A Storm is Kindled: The Registers of Mariodd: Volume One

By G. E. Bills

A fantastical exploration of the elusive line between good and evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257725724

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Welcome reader, and thank you for being just that. Please, allow me to return the favor by sharing a few helpful words on the land of Mariodd…

The realm of Mariodd is a strange place, particularly when compared to the lands you and I are more familiar with. It is comprised of twelve nations, or eleven, depending on how you count it. Unlike the mishmash of nations we know here, these countries run in order along the length of the land, one after another in clear succession. Each of these nations has different names, terrains, and vastly different cultural identities. We will discover more specific features of each land as we make our way through these stories.

I have already mentioned that the number of nations might be eleven or twelve, depending on how you count, and the sharp mind will notice from the map on the preceding page that there are actually two nations named Acer. Legend holds that the reason for this circumstance goes all the way back to the very dawn of civilization in Mariodd.

No one seems to know where the first people of Mariodd came from, but there are legends as to who they were. These legends state that the first humans to enter the land were two brothers. The account holds that they arrived with their extended families, likely voyaging from somewhere far across the sea. Upon reaching Mariodd’s shores, the brothers (with their families) decided to split up and explore the land in opposite directions. At the time, they had thought Mariodd to be a small island, and they wanted to quickly learn as much of it as they could.

As it would turn out, the land was not a small island at all, but actually a continental expanse. Only after much adventure and journeying did each party arrive at the opposite ends of Mariodd.

The original plan was for them to meet again in the middle, where they would share the information they had learned of the land. But this plan was agreed upon before any of them had become aware of the true scope of Mariodd. Now, at the end of their journeys, both groups had grown tired of traveling, and each decided to settle in the lands they had discovered. Both groups told themselves that they would reunite with the rest of the family at a later date. But the brothers Acer were known procrastinators, and predictably, this reunion never took place.

It was at this point in ancient history that the colonization of the land apparently began. It should be mentioned that a few of the realms of Mariodd were already somewhat defined before the brothers arrived (particularly Houlin, Ghrimm and Froxile, as they are not controlled by mankind). But the rest of the nations were colonized by the Acer brother’s descendants over many thousands of years. It is unfortunate and misleading to force so many years of history into one paragraph, but time and space necessitate this. Suffice to say, a great, great many changes took place between the time of the brothers’ arrival and map you see in this book today. But as you may have noticed, the far ends of Mariodd still bear the name Acer.

The extreme ends of Mariodd are as strange as the land itself, and they are certainly worthy of mention here. Many Marioddians from the middle lands do not even believe the stories told of these northern and southern borders, but natives of either Acer will attest that these stories are most certainly true.

It is said that the northern realm of Acer is bordered at its northern edge by a gigantic wall. It is immensely strong, constructed of gargantuan bricks, and no one knows how it might have been created or who might have done the creating. Nor does anyone know what lies beyond it. Its height is higher than any human in the land has yet been able to explore. Its length is even more impressive, expanding immeasurably out into the sea on either side, spanning a distance farther than any explorer has yet been able to sail.

The southern realm of Acer is bordered by the sea, but the inhabitants of this land do not sail the southern waters. There is good reason for this. Only a few miles out, the ocean swirls into a gargantuan whirlpool of incomprehensible size. The vacuum of these waters, being several times larger than any of Mariodd’s individual nations, draws down any vessel that comes near it.

The story you are about to read begins relatively late in Acer’s history, and originates in the northern realm of Acer. This is all the information necessary for the reader to begin. Unfortunately for the curious mind, any other questions regarding Acer or Mariodd as a whole cannot, or will not, be answered at this time. But rest assured, there are answers to be found as the story progresses.

Thank you for reading.

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

RUMBLINGS IN DARK

Nina and Oja sat huddled against the back wall of their tent, holding each other and straining not to tremble too loudly. Before them they could just make out the shape of their father in the darkness, motioning with a finger over his lips that they were to make no sound. They had no desire to disobey. Normally the children made many sounds constantly without any real awareness that they did so, but in their current situation every little vibration shocked the ears, and the shaking of their small bodies on the tent floor seemed, in their minds, to generate an echoing wave of clatter that bounced back and forth through the valley in which they were encamped.

