Eranithia: Prophecies: Chapter 10

Chapter 10

They followed the river north for just a few more minutes before they reached the place Garandol said was the entrance. They couldn't see anything but the rock face of the canyon; however, when Garandol waved his staff over a particular spot a great double door appeared. It was made from the rock of the cliff face, but covered in symbols from the Dwarf language. Garandol stared at the door for a long time and then began pacing.

"What is it?" Mark asked. He held Jennifer up as she dozed in and out of sleep while they sat waiting.

“It's asking for a key,” Garandol explained.

Mark thought for a while as Garandol searched for more clues on the doors.

After a while, Garandol sat on a boulder. Mark joined him, leaving Jennifer with Arland and Timberfoot. Mark kept a watchful eye on them as he and Garandol sat on the boulder.

"What are the Dwarfs like?" he asked, making conversation as Garandol tried to figure out how to get in. Mark learned that, at least for himself, the best way for figure something out is to take one's mind off of it.

"The Dwarfs are wonderful people,” Garandol said as if thinking of close family. “They're so full of life and energy and kindness. They're also very hard workers. Unfortunately, they no longer live in Eranithia.”

“Why? Where'd they go?” Mark asked.

“When Arnath took control of the kingdom they abandoned their underground city and moved to Kushen, the land of the Centaurs. They'd always had good relations with the Centaurs, so they were welcomed warmly.”

Mark watched the old man. There was sadness in his eyes as he talked about the Dwarfs and why they had to leave their home. He wondered if they would ever be able to return.

“The Dwarfs knew that if they stayed they would have been made Arnath's slaves.”

“Couldn't they have fought him and stayed in their home?”

“Yes, but they would have lost. Their army couldn't stand against Arnath's. He had weapons that they couldn't fight against. Too much dark magic strengthened his forces. So they left as quickly and quietly as they could. They knew they'd be safe with the Centaurs, because if Arnath ever tried to attack the Centaurs, the Elves would come to their aid. At the time, Arnath's army wasn't quite the size it is now. The Elves and Centaurs would have destroyed him.”

"Don't the Elves and Centaurs know they're stronger than Arnath?"

Mark swatted away a rather large mosquito.

"They do, and even though they have been strong allies of ours, whenever an evil king takes over the land, they keep away, unless there was someone they knew would be a better leader to take that king's place. Then they would fight alongside him to put him on the throne. Then the alliance would resume."

"Didn't they ever try and stop an evil king from taking power?"

"It's not quite so simple. The evil kings of Eranithia were always from within. Never has Eranithia been taken over by a foreign land. It has always been a power hungry man or woman from within the royal family who weasels their way to the throne. Always through deception and murder. Like with Arnath. He murdered the king and queen and set their son Seth up to take the fall.”

“Seth, as in the guy we're gonna try and find in the Blood Mountains?” Mark asked, his heart racing slightly as it seemed pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together.

“Yes.”

“The same Seth that the girl from my dream said to find to rescue her?”

“The very same.”

“Is that why Jennifer and I were brought to Eranithia? To put Seth on the throne? Is he the one the Elves and Centaurs will support?”

A nod was Garandol's only response.

“Let me get this straight,” Mark said. “We're going to search for a guy who's been living in the scariest place ever created in hopes that he hasn't gone completely insane and will take his rightful place on the throne?”

“Yes.”

“And Jennifer and I are the ones who can help this happen?”

Looking down at Mark, Garandol said, “I didn't say it would be easy.”

Sighing as he realized the difficulty of their task, Mark asked, "Will the Elves and Centaurs back him up?"

"It's possible, but he will have to convince them, or have someone reliable to speak for him."

"What do they believe about the prophecies?"

"Oh, they believe them fully. Many of them were there when I first spoke them."

"Then why don't they come and help?"

"They have the responsibility to look after Eranithia, but when the people allow themselves to be corrupted or deceived by an evil leader, like Arnath, then it is outside of their duty to protect us. It's the responsibility of the people of Eranithia to watch the royal family and make sure they aren't deceived by an evil member of their family. The Elves and Centaurs protect us from any foreign invasion.”

