King Of The North (Book 3) (18 page)

“Do not see what you expect, but what you wish,” Farouk said.

“She is right,” The Keeper said. “The Universe itself is a stage. It is a setting, an experiment. An experiment that would not be quite as satisfying if everything was set in stone. Every entity that exists is capable of altering that setting, if they know how. Silka spoke of altering that reality. She spoke of seeing things as mutable, changeable. She speaks the truth.”

“I still do not understand.”

“Kronos may appear to be chained up underground,” The Keeper said. “But, in reality, he is trapped in his own demiplane. The portal has been closed to him. He cannot enter the plane of Earth until the portal is opened; until his chains are broken, so to speak. It is a metaphor. If you expect to see chains and shackles, then that is what you see. But in your mind you must know that breaking one of those chains is, in reality, weakening the portal.”

“I am using a metaphor to complete a task,” Farouk said.

“Exactly,” The Keeper replied. “You will enter his realm by sitting upon the High Priest’s throne. To free him, you must bring him back the same way. From his realm, you will see the portal, not the throne. Enter the portal and he will follow once you have prepared it from the other side.”

“Prepared it?”

“You will know when you see him,” the Keeper replied, smiling.

Farouk chuckled, shaking his head. “One day I hope to be as vague and frustrating as the rest of you.”

The Keeper laughed as well. “Farouk, my friend, you will grow to understand these things as your experiences take you to forgotten realms, strange worlds, and frightening dimensions. You will do all of these things as the Grand Druid. The Great Mother needs you, and she is giving you the opportunity to learn in order to take that title.”

“Is there a current Grand Druid?” Farouk asked.

“No, not anymore. Not on this world.”

“What happened to him?” Farouk asked.

“He gave his life to create the Druids who inhabit the world now; Jodocus, Faelius, Marcanau, Allavan, and Jerolor. They are all the Great Druids of each land, and they are all the descendants of Ptah, the Grand Druid.”

“Why did Jodocus choose me as his apprentice?” Farouk asked.

The Keeper sat back down at the fire, holding his hands out to create an image of the old man that Farouk loved. “Jodocus is ancient,” the Keeper said. “As are all of the Great Druids. They cannot live forever. Not all at once anyway. Occasionally they must rest and return to the Earth, as all Druids in the Universe do. In their absence, they need an apprentice to look after things. He believed that you were that person, but he was wrong. His feelings were, in reality, the feelings of the Great Mother Herself. She wanted you, and in order for her to have you as her apprentice, she needed Jodocus to fan the flames of interest within you. Flames that were already there, but unrecognized.”

“So what will he do now?” Farouk asked. “Who will be that person for him?”

“He has chosen already,” the Keeper replied. “From an interesting stock, it seems.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are those in Eirenoch, and in other lands, that serve the Great Mother and her Firstborn without truly realizing it. To the masses, they may be seen as witches, or warlocks. In reality, they are just Druids without a purpose.”

“And he has recruited one of these witches?”

“Yes,” the Keeper said. “Her name is Aeli. She is a strong soul who will serve the land admirably.”

Farouk nodded. “If Jodocus has faith in her, then I shall, as well.”

“You show great wisdom, Farouk.” the Keeper remarked. “And compassion. That is why I chose to speak to you. I have spoken to the Onyx Dragon, as well, in his dreams, and during his Ascent. I did not reveal myself, but instead sent him information. Formulae he must learn to translate. Once he understands its meaning, he can use this power against The Lifegiver.”

“I will not speculate on Eamon’s role,” Farouk said. “I must concentrate on my own task. Mostly the means of getting to Kronos’ temple.”

The Keeper moved around the fire closer to Farouk. “The map you have,” he said. “The map that shows the ley lines and their intersections. It is the key.”

“I had that thought when I arrived here,” Farouk said. “I know that each juxtaposition resonates at a certain frequency. If I could figure out what those frequencies are, I might be able to teleport to those locations.”

