The Sorcerer Whose Call was Hermini
Kelsey Stewart
INTRODUCTION
A stouthearted man was Hermini. He was bold and brave, and loved all those surrounding him. The other Wizards deemed him to be fearless. Since he was the oldest of Wizards, no one but him could corroborate the legends of his valor but him. Stories about him single handedly slaying dragons and dining on them and tales of him foiling the cunning sphinx were all pleasurable sagas to think about, but Hernimi knew that they were only stories. He had looked down on those chronicles, for he had his own Fairy-tale; a better one. His included dragons and romance, and everything else that the children concurred. Yet there was one thing different about it: it was real.
In the early days of the world, when harmony was erratic, a Wizard by the name of Hermini was born. In those days, few Wizards existed, and most died off before they reached their old age. He was sired by a Sorcerer by the name of Beregril. Beregril was young and reckless, and cared not for his wonderful powers. He married a young Lady who had no magical blood. She was not a witch.
They loved each other, and when they had Hermini, she was very happy with her son. That was the day that Beregril told his wife, Fwenshian, that he was a Wizard. She was livid. Her upbringing had conditioned her to detest those of the Sorcerers. As much as he pleaded to her that he denied his true blood, she would not have it. She looked at her son in a jumble of distress and aversion. She clutched her son to her breast and ran out of her little hovel. She ran him into the woods and cried out for mercy.
“Dear God,” she exclaimed, “Dear God! Please have mercy on this child! I love him! Let him be not a disgusting and evil creature like his sire! Please, have mercy.” She kneeled and bent her head low to the leaves. She smelled them and basked in the forest breeze as she still held her child tight.
Hermini began to cry. Tears streamed down the infant’s face, and as they splashed the ground, a nest began to grow out of the earth. It grew large enough for a human child to lie in. She lifted her head and wept. She knew that she had to give her child up. As much as she loved her own flesh and blood, she could not live with one whom she considered to be of the evil ways. She placed him in the basket and left him. There she said her last few words to him: “I love thee, O Wizard whose call is Hermini. Yet loath I feel for one so evil is too strong. Oh grow healthy, pray, but do not be like the rest of your kind.”
With that she stood up, and cried her weary song:
O hearts of old felt break and pain,
But I have felt the more.
They fought in war, and killed their foes,
But I have beaten their sore.
Blood sheds at their fingertips,
And throats cut at their hands,
But have they ever felt the pain
Of creating those they ban?
The hearts they clutch are ‘ready dead,
And they throw them aside.
But my son’s heart in my hand,
Will for ever in my palm reside.
Fwenshian grieved the loss of both her child and her husband, though she had felt that she had done what was right. She wandered off into the deeper midst of the forest where she found a blade of bronze. She picked it up and took one last gasp of air as she plunged the blade into her heart and swiftly cast it aside. She gazed up wonderingly into the evening sky that shimmered in all its glowing glory. She noticed one heaven that burnished greater than the faded stars around it. She smiled the best she could, no longer remembering the pain that was her death. As one thought raced across her mind as she stared into the heavens: “I’ll join you soon, pray”, that was the end of Fwenshian.
Meanwhile, Beregril stood alone in his shack, knowing not where his wife or his son was. He did not weep; he only stood there: alone, to bask in his own aloneness. He was neither angry nor enraged. He was just astounded by what had happened that afternoon. He gazed out the window and flung his fist at the sky. “Why have you done this to me? Why?” He cried. The answer was: “You were neither deserving nor humble. Is not that reason enough?” He slid down the wall and bowed his head. Humility was overpowering him; or so he believed. He had denied his heritage, thinking that he was too good for his kin. He did not deserve the adoration of his wife, for she was fair, and he was clumsy. He was selfish, and she was only naïve. He realized this. He strode over to a wooden chest that dwelled on his countertop. He opened it. It played a lovely song to which he sang the words:
Alone in a winter,
A song sparrow sings.
O long cold nights,
The dark season brings.
But can I go on?
Please tell me I can.
For life never ends in the moonlit night,
Or in the sunlit land.
When sparrows sing their bitter song,
I should sing along.
For I am weary, sore with grief,
And I can do but wrong.
He then shed only a single tear, which gleamed splendidly as it flowed down his soft cheek, and pounded the bitter earth with a mellow splash. He gathered his things, and set off into the mountains to become a hermit, where he would not be seen for ever more.
Back in the wood, a child lay swaddled in cloth of wool. And as he moaned and sobbed for his mother, he spotted and observed a Fairy that floated gently down beside him. It smiled at him and looked thoughtfully into his eyes. It gazed ever far into the infant's diamond eyes. At last it hummed a lullaby, and waved its arms gracefully, as if to gesture the son to go to sleep. After moments of watching this humble sprite move, Hermini fell into a deep slumber.
