clees
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What lies beyond the clouds? (a fantasy story)
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Apr 25 21:27 UTC 2001 |
"Well? All or nothing? Your horse and your sword to win your gold back.“
Brand wiped his forehead. Beads of sweat threatened to run into his
eyes, and he couldn’t afford to lose his concentration.
He finally had outdone himself.
He had been in trouble before, but not like this.
"He’s blushing," one of the bystanders noticed.
Several spectators snickered. The stranger was a wimp.
"Make up your mind. It’s a fair bargain,” the hooded man spoke.
How could he have let things so much out of hand?
He knew playing cards was one of his vices. Why then indulge in this
weakness?
"Innkeeper, you can fetch the pitch and feathers. This one isn’t going
to make it.”
Brand wiped his forehead again. How in earth could he have been so
stupid to play cards with a powerful wizard? Everybody knew nobody
could beat somebody like that?
He laid his cards on the table.
"He loses again!"
Everybody started cheering at the prospect of pummelling this stranger.
Brand’s shoulders drooped.
"Get the pitch and feathers!"
"Cough up your valuables, honourable Brand," the wizard spoke again.
He couldn’t oblige. He could hand over his sword but he didn’t own a
horse. It wouldn’t take long before the wizard would find out he’d been
double-crossed. Why, oh why did he persist in wagering?
Franticly he searched for means to turn the odds in his favour, but
inwardly he knew he had to face an angry mob.
What could he do to save the day?
A slight movement in the wizard’s right sleeve caught his eye.
Two minute emerald eyes lit up from the shadows of his sleeve. The
little creature left its hiding place and curiously looked up to Brand.
Some spectators sucked in their breath in awe.
“It’s a lizard!”
“Nay, it’s a drake. All wizards own drakes.”
The little animal walked on its hind legs, mimicking its giant
ancestors that once roamed the face of the earth.
The animal was bright red with a golden hue over its scales. Along its
back ran a crest. Just beneath its shoulder blades two small wings
protruded from its back.
One of the oafs tried to pet it but the little animal hissed and
snapped at his filthy fingers.
“Mother of earth!” the man exclaimed.
“You better watch out, man. Before you know it the animal’s poisonous.”
“Drakes aren’t poisonous,” another man said.
“Like you are an authority on the subject of drakes.”
“Would you doubt my word?”
“What’s its name?” Brand asked.
“It’s nameless,” the wizard answered gruffly.’
‘My name is Gnatonotanon, but you may call me Gnaton, if you will.’
An inner voice resounded in brand’s head. Wildly he gazed about, but he
wasn’t able to find the one who had shown the impudence of mind talking
to him. The animal stared at Brand, ‘It’s me talking to you, lord
Brand.’
He stared at the animal.
‘I’ll help you to win your bet. But, you’ll have to wager your life
against me. And stop giving those dumb looks or I’ll change my mind.’
Brand couldn’t believe what was happening.
This little animal was mind speaking to him, and he made him an offer.
Brand hesitated. Betting his life against a drake was taking a giant
risk. He could never be certain the animal was having him on. He didn’t
know much about drakes, so he couldn’t tell whether they were prone to
fooling people. Wizards were notoriously wicked, and maybe drakes
reflected their owners.
‘Don’t be condescending to me. I have got a mind of my own. You have to
trust me. I’ll arrange to outcome of your bet. There isn’t much of
another option, is there?’
Brand had reached a decision.
Alright,” Brand said, “I have got a proposition to make. All or
nothing, but now for real.”
“What do you mean?” the wizard asked.
Ï mean to bet the highest bet possible. I’ll wager my life against my
losses and that drake you have got there.” He pointed at the
animal on the tabletop. Brand couldn’t keep his eyes from the little
creature. “You’ll wager what?” “My life,” Brand said. Silence fell in
the taproom.
. . .
"Your life? That’s a mighty high bet you are placing there.”
Brand swallowed. What was he doing? Had he actually placed his fate in
the hands of this drake?
‘Dragon,’ the little creature corrected.
“Well yes,” he answered the wizard, “I don’t much for being chased from
this covered in pitch and feathers.”
