Ring of the Or'tux, page 44
“What am I doing wrong?” he asked. In all the stories he had ever read, and movies watched, rings of prophecy always held amazing powers waiting to be tapped. Yet, this one seemed to ignore all his efforts.
He tried holding his hand at arm’s length and shouting for the power to come forth. Nothing. Tried waving it back and forth, then pressing it to his forehead. Still nothing.
Nearby he heard one of Keller’s men whisper, “Is something supposed to be happening?”
“Quiet!” Keller commanded. “Leave him be.”
Doubt began creeping in as repeated attempts met with failure. After ten minutes of being upon the wall and still having failed to summon the power of the ring to turn the Ullentite tide, he saw the confidence Father Thomas had initially exhibited begin to fade.
Hunter knew everything was riding on him. But what was he supposed to do?! It was inconceivable that he would have been brought to this world and taken on such a perilous journey, only to meet failure. How was he to get home if he can’t make this damn thing work?
Holding out his hand outward once again, he concentrated on the ring…
Unseen armies faced each other on either side high above the wall. Celestial Warriors of Casdralla stood toe to toe with Celestial Warriors of Theroch. Neither side advancing, each held their ground as the mortals below them fought. Whosever mortals won the day would hold sway while the losing side, by long held tenets of the Compact by which all Qyaendri must abide, would withdraw.
Already it was a foregone conclusion. The Ullentite presence was simply much too strong for the Casdra army to repulse. Also, fissures deep within the wall grew with each stone hurled by catapult. It was only a matter of time. But until such time as the wall gave way and the Ullentite army overran the defenders, no Qyaendri of Theroch would be allowed past.
A small army of lesser Qyaendri busied itself throughout the city as it took charge of the almost continuous stream of prayers being offered by the defenders; prayers beseeching aid, prayers asking for deliverance and victory, and a host of others. But each prayer delivered to the High Temple on Casdralla’s plane of existence went unanswered, much to the chagrin of the attending Qyaendris.
Atop the wall bearing the brunt of the catapult assault, a small knot of Qyaendris were gathered. Neither facing off against those of Theroch, nor busying themselves with the prayers of the faithful, instead they oversaw a small group of humans who themselves were doing little as far as the battle was concerned.
Daeson and a score of Qyaendri whom were subordinate to him, watched as Hunter sought to use the ring. Occasionally, an arrow’s trajectory was altered by them to ensure the safety of those they watched. Such was the need to preserve these particular mortals that efforts to protect them would at times not be so easily dismissed by the mortals as mere chance. Fortunately however, so engrossed were the mortals by what was transpiring around them, that none paid much attention to an arrow that suddenly defied the laws of physics.
Minutes rolled by as the battle raged. Men died, feats of heroism abounding up and down the wall as the defenders repulsed the attack, and still, the ring remained impotent. Daeson held little attention to the mortal known as Hunter and the man’s attempts to utilize the ring. Instead, he was focused on the enemy arrayed across the field outside the wall.
He watched the ebb and flow of its soldiers, felt the emotions and tensions coursing through each as the fortunes of battle change for good and bad. Then, when he finally detected that which he was waiting for, he turned to Ftheril who stood beside him.
“It is time,” he said.
Without a word, Ftheril disappeared.
Chapter 33
“They’re breaking off the attack!” exclaimed Garin. Up and down the wall, soldiers began drawing back to the sound of enemy horns. A cry went up as the defenders once again successfully thwarted the enemy’s assault.
Wham!
Though the attackers were falling back, the barrage of missiles continued.
Wham!
The wall shuddered again and again as massive boulders slammed repeatedly into it. Cracks formed, flecks of masonry broke away, and still the wall held. As women, boys, and anyone who could lend a hand came for the dead and dying, the few stonemasons remaining within the city worked to shore up the wall as best they could; a beam of support here, a patchwork of stone there.
Men who but minutes before were fighting for their very lives, now had a chance to relax their guard and get what rest they could. Girls bearing water buckets and sacks of rations appeared to give weary soldiers food and drink.
Wham!
Feeling the wall shudder beneath him, Hunter lowered his arm. Face bearing the look of failure and a trace of fear, he turned toward Larus. “What did I do wrong?” he asked. All attempts to utilize the ring had failed. He would have liked to think the withdrawal of the enemy was his doing, but Hunter knew better. The ring had remained impotent despite his every attempt to draw forth its power. He had failed.
“I don’t know,” replied Larus. He too was at a loss.
Father Thomas was mystified as well. Did not Hunter stand atop the wall as he was ordained to do? Having come from the Or’tux, a people said to have deep roots in the practices of death, he had thought being around such death as the last battle had wrought would have brought something about. The souls of enemy and friend alike breaking their mortal bonds could perchance have influenced the ring, but such did not happen. Nothing happened.
“Could we have missed something?” asked Father Thomas. “Some clue buried deep within Hunter’s mind that we failed to retrieve?”
Larus kept his attention focused on Hunter as he nodded. “Perhaps,” he admitted. It was certainly possible. Maybe Hunter knew something that even he did not know he knew? Though he admitted the possibility, Larus doubted such to be the case. He and Hunter had gone over his dreams time and again until he knew them better than Hunter did. In every one he could see the hand of Qyaendri, directing Hunter’s thoughts as they implanted the visions.
