Chapel Orahamm

Skull Dansuer Ch 11

I slowly came to the next day with some kind of sandwich in my mouth and the sun dazzling on a river. I drew in the scent of water creatures, not too dissimilar from the Hudson and tried to recall if I had been awake before this moment, or if I had woken up to someone shoving food in my mouth. After a moment of thought, I decided I didn’t know and it didn’t matter. There was food and a nice view. Rowan and Farrow were talking about what had happened back at the Inkwell and the assassins in the village.

“Morning?” I offered when I finally got the last of my sandwich eaten.

Rowan glanced back at me, narrowing his eyes. “That’s the third time you’ve said that. You actually awake?”

I shrugged. “I think so. Sorry if I drooled on your back, Farrow. Not sure how I’m still up here.”

“No worries. You were sleep walking by the time we left the stable.” He slowed Ravur to a stop. “I know if I’m wanting to stretch and break for the trees, you probably could do with a moment out of the saddle too.” He showed me how to dismount out of the precarious set up and get off of the six legged beast.

I was nowhere near as graceful as he was and ended up landing on my hands and knees with a jolt. “I’d say I’m verifiably awake now.” I tried to stand. Every bone from my shoulders to my toes screamed. “Ow.” There could have been curse words or more descriptive complaints, but that was all I could manage to think. It just all hurt.

Rowan circled Lis, the herbivorous-ostrich sized t-rex creature with commodore locks back to Ravur and tossed his reigns over her pommel to hook them together while he dismounted. “Break anything?” He squatted down to give me a once over.

“Ego? Pride? My hopes and dreams? A will? My stubborn streak? Well, bloody knees and a few scratches on my hands if you mean physically.” I got myself off the ground and hissed as my lower back cracked. “Gods above, this guy has like no muscle. The hell?”

We spent the better part of an hour near that little section of river while I worked out all the sore muscles, got my knees bandaged, made off for the thicket for a bathroom break twice, and scarfed down another round of leafy sandwiches. I was going into my third round of a hip stretch when Farrow flopped onto the ground across from me and gave the movement a try. His hip popped audibly in the still woods. He stilled and pressed his lips between his teeth.

I snorted. “You thought I was doing silly things, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“And now?”

“Still looks silly, but it does feel pretty nice.”

Rowan and Quamire emerged from the trees with a pair of dead…things hanging by a cord. They were gutted and dressed, so I wasn’t going to be able to make an educated guess, even if I did know something about the fauna of this planet. “Figured, if we were breaking, might as well get something more than our rations eaten.” Farrow and I nodded our thanks.

“Do I want to know how you caught those?” I asked, before realizing Quamire was looking awful pleased with himself. “The labra-dragon hunts?”

“He’s a pure-bred gusdaw, I would have you know, and yes, he is more than capable of catching dwivs mid-flight.” Rowan rubbed the dog-sized dragon creature’s head, eliciting a rumbling sound from him.

I pulled myself off the ground and scrambled up Ravur’s back to my pack. Digging out my travel journal, I found Rowan watching me curiously. I grabbed out quill and ink and slid off Ravur’s side. I was coming to like her placid nature. Nothing like a dog’s calm, she was much more like a sluggish lizard. I had to hazard a guess that she would have more going on in her brain than a bearded dragon, but I couldn’t tell. She might just not care about anything going on around her.

Sitting back down, I set the book on my lap, trying to find a stable position. I flipped open the notebook and popped the cork on the ink bottle. “Alright, you kept telling me we needed a scroll. Found an empty book in Wallace’s room, so I’m using that.”

“A book meant for illustrated religious writings, and you mean to write about dwivs?”

I smiled up at him innocently, though I let the two pairs of sharp fangs show. “Yes. Now, what the hell is a dwiv?”

Turns out a dwiv is a pest with a decent amount of fat on it’s body that makes for tasty pork-flavor adjacent eating. And gusdaw are domesticated forms of guusnees, which are large and blood thirsty – living mainly in wooded areas. To me, the equivalent of a dog and a wolf, and I noted it as such.

In quick succession, I also made messy sketches with plenty of blots and splatters of the different plants around me that my riding companions were able to identify. Less than I thought they would know, but the ones they did know were either edible or toxic, and that would always be useful knowledge to me.

I had thought I would be able to write while on Ravur, but after experimenting for about a mile of her waddling, I decided that was futile. Especially with ink quills. Instead, anytime a plant got close enough to me for me to grab a leaf, I pocketed it in order to ask for elaboration at our next stopping point.

Even with my interest in everything around me, I slept with frequency. I would come out of my stupor with food in hand and little memory of having taken it from someone. Every joint in my body was on fire and my jaw was sore from unconsciously gritting my teeth.

When evening approached, I was relieved that we pulled off from the river into what looked to be a meadow amongst the trees. I bumbled off of Ravur and tried to stretch myself out. My knees popped. My back popped. My shoulders popped. My hips radiated electricity up through my sciatic, and I was left bent over, desperate to find a position that didn’t feel like death.