"At least he’s gut spunk," one of the spectators said.
“You want to bet your life against your valuables and my pet?”
“Yes.”
“What if I don’t feel like it?”
“In that case, noble wizard, I am lost. Bit I am pretty certain wizards
are craving for bets like this.”
“You cannot possibly know what wizards desire, or not,” the wizard
snapped, “But if you really want to become my mindless servant, I’ll
grant you the honour.”
A silence fell among the spectators.
Brand looked nervously at the wizard awhile he waited for him to
shuffle the cards.
The wizard dealt the cards. Brand hardly dared to pick up his cards.
Cool, calm and collected. He was hardly showing his pokerface now his
life was at stake. What if he lost?
The wizard himself smiled confidently. He too did not pick up his cards.
“Since we know the stakes at forehand we don’t need to place our bets,
do we? So, why don’t you pick up your cards and face your destiny,
whatever the outcome may be?”
Brand’s hands trembled as he picked up the cards.
Either way he would soon find out what the future held in store for him.
2.
Something was itching between his shoulder blades.
"What am I to do with you?"
"Love me."
"Nice concept. But you can’t replace a woman."
"With me you don’t need a woman for company. I am what I am, and I am
yours."
"I know that", Brand said, "The moment I had won you I assumed you
would remain as small as you were at the time, but look at you now..."
Brand got up and started scratching himself. This itch was driving him
mad.
“Your scales are becoming unpleasant, Gnaton.”
‘Well, duh.’
The dragon moved rumbling its giant head and focussed one green eye at
Brand. The vertical slit of its pupil was almost as large as his torso.
Brand reached out and started scratching the dragon behind its jawbone.
The dragon rumbled again. Her eye membranes closed in pleasure.
“Öf course I do love you. But love won’t still our hunger. You have
developed quite an appetite.”
Gnaton flicked out her enormous forked tongue and lapped Brand in the
face.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
Brand walked along the dragon and counted his footsteps.
“Mother of Earth! You have grown again!”
‘I am still not full-grown, Brand. I still am not able to use my wings.’
“That’s another thing, Gnaton. It gets harder and harder to keep you
from curious eyes. You know what the peasants think of dragons.”
‘Superstitious fear,’ the dragon rumbled with contempt.
Brand climbed its back and straddled himself between its wings.
“How do dragons manage once they start to fly?”
‘How could I possibly know that, Brand? I have never been in the
dragon’s realm before. You know that wizard Jogonir snagged me from a
dragon’s nest before I hatched. Besides I can provide for my own food,
Brand.’
“As if I am not fully aware of that. Farmers around here are whispering
about the monsters wreaking havoc among their herds, lately. What if
one of them sees you one night?”
“In that case I’ll have an extra snack, if you like.’ The dragon
chuckled.
She swung her enormous head backwards and nudged Brand with her snout.
He could feel the latent presence of her fiery breath burning against
his breast.
“Ï think it’s about time you started flying. You belong between the
clouds among your brethren. You shouldn’t have been here in the first
place.”
‘Jogonir was the only man capable of stealing a dragon’s egg,’
Gnaton ‘said’.
“Yeah. Most people don’t believe in the existence of dragons.”
Brand jumped from Gnaton’s back and started pacing back and forth
through the little available space left in the cave.
“What next? Losing you while I have nurtured you from hatchling to near
adulthood? I don’t want to lose you.”
‘That’s sweet of you.’
She flicked out her tongue again and lapped him in the face once again.
‘You need a bath,’ she continued, ‘You do not smell very nice.’
“It’s taproom smell.”
‘Quit gambling and I might stay with you,’ the dragon teased.
This time she smacked him in the face with her tongue.
“Hey! That hurts! I could expect reproach from a wife, but not from my
pet.”
“I am not your wife,’ the dragon chuckled again, ‘Why don’t you join me
in the dragon’s realm? It would keep you from gambling…’
“Mother Dimetria has forbidden for Man to… It’s impossible.”
‘Like that goddess exists,’ the dragon said scornful, ‘Besides, we
can’t be certain unless we give it a try, now can we? It would solve
all problems.’
