Due to meet Hanor, Kifter and the others shortly, Brandor took a moment to recuperate, sitting on a tree stump in one of his favourite gardens on the highest level of Tarden. Dwelling on Drola’s last statement, he doubted anyone would want to live anywhere but here, a powerful tool the High-tard could use to sway many. Too soon to say if Caldon would react as he should or if the voice of the people would declare their wishes about the new proposals before he got the chance to do anything, Drola, when at his best, was more than capable of drawing them to him. Satisfied that things were about to move at the very least, a wrong decision seemed better than no decision at all.
Light steps to his left interrupted his musings, surprised to see the slim figure of Maloree come around the dusty peach bush. Unexpected, he thanked the Sacred for this opportunity. “Maloree,” he said, rising to greet the High-lady of Tardoc.
Dark keen eyes contained their own surprise. “Brandor! It is pleasing to see you.” Robed in a deep red and silver gown, she was as radiant as she was intelligent.
“How is Drola?” he asked, not holding back.
“He is resting,” she chimed. “You were a little hard on him today.”
“I only want to help the people of Tarden and Tardoc, and the rest of The Freelands.”
“But… you need to remember how emotional he can be,” she said, picking a crimson leaf from the nearest bush, and taking a bite. “I have trouble resisting these,” she smirked.
“Your cook-houses are my weakness.”
Pausing as if considering a point, she looked straight at him. “Drola told me about your proposals. They are very ambitious.”
“It is but the tip of a greater tree,” he said, eager to know her thoughts.
“It will take considerable organising.”
“Yes, it will.”
“How much time do you think you will need?”
Quite capable of digesting the finer details of the plan, well informed about current events, he considered reaching Drola through her. “I have to travel to the other Cities first, but the Masters here are already working on a formula to merge the energies between Tarden and Tardoc. Primarily, I want to ensure all are willing to create the Wall of Power. My colleagues of the Hisian-Set will be involved, for there is much to do.”
“If successful, how do you intend to actually defeat the Dark One?”
“After the Wall is built and stabilised, we will then look at our options.”
“You are not certain of what it can do then?”
“It would be unwise to promise anything now. However, it will be substantial enough to make a difference.”
“I look forward to its manifestation,” she said, picking another leaf. “What energies do you expect to use in this Wall of Power?”
Deliberating whether to disclose details about the vast entity that could ensoul the energy field, whispers from those suspecting her of manipulating Drola were enough to stall him. Reactions received when in Yarmoria now supported that possibility. Needing to gain her support to persuade Drola, he shared enough to keep her interested. “The energies will be similar to those used in the Fire of the Forest surrounding Tarden. I suspect the intensity to be much greater though.”
“That will be powerful,” Maloree said, picking up on his hesitancy. “I hope to see the other members of the Hisian-Set here in Tarden soon.”
“If I can persuade them to leave the Sleep, they will be.”
“We all need to be vigilant, and also willing to contribute any way we can.”
“I will pass on your comments when I next see them,” he joked, disbelieving how people could mistrust her. Tempted to mention about his frosty reception with her Yarmorian brethren, he stayed the idea, presuming she had enough to contend with. Returning to the present dilemma, “Do you think Drola was influenced by our meeting?” The Question was more of a vague hope than expectancy.
“He has mellowed,” she said. “But he has said nothing about changing his mind.”
“Do you see the importance of what we are trying to accomplish, and the need for the Northern Gap to be defended?”
“I do see the need,” she said, to his relief. “But... you have not been there when Drola has woken up screaming in the middle of the night.” Peering down at her hands, she seemed full of pain. “He says he can taste the blood.” A tear welled up.
Respectful, the Dai-laman preferred to avoid such sensitivities.
Composing herself, she continued. “It is hard to stay impartial with this in mind, watching the person you love torn. He knows what should be done, tactics trained for, but when frightened to go to sleep because of what you might see, we cannot imagine what he is going through.”
Timely, Brandor’s dream that morning halted any sentiments. The covering of that Being of Light by the Shadow still made him feel sick. As much as Drola was suffering, it seemed nothing by comparison. Sympathetic to her grief, it was clear she would not persuade Drola to do anything he did not wish to. “I pray these dreams will lift.”
