Heirs of Prophecy Page 4

  As the family walked alongside Throll, the horse at his side, the discussion seemed to satisfy the giant ranger that the Rivertons actually believed the crazy story they had told him. Throll explained that they were now traversing a land called Trimoria, and that he was the Protector—whatever that meant—of a town called Aubgherle.

  But there was a lot of confusion. Not only had Throll never heard of Arizona, he apparently had no idea what a car was. And he burst out in laughter when Ryan tried to describe an airplane. Dad’s expression gradually lost its confidence. It was not at all clear that this ranger was the savior they’d been looking for.

  They came to a stop near the edge of a forest, where Throll suggested they camp for the night. He gathered up some firewood and started a fire; he too had flint. Then he announced, with one wary eye on Silver, “We’ll need to establish a guard.” He turned to Ryan. “How are you with a sword, lad?”

  “You—you want me to use your sword?”

  The man laughed. “No, mine is much too large for you. But…” Throll retrieved a short sword from a scabbard hanging from his saddle. He handed it to Ryan. “This should suit you.”

  Ryan gripped the sword awkwardly, and reared back to take a practice swing. But before he could bring the blade down, Throll grabbed his wrist firmly and wrested the sword from his hand.

  “Have you never held a sword before?” Throll asked, one thick eyebrow raised.

  “Of course I haven’t,” Ryan said. “My school doesn’t even let us have plastic knives.”

  Throll frowned. “May I see your hands, please?”

  Ryan trembled as he held out his hands for the giant ranger to inspect. Throll studied them closely, then shook his head slowly.

  “Never even done a decent day’s work,” he muttered. “How can that be?” He looked up at the others. “Let me see everyone’s hands, if you please.”

  One by one, he examined everyone’s hands, confirming that they, too, were without the calluses of hard labor. Finally he put his hands on his hips.

  “How is it that a grown man with two apprentice-aged boys and a wife would have such smooth hands? You don’t have the look of scriveners, and you certainly aren’t wealthy merchants.”

  “We’ve told you—” Dad began.

  “Aye, you’ve told me about the earthquake and the flying machine. I trust that you believe it yourselves, but… words as strange as yours are easy to dismiss as a wild tale.”

  “My parents don’t lie, Throll,” Aaron said. “Ryan and I don’t lie, either. Mom and Dad punished us for it when we were little. The lessons stuck.”

  Throll looked at Aaron and nodded with approval. “As they should. I don’t abide lying in my home, either.” After a moment he sighed, shrugging his massive shoulders. “I’m sorry to doubt you,” he said to Dad, “but I find myself rarely trusting strangers, especially strangers with such a fantastic tale. Still…” He pawed at the bushy whiskers on his chin. “I’m tempted to believe you. Even if your story is utterly senseless.”

  Dad smiled. “I’d have trouble believing me, too. I’m not sure I trust my own senses anymore—especially after all we’ve seen.” He took a hesitant step forward. “Throll… do you think maybe I could see that sword?”

  Throll looked surprised. Still, he handed over the sword, hilt-first.

  Dad studied the blade, looking down its length and measuring its balance. He flicked the flat of the blade with his finger, smiling as he listened to the sound it made. “Is this an example of a good blade in Trimoria?” he asked.

  Throll nodded. “Why?”

  Dad reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. “I could make a blade of iron ore and carbon dust, just as this key is made. It would give you a much sharper blade with a very durable edge.”

  “Really?” Throll said.

  For the first time in a day, Dad smiled confidently. “Absolutely. I’d just need a forge and the raw ingredients.”

  Throll nodded. “Well… one day soon I might ask you to make good on that promise. For tonight, I’ll stand watch. We’ll set out again at dawn.”

  “We can’t tell you how much we appreciate your help,” Mom said. “We’ll definitely pay you somehow.”

  Ryan leaned in and whispered, “Mom, I don’t think they have ATMs here. We’re not exactly in Kansas anymore.”

  “Wake up!” came Throll’s bellowing voice.

  Ryan sprang up, disoriented. It was still mostly dark out. Did this really count as dawn?

