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The Lost Stars ChronicleChapter 39: Pains From The Past
Although Luxus was still on his shoulders as they entered the temple, Sir Dractor suddenly felt very alone. He could physically hear the others around him, and a part of his brain could see them as he went forward, but something had cut off his mind from his senses, and all he could react to was the illusions it placed before him.
He was no longer walking through a long-abandoned underground temple, but through the cool corridors a far-distant castle. Ahead of him burned a fire in a stone-fireplace. Only a few people stood in the mostly-empty room. One of them, his brother, turned and seemed to see him coming.
“You’re too late,” said Aelric Dractor, “She’s dead.”
Aelric's son, Aelfred, looked up at his uncle with dark eyes.
“Why didn’t you save Grandmamma?” he asked, tears in his eyes, “You promised to protect her!”
“I tried!” protested Sir Dractor.
Part of him remained aware that this was all an illusion, that he was hundreds, thousands, of leagues from home, but he could not shake it.
“Not hard enough!” snapped Aelric, “You survived! Our mother, who you swore to protect, is dead, and you are still alive!”
“I came as fast as I could!” insisted Sir Dractor.
“Really, Aethelred?” said his sister.
Agnes Dractor looked at him hard, her beautiful body stiff with held-in anger.
“Then why did you tarry with Primolius Colin and the Old Man? If you were hurrying to protect our mother, why did you spend a day with them?”
“I swore an oath!” said Sir Dractor hotly, “An oath which supersedes all others, to obey the Old Man, and protect this country! And I did not know that Mother’s danger was so great!”
“Didn’t you?” said Aelric, “My message was worded very strongly. What was it that the Old Man wanted so badly that our mother’s life was forfeit?”
“He needed me to meet Primolius’ daughter, Elwen,” replied Sir Dractor, “Her husband, the Duke of Raleigh, was killed in battle, and the Old Man felt she needed protection.”
“So you abandoned our mother in favor of this young widow?” said Agnes, “Tell me, Aethelred, is she pretty, this young duchess?”
“I did not abandon my mother!” yelled Sir Dractor, “The Old Man told me something about Elwen dan Raleigh, something secret. She has an important role to play in the future, one that may bring down the Dark Lord, and her life was in danger. I promised to protect her.”
“The way you protected our mother?” asked Agnes, “The Old Man should learn that you cannot keep your promises. You promised Father that you'd keep Mother safe, and you failed. You will fail at this task as well.”
“I will not!” cried Sir Dractor, “It was just a mistake. Don’t you think that I don’t feel Mother’s loss at least as much as you? Wasn’t she as dear to me, or more, that she was to you?”
“You failed her, Aethelred,” said Aelric, “and you failed us. I’m afraid that you will no longer be welcome here in my home. Nor will you be training Aelfred for becoming a warrior, as we had once planned. I don’t think that you are a suitable role model for my son.”
Sir Dractor closed his eyes and moaned. All the pain and guilt of his mother’s death came back to him. The family recriminations, the fear that he would never again be able to keep his word. Where was Elwen right now? Had he failed the Old Man, and let something happen to her?
In the back of his mind, he recalled that he was in the Temple Of Lost Stars. Struggling with all his willpower, he closed his eyes, and walked forward, ignoring the phantom sounds and smells of his past.
Then, suddenly, he had passed the threshold of the Temple, and was within the antechamber. Looking back, he saw the others stock still in the entranceway, caught in their own past. Luxus, on his shoulders, snapped his eyes open as he was carried out of the entry- and out of his own dreams.
Sir Dractor looked ahead. More perils awaited them soon enough. One by one the others slowly struggled through entrance, each wrapped up in episodes of their past. Gib seemed to be especially distraught about something, and took the longest to get through. No one spoke about what they had seen. It was enough to know that they had all relived some of their worst memories.
When Gib first passed the threshold of the Temple Of Lost Stars, he didn’t notice any change. The world around him was still dark and Gib was walking forward. But presently, the scenery began to change. A bright, midday sun appeared through the branches above him and Gart appeared at his side. They were in the Neverwood, moving forward, following some tracks on the ground. Dragon tracks.
“What type of tracks are these?” Gart asked of him.
