Chronicles of Dilos: Children of Destiny

By G. D. Haverland

The world of Dilos under two moons is now at peace, though evil will soon rise again from history and legend.

Twin brothers Shadon and Madra, rejected in their youth by their peers for being different from the norm, are found to be the recipients of prophecy. In their teen years, a wizard undertakes the task of educating and training them

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Jun 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781648954535

G. D. Haverland

G. D. Haverland grew up in the mountains of Colorado in the '60s and, after graduating from high school, traveled the West Coast for a while before serving a tour of duty in the USAF. After discharge in '74, he studied creative writing and art at the University of Denver where he earned an AA degree. Later, he moved to Washington state where he now resides. He enjoys reading classical works, science fiction, and fiction adventure. An avid student of history, he has been a reenactor from a twelfth-century Welsh archer, a seventeenth-century French American trapper, to an eighteenth-century pirate focusing on historical accuracy.

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Introduction

Welcome, lords and ladies all.

In her early days, the land of Dilos was sorely beset by occasional wars between her different peoples over border and trade agreements, yet for the most part, she was serenely peaceful. Then, as foretold in legend, the warrior Aron came from the land itself to the people of Dillosia. A woodcutter saw him for the first time emerging from the mouth of a cave that none had ever seen before, or since.

After settling in the village of Dillosia, Aron began to speak of building an alliance between the many kingdoms, uniting the warring factions in a common bond of support and commercial trade. Though the people of Dillosia had become fast friends with this strange, statuesque newcomer, they had little faith in his dream of cementing a truce between those outside their borders, let alone his Alliancean Army idea.

Then another of the kin of Aron came leading a band of dark-cloaked warriors who seized the western roads of Dillosia, their chief elder Taramak, and the main settlement of Dillosia Prime. He demanded they accept his rule, promising them domination over all other realms. When they refused, he beheaded Taramak with his own blade in the square before all eyes, and his men began a rampageous looting and burning of the settlement to force them into submitting to his control. When they stuck back, he turned his anger upon the other villages of Dillosia. They came to know with great disgust and hatred the name Kalebra!

It was upon this scene Aron looked upon returning from a long trek into the wilds. With him came a wizard. Leading the fight, he eventually slew Kalebra’s guard, challenged the dark warrior, and defeated him in personal combat. Kalebra fled back into whatever den of hiding from whence he had come with the few of his men who survived, vowing to return and reap his vengeance.

As the tales of this warrior’s deeds spread throughout the land, the people began to listen to, and consider, the idea of Aron’s plan for an Alliancean Army. At length, there was a gathering of all the kings, lords, and chiefs of Dilos, and in time, bargains were struck. They formed an army manned by the best in each realm and dubbed it the Alliance. Aron was crowned chief of Dillosia, commanding high chief of the Alliance, and eventually crowned Overlord of Dilos.

For years, the land enjoyed peace and prosperity such as they had not known before. With the wizard’s wisdom, and the power of Lord Aron’s sword, pulled from the liquid fire heart of Mt. Vulca, the people of Dillosia created the Great Hall, rekindled the fires deep within the volcanic mountain north of Dillosia, and melting a portion of the glaciers and snow that griped its high peaks, turning dry fields to fertile, and the fertile even more so.

To show their gratitude, the people set a statue of Lord Aron upon a short pedestal in the outer chamber of the Great Hall. He soon wed and gave the largest celebration ever held in a field he had cleared of all trees save one. He said it was for its size and beauty, though many proffered to believe the tale that Lord Aron made a bargain with the spirits of the woods. Still in all, it was the grandest celebration ever held.

The wizard who came to their aid at the appearance of the Dark One and aided in his demise wed him and Carra. In time, they came to know him as the Elder. Carra soon gave birth to their first son, Fernon, then Gar a year later, and Magna two years after.

When the boys became grown, there came word of a warring army from the Dark Forest led by a fierce warrior cloaked in black. They were ravaging the land, leaving a trail of death and destruction in their wake. This was the day Lord Aron had for so long dreaded would come. The Dark Lord of Death, Kalebra, had returned, this time with an army that was the most vile and destructive of any. His army of men whose minds he twisted under complete control to his own evil purpose was growing daily and taking slaves.

The war that followed lasted for two years, traveling throughout the land like an enraged bull in a garden. The war ended with Kalebra expelled once more, but not before ruining much of Dilos. Great walls had been erected around cities and towns, secret passages, magical barriers, and many other defenses set. Yet in the end, it was the whole of Dilos that suffered. At one point or another, the torch had been put to near all settlements. Dillosia’s sister settlement Doshire, the farthest west near the Gray Cliffs, was destroyed to the last, and no flowering plant or blade of grass would take root. Even the wildlife avoided the area.

