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The Spirit Caller - Chapter 2 Written by: Cymrick Ravenfoot DANCING ABOUT THE PALE GATE Facing the certainty of your own death is like staring into the face of the abyss. Staring into a place where everything you are simply ceases to be. When I looked into the abyss, I saw it staring back at me – and in its’ eyes I saw only myself reflected. I was a story unwritten... an empty vessel. The difference between a life that is full and happy and one that is empty and vain is only a matter of perception. What a piece of wisdom to acquire only in the moments of your own demise. Night fell like an avalanche. Terrible demons with talons of regret and jaws of rage tore at my flesh with an unholy vigor, numbing me and leaving me empty. In short order, the pain left me and oblivion stepped in to take it’s place. My mistakes were numerous and obvious. My pride my undoing. I had chosen to die. On death’s door I saw no visions of the life I had left behind. No ancestors came to watch my departure from the realms of the living. The faces of my family and friends did not come to comfort me. I could barely recollect the milestones of my short life. It was as if *I* had never happened at all. But I did see other things. I saw a wasteland of tortured trees and spreading sickness. Everywhere I looked there were creatures, barely recognizable as common animals, crawling and slithering in torment as a horrible pox ate them and the land about them. Some of the creatures were human. Proudly surveying this realm was a twisted tree, its bark grey and leprous. The tree had a face, twisted with unfathomable anger and its million branches were gnarled like bony fingers with the shriveled, severed heads of men and beasts tied to them by their lank hair. There was no green on this tree, only a thick layer of mold and decay. This was no dream. The tree could see me, its eyes piercing my soul. It recognized me and spoke... and a wail of torment filled the air. The voices were almost familiar. I also saw a great tundra, stretching on beyond what my eyes could see. A wolf pack ran on these plains, countless in numbers. They chased elk and caribou for all eternity. At the head of the pack was a great she-wolf, her fur like the morning ocean and her jaws as black as night. She was their mother and they her children. Her eyes fixed on me and she charged... There were people in my dreams, some were spirits and others men. All strangers. I saw the dead risen and walking amongst the living. Amidst the dead was a young man who could be my brother, his features marred by the pallor of death. His eyes gleamed with hate. The last thing I felt was the fangs of the great wolf tearing into my flesh, ripping my throat open and savaging me. My heart pumped my lifeblood onto my chest, soaking me in warm crimson. Her breath was a hot torrent upon my freezing flesh... I awoke with a start. My flesh felt feverish and my vision was blurry. At first, I was only aware of the crackling fire nearby and the large bear pelt covering me. The scarred flesh on my neck and left hand burned in pain and my muscles protested any movement. Lying still, I let my gaze wander about the chamber as my vision started to clear somewhat. I was in a strange stone building, the walls, floor and even ceiling covered in mosaics. I couldn’t see the fire or the entrance from where I lay, but I could hear the storm outside, howling frightfully. There was the clatter of wood striking the stone floor nearby, followed by the soft whisper of strange words. Suddenly the fire brightened and grew warmer. Alarmed, I forced myself up onto one elbow to see who spoke, crushing fatigue making even this a struggle. Once I had propped myself up, I could see the entire building. It was a single vaulted chamber, large but unfurnished. It seemed that every flat surface of the room was carved with depictions of gods and men. The storm was held outside by a simple bear pelt curtain strung across the furthest doorway. I lay in the middle of the temple near a fire pit. Standing not far from the fire, and myself, was a towering man dressed in mail and wearing a great bearskin cloak. Even as I forced myself to a sitting position he turned to regard me. His features were strong and impassive, his jaw like granite and his eyes dark as pitch. His face had a brooding quality, created by his thick eyebrows and drooping mustache. He was very tall, with broad shoulders and large hands. I noticed that, in addition to his mail coat, he was also armed with a great hammer which he had just laid on the ground after lighting the fire. "Back with me now are yeh?", he spoke. "Well you’d best be not moving about too much boy, you’re about dead by the looks of yeh." "What happened?" I croaked weakly. "I found ye out on the tundra boy," he snorted, "near frozen." Unbidden my response came, "What were you doing out on the tundra?" He looked at me incredulously. "A FINE question that is coming from a scrawny boy who looks like he’s been passed out the hind end of a bull elephant." He shook his head. "What was I doing out on the tundra indeed! I’ll tell you boy. I was chasing spirits." "What do you mean by that?" I had a faint idea of what he meant, but I couldn’t for the life of me think straight. "Yeh ask too many questions lad," he growled. "Now you’d best be shutting up