CHAPTER ONE: LADY REANOTHEL
Years passed and Hermini was growing fast. Time seemed to be bitter grain through his cold hands that were cracked with fingers. As his childhood elapsed, he was soon an adolescent. As a youth, Hermini was hasty and without a care. He knew not of his Sorcery. He played like any other child; he danced in the leaves, he climbed the trees, and everything else that a fifteen-year-old might think to do. His home was a forest, and he loved it there.
He had never journeyed to the mountains, for the creatures of whom he communed with were warning of them. They conceived that a wicked Wizard by the name of Beregril the Hungry settled. He was known to hate the earth and all things that dwelled within it. Some had construed that he had had some past that suggested heartbreak and anguish. But nonetheless, Hermini’s heart grew to hate Beregril the Hungry. The tales of wickedness and abomination that followed his name was enough to convince any child.
And so Hermini thought horrible thoughts of this. He hoped that some natural event would take place such as to strike down this Beregril the Hungry. Yet his passive upbringings helped him to see the errors of his ways, and filled his psyche with enriching and compassionate thoughts for this wretched man who lived on the peaks of the mountains.
But life went on, and Hermini felt that he should not squander his prime by pawning his thoughts and feelings on this self.
As Hermini was strolling through the forest, absorbing the crisp breeze and sensing the morning fragrance, he came upon a lovely flower of which he had not seen in the past. He picked it and heard a loud groan. He recoiled and then straightened himself and looked into the hole in the earth of which he had removed the flower. There was a Fairy living in there.
“Hello, little Fairy,” said Hermini. “Please forgive me for taking your home for my own possession.” The Fairy scowled at him, and then can to a look of understanding and recognition. “Why, good sir”, said the Fairy, “Pardon me. I did not recognize you. You are the Lord of the Wood. I beg your pardon, Lord Hermini”. Hermini was perplexed. He had no idea that the little folk thought so highly of him. “I think you are mistaken, for I am no Lord, nor a Wizard.” “Oh but you are!” was the reply. “Follow me!”
The Fairy fluttered as fast as Hermini could keep up with it. It led him beyond the edge of the forest and into a lovely setting of which there was sunlight, a waterfall, green grass and a blue lagoon. “W-where are we?” Hermini stammered. “Sit down”, beseeched the Fairy, “For there is much to tell”. Hermini did as he was told, and the Fairy rested itself on a mushroom.
“Well,” said the Fairy, “Where shall I begin? Oh, yes! My name- my name is Gabelree. I am just a simple man-Fairy, but with a much more interesting story. Well, anyway, approximately fifteen years ago, I watched a young mother run into this very spot.” He gestured towards the grassland around him. “Anyway,” he continued, “I watched her give up a child. A child that was most unlike the rest.” At this he leaned forward, so that Hermini could just notice those violet eyes that shimmered behind sparkled lids.
“He was a sorcerer. The sorcerer whose call was Hermini. I knew it because I myself have magic in me; I am a Fairy you see. So I helped that child. I cared for him and fed him until he was old enough to let go. He was just more or less the age of four when I had to let him go. I admit, it was hard, but, well, it was not so hard, as I am a Fairy and fairies are neither fraternal nor maternal. But here I am, sitting in front of what should become the greatest sorcerer of all times.” With that he stared even more intently at Hermini than ever before. It seemed to Hermini that as dramatic as this story was, Gabelree had not taken a single breath, but perhaps he was just fantasizing this.
The Fairy suddenly flew off of the mushroom and circled his head. Then he stopped and focused keenly on Hermini. He said “Perhaps you will, yes.” “Will what?” asked Hermini. “Will be the greatest: I can see it in your eyes.” “But how?” Replied once again the mystified Hermini, “I do not know magic”.
Gabelree smiled a wily smile and chuckled to himself. Then he looked up at Hermini and said, “O Wizard whose call is Hermini, you are droll. Do not you know that your mother is truly Reanothel, Lady of the Wizards? And that your father is Lord Frialotor, Lord of the Stone that produces all magical beings? I myself come forth from the Lady, yet, I am not of her most superlative. Wizards are; Then Remps, then Elves, then Fairies. Wizards, I shall say, are her children, and the rest are her playthings.