“Like dragons exist,” Brand retorted, “I have to think about this.”
He started pacing again. It was a concept that hadn’t crossed his mind
yet. Would it be possible for man to live among dragons in that fabled
realm?
“To move among dragons. To venture where no man’s gone before. With the
exception of Jogonir, of course,” he added.
Travelling beyond the clouds. It would shake our Mother church on its
foundations.
3.
“I am fully aware it unheard, sire. But think of the possibilities.”
Brand in his enthusiasm almost forgot he was addressing a king. He
began pacing busily with gesticulating arms.
“Imagine the tremendous shock reverberating through the kingdom when I
come up with hard evidence for my allegations? If I prove to be right,
my dear king, you’ll be the first to benefit from my findings.”
“Hot gossip, as far as we are concerned, Brand. Everybody knows you are
a rogue, and don’t you dare denying it.”
Brand turned back to the king.
“Everybody knows you are a military man with desire to conquer
neighbouring countries. I am here to offer you the mightiest alliance
you could possibly desire. The known world would be for the taking.”
King Ferdinand didn’t exactly represent royalty like stories would
suggest. The man was utterly fat. He was well into his forties and a
reputed drinker. Why Gnaton, out of all rulers, had chosen this man
still eluded him. The beast must have had its reasons for it.
But the king’s reputation of having a keen mind with interest in
science was al well-known fact in the Kingdoms of Dimetria.
“We aren’t sure, Brand, Maquis warrior of Castillia. We wonder why you
have come to us instead of Torquemada?”
Brand made a gesture.
“That’s not an option. The man’s a zealot. He would have me on the rack
as soon as I showed my face. You know I am from Castillia, Torquemada's
country. I can’t return there if it isn’t at the head of a great army.
You, my king, are a man of reason.”
King Ferdinand made a gesture of his own. Irritably he wove off the
servant hurrying towards him in the assumption his ruler had an errand
for him to do.
“We don’t know. What you tell me is hard to believe.”
“Ï beg you to use your imagination. Picture the riches ready for the
reaping, when your mighty hordes come falling from the skies…”
“Shhh, my honoured guest, not so loud.”
Brand was taken a back. Had the king just warned him to be careful of
eavesdropping?
King Ferdinand dug his hand in a bowl of sweets and selected several
delights he blissfully gobbled up while Brand waited for the king to
speak.
The king made a great impression of being dim, but Brand knew better.
This man was testing him. If he didn’t pay attention the king take him
off- guard.
It was a gamble, but gambling was his greatest vice, his second nature
so to say. By coming here, here virtually had subjected himself to the
mercy of this sly king. If his bargain didn’t catch this king soon, he
could count on it to be shackled and burned at the stake by the forces
of the arch prelate. Although the king’s civil forces hadn’t put a
prize on his head, the church certainly had. Torquemada was the
church’s leader. Although his direct influence was restricted to his
own minute country in the mountains, his church was the predominant
religion in Dimetria’s kingdoms. Brand was an infamous heretic as far
as the church was concerned. But, his troops needed the funds he hoped
to bargain from this king. If this would mean meant the downfall of
Dimetria’s role as leading religion in the world, so much for the
better.
He regarded the throne room. It was a narrow place, flanked by two rows
of pillars keeping the corridors behind them in shadows. He recognised
the significance it this construction. The corridors were an excellent
place to keep spies, guards and servants at hand.
“Sire,” Brand began, but Ferdinand gestured him to be silent.
“We think we are expecting visitors,” he said.
“Arrest this man!” a voice shouted from the entrance of the throne room.
Startled Brand turned towards the entrance.
The arch prelate Jean Bodin entered the throne room with a contemptuous
smile on his face. “Ät last we meet, Brand of Castillia.”
The arch prelate was a joke on legs, if you wanted to call the scrawny
sticks on which he walked legs. His body was the opposite of his nether
region. A huge potbelly protruded from his body and his robes barely
managed to span his enormous bulk.
Brand sneered. This was the man he feared most. His reputation as
inquisitor was worse than Torquemada's.
“Monsignor Bodin,” Brand said politely with a mocking bow.