and getting some rest or death will certainly claim you after all." I decided this stranger had the bedside manner of a wounded sled dog and I wasn’t sure if his last statement was advice or a threat. I settled on doing what both the large man and my wounded body wanted me to do and passed out. When I awoke again my condition had improved greatly. Though I was still sore and bone weary, my fever had broken and I could feel some small spark of energy flowing through my veins once again. I was also curious about my savior and his refuge. A quick circuit around the ancient temple revealed that the bearded man had once again departed into the storm. My curiosity unsatisfied, I decided to examine the stone building instead. The workmanship was much older than the buildings in Halas as were the murals decorating the walls, floor and ceiling of the temple. I was only assuming that the building was a temple of some sort, its single vaulting chamber seemed impractical as a living space. The subject of the murals I did recognize. They told of the history of my people. In a sense that did make this a temple. The gods who created my people are Mithaniel and Erollisi Marr, the God of Valor and the Goddess of Love. The gods my people worship are called the Tribunal. Though once mere men and women, the beings of the Tribunal are now gods... made so by their lives of service and accomplishment. The times They lived in were desperate ones; my people clinging to existence as the old kingdoms of the Standing Lizards gave way to the mighty rage of the Frost Giants and Ice Goblins. Once the Empires of Old were swept away and forgotten, the Giants established their own empire in the north. Though my people arrived some time after the height of their power, we were nonetheless at the mercy of the savage conquerors. The Ice Giants were said to worship a terrible Goddess. She wielded divine powers and her followers were fanatical and as numerous as the stars. How could mere men and woman fight legends? But they did fight. And in the fullness of time, they won. My people have always been a hard race and we observe ancient pacts with hidden powers. Though our ancestral enemies were stronger and more numerous, the Children of Marr fought with a passion and desperation that the cold hearts of the Ice Goddess’ children could not match. For every blow they struck against the upstart barbarians, they bled. For every scrap of land taken, they wept. And for every massacre they laid upon my people, one of their heroes died. Then when winter turned to spring, when their powers waned and ours grew stronger, we took back whatever they had taken from us. In time they lost heart and gave up their endless war against the ‘lesser’ barbarian race. It had taken centuries of bloodshed to decide whether the young people of the north, Marr’s High Men, would survive and grow, or merely become fodder to fill the bellies of giants. In time the mighty Goddess of the ice creatures seemed to vanish, departing from the realm of mortals, and the spirit left our enemies completely. As years past, the men and women of the new city, called Halas, drove the goblins and giants further north. The Ice Giants began to depart for their homeland, the lost continent of Velious, whilst the Ice Goblins could only defend their last strongholds in the furthest hinterlands. Though not stronger or more learned, our fortitude had been proven greater. The barbarians had survived, grown and now ruled the north. My people respect Valor over all else. We worship it. It guides us. But for this young man, with more courage than sense, it almost was the death of him. My thoughts were dark and cloudy, although I could see where I had made poor decisions I had always thought I was a righteous man. Well, my righteousness didn’t protect me. What went wrong? I knew the answer. Being brave doesn’t guarantee you a meaningful death, or a meaningful life either. Trying to find some peace I continued to examine the murals depicting the lives of the Tribunal. Then I saw a fresco that made me grow cold within. In this image there was the full company of the Tribunal, clearly garbed in their God-like regiments, locked in battle with a mighty beast. The beast was a great she-wolf, with deep silver-blue fur and black jaws... While I stood there stunned the bearded man returned. Brushing aside the curtain at the doorway he entered the temple. He was carrying a splitting maul and a small pile of firewood. With no preamble, or manners, I turned to him and asked, "What is this mural here?!" Dumping the fuel in a woodpile and resting his axe against the wall, the giant man came slowly to see which mural I was pointing at. With only one glance he answered, "That’s the Tribunal doing battle with the Mother of Wolves, lad." Even as I asked why, he continued, "’Twas said that she sought to dictate to the Tribunal the relation betwixt men and beasts. The Tribunal and the Wolf did battle ‘til a parity of sorts was reached. Men were allowed to domesticate dogs, but the wolf packs remained free. Why do you ask?" "But what is that wolf?", I demanded. He nodded at the mural, "It’s said She’s a hunter who travels the heavens, stalking any living creatures that cross her path. Some say that in a distant land and time she bit the hand from a God. Her name isn’t widely known, boy, but she is a spirit. Usually