  “Time to pack up and move on,” Throll said with a smile. “If we can keep a reasonable pace, we should arrive in Aubgherle by midafternoon.”

  It didn’t take long to pack up, as the Riverton’s still had nothing but their apples—which Throll had told them were called quizoa fruit. Ryan was still shaking loose the cobwebs when they set out again.

  For a while they walked in silence, everyone groggy and tired, and then Aaron spoke up. “Hey, Throll, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” He bit his lip in that way he always did when he was nervous. “Is it normal around here for rocks to be hollow?”

  “Hollow?” Throll asked.

  “Here,” Aaron said, “let me show you.”

  He jogged off a bit, searching the ground, then bent down and picked up a rock about the size of his head. He returned, holding it in one hand, and held it out to Throll. “See?” he said. “It looks like a regular rock, but it’s way too light.”

  Throll took the rock and hefted it in his hand. His eyes widened. “This feels light to you?”

  Aaron nodded.

  Throll pondered this for a long moment. Then his face brightened. “Come with me. All of you.”

  He grabbed an axe from his saddle, then set off into the woods. He stopped in a clearing, or possibly the location of a past fire, for the trees immediately surrounding the cleared area looked much younger than the rest. The ranger selected a tree whose trunk was perhaps a foot in diameter, and he felled the tree with only a few swings of his ax. Then he lopped off a four-foot-long section from the trunk.

  “Come on over here, Aaron,” Throll said. “See if you can lift this. But don’t strain too much.”

  Aaron sized up the trunk uncertainly. He then wrapped his arms around it, and with a grunt, he lifted it. But he’d only gotten it about six inches off the ground before he dropped it with a thud. “It’s too heavy,” he said, panting.

  “What is this supposed to prove?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah,” Aaron said through labored breaths. “I mean… you have hollow rocks but solid wood?”

  Throll shook his head. “You shouldn’t have been able to lift that, son. That log is thrice and half your weight.”

  Ryan pushed past Aaron and wrapped his arms around the log. With a grunt, he tried to lift it.

  The log didn’t even budge.

  “Ryan, stop,” Dad said. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  Ryan fell backward, his face feeling hot from anger and embarrassment. “What’s going on? Aaron’s suddenly Mister Muscles, our cat turned into some kind of panther, and all I can do is light up the sky with my itchy fingers. Looks like I got the short end of the stick on this crazy vacation.”

  Throll turned to him. “What do you mean, ‘light up the sky’?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Like this.”

  He knew he could do it at will—he’d practiced it last night while everyone was sleeping and Throll was turned away. He concentrated on his fingertips, recalling the itchy feeling. For a moment nothing happened, but then his fingertips began to glow. The glow moved down his fingers and consumed most of his hand, growing brighter all the while, and sparks arced from finger to finger.

  “Ryan, stop it!” Mom yelled. “Remember last time? You don’t know what might happen.”

  The energy pooling around Ryan’s fingers faded, and he suddenly felt a bone-weary fatigue wash over him. “See?”

  Throll shook his head solemnly. “I strongly suggest that neither of you revea
l these unusual abilities to anyone else. There are people who would be threatened by what you’ve shown me. If word of this reaches the wrong ears, harm will most certainly befall you.”

  “I agree with Throll,” Dad said sternly. “I forbid you boys to even experiment with this. We need to learn about this place before doing anything that would make us stick out.”

  “We’re going to stick out regardless,” Mom said, gesturing to their clothes. “But let’s do as little as possible to bring attention to ourselves. Okay, boys?”

  Both brothers nodded.

  “I’ll try not to open any pickle jars,” Aaron said jokingly. “But can I get something to eat? I’m starving. And exhausted.” To Ryan’s surprise, his brother looked barely able to stand.

  Throll fished a slab of dry meat from his pocket and handed it to Aaron. When he gave Ryan a second piece of meat, Ryan realized that he too was famished.

  He greedily wolfed it down. The meat was stringy and tough, but satisfying, and when he finished it, he felt substantially better, filled with warm contentedness.