King Ferdinand knelt and kissed the arch prelate on the ring he held in
front of his ruler.
“Please don’t stoop for your spiritual leader, my leash,” the arch
prelate spoke benignly.
His eyes bore into those of Brand. “The heretic, however…”
King Ferdinand bowed again.
“Brand of Castillia is my guest. Therefore he benefits diplomatic
immunity.”
“You entertain dubious guests, my leash,” the arch prelate said with a
predatory look in his eyes. “The king can count himself lucky the
church’s jurisdiction doesn’t reach beyond the palace gates.”
The church leader put a heavy arm around Brand’s shoulders. “Surely
this minor problem will be solved as soon as the both of us leave your
premises. With your permission.”
The church leader was stronger than brand expected. He started pushing
Brand towards the throne room’s entrance where Brand could see some of
Bodin’s henchmen waiting. It was a severe violation of protocol and
what was expected to be proper within the palace confinements, but the
church leader seemed to be unaware of this. Brand looked hopefully in
the direction of where the king was standing.
“Monsignor, Bodin! Brand is my honoured guest, and as such he is free
to go where he likes. If he really desires to have this private
discussion with you, he may go along, but by the looks of him I
seriously doubt this to be the case.”
“Alright,” the churchman said in a dangerous undertone, “Your demand,
my leash. You can’t blame a humble man for trying to be hospitable.”
He turned in his footsteps and lead Brand back to king Ferdinand.
“Noble Brand,” the king said, “Shall we continue our conversation under
the delight of stroll through the palace gardens?”
“It would be my pleasure, your majesty.” Brand answered.
. . .
King Ferdinand took him over from the church father and lead towards a
door at the back of the throne room.
From the corner of his eye Brand could see Bodin following them at a
short distance.
“Don’t mind him,” king Ferdinand said, “Ïf there is a thing I detest
it’s eavesdropping. If we keep up a good pace the church leader will
fall back shortly lest he risk heart failure.”
That vulture was bound to have his informants within palace doors.
Brand could count on it that the palace would be surrounded by church
troops by now. He wondered hoe he was going to solve this problem. He
could hardly count on the king’s hospitality forever, could he? How was
he going to escape without being caught?
“What about your physique, my king?”
“We may be chubby, dear friend, but our body has never failed us yet.
We are in excellent condition thanks to the regular spars I have with
our palace guards.”
The king accelerated to a surprisingly fast pace and even Brand had
difficulty to keep up with him.
As in answer to Brand’s fidgeting, the king continued: “Where were we
before the noble church father interrupted our most interesting
conversation. Ah, yes. Your tempting offer to strengthen our royal
forces. We guess you have seen a glimpse of the true powers within this
kingdom. Our role, even though we are permitted to conquer at he odd
occasion, lies with the church. Alas. How we wish we could change that.”
“By allying yourself to my Maquis and their winged mounts.”
“What has the church done to you, if we may ask?”
“What hasn’t it? The churches are full of riches while the poor yeomen
hardly have anything to eat. Dimetria’s message of equality and peace
certainly has taken a wrong turn somewhere in the past.”
“Ah? You’re no heathen then?”
“Ï fear more for Bodin’s wrath then Dimetria’s.”
King Ferdinand glanced over his shoulder.
“Our noble church highest appears to be quite determined today. Lest we
walk even faster he still be able to catch a word here and there. Wait.
I know something much better.” He made one of his nonchalant
gestures. “Honoured church father,” he yelled exaggeratedly hard at the
man barely a couple of meters behind them, “We are truly sorry you are
having so much difficulty to keep up pace with our brisk evening
stroll. We have decided to make it up with you by calling our palace
minstrel to entertain you with his religious ballads, as long you are
unable to keep up with us. This way you need not be bored.”
King Ferdinand winked at Brand. “Sometimes it’s good to be a king.”
A bard came from out of nowhere and started, after a flourish bow with
his feathered hat, singing at the top his voice.
Oh Mother Earth
We praise your bounty
You
Make the seeds bud
The flower to open
The grass to root
We praise thee
In the whispering wind
Through the tree’s foliage
The green green spar
And the mighty oak
We praise thee
For all the good things
Oh Mother Earth
Give us your love
“Well, my king I think that should do the trick.”
