The Dragon God Page 7

  “I have a request,” Bridazak said in a dry, cracked voice.

  “Go on, what is it?”

  “I would like some water.”

  The chieftain nodded to a warrior, “Bring him water.”

  “No, not for me.”

  “What, then?” the Chieftain snapped.

  “I want a ditch dug around my altar, and I want you to pour four jars of water over the wood.”

  There was a long pause as the face painted leader stared into Bridazak’s sincere eyes. He scoffed and backed away.

  “Do as he says!”

  The tribesmen ran and dug an arm’s length ditch all the way around the wooden tribute. Others gathered four huge jar pots and filled them at the lake, pairs of women lifting the heavy load. Once the trench was in place, they began to pour. The water ran down the wood and slowly leaked into the freshly dug dirt gulley.

  Dulgin called, “What are ya doing, ya blundering fool?”

  Spilf added, “You’re soaking the wood!”

  Bridazak smiled at his friends and turned back to the chief, “What is precious to the Yavakai tribe?”

  He sneered back, “The elkhorns are prized amongst our people. The horns symbolize our god’s favor and strength.” He pointed at the tribal tent that was encompassed by the aged and cracked bone of the animals that once roamed freely through the woods.

  “Where have they gone? You have not seen any for years and your people starve.”

  “Our god wants to see our faith. We will not waver.” The chief turned toward his people, smirking, and raising his hands in victory. “You see this man-child has no power to summon food that only our god can provide us with.”

  Just then a low whimper of an animal echoed from the hut the heroes had occupied. A hush fell over the gathered. The leader squinted at the wicker doorway, and then his eyes flared wide when the antlers of an elk-horn suddenly materialized and pushed open the entrance and pranced out into the sunlight. The gasps of the tribe rose as a single chorus. They watched this crucial resource that they had longed for years to see, as it slowly approached the altars, seemingly oblivious to the people surrounding it.

  The chief yelled, “This is a sign from Thahaal. He has answered us!”

  The animal moved to Bridazak’s wood pyre and laid down at the base. The ordakian turned to watch the villagers’ response.

  The chief spat, with spite in his voice, “One elkhorn will not feed our tribe, half-man. This is a fire challenge and your altar still drips with water.”

  “You look worried, chief. Perhaps we should douse it with more water to make sure.”

  “Are you done delaying the inevitable, ordakian?” the Chieftain mocked.

  “More water, please.”

  He stared at Bridazak and then nodded to his warriors standing at the ready.

  Within minutes, water now trickled in all directions out of the muddy trench. The wood was soaked and continued to drip, all the while the elk-horn remained peaceful at its base.

  When the moat was full, Bridazak began his prayer, “God, let these people know that you are the true Lord of Ruauck-El and I am your servant. Let them know that I have done these things because you told me to do them. Let them see your Truth so these people will know you, and they will serve you and no other.”

  No one moved. Every breath was held, waiting in suspense. The chieftain turned to Bridazak with a wicked smile of victory—but stopped suddenly as the brightest of lights filled the sky. Everyone tried to look but it was so brilliant they had to bring their hands up to cover their eyes. A low rumble was heard, and it began to intensify, as did the light. Fire came down from the air. It burned up the wood and the water instantly evaporated. The roar of the beam of fire sounded louder than the rushing of a raging waterfall.

  The tribe’s leader turned toward Bridazak, fully enraged. He withdrew his ivory horned dagger and screamed through gritted teeth as he approached, “No! You will die for this!” He raised his weapon to strike the halfling.

  A tentacle arm of a scorching ray still surrounding the altar shot out from the pillar of fire, engulfing the tribe’s chieftain. He instantly melted like candle wax. Then as quickly as it came, the flame vanished. The crack of a lightning bolt rattled the village and then left them all in silence.

  Bridazak’s altar was annihilated, and the village leader was a pile of ash at the ordakian’s feet. From the smoke, the single elkhorn that was summoned pranced out and bounded through the crowd unscathed. Then another bolted forth from the smoke, and soon an entire herd poured out and ran into the forest. The heroes spotted the wobble of the energy field as it broke down; the colors of the sunset became more alive and vibrant. The mist on top of the lake dissipated and everyone witnessed hundreds of elkhorn come to the water’s edge and drink before darting into the treeline one by one.