“When you become the age of sixteen, you shall venture into the dark gloom to meet your fate, and be trained in the supernatural abilities. Be proud, for you are one of few, and as I presume, the current youngest of all Wizardry. If I do say so myself, and I do, the Lady has created you as a “Grand Final”, or, should I say, her last. I have heard from far away Elves that dwell in the Lady’s grove that she is weary of ruling, and shall retire her powers with one last Wizard to die in, and I think you must be it. Just beware to never use your magical supremacy for any purpose other than good.”
Hermini thought at this and then replied, “I shall conquer the ugly Beregril the Hungry”. Gabelree widened his eyes and said, “That is not a good purpose. I warn you now that if you set foot in his lair, you shall never return. Heed my advice: do not destroy, instead, create harmony for yourself and those around you. No matter what destruction is never fine. For one does not pulp the masterpiece of another. Beregril is the Lady’s work, not yours, so only she has the authority to take the life she made.”
And with that, Gabelree fluttered off into the wind for Hermini to be alone, with nothing but his thoughts and conflicts to keep him company.
Hermini sat there for many days, almost three weeks until her recovered from his thoughts. He had thought about many things: the pity of Beregril, the advice of Gabelree, and what he would do when his time to see the Lady of the Wizards came.
He found a blade that was sharp but small, and he put it to his wrist and held it in place so that the crimson tears streamed from the wound and stained the morning frost that blanketed the crisp fall leaves. He made an oath that he would not look to slay Beregril the Hungry, but if he was given the opportunity, he would. With that he suddenly removed the blade and licked his own blood from the knife and then cast it aside.
He was hungry. Not for fare, for though he was famished, he was also satisfied in the stomach. Not for sleep, although he had stayed awake for many, many days. But for kill. His usual good nature had been temporarily banished. But then he heard the twitter of song sparrows and the rustling of deer on leaves, and he pulled out of his fantasy.
Ashamed he was of this feeling that he had underwent. He bowed his head and placed his hands on the cold earth. Then he put his ear to it and listened. He heard not voices but a soft, light singing of nature. Not words, but instead a strange language of which Hermini knew not. His colleagues christened him "Lord of the Wood", and he had not learned of the soothing tongue that the forest spoke.
He rose and straightened himself. As he closed his eyes, he basked in the fresh air. He sighed. “If only I could fly," He thought. He often watched the birds stretch their wings and rise to the heavens as the soared high, defying gravity by all means.
He suddenly ran out of the lagoon in which Gabelree had led him. He jogged into the forest where he came upon something he had not seen there: a horse, a horse as white as snow, that shone brighter than the stars themselves. Hermini stroked it pleasantly. As he reached to massage its ears, it galloped off into the distance. He noticed that it was young, though at first glance, one would have thought it an adult. "A foal." He thought to himself. "Perhaps there are more. But I knew not that horses roamed in this part of the world. I would it were that a mature horse should come by; I would very much like to see one."
Just then, like an answer to his call, a horse came cantering into the trees, and Hermini realized that it was not a horse, but a Unicorn, the sacred species of the earth. He did not dare touch it, for although some might judge him rustic he was considerably learned. He knew that it was unholy and sinful to feel the blessed Unicorn, for one who did would be damned and cursed for ever.
He stood back and watched it graze; it was beautiful. It gently touched its lips to the worthy grass and blew on it. Then, like a call from far-off, it jerked up its head and listened intently. Then it sprang from its position and ran out of Hermini's sight for ever.
A distant rumbling came, but then nothing. Perchance Hermini had only envisaged it. Gabelree, to his surprise, waved out of nowhere and settled himself on a flower. “I saw you with the Unicorns”, he said, “Very wise. Not to touch them, I mean. Yes, yes, you are learning fast the ways of the forest. Listen, you will soon turn sixteen, and you need an escort to the forest of Reanothel. Please consider my son, Leafgree. He is noble, and knows the paths of the earth well. If you take him, you must set off at once, for the journey is long, and time is short." Hermini said, "I will take Leafgree under one condition: I will journey swiftly, and lax is out of the question. I wish to learn my ways soon, and no minor Fairy will stand in my way." Gabelree glowed red at this less-than-noble talk of his son. But he was humble and succumbed to the Lord of the Wood, Hermini. "Very well," he pronounced, "As it is."
He flew off into the vastness and returned with a healthy looking Fairy at his side. The young pixie was clad in an earth tone cloth with leaves at his waist. His head was crowned with berries, and he bore a cloak of mail. He certainly looked defined next to his father who was wrapped in nothing but a canvas sheath.
"You might not recognize him, but my son Leafgree is the Prince of Fairies. Please treat him well. Though I am not a king, he is the formal prince, for his mother is Queen Rosethorn." Hermini marveled at this. He would not have spoken so hastily of Leafgree if he had known this great honor of which he bore.
