Hero's Quest Betrayed

Hero’s Quest Betrayed

By P.J. Schumacher

UpMesa Publishing

Copyright 2001 P.J. Schumacher

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 9781301675265

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Vendal’s Story

Rost’s Untold Story

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

About the Author

Vendal's Story

The summer's heat pulled the game we hunted, and so then us, north and into the cooler mountain woods. Perhaps we would not have pursued the game so far away from home had we any luck, but we had been out over a fortnight with no game in any man's sack.

None of us had had much luck that year as farmers either. The heat had withered our crops even as they broke the ground. Jask had been smart to not trust for rain and watered each green tendril by hand. We, the fools, had called him daft for all the time he spent trudging from the well to the rows of corn and beans. Perhaps had we all watered, one crop would have come through. But the pests, starved at our fields, went to Jask's and ate everything he had gotten to grow. So we continued to track north, our sense of failure as farmers and our families' gaunt faces spurring us on.

It was Jask's half-wit brother, Serl, who found the shrine. We were on the western slope of a smaller mountain nestled between the tallest mountains we had ever seen. Serl busted into camp so excited he couldn’t get his words out right. Maurt swore at him for being loud enough to scare the game off for another week. Jask calmed his brother down, but still his story was odd, something about a large carved rock he had found. None of us wanted to go, but Jask had to—just to calm Serl down—and I felt sorry for Jask so I went, too. When we saw what Serl had found, we whistled for my brother Orlot and Maurt to come along.

Serl’s stone was twice my height and had carvings of plants and animals covering it. We fanned out through the brush and discovered it was one in a ring of stones and within them there was what appeared to be an inner circle of taller stones. The taller stones were easily as tall as three men, and they were carved oddly—swirling circles and shapes hinting at a pattern that none of us could see. Judging by the arc of the few we found, our village could fit inside the circle of the taller stones.

Orlot started up right away with talk of gold and gems. He was sure this was part of a shrine and that at the center there would be something we could fill our game bags with that would be far better than deer or bear. Maurt fell in agreement with Orlot quick as a minister puts off his robes. They never agreed to anything unless it was to do with working less than an honest day.

Jask, he wanted nothing to do with it, and he barked at Maurt and Orlot to leave Serl out of it when they started telling him his mother would never want again. I told them I would go along if the shrine was deserted—but I didn't want to mess with a living God. Jask started on me then about religion and it took all of us some time to stop him chewing on that gristle he's so fond of. Maurt, sly as a fox, started talking around Jask and soon had Jask agreeing to come into the shrine since it couldn't be a true God of our people if it was up here so far north away from our people.

We all headed in toward the center, hoping our luck was back, hoping maybe to find all the deer that had avoided our arrows, the fruit of our dead crops. Hell, Maurt was sure we would find a barrel of the best ale sitting out and pretty maids just waiting to serve us.

Well, we found none of that. And what we did find I think we should have left. It was a jewel, big as my fist, set high in a plain stone taller than all the others. If bad luck was dogging our heels before, she began wolfing us down her gullet when we decided to take that glittering blue jewel.

We all stood gazing at it. The jewel was set toward the top of the stone, facing west in a clearing the size of a town square, cobbled better than any road I had ever seen. Maurt got an idea all of a sudden. He told Orlot and Serl to down a tree, and then told Serl to climb up it to the jewel. He did, and as soon as that boy touched that piece of sky set in stone, he howled like an animal caught in a trap and fell, dead, at his brother's feet. Jask just stared at him. We all stared. Then Maurt grunted and went to the tree ladder and made to climb it. I'll get it, he stormed. Before he put half his weight on it the wood began to bend. Of course Orlot had to be second up. He easily convinced Maurt that the tree would only hold a lighter man. Only Maurt can convince Maurt, is what I thought. Maurt backed off the tree, and Orlot climbed up it. He reached out for the jewel then paused and looked down at Serl who lay dead below him. He took the empty food pouch from his belt with one hand and pulled his dagger with the other. He chiseled the jewel out from the rock and let it fall into the pouch. He held it there a moment, catching his breath, and then came down through our cheers.

