Game of the Gods - Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A Shift in the Cycle

Theminor awoke to the smells of roasting flesh, his stomach growling at him. He found himself abed, the furs of unknown creatures piled atop him. Blindly he felt at the wound in his side; it had been redressed with fresh bandages by someone who obviously knew more of dressing wounds than he did. His mind still reeled with fever, but he managed to open his eyes to the light anyways. The flame from the soft candle burned into his skull; he slammed his eyelids shut, leaving an image that flickered from blue to orange and back again. After several moments, Theminor cautiously opened his eyes and could make out the form of a young boy not yet ten years of age standing at the foot of his bed.

The boy was obviously frightened of him, he did not shake, but he made no effort at meeting the barbarian's gaze. Slowly the boy crept towards him, holding out a tray of food as if it were a shield. Reaching his bedside, the boy set the tray down on a nightstand. Theminor tried to ask the boy where he was, but only a hoarse grunt escaped his lips. The boy's eyes widened and he darted from the room. Theminor would have laughed at the boy had he enough strength to spare.

Taking stock of the room he found himself in, Theminor was amazed at the lavish furnishings. All of the walls were constructed of precious wood; back in Radik only the eldest tribesman would have walls of wood, and those were merely for decoration as they would not be sufficient to keep out the cold. A cheery fire crackled in a stone fireplace, which was carved with ornate creatures that Theminor had never before seen. Even his own bed was quite meticulously engraved.

Another wave of dizziness hit him, sending the room into a spin. Theminor fixed his gaze on the decorated fireplace to stop the vertigo. His eyes widened in astonishment at the golden candles placed in golden sconces at either end of the mantel. No, they had to be a polished brass; that much gold could buy enough wood to build five houses in the Northlands. Why would these clerics put him up in such a generous room? Perhaps all of the rooms in the chapel were this lavish. The thought made Theminor's lips twitch in distaste. He had heard many rumors of these clerics, and their accord with all of nature, but if this room gave any indication of their demeanor.... Well, instinct told him that at least he was in Tosche. The thought of reaching his destination made him think on the journey, which reminded him of his former companions.

A second grumbling from his empty stomach urged him to forget his musings. Theminor struggled to free his arm from underneath the pile of blankets and pushed himself upright. He grabbed at the meat on the tray. Quickly devouring the first piece, he finished all of the food he had been brought. As he slurped at the wine in the crystal goblet, a tall, extremely thin man entered the room. His emerald green robes immediately seized Theminor's attention. He had never seen such a beautiful shade of green, not even in that one summer of his youth when his father had taken him into the Magdierno forest. The man paused in the doorway, quietly looking him over. Whether out of politeness, or whether he was examining the barbarian, his guest waited until Theminor had upended the chalice and set it back on the tray.

"Can you understand me?" the man said in a deep rumbling voice.

Theminor nodded his head in assent, making the dizziness worse. Pushing the heel of his hand against his temples slowed then spinning yet he struggled to keep his head upright.

"What is your name, deca'lar?" The man said.

Theminor was taken aback by the use of the title. This lanky man knew much more than he had thought. Perhaps his initial impression of these clerics was wrong. He squinted his eyes shut to stop the spinning and replied. "My name is Theminor."

"Well Theminor. You are fortunate that we found you. With our assistance you will heal in time," the man said.

Seeing the lost look on his face, the man continued, "You are in the Arboreal Cathedral near the city known as Tosche, though I suspect you have heard of that." With a slight nod from the large man, he continued. "My student found you lying in the snow and saved you from a certain death. We have tended to your wounds, but they still bleed. We will use our songs to heal you."

"No m..magic," Theminor whispered vehemently.

"I understand your distaste for our 'magic', but this may be all that will prevent your wounds from claiming your life. Perhaps you will change your mind when the fever has lifted, yes? Well then, I will send someone in shortly to change your dressings. I suggest you eat and get some rest, you will need your strength."