"Well then," said Hermini, "It looks like we ought to set off ourselves right now."
So he and Leafgree started walking (or flying, in the case of Leafgree). They soon came to a pond of which there was a modest toad settled on a lily pad. It croaked wearily. It almost sounded like a warning, and, to their astonishment, it was. Though the frog could not speak the dialect of Hermini and Leafgree, it was evidently bidding them not go. "I would it were that we could understand right what this toad was trying to tell us." Leafgree said. Hermini remained silent, restraining himself trying to opine what he thought the animal might think.
"Let us wander further," Hermini spoke, "And conceivably we will come upon personally what fate awaits us."
They ambled ever on and soon the envious moon conquered the humble sun in all of night's glory. "We will rest tonight?" Asked Leafgree. "It is late and I am fatigued. Let us fall into slumber and rest our weary eyes, for to-morrow is yet another day, and what challenges await us, we will not know until the coming."
Leafgree closed his lids and fell sleeping. Meanwhile, Hermini, who could not sleep, sang his tired song:
Of travelers far, they hear the blow,
Of weather's rolling thunder.
They rock their heels, and hear the crack
Of spirits crashed asunder.
Will they endure? No heaven knows,
For fate is held within.
But if they cry shrill enough,
Perhaps their hearts will win.
He believed that a fate worse than the travelers in his song was his, for Beregril the Hungry awaited for ever enslaved to a mad desire, and his heart was cursed to a horrible doom within.
Hermini pressed his icy hands to the soft ground. The grass felt like a refreshing revolution that was bathed and made new in the dew of the dawn that softly whispered sonnets to the humble ants that labored in the midst of the morning. He stroked the leaves that lay unmoving, only succumbing to the tempting breeze of the wood. And then he realized the forest, tranquil and meek, never shutting out a soul who wished to dwell there, simply asking in return contentment of the inhabitant.
And he marveled at these things, the trees seemed to croon a lullaby, as if bidding him sleeps. And he did.
Ere he awoke, Leafgree did, and he set off to hunt for game. He was small, only about the size of a leaf, but he had his ways. When he came upon a deer, he chanted softly to it, and fed it grain that he stored in his pocket. It was poisoned for the deer, however it would not spoil either he or his companion, Hermini. The deer gratefully consumed the food, and instantaneously died.
Leafgree had neither the strength nor the will to carry this animal, so he beckoned to all the horses in the land. Horses were stubborn animals, and selfish at heart. Nonetheless, a few came, and Leafgree picked a sturdy black Friesian. He, being able to converse with animals, bid the horse to carry the deer to his camp.
As he flew and the horse followed, he learned that this noble beast’s name was Nighthoof. As he discovered more of this animal, the more he liked him, and the question arose: would he, Nighthoof, join Leafgree and his Wizard friend, Hermini? Yes was the counter.
Leafgree rejoiced. When they reached camp, Nighthoof put the deer on the ground, and Leafgree, using his rather inferior magical abilities, skinned the deer, and begun to weave a saddle.
Just then, Hermini awoke. He realized that it was barely dawn, but the entire better, for a long day was ahead of them. He was startled when he saw a horse standing by his side. “What is this blasted beast doing here?” He asked. Nighthoof snorted. Leafgree was taken aback. “Nighthoof is his name, and he has agreed to journey with us hither and thither. Your breakfast waits your tending.” He gestured towards the skinned deer.
Hermini walked over to the deer and started a fire. While he waited, he went over to Leafgree to see what he was forming. When he saw that it was a saddle, he was relieved, for he knew not how to ride bareback. Leafgree finished, and held it up. It was exclusive. Its soft leather was more than enough to comfort Hermini on this long and difficult journey. “Thank you immensely, O Prince Leafgree of the Sprites!” He cried.
After they had eaten, Hermini placed the saddle upon the withers of Nighthoof and mounted. He immediately took off, with Leafgree easily following behind.
They rode over the hills, and, finally, out of the woods.
“O Utopia!” Hermini cried, “I will never forget you! Your eversweet temper will entrance me no more!” And he wept, for he was sad. He left his home and set off for a certainly lesser destination.
He rode ever faster, in fear of missing his home and turning back. They rode far and farther until they came upon something that looked rather unfamiliar: a Remp. She was fair and beautiful to look upon. She was tall, and her skin was white as snow. Her long wavy blonde hair shimmered in the morning, and her face glowed brighter than the sun. Her long fingers stretched as she walked down the Road. She halted and looked bewilderingly at them.
