Chapter 32

Brian Wilks trudged towards the gate staring at his boots dejectedly. He froze at a yell behind him and span, a glimmer of hope returning to his eyes, but no.

Ravok emerged from the roundhouse. “Flann! Odran!”

Two of the warriors broke away from their practice and jogged over, stamping to a halt and punching their breastplates with their right fists. “Sir?”

“Olban’s going to the Eorl and then on to Ballytuathan, to see the king. You will accompany him.”

One of them chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “We’re going with Olban?”

“Yes.”

“By the gods, this is going to be good!”

Ravok marched forward and stamped to a halt in front of him. “What is going to be good?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“It’s clear you have some kind of grudge against my great grandson. What is it?”

The warrior stepped back in shock. “He’s your great grandson!? Olban?”

“What is your problem? Tell me!”

“But”

“Now, Odran! Or by Lyrane, I’ll see you wielding nothing but a scythe!”

“A scythe? But they’re useless!”

“Not for what you’d be doing with it! In the fucking fields with the rest of the peasants! Now, tell me!”

The warrior visibly shrank, almost withered within his armour. He looked around as if trying to find an escape.

“I’m warning you.”

“He took my place! Alright? My father petitioned Master Stell for months! I was meant to be his apprentice, not Olban! I never wanted to be a warrior, I wanted to be a smith!”

“You’re so petty, you still hold onto a grievance from your childhood? Do you want to attract the attention of… him?”

The warrior’s eyes widened, he shook his head.

“Do you know why Olban was chosen? Do you think he had any choice?”

Another shake of the head.

“Stay!” Ravok jogged back into the roundhouse and emerged with the crystal thing he’d been looking at earlier. “The reason he chose Olban was because he’s special. He has his feet in two worlds which has given him insights into his art that you would’ve never had.”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

Ravok held up the crystal thing. “Look at it! Look into it!”

“What… Who are those people? How is it doing that?”

“Olban used a lot of words I didn’t understand when attempting to describe it, but three words I did pick up were game, war and craft. It allows me to place military units, direct them, work through strategies before I implement them in the real world.”

“And the people?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. It’s incredibly useful and I know for a fact it’s something you would’ve never even been able to conceive of the ideas behind it, would you?”

“No, sir.”

“What Olban’s learned from spending half his life in another world has enhanced his art beyond anything you would’ve been able to accomplish. He gifted me this the moment he achieved his journeyman status. If you’d been Stell’s apprentice, you would’ve still been working on bloody ploughshares! Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will accompany Olban. You will protect him on his journey and if anything happens to him, I’ll see you knocked down to fieldworker faster than a bloody swift on Malka, got that? Even a hint of disrespect directed in his direction…”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir!”

“Meet him at the east gate. Dismissed.”

Brian turned back towards the gate, took a step and froze again, shooting a glance at Ravok. Did he say great grandfather? He shrugged and left the compound to find Coban waiting for him.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“You know?”

“I couldn’t resist peeking in. I saw your performance.”

“He doesn’t understand! I need that! And with that armour, that sword, I could’ve easily taken on a whole”

Coban shook his head.

“What do you mean, I could”

“Felt good, didn’t it? Wearing that armour, wielding that sword.”

“I was invincible, I know I”

Another shake of the head. “It’s not real, you know.”

“What?”

“It’s all an illusion. You’re not invincible. You didn’t gain any kind of skill from that sword, you were waving it around like you were trying to swat a fly.”

“But”

“The test wasn’t to see how well you handled a blade. You’ve had no training, you couldn’t be expected to know how. It was a test to see how well you handled yourself and you totally lost control in there, didn’t you?”

“I… But I felt… So what was the point?”

“He told you. Warriors need a level head at all times. They can’t allow anger to take them. Lose control in battle and you could very easily lose your head, and trust me, those clothes won’t grow you a new one. There’s another reason, too.”

“And that is?”

“Follow me.”

* * *

Brian looked up at the imposing stone doors as they approached. They were huge. The place was much bigger than it had appeared from the hilltop, almost comparable to a cathedral from back home. The doors were incredibly ornate, carved with such fine detail he couldn’t even comprehend how the patterns had been produced.