Garin for his part wasn’t sure why nothing had happened though everyone had thought something should. Now that Father Thomas was no longer in harm’s way, his attention was focused inside the walls scanning the many faces passing on the street below. Injured soldiers, civilians doing what they could to help, even children had little time to play as they too worked for the city’s defense. Nowhere amongst the hustle and bustle did he see the face of his brother, Stephen. In the back of his mind, fear worked to convince him his brother had already fallen though he refused to believe such a thing. The only thing which would convince him his brother was dead was to see his lifeless body. Until then…
As he continued scanning the faces below, his attention was drawn by hurried movement moving at odds with the flow of people. A man in priestly robes stepped quickly through the throng on his way toward the nearest guard tower.
“Isn’t that your friend?” he asked, turning toward Father Thomas while at the same time pointing to the approaching priest. “Father Terrence wasn’t it?”
Father Thomas moved to the side and looked down in time to observe Father Terrence disappearing through the tower’s door. “Yes,” he replied. “That is him.”
“He seemed in an awful hurry,” Garin commented.
They had a short wait before Father Terrance emerged from the tower’s door there atop the wall. When he spied Father Thomas, he immediately moved toward him.
“Thomas!” he said, voice filled with urgency. “High Priestess Trystia requests for you and your comrades to attend her at your earliest convenience.”
Larus glanced to Father Thomas and asked, “I suppose that means right now?”
“I would think so,” agreed Father Thomas. To Sergeant Keller he asked, “How long before they launch the next assault?”
“An hour, maybe longer,” the sergeant replied. “After the drubbing we just gave them, it will take them that long to regroup.”
Wham!
The wall shuddered under the impact of another boulder. “Very well.” Turning to his friend, Father Thomas said, “Let the High Priestess know we are on the way.”
With a final look cast over the wall to the mass of enemy troops spread across the field, Father Terrence immediately hurried to return to the temple.
As his long-time friend disappeared back into the guard tower, Father Thomas turned his attention back to the lost looking Hunter. He could see the sense of failure the man felt written across his face. To Larus he said, “Tell him it was not the appointed time and to have faith in our Lady.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t the appointed time?” asked Larus.
About to answer, Father Thomas suddenly stopped as he considered the possibility. After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, I do,” he replied. He had to believe that the time had not been right. Looking out over the massed enemy who were reforming themselves into battle formation in anticipation of launching another assault, doubt gnawed at him. What if it had been? No! He refused to believe such a thing. It was not yet time!
When Larus finished assuring Hunter that he had not bungled things, that their arrival on the wall had been merely premature, Father Thomas led them from the wall.
“You and your men may return to your duties at the harbor Sergeant Keller,” he said.
“Perhaps we should stay with you until you reach the temple,” Sergeant Keller offered.
“That is not necessary my son,” replied Father Thomas. “I know the way and do not believe we will be in any danger in the interim.”
“As you wish Father,” replied the soldier. He and his men escorted them down through the tower and once on the street, began making their way back toward the harbor.
“Sergeant!” shouted Garin before the soldiers had a chance to disappear into the crowd.
Sergeant Keller paused and glanced back to the young man. “Rest assured Garin,” he said, “If I should see your brother, I will tell him where you can be found.”
“Thank you.”
Nodding in reply, Sergeant Keller resumed leading his men back to the harbor.
“Your brother is still alive within the walls of Xith,” Father Thomas assured him.
With hope gleaming in his eyes, Garin turned toward the priest. “Are you sure?”
“Yes my son,” replied the priest most matter-of-factly. “He still lives.”
Larus glanced first to Father Thomas then to Garin. “If he says it, believe him,” he assured the young man. “Xith’s a large city and he most likely has duty on another portion of the wall.”
“Yes,” stated Garin. “He must be.” Bringing up the rear of the foursome, his eyes remained ever vigilant for any sign of his brother. For the first time in many a day, there was a slight bounce in his step.
Father Thomas led them unerringly through the streets of Xith toward the city’s temple. It was like a second home to him as he had visited Father Terrence many times over the years. He knew the inner passages of Xith’s temple almost as well as those of his once beautiful temple lying in the now charred remains of Billin.
Memories came unbidden as he walked the streets. So much had been lost in so short a time. Would he ever again return to see the sun rise over the tops of his beloved mountains in whose loving arms his home had been nestled? If so, it would never be the same without the people who have been lost.
Faces of the dead lying among the ruins of his home, the looks of hopelessness and sorrow on those few who had survived, and worst of all the looks of abandonment on the faces of those left in the less than gentle care of the Ullentites when he and Larus fled with Hunter. All that and more plagued him as he made his way to the temple.
But, he had faith that Casdralla would see Her people through despite the suffering. As in the treatment of an illness, sometimes it was necessary to momentarily increase the suffering as you ministered to the wound. She would not, could not, abandon them in their hour of need. Hunter was there with them, brought by the hand of Her Qyaendri. After all was said and done, he was certain his people would be triumphant.