“Whither dost thou go?” She said. Leafgree replied, “We go to greet Lady Reanothel, fair mistress of magic. Here I escort her son, Hermini to his final destination.” Her expression remained unmoved. “I come in search of mine steed. It seemed to have been lost. Dost thou know of this?” She said, eying Nighthoof. Leafgree blushed. “Is this yours?” He asked. Still her magnificent face stayed expressionless. “Nay, I say, for my horse is tall and fair to the eye. Mine is white and glows ever bright. Then that cannot be the horse I seek. I would I were to fly high, so I might recover the mare I hath lost.”
They stood there wondering what they could do, and the Fairy came to a conclusion. For the second time that day, he summoned the horses in the woods. One that galloped into view was a Unicorn that gleamed splendidly. “That is mine,” she said, “I thank thee handsome sirs, for thy kindness it greatly appreciated.” Hermini whispered to Leafgree, “I thought that adult Unicorns were to be untouched.” “Not to the Remps,” said Leafgree.
"As I have asked before, where dost thou depart from, and what are thy plans?" She asked. This time, Hermini spoke. "My Lady, we come from the woods in which you had lost your horse. And we wish to go to Lady Reanothel so she might teach me of her powers."
For the first time, the Remp smiled, yet it was a very weak and troubled smile. "Thou certainly dost have great endeavors ahead of thee. Please accept my aid, for I knowest the forest and the ways of the cunning Reanothel, and greatly have I experienced the wickedness of Lord Frialotor. Thou might thinkest that they are humble and willing, but I know them by heart, and they are not."
They knew not what they should do, for she could be right. They accepted, however to see what would happen.
"Before you come," said Leafgree, please tell us your name." The Remp once again smiled, but this time it was evidently more genuine. "Gerianled," she replied, "It means 'fair and truest'." At this Leafgree flew forward and kissed her hand. He flew back, and she lowered her hand. “Thou art great and humble.” She said.
Then they were off. Hermini and Gerianled rode hard on their horses (Gerianled had to set free her unicorn, for it could not come in closeness with Hermini or Leafgree. She rode now on a dapple horse that’s name was Wreathbrow), with Leafgree soaring behind, although it was remarkable how well he could keep up.
Hermini noticed the beauty of Gerianled as he rode. The wind was blowing in her golden hair, and her sleeves were trialing along. Her face was stern, yet, in a strange way, it was peaceful. He pondered this, her temper being unbeknownst to him.
Finally, after hours of riding, Gerianled beckoned them to stop. She wore the typical expressionless mask on her face, and she held out her arm. “What?” Hermini asked stupidly. “Thou cannot hear?” She said, “There is something about, yes, but I cannot depict what I sense. Dost thou feel it, Fairy?” “No. I do not know of what you speak of, fair one.” Gerianled took two prudent steps forward on Wreathbrow.
All of the sudden, a Lady appeared in front of them. “Lady Reanothel,” Gerianled whispered hoarsely. Hermini had thought that the Remp was the fairest he had seen. But now as he gazed for ever into the green eyes of the Lady Reanothel, he understood why the people called her bright and beautiful. She was tall and lovely; russet hair blanketed her back and her skin was dark. She had the most clear green eyes, and her posture was refined.
“Yes, foolish Remp, I have watched you long. I know that you planned to take my son to me, but I have come for him.” He voice was deep and polished, almost as if it was that as she spoke, she stared for ever into a magnanimous nothingness that captured the heart and enthralled the mind. She spoke again. “Young Gerianled, you have interfered with my plans, and, therefore, you shall pay. The consequences of speaking ill of your masters Lady Reanothel and Lord Frialotor are harsh ones. You shall be put to death.” Gerianled bowed her head low and wept. “I am sorry madam. Please forgive me.”
A sick understanding seemed to come over the Lady’s mind. “Fair daughter, I do. You shall live, but as an outcast. Now go, and trouble me no longer.”
Gerianled walked away grimly, and gathered her horse's bridle. She mounted onto the back of Wreathbrow, and she was off. But little did they then know, Gerianled was not for ever to be forgotten....
Hermini held his tongue as he sadly watched the fair maiden gallop into the horizon. But, like the sudden awakening of a dream, he snapped his head to face Lady Reanothel.
CHAPTER 2: LORD FRIALOTOR
Lady Reanothel smiled. "You are very handsome," she said, "I have done well in creating you." She stretched out a long slender finger and stroked the hair of Hermini. Suddenly she jerked her hand back. "There is something unusual of you." She said with an expression of clear curiosity. "What shall I make of this?"