Father leaned toward the front flap of the tent, peering through a small slit in the fabric. He was attempting to survey the action outside. He dared not open the tent, at least not yet, as he did not know what lurked outside in the darkness, or if that something was yet aware of them.

His eyes yielded precious little information. The night was dark, the tent thick, and he could make out almost nothing of the scene surrounding him and his young ones. His ears, however, offered him one terrifying clue, tightening his muscles and causing the children to shake… Something, something right outside the tent, was sniffing.

It might have meant nothing. A raccoon, maybe even a bear, but nothing he couldn’t fend off if necessary.

Or it might have been much more.

Outside the tent, a complex scene unfolded in the darkness. A scene involving an array of characters and set pieces, all with agendas and histories, origins and destinations, plant, animal, mineral and other. The question was whether this unfolding scene was common and benign or unusual and dangerous. The father’s senses could reveal none of these answers to him.

A second later, however, the children would have their answer. There was a quick rustle of canvas to clue in their ears. There was a stench for their noses that would have been unbearable in another time and place. But here that stench took a back seat to a team of even more terrible stimuli, the worst of which assailed their eyes as their father was briskly, almost instantaneously, yanked from the tent. The low light afforded little information that their minds could use, but the silver moon floating way above offered just enough help to reveal that father was pulled not by a paw, nor a snout, but by a large, gnarled, five fingered hand.

Up on a high hilltop, overlooking an encampment of villagers, stand two friends. Great friends. Great not only in loyalty to each other, but also in what that camaraderie offers the rest of their kingdom. They are strong men. Proven time and again. And able to do it because of each other. Here now, in the very middle of the night, on the outskirts of their land, two friends develop a plan.

They are not alone. They are surrounded by at least thirty soldiers representing the land they serve. But in this moment, two friends are center circle. They are what matters right now.

Areth is hooded in a long, green cloak. It camouflages well with a dark forest, and he would be nearly invisible in this night were it not for his eyes.

Ordinarily his eyes would appear as anyone else’s might, fading from view as nightfall shrouds them - but now his eyes are illuminated, glowing bright blue, void of an iris or pupil. This display used to unsettle many of the men, but they’ve seen it before now and are growing used to it. He stares straight ahead, as if lost in mind, or perhaps blind. But he is not. In this state his eyes discover more than anyone else’s. This is one of his gifts.

And here now, he shows another of his gifts. He extends his right arm, and from the slender fingers of his hand, light falls. From each finger, blue light flows downward like liquid and pools on the ground below.

From the pool, blue steam rises. Those nearby grow still in disbelief no matter how many times they’ve now seen this spectacle. The smoke drifts, moves, dances into increasingly more detailed and discernable shapes. Within minutes a clearly defined, three dimensional image comes into form. It’s a picture of whatever Areth focuses his eyes on, but with one difference - darkness is removed from the image.

Were one of the men to look down the hill with his own eyes, he would undoubtedly see a dark valley, perhaps the peaks of a few tents, but little else. However, in the eerie blue light of Areth’s image, the men see a small village of tents - quiet, still and peaceful - but for the twenty or so frightening figures moving stealthily through the rows.

These figures don’t appear quite human. But neither are they animal. They are what the men refer to as Walkers. They are given this name because they are the only beasts of the forest that walk about on two legs, like men. They also exhibit intelligence like men, fashioning tools, crude weapons and bellowing at each other in some strange form of language.

But ask any of the soldiers, and you will find that all comparisons between the two races end there. They have seen, too many times now, that Walkers are violent, foul, blood lusting creatures. They are hideous in appearance and mind. They are always hungry, for both meat and massacre, and to a Walker, there is nothing in this life that takes precedence over their hunger.

The second of two friends surveys the scene with great concentration. His eyes do not glow blue, he shows no fancy tricks or abilities, but he is, in the eyes of most, the greater of the two. He is a leader, and a warrior, and there is no one who can match his power, speed, and battlefield intelligence. He is young, like Areth, and wild, but he is courageous, and he is the hope of these men that he has led into many battles. His name is Vidan. Right now, Vidan studies the information that his friend Areth has provided and devises a plan to lead these thirty men into yet another melee.