“I don’t know.” Gib found himself saying. The two padded along till they came to the edge of the clearing.
“Wait a minute.” Said Gart. “I don’t think we should--”
“ROAAR!”
An enormous, green, scaly beast jumped into the clearing. It was hideous. Claws and teeth and spikes and those little glowing red eyes. WHAM! The dragon hit Gib with it’s tail, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying. Slowly, Gib struggled back to his feet, gasping for air. And when Gib looked back to see if Gart was all right he was met with a horrifying, grizzly, sight. The sight of Gart, seized in the jaws of that terrible beast. It was a nightmare. Gib wanted to stop it. He wanted to change it. But he couldn’t. He felt rooted to the spot and an evil, cruel laughter filled his ears. Gib knew that laughter.
The scene faded now, as did the laughter and Gib found himself in the living room of his old home in Glestol. He was five years old, holding a wooden sword and play fighting with a young Rigger Colagart. His mom was chatting with Rigger’s mother as they sat, knitting. They all seemed so happy. Could this be a good memory, after all?
Suddenly there was a commotion in the next room. A servant entered followed by a solemn, grave faced knight.
“Lady Belphinigib, Lady Colagart,” the knight said addressing the women, “It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that Sir Manus Belephingib and Sir Quasby Colagart were killed yesterday, during an attempt on the king’s life. They gave their lives, protecting him. I’m sorry.”
Once again the vision faded with the cruel laugh, ringing in the background. There was no new vision, now. Only blackness, and suddenly the voice of Gart in Gib’s head.
“I want to say that I’m sorry Gib. For leaving. You may blame my change on the dragon poison, or the dragon blood, or even on that poor dragon who attacked us all those years ago. He was only acting under BloodVaine’s orders. But in truth you can’t really blame any of them. I wanted power. I wanted it so badly. And in my lust for it I denied you. I chose it over you and for that I am sorry. So sorry. But Gib...I tried to save you. What you’ve been through...I don’t even know if you will live. But if you don’t, then perhaps I will have some company. Good Bye Gib. I hope you can forgive me.”
“No.” said Gib, “Gart. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRT!”
Then suddenly, the visions were gone and Gib found himself standing in the chamber with the rest of the Fellowship.
Shainya knew at once something was amiss. The moment she stepped into the temple's entrance, everything changed. She was back home, back in Olgendale, and it was spring. She was in the garden, planting herbs. She was alone. It was quiet and peaceful. She moved to another bed, and began digging up radishes, shaking dirt off them and tossing them into a woven basket. All at once the reality of the moment was lost, for suddenly a radish she was holding began morphing into faces, faces she knew. Her mother, plump and round and stern, but very loving; her father, strong and always smelling of fresh dirt; her little brother Areon, with his misshaped, underdeveloped legs and his bright smile; Reno, a grin on his face and his single eye sparkling with love and humor; Bjarn, calm and old, his weathered face drawn together in a slight smile; Dale, guitar in hand, his eyes closed in concentration and pleasure...
Then, another face appeared. A narrow face, pale and sinister. Evil eyes shone in malice, one behind a monocle, the other framed by a rough scar crinkling across one cheek. Precisely trimmed moustache and goatee adorned the chin, ending in sharp, dangerous points. The face chuckled, a long, drawn out chuckled that echoed and ricocheted until the sound deafened Shainya.
Then, her foot collided with an upturned stone, and she smashed back into reality, falling face-first into the floor of the temple.
Bjarn’s memories hit him hard, like a club from behind. The moment his outstretched foot passed over the threshold, he was not underground, but in a forest, a forest he knew well. A forest from his past. He was a young man, 20-something, with a dark goatee and strong body. Upon his head sat a classic pointed Forestmen cap. He had a bow, and he was hunting, hunting for food.
Slowly he stalked through the undergrowth, his feet wrapped in moccasins, his breathing light. He slipped through the trees as a snake slips through grass, searching for prey . He had been following a buck, a strong powerful beast, for the last two days. The buck with the shattered antlers. Bjarn had been stalking it, not giving up and going for easier prey, though his had failed to bring down the buck twice. No, he would not fail. The buck was his. The buck would be his today. Suddenly a noise threw Bjarn off guard. Voices. Two voices. A man and a woman’s. Young voices. Bjarn stopped. Straightened. He knew those voices.