Without waiting for a response from Theminor, the skinny man vanished through the door without even introducing himself. If he had not been so tired, Theminor would have thought of something to yell after the man as he left. Despite the hospitality he had been shown, it was considered rude to turn your back on a guest in your house. Theminor thought on this strange man for a moment. If he knew of the deca'lar, then he must have known something of their customs, also. He had heard that the Clerics of Kawn were highly respectful towards the Clan, and were in turn respected by the Northern tribes. But this man had treated him as if he were no more than a mere child.

Theminor felt his blood rising and closed his eyes to calm himself. Perhaps he was the one to blame; he knew nothing of their customs and could easily have offended him by accident. Maybe he had angered the cleric somehow. But if he had, then why would they be taking such good care of him? The deca'lar chuckled to himself; even if he had done something to anger these clerics, he was not in the least bit worried; as long as he had his sword he could protect himself.

His eyes suddenly flashed open, a look of abject terror on his face. His father's sword! His mind panicked, where was it? The brief jolt of adrenaline pushed the fever from his mind as he quickly scanned the room. In moments, his eyes located the huge blade, standing on end in the corner nearest his head. What was left of his tattered clothes lay at the base of it on the floor in a neat pile. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he had been too quick to judge his host. A newfound appreciation of these clerics formed when he realized that they let him keep his heirloom. Clearly, they did not fear him despite the fact that he could hew them in half if he so chose. A fresh bout of weakness hit him the moment the adrenaline quit coursing through his veins. He nearly swooned then, but caught himself, wondering about an event he could scarcely recall.

In his fever dream he partially remembered a wolf pup, and calling her Teelay. He remembered that his concern for her helped him to find the reserve strength to push on when he had all but given up. Sometimes it amazed him what tricks the mind would play to push the body beyond its limits. He sank back into the soft mattress and prepared to doze off into a much needed rest, nearly forgetting about the dream once again. From the floor near him, he could hear a soft whimpering. He dismissed it as just unfamiliar noises in an unfamiliar place, but his instincts told him it was familiar. His mind reeled, as he realized that Teelay was more than a figment of his imagination and was here in the flesh. She whimpered again, seeming to know that he was finally able to attend to her.

Ignoring the pain, he rolled to his side and scooped the ball of fur onto his bandaged chest. Apparently she had been well attended, for her puppy belly bulged with a fresh meal and her fur was soft and bushy. She looked comical, with her puffed out sides, and bright blue eyes. She lay on his chest, licking his face and he could not help himself but to smile.

"Where were you a few moments ago?" he playfully scolded her. "At the least, you could have growled at him," Theminor said, hiking a thumb towards the now closed door to his room. Teelay responded to his voice by taking the opportunity to give a playful growl and a high pitched bark. He tried not to laugh, but could not stop it from coming. The pain was exquisite and immediate, but he didn't really mind. The pain would heal with time, but Teelay would persist. Theminor closed his eyes once again.

Sighing to himself, he shifted his thoughts away from these unpleasant happenings. Laying his head onto the goose-down pillow, he closed his eyes to try and stop the eternal spinning. Dizziness finally took him, as the barbarian's mind was once again enveloped by darkness.

Out in the hallway, the tall man silently listened at Theminor's door, weighing his first impression of the man inside. He knew of the barbarian clans to the north, having occasionally interacted with a few of them. This one must be here on his...what did they call it? Oh yes, his taking. It was hard for him to form an accurate opinion of this barbarian seeing as he still suffered from an extremely high fever. With enough rest, however, their guest should be in fair enough health by the time he was needed. Smiling at this thought, he waited only a moment longer at the closed door before making his way back to his own chambers.

"Master Qrstcht?" He turned to find Guelah standing before him. Qrstcht almost rolled his eyes at finding the young man in front of him once again. Would he never be able to escape this infernal boy? Of course, he had sent for the new caretaker some time ago. Which now made him wonder why it had taken him so long to report? No matter, he thought.