“We have instructed our minstrels well.”
They went through another door and entered a secluded part of the
palace gardens. After only a couple of meters Brand noticed they had
entered a maze. The screaming of the bard followed them into the garden
as the arch prelate tried to gain up on the two. In vain. The
minstrel’s singing was doing its work. The church father was getting
more and more agitated by the all the racket and forget to pay
attention on the couple in front of him, and after a minute or two
Brand saw they lost the arch prelate.
“This way,” Ferdinand whispered.
They left the maze through a concealed back entrance. The king lead
Brand to the far end of the palace gardens. Carried by the wind they
could hear the distant minstrel’s singing.
Share the waters, raise the chalice
And drink to the honour of the blessed Mother…
“I haven’t had so much fun in a long time,” the king chuckled as he
watched the arch prelate approach them, “That’s worth a great deal
these days. Before the church father reaches us I can tell you we have
got a deal. It’s about time the church stepped back from the political
arena and let professionals do the ruling. You bring along your winged
mounts and show us what lies beyond the clouds, even if church doctrine
teaches us differently.”
“There are cities to be found beyond the clouds, my lord.”
“It sounds quite amazing, noble guest.”
Bodin reached the two, heaving.
“Ï have managed to dismiss your minstrel, with your permission, my
lord.”
“I am certain he won’t hold it against you,” the king grinned.
“Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the heretical ideas of this rogue Brand.”
Bodin cast Brand and evil look.
“What do you mean, Holy Father? Life beyond the clouds?” Brand asked
impudently.
“Heresy! Surely nobody can live up there! Every soul knows the clouds
form the world’s roofing.”
“The world as you know it.”
“The world as everybody knows it. It takes more than a bewildered
bandit to change that opinion.”
“I don’t think my mind has left me. And if so, the church could never
blame me for it. Wasn’t it her Holy Mother herself who said that the
weak of mind are blessed?”
“Don’t tell me what the church teaches us! I tell you: the clouds are
there to remind us men are earthbound. She is Earth, and from her womb
we have sprouted, and to her we shall return when we die! We don’t
belong between the clouds. The prophet Sem dictated:
In wonder man gazed down on his image in the waters
And he knew he was created thus
He spoke: I have seen my maker
She rests in the waters
And she lies beneath the Earth
He looked up to the clouds and said
Give us back our water
And let your rain fall down
It belongs to our Mother
You cursed demon sky
The sky gods reacted in rage
And they lashed down on Earth
Beat down Mother’s harvest
Mother Earth answered likewise
And said: All skies be closed forever
Fiery Phlegeton, Icy Ir’Ashevton pakh and
Airy Aalimor, serpent of winds”
“Still you cannot deny the existence of dragons,” Brand remarked.
“These words are fit for one explanation only,” the church father said
in a dangerous tone.
“And what about fog, Holy Father? Heaven’s invasion on Earth?”
King Ferdinand hid a laugh behind a severe coughing fit.
“Beware, heretic. In and beyond the clouds is no room for man. He who
dares to contradict shall die at the stake.”
“Ï am but a humble bandit, dear Holy Father. If I am foolish enough to
venture beyond the clouds and live to tell, tell me what have I done
wrong?”
“Man should not consort with winged animals. They belong to the heavens
and are accordingly suspect.”
“I know of your consorting with the Flying Lashes from the heavens. By
doing so you have condemned your soul. The only way for salvation is to
redeem and hand yourself over to the church.”
“That, unfortunately I cannot do.”
The king cut Bodin’s retort short: “Ït’s time to part, we think.”
To Bodin’s outrage he showed Brand a secret back passage and said
concluding: “Make safe way, dear Brand. It would pain us to see you
hurt. Goddessspeed.”
“Same to you, honourable king!”
Brand squeezed himself into the narrow passageway in the certainty the
fat church father would never be able to follow him. Behind him he
heard the fuming church father say the king be burned at the stake if
he weren’t the country’s ruler. The man would in short time alarm his
troops gathered outside the palace, but Brand hoped he would be long
gone by then.