“You are correct,” the Keeper said. “And the frequencies are right there on the map itself.”

Farouk furrowed his brow, recalling the odd symbols near the intersections, but not understanding their meaning. There were no numbers, no words, just those symbols.

“You know what those writings are, Farouk,” the Keeper urged him. “I know you do. Your father taught them to you when you were a boy in Khem.”

Farouk looked at him, trying hard to understand his meaning. Each intersection contained a two part symbol. They were symbols he was quite sure he had never seen before.

Or had he.

“The symbols represent two distinct things, Farouk. Two things that you are aware of. Separately, they are mundane. But, together, they create something new.”

Farouk thought back to the things that his father had taught him. Things that would be important to him and would pertain to travel.

“No,” the Keeper said. “Think differently. Think of something that you loved. Something your father loved, and shared with you.”

“The only love we shared was the flute,” Farouk said, and immediately brightened as he saw the Keeper smile. “The flute!” he exclaimed. “The symbols…they are musical notes!”

“Very good, my friend,” the Keeper said, laughing at Farouk’s excitement. “They are musical notes. Two of them side by side. Separate, mundane. Together, the two frequencies create a frequency that is undetectable to the human ear. Each note must be resonated by one half of your mind. Once you begin to resonate them both, your mind will open completely, and you will be able to travel to that intersection. Then, your journey to the temple will be complete.”

“I understand, friend,” Farouk said. “Thank you.”

The Keeper stood again, placing his hands on Farouk’s head. He was at eye level, leaning his face close to Farouk’s. “Now,” he said. “Just one thing remains. Awaken, my child.”

The Jindala army crossed the frozen river to the east of Falgraf. As they trudged through the snow, they were completely oblivious of the massive horde of Northman that stood on the hills overlooking their route. Cannuck had brought his army to meet the enemy on the plains before they were able to reach the city.

As the Jarl looked down upon them with disgust, Silka crept up behind him to peer down. Cannuck, without turning, spoke. “Back, woman.” He said. “You are with child, and you are not a warrior. Take your place in the back and be ready to support the archers.”

“I want to know if Farouk is with them.” Silka protested.

“There is no one but the Jindala,” Cannuck replied. “Now go. Do as I say.”

Silka turned, walking with her head lowered as she returned to the rear of the assembly. Cannuck could sense her turmoil, and was sympathetic. Farouk had done a great service to The People by giving them his magic, and he had earned Cannuck’s respect; even without ever meeting him. If possible, Farouk would be sought out and rescued.

If he were still alive.

Thorgil, Cannuck’s eldest son, joined the Jarl on the hilltop, looking down on the large company of enemies that slowly moved across the snowy plain. Cannuck turned to his son, nodding his approval at finding the enemy and leading him back to their location.

“You have done well, my son,” Cannuck said. “Your grandfather would be proud.”

“Seeking someone else’s approval is selfish,” Thorgil said. “I seek only to crush the enemy, and protect my people.”

Cannuck smiled, clapping his son on the back. “Spoken like a true son of the North,” he said.

“Come, Father,” Thorgil said. “Let us be rid of these dogs.”

Cannuck pulled his hammer from the baldric around his torso, then held it up in the air. “Archers!” he yelled. “Fire when you see the last of us disappear over the hill.”

The two men heard the call of acknowledgement as the archer Captain relayed the order to the men in back.

“Ready!” Cannuck called again. He heard the grunts of his men, holding back their caterwauling until the charge.

“May Kronos be with us,” Thorgil said.

“Charge!”

The Northmen poured over the hill like water, their howls of rage echoing off the nearby cliffs. Cannuck and Thorgil led the charge, their eyes wide with fury as they closed in on the surprised army of Jindala.

Overhead, a cloud of arrows darkened the sun, descending upon the enemy and piercing them before they were even aware. The Jindala dropped by the dozens, their comrades scattering to avoid the same fate and regrouping behind the line of bodies. The Northman met them head on, smashing into their ruptured line with a great clash of steel on steel.

