Tyler's Dream (8 page)

One of the wolves was prowling close by, only deterred from attacking Tyler by the snow lion’s presence. Varkon was still preoccupied. The wolf was awfully close. The snow lion remained in its humbling pose.

Tyler had no choice. He placed a shaking hand on the subdued snow lion. There was no reaction. He could feel the warm beat of the creature’s heart and the softness of its fur. He cautiously lifted a leg over its body. With a grunt of approval, the snow lion rose sharply to its full height. Caution forgotten, Tyler pressed himself against its massive body as tightly as he could, grabbing hold of two handfuls of fur and twisting his fingers violently around them to secure himself. Then they were off.

“Varkon!” Tyler yelled as he was carried away. The snow lion leapt through the shattered door and down a short passage, and then they burst into the open.

Tyler’s ride lasted a short while, but in that time they travelled an impressive distance at a speed unlike anything he had ever experienced. When the snow lion finally came to a halt, Tyler slipped off eagerly onto the snow and nursed his thighs, which had received a good bashing.

Varkon hurried up from behind, panting hard.

“Varkon!” called Tyler happily, but the ghatu continued past until he was standing between Tyler and the snow lion.

“What were you thinking, you fool?”

“It helped me escape from that place. Something changed when it saw
this.
” Tyler thrust the spider-rock ahead of him.

“Tyler, you’re mad,” Varkon growled angrily. “What difference would that—” He stopped mid-sentence.

The snow lion was lying on its side. It was foaming at the mouth, and its fur was strangely shorter. Each fibre appeared to be retracting into its skin, bit by bit receding. Suddenly its snout broke painfully out of place before squashing itself inwards, where it continued to be shrunk and sculpted. Its tail was already gone, and its other joints now clicked and snapped out of place, lengthening, twisting, and expanding. Short and stubby paws grew long and smooth.

The snow lion rose to its feet – its
two
feet. An old man stood in its stead, and although he was completely naked and bent from age, he still somehow managed to retain an unquestioning dignity. His hair was the same white of the snow lion’s fur, and it tumbled down in a lengthy beard. His eyes were each the same hazel brown that Tyler had seen in the snow lion’s final gaze.

“Greetings,” said the man in a steady voice. “My name is Haranio Winhund.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
UNEXPECTED COMPANY

“Who are you?” asked Varkon, his aggression unaffected.

Haranio seemed not in the least bit concerned that he was fully unclothed, and he turned to Tyler with confidence. “I think the boy knows.”

But Tyler had never seen this man before, and he shook his head with bewilderment.

“Strange. Surely Hargill must have mentioned me? Haranio? His dear friend?”

“Oh!” Tyler stepped from behind Varkon before the ghatu could prevent him. “Hargill told me I should find you in the city of Ithrim, just before he … was killed.” Haranio frowned as Tyler hurried on. “I’m sorry – you must not have known.”

“I know, child. I was there in his final moments,” said Haranio sadly. The comment caught Tyler by surprise. “But now is not the time to talk. The imps are bound to give chase.”

“How could we possibly trust … whatever you are,” Varkon snarled.

“You are not going to kill me now, are you?” asked Haranio. “So, at this stage, I think you have no choice.”

They travelled with all haste, the thought of being captured and crammed back into their tiny cages spurring them on. Varkon lent the remainder of his torn shirt to Haranio, and Tyler gave up his jacket.

Tyler laughed as he ran. His flapping shirt was ripped in half, Varkon had no shirt at all, and Haranio, an old man, donned a tight jacket and wore half of Varkon’s old shirt tied about his waist. And old man though he was, Haranio’s level of fitness was extraordinary; he appeared not to feel the snow under his feet, as though there was something more animal in him than human. Instead he pushed onwards without pause, and it was all Tyler could do to keep up.

Night soon overtook them, and the company came to rest underneath a large rock overhang. Although the ground he sat on was rough and hard, Tyler found it a welcome improvement to the splintered boards he’d endured for so long.

“Haranio, explain yourself,” said Varkon softly. The ghatu had kept a careful watch over the old man all day, eyeing him for any signs of danger and insisting that he walk ahead like a prisoner.

“Explain myself? Yes, of course,” began Haranio softly and reasonably. He was seated on a low rock not far away. “First, I apologise for the rough words I spoke earlier. I said them with haste because speed was needed. Now, you may be wondering who I am. Some would call me a shamif, or shape-shifter. Do either of you know what that means?” Varkon and Tyler shook their heads. “That is understandable. It is a skill that is not dissimilar to wizardry, but unlike that brother art, years of practice and pain lie ahead to master even the most simple of shapes. Try, if you would, to imagine the agony of a leg bone setting hard in your stomach, or a layer of skin that does not form properly so that your whole body is exposed, raw flesh. But this is beside the point. You really want to know
how
I came to be here, not the history of what I am.” Haranio allowed himself a breath.