Arrows will not do here, he utters. It is too dark and there are many innocents involved.

Shall we just flood in then sir? asks a second man, an older, rough looking man. He is Loudin. He was Vidan’s mentor at one time but now serves as his second in command. We should have little trouble routing them.

Vidan thinks it over but shakes his head. I agree with you Loudin, we would likely bring on a quick retreat. But my mind of late is not on victory as much as extermination…

The men all nod in agreement, even if a bit disappointed that Vidan has passed up the easy road. They all know from experience that Walkers are vile beings. A scourge. They also know that once Walkers are on the run, they are very difficult to find. They are exceedingly skilled retreat artists. There was a time when men tried to capture Walkers rather than kill them. But it had proved impossible. These days, it was a common adage among the men that only death can catch a Walker.

Vidan plans for ten riders to charge in, generating enough surprise and fear to flush the Walkers out of the encampment. His hope is that once the shock has subsided, the Walkers will realize that their numbers are superior and make a stand. At this point the rest of the cavalry will attack from the hilltop and turn the favor once again to the men. Vidan turns to Areth, whose is no longer creating any strange images. His eyes appear quite normal again.

Your thoughts, Areth?

The young wizard is crouching now, absent-mindedly pouring a handful of dirt from one hand to the other.

I believe your plan should work well.

Vidan nods, than turns to a figure standing on the other side of Areth. Phillip, your thoughts?

Phillip answers Vidan in a gracious tone.

You are a great warrior, my friend. I appreciate the gesture, but you do not need my thoughts. I request only to ride in with the first ten.

The faces of both Areth and Vidan show a great liking for this man.

You and I will lead then, Vidan answers. Within moments, they are mounted and moving quietly toward the encampment. As they ride, Vidan pulls out a necklace he is wearing from beneath his shirt. Some sort of trinket hangs from it. He pulls this close to his mouth, appears to whisper something, than returns it to its place beneath the fabric of his garment.

Och was growing very excited. He and his team were nearly all embedded in the small human tent village, and no one seemed aware of their presence. The upcoming slaughter was going to be beautiful, he thought. He was hungry, and he could sense that he was only moments away now from satisfying that hunger. Please, call me first, he thought. I am so bloody hungry.

The Walkers’ strategy in a quiet situation such as this would usually be to sneak in, find positions near potential targets, and then wait. A commander would then point to one of the soldiers, prompting him to take his quarry as quickly and quietly as possible. Often, a soldier’s skill was great enough to slay the victim swiftly and soundlessly. As long as this continued, the Walkers could keep picking off sleeping victims without a fight, one by one.

However, at some point things would inevitably get sloppy on someone’s part. A scream would escape, the community would be woken up, and then the madness would begin. Things became much more difficult at this point, but Walker soldiers would rarely be punished for these missteps since, on the whole, most Walkers enjoyed the chaos almost as much as the meal.

Things were going well enough for the Walkers at this point. Two soldiers had dispatched the victims to which they were assigned, allowing little sound other than squeaks and grunts. The commander turned to the soldier nearest to Och and pointed. The soldier smiled a disgusting grin, thrust his arm into the flap of the tent nearest him and viciously yanked from it a grown man.

This would prove to be the inevitable misstep of this raid, for many reasons. One, the man pulled from the tent was not asleep, but came out struggling. Two, the tent had more inhabitants than the soldier had counted on. Within a second, children were screaming, and a community was stirring. For a moment, it seemed as if things were about to get more amusing for the Walkers.

At least that’s what Och thought.

A not so distant rumble would meet his ears and change his mind. The rumbling was soon followed by that smell. Walkers hate horses. Horses were upon them. Shokas! Och cried out, Shokas! To Walkers, this is both a name for a horse and a swear word. Och meant it as both.

Vidan tore into the encampment at the forefront of his charging company. His skill as a horseman allowed him to fly harmlessly past the innocents while mercilessly dispatching his prey. His sword flying in polished arcs all around him, he was frightening to all parties - a skilled deliverer of death, lost in the mastery of his trade. His men could not keep up with his pace, but they did their piece, and within seconds of the initial attack all was going better than planned. At least seven Walkers lay slain among the tents, and the rest had nearly all fled beyond the edge of the little colony.