A burial mound was raised where the council building once stood with a large stone marker set in the south side. Engraved upon the stone was the crest of the village—a golden thrush set over a sheaf of wheat, and the mark of all those who had fought and died there, including Aron’s second son, Gar. A yearly pilgrimage has been held in early summer on the anniversary of its destruction ever since.

The hardest blow of all was the loss of Lord Aron. The fires of life within Fire Mountain had been extinguished, the Great Hall stripped of its riches, and the doors of the inner hall sealed by Kalebra’s dark magic. To honor Lord Aron and those of the Alliance, statues of all the kings, lords, and chiefs were erected beside Lord Aron’s in the outer hall.

Under the guidance of the Elder, the Dillosians constructed a large estate to the north near Fire Mountain. Specimens of all types of plant and animal native to the area were placed into gardens, pools, cages, and other enclosures. The Elder cared for them, awaiting the return of Lord Aron and The Sword of Power so they could restore the land.

Three years passed without word or sign of Lord Aron when his eldest son, Fernon, left in search of him. For two years, he searched the land, starting in the Silver Plains to the east, where the last battle had been fought. At length, he came to a place called Fern Valley, where he met with a gnomish prince who led him to the city of Ferndale. There he met a young man named Onoch, who had just buried his father, Shalikameer, the late king of the people known as the Abdelkin. Onoch told him, Knowing his death imminent, Lord Aron requested he be buried here to await the arrival of one of his kinsmen.

Fernon returned to Dillosia with his father’s body and laid him to rest in the Great Hall. He told the people how Lord Aron was brought to Ferndale with grave wounds, and though the people of Ferndale cared for him as best they could, they were unable to save him. His last words were taken down on a scroll and buried with him in his left hand, The Sword of Power in his right. All he possessed was cleaned and sealed in a sturdy trunk, as is the custom of the Abdelkin. Yet the stone that fit into the talons making up the pommel of The sword was gone. Without it, the sword was little more than fine steel. The fires of life could not be rekindled, nor even the doors of the inner hall reopened. The scroll, written in an unfamiliar script, was opened to the people, his armor and personal gear sealed in the chest and placed at the foot of his tomb. The scroll was handed to the Elder and, after several moments, read to the populace.

The sons of my seventh, the two of one,

shall recover the stone, and undo what was done.

Seven by seven, time will run round,

when the two of one, shall rebirth the ground.

This made little sense to them and was less than a satisfactory answer. All he would say was that hope still remained for the land. The Lord of Dilos would return in time, but there would be much suffering between now and then. Though they may not see their deliverance, their descendants would. It was for them and the future they must be strong. Thus is the legend of Lord Aron.

For now, perhaps a tour as it were, would be well-received before we arrive. The predominant feature of the northwestern area is the Great Pine Mountain Range that curves like the backbone of a serpent from Dillosia Bay on the west coast, northward to the coast at Banknar Point. The area known as the Great North Forest where live the Buronan, a robust people of fair skin, with wavy hair, dark brown to reddish in color. The men wear their hair shorn evenly about their shoulders. The women are slightly smaller, their hair braided down the back or wrapped about the head, and as capable a warrior as any man. And either would just as soon wrestle for a brew as share one.

Though many have grown accustomed to the security and activity of fortified townships such as Longwood or Evergreen, many find themselves more at home in the highlands and rugged hill areas. Raising crops and tending herds near the townships or following the native game and seasonal fruits and grains provides them with an equitable livelihood. Their main stock in trade is fine furs, lumber, and heavily carved poles and beams for housing and decoration.

In the northeast of the known lands, and in the village of Falima on the southern coast near Fallin Bay, are the slender fisherfolk of the coastal and river areas known as the Orsfan. Light brown in complexion with ink black hair worn in a long braid by the men, loosely tied by the women. Although quite adept at creating sturdy seagoing and river craft, they never sail beyond sight of land for fear of falling into the abyss. Though more demure than the Buronan, they routinely wrestle two- and three-hundred-pound fish into their four-man craft. The women dive for shellfish and seagrass along the coast, staying down for several minutes at a time. All are quite skilled in crafting the harvested shells and coral into tools and exquisite, decorative pieces, highly prized throughout Dilos, as are their woodcarvings and pottery.

In the east and southeast along the Synamarian Mountain Ranges lies the land of the Abdelkin, the largest and most diverse population of Dilos, ranging from the canyon city of Drochia in the north, to the capital city of Sharazon in the south. Their most eastern border is the impenetrable Kaldorian Mountains. They are fair to dark in complexion, dark brown to blond hair, slim to stout, short to tall. Their occupations are as equally diverse from farming and tending herds, to potters, millers, and such, with each city having its item of pride. For Drochia, it is their work in stone. In Manna, it is horse breeding and saddlery. Ferndale boasts the best wineries and alehouses, and Sharazon prides herself in the working of metals from ironwork to her gold and silversmiths. They also coinhabit the village of Falima with the Orsfan on the far southern coast, reaping a bounty from the sea, raising herds and crops, and producing a wonderful array of textiles. Their most eastern border is the impenetrable Kaldorian Mountains, beyond which lay the Unknown Lands.