When they came to Temple Square situated before Xith’s temple, Father Thomas saw Father Terrence waiting for them atop the short flight of steps leading up to the large, double door which was the main entrance into the temple. Beside him stood a second priest whom he recognized as the seniormost of the Fathers, those priests counted among the council who aided the High Priest or Priestess. It was Father Bennon. Though stooped with age, leaning heavily on a stout staff for support, and being by all accounts the oldest living priest in memory, his mind was sharp and his grasp of religious doctrine unparalleled.
“Father Thomas!” waved Father Terrence when he saw their group approaching. With one hand aiding the aged Father to remain upright, he motioned for them to hurry with his other.
Keeping a pace ahead of the other three, Father Thomas was the first to the steps. Taking them quickly, he was soon standing before the two priests. Giving the aged Father a deep bow of respect, he said, “Reverend Father.”
“Bah!” exclaimed the Father. “No time for such folderol. We have business that needs doing young Thomas.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Father Thomas couldn’t help but grin. Father Bennon had always been his favorite of the Fathers. In fact there wasn’t a priest who didn’t hold a place dear to their heart for him, even though he could be a bit abrasive at times. “Business Reverend Father?” he asked.
Shrugging off Father Terrance’s support, he immediately motioned for Father Thomas to come to his side and take over. “That is correct,” he said. “Everything is in place, we must not dally. I know how much you younglings get distracted by every little thing, and let me tell you, this is not the time for such nonsense!”
“No Reverend Father,” replied Father Thomas. Glancing to Father Terrance, he saw him grin which he couldn’t help but return. Being in Father Bennon’s presence made them feel as if they were Novices again being reprimanded about one thing or another. For a brief moment, they enjoyed if not a small interlude of happiness, at least a warm feeling from long ago.
“Come,” Father Bennon said as he turned for the large doorway leading into the temple. As the Father turned, his large staff beat a staccato upon the stone flooring as his feet made minor turn corrections which another person could manage in a tenth of the time.
Moving with him, Father Thomas soon had him positioned correctly and headed through the door. “What is happening?” he asked the aged Father.
“Young Trystia has everything in hand, she does,” he replied with no further explanation.
In all the years he has known Father Bennon, he couldn’t ever recall hearing him address another priest by anything other than their given name. Never once has the appellation of Father or High Priestess ever passed his lips. Perhaps being the oldest living man in Casdra gave him the right for none ever sought to correct him.
Their progress through the temple was slow due to the small steps of Father Bennon. Priests, novices, and a mass of fearful worshipers filled the halls. Those not of the priesthood sought refuge while those serving the temple worked as best they could to meet their needs.
Though densely packed, the sea of people easily parted for Father Bennon. When they realized the old priest was approaching, people grew hushed and an unobstructed cordon opened up almost as if it was the hand of the goddess. Which given the situation, it may just have been.
Heads bowed and words of respect were given as they passed. The slow shuffling gait of Father Bennon eventually brought them past those areas in which the uninitiated were allowed to gather and into the more private area in the heart of the temple. There, the corridors were much less tempestuous.
From a branching corridor appeared Father Correll. A priest of middling years, he was one of the many other priests along with Father Terrance who saw to the spiritual needs of Xith.
“Father Thomas,” he said as he moved to walk alongside. “I am so sorry for what happened to your home. I have prayed for you and your people every night since word reached us.”
“Thank you Father Correll,” responded Father Thomas sadly.
The aged priest suddenly came to a halt and turned a head all but devoid of hair to gaze at the newcomer. Looking out from beneath bushy eyebrows showing a mixture of gray and white, he asked, “Correll?”
“Yes, Reverend Father?”
“Do you not have some place to be right now?” he asked impatiently. “We are almost ready to begin.”
Giving Father Thomas a knowing look that said volumes, he replied to the elderly priest. “Yes, Reverend Father.” Then to Father Thomas he said, “Good to see you alive and in good health.”
“You too Father Correll,” replied Father Thomas.
Once the aged Father saw Father Correll moving off, he resumed his shuffling gait. Eventually, they arrived at a large door in the shape of an arch. Many arcane symbols and pictographs were engrained in gold leaf across its surface. Two Novices in light brown robes stood before the door.
“Is everything ready?” Father Bennon asked them.
“Yes, Reverend Father,” one of them replied.
Coming to a halt, he motioned for the door to be opened. Then to Father Thomas he said, “You and he are to enter with me.” When he said ‘he’, the aged Father pointed toward Hunter.
“But what about us?” asked Larus. “Are we not to go in as well?” For the first time Father Bennon’s gaze turned directly upon Larus. His eyes bored into Larus’ with more intelligence than anyone the former Qyaendri had ever encountered. He was a bit taken aback by it.
“Have we met before, my son?” the aged Father asked.
“I do not think so,” he replied, then quickly added, “Reverend Father.”
“Hmmm. Your face looks familiar…” Remaining silent for a short time, the aged Father continued scrutinizing Larus’ face. Then with a shake of his head, he said, “No. You and the young swordsman are to wait elsewhere until we are through.”