just called the Spirit of the Wolf." "Is she a good spirit or an evil one?", I queried. "The moral concepts of mankind mean nothing to spirits, lad.", his answer was short and impatient. "You never did tell me what you were doing out on the tundra during this storm, boy. Care to shed some light on that mystery?" The memory of my near demise was still too fresh, shame making it painful to think of the reasons why I was there. "I was chasing spirits", I answered flippantly. He sighed tolerantly, "Hardly a decent answer. Are you always so coarse with those who save your life? From the looks of you I’d say you’ve gotten rescued often enough." The towering man’s face twisted into a mask of rude amusement. It struck me that I should be angry at this prodding, as ordinarily I would be furious. Yet strangely, I felt very little, and certainly no pique was raised by this man’s jibes. "You’re right, I’m sorry friend." Offering him my hand I added, "My name is Cymrick of Clan McMarrin. Thank you for saving my life. I fear I almost made a terrible mistake, as I had little reason to be out in this storm." He accepted my hand. "Cymrick eh? Ahh, you’re Robert’s son." He nodded shortly, as if a question had been answered. "My name is Starn. I’m called Starn Bearjumper and I’m the caretaker of this place." He gestured to the mural, "I only saved you ‘cause I was summoned." I stared at him blankly. He jabbed a thick finger at the black jawed wolf in the mural. "Did you see this wolf, Cymrick?" There was something different about his manner now. I could clearly feel his concern, as if the physical presence of this she-wolf meant trouble was not far behind. My own mounting unease must have shown on my features because he let the question drop after a few, swollen seconds passed – his question answered by my silence. He continued to speak, his voice level and calm, "Come spring you should go to the Halls of the Tribunal and speak to Margyn McCann or Shamus Felligan about what you saw." "Come spring?! I have to get back to Halas soon!" I suddenly thought of those I left behind, my mother in particular. My hunting party would have long since returned to the city, without me of course. I could only imagine what Anna would be thinking right now and I didn’t have any desire to prolong my absence. "There are people in Halas who would think me dead now! I can’t delay." Starn pointed at the doorway, "Five feet beyond that doorway there is thirteen feet of snow." He pointed at me now, "In your condition you’d never make it back to the city, boy. Best to rest for a day or two." I clenched my left hand, thoughts whirling in my head like angry hornets. "Very well. Two days and till the weather breaks but then I have to go." The hulking shaman stared at me with hard eyes, "You’d risk your own death again, boy?" I scratched at the scars on the back of my hand but only hesitated for a moment, "That’s a death I can accept, Starn." "Right". He nodded, satisfied with my answer. "In a couple of days, I’ll lead you there. Till then you had better rest, you’ll need your strength. I’ll not be travelling back to the city jus to tell Anna her son has passed on." I nodded and returned to my blankets, wondering what I would do once I returned to the city. Halas is a city flanked by snow swept hills and buttressed by the shores of a frigid lake – a natural fortress. In the days of the Standing Lizards, Halas was used as a political exile for troublesome administrators of their Reptilian Empire. The time of the Standing Lizards is long past and the city has been torn down and rebuilt many times, now stretching along the shores of the great lake it neighbors. Here and there a stone arch or cracked column of the old Halas pokes above the rude clutter of the barbarian dwellings. The face of the city is a mixture of old and new, much like its inhabitants. I shivered. There is always a strange disquiet about the city of the clansmen. Despite the bustle and noise of our community here, I always imagine the strange energies of this place taking flight and rousing my people to rage. As I cross the lake, the logs of my raft creaking and groaning, my thoughts are troubled. Staring at the placid waters of the lake, I can almost see the faces of the giants that drowned there long ago reflected on the surface. From my vantage point on the lake I can see a small group of people have gathered to welcome me home. There are two of my fathers old friends, Angus McMarrin and Scon McDaniels, my hunting party, and my mother gathered on the dock. A small group. Not hardly surprising really. Though I am well known amongst my kinsmen, I doubt I’m well loved by most. Doubtlessly, news of my disappearance in the storm was more widely known than that of my return. As the raft drew closer to the docks of the city, I concentrated on my mother’s features. A short woman with proud features and dark blonde hair. I could see her face was a mask of control, her back rigid and straight. There were dark lines of worry on her face and a troubled look set deep in her eyes. I couldn’t remember if she looked like this often... as if I’d never noticed before or had never bothered to notice. As soon as the raft had berthed my mother greeted me, first with a firm embrace and then with a stout swat to the head. "You gave me a terrible fright you miserable scamp!", Anna growled. Returning her