Perhaps Vidan had overdone it, for the Walkers never did turn to face him as he had intended. But it didn’t matter. Areth had seen the situation from above and released the rest of the company. The young mage rode now among them, reaching the bottom of the hill and crashing across the plain, sandwiching their quarry between themselves and the men with Vidan. Quickly the clamp was tightened, and after just a few intense moments it was shut. The entire company was now back together, engaged in the thick of combat with a terrified, panicked and dwindling foe.

Vidan continued about his work with terrible efficiency. Areth wielded a sword as well, but was much more effective as a distraction. He conjured light flashes and explosions that blinded his enemies while lending sight to his allies - frightening his foes while invigorating his friends. He was a most useful companion. But the Walkers would counter this advantage with a trick of their own.

No man had yet figured out how it was done, but Walkers had a way, when cornered, to use what men called the Whisper. It is a low vocalization, sounding much like strange, foreign words. The actual content of what is said remains unknown, as in the thick of battle, no man can clearly hear it.

But the horses can. And it unsettles them. Whatever it is that the Walkers utter, it sends the horses into a frenzy of agitation, dismantling all effectiveness of a mounted foe. Some of the older and more experienced steeds had learned to deal with this attack in a manner that at least allowed the battle plan to move forward. But most of the animals would rear, kick, turn, sometimes even buck their riders. There were a number of younger horses in this group, and as the Walker’s whispers rose, the chaos mounted.

For a moment things began to look very bad for Vidan’s army. The horses were getting wild, panicked, and it was all that most of the men could do to hold on. But Areth’s horse, a proud brown stallion named Verin, was too wise and experienced to be phased by the Walker’s utterances. The equine calmly ushered Areth to the center of the battlefield, where his rider released a particularly loud and violent blast of flame from his hands. It lit up the entire night sky and sent a series of deafening sound waves bouncing off every tree and stone in the valley.

The seven remaining Walkers scattered in shock at this, their mouths now quiet. Three were cut down immediately, leaving only four in the retreat. Loudin ran one through as it tried to dart past him, but he caught his sword underneath the beast and lost hold of it. A second monster leapt with inhuman athleticism atop Loudin’s mount and grabbed him by the throat. Falling backward from his horse, Loudin pulled a dagger from his belt and cut the Walker’s neck, but as he hit the ground, the two remaining Walkers were on him. They pulled their dying companion from Loudin’s body and attacked.

It was a strange attack, given that the Walkers seemed to be attempting a retreat. But with the battle lost and the escape cut off, these two creatures had apparently decided that the best option was to die while feeding. In the end, it is the appetite that drives all Walkers.

Vidan was nearby, and within a moment he and his horse Aaroc were tearing towards the scene. As they galloped past, Vidan grabbed one of the beasts by its crude leather vest. It was very heavy, and strong as he was, he couldn’t drag it very far. Instead, he used its weight to pull himself from Aaroc and landed, tumbling, behind his enemy. He attempted to slit its neck from behind, but the beast was quick and rolled away. He came out of his roll facing Vidan, spitting in his face. This was more of a diversionary tactic than anything else, meant to distract Vidan’s attention from the mace that the Walker was now swinging at the warrior’s kneecaps.

Vidan was impressed with the brute’s ingenuity, but not fooled. He leapt over the blow, and spinning through the air, sent his sword in a wide circle meant to cleave his foe’s head in two. The Walker easily ducked this blow but totally missed the dagger that had been hiding in Vidan’s left hand, the dagger that now entered his throat as the warrior followed through on his move. The Walker fell, realizing at his end that he was not the only one capable of diversionary moves.

As this took place, Loudin continued to wrestle with the second of the two assailants that sought to end him. In doing so, he got a very good look at him. The beast was terribly pale, almost luminescent. Its large eyes darted back and forth in the huge, sagging sockets that constituted most of its face. Its teeth were jagged and rotten. A typical Walker specimen.

Areth was not close to Loudin at this point, but he was clos-est, so it was on him to remove this fiend from his friend’s struggling body. Before he could give Verin the command, the horse was already shooting straight for the scene, raising such a thundering of hoof falls that even this distant Walker, lost in bloodlust, was forced to look up and take notice. The minute he did, he began to scramble away.