As they drew closer, the door swung open revealing a long tunnel, the walls sharing the same style of carvings as the door itself.

Coban continued and the moment he crossed the threshold, flaming sconces sprang to life along the entire length of the tunnel.

Brian followed, staring in awe at the artwork. “What does it mean?”

Coban shrugged. “I’m no stonemason. You’d need to ask the trolls. All I know is, it’s a powerful magic.”

As they continued, the end of the tunnel became apparent. Light danced in the opening. Light of every colour, shifting, flickering, drifting from one colour to another. It was like a kaleidoscope.

“What is that?”

“You’ll see.”

They emerged into a huge circular chamber. Branches went off in several directions, each emitting a different colour. Green, blue, pink, red, orange, yellow and purple and in the centre, a crystal plinth that captured the light and scattered it producing a dazzling display.

“This is the altar of the gods.” Coban gestured towards the crystal. “When we want to give thanks or pray for something from all the gods, this is where we do it, but that’s not why we’re here.” He walked around the altar and continued to the branch that was straight ahead, emitting a deep red light.

“Who are the others? I’ve only heard of one of them, so far.”

“Really?” Coban sighed. “Alright, that one, green, Caelwyn. Goddess of Nature, forest and field, Harvest, Fertility.” He pointed at the next, “Blue, Eolande, God of Wisdom and Knowledge.” He continued pointing at the rest. “Pink, Magic, Art, creativity. He’s called Finnola. Then, Lyrane, him you know of. Orange, Aelara, Goddess of Hearth and home. Also healing and prophesy. Yellow, Taranis, god of justice. He’s a bad tempered bugger, so we also associate him with storms. Loves tossing lightning bolts.”

“Should you say that? Here? Won’t you get one of them up your backside if he hears you?”

“He might have a temper, but he has a sense of humour, too. Anyway, Purple, Daraia, God of the waters, helper of the lost. If you pray to him, you’ll always find your way home unless you’ve offended him in some way.”

Coban continued down the red passage until they reached another altar, this one carved from rock with a ten foot tall statue standing behind it. Heavily armoured, it’s eyes glowed from within the helm it worewith the same deep red light. In fact, it seemed that’s where the light from the passage came from. The entire chamber was lit by it.

A feeling swept over Brian, one of safety and security.

“And this is Lyrane, God of strength, honour in combat, courage and protection.”

“Do you really think he’d strike me down if I asked him for help in becoming a warrior?”

“You have a lot of rage in your heart and there’s more gods than them. Gods you do not want to cross paths with.”

“More?”

“Every light casts a shadow. We don’t name them unless it’s in a ceremony asking for protection from ’em.” He nodded at Lyrane. “And his is one of the worst. He’d take that rage and twist it into something horrible. Before you knew it you’d be a warlord, bent on control, under the thumb of the god of spite, vindictiveness, vengeance andconquest. Trust me, you do not want that life. Murdering villages, men, women and children just because they refused your demands or enslaving them if they did. Burning them to the ground. You need to control that rage, lose it if possible, before you gain his attention.”

“From what Olban said, this was a good world!”

“No world‘s perfect, Brian. There are bad people in all of them from what Olban said. Yours has bad people, too, true?”

“Oh, God, yes. Some of them are absolutely terrible, but they don’t have gods to back them up. They do have some very nasty weapons, though.”

“Well, here, they do. People who’ve been corrupted by greed, envy, anger, laziness. They all attract the attention of the dark ones, eventually. All the base emotions are a gateway that’ll allow them into your heart. That’s why I brought you here. I thought seeing him might help you understand.”

“So that’s what Ravok meant when he was yelling at one of the warriors? Do you want to attract the attention of… him?”

“Yes. Anyway… Hungry?”

“Now that you mention it, I’m” he froze before an expletive escaped his lips and sighed, “famished. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so hungry.”

Coban nodded. “Healing tends to do that, if it’s a big problem it’s fixing. Come on, let’s get back to our roundhouse.”

* * *

Brian watched Coban intently as he dunked two bowls into the caldron hanging over the huge fire in the centre of the roundhouse. Also suspended over the fire, a hog slowly rotated, but how it was suspended there… It was just floating, there was no spit, no frame...