“I have been searching for Hargill for longer than I can remember, for reasons that will become clear soon enough. For the moment, know that my search lead me to Ornick-hor, in the Klinha mountains. There I discovered that a large ghatuan army had marched to the west not a week before. I was intrigued; nothing of significance lies in that direction on any map. I knew I could not hope to catch up to the army in human form, and so I took the shape of a lion. It took me three full days. I did not rest or eat. I only ran, night and day, without regard for my health. When I eventually reached the army, they were casting arrows of flame at your village. Lad, I cannot imagine … I am sorry that you had to know such pain in your youth.” Haranio paused to show Tyler his sympathy.

“I investigated further and saw to my horror – and further interest – the Dhimori. Knowing it was no small matter that calls one of Her servants so far to the south, I followed as closely as I dared. Sure enough, I was led to the village hall where I found the very person I had been searching for all these many years: Hargill. I rushed though the back door in an attempt to save my old friend, but more important, to try and protect Avalon’s Heart.”

Tyler had a sudden memory of a white flash racing into the hall as he and Varkon were running away.

“Hargill recognised me instantly, and during the last moments before he was slain, he told me to look for the boy who had left the hall earlier with a ghatu – it was he who had the Heart. I escaped as the Dhimori struck Hargill down.” Haranio took a small break to regain his breath. “After that I remember nothing, until I found myself in the imps’ pit, still in my snow lion form.”

Varkon snorted with disbelief. “You cannot remember?” he scoffed. “Ha! Old man, you’ll have to do better than that. Tell me why you have been hunting the boy, or I swear that I will kill you now.”

Haranio moved his lips in silent realisation. “I tried to kill the boy? I did not know that. Your lack of trust now makes sense. You see, the reason I cannot remember is because I ceased to be human. When a shamif changes form, the first and most important lesson he must learn is to stay
with
himself,” said Haranio with the ease of one who has explained this many times before. “It is all too easy to start
thinking
like the animal that you have become. The body of another creature brings with it a strange mix of instincts, cravings, and emotions that do not fit well with the human mind. For instance, as a snow lion I have an unreasonable fear of fire. So long as I can control that fear and reason with it, then I am still human. If I succumb to my instincts, if I turn tail and flee, then I have let the beast take over. A shamif must not allow himself to become too involved with what he has become, or he will end up becoming the beast, which consumes his humanity. To prevent this, I must change back into my normal self regularly, in order not to lose my mind to the form that I have mimicked.” Haranio looked first at Tyler and then Varkon. “Can you understand this?”

Tyler nodded thoughtfully. “So, you remained in your snow lion shape for longer than it was safe for you to do so?”

Haranio leant forward. “Precisely. I had to, in order to catch up to the army. Even then, it was not too late. Although the sense, sight, and smell of a lion were beginning to penetrate my better instincts and play havoc with my human reasoning, there still remained a chance to change back to my natural self and thus salvage my sanity. But it was not to be. When I rushed into that hall to fight alongside Hargill, all was lost. In the fury of battle, I became completely immersed with my beast-form. The transformation of my body into that of a snow lion had been quick. The transformation of my
mind
had taken much longer, but by the time I left that hall, I was, in effect, a wild lion.” Haranio’s eyes brooded from beneath their bushy brows. “Which is why I must have begun to hunt you, lad. You see, the last thing I heard when I was still in my human mind was Hargill instructing me to seek you out. This thought was so powerful that it must have remained in my conscience even when I had, in every other respect, changed to a beast. Because I was now an animal, the only thing that I must have considered doing once I found you was to kill you.” Haranio’s expression stiffened with irony. “Most shamifs never have a chance of regaining their humanity once they are lost to a shape. There are those who have become eagles, dolphins, or any number of forms, and they will remain that way forever. But sometimes, if they see something that was of extreme importance to their previous lives – in my case Avalon’s Heart – it can be enough to jar the memories of the natural conscience.” Haranio smiled kindly at Tyler. “I should thank you for saving my life.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did enough. I hope now that you know enough to trust me, for I would like to hear something of my own explained. You say that Hargill never mentioned me at all. I’m sorry, but I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Tyler Finch, and to tell the truth, Hargill never told me anything about you. He never said a word – until the end that is, when he made me promise to travel to Ithrim and seek you out. It’s a long story.”

“And you think we do not have the time?”

“Why should we tell you anything, old man?” Varkon growled. “I have a feeling that we have not even begun to scratch the surface of your deeper motives, your history. We don’t know
anything
about you.”