"If you will pardon me, my Lady, what is curious about me?" Reanothel laughed a clear melodious laugh, and it would have stirred such envy in a bell that it would crack itself. She gazed upward and heaved a heavy sigh. “Dear Hermini, I have noticed that you are a powerful Wizard. When I touch you, I get a surge of force like no other. I think you shall be great. Now I leave you. My visit was brief, but I expect to see you very soon. Remember that if you run, or decide that you will choose your destination, I can see you at all times. Your thoughts are in my thoughts. My mind is overwhelmed with your troubles, and you exhaust me with your actions. I am an old Deity, and I mean you no harm.”
Hermini was impressed at this, for she looked young and fair, with no line of age tracing across her brow. Her long hair, gray not, flowed gracefully down to her elbows, and her long white gown sparkled silver in the moonlight. He respected this Lady in every way, and he bowed low to her before she smiled, bid a final farewell, and vanished into the darkness.
Hermini turned to Leafgree who was already constructing a nest for himself. He settled into it, apparently unmoved by that which he had witnessed, and fell straight asleep before informing Hermini that he ought to rest himself, for the day ahead was a long one.
Hermini walked over to Nighthoof. He did not want to sleep, although he was exhausted. He could not measure why, but his eyelids did not want to sheath his eyes.
Nighthoof stood as solemn as ever, as if he had estranged himself from the rest of the world. Hermini reached out to caress his mane, but the horse drew his head away. He stared into the abyss as if something was calling him, or warning him.
Hermini took notice to this, and whispered gently to the horse. “Gentle Nighthoof, you have treated the Lord of the Wood kindly. Would not you let your receiver repay you with what he has to give?” Nighthoof did not even blink. He stood there, and then, as sudden as a flash of lightning, he reared and kicked, revealing his true power and majesty. He pounded the earth as he came back down, and then ran off.
Hermini was left breathless at the sight of the horse running off. He turned, and, to his shock, Lady Reanothel once again appeared in front of him. “You see?” She said, “You are so powerful that a horse that is ten times your size will run from you. A force comes from you so wonderfully. Come with me. You have proved your strength sooner that I had expected.” She put her arm around him. “Goodbye, Leafgree. Thank you ever for your help. I bid thee go, and enjoy your home. Please tell your father Gabelree that I wish him well.” Leady Reanothel smiled at him. She vanished, and then so did Hermini.
The feeling of it was sensational. It felt like cool water was meandering through his veins. A tingling surge was embracing his feet, and his although his hair remained still, he felt that it was whipping his face in envy of the Lady’s.
Suddenly, the feeling was gone, and Hermini found himself standing in a cave. But it was not a cave. It was a nightly lit palace of woods. It was so amazing, and the trees glittered magnanimously in the moon. “For ever moonlight.” The Lady whispered. This startled Hermini, for he had forgotten she was there.
"It most certainly is, O grand exalted one." She smiled proudly, and clapped her hands heartily. A boat appeared in front of them on the stream that trickled majestically. She motioned for him to get in. He did so, and she held out her hand. After a few moments, Hermini realized that he was to lead her in the boat. She smiled unpleasantly when he finally did so.
They traveled for not more than seconds when she halted the dinghy. She gracefully stepped out, but he stumbled along clumsily behind her.
"This is where I, the Queen, live." She said. "I will leave you to your tutor to teach you, but I apologize, I cannot. My son, please see me if you ever need help, but I no longer wish to be in your presence. I am tired and weary." She slapped her hands together once again and vanished. "Is this magic, truly?" Hermini exclaimed.
"Yea, and, then again, nay." Said a chilly voice from behind him. He turned to see a man, but it was not a man. It looked oddly familiar. "My name is Ghortiple. I waited long- so long for one so deserving to come to me." He smiled, but it was grave and unmoved. Much like the one worn by Gerianled. "Please, talk, boy, I have not all day. I bid thee, say something!" He whacked his hand across the face of Hermini. All of a sudden, Hermini divulged out what he had been thinking all along: "What are you? You are no man, I see. But I, being one, not so culturally and geographically educated, know not of the diversity in this world."
Ghortiple looked taken aback. "Why hast thou offended me so?" he asked. "I am but a Remp, the most majestic creature alive." Hermini felt the stupidity of himself overwhelm him. It was clear- Ghortiple was tall and fair, with his golden dreads streaming elegantly down to his elbows. His face was stern and fearless. "Well, what hast thou to say at this? Surely, one who is to be do great does not think to treat his professor in such a way?" Hermini answered even more inanely, "Yes, I mean, no. Wait, what am I supposed to say?" Ghortiple cleared his throat in a manner that suggested that he was not but irritated.