Mark stared at the entrance of the city, soaking in all Garandol was teaching him. Then he remembered how Garandol mentioned his abilities as a gift.

“What kind of gifts does Sol give?” Mark blurted out.

“That's a very good question, Mark.” Garandol twirled some of his long beard in his fingers as he said, “He gives gifts to individuals and to entire nations.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as you've already noticed, you have strength you never realized before, but for each of the races in Eranithia, and its surrounding nations, He gave different gifts. To the Elves, He gave immortality, and with that gift He made them the guardians of Eranithia. If ever there is a threat on the land, the Elves are always there to stop it, like I mentioned before. To the Centaurs, He also gave long life to, but their gift is wisdom. They typically serve as counselors for the kings of Eranithia. But don't ever get on a Centaur's bad side. They are fierce warriors, not easily defeated.”

"What about the Dwarfs? What was their gift from Sol?"

Garandol smiled and said, "The love to work. They are the ones who build and shape all that you see in Eranithia. They build the great castles; they make the armor and weapons for the kings' armies, as well as for themselves. Their craftsmanship is flawless. If they really put their talents to the fullest, they create weapons that will never break or wear.

“Every time a hero steps up to reclaim the land and give our great country a good leader again, they make a special sword just for this hero as a gift. And without fail, this hero will win."

"Can I learn to fight? Like for real? Not just the mock stuff I did back in my world,” Mark asked, rolling his eyes, thinking about the club he'd been a part of.

Garandol smiled again and said, "Soon enough, you will learn. If only we could get this door open.”

Garandol returned to the door to search for more clues. Something must have caught his eye in the center of one of the doors. Mark watched Garandol checking the door on the right. A rectangular piece came out. Where the piece left an open hole, Garandol found a small, rolled up piece of parchment. As he read it his eyes lit up, then he looked at Mark.

“What?” Mark asked nervously, taking a step back.

“You and your friends you trained with in your world, what other skills did you learn?” Garandol asked excitedly.

“What? Why?”

“Please, just tell me. Did you do anything working with metal?”

“Like making swords?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Yes. Actually, I made a few of my own swords.”

A smile spread across Garandol's face, “Excellent. Come with me.”

Mark followed him as he gathered large stones with his staff, lifting them into the air. Garandol started a wood-less fire on top of an altar of some sort. He made the fire hotter than any campfire they'd had on their journey. Then he pointed his staff at a large, flat boulder and conjured up a heavy hammer.

“That is your anvil. It's not great, but the best we've got. I'll smooth and flatten out any blemishes that will prevent a flat blade.”

“What am I making? And why?” Mark asked.

“We need something to unlock the doors.”

Things weren't quite clicking in Mark's mind. What did this have to do with finding the key? Maybe there was something on the door that would tell him what he needed.

“I think I should study the door,” he said.

“Be my guest. Just don't take too long.”

Mark jogged over to the doors to study them. He ignored the Dwarf writing and searched for a place to put a key in. After a few minutes of searching, he found it. A small, smooth slot. Looking around on the ground he found a long, thin stick. He had the stick in a flash, returning to measure how deep the slot went. He stuck the stick in to find out how deep it went. The stick went roughly five inches in. He'd need something at least a couple inches longer.

Just before he left he saw a second slot on the door on the left. He jumped over to it and stuck the stick inside. It was the exact same depth.

What can I make that would fit inside? He thought, biting the tip of his thumb as he did. He stared at the doors, racking his brain. What kind of key would fit inside a slot? Does it have any other markings or grooves inside to line up with?

Sticking the stick back into the slot, he ran the tip along the edges, feeling for any blemishes he'd have to match the metal to. The sides were all perfectly smooth, not a blemish to be found. Mark was satisfied that he had all the information he needed, so he ran back to Garandol to find him extracting metal from the earth. The type of metal wouldn't matter, as long as it wasn't gold. Gold was too soft.