Farrow was setting up a fire ring and Rowan had the saddles off the creatures before I could straighten up. A careful series of fingertips brushed my mid back in a question. I grunted a reply, afraid to straighten up in case I would throw my back out.

“You alive, Matchstick?”

I shook my head. Words were too exhausting to contemplate.

“Yeah, figured not. Want me to work that knot out?”

“I’m not sure I can stand up,” I admitted.

“Wallace was always pretty sickly. He’d hop out of a saddle after a once around the stable. I’m amazed you lasted this long. Here, go hold the saddle’s pommel, we’ll get you stretched out.” Rowan directed me to Ravur’s saddle. I tried to stand up from my crouch and hissed, tears springing to my eyes as a wave of sharp pain shot through my shoulder. In short order, I found myself holding onto the pommel as I arched my back down over straight legs to get my spine to realign itself. Rowan’s fingers worked enough magic to release some knots, but I knew I would be waking up tomorrow keenly aware of the shape of my skeleton.

“Explain sickly to me, Rowan.” I settled onto the damp ground. Farrow passed me a small cup of thin soup. I muttered my thanks and taste tested the concoction. To my credit, I burned my tongue on the boiling hot liquid and didn’t have to bother with figuring out if it had any flavor after that.

Rowan groaned as he finally settled onto the ground and also took a cup from Farrow. “Thanks, tender heart.” He had the wherewithal to set it down on a rock and not burn his tongue. “Sick like you were born blue; Wallace was born blue. At least, that was what I learned while eavesdropping in the castle. The maids gossiped too much. From that point on, Wallace would become bed ridden with aug at the slightest bit of damp. It would be months before you were able to get up and walk. Reason the tower became your room was because it didn’t wick the damp up from the basements and it was easier for heat to rise up to the top, keeping you warm. Wallace. Sorry. Gonna take a while to remember you aren’t Wallace. Anyways, he started reading early and that had everything to do with being bedridden most of the time. So, the distance you’ve made thus far has been of great surprise to me.”

“So there really is something wrong with me. Probably my heart or a nervous system issue. I’ll keep that in mind then.” I set my cup aside, my stomach dropping. Could whatever was wrong with me be cured? Or was it something I could brute force into being better if I got good exercise? Was I destined to a short life? Would this adventure be a once in a lifetime thing then? So many questions crowded all at once that I lost myself to the evening and only later woke to a thin dawn shimmering through the overbearing canopy some time later.

Rowan got me back in the saddle by the time I was finally cognizant that it was in fact day light and not just one of the really bright moons in the sky. To my dismay, the world I had been unceremoniously yanked into did not have something equivalent to coffee, or hot chocolate. I would take a weak tea at this point.

“Tell me of your ancients.” I was bored with the same glossy stain-glass foliage, same flat road, same slight warmth to the breeze that could be thought of as pleasant, or not thought of at all. My burnt tongue was the most distracting thing about me, and I was itching to do something other than sit on Ravur’s back. I couldn’t walk next to her though, because her pace was actually quite fast, and the fact that the forest still looked the way it did, and she was putting on that type of clip, made me wonder just how big the country was that I had found myself reincarnated into.

Farrow glanced over his shoulder at me. “Ancients?”

“Ancients. I don’t know, legendary people, tribes or clans or great sagas. Major kings and generals. Gods, or demigods. Demons and dragons. I don’t know. What is this place’s big stories that everyone would know. Like if we go into a village and someone just starts name dropping one of these things, everyone would understand, and I’d look like I crawled out of a rock by not knowing it.” I shrugged. Behind us, Quamire scratched at his scruff, cheeped at me for interrupting his nap, then returned to his half slumber.

“I’m not sure I could tell you of Herenhuis, but I could tell you of Morse,” he offered, “Rowan, what do you know of Herenhuis?”

Rowan stared up at the dappled spots of sky through the foliage. “Never really cared for the Epics. I know of the Four Guardians, and that one is supposed to be a legend across the whole of Stralendester.”

“Morse, Herenhuis, and Stralendester? These are countries?” I asked.

“Oh, sweet dwiv,” Farrow purred. I had to fight the urge to wack him on the back of the head for that. “Morse is where I come from.” He pointed to himself. “Herenhuis is the land you come from.” He pointed back at me over his shoulder. “Stralendester is the continent we are all on.” He spun his pointer finger in a circle to encompass everything.

I snorted. “And you, Rowan?”

“My parent’s people are from Kawl. That’s at the opposite end of Stralendester.” He pointed along the road we were traveling as if to emphasize the great distance we were to travel. “The fastest way to get there is going through Findou and Naaia. I’ll show you a map this evening when we stop.”

“I’d appreciate it. So, what are the Four Guardians?”

Rowan hummed a reply as he scratched at his greasy hair. We were all drying for a bit of a wash. “The Abyssal Dragon is one. The Prairie Witch is another.”