In the southwest are the dark-skinned Carthinans who inhabit the hilly bush lands, jungles, and coastal areas. As rugged as any with broad features, curly hair as black as night, with what little they wear decorated in shells and brightly colored plumage. Widely traded are their beads of shell and colorful stones and intricate carvings in local hardwoods.

To their north are the tall, slim, olive-skinned nomads of the desert known as the Sieare. Expert horsemen, they wander the shifting sands from one oasis to another eking a living from a land that seems to have nothing to offer but heat, poisonous insects, and vipers. Yet from these sands and mineral deposits, they fashion some of the most beautiful glassware one could lay eyes on. Their wide domed tents dot the sands like giant mushrooms. They are covered with the same finely woven snow-white cloth they wear, made from the wool of the goats they raise.

In the center of all this is Dillosia and her sister settlements named for the Dillosians who inhabit the area. A hearty people of rounded features and good cheer, their black to light brown hair worn much in the way as do the Buronan. They widely trade in leather goods, pottery, and fruits from their vineyards and orchards. The word Dillosia means from the land in their culture, believing their ancient ancestors were borne of the land itself and therefore the oldest race. They don’t hold themselves above any other in any way, yet keep to themselves for the most part. They have little interest in wandering far afield as they did in their early history. The few who do travel the merchant roads to Sieare in the south, Drochia to the northeast, and north to Graywood that Dillosian and Buronan alike inhabit.

Welcome to Dilos. I hope you enjoy your stay.

Chapter One

The Two Are Borne

A brisk winter eve found Baldar in his woodshop working on a cradle for their first child Carra would give birth to any time now. It was not yet spring, and the evening breeze that reached him through the cracks of the door still carried the crispness of winter. By the looks of him, one would expect to see him at the forge shaping steel instead of the finer art of carving in wood. Being of direct lineage to Lord Aron, he possessed much of his sire’s stature with rugged yet handsome features crowned in dark curly brown hair tied back in a braid reaching just below his square shoulders. His blue-gray eyes began to drift toward the house where his distracted mind led them.

The blade of the small gouge suddenly slipped, cutting a tiny nick between the swan’s shoulder blades decorating the foot of the cradle. Snapping back to reality, seeing he had made his second mistake of the evening, he decided to lay it up for the night. Clearing the debris and putting away the tools, he again found himself wishing Carra would hurry up and have the child. As if she had any say in the when. He wished only to get back to a more normal life without her bouts of illness and sour disposition, which would cure the better part of his fevers of confusion. Making his way back to the house, he heard Carra scream his name in distress.

Running to the back of the log house, he cleared the three steps in a single stride. Rushing into the sitting room, he found her in the large chair by the hearth where she had been doing some sewing, holding her abdomen, a look of panic on her delicate face.

Hurry and fetch Diona! she pleaded.

Is it here? Now?

Not now, but soon! Soon! Fetch Diona! Quickly!

Baldar took a few steps toward the back door, then spun round to her again. Are you sure it is well to leave you alone?

If you stay, who will fetch Diona? I’ll be fine if I do not move. Now hurry!

Dashing for the door, he grabbed his coat off the hook as he passed, hurtled the back steps, and ran for the barn behind the shop. Carra was the loveliest jewel he had ever seen, and he fell in love with her almost the moment he saw her at a festival many years ago. Her delicate features, a braid of golden-brown hair extending to her waist, and the brightest smile he had ever seen captured his heart. He wasted no time in courting her, and they were married as soon as they were of age. That was two years ago, yet to him it seemed like only yesterday.

Within moments, he had his fastest horse harnessed to the cart racing across the field. Diona, Carra’s older sister by three years, lived about twenty minutes south by road, far less across the fields, which was the way Baldar chose. It made for a rough ride at full gallop, but at the moment, comfort was the least of his concerns. Diona had married Arramon, a longtime friend of his who tended the orchards, as did his fathers before him, and produced the best wines and ales in the land. His father had died two years ago from the same illness that took his mother when he was just a lad, leaving all in his hands. He started calling the moment their house was in sight.

Arramon stepped from the house as Baldar swung the cart into the yard. He was a handsome man of solid build, short dark hair, and thin mustache, standing a full head shorter than Baldar as did all Dillosians.

Baldar, old friend! Be something amiss?

Carra! Her time is now!

Diona! Arramon called moving toward the house. Carra’s time is here!

Within moments, Diona came running from the house, drawing her dark-blue cloak tightly about her shoulders, her fine features and green eyes nearly concealed beneath the hood. Tossing a tied bundle to Baldar, she climbed up beside him.