“I need two daggers, five inches long and an inch wide.”

Garandol nodded and provided a wide branch with two one-inch wide slots in them. Once the metal was melted down, Mark poured them into the slots. Then when the metal cooled and solidified again, he pried them out and stuck them into the fire. Garandol used his staff to send a strong current of hot air into the flames.

Mark would pull the blades out, letting them cool for a while. Then it was back into the flames. He didn't need them too strong since they were just to open the doors. They weren't to be used as weapons. If they were going to be used for more, he would have taken his time with them.

It took them into the night to make the daggers, pounding on the blades to shape them. At one point, Arland and Jennifer brought them some food. They took a short break to eat, then went right back to work, heating the blades, hammering them into shape, then grinding them against a wet stone to sharpen them. When they were finally finished they took them to the doors again.

“Jennifer!” Garandol called from the doors.

Mark looked over and saw both Arland and Jennifer looking over. Timberfoot was lying down a few yards away, looking at the stars.

“We need both you and Mark to unlock the doors,” Garandol explained hastily.

She and Arland got up then walked over to them. Mark handed her one of the handle-less blades.

Taking it from him, Jennifer stared at it for a second then asked, “What do we do?”

“You see the slot here?” Mark asked pointing to the one inch slot.

“Yeah.”

“Stick the blade in.”

“That's it?”

Mark shrugged but Garandol answered her question saying, “That's it.”

She shrugged then stood in front of the door on the left as Mark stood on the right.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded as she raised the blade.

He counted to three then together they shoved the blades into their slots then took a few steps back, unsure of what would happen next. At first, it seemed as if nothing would happen. Then, as if a switch was flipped, the doors glowed white as the symbols and lettering glowed blue. The slots and daggers disappeared, then, with a loud booming noise that shook the ground, the large doors swung open. Garandol looked at Mark with a proud smile.

"Well done, Mark. Well done," he praised him, slapping him on the shoulder. Then he walked through the doors into the darkened city.

Mark looked over at his sister. Giving him a fake smile, she followed Garandol through the doors. He didn't know why she gave him such a fake smile. What could he have done wrong? His heart sank a little as he followed her into the dark, Arland right behind him.

At a different time, torches would have lit their way, but ever since the Dwarfs left their home, ten years ago, the torches remained extinguished. Garandol whispered something and the end of his staff lit up. There they stood in a great hall with a ceiling that was thirty feet above them. The ceiling was smooth and rounded. Three chandeliers, six feet in diameter, were suspended by heavy, black chains above them.

Garandol walked across the room to a three foot tall water basin that stood in front of a tall pillar, then, pointing his staff at it, he said in a deep voice, "Crema!"

As soon as the words left his lips, fire filled the basin. The fire followed canals and pipes running up the walls. Soon the entire hall was filled with warm light from the fire.

The pipes running up the walls led the fire into other canals leading to the three chandeliers. Fire lined each chandelier, connected by a single canal to each forming a triangle. The chandeliers lit up the ceiling revealing artwork done by the Dwarfs.

There were portraits of Dwarf kings and queens, heroes from history, battle scenes and Dwarf men romancing Dwarf women. Along the walls were statues, each of a Dwarf king or queen since the start of their race.

Mark and Jennifer stared in awe at the artwork and history in the room as Garandol went back to the main doors.

When he returned a couple of minutes later he said, "Timberfoot is going to watch for any trouble and call in to us if he sees anything."

Garandol then headed south of the Entrance Hall. Mark followed, but watched as Arland went to a set of large doors directly across from the entrance. Jennifer followed him. He didn't understand why he was so overprotective of her, he wasn't normally. Still, he wanted to stay close to her, but knew Arland was a friend there to help them. Besides, he knew he had to stay close to Garandol. He'd only just begun to teach Mark the things he needed to learn.

“Come, Mark,” came Garandol's voice from down the dimly lit hallway.

Arland pushed open the large wooden doors, which matched the entrance doors in size, shape, and design. Jennifer followed him into a large room. This one had a long wooden table surrounded by chairs of various sizes. At the far end of the room was a throne of stone.