“I believe Haranio is telling the truth. Honestly, what more could he say to earn our trust?” said Tyler, and with that he launched straight into his saga, from the moment Innor and his cart burst through the great oak doors of his town hall to when he and Varkon were shoved into the hidden arena of the imps. He showed Haranio the tattoos on his wrist and neck, and he let him examine the spider-rock. The only time the shamif reacted during the tale was when he heard about the spider and how it had bitten him; at this he sat up more attentively but said nothing.

Varkon sat silently in the darkness. He didn’t stop Tyler, but it was easy to tell he was furious that a stranger was being told so much.

Finally Tyler had explained everything he knew, and his mind bubbled with questions. He half expected Haranio to answer some of them as he spoke, but the old man had kept his peace, waiting for Tyler to finish.

“I am amazed that you were told so little of the outside world, Tyler,” the old man finally said when Tyler was done. “I wonder what Hargill’s reasons were.”

“Can you tell me everything you know, Haranio?” asked Tyler eagerly.

“Everything?” Haranio chuckled. “Although I may not be able to that, child, I will do my best to tell you what you
need
to understand.” And with that, Haranio began to recount his own story. His words were simple, and he paused often, as though remembering far back into the past. Even Varkon sat up and took interest.

“Where to begin? I think at Ithrim, the city of the free, as some call it. This was true long, long ago; now, I am not so certain. Ithrim was – and is – a council area for most of the major races of the world: men, nÿmphs, gronts, dwarves, and scills. Today it still exists, but its purpose is different: the races work together not so much for peace, but to ensure that
prosperity
is maintained. Some fools think that the Alliance continues for the good of unity, and although this might still be the main purpose of the nÿmphs and scills, the other races most certainly have their own agendas. It is more a question of price and wealth than peace and freedom. It was not always so. For the first thousand years of the Alliance, there were genuine intentions of virtue and well-being. The fight for the higher cause of justice was in the forefront of most minds. But times have changed. Corruption has seeped through the high, white walls of Ithrim far more effectively than even
Her
black wave, which destroyed much of the inner city so long ago.” Haranio shook his head sorrowfully.

“But enough with the history lesson. Let us now relate it to
you,
Tyler Finch. Hargill spent most of his life in Ithrim, and his job there was of vital importance. In the city there was a valuable object named Avalon’s Heart. Nobody knows the precise tale of how it came to be. It was found by Lamathil of the Sunbirch on the same day that he slew
Her
on the battlefield. It is said that as he revealed this wondrous object to the kings and lords of the victorious Alliance, a blaze of silver writing scorched across its surface. I think you have heard the words before.”

Fair Avalon, I call thee now; thy hour has arr
ived.

For all around had rotted; the light has almost
died.

Youth waits only for your blessing, your gift you freely
gave.

A spider’s web shall bridge the worlds, and hope shall be re
made.

Tyler gasped with pain. As Haranio chanted in rising tones, the spider-stone hanging on his chest blistered, and the words of the poem swept across its surface in fiery silver. He snatched the singeing stone away by its chain and let the writing burn until the words had faded. Soon the grey stone was as it always had always been. Tyler touched it, and it felt warm, as always.

“Do you mean to say that
this
is Avalon’s Heart?” he asked.

Haranio nodded from the shadows. “You are the now the youth the poem speaks of, Tyler. The stone’s blessing has now been bestowed upon you, and those tattoos on your arm are a mark of who you are. Some will now know you as Avalon-Qwa – ‘Avalon’s chosen’.”

Tyler felt an unbearable roar in his head that seemed to emit from all the fabric of existence. He was a cornerstone in a history he had never known existed. The stone he had been wearing so casually around his neck was famous in the world. Avalon-Qwa – that was what Hargill had called him on bended knee. But as he listened to how great he was supposed to be, he could not help but be overcome by how
ordinary
he felt. “What does all this mean?” he whispered huskily. “What will Avalon’s Blessing do to me?”

“I will get to that,” said Haranio, “but first I have skipped ahead of myself, for it is important that you know something else. Hargill was the keeper of Avalon’s Heart, the guardian of the stone. Back then, all those years ago, he and I were very close. That was before his sanity began to slip. I tried to reason with him, but by the end the man lost his senses. He gathered a group of easily persuaded followers and kidnapped many children of Ithrim, of which you were one, before he fled by ship across the sea, still bearing Avalon’s Heart. No one knew where he went; he left no clue as to his destination. In truth, I don’t think even he knew it himself. Several volunteers offered to search for him and recover the Heart, for the prophecy tells us it may only be used in the direst of circumstances. It is also imperative that it is given to a youth of merit and worth. Tyler, I can only hope you are all of these things.”