Cannuck swung his hammer from side to side, knocking away the enemies one by one. His huge frame and fearsome countenance frightened those who came near, throwing them off guard. He easily smashed through them as they stood frozen in fear.

Thorgil, wielding his axe, tore through the lines, hacking and slashing his way through the enemy soldiers with blood-splattering attacks. He urged the men onward, calling to Kronos for strength and encouragement. The men repeated his cries, tearing through their own opponents with unmatched fury.

Cannuck swung wildly, smashing an enemy soldier into the air. In his place, an elite swordsman appeared, wielding dual blades and armored in steel. His robes and tunic were blue, emblazoned with a strange eye symbol. Cannuck stopped his swing and poised himself to glare the man in the eye as he spun his swords in a taunting gesture. The Jarl grinned, prompting the enemy to return the expression.

Cannuck reared back his hammer, howling with the fury of his ancestors. The soldier leaped forward, double slashing and spinning to the right. Cannuck dodged as he swung horizontally, avoiding the lightning quick strike. His hammer whooshed through the air, coming within inches of the soldier’s face. Cannuck immediately reversed his swing, coming back the other way at an upward angle. The soldier leaped out of the way, attacking again in a spinning, downward strike.

The King ducked forward under him while spinning around with his hammer held out. Its heavy head smashed into the soldier’s hip. He heard the bones crunching as the man’s body was splattered to the side and thrown to the ground.

As the enemy soldier lay twitching, Cannuck bounded over to him with his hammer held high. “Kronos!” he yelled, bringing down his axe with all of his might.

Thorgil saw the finish, laughing as his father’s hammer flattened the enemy into the dust. His own weapon sliced the air in front of him, driving the enemies back. Around him, his friends kept their distance, knowing full well to stay out of his way. They followed him into the fray, taking down any enemies that he missed.

The Jindala began to fall back as the Northmen pushed on. Thorgil’s axe and Cannuck’s hammer led the way through them, decimating their numbers and leaving a trail of broken bodies in their wake. The Northmen fought fiercely, their painted faces striking fear into the hearts of the foreign invaders.

Victory was certain.

Farouk awoke to a clear, blue sky and a calm breeze. The blizzard had stopped, and the bitter cold was now little more than a crisp chill. He felt warm, despite being sparsely clothed, and the pain in his body was gone. He smiled as he breathed in the afternoon air, and finally opened his eyes.

He was still mounted upon the cross, with crude spikes driven into his hands and feet, but there was no pain. He even felt a greater sense of strength than he did before. The Defiler had imparted to him a large amount of its power. And that power had not only healed and strengthened Farouk’s body, but he believed that his own abilities had been increased as well.

He now seemed to have the ability to turn off pain, or at least lessen it. As he looked at his hands, he could clearly see that they were still impaled to the wooden beam. He wiggled both hands, still feeling no pain as the spikes rotated inside the holes they had made. With a stern face, and a deep breath, he pulled forward. Slowly, his right hand slid up the length of the spike until it slipped over the end. He hesitated for a moment before finally looking at the injury on his palm. It was harsh and jagged, but painless. Its edges were dark and encrusted with dried blood, and he could see his bones protruding inside.

Then, as he watched in awe, the wound began to close. He gasped, his eyes widening with wonder as the flesh tightened, the bones mended, and the skin regrew over the empty space. He clenched his fist, feeling the power in his grip. He was healed, and was made better than before.

Grasping the wood behind his head, he pulled off his other hand and reached behind with it as well. Then, gripping the wood with both hands, he pushed his feet off of the spike one at a time, pressing the small of his back into the wood behind him for leverage.

He hung for a moment, marveling at the ease at which he held himself up. Then, he snapped his feet forward, propelling himself away from the cross and landing squarely on his feet below. He looked around the site, seeing his equipment scattered, but all accounted for. The bodies of his friends were strewn about among the frozen pools of blood, and he avoided looking at them as he gathered his robes.