  “Wow,” he said. “That made a huge difference. I feel normal again. Thanks for the snack.”

  Throll chuckled, then pulled out more meat and passed it around. “Perhaps we should have broken our fast before setting out. Eat a bit more if it replenishes your energy. But then let’s get moving again.” He winked. “There’s much better food in Aubgherle.”

  Traveling in a New Land

  “What we know today as Trimoria,” Throll said as they walked southeast across the grasslands, “is a land bordered on four sides by various impenetrable barriers. To the east and west are impassable mountains. You are familiar with the swamps to the north. And in the south are the Trimorian mists—death to any who enter.”

  Ryan shivered at the ominous words.

  “Is everyone here as big as you?” Aaron asked.

  “Aaron!” Mom chided.

  Throll laughed. “It’s okay, Aubrey. I am freakishly big. Some joke that I probably had an ogre in my family heritage. You Rivertons are what I’d expect for a typical Trimorian. Though there are dwarves in the mountains, and on occasion you might even see one of them in the market.”

  “Dwarves?” Aaron said.

  “Oh yes,” Throll said. “Good people, the dwarves, but they tend to keep to themselves most of the time.” He motioned toward the east and added, “And it’s said there are elves living in the woods. I’ve never seen one myself, but I’ve found tracks from time to time.”

  Ryan laughed at the thought of being in a world of dwarves, ogres, and elves. It was like he’d stepped into a fantasy novel.

  “What were you saying about the mists?” Aaron said. “Death to any who enter? But we were in the mists, and we didn’t die.”

  Throll shook his head. “I was referring to the mists to the south. The mists in the northern swamps are just mists, but in the south… none have entered and lived to tell the tale. I know of several well-equipped rangers who disappeared in those mists, never to return.”

  “That doesn’t mean they died,” Dad said. “Maybe they just found a reason not to return.”

  Throll shook his head. “Perhaps, but I don’t believe it. Those rangers had families. No reason would be sufficient for such men to abandon their children.”

  Dad looked dubious, but changed the subject. “You said you’re a Protector. Is that like a governor, or a king…?”

  “You assume too much of me. I’m not royalty, I merely protect the people of Aubgherle. Trimoria did have a king, but no longer,” Throll said with regret. “The royal family died a long time ago. The closest Trimoria has to a ruler now is the wizard Azazel. But he lives in the far west and rarely troubles us here.”

  “Did you say ‘wizard?’” Ryan asked. “You mean like a real wizard who can do real magic?”

  Throll looked at Ryan curiously. “Are there no wizards where you’re from?”

  Ryan shook his head. “No. They’re just in stories. There’s no magic, either. Except for card tricks, sleight-of-hand, that kind of thing. Not real magic.”

  “Your ‘light of hand’ looked like real magic to me,” said Throll.

  “Light of…?” Ryan paused, then chuckled in understanding. “No, I meant… I couldn’t do that until we got here. Aaron wasn’t very strong before then either. Back where we’re from, there’s no magic. But here…” He looked at his hands. “I guess there is.”

  “There is,” Throll agreed. “Though to tell you the truth, I’ve not witnessed much magic myself, nor spoken to those who have witnessed it, except by Azazel. And he’s not a kind wizard. It’s said that he destroyed an entire town with magical fire. It’s also said that he possesses the power to transform into the shape of a raven, and that all black birds are the spies of the wizard himself.”

  The ranger’s dire words did little to dampen Ryan’s excitement about a land where actual magic was real. “Can you learn magic?” he asked. “Do some people have magic and others don’t? Do you have any magical skills?”

  Throll held up his hands. “Whoa, lad. One question at a time.” He smiled. “I don’t know if you can learn magic. Before now, I’ve never met anyone who had magical skills, nor have I met anyone who claimed to know anyone with magical skills. Other than Azazel, of course. And I don’t possess magical skills, although my wife often says that I’m quite skilled at making her dinners disappear.”