embrace without chagrin, I kissed her forehead. Happy to see more of her usual demeanor, I tried to reassure her, "S’allright ma, I’m fine now. Just had a little scrape, ‘tis all." Hearing the strange, pensive tone in my voice, Anna took me by the arms and stared hard at me. "Are you well, Cymrick?" She took my face in her hands, "You aren’t with fever." Feeling my left hand clench, I was acutely aware of my scars, more now than ever before. "We’ll talk later ma. I’d like to talk... perhaps you can tell me something," I shook my head, feeling dazed. Anna backed away, not taking her eyes from me. Her manner was different now. She was still and relaxed, her eyes dark and thoughtful. She said nothing. "I’ll be home before sundown," I assured her. As soon as she stepped away, Angus and Scon moved in to take her place. I didn’t recognize them for a moment, as if strangers had came before me. What is wrong with me? Scon merely clapped me on the shoulder in greeting, content to let my mother’s sentiment stand. Angus, an old comrade of my father, spoke up gravely, "Damn good thing to see you back, m’boy. It would’ve been a terrible shame for Robert’s son to die in such a manner." I nodded in agreement. I could certainly agree with his words, if not the thought behind them. Robertson may as well be my name. I said nothing in return and turned away from his puzzled look. Turning to face my hunting party, I was about to greet them when Mabel spoke up. "So. Did yeh catch the mammoth, Cymrick?", her voice was cheery. "Time caught the mammoth," I was surprised at how toneless and flat my voice sounded. Though I knew Mabel’s comments were only a prelude some belittling remark, I could not find any anger inside myself. She raised an eyebrow, "A clever way of say’n you lost the beast?" She tilted her head mockingly to one side and I heard some faint chuckles arise from my peers. "It was dead when I came upon it. It met death from exhaustion and exposure, not by my hand. It died as any beast would when driven from safety by forces it can’t reconcile with." I spoke without thinking, the words tumbled unbidden from my lips. I could feel an itch behind my eyes. My heart was thudding in my chest and my blood felt fiery in my veins. Still my skin was cool, as if a fever burned me from within. "I thought I was following it to my goal, but I was instead following it away," I said, my voice a ghostly whisper. I was staring through my comrades now, not at them. Mabel spoke after a moment of silence, "You’re not making any sense, Cymrick." My other companions were silent. They looked upon me as if seeing a stranger. Mabel’s eyes were wide. Plainly she was wondering if I had lost my mind. A good question. I excused myself, "Maybe I can explain later... once I’ve made sense of it m’self." Feeling a pain in my left hand again, I looked down to discover that I had bloodied my palm with my own nails. I wandered the streets of Halas for a time, mutely passing by inns and taverns, their open doors beckoning warmly. I passed the people in the streets, their questioning gazes sliding off me. The snow crunched under my feet, archways of stone and wood glided by me and the sky slowly darkened into evening. Strangely I was aware of every detail of my surroundings. Every hole in the road, every passing man and woman, the torches, trees and buildings all registered in fine detail, even while I was lost in my own world. My thoughts were a jumble of utter confusion, like serpents fighting inside my head. I stopped briefly at the ruined arena used by the Wolves of the North as a proving ground. While the night deepened, I stood in the torchlight watching the warriors practice, my gaze that of a blind man. I watched them fight, scrutinizing every flash of anger, every yaulp of triumph. I stood there until one of the instructors approached me, her shiny plate armor glittering in the firelight. She sized me up closely, noting my age and the pattern of my tartan. She cleared her throat and then stood before me for a moment. "Is there something you want?" She asked hoarsely. Her question knifed cleanly into my thoughts, setting me on edge. I opened my mouth to speak but instead turned and left, walking almost fast enough to be running. I came to rest several streets away, leaning on a fence post near the kennels and feeling sick. My blood felt as if it was moving sluggishly through my veins and strange shapes were dancing in the shadows. I could see that the sled dogs had all risen from their haunches at my approach and were now staring at me in unison. "Sod off you miserable mutts!" I snarled. The dogs continued their silent vigil. One of them began to bay earnestly and was quickly joined by his pack. "Yaarrhh!" I growled. Leaving the howling dogs behind, I came at last to a decision. I headed home. Anna sat in silent contemplation, lost in troubled thought after hearing my tale. "You saw the Wolf in the flesh? Not in a dream?" She asked intently, still staring at the wall of our kitchen. "Both. I think." I answered slowly. "There was definitely a wolf there, she tossed me around like an old shoe. I’m fairly sure I did’nae imagine that! Did’na act like a proper wolf either." I touched the old scars on my hand. "She was familiar some how..." I wasn’t looking at my ma any longer, but I heard the soft rustle of her robes as she got up to stir the