“You want to explain why your dad was getting divination about the Guardians?” I hissed.

“I don’t know!”

“Was the lady giving him info on the Abyssal the Prairie Witch?”

“She didn’t claim to be. And it’s not like a wise woman of the 9 People would live into millenia.” He pulled Lis in to walk side-by-side with us as the road widened. “Yujin are longer lived than most, but you can’t live more than past four hundred in good health.”

“Holy crap, four hundred? Leaving that for a different time. But this lady who left your dad with that prophecy was a witch none the less? So there is magic to be had here? More so than what Wallace was capable of?”

“Once. Once a long, long time ago. Back when the Sen were considered gods and the Liffa and Fan had not split in two. There was a time when magic was no more miracle than water pulled from an overflowing well. Yujin were little more than a backwater tribe along the coast of Zeepardje and the Rugoshi had a foothold in the land clear to the mountain territory of Findou. It was in a time when Alber kept the woods of Tay and Khe as their own.

“It came to be that the Fayber once found a great source deep in their lands – some say it was a crystal, others a sacred tree, and some a holy person, who granted them the type of power that could have united the whole of Stralendester. Yet, it was not unity that was sought. Instead, it was a desire to be rid of a section of ocean near the island of Keer. The legends don’t even say why they wanted this. At least none that I’ve heard. Only that they wished for the ocean to be gone there.

“No one of the People could come up against the Fayber. Not with sword and shield, not with ink and quill. They were powerful through their magic and ten-fold with their great source. But, as they cleared the ocean, a malevolence escaped from beneath the waters. Something that even legends had forgotten. It killed off the trees of Naaia and the edge of what is now Kawl. It wasted and twisted and infected everything that breathed and grew. It spread, darkening the skies with a thick, suffocating miasma that reached it’s wicked tendrils into the Khe and Tay. Sickness ran rampant, destroying the Kingdom of the Alber – sending their people scattering in all directions to escape.

“It was a century of this evil, and the Fayber had lost their hold on their source. The miasma continued to creep across Stralendester. Magic, Sen magic, disappeared. They could no longer keep their stronghold and dissolved into smaller territories. The Alber were decimated to the point that they have never held a country as their own since. The Fayber found themselves pushed back from the south of Naaia into Rigga and Meerbas by the early faction of Liffa who had split from the Fan. The Karamide drew back into Morse, becoming insular if only to hope that the miasma would be blocked by the mountains of Houdan in Findou territory.

“And it came that Four Guardians emerged in those ghoulish times to vanquish the great miasma. The Abyssal Dragon with his dark fire that ignited the air. The Prairie Witch who blackened the earth so deep that there was nothing left for the miasma to continue feeding on. The Water Mage who flooded the tributaries to break apart the foothold the miasma had, leaving behind the Tervan harbor that Naaia, Khe, and Tay overlook. And lastly, The Skull Hart, the one who summoned those who fell to the miasma to build, plant, and grow back what was lost, and to fertilize the land with their bones when finished.

“The Rugoshi revere the Four Guardians, most of all the Abyssal Dragon, making him their Dark God. His consorts, the Prairie Witch, the Water Mage, and the Skull Hart became deities in my people’s religion,” he concluded.

“Is this the same story you know, Farrow?” I asked.

“I didn’t realize the Rugoshian Dark God referred to the Abyssal Dragon or the consorts being the other three guardians, but yes, that is the story I even grew up hearing in Morse. I didn’t know if it was true or not. I always thought it was just a way to teach children to not want to become too greedy for power,” Farrow replied.

“What magic is left then?”

“Bits and pieces. Like Wallace’s firedrops. Small enchantments like lighting candles or cleaning ink stains. And even those are a struggle for the most diligent of practitioners. Nothing amazing like what you’ve done, Matchstick.”

“What about Blood Magic? That’s big magic,” Farrow asked Rowan.

“But that’s ancient magic. It wasn’t destroyed like Sen magic,” Rowan protested.

“It’s still used today. People still know it.”

“Kind of. They use the tools that make it work, but no one has developed a new spell since the old times.” Rowan gave Lis more lead and let her start moving ahead of us as the path narrowed.

“What is Blood Magic?” I asked.

Farrow replied over his shoulder, “It used to be used as a way for comrades at arms to swear an oath, or for Lords and their vassals to swear loyalty, even for marriage partners to bind themselves together. It kept people honest to each other. Part of the magic made it so that the people who were bound to each other wouldn’t lie or cheat the person or people they were blood bound to. But it’s not used like that now.”

“No,” Rowan’s quiet snarl caught me off guard. “It’s not used like that any more. Not the way it was made, but it still binds.”

“How so? Who would use it if not those type of people?” I tried to think of who else would use what I thought of as devotion magic. I could see some religions maybe using it to keep congregations together. Or even guilds, to help protect trade secrets.

“Slaves.”

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