“Son of a tyco!”
Abandoning his hunt, the young Bjarn followed the two wraith-like murmurings until he came upon small clearing of the trees. There sat two persons. The man was tall, with short, cropped hair the color of raven’s feathers. The woman was taller still, thin, with freckled skin and deep red hair. They were Marcus and J’anrya, and they were talking.
“C’mon, J’anny, what’s the matter? Bjarn won’t catch us here…”
“Maybe I’m not sure I want to be here, Marcus. I like Bjarn. I like him a lot. This doesn’t feel right. You’re like a fox, hiding away here.”
“Fox eh? I like that...I’m a fox...yes...that sounds nice, it sounds like I’m somebody…”
“Oh, Marcus, don’t say that! You are somebody!”
“No’m not...not really...I can’t ever be like goodie-two-shoes Bjarn...Bjarn, the hunter; Bjarn, the warrior; Bjarn, best student of 1974...you know, I hated it when Professor Voolmark treated Bjarn like the next Elk Man...Bjarn this...Bjarn that...nyah, nyah, nyah…”
“Well, Bjarn does have royal blood…”
“So that’s why you like him so much, huh? Is that it?”
“No! Marcus, how could you say that? If it wasn’t for my father, I would…”
“Yeah? Do what, marry Bjarn? Bah, your father’s right to forbid Bjarn from seeing you, stuck-up little...!”
The underbrush exploded and suddenly Bjarn was on top of Marcus, pummeling him with both fists, cracking ribs and blackening skin.
“Bjarn! Gah, wot! No, please!”
Marcus curled up into a fetal position and hugged himself tight, but Bjarn kept unleashing thumping blows until his own clenched fist were sore and aching, all the while cursing insanely.
“Bjarn, stop it!” cried J’anrya, “Don’t, you tyco!”
Bjarn heaved himself up from the bloodied form of Marcus and shouted, “He deserved it, the bloody intellibrix nano buildit megabloks tyco!”
“HE DID NOT, AND YOU KNOW IT!” cried J’anrya, her eyes filling with tears, and she stumped over and helped the battered Marcus to his feet, clinging to him.
“I see I never really saw who you are!’ she continued, dragging Marcus backward, away from Bjarn, “You’re just a mean, cruel bully! Megablocks! Megablocks, Megablocks, Megablocks.…”
Bjarn was still insane with anger. He dashed his bow to the ground and snapped it, then tore away into the trees, cursing the world, heedless too the thorns that tore at him, heedless to all...until he broke down a cried.
The memory faded...and Bjarn found himself back with his friends, in the Temple Of Lost Stars. Bjarn looked around. Everyone was pale, shaken. Some had tears in their eyes. Some were breathing hard. Others were shaking. As for Bjarn, he felt faint.
“Bjarn?” Reno choked out, his eyes wide.
Bjarn suddenly realized that his was not breathing. He took a sucking breath, shuddered, then whispered quietly, “I never got that buck…”
Reno looked at Bjarn with a quizzical expression on his face, but said nothing.
“Shall we go on right away?” asked Sir Dractor after a moment.
“Why not?” said Reno, “We aren’t going to get this done any quicker resting here. And none of us was physically hurt coming through there.”
“I’d rather wait myself,” said Aros, “Something tells me we may want our mental strength back.”
"But we really don’t have the supplies to take any longer than necessary,” said Anardan, “Let’s take a vote.”
They chose to go forward, but it was a close vote: five for it, and four opposed. Aros, Voolmark, Gib, and Bjarn were all in favor of resting. They were also, Sir Dractor noted, the latter four to get through the entrance.
“Tyco.” Bjarn swore quietly and let his hand drop. Then he squared his shoulders tiredly. “Fine...if we’re gonna go, then let’s get it over with…”
Aros still glanced about reluctantly, but continued forward as well. Gib also limped forward, though he didn’t look pleased at all. Voolmark, however, leaned up against Bjarn.
“I’ve...never felt like that before…” the old wizard wheezed, his face white.
Bjarn could think of nothing to say, so he simply grasped his old friend and mentor and helped him forward.
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