  The tribe dropped to the ground in fear and cried out, “The Lord who Bridazak follows, He is our God forever!”

  Bridazak’s friends rushed to surround him. They quickly untied his ropes from the wooden post, and then embraced him. No words were exchanged. They stood silently together, aware that the power of the true God had been shown this day in this tiny village of Ruauck-El. The entire tribe worshipped the new deity, some even bowing toward Bridazak.

  Spilf sidled up to Bridazak and whispered, “How did you know?”

  “They told me.”

  “They?”

  Bridazak swept his arm from left to right, across where his altar had once stood. “Yes, don’t you see them?”

  Suddenly, four glowing orbs of silver light appeared and the heroes’ mouths opened in awe. Each orb of brilliance expanded and then dissolved to reveal an angel. The villagers continued their praise, unaware of the beings. A soothing aura surrounded the angels of light and prevented the adventurers from seeing any detail of their faces or clothing; shimmering eight-foot tall shapes were all they could make out.

  A booming voice filled the air, “Heroes of Ruauck-El, your Father has answered your prayer and this community has been saved. Blessings upon you, who are highly favored.”

  Then, the angels’ light became bright, casting a silver halo, and as quickly as they arrived, they disappeared before their eyes.

  The mysterious woman tracking Abawken watched from the shadow of the woods, witnessing this unspeakable force. “Who is this ordakian that can summon the power of gods?” she thought to herself. She had risked much entering the mysterious memory loss field, uncertain of the true ramifications of what would happen when she left, but her need to fulfill her contract and capture her prey was more pressing. It mattered little now, since the power had somehow been dispelled.

  A group of elkhorn suddenly leapt over her and the bush she hid behind. The forest was overrun with the animals. She said under her breath, “Abawken, you have surrounded yourself with powerful friends, but eventually you will be alone, with or without my help, and then I will bring you back to my fold.” She half-smiled and continued, “Another visitation in your dreams is warranted, my friend.” Abawken would submit to her wishes, but first she needed to rest in order to summon the power necessary for the supernatural feat.

  There was a huge celebration in their honor that night. The heroes sat on wicker mats while the people of the tribe danced around the large fire pit in the exact spot God had struck earlier. Drum beats and well-timed grunting gave the rhythm needed as men and women stomped around. Joy and smiles were seen on everyone’s faces. The adventurers were admired and throughout the evening, women and their children, of all ages, brought them hand-made gifts and food. When the meal was set before them, Dulgin wrinkled his nose and whispered, “It smells like dirt.”

  “Quiet, be respectful and pretend you like it,” Bridazak responded while smiling at the next person delivering and nodding his head in thanks.

  The ordakian agreed with Dulgin, it had the strong aroma of rich soil. They proudly served portions of a freshly slaughtered and charred elk-horn, alongside their
traditional staple—a sticky brown rice flecked with herbs and served upon tree bark. Bridazak pinched off a small amount of rice with the meat, and stuck it inside his mouth, politely smiling as he chewed. The women watched him eat and were pleased by his response.

  “By the looks, I’d say you hated it,” Dulgin whispered back with a slight smirk.

  Bridazak replied, “It reminds me of Dwarven mead. You will like it.”

  “Really? Why don’t I believe you?”

  “It’s true Dulgin,” Spilf said as he swallowed his portion in discomfort. “Definitely Dwarven mead.”

  “Abawken?” Dulgin looked for the human’s opinion, not trusting the Daks.

  “Master Dulgin, I think this will certainly put hair on your chest. I’m not familiar with the taste of this mead you speak of.”

  “Well that is good enough for me.” Dulgin dove into the pungent smelling meal. He turned his head slightly sideways as he contemplated the taste, crunching on the still-firm rice. Bridazak and Spilf winked at one another. Then Dulgin glared at Bridazak. Anticipating the dwarf ’s anger, the ordakian was ready to scurry away, but a smile broke through the red, bushy beard instead.

  “Smells like dirt, but it tastes great! Now this is what I call comfort food.”