Pleased to see everyone present, including Bane, Brandor headed for the large circular stone fireplace in the centre of the room. Waist high, with a domed ornate covering supported by six crafted poles of polished steel, odourless white Dorba rocks burned bright in the middle.
“Brandor! How does it fair?” Tarmon welcomed him, meaning Drola.
“There is movement,” was all the Dai-laman said on the matter. “How is everyone?”
“Rested,” Kifter said, rising to his feet.
“I hope you have not eaten too much,” Brandor said, to Hallen in particular.
“Only you could eat more than I,” the Hite joked.
“No room for that lately.”
“If you deny yourself pleasures of the body, then what is life worth living for?”
“When you are old, and look back on your seasons for what it was worth, at least you will remember the times when your stomach was full and your head empty.”
“I never like playing with you!”
At the end of the long arched seating, Brandor was surprised but encouraged to see Hanor sitting beside Bane, both boys staring at the fire. “How are you, Hanor?” the Dai-laman asked. Bane seemed fidgety as if embarrassed.
“I am fine,” Hanor said, getting to grips with Bane’s presence. Awkward, he could not tell if his friend was still angry at him.
“Good,” Brandor said, satisfied the situation was stable enough to proceed. “And you, Bane?”
Gulping, every word now weighed carefully, Bane dared to look up at the prominent figure. Forcing a grin, “I am… fine too,” he managed, still reeling at Hanor’s lack of a reaction to his entry. Unsure if his friend had forgiven him for the outburst, in the past, he would have insisted on clearing the air, for nothing was worth this division. Yet, in the presence of these others, whose ambitions were far more important than his, he felt inadequate and out of depth.
“We have an interesting collection of people here,” the Dai-laman began, moving around the fire to look at them, appreciating its warmth. “I will get to the point of why I have gathered you all here, as I cannot delay for long. As you know, Darkness threatens The Freelands, and our way of life will be lost if nothing is done. There are forces at work that are as active as they are evil. Fortunately for us, there are some willing to counter its advancement.” Ensuring everyone was paying attention, it was vital nothing was missed. “A new plan has been set, one that will demand my complete attention. The details are not for you to know at this time, for your path takes you in another direction.” Turning to the Tardanian, “You Tarmon, will not like what I have to say.”
Surprised by the statement, “Why?”
“I need this group to go somewhere, that for many here in Tardania, is a sensitive location. A great deal of history encompasses the place, but I need you to find an item of extreme value.” Still looking at Tarmon, “You have to go to Tarkons Tomb.”
“Brandor!” Tarmon exclaimed, now understanding his concern. “You must be mistaken. Tarkon’s Tomb is not for the fainthearted, not even for the Dark One.”
“I know, but it is imperative that you go.”
“I have heard about the Tomb,” Kifter said, intrigued as much as alarmed. “What could be of any worth within the Valley of the Dead?”
“You must retrieve a Stone that was placed there a very long time ago.”
“I have not heard of such a Stone.” Tarmon still could not accept the plan.
“Because it is not recorded by your people. But a Stone there is.”
“What value does this Stone have? Few have reached the valley’s perimeter let alone entered. It is madness.”
“The Stone is vital for the coming battle.”
“I… I respect you Brandor but… you are asking the impossible,” Tarmon said, pacing back and forth. “You would not waste time by sending us on wild errands, but this seems absurd. Please clarify more of this Stone’s value.”
“I will explain what I can, but then I have to leave.”
Tarmon agreed. “I am sorry Brandor, I was not expecting this.”
The Dai-laman began his narrative. “Your history books tell of a time when all of Tardania’s peoples lived at Tardoc; Tarden had not even been envisaged.” Tarmon already knew the details, but he continued for the benefit of the others. “During those times, the Tardanian people used to interact with men from the planes. There was an unwritten rule, that still persists today, that no Tardanian male or female should unite with a person from another race.” The small group remained attentive. “During that period, there lived a young Tardanian male called Tarkon, of whom the Tomb I mentioned belongs. He was a courageous young fellow, who rose to a high position at Tardoc. Possessing an astute mind, countless natural abilities and courteous manner, he became very popular. Proving himself during the conflict with the Dortian people, he fought like a mighty warrior, and became a living legend, a hero. Ending the conflict by convincing the Dortians that wars were only for the foolhardy, you can understand why this person was thought of so highly.”