"Yes. Guelah. I need to discuss some of the happenings that occurred yesterday." He carefully chose his words, for he knew that the caretaker must fully understand what he was about to tell him. He was not sure why Guelah must know, but he was sure that it must be this specific cleric.

Qrstcht sighed and said, "Yesterday, when we were at the One Tree, did you happen to hear anything?"

"That was the One Tree?" Guelah exclaimed, his eyes widening at the mention of the holiest of holy things to the Clerics of Kawn.

Qrstcht waved his hand nonchalantly, shaking his head repugnantly at the curate's astonishment. He wanted to grab the boy by the arms and shake some sense into him. He wanted to scream, of course it was the One Tree, you dolt, but somehow refrained himself. He knew that he was losing Guelah's attention, and rapped him on the head with his wooden cane. The cleric blinked the awe out of his eyes and rubbed his scalp where the cane had hit him. Qrstcht smiled and thought; at least I have his attention again.

"What I have to discuss with you is something best not heard by others," he said, now poking Guelah squarely in the ribs with his cane. "Come with me."

Qrstcht led the way to one of the inner sanctums, which was not far from where they had housed the barbarian. Once safely inside, Qrstcht closed the heavy oak door to the room and continued. "Now, let me ask one last time," he said impatiently. "Did you hear anything unusual at the One Tree?"

This time Guelah barely refrained himself from showing his surprise at the mention of the One Tree, but at least he was able to answer the question. "No, master Qrstcht. I don't think I heard anything."

"That's what I figured," The Forester muttered.

"What?" Guelah asked, his eyebrows raised in true inquisitiveness.

"Never mind," Qrstcht said. It was not really that surprising that the caretaker had not heard the Melody of Kawn, only the Voices, and of course, Qrstcht himself, were ever spoken to. Once in awhile though, some Fist of the Tree, or even a caretaker such as this boy were blessed in being spoken to by Kawn. He realized that his was losing his student's attention again and quickly continued. "I do not know why I must tell you of what you could not hear for yourself, but for some reason I must."

He waited for Guelah to question what it was he had heard, but the caretaker remained silent, patiently waiting for him to finish. Qrstcht shook his head in frustration once more. This won't be as easy as I thought. He took a deep breath and continued.

"You have been taught of our purpose, of the Cycle, Yes?" Qrstcht asked, more of a rhetorical question than a literal one.

"Yes I have, master," Guelah replied.

"Well then," Qrstcht said, rapping the butt end of his cane on the floor. Guelah jumped at the impatience in his master's voice, but quickly answered.

"The Cycle is the bond between all living things from life until death, and our purpose is to keep the Balance between living things and dead things." Guelah said. Qrstcht almost sighed in frustration again, but he found it very interesting on how Guelah was able to break down the Tenant of Verdigris into something so simple to understand. Of course there was much more to it than that, but his explanation covered the basic principal.

Now that his interest was piqued, Qrstcht found that he was also curious as to how Guelah saw himself as a cleric of Kawn. He tapped the wooden cane on the floor again and peered deep into Guelah's eyes. "Yes. And why do we maintain the Balance?" he asked.

"So that the Cycle can continue," the caretaker answered.

Again Qrstcht was astounded at the simplicity of his answer. Maybe this was how he should teach the basic principles of the Tenant to the new curates. That is, if he were going to teach anymore. "And why do we need to preserve the Cycle?" he asked.

"Because we are a part of the Cycle," Guelah answered.

"Well, when we were in the Grove of Symmetry, I was told something. Something very dire indeed; something about the Cycle," Qrstcht said.

"What was it?" The question slipped from Guelah's tongue without even a slight consideration. Even though it had been just a whisper, he knew Qrstcht had heard it. He cringed after realizing his challenge, for he had not been asked a direct question. Guelah had learned long ago not to interrupt his teachers, and when Qrstcht was teaching, that fact was no different. Guelah hung his head, waiting for the inevitable reprimand, but instead, The Forester sighed to himself, looking far away from the caretaker.

"There has been a shift in the Cycle," Qrstcht stated.