Chapter 35

Marley opened his eyes, blinked, and opened them again. Above him a dome so high he couldn’t focus on the ceiling. He floated in a pool of blue. The same color blue as the outcrops of crystal clustering along the floor and walls of the cavern.

The same color blue as the stones gleaming at the throats of the two females sitting on the shore watching him. He reached up to his throat and felt a leather with three rough crystals wrapped about his neck. His skin didn’t feel puckered with water. Even so, he had the impression he’d been floating in this lake for a long time.

Not a skilled swimmer by any stretch of the imagination, Marley wasn’t about to float like some great dead log until they pulled him out. He flipped to his side and with slow tentative strokes made his way ashore, just up the beach from the two women. Marley dragged himself out of the water, only to realize he wore nothing but soaking wet braies that unashamedly clung to him from thigh to waist.

The runesmith turned away from the females, searching as he did for any sign of his clothing. His head felt heavy with his wet hair dripping down his arms and back in long ropy tendrils, the leather banding that held his hair gone as the rest of his things.

“Ladies,” Marley said over his shoulder. “I fear you have me at a disadvantage. If I could have my leathers and boots, I would be grateful.

One of them picked up a bag and, with averted eyes, dropped it a few paces away. “Use the emptied bag as a towel, if you wish.” She trotted back to her friend and they moved up the beach.

Grateful for their attempt to give him privacy, he scanned his close surroundings while he dressed. From where he stood, there was little to see in this huge cavern. Except, maybe the just as enormous underground lake surrounded by soft white sand or the bountiful blue stones.

On another day the massive blue crystal outcrops, studding the floor, walls and he presumed ceiling, would have begged him to investigate. Today his mind ran willy-nilly, looking for pieces of what had happened since the shipwreck. He saw no sign of his friends and wondered if they had found Jayf and Mek. Worry for his friends and the need for information propelled his feet into his boots. Then Marley strode forward to meet the approaching women.

“If you will accompany us, the Tarkhyld awaits your presence.”

“Indeed,” Marley said, fastening his cloak. He patted his clothing in search of his weapons and pouches, while he searched his memory for why the word tarkhyld was at once familiar and yet not. He seemed to recall some pre-Ancients Vort scroll using that word to refer to the elder priest.

Now he wondered how much more of what he heard was also in the old language. Marley grasped the blue stone necklace, speculating on the consequences of taking it off. He grimaced. He shouldn’t be alive and he shouldn’t be talking with… these people in the elder vort language.

“Worry not, your possessions are safe,” the smaller of the two women said, her hand upon his arm. She smiled warmly at him and pulled him toward an intricately laid stone pathway leading into the cavern proper.

He felt his color rise, wondering if she truly flirted with him, but allowed her to lead on, the second escort following behind. The deeper into this underground realm they traveled, the deeper Marley's respect and admiration for their artistry. He soon exclaimed in delight over the exquisite masonry, stonework and statuary.

The only work he could think to compare it to was in the oldest strongholds in the Vort Mountains. Marley glanced once more at his guide. Neither she nor her friend bore any sign of ever having a third eye, although they certainly looked old enough to have finished their time of service. Questions about who these people clamored in his brain along with all the others, but before he could ask, the woman walking next to him spoke up.

“You must have many questions, just as we do. But please, hold them for a while longer. It is the Tarkhyld’s place to hear and answer your inquiries.”

Marley nodded, and they continued in silence. Their walk led through a short corridor and a wider entry that opened up onto what he could only describe as an underground estate. Carved out of the crystal heart-rock of this mountain, elegant spires of this great hall soared to the utmost parts of the cavern. Individual dwelling seemed to spring out of the very rock itself.

“Your artisans are masterful,” Marley exclaimed as they stopped before a fancifully carved fountain.

“Aye, they have had many years to practice their technique. You are the first outlander to view our home.”

Marley frowned and tried to wring more of the water from his hair and beard. “What about my friends? If not here, where are they?”

“They await your healing and return, above ground, for only those with the ancient Vort blood may look upon Oritek.”

“Oritek,” the runesmith said, as if tasting it. He nodded, “That means gem cradle in the old language, does it not?”

The heavier female snorted. “You think because you know a little of the old tongue even without the aid of the stones that you are worthy of the Vort blood that apparently runs in your veins?” She bristled at Marley, but her friend shushed her and she backed down with a frown and a shrug.

Clearly, not all welcomed him into these halls. He felt at a disadvantage, not knowing where he was or how he got there. The last thing he remembered was the beach where they shipwrecked and an all too real possibility of death.