Maurt wanted a look at the jewel right away. Orlot, full as his pouch, put Maurt off, saying the party needed to bury Serl and move on. Jask and I agreed with Orlot before Maurt could say a word otherwise. We buried Serl away from the shrine in a shallow grave; the ground was too frozen to go deeper. Jask prayed over him and had us all say a few words.

With Serl dead and us as rich as lords as soon as we could make it to a jeweler's, we turned our path straight to home. If we hadn't been so quick to get out of the woods, I think we would have all died there—all but the one who would have killed us each and his own mother for the gold the jewel would bring. I won't say any of us behaved much better than callow youth. Arguments broke out over how the gold would be divided, nobody trusted anyone else to carry the jewel, and since we still hadn't trapped much more than a rabbit we were slowly starving. It all came to blows about a week after we left the shrine. My part in the fight was no better than the rest, fisting and bellowing in a rage. Then the pouch with the jewel fell from Orlot's belt, and I dove to catch it. I came up with it in my hand and Jask's hand at my throat. I swung at him ... the pouch came free from my grasp as my fist cracked against his jaw; the pouch landed with a louder crack against a boulder.

There was a moment of silence as pure as when Serl died. Just a moment—then Maurt began screaming what an idiot I was and pulled his dagger from its sheath. Orlot and Jask jumped and pulled him down to the ground as he lunged at me.

That was the end to us as a party. We stopped right there, looked at the jewel shattered into four pieces, took a piece each, and parted ways. Maurt took the largest piece with no argument from the rest of us; Jask the next largest (for him and for dead Serl). Orlot and I took the small pieces.

Rost's Untold Story

It was summer, just. Leaves on trees were still tightly wrapped buds; seeds planted still lay gathering energy and growth beneath the soil. Folm and I were heading back to council quarters. Our discussion meandered, as did our path.

I stopped to admire a fountain in which the water jumped from crevasses and outcroppings to a central basin. It reminded me of my responsibility to direct the energies of my people to the stone held in the temple to the east across the Egion Sea. Cupping my hand, I reached to hold a stream of water clear as a thought. It splattered into my palm, broke into rivulets, and escaped through my fingers. I unified my fingers, but still the water escaped. I sank to my knees, held my hand with the other—but could not hold any water. I faced East in my mind. The energies of my people flowed east as they ought, but they did not rest quietly in the stone—they moved.

Rost, Folm’s voice broke the surface of my thoughts.

I looked at her blankly.

Are you well?

The stone .... The people ....

She put her hand to dam the words that began to gush from me. Rost, you cannot speak of this to me.

I stared back, swallowing. The people did not send their energies to the stone in the temple.

Remember, Folm spoke, this work only you know of, only you perform. She grasped my hand, turned us toward council chambers, and began walking us back, speaking over my words as she did so. How well this stone fountain becomes our town. We are so fortunate .... She continued droning until we were in chambers. Go into this room. Complete your thoughts. I will gather the council and we will hear your words after you meditate.

The door closed. I lowered myself to a pillow and breathed to capture control of my heart and mind. I sank into my ability and reached my mind out, east from Valme, across the Egion Sea, to the stone shimmering in the temple. The people’s energies moved in wisps toward it. I felt voices wake from sleep, cry at the interruption, cry to realize time had passed and they were not aware that they had slept. Cry at the knowledge. I held them to the stone, entwining my fingers to keep each piece, each voice, in. If one escaped, I would be failed in my role of guardian to the stone. What had been done would become undone, and my people would die.

A wisp darted and I caught it—Samon the painter. I brought him back to the path to the stone. I looked out to see all of them. The people’s energies were going to where the stone was, then continuing to where it now lay. It had moved. That was the problem. Another energy lost the new path and I caught it, and another, and another, and each I brought back to home in the stone.

I summoned my energy to wrap the stone, a thin veil to show the path and to hold the others in place. I breathed again evenly to bring myself out of the meditation and opened my eyes.

The council would need to know. I could tell them the stone has moved, but a new path has been laid so that our people could still find it. The council would ask if the stone should be moved back. I saw no answer.