“Don’t just stand there gawping. Sit!” Coban pointed at the logs around the fire, their bark worn down to the wood beneath from countless backsides.

Brian nodded and did so.

“Want some meat with your stew? Bread?”

“Thank you.”

Coban nodded, withdrew an eight inch dagger from his belt and proceeded to carve a few slices of pork, most of which he placed on a wooden platter. The rest, he tossed into the stew. He grabbed something from a bag and chopped that up, and threw it in, too, finally adding some kind of herb into the mix before sitting beside Brian and handing him his bowl.

“What kind of stew is it?”

“Forever stew. We just add to it when we take from it. It’s always there if you need something to eat.”

Brian raised the bowl to his lips and his eyes widened as he took his first mouthful. He didn’t even need to chew, everything was so tender and the taste! He sighed in contentment. “That’s delicious!”

“Yeah, and it’s different every time. Everyone has their preferred little touches when they’re adding to it.”

“Thank you for this. You have no idea how lost I would’ve been without you and your brother.”

“I can imagine. Olban’s spent many a night telling his tales of flying beasts that swallow people, fly thousands of miles away and then spit them out again. Odd it usually seems to be where they wanted to go anyway.”

“Beasts?” Brian chuckled. “I think Olban’s been embroidering the truth a little to make things seem more interesting. They’re built by men. Just as this roundhouse was. They just know how to make things fly over there. People go into the cabin, sit down, the person in control starts it and it flies to where people paid to go.”

“Hmmm. That does sound rather dull. What’s the point? Why would anyone want to travel thousands of miles away from their families? Their home?”

Brian shrugged. “I suppose fast travel just makes the whole world smaller. You could get from one side of it to the other in less than a day and even when you’re there, you can still talk to your family back home. Different places have different things. Things that people want. So, they trade, buy, sell, make lots of money.”

Coban nodded. “We don’t bother with that unless we’re trading with neighbours.”

“How do you pay your workers?”

“Pay? We work as a community. We don’t expect recompense for helping our friends and families. That’s just for outsiders. We want something from them, we pay them. They want something from us, they pay us. We usually just exchange goods, it’s quicker, but coin? Only Olban seems interested in collecting any of that. Probably more interested in the metals they’re made of than the coins themselves.”

“That sounds a hell of a lot better than back home. Some of them are greedy bastards, out to accumulate as much wealth as possible. More than half the rest of the world owns, in some cases. And what do they do with their wealth? Vanity. Look at me with my rockets and big toys, aren’t I brilliant? Meanwhile the poorest on the planet are starving.”

“What’s a rocket?”

“Oh! Sorry, it’s a huge metal tube filled with explosive gases. Mix them in the correct way and ignite them as they’re coming out of the bottom and it shoots high into the air.”

“Why? What’s the point?”

“It’s the only way they know how to leave their world. We landed on the moon fifty years ago. It’s just a barren rock, but they did it just to find out what it was like. What was there. Think they’re planning on going back because they think there might be some useful things to collect. They’ve also sent things to Mars.” Brian noted the blank expression. “Never mind, just a different planet.”

Brian grabbed one of the slices of pork and bit into it with gusto, only to let out a yelp. His hand shot to his mouth, he yanked out his false teeth and felt his gums with his thumb. There was blood on it when he looked.

“I thought these clothes were healing me! I’m bleeding!”

Coban stared at him in horror. “You just tore your teeth out and you’re complaining about bleeding!?”

“What, these? These aren’t my real teeth! I lost them years ago. They’re false teeth. See.” He handed them to Coban.

“False teeth? Why didn’t you just grow new ones? Everyone grows new ones!”

“New ones? Humans only have two sets of teeth. Milk teeth, when they’re little, but those fall out when their adult teeth grow in. Once they have, that’s the only set they get unless they can pay for some dentist to fix in new ones after they’ve yanked the old.”

Coban blinked, shook his head. “Seems another weird thing about your world. I’ve lost countless teeth and not just as a kid.” He smiled and pointed. “See. All there. That’s probably why you yelped. Seems you’re getting your new set. You’re teething.” He sniggered. “Your hair seems to be growing again, too and you’re a lot less wrinkly. I think whatever was wrong with you’s finally been fixed.”