“I fear I have offended you. For that, I apologize. I believe we were talking about my friends and when I will see them again.”

“Be at ease. Not all take to change comfortably and make no mistake you and your friends’ arrival portend significant change. If the Tarkhyld agrees, after your meeting, it will be a pleasant task to unite you with your companions.”

“They spoke of a world filled with adventure and high tales and I for one have not been this entertained in twelve-hundred years.” The smaller one looked pointedly at the other escort, but laughter filled her voice.

With a huff, her contentious friend trudged to the front at a juncture of stairs and paths. Marley followed his guides up a grand sweeping stairway to a terrace hugged on two sides by chiseled statuary of fantastical creatures, but only noticed them in passing as he pondered the friendly guide’s last words. But before he could question her about her claim, she spoke.

“We will leave you here and inform the Tarkhyld you have arrived.” She paused as they turned to leave and the other woman, with only a perfunctory nod to Marley, hurried to a stair leading to what looked like another veranda with an archway shadowing the entrance beyond.

“If you require anything, ask for Beryl or Oritaja,” Beryl said over her shoulder with a chuckle and nodded toward the disappearing backside of her friend.

While Marley waited, he used the time to assess himself and his surroundings. He felt a little muzzy in the head, but he could not remember ever feeling this whole and alive. He found himself once more touching the rough blue stones on his necklace.

As for where he was, he shook his head in wonder. The ambiance in this cavern city spoke of a place that had not known the ravages of war or felt the destruction of the Time of Desolation. The essence exuded not only encompassed the elements. But also the very essence of Alhwone. As if the Creator had created in this island a place of repose.

A scattering of tables with polished marble tops and bases made from beaten and reworked swords graced the polished rock floor; there appeared to be no lack of comfortable seating. Meat sizzled on a spit over a large bronze fire bowl close to where Marley stood. He wasn’t sure what they burned, but it gave off little smoke and the scent of the food set his mouth to water.

The food offered enough of a distraction that the runesmith didn’t notice when the Tarkhyld joined him on the terrace until he felt a touch on his arm. He turned and stumbled back, for the Tarkhyld could have been his great-father, so close was the resemblance. Marley smiled, now understanding the private joke the two women shared with their nudges and whispers.

“Well met my friend,” the Tarkhyld said, leading Marley to a low table near the fire and the food, “come, sit.”

Marley, too ravenous to argue, went along with little more than a nod. The Tarkhyld pulled out a chair, low and cushioned by thick velvety pillows, indicating Marley should do the same as he sat and continued, “Your mind must be a tumble with questions and I am sure your belly is eating itself in hunger. But,” he paused, his brow wrinkled and he leaned forward a bit, expectancy in the smile on his face, “let us first introduce ourselves.”

“Oh, of course,” Marley said a bit sheepishly, realizing he had been listening to the Tarkhyld with one ear and his belly with the other. “I am Marley Stonebender den’Humbolt of the Vort Mountains. A bard of the guild, The Echoing Note, out of the Free Provinces of Kiylorone.

The Tarkhyld’s eyes shone brightly at the mention of the Vort Mountains and he quickly replied, “I am Ethan Lifegiver den’Frosthold of the Vort Mountains. The Tarkhyld of Oritek’s Chosen. Welcome to Oritek.”

Marley felt confused and wondered if it was just the healing side effects still affecting his sensibilities. “Though it has been long and long since I have seen the inside of a Vort ruin or Vortryl hall, I do not recall the Oritek Clan within the Counting and Claiming listed on the Great Stone at Graylock’s Forge.”

“And so you should not, for Oritek’s Chosen were not so chosen at the time of the first Counting and Claiming being engraved upon the Great Stone.”

He paused, glancing over at the table topped with assorted bowls of fruits and bread and cheese next to the fire pit. “Now, let me get you something to eat and while you eat I will try to provide you with some answers.” He rose and strode to the food-laden table. “I would caution you from eating too much meat as you’ve been without for a goodly amount of days.”

Ethan presented him with a beaten silver trencher, holding fruit, cheese, and a light warm bread covered in melted butter and dark honey. To the side, a couple of small slices of some sort of meat and a smattering of root vegetables and gravy completed the plate. Although Marley knew that eating the heavier fare would indeed churn in his belly after so long a fast, he could not help but wish to see this plate stacked full of the delectable meats and rich sauces.