In the council chamber where the other elders awaited me, Braef, the oldest, signaled for me to speak. I looked at each, We have placed markers—buoys—in the Egion where we have found danger in the water. I looked to them for comprehension; they nodded. If a fisherman found that a buoy drifted, we might leave it in its new anchoring and refer to the danger no longer under the buoy but in the area of the buoy. In this way the buoy still functions with minimal repair. This mend, however, does not serve us well if the buoy continues to drift. We must determine why it drifts and anchor it anew. The council members nodded in understanding. The stone has drifted from the temple. We may still find it for it has not drifted far.

Olyn asked the first question. Something is causing it to move. Is it an animal, Rost? Can you tell?

It could be an animal, I answered.

Could it be a person? Folm asked.

I thought a moment. Touching the stone always brought death to people. Yet, I did not know how far the stone had moved. A person could have dislodged it and the stone could have fallen. It could be a person.

Does this movement continue? Braef asked.

I only know of this movement.

I suggest you watch this buoy, Rost, Braef directed. Any repair can be made the next pilgrimage to the temple if the stone has merely fallen. If it continues to move, we must find the cause. She asked for agreement from the others and received it.

Exhausted, I slept. When I woke, I looked for the stone and found it. I spent my day bringing people’s energies to the new path. One energy was odd, as it did not come from our city Valme but from east and south of the city. I drew closer and found the energy to be Qntar, an old jeweler. He walked on the pilgrim’s path to the temple. To what purpose, I asked myself. His family is not due to join the pilgrimage for several years. Perhaps that is why: to see it before he dies. Stout believer, that one. All the same, he will be punished for not asking council’s permission.

The next day when I looked for the stone, it had moved. I called the council immediately.

What news can you tell us? Asked Braef, dirt still on her hands from gardening.

The buoy drifts. Qntar the jeweler is on the pilgrim’s path to the temple.

These are related? Braef asked.

I see no relation.

The stone moves. Ceryl repeated. We are working the fields for spring planting, we do not have time for this problem.

We have time for nothing else if we do not have the stone, Folm’s tone was sharp.

Well said, Folm. Braef nodded at her.

Tennot, the youngest council member, coughed and spoke. Qntar who journeys to the temple ... he will see what has happened. Will he right it?

Yes, Ceryl agreed. Anyone from Valme would mend a break in the temple. Surely Qntar will see the stone fallen and will place it back in its place.

What if he sickens as do many of the pilgrims? Olyn challenged.

What if he cannot put it back in its place? Tennot added to Olyn’s concern.

Braef dismissed the possibilities. Council, let us see if Qntar will fix our problem. If he does not, we will deliberate again.

And so we waited. Even as the stone traveled south. Then Qntar came north and the stone stayed south.

Must we get the stone? Can it stay south? Ceryl’s concern was more with the planting of the crops.

It is ours. To let something of such value to our people lay in the south lands… Olyn argued fairness.

It is beautiful, Folm said and waited a moment for us all to see in our mind’s eye the shimmering blue of the sea held in the perfectly cut stone. They will come north to seek more and they will find us.

They cannot, Ceryl hit the table with his hand.

The South’d? Tennot’s voice squeaked. Those we fled from?

They must not, Braef said.

We must send someone to retrieve it, Olyn said.

Who do we send to such a savage land? Tennot asked.

I think, I spoke, It must be someone who does not question our wisdom as well as someone who will not be observed to be a stranger among them.

It must not be one from a family with weak lines, Olyn added.

From the tales I have heard, Tennot said quietly, a male will fare better.

I believe we are talking about a youth. Folm said.

Braef looked to Olyn, What young men do we have from strong family lines?

Olyn thought a moment. There are several.

We discussed the options and chose a hero. Then Qntar came home and talked to his grandniece Peryn and died. Peryn told us Qntar’s tale of the defilement of the temple and his journey in the south lands to recover the stone. We checked the family lines—she fit our need with the exception of being female-—and decided that was less the risk than her potentially spreading word that the stone was gone. We sent her south to retrieve our most valued stone.

Chapter 1.

Valme, in the north, is serenity and peace wrapped in three snowfalls. The city lies between the Bypok mountains and Egion, the inland sea. The people are all warm to the land, except perhaps for Qntar, who traveled. He came home, it is said, to greet the spring that would end a tired winter.

