come from. He knew where he was needed. And so he trudged through the snow until just a few moments later he came to a small tent. He had met the family in that tent. He helped to settle them in just the other day. They came from far south, just past Tri-water it was said. “Pardon me, may I enter!” The priest shouted over the storm. But no reply came. He shouted again, but again no reply came to his call. He pulled the tent flap back and entered.
An elderly man and two women lay in cots shivering. A little girl cried at the bed of what Ruderal knew was her mother. The woman was unresponsive, save to shiver more. The fire in the small tents stove had gone out, and the interior of the tent was almost as cold as the storm outside. Still, father Ruderal knew why these three shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. A fever had swept through the camp several days ago, but the elves had healed all those injured and examined all those exposed. But here, this small family was sick before his very eyes.
The adults were dying, the elves had missed someone. These people. The elves had missed this family, and there was no time now to fetch them. He knew his herbs would be only mildly effective against such an advanced illness. “Child, come, please. I need your help to build a fire and get your family warm.” Father ruderal pocketed the little hymn he had just finished writing and went to work building the fire. The tent had several pieces of thick log firewood, but little in the way of kindling. He broke pieces off with his own fingers, suffering splinters with silence as he worked.
The girl didn’t respond, simply glaring at him from the far side of the tent with weary tear-streaked eyes. The fire built, Ruderal pulled flint and steel from his pocket, the same he was going to use to relight his own fire. The tinder caught on his second try, and soon a warm fire filled the tent. Ruderal turned then to the mother and placed his hands on her head and arm. He cast one of the new spells he had access to and soon learned every ailment the woman was suffering from. He knew he could heal her. Light radiated from his hands, and the woman's tension and restlessness eased. Swiftly he moved to the other two elderly sick people in the tent. What he assumed were the child's grandparents. After tending to them in a similar manner, he sat himself down next to the fire.
“Well, that’s all taken care of. Your mother and grandparents will be fine, they just need a bit of rest.” The girl’s eyes softened. After a few moments of tending the fire, the girl came closer and warmed her hands. A few moments later her mother stirred, groaning for water.
“Mommy!” The child yelled and ran to her mother who stroked her face lovingly, hands shaking with exhaustion and dehydration. The priest stood and removed his small flask from his belt. He offered it to the woman who took it gladly. After swallowing the entire flask’s contents, the woman smiled and drifted off to sleep.
The grandparents both stirred a few moments later and the girl ran to each of them as the priest refilled the water. This process repeated a couple of times, and the priest offered food and pieces of bread to fill the stomachs of the once feverish elders. Eventually, the three fell asleep quietly and rested for a time. The priest sat on the floor opposite the girl and they chatted. Or rather Ruderal chatted at her, she just kept listening.
“...that’s when the wagon wheel went right over the boy’s leg!” the girl gasped slightly. “But the boy was fine. I bandaged him up, and it ended up being little more than a bruised leg in the end, thank the Goddess. The boy’s father pestered me something awful about healing the boy up, but he didn’t need it. They’re here in the camp you know, that boy was about your age. I’m sure you and the other children could play if you would like. Would you like that?” The girl thought about it, and then shook her head. The black locks on her heavily tanned skin cascaded wildly as she did, a sight that brought a smile to the old priest.
“Well, I think I better get back to working.” The priest made to go then.
“What are you working on?” The girl asked, her voice quiet and subdued. In the quiet calm of the tent, despite the storm outside, it was as clear as a bell. Ruderal sat back down on the hard-packed dirt floor, and after a moment of thought pulled out the small hymn.
“Well, I heard someone singing beautifully earlier and so I wrote my own little song.” The girl smiled, her cheeks going flush slightly. “Was that you? Did you sing earlier?” She nodded. “Well, you have a beautiful voice. Where did you hear that song?” The girl withdrew again, hiding her face behind her hair and her raised knees across the fire from him.
“How would you like to hear my song?” The girl nodded, and he unwrinkled the page. When it was flat, and clear to read he sang in his broken deep base. The words where simple, the tune easy enough to match. At the end of it, she was smiling and Ruderal felt his own lips moving up in a grin. “It's a fun one isn’t it?” She nodded happily. “Can you tell me your name?”
The girl hesitated for a moment. Then, she reached out a hand around the fire. “Can, can I try?”
Ruderal thought about it for a moment before offering her a bargain. “You tell me your name, and we can sing it together. What do you say?”
Her expression fell slightly to unease. But after a moment of thought, she nodded. “Amber…” her voice was soft and light. Almost as if she were hiding from something that could find her should she even say her own name. Amber’s expression changed then, and a look of determination and defiance took hold. “Amber Lee Schredrich.” She said each word with punctuated intentionality. When she was done, she locked eyes again with Father Ruderal who smiled as wide as the world.
The priest handed the newly written hymn around the small pit fire. The girl cleared her throat as if testing if it were okay to do what she was doing. After a moment she began to sing. Lightly at first, but her voice grew in confidence as she went.
As she sang the simple tune, the words coming easy to her, the air around them seemed filled with meaning and purpose. Not like the oppressive feeling of magic, but something more fundamental. More human, more alive.
The two sat there together through the night as the storm raged outside. Singing the song, creating variations of it, and enjoying each other's company while the girl’s family rested all-around them. The fire was warm, the music beautiful, the company good, and the meaning of what was being created that night would resound throughout the ages.
THE END
Daniel “Rayid” Tear’s Character Sheet
At the end of the novel.
Physical Description
Race: Human
Height: 6’1
Hair: Brown
Immaterial Description
Class: Wizard
Profession: None Chosen
Level: 11
Heritage: Unknown (Earther, Western, Pioneer)