"I partook in many feasts here," Arland said sadly, running his fingertips over the backs of chairs as he passed by.

"You were friends with the Dwarfs?" Jennifer asked, taking the opposite side of the long banquet table.

"Yes, I was. Not many elves are very friendly with the Dwarfs. Elves have a tendency to be rather full of themselves,” he said with a sideways smile. “They are very proud and wise, which makes them rather foolish sometimes. You see, I am an outcast of an outcast clan. I belong neither to the Elves nor the Wood Elves any longer..." He went on to tell her his story.

Arland was born a Wood Elf, a despised clan of the Elves. They were accepting of all forms of magic and performed sacrifices to gods foreign to Eranithia. The Wood Elves were cast out of Ashenland for their sins and hid in the woods of Eranithia. Sol put a mark on them to set them apart from the Elves of Ashenland. He gave them bright red hair so it would be no mistake as to who they were.

Arland was born different than the rest of the Wood Elves. It was explained to him, by a mysterious being, that Sol had blessed him with dark red hair to separate him from the clan. As he grew up he was aware that he was different than the rest of the Wood Elves. He never believed their teachings, or followed their ways in their sacrifices. Something in his heart just told him they were wrong. Then when Arland was a young Elf; of only about twenty, he was cast out of his clan because he voiced his opinions about the animal sacrifices they made, saying they were wrong. He also told them he didn't believe in the gods they worshiped.

As he wandered the woods, he stumbled upon a camp of soldiers that hated Elves, not just the Wood Elves but all Elves. They bound him, beat him and tortured him for a week. He had no will within him to try and escape. He was more of an outcast than anyone in Eranithia. He wasn't welcome among his clan, and no matter what he told the rest of the Elves in Ashenland, they would never accept him into their land. They would never believe the reasons he was banished from his clan.

After enduring a week of torture and beatings, Garandol happened to be traveling past the camp of soldiers and found Arland tied to a tree. The soldiers were afraid of Garandol because he was already a powerful wizard.

They were right to fear him, too. He confounded their minds to do what he told them to. After making them stand together, he bound them together with magic. He then released Arland from his bonds, but Arland didn't rise. Falling over onto his side, he laid on the ground, crying.

Kneeling down at the Elf's side, Garandol placed a hand on Arland's shoulder, saying, "Elf, you are free now, what is the matter?"

"Can't you see that I am a Wood Elf?” Arland screamed at him. “There is nowhere for me to go even if I am free. My clan banished me from their midst because I didn't believe as they did. And there is no way the Elves in Ashenland will accept me. I still look like a Wood Elf.”

"Have faith, Elf. I will take care of you. But right now you need to stand and stop feeling sorry for yourself. No one will help you if you won't help yourself."

Arland looked up at the wizard. His eyes were kind, so, taking the wizard's extended arm, he rose to his feet.

"Here, let me heal those wounds," Garandol said.

"No, let them heal on their own. I am strong, I didn't feel the pain they inflicted. I will bear whatever scars I gain as reminders of when I was rescued by a stranger."

"Strangers we are no more, but friends. I am Garandol the Wizard."

"Arland the Wood Elf."

"A good Wood Elf. The only one known to man. You will be a great hero one day. I can see it already."

"Are you a prophet as well, wizard?" Arland asked sarcastically.

"I speak what is spoken to me. Sol speaks to me and I repeat His message to the rest of the world."

"Then I'm glad to have met you, Garandol."

"Likewise, Arland. Now come, let us take care of these unfit soldiers," Garandol said, turning towards the bound soldiers.

Arland followed and asked, "What are you going to do with them?"

"Take them to the king. He'll deal with them appropriately."

Arland didn't say anything else. He did as he was told as they traveled to the king's castle. At that time, neither Arnath nor his brother, Damien, were king, but their father, Curtis, and their mother, Darla, were the King and Queen of Eranithia. They were possibly known as the most loved rulers in all history, only to be surpassed by Damien and Seraphim. Theirs was a beloved family line.