tea leaves in the kettle. "I once saw such a wolf... black jaws... ageless eyes... the same wolf I’m sure," she spoke softly. I was sitting straight in my chair now, looking at her intently. "When?" "When your pa died. ‘Twas about the right time, I figure. She did’na say anything to me though. She just stared at me with her amber eyes. I knew Robert had died when she looked upon me then." She lifted the sodden leaves from the bubbling kettle with a spoon. "I also knew you’d live then. Somehow I did." Mutely, I took a cup of tea when she offered it. It was well past midnight. When my thoughts started to resume a semblance of order I spoke again, "I think it was the Spirit of the Wolf that lead Starn Bearjumper to me." Anna’s eyes regarded me over the rim of her tea cup. "Humm?" "And no accident that she lead a shaman to me," I added. "Since I revived, I’ve felt strange... as if I was being eaten from within by a fever." Anna put down her cup with a nod, "It’s called the inner flame, the sickness of a spirit caller. It is what a medium to the spirit world feels when she touches the world beyond." Resting her hands on the table, she relaxed her shoulders and fixed her gaze on mine. I felt my flesh crawl and the hair at the base of my neck stood on end. Her skin now pale and her eyes glowing with a faint light, unearthly and mysterious, Anna spoke again, "Do you see?" I more felt her voice than heard it. I nodded. "The Wolf Spirit pulled me back from the brink of oblivion twice in my life? Once when I was a babe and then again in that storm. Why?" I asked, feeling a shadow of dread cross my heart. "I don’t know, my son. She’s never spoke to me." Anna shook her head. "You may be right, perhaps she does want you to become a spirit caller. But following the desires of the Wolf isn’t the only reason you should learn my craft, dearest Cymrick." "What do you mean?", my mouth was dry. Anna’s eyes bored into mine as she spoke, "Morality of all kinds, good and ill, are the inventions of mortal creatures. Morality means nothing to a spirit, it is a foreign concept. Though she feels emotions, the Spirit of the Wolf has no concept of honor, trust or mercy. She is practical, dispassionate and logical." "A perfect mirror of nature..." I whispered, staring at the table. Unrelenting, Anna continued, "Learning about what the Wolf Spirit expects from you is important. Studying the ancient pact that binds our people and the spirits together is crucial. She is a creature that feels neither hatred nor charity to you, Cymrick, your life may depend on understanding her ways." The importance of my mother’s words were not lost on me... I only lived because forces beyond my ken took an interest in me and I couldn’t even understand the bond that the wolf and I shared. I could only think of the years I’d spent since my father’s death. Ever since I learned of how he died I have been striving to match his accomplishments. Striving in vain. Every triumph held no satisfaction for me, the elation of recognition amongst my peers would always give way to a feeling of aimlessness. Unbidden, the guileless question posed by the warrior at the arena leapt again to my mind, Is there something you want? A sat at the kitchen table for a time with my arms folded in front of my chest, staring at my mother’s hands. Finally I spoke again, "The Wolf Mother knows me better than I know myself. Even in the rare moments that I have won the love and respect of my peers, it has not made me complete. I’ve always ran amok looking for my place. When my aimless ambitions were almost the end of me, she was there waiting. She knew where to find me." Reaching up to touch the back of my neck, where the scars of that fateful plague were still upon me, I finished, "Until I can see what the Wolf Mother can see, I don’t think I can truly live." We stared at each other as the silence stretched on for long minutes. Anna spoke, "Come morning you should visit the Shaman of Justice and speak to Shamus Felligan about joining the order. You are a bit old but I’m sure you’ll learn quickly. You have a powerful patron." I nodded. "One other thing, Cymrick. Don’t mention your visitations to the shaman. The Wolf Mother’s goals have not always run parallel to those of the Tribunal. Seeing her in the mortal world is not considered a blessing." Anna’s back was to me again, as she fussed at the stove. "I’ve never told anyone of my vision, those long years ago. This should be our secret." "I agree," I stood up. "Completely." At first light I went to the ancient stone galleries used by the Shaman of Justice as a temple. Anna introduced me to Shamus Felligan and he took me to see Margyn McCann, leader of the sect. We spoke for some time. I told her the tale of my near death in the storm, I told her something between the truth and fiction. Margyn was concerned about my age but agreed to accept me into the order, at least temporarily, until she could decide if I would be allowed to continue. Even as Margyn made this decision, Anna had began to train me in secret. My powers advanced well beyond those of an initiate in a very short period of time. I had made my first steps into a much larger world, one both terrible and wonderful. I couldn’t help but wonder what was in store for me. Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | ||
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