"Follow me." Ghortiple said. Hermini did as he was told; this fellow did not seem warm or friendly. He was so much like Gerianled. It was uncanny.
Ghortiple led Hermini to a steeple that stood alone in the middle of the enchanted realm. He led him through the twisted entrance. Hermini got lost in the old carvings, written in the Remp tongue, which he could not read. But the letters were so beautiful that it did not matter, though he still wished that he had a notion.
"Kotyiin Pasz Gjklop Efretu Fiwe" Ghortiple read silently and stroked the ancient letters of his kind. "It means, 'Death is beyond me'." Hermini marveled at this. "What can that mean?" He queried. "Remps of old beheld wondrous life: eternal life. They each carried a stone called 'Foyiur' in the old language at their breast. A beauty that that stone was. Clear with a hint of amber. The stone therein kept them alive and healthy, as long as they bore them.
"Man is evil, Hermini, man is. The wicked nature of it drove it to covet the Foyiur stone. Millions of Remps were slaughtered. When the precious Foyiur could not be possessed by true Remps anymore, they died. So now, Remps remain mortal."
Ghortiple closed his eyes and bowed his head. The history of his forefathers was tragic.
They walked further in until they came to utter darkness. There he found himself staring so blankly into the abyss, that his mind spun, and he felt lost. The blindness overcame him, and he felt that surely his would go mad in effort to see. "Ghortiple?" He cried. There was no answer. He stretched out his arms and felt for the Remp, but no one was there. He was stranded in his lonesome.
But he was not. An icy voice so sinister that it cracked his flesh arose in the shadows. "My boy, finally, you have come". A flash of light protruded from a dark figure. The whole tower was lit in azure light. "Who are you?" Exclaimed Hermini breathlessly. "I am Lord" Said the figure in reply. It stepped forward and revealed itself. The tallest, perhaps, of all living things; about ten feet in height, and beautiful. Clad in precious white robes of only the finest fabric from head to foot and garnished and embellished in white diamonds of the scarcest sort. His light hair was almost white, and streamed magnificently to his waist. The fair skin was white as snow, and was clear and perfect. This being's heavenly blue eyes gazed into years of wondering and life. His lips were straight and full, red in color. His voice was deeper than that of a normal man's, and cold. Yet in its own way, it was melodious, and even somewhat pleasant.
Hermini gaped at him as if he was greeting what seemed to be higher than an angel. The beauty and handsomeness of this man put the glowing and sacred unicorn to shame. He was as lovely as the Lady Reanothel. "I am Lord, as I have stated. Lord Frialotor, some call me, but my full Rempish name is 'Fortolianolre'. Do not be fooled, however: I am not a Remp. I am nor man nor Wizard nor Elf nor Fairy. I am but a holy being, and father to all immortal creatures. Please come."
Hermini followed Lord Frialotor to a dungeon. There Lord Frialotor said, “You will be very powerful: perhaps more powerful than me.” His face twisted into utter hatred and loathing. Hermini was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. “The world spins ‘round and ‘round” he continued, as he picked up a handful of dirt, “And I think that one man could make the world stop. My perfect balance could all be lost.” He opened his fingers and let the dirt seep to the floor. “That cannot happen. It won’t.”
All of the sudden, two hideous creatures came out of nowhere and seized Hermini’s arms. They pounded him against the chamber walls. The demons cuffed him and kept him chained there. Lord Frialotor swept away, his white cloak billowing behind him. “WHAT DID I DO? WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME HERE?” shouted Hermini furiously. No one ever answered, but he knew why: Lord Frialotor was threatened by his potential.
The two hideous creatures stood there observing him, and he knew not what they were. They seemed to know what he was thinking.
“We are Elves ,” said one. And they certainly were; they had sallow, wrinkled skin, and dark, jet black hair that was horribly short. They themselves were very, very short, and their ears were pointed. The creepiest thing about them was their eyes; hollow, evil, and daring. They smiled wickedly and departed, leaving him alone in the darkness.
And so a cruel ten years passed as Hermini was lashed, chained, and slipped slowly into madness. Sometimes, when he felt he was blind, he would see the shadows of the Elves appearing gloomily, and then, he realized, it was only darkness.
The sting of the whip was hot, but he was now numb to it. He sat there miserably until one day; a new prisoner was thrown in with him. He knew not was it was.