As the Tarkhyld sat his trencher down, a burly vort came tromping up the stairs with a small keg balanced on his shoulder. “Ah, so our drink has arrived. Dern, please set it on the table by the food and tap us a couple o’mugs of your fine ale.”

A grin split Dern’s well-kept and intricately weaved beard. “Aye, Tarkhyld. I brought up one of the lighter ales. An excellent match for one unaccustomed to the flavor of the tear.”

As Dern placed the mugs on the table, Marley could not help but notice the quizzical look on his face. And as he raised his mug to him, downing half of it in one large swallow, he watched the brewmaster’s eyes widen and almost choked. “What?”

Dern puffed himself up to his full height and width, looking down at Marley. With a raised brow, he stated, “That was not a brew to be gulped, but one to be savored, to reflect upon its light fruity foam.”

Marley drained his mug before setting it back on the table and sucked back in with the last of the foam, the retort he would normally have given to a brewmaster giving him advice on how to enjoy a brew. “I fear it has been long and long since I’ve had such a flavorful brew and my thirst got the better of me. I shall relish each drop of the next were I to have that chance, of that I give my word.”

“If I were you, I would eat me some of that bread and sauce to soak up the ale or you will again find slumber at the end of your nose before you have enjoyed Oritek’s hospitality. And that would be a shame, as you are the first to receive said hospitality of this fine city.” Dern gave Marley an exaggerated wink, swooped up the pair of empty mugs, and sauntered back to the keg.

The Tarkhyld chuckled. “Forgive our brewmaster. He can be a snob when it comes to his creations.” He chuckled again and continued with a shake of his head as he watched his friend refill the mugs. “I would heed his warning about eating if I were you. The brews tend to be potent on the island and at times have unusual effects.”

The ale was indeed a heady brew, and the warm tingle of it reached all the way down to his toes. Marley leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. His hair and beard still felt damp, but the irritation he felt at water soaking into his cloak and clothing as he sat was absent.

He ate the bread following Ethan’s suggestion to eat slowly, but found after only a few bites of the meat and sauce his belly protested. The mug Dern sat down tempted him, but he realized the two vort men might be right and satisfied his thirst by savoring a sweet ripe lumalia.

The Tarkhyld, once again, took up his history lesson while Marley groused. “As I was saying, we are the remnants of the old clans, the ones that existed at the Time of Devastation, called together after Arubicon tricked the Ancients into the crimson stone, known now as Sangryl.”

Marley frowned, reaching for the tankard of ale without thinking. He sipped at it, trying to take in what Ethan was saying. “So, you are saying you are the descendants of the last true-blooded Vorts?”

“Nay Marley Stonebender, I am saying we are the last of the original vort clans. I, my mate, three of my ten children, and two of my brother’s daughters are all that were left of the original Lifegiver Clan.”

“You have not aged in all this time? What about families, children… your children? Those that were infirm or elderly?” Marley looked around, really looked around, for the first time since he had awakened. He could see other vorts in the distance as they went about their daily lives, but he soon realized there weren’t any children, or those with the fresh signs of puberty in their strut and posture.

“The Tear has sustained us and maintained us. We are guardians of Alhwone’s Tear, caretakers of the Vale of the Wista-Nem, and chroniclers of the Vault of Dreams. The children that were with us when we left grew to adulthood. The same stone that healed you and your companions healed those that were infirm. As for the elderly, they still serve in the Vault, hale and hearty.”

Marley slid the mug towards the middle of the table and picked up a creamy yellow hunk of cheese to nibble instead as he mulled over what Ethan Lifegiver told him. “I have heard the Legend of the Tear and know the root of a legend, no matter how true, grows in the soil of memory and time. The fruit, however, is often very different from its beginnings, depending on how much time and who’s memory.”

“A truer saying has not been said. But the Tear is real and powerful and the reason you still live.” The light of curiosity sparked in the Tarkhyld’s eyes as Marley’s hand drifted up to rub across the large scar centered on his forehead.

“Now, tell me, what is this scar in the middle of your forehead and how much vort blood runs in your veins?” A look of speculation crossed Ethan’s face as he took a sip of his brew and studied Marley.

He felt somewhat ambivalent now that he had eaten and acclimated a bit. He watched as more vorts filtered onto the terrace, getting plates of food or a mug of ale but mostly finding an excuse to glimpse the first visitor to their city. A gnawing need to see his companions replaced his hunger, but he felt compelled by courtesy to those that saved their lives to at least answer what questions he could and get what information he might garner.