  Bridazak, Spilf, and Abawken shrugged and shook their heads in disbelief.

  “Are we sure this tribe doesn’t have dwarven blood in them?” he mused as he scooped another helping and bobbed his shoulders up and down to the drum beats.

  As the celebration continued, the children approached the heroes in single file and placed white petaled flowers on the ground before them. Mothers, watching the little ones perform the ritual, smiled or wept with joy, knowing their children were safe and now had a future. During their presentation, the rhythmic drum beat diminished to light taps of a wooden mallet on a hollowed tree trunk and the dancing suddenly ceased.

  An old woman, ushered carefully by two tribesmen, approached. Bridazak watched with his friends standing beside him. The dak tried to ignore the stares of the people and remained focused on the elder approaching him. She looked into his compassionate, teal eyes, her one milky white eye contrasting sharply against her spotted dark one. The wrinkles on her face spoke of her experience, and the hardship she had endured as the eldest amongst the community over the years. There was pain buried within her, but at the same time Bridazak saw hope returning; she seemed to walk taller than she had when they first arrived.

  She shakily extended her hand and grabbed hold of Bridazak’s. He gently gripped her leathery hand and smiled. She turned toward the gathered, while at the same time lifting his arm up with hers, a triumphant symbol that caused the tribe to engage in a high pitched hooting.

  Her raspy voice escalated into a sharp shrill, hushing the crowd instantly. She spoke, “Our prophets of old spoke of the season of change to come in the silent days. We have seen, on this day, their words come to pass.” More hooting resounded and then died back down. She continued after lowering Bridazak’s hand, releasing her grasp, and then stepping forward. “It is time to cast our former beliefs of our fallen god and take hold of the new and true God we have seen this day. No longer will our children suffer.” The women nearby clutched their babies tighter upon her words, remembering the horror of their past. She continued her speech, “It will take us time to adjust to this change and it will require us all, not just me, to answer to the truth of what we have seen today. In repentance of our past, we will celebrate each sacrificed child, one a day, until all have been recognized, in order to repent, and honor the true God. You have heard my words, now let it be so.” The hooting deafened the heroes and the woman turned and motioned for another to join her.

  A mother with baby in arm, the same child the heroes rescued, came forward. She sheepishly smiled as she approached. A hush fell as they considered her toddler to be special; the first boy saved from the old, evil tradition.

  “Thank you, Bridazak,” she said.

  “You are welcome. What is your son’s name?”

  “Kaiym.”

  The crowd watched in silence as Bridazak walked closer to the roaring fire and turned back to the mother and son. In a loud and authoritative voice, he said, “This child’s very name means life. Your future leader resides inside Kaiym. Raise this little one as a symbol of what happened this very day. Teach him the ways of the true God, through loving one another and helping those in need. Blessings from Heaven will continue to rain on your village. Celebrate each year in remembrance of this day of redemption.”

  The tribe instantly fell to their knees and bowed to their future leader; the boy named Kaiym. The mother held her son high into the air and looked around in amazement. Bridazak then walked off into the shadows of night, already beginning to pray in thanks. He may not have the orb anymore, but God’s voice really was still with him.

  “How does he know these things?” Dulgin asked.

  There was no response. The old woman with one blind eye came forward and walked toward Spilf.

  “I have something to show you child-man. Come with me.”

  Spilf looked to Dulgin and Abawken and they both waited for his decision. Spilf stood and the three of them followed her.

  “What is this place?” Spilf gently touching the faded pigments on the stone wall of the cave she led them into. The pictographs depicted a lengthy history.

  Dulgin and Abawken held torches inside the small alcove nestled inside the granite of the mountain.

  The aged woman limped forward and pointed, “It’s a timeline of events. This is when my people invaded your village.”

  Figures of humans with bows and spears were attacking. Then she indicated the Thaloc creature and a dome encompassing the forest. They saw other depictions of importance for her tribe but then spotted a small creature with hair on its face.

  “What is that?”

  She pointed at Dulgin.

  “Dwarves?”

  She nodded, “The stories as told from generations say they tried to trade with us, but we sent them away and considered the bearded-ones to be a bad omen.”