It stared coldly at him and turned its head. It was clad in traveler’s robes; a sullen gray wool with plain white. And it was tall; some fifteen feet. It looked rough and jagged. Its face was, however, shapely, and its eyes were solemn. “You” it hissed “are the forest Lord.” Hermini was watching it, but jumped to hear it talk. It had a gruff voice, and said it as if it were barely a choke. “Yes” he stuttered. “I know you. I know you so well.” At this it leaned forward as if to assault Hermini’s personal space. “Me and my people look down on you. I curse you!” With that it spit at Hermini’s bare flesh.
“What are you?” Hermini said. “What am I? What am I?” It said now more angrily. “I am of course a Groag, keeper of the mountains.”
“I’ve never heard of that.”
“Not many have”, said the Groag, now calming down.
“So what is your name?”
“Mortirewe.”
“Ah,” said Hermini. That was about the strangest name he had ever heard.
“Now that we know each other, why do you and the other Groags hate me so?”
“Well, I can see that you are an innocent one, so I had better not say just yet.”
Hermini perplexed at this, but he took his word for it.
“So,” Hermini said, “What exactly are Groags?” “Ah!” said Mortirewe, “I am so glad you asked. We are mountain people. We protect the mountains. Everything that goes on in the mountains, we know. Yes, we know!” Mortirewe’s eyes grew sparks, so Hermini did not press for further information.
The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He was not quite sure how to describe the creature before, but now to him, it seemed that the old Groag was an ogre made of rock.
Days had passed, and Mortirewe had been sleeping without any awakening. Hermini wondered if he was sick, or if this was common in Groags. But he was not going to wake up Mortirewe and ask. He found that although there was plenty good in him, he still had a rather cold disposition.
And so the days passed. Then the days turned into months. While the old Groag remained in his silent and thoughtful sleep, probably dreaming of the mountains and freedom, Hermini was not so fortunate. He could not sleep. Laying down on the torn and scarred tissue on his back, that was the result of daily lashes, was hard and painful. When Hermini had managed to find a comfortable position, his nightmares haunted his broken spirit. He could not rest.
One night, he dreamt of something that did not seem familiar; a man- but not just a man, a Wizard. He was tall and unkempt. His hair was long and gray, as was his beard. He wore the same kind of robes as Mortirewe, and his skin was icy pale. And his eyes- his eyes were the worst. They were a cold gray. They were distinct, but they did not shine. They were, indeed, hollow. The evil eyes seemed to mask years of anguish, grief, and hatred, which was pitiful. They were weary, and, at the same time, hungry: hungry for revenge; hungry to inflict pain on others; hungry for power; hungry for a life which was not filled with unending tragedy and torture and guilt; hungry for a death which was not to come for another lifetime of pain.
Hermini knew not who this man was. He hoped that if he ever met this man, be it in a dream or real life, he would give the man the death that he craved.
After six months, Mortirewe finally awakened.
“I have been thinking, Lord Hermini.” He said. “I thought you were dreaming. ‘Tis a pleasant dream you must have had, for you did not seem to have a desire to part with it.” Hermini mumble to himself.
“No,” the Groag corrected him, “I was thinking, and I finally have a plan.”
“What sort of plan?”
“A good sort, that’s what sort. Now listen up. You can escape by-”
Mortirewe never got a chance to explain, for Lord Frialotor himself strode in that very moment.
“Ah. I see that you two are having a meeting?” He asked spitefully.
“No.” said Mortirewe flatly.
“Then you won’t mind my taking my son into my chambers?”
“No…”
“That’s what I thought. Come, Hermini.”
Hermini was, though he would fail to admit it, frightened. He had already been copiously abused under the order of this man, his father. He knew not what to expect. So as he somberly followed the evil, glowing man, he thought of the worst.
Lord Frialotor beckoned Hermini into a room where he found Lady Reanothel sitting elegantly.
“My son! You have returned! I knew not where you had been.” She said.
Lord Frialotor’s eyes twitched, and at that moment, Hermini realized that the Lady had nothing to do with his imprisonment.
“And,” She continued, “I see that you have had a strange journey! What has my fair servant Ghortiple done with you? I see that you are in great need of care. Let me tend your wounds.” She got up, and walked gracefully to Hermini when the Lord pushed her back. “No, no wounds to be tended here.” He said in a firm grunt. “Sir,” she said, “I think that I above all, have a right to care for my son! This had not sprung from my womb, yet I am his mother, nonetheless, as I am the mother of the sea, the forest, the earth, and all magic and spirit. He is no ordinary man, my Lord, he is my son: my son, the Sorcerer whose call is Hermini!” She finally declared, and walked past Lord Frialotor slowly.
MORE TO COME!!!!
© CoPyRiGhT bY kElsEy StEwArT
This material is not to be used in any way except by the author under penalty of law.