When Garandol and Arland took the soldiers before King Curtis, the king was furious. He had them thrown in the dungeons to be punished in the way they had treated Arland. He was intolerant of prejudice of any kind.

King Curtis then gave the order for Garandol to set up a dwelling for Arland and to protect him from men with ill intent. So he did. He took Arland to the east, near the border of Eranithia and Ashenland. Sol came to them and changed Arland's perspective: He healed Arland's wounds, but let them scar like they would have if they had healed on their own. He had one scar on his cheek where one of the soldiers had sliced it open. The rest of the scars were covered by his clothing. Sol didn't change his appearance but told him something he would never forget...

“He told me that he created me the way he chose to.” They sat at the long table, facing each other (during his story, Jennifer had joined him on the same side of the table, taking a chair next to him). Arland went on, saying, “Sol explained to me how one day, while my mother wandered the woods in a drunken state, an Elf from Ashenland took her to a cave to take care of her. They fell in love over the few days they spent together, and in their time together I was conceived. When the rest of the clan found out, they killed my father and punished my mother. When they banished me, they blamed my mother for the way I was. Her depression drove her to take her own life.”

“Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry, Arland,” Jennifer said, putting her hand on his.

He looked at her with a sad smile, but didn't make a move to remove her hand or hold it.

“It's what's made me who I am today. I miss my mother and wish I could have known my father, but without those pains in my life, I wouldn't be where I am today.”

"Wow," Jennifer said in respectful awe. "So that's how you got the scar on your cheek?" she asked, reaching for his face.

He allowed her to touch the scar, never taking his eyes from hers. Jennifer had never wanted anything more than to kiss Arland, but she resisted. She didn't want to get too attached to Eranithia. She still wanted to go home. Arland didn't seem phased by her retreating from his gaze. Instead he continued to tell her stories of feasts the Dwarfs had invited him to.

________________

Mark followed Garandol into a room off of the hallway they had been following. Inside were anvils and pits where fires used to blaze. Right now the only fire in the room was from the canals that were fed by the basin Garandol had lit in the Entrance Hall.

"This was their smith's room, wasn't it?" Mark asked, his eyes wide like a kid in a candy store.

"It was indeed. This is where they practiced their great skills in armory and weaponry. Many great swords were forged in their fires. Heroes' swords."

"Are there any left?" Mark asked, hoping to get his own sword.

"That's why we're here, to see if anything was left behind in their exodus."

Garandol went to one of the large wooden chests covered in dust and lifted the lid. He seemed to know which one to open. Mark stepped up and saw that each wooden chest had specific markings on it. He assumed the markings indicated whom the chest belonged to.

Spiders huddled in the corners they had built their webs in as Garandol looked inside. There he found two swords and two shields. Dust didn't settle on their surface like with the wood chests.

Garandol grinned as he reached into the chest, pulling one of the shields out and handed it to Mark. Then he pulled out the other shield and set it on top of the chest to the left. Reaching in again he pulled out both swords. Their bright steel shined brightly in the fire lining the room. Mark was mesmerized by the sight of them. Real, expertly made swords.

Garandol handed him one of the swords then set the second one with the other shield. Mark held the sword, gazing at it in awe. He was unsure of what to do with it at first. Then as if everything clicked in his mind, he twisted the sword in his hand, twirling it around, then swiped it at an unseen enemy. His techniques were sound, but his speed was slow. He was still a little unsure of what he was doing in that moment.

As he remembered his strength, his speed returned to him. Mark noticed Garandol reaching back into the chest. The wizard pulled out a small piece of parchment.

"What does it say?" Mark asked stepping up to him.

Garandol looked at him, then back at the note written on the paper and read it out loud saying, "Dear Garandol, Trumple is leading us out of Unterhumus tonight. After your visit last week, I forged these two swords in my spare time. I believe the prophecy and these weapons and shields are my gift to the chosen ones. May Sol guide them here swiftly so we can return to our home here in the Gar Mountains. The boats will be left for you if need be. We won't need them where we're going.