Brian’s hand shot to his face, probing, feeling. Then he stared at his hands themselves. No longer wrinkled, no swollen joints from early arthritis. He twiddled his fingers without a hint of pain. Then he felt his head. It felt rough, definitely new stubble, there.

“I need to see myself. Do you have a mirror?”

“A… I’m sorry, what’s a”

“A looking glass? Something that’ll let me see myself!”

“Just look down! You’re right there.”

Brian sighed. “My face! I need to see my face!”

“Why?”

“Please!”

“Trust me, you look a lot better than you did when we first met.”

“I’m begging you, I need to see my reflection!”

Coban shrugged. “Fine, follow me. It’s a calm enough day. We’ll go to the mill pond. Is that alright?”

“It’ll have to do, if that’s all you’ve got.”

“Olban’s not here, otherwise you could’ve asked him. He might have something in his workshop, but… Come on then, follow me again.”

Out of the roundhouse, it was only a short walk to the stream that ran through the village. This ran into a large pond, at the other end of which, a waterwheel slowly turned.

Brian rushed over and knelt over the water, starting at himself. “I look like John! I’m almost the spitting image! In fact…” He leant in closer. “I look younger than him!”

“John?”

“My eldest son. Oh, shit! I can’t go back! I’m stuck here!”

“Why?”

“What about my wife! Oh, fuck, Sarah! I’ll never see her again!”

“Your handfasted? Still have a few little ones to care for?”

“What? Of course not! Both my sons are adults, now!”

“So you were planning on more?”

“More? Of course not! I’m 68! Sarah’s 63! She’s too old to have more, even if we wanted them.”

Coban sighed. “Here, when we handfast, we only stay together until the children reach adulthood, unless we want to have more. After that, we’re free to move on, but I don’t understand. 68? 63? 63 what?”

“Years old, of course!”

“Years… I… I think Olban’s mention them. No idea what one is but he said your people seemed to be obsessed with them for some reason.”

Brian stood and turned to Coban, his eyes narrowing. “Just how old is Ravok? He said he was Olban’s great grandfather.”

“I don’t understand the question. What do… Wait… Olban’s friend. Rinam was much wrinklier than you when he came back, but Olban said he looked like he was a hundred years old. I still don’t get it, though. I thought it was because the life had been sucked out of him.”

“I’ll try to explain… A year? 365 days. Olban’s 25 years old. My eldest son’s 28 and I look younger than him, now! As we live our lives we get older, few of us reach a hundred, and yet, Ravok? He doesn’t look much older than you and he has to be at least a hundred to be a great grandfather to adults! How do your people even die? Seems old age is off the cards!”

“Why do you obsess over these things? We live, we have kids, we only move on from this world when the gods call us or we’re injured beyond our capacity to heal. We don’t suffer from that wrinkly illness, you seem to be upset about losing. I would’ve thought you’d be grateful!”

“I’m not trying to be ungrateful, Coban, but it seems your magic’s worked too well. The point is I can’t go back! I’ll never see my old world again, like this!”

“Why?”

“Because people don’t suddenly get younger there. We age. We get wrinkly. There’s no way to undo that. Well, there is but it’s just as fake as those teeth. They’d never accept I was even me if I went back. I’ve dropped forty years in a matter of hours! I’m screwed! Oh, shit, I’m screwed!”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay. You know that! My advice. If the magic’s already done too much, let it finish the job. At least you’ll get a new set of teeth out of it. Sleep in your clothing and you should find a whole mouthful by morning.”

* * *

He awoke with a jerk and a yelp, the afterimage of a monster smothering him still sharp in his mind. He looked around in a panic, at all the other, mostly naked bodies in the dim light of the fire’s embers, snuggled in the animal furs they used as blankets. Something tickled his nose, it obscured his sight slightly. His hand crept to his face, sweeping aside the fringe of hair that hadn’t been there a few hours ago. Leaning up on his elbows, he look around at the roundhouse.