It is too soon. Are you sure? she asked.

Carra is, and that’s good enough for me.

Hay pokey! she called out turning toward the house. Where’s the chair?

Arramon came rushing from the house with the birthing chair and had barely placed it into the back of the cart when Baldar pulled hard on the right rein, turning the cart sharply about. Giving them a slap, they sped back the way he had come.

I will be there as soon as may be, Arramon called after them.

Diona rode with one hand gripping the seat of the cart, the other holding down the chair as the cart bounced and clattered across the field. She knew there was no way Baldar would slow down, so she didn’t try. She was just glad her birthing chair was well padded and wrapped. It had been in her family for as long as she could remember, along with her mother’s words, No midwife worth half a biscuit would be caught without one, and in good order.

Reaching the house, they leaped from the cart and found Carra in the large chair as Baldar had left her. Before he could say a word, Diona turned to him and asked, The chair?

Wiping the stunned look off his face, he did as he was told and set it up in the bedroom where Diona instructed. When Arramon arrived, he found Baldar in the kitchen setting pots of water to boil and placing white linens into stacks upon the table according to size, completely unaware of anything else but his task until he felt a tugging on his shoulder. Spinning round, he saw Arramon motioning him to follow.

Diona needs…

Diona has everything well in hand, Arramon assured his friend. I did the same thing with our first, and by the time I had everything ready, it was over. Trust me. I have a better idea.

Baldar nervously followed him to the porch hearing Carra’s cries, and once the door was quietly closed behind them, Arramon continued.

The only reason they have us do all that is to keep us busy, out of their hair, and our mouths shut. I have what may well serve to calm our nerves.

Moving to his horse tied to the rail, Arramon pulled a bottle of dark Turrian wine from his saddlebag. The moment Carra and Baldar had so impatiently waited had come at last. And well for it, Baldar thought to himself as he had so many times before. Carra’s daily bouts of morning illness and increasing shifts in attitude as of late only served to increase his own uneasiness. Not to mention her compulsive, and rather unappealing, change in diet.

Carra’s thoughts were only on the harsh and wondrous reality of the moment, so fixed that mere moments became eternal. The ever-quickening waves of pain shot through her body repeatedly while Diona blotted the sweat from her brow, speaking softly to calm and guide her through the ordeal.

Push! Diona commanded from the foot of the chair.

Carra obeyed her sister, as much from conscious will as from natural instinct. The pain coursed through her every fiber. Again and again, Diona gave the command, and she bravely responded until the child’s crown was visible.

Do not stop now, sister. I can see the crown. You must give everything you have just one more time.

Diona, I can’t. I just can’t. She gasped.

Yes, you can! Diona insisted placing both hands atop Carra’s abdomen. Push with me then. Push now! Push hard!

Diona was beginning to worry a little. The first was usually tougher than most, but she could not ignore the feeling that something was not as it should be.

Baldar and Arramon were nervously sitting on the steps, passing the bottle back and forth, with Arramon doing his best to calm his big friend, who now looked oddly smaller than usual, saying there was nothing to it as they had two children, and it was not as bad as it sounded. Yet every time Carra screamed or cried out, they would twist toward the house, then slowly straighten round and pass the bottle again. It was growing into a long night, and Arramon was beginning to worry. Though he dared not let his friend know it.

From somewhere, Carra found the strength to push one more time, and Diona returned to guiding the child on its journey into the world. First the head, then the shoulders, the rest went easy and quick.

A son! Diona announced before the child was free. You have a son!

Carra’s tears flowed again, though this time they were in joy and relief. It was the greatest of all omens for the first child to be a son. However, no more had she begun to relax then the painful contractions returned.

By the lords! Diona exclaimed.

What is it? What is wrong with my baby? Carra screeched in alarm.

Nothing! Just push! Push hard! Diona replied.

Diona, what is it? I don’t understand.

Don’t try. Just push! Diona insisted.

Carra was frightened and confused. Had she not just given birth to their son? Diona’s voice sounded distant and muffled behind the drumming of her own heartbeat in her ears. Then the muffled echo of an infant’s cry found its way to her through the din. Then came Diona’s voice telling her to stop pushing as a wave of numbing bliss swept over her. The world seemed to drift away, leaving her barely conscious of her sister helping her into the bed, or the two wriggling bundles that lay at her breast.

You have done well indeed, little sister. Carra heard through the haze. You have two sons! Two fine, healthy sons. The second had hold on the heel of the first. Lordall has truly blessed you and Baldar. Did you hear, Carra? Two sons. Twins of all things!

Diona’s words were all but lost to Carra as her senses slowly returned her to the world surrounding her.

They had nearly drained the bottle to the dregs when the cry of an infant broke