Areth sat atop Verin with arms outstretched, his long green cloak billowing in large waves behind him. By Areth’s design, an explosion of light rose up behind him, so that he and his mount appeared before it as a dark and frightening silhouette. He had also lit a small red flare near Verin’s forehead, so that all the enemy could really see were the horse’s angry eyes, the black curls of steam that drifted upward from its nostrils, and Areth’s eyes, which were now, once again, glowing blue. The image was terrifying. The Walker slowly staggered backwards with a series of unsteady steps. He had never seen anything like this phantom before.

And then, just as Areth and Verin reached their foe, the explosion faded, the flare burned out, and Areth’s eyes returned to normal. They appeared again as any other horse and rider might. But there was no time left for the enemy to rebuild his courage. He was trampled in that instant by Verin. And with that, it was all over.

Several men ran to check on Loudin, who seemed to be, on the whole, alright. He was in some pain, bruised and bloodied, but smiling and cracking jokes about how scary Areth looked and how scary Vidan was. Areth shared how he felt more scared then scary, since I can’t really see too well when my eyes do that blue thing… I was afraid I might ride into a tree. Spirits were high for a moment, as soldiers recounted the battle to each other and to the grateful villagers that had made their way over to thank the men.

Vidan, however, was too wise to relax just yet. While the men took their moment of respite, he ordered that a count be taken. Minutes later the count was completed, and his doubts grew into realities. The number had come up thirty-one. A man was unaccounted for.

A search of the area was immediately organized. Soldiers spread out in every direction, afraid of what they might find but compelled to search all the same. Even Loudin could not sit still, hobbling southwardly, looking for the lost man.

It was an older soldier named Harlan, a Buhlfastian, that finally the found the missing man about forty yards from the main battle area. One of the villagers had already noticed him and was trying to administer care. But to Harlan’s battle worn eyes, it was clearly too late. The young soldier had suffered a gaping chest wound, and had apparently been dragged for a while before being left to his fate. Vidan rode up on the scene and dismounted. He immediately recognized the victim, and for a moment, he appeared stricken.

Have two men prepare him for travel, he quietly intoned to Harlan. We’re bringing him home.

Inwardly, Harlan wondered why this body should be so different. Soldier’s bodies were usually burned on site. Outwardly, he nodded quietly and moved to carry out the orders.

CHAPTER TWO

PAST AND PRESENT

Och did his best not to make a sound. In a strange reversal of fortune, he now found himself hiding in a tent where, only moments earlier, someone else has been hiding from him. He had been the first to hear and smell the shokas. The minute he had, he figured things did not look good for his small band of comrades. So he slipped into a tent to wait it out.

One must understand that warriors among the Walkers are not driven by honor as much as by hunger, and in this tent Och found shelter from the battle as well as a way to soothe his appetite. An aging man had proven to be the lone occupant of the tent, and after a brief struggle, Och had secured all that he had really come for. He felt little remorse, knowing that any of his allies would have done the same thing had they thought of it. Perhaps others did. But it didn’t sound that way. It sounded as if they’d all scattered in a panic and been slain.

Och had not been slain, yet, but now there was the business of getting away. He guessed that most of the stupid villagers had gone off to speak with the killers and their shokas, no doubt thanking them profusely for slaughtering all of Och’s people. How nice for them, he thought. Still, their absence would certainly make his exit easier. After poking his head out of the tent for a brief look, Och was off, sneaking his way behind tents and trees, dashing then pausing, then dashing again, until he was finally beyond the encampment and into the forest. It had been easy. Och was on his way home.

He snuck along his path in typical Walker fashion, looking about constantly and concealing himself as much as possible. Like all Walkers, he moved about in a hunched over kind of manner that disguised his height and helped him to remain hidden. The daylight was approaching, and he was not happy about it. Walkers are primarily nocturnal creatures.

After disappearing a ways into the woods, he climbed to the top of a large pine, nearly forty feet into the air, to get his bearings. He could see home, on the other side of the channel, standing out like a black sore in an otherwise green landscape. It was known as Cindar, and it was ugly, but it was where he lived, where he was from, and he desired to return to it. He descended the pine and began the journey home.