  “How does this help us?” Spilf asked.

  Dulgin responded, “It means there are dwarves around here and it is possible that your village sought refuge.”

  “Which direction did the dwarves come from?”

  “Along the mountains to the west, beyond the old settlement Saybrook. Before the fall of our people and the vanishing of our men had begun, there had been expeditions, and they discovered altars two days travel from here. Perhaps they belong to the bearded-ones.” Dulgin blurted out in realization, “Brook, I get it! Say-brook!” Dulgin finally understood the joke the ordakians had shared at his expense.

  A spark of excitement came over Spilf and he smiled at Dulgin and Abawken, too eager to even tease Dulgin. He took off back to the village, yelling, “I need to tell Bridazak!”

  “Dwarves leave markers for their kind to find, but outsiders won’t know what they have discovered. Dwarves don’t openly announce here we are,” Dulgin said to Abawken.

  “If nothing else, it has given our friend hope. Looks like we have a new direction to go now.” The human fighter followed after Spilf.

  The old lady hobbled after Abawken but was stopped suddenly by Dulgin.

  “Do you by chance have any more of that delicious rice food we had earlier?”

  A Pinch of Luck was never so lively as it was in the open ocean under full sails. Each member of the crew masterfully manned his post and attended to his duties, while below deck, Elsbeth pointed out the locations on the old sea map in her private quarters.

  “It will take us three days to get to the Singing Rocks,” the captain explained.

  Raina and El’Korr nodded, understanding their passage through the Great Illustrya Ocean—named after Illustrya herself, who travelled these waters for centuries in the Unknown Age—would take some time.

  Elsbeth continued, “Then at least two more to get to Pirate’s Bell
y. We will restock there, and then head out to the Whispering Sea. Captain Yasooma’s compass will lead us to his sunken ship.”

  “Pirate’s Belly doesn’t sound good to me,” El’Korr responded.

  “We will be fine. I know the locals, and have built a relationship over the years that will garner us safe passage.”

  “If you say so.” The dwarven king shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was not accustomed to being off land as it was. Adding pirates to the mix was not his favorite idea.

  “Come, let us get some fresh air,” she motioned them with her hand toward the exit.

  El’Korr, Raina, and Captain Elsbeth stepped out from her cabin. The salty air filled their lungs. The ship crashed through the rolling hills of water. Heavy ocean spray showered the crew who worked the rigging to perfection. The sails flapped incessantly, adding to the unfiltered chorus of the unsettled white-capped ocean. Skath and Myers called out orders to the men as needed.

  Suddenly, Rondee the Wild ran past them, draped himself over the ship’s railing and barfed last night’s dinner into the angry sea.

  “Will your friend survive? This is only day one,” Elsbeth asked.

  “Dwarves are meant for mountains, not the sea.”

  “My priest, Anders, has a remedy. Take Rondee below deck.”

  El’Korr made his way over to his dwarven protector, who moaned in discomfort. Rondee grabbed his King’s beard to look him in the eye, and said, “Te dufett.”

  “Nobody is dying today my friend. C’mon, my loyal Bodyguard. Let’s get your stomach back in order.” El’Korr hauled Rondee away.

  While Xan and Lufra began to explore the deck, Raina ventured, “Captain, now that we are alone, what can you tell me of the elements that Yasooma had collected on his ship?”

  “I was wondering when you were going to ask. I can tell you he was a very private man. The elements became an obsession of his. I’m not sure why, but then, I suppose every man has a quest in his heart to make his mark in this world. I do know that he had acquired two of the elements before becoming captain of The Wave Rider—the Earth Stone, and the Fire Opal. In our travels he discovered the location of the third element—the Pearl of the Deep. We headed out to the Whispering Sea to recover it, and that is where the sea gods swallowed our ship. It was—,” she paused, recalling the terrible details. “It felt as though the ocean rose up against us. I blacked out and woke aboard a pirate ship alongside Yasooma, but I was the only true survivor. Yasooma became a shell of a man, damned his life, and brought a curse upon his family. We lost everyone, and it haunts me to this very day. Heading back there is not something I ever imagined I would do. Perhaps it is my destiny—” her final words trailed off.