“For a time, life was pleasant for the Tardanians, and Tardoc prospered. But then something happened that shook the foundations of that ancient society. A young lady from the planes came into Tarkon’s life, and turned it upside down. Delightful, and the daughter of a rich merchant from Manter, her name was Shoona. Tarkon fell in love with her. Causing uproar, their relationship threatened the beliefs and traditions of the Tardanian people, and still would if it were to happen today.” Concurring to Tarmon, not wishing to offend, the Tardanian had nothing to say. “Their love however, was pure. Ignoring the barriers of cultures and creeds, of unnecessary beliefs and demands, they refused to bow down to that system. Even today, discussions about it are common here at Tarden. The two would meet at night whilst the City slept, determined not to be apart.
In due course, the two lovers were seen slipping out of the City together undercover of darkness. Unbeknown to them, a group of Tardanians recorded their movements so they could charge Tarkon with what was considered unnatural behaviour. Fortunately, a friend heard about these insidious people transpiring to condemn them, and warned of the anger their relationship was causing.
Even with the growing dangers, both decided the risks were not enough to stay apart. In the darkness of her room, Tarkon gave Shoona a black stone as a token of his love, promising nothing would ever come between them, not even death. But when heading home after leaving her, a rabble of Tardanians confronted him, forcing him to flee. Pursued by the angry mob, some reports said hundreds chased him, baying for blood at the profanity of his behaviour. Convinced he was about to pollute their race, they wanted to stop him at any cost. Leaving Tardoc, torches held by those behind was said to be like a city on fire.
Across the Flat Planes surrounding Tardoc he rode, travelling up through the Five Passes of the Treman Mountains and down into the immense woodlands of Tardania. And still the many chased him as if nothing else mattered. Through the night the pursuit persisted. Without a torch for guidance, Tarkon’s pace was slower than those behind, enabling them to catch up. Expecting to be captured, quite by accident, the whole saga came to a tragic end. Just before dawn, his Kyboe stepped into a divot and lurched sharply. Checking behind, Tarkon was unable to counter the jolt. Hurled through the air, he hit a tree, the force of the impact breaking his neck. His precious life was blown out by a moment of ill luck.
Found in a heap at the base of the tree by the baying crowd, it is said a hush descended as if facing the dreadful results of their rage for the first time. Shame crossed over them, but it only lasted a short time. Anxious whispers turned to shouts of denial. That predawn place soon filled with cries of “The Sacred had decreed this,” and “Their reactions had been justified.”
Refusing to face up to their own wretched actions, the excuses were eventually embraced by most. Enough to placate those back at Tardoc, who were horrified to learn of the tragedy upon their return, some could see through the illusion and wanted justice. However, their concerns were outweighed by the sheer numbers involved. No one had struck or killed him, stating that higher forces were at work, sealing the opinion of many. At least the situation was no longer an embarrassment.
Those who knew him well, took his crumpled frame and buried him in a cave. The Tomb, cut into the side of the valley, is the place I need you to go. Shoona, who later heard of what took place, was said to have died soon after from a broken heart. They buried her with him, along with the Stone, the symbol of their love. At a later date, others entered and removed her body, disgusted at her involvement in the undoing of a hero. Strange how bitter people can react, even when the person has died.”
Respectful, Brandor ended, a quiet tribute to the tragic tale. A tender moment, it was Kifter who eventually broke the sullen silence.
“And it is the Stone he gave Shoona that we are to retrieve?”
“It is,” the Dai-laman said.
Tarmon felt saddened. “I have never heard the Tale of Tarkon like that before,” he said, reverent. “There are questions I would like to ask.”
“Of course.”
“What is the significance of this Stone?” the Tard asked, still troubled by what Brandor was asking them to do.
“I know not what its ultimate purpose is,” Brandor admitted, peering across the white fumeless flames. “But I do know it is important.”
“I trust you, Brandor,” Tarmon said. “But… you ask an incredible thing. Tarkons Tomb is haunted, and evil thrives there. I cannot see how we can retrieve this Stone, even if there were a thousand of us. We used to send our young there to experience the reality of fear. I was one of them, so I know what you propose cannot be done.” Harsh memories were vivid, a chill shivering through him.