He finally said, “My hyld-mother belonged to the Hearthwarder clan. The Ancients took her as a slave and later concubine. She died birthing my great-mother, her eighth child. My father too was the eighth child and a second-generation Vortryl. I am also an eighth child and of the second generation born free of the Ancient’s oppression. I am half vort, if you consider,”

Marley paused again, reaching for the mug of ale. “Is there any chance of getting something not as potent? My mouth feels like the Kitar Desert in the middle days of Peytan. He cleared his throat to emphasize his discomfort and was rewarded with the Tarkhyld waving down the roaming brewmaster.

Soon a cup of steaming sweetleaf Kala sat before him. He was pleased to see it was Beryl bringing him the beverage. “My thanks to you are in order, again.” Taking a sip of the drink, his mouth tingled with sweet satisfaction. Marley’s smile beamed with his appreciation and was rewarded with a dimpled grin that made him feel as warm as the drink.

“Your enjoyment is thanks enough… just please do not mind my brother Dern, he can be quite ostentatious.” She smiled at him once more, then she turned and left.

Ethan chuckled as they watched the woman leave. “Beryl likes you, and that says much. Her intuition is like none other. She is the Great-daughter of the First-father of the Honorrock Clan.

Marley gave a noncommittal grunt. He hoped the girl was not being shoved at him because it had been long and long since he had felt such a powerful draw. What he hoped for that spark needed time to mature. Time he did not have.

The tarkhyld seemed to recognize the runesmith’s ambivalence and changed the subject back to the scar on Marley’s forehead. “I know of the En’Kur-mata. The chronicles tell of the first covenant between Vortryl and En’Kur. Has there been a falling out between the Clans and En’Kur or is this a more personal wound?” Ethan Lifegiver sat stroking his dark beard, a considering look on his face. “You and your friends’ arrival dreamed in the Vault of Dreams and chronicled more than one hundred cycles or years ago.

Marley’s hand snaked out, drawing back the tankard he shoved away earlier. An appropriate brew for this conversation, he decided as he took a swallow. In fact, with the Fates sprinkling dreams, visions and prophecies into the mix, he might just need a couple more.

He felt like he was trying to sing a song on an untried lute with an unknown lyric in a newly found voice. It seemed like every time he turned around, there was another dream or vision involving him and with each half-seen vision or half-remembered dream; they were being herded toward a destiny they were ill-prepared to meet.

“If visions are to be revealed that involve my companions, perhaps we should send for them, so we may all hear your words and discuss our options.”

The tarkhyld cleared his throat. “I said they dreamed of your appearance. I did not say we were free to reveal what was in those dreams. Oft’ times to reveal such dreams and prophecies to those involved, even with the best intentions, brings about unforeseen consequences and the heavy hands of the Fates to right the balance.”

Marley considered his words. It was becoming obvious to the runesmith that his allies would not be welcome in Oritek, no matter how or for what reason he asked. He didn’t know how long they had been here or what welcome his friends received. He knew they needed to get off this island, and on with their mission yesterday or the day before. And they were going to need the vort’s help. If that meant leaving the vort people to their vaults and chronicles, he could, in this, agree wholeheartedly.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to presume your intentions, yet sure enough I did.” The runesmith glanced around the terrace where they sat. “How long have we been enjoying your hospitality?”

“I am glad we agree. No apology needed, but your integrity honors me.” Ethan grinned. “Time moves faster beyond the island. Your ship wrecked here a double handful of days ago, by island time. I fear outside the tear’s providence close to a full moon cycle has passed.”

Marley almost tipped his chair over as he came to his feet. “Can you help us leave the island? Our mission is grim and wide reaching.”

“Indeed, Glyf has informed Arubicon of your mission and the attack on Ymarii and Windy Cove. He sent you a gift.” The tarkhyld motioned for one of the men working at the tables to come over. “Bring me that stick Arubicon left for our guest.” Ethan turned back to Marley. “ The Vort man soon returned with a beautiful polished staff of Wista heartwood. Marley grinned as Ethan handed him the staff. That is a fine staff indeed. I take it, I won’t be seeing Arubicon before we leave.”

“He left not long after talking to Glyf. He said to tell you Ymarii gave you word Alhwone would have you heed. Just remember, you can win the battle and lose the war.

“Anything else?” Marley asked. He felt his impatience burning in his belly with another platitude as tinder for the fire. Not waiting for an answer to his last question, he asked. “When can we leave and how?”

“Tomorrow a dusk, Marley Stonebender, if we can make a plan. Come, let’s put our heads together and figure out our options.”