Vidan’s men rode in formation for many hours, taking a long, winding path through the pristine woodlands. The battle had been tiring, but there was much ground to cover, and Vidan pushed them hard. They had traveled throughout the day, without sleep, until the sun was once again falling below the tree line. Needless to say they were weary and appreciative when the order was finally given to make camp for the night.

It had been a difficult couple of weeks. The band had been roaming the countryside, seeking out the Walker infestation, and doing what they could to free the kingdom from this scourge. They had done well, but this seemed to be an uphill battle, and for the moment, rest was golden. They had lost several men during this campaign, and even more hope, as Walkers seemed to spring up faster than anyone could slay them. They needed some time to lay down their weapons. Some time to try and forget.

Setting up camp was second nature; the men had done it a thousand times before. It did not take long. Once the camp was set, a modest fire was made near the center of the encampment, and several of the men sat around it, quietly thinking.

The silence endured for many moments. Eventually, however, it would be broken. The first to do this was Harlan, the man who had found their most recent casualty after the day’s battle. He nodded to the slain man’s body, which was wrapped in cloth and placed in a tent near the center of the camp.

Phillip was a great man, he began, in a thick brogue that could only have come from the land of Buhlfast. And a great honor it was to fight alongside him. It grieves me heart deeply to have lost him in this way.

The men, most of them staring at the ground, nodded solemnly in agreement. Harlan paused for a moment, allowing the gravity of his statement set in. Then, carefully, he began to shape his next thought into word.

Still, I must ask you brothers, why do we hold onto this man’s body?

A few of the men looked up from the ground. Harlan continued.

When others fall, we burn them on the battlefield. And that is their glory, freed and honored by that battlefield. What is this man’s distinction, that we take him with us?

Most of the men now looked at Harlan as if he had lost mind. Harlan quickly picked up on this feeling and tried to help them understand.

I am not a native to your land, he reminded them. I am here to help you, on behalf of Buhlfast, your ally. I have no qualm with transporting Phillip home. I ask only with sincere curiosity for the situation.

Harlan was genuine in this, and the men seemed to know it. Still, many found it hard to believe that anyone in their group might be unaware of the System of Three. They had all been most familiar with the concept since before they could remember. One of the younger men, a nineteen year old red head called Patrick, tried to explain.

Harlan, that man, Phillip, he was a member of a group, an important group - but I suppose not so important any more - though still hugely important in no longer being so important.

While this statement seemed to hold great weight for everyone else listening, Harlan remained fairly confused and very unimpressed. The young man saw this in his face and tried again.

Phillip was one of three of the last six to be left from the twenty seven, or nine depending on how you look at…

Now most of the men appeared to be as confused as Harlan. Patrick was clearly struggling.

Another voice chimed in.

I would begin with the concept of the System of Three.

Areth smiled at Patrick as he joined the firelit circle from wherever he had been.

Well of course, the Tryad, agreed Patrick, enthusiastically. The thing with the System is…

Perhaps you’d best go on, Areth, interrupted Harlan. The other men nodded fervently in agreement. Patrick appeared to be put out by this, though secretly he was relieved to have been rescued.

Areth appeared reluctant at first - there were things he needed to tend to. But in the end, his love for telling a good story won out.

Very well then, he said. He paused, pulled his thoughts together for a moment, than began the tale.

"Throughout most of its history, Harlan, our great kingdom of Acer has been ruled by three at a time. That is the way we believe in doing things. It’s a power balance. Three to support each other, three to keep each one in check."

Not a new concept, noted Harlan. Though a different take on it - but why not a congress, or a council?

We live in dangerous times, replied Areth. My experience is that councils, while having many advantages, are slow to act in crisis. And Acer has had its share. For many years the Tryads were effective in balancing each other while retaining the ability to act swiftly when necessary.

The Tryads? interjected Harlan. The other men groaned at Harlan’s complete lack of knowledge regarding their history.

I’M SORRY! cried Harlan in his thick Buhlfastian accent. But I bet not one of you lads could name even the capital city of my land!

No one could of course, except Areth, and he kept his answer to himself.

Forgive me, he offered instead. We are most discourteous to our brave ally. He looked sharply at the men,