Peryn, almost to the high pass, looked back. Below her the tree line ended. Pines bent low by the blowing winds crouched over roots that grappled for a purchase in rock. The evergreen needles gave way down the slope to broad oak and maple leaves that would turn gold, red, and yellow like the setting sun before dying brown and falling quietly to the frosted ground come autumn. Below and well beyond the trees, grassy foothills rolled to the swell of the inland sea on the horizon. Valme lay on its west shore where the river Ziph's snowmelt waters cooled the sea's blue waves.

If the day is as fine in Valme as it is here at the high pass, Peryn mused, everyone will be down on the sea. She kicked at a clump of snow as the voices and faces of family and friends filtered through her thoughts. The fishers would be bringing in the catch of the day, their boats lunging against white-capped waves or gliding in on smooth water. Her friends would be singing a song of the sea as they helped unload the catch and mend the nets. When done, they would run to the training center, find a teacher, and continue their learning. Today the lesson would be more on the moods of the mind and body, or perhaps preservation of fruits, or even tales of their ancestors. A bead of sweat ran down the side of her face as she continued to gaze back at Valme. Rousing herself, Peryn smeared the trickle across her cheek with the back of her hand. She had this to do for the council. Turning, she adjusted her pack and headed up to the pass.

As she walked she took a folded piece of tanned hide from one of her inside tunic pockets. She unfolded the map and measured her three days’ progress against the distance from the pass to a smudge Qntar had called Rawlc. Many, many days it would take, into summer, anyway, she thought. First she would come to a small people, living away from others, and ask to live there and learn their ways. Qntar had called them small, but his words left Peryn unsure whether they were small of stature, small of mind, or small in number. His words there had been unclear, unlike his words when he spoke of the need for someone to go south. He had been ill and dying and he had been seasons away from his people. The people of the south were a small people he had said and that was all she knew.

The need to go south was clear to the council. They had told her that. But, the need was tempered by the need to be safe. So, she was to avoid exposure and injury.

Peryn refolded the map, tucked it back into her tunic, and quickened her pace. That evening she slept between two boulders with fir branches laid across them for a roof and beneath her to shield her from the cold ground. She rose as the sun did on the fourth day of her journey, and, consulting her map again, headed south through the mountains.

Traveling, she thought as she trudged through half-melted snow and mud on the morning sun side of a slope, might have been better left to another. Someone older who had gone further than the source of the Ziph. But who had gone further? No one, she answered herself. Her people were not ones to leave family and shelter for solitude and open air. Even when they did travel, as on the pilgrimage to the temple with the stone, they went in large numbers and slept in shelters along the way. No one traveled as she did. Peryn thought of how she would miss family and conversation, good meals, friends…. She added to the list until she had started up the next slope. As she traversed the second slope she recited her family genealogy since her people had come north. Her parents, grandparents, great grandparents, and so on, past Qntar and his parents and grandparents. And then the children of her parents with other partners and those family lines again as far back as the founding of Valme.

She stopped on the fourth mountain slope of the day to make camp. Finding no wood for a fire, she ate dried fruit, goat cheese, and bread. She dug out a small hole in a wall of snow, curled into a blanket, and fell asleep.

As the days passed she settled to a walk that showed good progress across her map and would allow her food store to easily last until she came out of the mountains. Several fortnights later, her pack much lighter, Peryn hiked through the south pass and across the snow to the tree line and rocky hills below.

Continuing steadily south, she came to a river and consulted her map. Qntar had marked it as a thick, curving line. She followed the river through a wood as he had drawn it, paralleled it as it fell over rocks and dropped to a pool below, and came to a stop when it turned back on itself. She pushed her hair, now grown a bit too long, out of her eyes and studied the glade around her for a sheltered place to eat and sleep. There was a flat, slightly elevated area protected by a standing elm and a fallen oak large enough to make a boat that would do. She set her pack down, took out a fishing line, broke off a small branch from the elm, and used it to set the line in the river to catch her evening meal. Taking rocks from the riverbank, she made a small circle for a fire. She pulled bark from a birch and gathered kindling and fallen limbs from nearby. Half the bark she put in the center of the circle with some leaves leaning against it and twigs on top. She took flint and steel from her pack and, holding them close to the bark, struck them against each other. With each strike, sparks cast out into the bed of dry bark and leaves,