Contentious as Brandor’s plan was, there were other details about the Tomb that the peoples of Tardania were unaware of. Long ago, members of the Hisian-Set, himself included, had constructed an energy field designed to attract those very Souls who had contributed to Tarkon’s death. Stranded in the Netherworlds, the Hisian-Set’s intentions had been to help the darkened Souls realise what they had done, and therefore free them from their self-induced imprisonment. It had succeeded to a degree, but not entirely. A significant number had not seen the location as a direct connection to their original crime. Feeding on the surrounding life forces to sustain their insatiable appetite for this physical world instead, anyone who ventures in now suffers the haunting attacks. A sorry story that still generates controversy within the Hisian-Set, but his vision that morning proved it was where they had to go.
“You said you have other things to deal with,” Kifter prompted. “Does that mean you will not be accompanying us?”
“I am afraid not.”
“That does not help the situation either,” Tarmon said, disapproving.
“You are more than capable of dealing with this,” the Dai-laman said, emphatic. “I would not ask if it were not possible.”
“If we were to retrieve this Stone, what should we do with It?” Hallen asked, sceptical.
“I will meet you at Tardoc, and we will decide how to proceed from there. The task I have to undertake is vital. No assurances can I give, as I have to travel far to ensure this new plan is implemented. If I am delayed, you should head for Manter.”
“Manter?”
“I only have outlines of what needs to be done. Time is against us, and decisions have to be made.”
“So what does this have to do with Hanor’s importance?” Kifter asked, puzzled by the original urgency surrounding the boy. Hanor felt awkward at the sudden attention.
Considering his point, Brandor made the most of the fire whilst he could. “Mysteries encase much of what we do. Hanor has shown himself to be a remarkable young man, even in his present state of mind. There is great potential in him that can still be used to do good. What I decreed before still stands, protect him well, and each other of course. We have Bane here too, who like the rest of you, will contribute in his own way. If his intentions are honourable then much can be achieved, if his temper holds that is.”
“Are others joining us?” Kifter asked. “A Master or two perhaps?”
“No…, those in this room are all we shall use,” Brandor said, to their disappointment. “I do not believe in large numbers, but prefer stealth. Too many people may attract attention. I know what you seek, but the Masters are occupied with the same project I am. Their work is my work. If there is a will to achieve, then a way can be found. The Stone will not be retrieved by large numbers. We have very capable people in this group, I am confident you will find a way.”
“Your confidence is gracious,” Tarmon said. “But it will not be enough.”
“All have to cross boundaries that we would prefer not to, such is the demand in these pressing times.”
“So when should we leave?” Kifter asked, daring to look ahead. A renewed confidence since Hanor’s return prompted the Fife to meet it head on. The journey to Tarden, he could now see, revealed arrogance towards his own abilities. Hallen’s words now rang true for their wisdom. Too much self-criticism did not allow for failures that occasionally unravelled inner motives. Worried about his reputation, he had become detached from the things he got involved in. He would approach this new challenge differently.
“I suggest you get a good night’s rest, and leave in the morning,” Brandor encouraged, keeping an eye on Tarmon. “I am nearly finished here, so be sure there is nothing more you want to ask.”
“I am glad you have invited Bane to join us,” Kifter said, meaning it. “We have not seen eye to eye, but his intentions are what matter.”
Surprised by the declaration, Bane acknowledge Kifter for the kind words, even though embarrassed.
“That is a good start,” Brandor said. With Kifter’s memories, its implications meant a great deal. Looking at the two boys, Bane would need to be there if Hanor’s memories were to return. “Hanor…, I have already explained the threats we face, are you willing to go on this quest?”
Trying to discern how he felt and what he should do, there was no clear way forward for Hanor. Even when Kifter had mentioned about his importance, he had waited for an impact, but no emotional connection had occurred. After talking with Tarmon, at least his past was no longer an obsession. Hoping to strike a friendship with Bane and the others again, it was the only way. “I will go, if it is acceptable to the others.”
“Good,” Brandor approved. “Tarmon, you will have to follow your heart on this one. It is difficult because you know what to expect whilst the others do not. Sometimes ignorance can be beneficial. It will not be well if you approach this negatively, for fear obstructs the intuition, and can be contagious. If you are willing to go, approach it as if achievable rather than pointless. But you need to decide.”