“The Centaurs agreed to share the Eranithian land they occupy on the back side of the mountains. We're not moving far, but it is outside of Arnath's reach. We will be safe there until the throne is once again occupied by a respectable human. Please accept these gifts and may they be used well. Nimblefist."

"Did you know him?" Mark asked.

"Her. She was a great metal-smith and an especially excellent sword-smith. She was also a great friend. As fierce a Dwarf as any Dwarf man. A great warrior who understood more than just the forging of these tools, but how to wield them as well."

Garandol rolled up the letter, then stuffed it into his robe.

"She knew you would come here for these?" Mark asked, studying his shining sword. An orange glow fell on his face from the fire's reflection.

"I told her that I would bring the twins to her when they arrived. But when the Dwarfs decided to leave she made them knowing she wouldn't see me until either there was a war or Arnath was unseated from his throne. So I knew to come here."

"So the other set is for Jennifer then?" Mark asked, nodding at the sword and shield laying on the dusty wood chest.

"Yes."

"Then let's take them to her," he said.

“One moment, Mark,” Garandol said, reaching into the chest again. He pulled out two belts with scabbards to holster their swords in. He slid Jennifer's sword into its scabbard then picked up the shield. Then they went back out to the Entrance Hall together. Arland and Jennifer were just returning from the Great Hall, laughing.

"Garandol, Mark, I was just telling Jennifer about the feasts we had here. Especially the time when Trumple had a bit too much wine and fell right out of his seat as he told of one of his war stories!" Arland laughed.

Garandol smiled and said, "Yes, those were wonderful times. Jennifer," he said in a more serious tone. Her laughing stopped even though her smile never left her face. "These are for you. Made specially by our friend, Nimblefist. She forged these for you a week before they left Unterhumus for the Centaur nation. They are a gift from her."

She stared at the sword and shield, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, but never making a move to take them.

"Jen, take them," Mark whispered hoarsely, afraid that she was being rude.

"It's okay. She's not ready for them yet. I will hold onto them until you're ready. But I hope it doesn't come that you need them before I have given them to you."

Reaching for the sword and shield, she said, "I'm sorry. Everything is just becoming more real to me."

Mark walked over to her and helped her put the shield on her back, almost like wearing a backpack. Once it was secure on her back, she unbuckled the belt around her waist, slipping it through a loop in the scabbard, then strapped it back around her waist again. Arland took the pack she'd been carrying since they left Garandol's home and carried it for her.

Mark found a way to strap the shield to his travel pack, then put the scabbard on his belt like Jennifer had done. Once they were finished, Mark saw Jennifer glance at Garandol's staring eyes. He wondered what the old man would say. Was she not ready? Were they not who they'd hoped for? Was this all just one colossal mistake?

“I understand this must all be overwhelming for you, Jennifer,” Garandol started. “And for you as well, Mark. But I am very proud of the way you are both handling all that has been thrust upon you so quickly.”

Mark hadn't expected to hear that at all from Garandol. However, a little encouragement was exactly what he needed. Mark looked at Jennifer, smiling, but his smile faded as he saw the terror in her eyes.

"We have to leave now,” she said in just above a whisper.

"What?" Mark asked.

"My dream I had after drinking the water from the spring. I spoke to Sol and he said not to dwell too long in the Dwarf city.”

She was speaking in such a rush, her breathing quickened. She sounded like she would start to hyperventilate and any moment. The way she was acting was beginning to scare Mark, but he couldn't show it. He put on a brave face and began his attempts to calm her down.

“Jen, calm down. Take a breath and slow down,” Mark said calmly.

She took a deep breath, calming herself down before she continued.

“He knew that there was something here that you wanted, Garandol, but he said once we have what you're looking for to leave. I think there's something dangerous here He doesn't want us to face."

"Then let's leave," Garandol said, leading them to the front doors. As they drew nearer, the loud booming voice of Timberfoot called to them.

"The king's men are here!"