4.
Brand was out of breath.
Raindrops poured in tiny rivulets from his face onto the collar of his
cloak. How long had he been running?
His pursuers were rapidly gaining upon him, and he feared the head
start the king had provided him wouldn’t be sufficient.
His feet got tangled between to branches of a heather brush and he
tripped.
Right behind him he heard the approaching galloping hooves.
His face black with muck he scrambled himself up and got back to
running.
There was no time lose. The church forces were right on his back.
The arch prelate wouldn’t know mercy. His reputation spoke for itself.
No man had ever left his church building alive if only to be handed
over to his superior Torquemada. Besides, Brand figured the church
would most probably hold a personal grudge against him since their
encounter. He was reputed for his vindictive nature.
He ran like his life depended on it, and it did. He feet beat the rain
soaked earth. The very Earth the mother goddess had bound him, as man,
according to church doctrine. But he knew better than that. There was a
whole wide world to be explored beyond the sky covering clouds. A world
of wonders and magic, where free spirits roamed.
The cave loomed between the sheets of rain. One more minute to go and
he would be able to call for Gnaton and let her have her way with the
church soldiers.
He had just a couple of meters to go before he reached the steep slope
leading up to the cave mouth.
He reckoned his pursuers would have to dismount their horses as soon as
they reached the slope. They’d sure have a hard time climbing the
inclination in their heavy harnesses. Fools.
He glanced back to see the arch prelate in his carriage at great
distance following the horsemen. His must have been enormous if he’d
dignify himself to leave the capitol at all. Brand knew he should feel
honoured, even though it was an honour of a dubious kind.
The first soldiers dismounted. Brand turned around and concentrated on
climbing the steep mountainside.
Something hit him hard between his shoulder blades. Barely a second
later he heard the dry crack of a musket.
Musketeers! He should have realised the church troops weren’t
honourable when it came to fighting.
With a sigh he suddenly fell to his knees. He was hit, and bad.
Ï have got him, monsignor!” a voice drifted from far.
At that moment the pain came. And nausea. And weakness.
“If you have killed him, you’ll be flogged,” a familiar voice
rang. “Get him down.”
He silently cursed his naivete for trusting the soldier to stick to
swords while he – out of all people - was the person to proclaim
revolution. This was the world upside down. Just like him.
Where was she?
Footsteps closed in on him as he looked in wonder at the red spot where
his breastbone should have been.
“Heretic,” a voice with a wheeze that matched his sounded, “Where are
your fellow partisans now you need them most?”
‘Gnaton…’
A rumbling reply followed.
‘Brand!’ Gnaton cried in grieve.
“A dragon!”
“Impossible. Dragons don’t exist!”
“Believe what you will, monsignor. But you can’t deny the existence of
this Heavenly Lash!”
From that point things became a little confusing. Brand blamed either
on all the things that seemed to happen at the very same moment, or on
the fact that had lost a considerable amount of blood.
Vaguely he saw a thing flying through the air that reminded him of the
arch prelate’s head.
Running footsteps and panicky cries.
“Oh holy Mother, save us.”
Kill them, Gnaton, Brand thought. Kill them all.
He snoozed between his dragon’s broad shoulders.
A cool breeze felt refreshing. It gave him the illusion of flying.
“Hi hon,” he mumbled weakly, “I am sorry. Where are we going?”
‘Don’t you worry about a thing,’ the dragon rumbled, ‘Everything is
going to be all right. I love you.’
“I love you too, dear. But I think I am hurt.”
He was still bleeding he noticed. The steady flow of red disappeared
against the larger and brighter red of the dragon’s scales. It was
strangely and alienating reassuring.
“Where are we going?”
“To Mother.”
“Your mother? But you don’t know her.”
“No, Brand, we are going to Mother.”
Gnaton’s mighty wing beats carried them higher and higher.
Gauzy wisps of clouds caressed his face. It had been such a long time
since he had been beyond the clouds. But somehow he couldn’t shake the
feeling Gnaton wasn’t bringing him merely beyond the clouds. She
intended to carry him much further:
To Mother.
Dimetria.
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