  He chuckled. “But… there has been a wizard in Azazel’s tower for centuries. Some say that wizards can live forever. Others say that magical skills pass from father to son, and that as one wizard dies—either of old age or through the son’s treachery—the wizard’s son takes over. But the truth is, there’s no evidence for any of that. I wouldn’t take it to be anything more than rumor.”

  Throll’s expression darkened. “But what I know to be true is this: there is only one wizard in Trimoria. And I don’t think that has happened by chance.”

  Ryan’s eyes went wide as he realized what Throll was saying. “You think he… kills them? Like he’s getting rid of the competition?”

  Throll nodded solemnly. “Hence my advice to keep your magical abilities to yourself.”

  Ryan fell silent after that, his gut tightening, his gaze straight ahead. Magic was real. He could do it.

  And it might just get him killed.

  They had left the grasslands behind and taken to a rocky trail when Mom finally broke the silence that had possessed her all day.

  “So, Throll,” she said. “I heard you mention a wife earlier. Do you have any kids?”

  Throll smiled. “I have a daughter. She’s fourteen years old. I think your boys will get along nicely with her.”

  “No boys?” Aaron asked, his disappointment obvious.

  Mom laughed. “You know you can get along with girls, too, Aaron.”

  Throll cut in. “Would it make you feel better to know that my daughter and I secretly sneak out of the house to practice archery? Don’t tell my wife, though. She wouldn’t think it very ladylike.”

  “I bet I can beat her with a bow,” Aaron boasted.

  “No chance,” said Ryan. “You can’t even beat me.”

  Aaron glared at him.

  “I can’t wait to meet them,” Mom said.

  “I think you and Gwen will get along well,” Throll said. “She’s an intelligent and beautiful woman who just happened to fall in love with an old boot like me. I can tell you for a fact that I don’t deserve someone as lovely as she. And she is with child right now,” he added with pride.

  “Congratulations!” said Mom. “How far along is she?”

  “Six months, I believe. I wasn’t around for most of the first pregnancy, so this is all new for me. I just hope there are no bad omens at the bathing.”

  “The bathing?” Mom asked.

  “Ah, yes. You wouldn’t know. Outside of each town in Trimoria is a fountain, served by a natural spring. At the center of each fountain stands a statue of the First P
rotector, his arms raised to hold the orb over his head. In fact the fountains are the only things of substance we have maintained since the time of the First Protector. The fountains’ exact purpose has been lost to history, but one thing that wasn’t lost is the message carved at the base of each fountain:

  “‘Bring to me your newly born children so that they may be purified in the waters of this fountain.’”

  Throll’s horse whinnied as if in respect.

  “Thus our tradition is to take each of our newly born to be bathed there, in the waters of the First Protector,” Throll said.

  “What is ‘the First Protector’?” Dad asked.

  Throll shook his head. “You really are from a different world. The First Protector is among the most revered figures in the history of Trimoria. Long ago, spanning at least twenty generations and likely more, the people of Trimoria gathered for an epic battle against the demon horde. They were on the brink of utter defeat when the First Protector, a wizard of great ability, raised his powers against the demons and wiped them from the land.”

  Ryan’s heart leapt. “Wait! I dreamt about that! It was so strange, because I’d never even thought of a demon before in my life. But I saw that battle, the wizard, everything!”

  Throll didn’t appear surprised. “In Trimoria, we all have that dream. It commemorates the sacrifices of those who came before us. I expect, given time, you will all have that dream.”

  “So all the demons were defeated?” Aaron asked.

  “The battle was won, but it’s said the demons still exist outside the barrier. This is why the mists are in place. They are a remnant of the powers left behind by the First Protector. Those mists keep us safe from demon attacks.”

  “You were telling us about the bathing ritual,” Mom said. “Something about omens?”

  “Yes. On rare occasions, the fountain will prophesy harm to befall the child. The last time was five years ago, when Lydia Hackenbeth bathed her newborn. I myself witnessed the statue’s glow—and within a month, the child had died in his bed.” Throll shook his head sadly. “This is simply the way of things. Whenever the fountain glows, the child in question dies. So you can imagine why Gwen and I worry.”