It was so strange, and yet, it almost felt natural, sleeping with so many. They seemed to have no concept of privacy and even though the idea was utterly alien to him, he’d had no trouble getting to sleep. Then his tongue brushed the back of his teeth. He allowed it to probe them, all smooth, all flawless, not a sharp bit, not a chip, not even a hint of plaque. He reached up and gave his front tooth a tug. It didn’t budge, and he felt it, tugging on his jaw. He’d really grown a completely new set!

“A whole new life? And a whole new world, a whole new way of life, to go with it?” He eased his way out from beneath the fur he was sharing with another couple of people and, spotting his boots in the dim glow from the embers, pulled them on and made his way outside, staring up at the sky.

The stars were needlepoint clear, not a hint of blur or distortion. The three moons gave their strange multi-shadowed illumination. “Even my eyesight? It really has returned me to my prime! I could be like this for centuries! I…” He sighed. “I refuse to be a burden! Retirement was bad enough. I need…” Another sigh followed by a nod of determination. “I had six months. If he chooses to strike me down, no great loss.”

He made his way to the temple and the altar of Lyrane within.

* * *

“Please! I don’t know the ways of these people, their rituals or ceremonies, but I need…” He took a shuddering breath, staring into the eyes of the statue defiantly. “My life in my world’s over, the healing magic used to cure me, it’s done too much! It’s rejuvenated me and I can’t go back! My people lost all the skills this village takes for granted, but I refuse to be a burden. I need to be useful. If you want to strike me down for what I’m about to ask, do so. I don’t know how they pray to you, but this is how my people do it!”

He collapsed to his knees and placed his palms together, bowed his head and clamped his eyes shut. “Please, mighty Lyrane, I beg you. Grant me the strength, teach me how to overcome the anger of what was done to me. Give me the self control I need to be a warrior in this village. I’ll give anything to become a warrior here, everything, not that I have much to give!”

A voice echoed in his head. Remove thy raiments, prostate thyself on mine altar and repeat thy prayer.

His hands were already unfastening his belt unbidden as his gaze snapped back to the face of Lyrane. The light had increased in intensity, the entire chamber was lit, banishing every shadow in it. “Y… Yes, Lord.”

Now his hands had purpose, he shrugged off his tunic, under tunic, boots and hose, clambered up onto the alter and lay, face down on it. The cold of the stone sent a shiver down his spine, but he gritted his teeth and... “Please, mighty Lyrane, I beg you. I’ll give anything, everything to be a warrior of this village. Grant me the strength and self control to become one of them. Teach me how to overcome the anger within me. Please!”

I accept thy sacrifice!

The light within the chamber intensified yet again, but this time, the light had a weight to it. It forced him down onto the altar stone, every inch of his body felt like it had a hundred pounds on it to the extent he couldn’t move an inch.

A flash of memory. The fairy stroked his brow, removing the pain of what’d been done to him but at the same time, his body began to itch, every inch of it from the top of his head to the tipsof his toes. Another flash, this time, he was surrounded by nothing but whispering voices and claws, claws that ripped open his stomach and pulled out his entrails, claws that tore his arms off, his legs, claws that stuck them back on, as if they’d never been ripped off, but the pain! It was like living throughit allover again.

Brian began to sob, to weep, to scream, and then the darkness was gone. He stood at the bar of his local, almost empty pint glass in hand, he swigged it down, bade the barman goodnight and staggered out and up the steep main street of Robin Hood’s Bay, only to turn the corner towards his house and run headlong into that thing that’d looked exactly like him. It picked him up before he could even yelp and

“Please, Mr Wilks. Take a seat.”

Brian sighed and sat at the desk, facing his GP. “How bad is is?”

“Bad. Very bad. Even with Chemo or radiotherapy, it doesn’t look much better.”

“But it was just an ache!”

“Cancer can be insidious, Mr Wilks. And this one… A particularly sneaky one, it kept itself hidden until it was too late. It’s spreading throughout your body, it metastasised.”

Brian stared at him in horror. “How long?”

“For an active life or not feeling too bad? Maybe a month. Things’ll get steadily worse after that.”

“I meant do I have left?”

“I know. I’m trying to ease you into that bit of news. Six months, but the final two…”

“Six?! Six months!?”

“I know, and I’m sorry. We’ll do everything we can to make your final days comfortable, but that’s all we can offer at thi

Brian sat in his easy chair, staring as raindrops ran down the window. God, he was bored. He picked up the remote and flipped through the channels again, finding nothing of interest. Midafternoon TV… Why did they put so much drivel on? Who in their right mind watched, let along enjoyed that crap?

A series of similar flashes, all centred around how mind numbingly boring retirement was.

The last day of work, the cake, the candles, the joke laden retirement card, the dread in the pit of his stomach at what he’d do with himself.

Then a montage of his work.

He’d heard of lives flashing before peoples eyes when they died, but in reverse? This continued, and so did that horrible itch, flashing through the defining periods of his life. Raising his kids, the pride he had when John gave him a granddaughter, the worry about the mental state of Gareth, but also the pride he had in him when he joined the Royal National Lifeboat Institute. His wedding, his first meeting, then the event that led to that first meeting.

The last year of school… That weedy kid was getting the shit beaten out of him again, and Brian had stepped in, only to get the shit beaten out of him, too. Four against one was never a winnable situation, but it had led to him meeting the kid’s sister.

Helen… God, he loved her, but after his retirement, even that began to grate. There really was too much of a good thing, being forced together when previously, the majority of their time had been spent apart, too busy, too distracted… If he hadn’t been given six months to live, he might’ve even considered divorce, now the kids were grown, but he still loved her, but at the same time, resented what being together meant. He was useless. A nothing. Chucked on the rubbish tip and forgotten.

Then Coban’s words came back to him, about how the people here handled handfasting. Maybe that was the key to a good life, after all. Maybe ’til death do us part was an idiotic religious rule.

The memories continued to flash back through his childhood and seemed to slow when it reached his years as an infant. Something shifted, something profound changed within his mind, something he couldn’t put his finger on.

The light intensified again, and in a blinding flash, returned to its original intensity.

Arise Brinan Am Lyrane. Arise, my Amroth.

He could move again, and that word, it flooded his mind with meaning, even though he’d never heard it before. Concepts it would’ve taken paragraphs to define, in a single word. He rolled off the altar and landed on the floor with a clatter, staring at his gauntleted hands. At the armour on his arms, his legs. He sprang to his feet, bolted out of the temple in a panic.

Amroth. Him? He was an Amroth? A man who’d given up his entire life to his god? Son, beloved, vessel, slave, monk, paladin, and so much more, but he didn’t know how he knew what it meant.

He emerged from the temple into broad daylight. He must’ve been glued to that altar for hours, but in the light of day, he managed to force the panic down and examine himself more closely.

The suit of armour he wore was the most beautiful artefact he’d ever seen in his life. Polished steel engraved and inscribed with the finest patterns of gold he’d ever seen. A deep red cloak was clasped at his shoulder by an incredibly ornate and bejewelled broach and even the cloak had embroidered borders of incredibly intricate design. The gauntlets looked odd, not separate armoured gloves, but part of the arm pieces. Alarmed, he twisted and turned, looking for any join, any strap or fastening. The suit seemed, on closer inspection, to the a single piece, and he had no idea how to get it off, if indeed, getting it off was even possible. Around his waist, a belt and scabbard.

There was no sound when he drew the sword, no sssss. Even that was exquisite, covered in the same style of patterns as his armour and he somehow knew, this blade would never dull, never break, and he imagined it possessed greater powers than those, too. He had a whole new lifetime to learn how to use them.

He began to calm down as he saw his situation in the stark light of day. To anyone else in this world, becoming an Amroth might be a struggle, they had family ties, community expectations and responsibilities, but he had nothing. Until the temple, he’s been worthless, but now?

“I might get to like this life. Hope I do because it doesn’t look like I have any choice in the matter.” A deep sigh. “Instead of asking to use Olban’s ring to take me home, I’ll ask them to use it to bring Helen here.” He sniggered. “Oh Lyrane, a few" he brow wrinkled, trying to find a word... He shrugged. "A day wearing their clothes and she’ll be as young and sexy as me! We could build a whole new life together and everything’ll be new again. I doubt I could ever be bored, here.”