“Close the Keep!”
The clarion call rang out from the stone courtyard, through the streets of Azragoth, past the bastilles and was conveyed from mouth to mouth, following The Eagle’s orders. A detachment of soldiers responded to the news quickly, moving in ranks to the court of the northwestern sector of the city, under the shadow of the tall stone edifice. The doorway to the climbing circular stair hung ajar. Its door panel wavering upon the hinges under the slight wind stirring within the walls.
The soldiers approached it and fanned outward, blades and points aimed and ready. A brace had been removed from the fortified door and tossed aside from where it once had run through bronze bands to hold it from without. The standing order of the General had always been to close the gates behind them upon entering or exiting The Keep. No doubt the guards charged with that responsibility would be questioned if they were not already dead inside. As the soldiers approached cautiously, they saw the dramatic answer to the questions circulating in their minds—A dark pool of blood and an arm with an open hand extended out from the interior of the tower doorway.
The dead sentry lay inside amid a small cloud of flies, face bludgeoned and smashed. Bloody footprints through the pool and spatter of blood revealed that whoever had done this had also callously walked through, on and over the fallen man’s body and proceeded out into the courtyard. Several sets of tracks showed that there had been at least four or five of them. A sharp, jagged stone, spattered with gore and cast aside from the body indicated that the man had been assaulted immediately upon opening the door. The heartless, mindless killers had merely removed an impediment to their entry into the city and had had no sense that they should make an effort to hide the evidence of their violent crime.
Whatever or whoever it was that had come into the city from below, apparently had no sense of self-preservation. This made them that much more dangerous.
***
We stood in the forested road before the glowing backlit mist, armed yet unnerved by the sight before us.
From the tops of trees dangled a collection of various animal heads strung at the dangling ends of vines which swayed ominously in the chilling breeze wafting under the forest canopy. I recognized this as the grisly work of the dryads.
Nubile young women, seductive and sensuous creatures that were a fusion of wood, plant, and human—creatures belonging to the races of half-men. The heads hung from the treetops varied between animal and apparent-animal with characteristics of satyrs. The majority of these being those of the satyrs. Vengeful creatures those dryads. Obsessed with re-birth and finding a way back to becoming completely human again, they wooed and taunted young men into their tree lairs and tore them apart. Dryads were not the sexy nude nymphs of Greek mythology and classical paintings in the Surface World. Yes, they were uncommonly beautiful. Yes, they used their sensual lithe movements to seduce men to commit lewd acts with them, but do not be deceived in any way. These seemingly beautiful amalgams of human and nature had no nurturing instincts and were as savage, dangerous and capricious as any of the other hybrid creatures of the Half-Men races. Like sirens of the sea, these woodland nymphs are not what they seem. Many men, women, and beasts who succumb to them under the influence of a pheromonal storm circulating like pollen are in for a rude awakening. Dryads were the consorts of a different master and they killed on a whim. One should avoid the embrace of a dryad at all costs. The reason for that, hung up swaying from multiple branches in the towering trees above us.
A large shadowy form, beyond the mist, moved interposing itself between the back-light glow and the mist separating us, casting a giant shadow of itself upon the fog as if it were projected upon a silver movie screen. An eerie light emanated from its eyes from around the shadow of its elongated head, glaring into the mist. Its long spectral fingers splayed as if ready to reach out from behind the mist and snatch one or all of us. It wasn’t clear to me if the being beyond saw us through the fog, but there was no avoiding the confrontation with it, so I stepped forward to stand for my people. I had no doubt in who it might be that I would be confronting. I recognized that form all too well from both past experiences and from my waking nightmares. We were about to meet The Pan.
I whispered a quiet prayer as I slowly moved forward and to the point position at the head of the group.
My honor sword scintillated with a crackling light, but I kept it low and to my side, choosing instead to prepare my heart and mind with supernatural weapons rather than physical ones.
I remembered the terror of the last time I had encountered dryads, and the Ancient Texts account of Job’s covenant that I too had to make.
“1 “I made a covenant with my eyes not to look with lust at a young woman.” [Job 31:1 NLT]
I knew that these half-human creatures were not the women that they appeared to be, that their image was distorted and marred by the fusion of the flora they had bonded to when their ancestors had crossed over. I also knew that what anyone might wish or deceive themselves to think they might be, would not make it so. Their enticements were a cruel means to an end. Like in the Surface World, visual enticements to indulge secret pleasures and imaginations, never produced a healthy, satisfactory relationship arising from those desires. The One, by design, invested the need for intimacy within the design of the human being, and His intention was for the greatest good for the individual. The physical need alone would not serve to meet the good desire, nor would the soul’s need alone achieve it. What was needed was a completion, bathed in the commitment of the whole person, maintaining the sacredness of all components to truly enjoy its intention. What these creatures were doing was reducing the need to the physical component alone, isolating it from a relationship and the blessing of the One. I knew that dissatisfaction was the end product of succumbing to the mere physical appeal of the dryads. That they toyed with physical intimacy in Machiavellian terms and used it to gain power, and they, like a parasite, devour their host victim with the insectile finality of a female Praying Mantis. No man can reach true meaningful intimacy with a woman if he dishonors her personhood and disrespects her trust, in the service of his own physical need. Despite what he may say or do, this is what deep down, the need was created in him for, and it is what he truly seeks to find fulfillment in the enjoyment of it, rather than the conquest of it. Human women, unlike the dryad creatures, want and need to know that they are valued, honored and protected in their personhood, physicality and spiritual covering. They are too often deceived into thinking that they must trade a part of their being, surrender their privacy and physicality in hopes of being appreciated for their wholeness. Far too often, this trade almost never works in their favor.
Despite the knowledge of all of this, knowing truly what these creatures were and their malevolent intentions, they gave off extremely high-levels of pheromonal dust that drove their victims mad with desire. The satyrs were highly susceptible to this, which they used to torment them. As such, The Pan forbade the satyrs from cavorting with the nymphs, whether dryads (forest nymphs) or naiads (water nymphs), when they served as his retinue. However, merely forbidding them did not cause a deterrent in how they were affected, so The Pan chose his traveling companions to suit his needs and forced the pre-evacuation of the ones who might cause disruptions to those attending him.
His kingdom was divided by necessity. He pitted certain groups of the Half-Men races against the others to keep them in line and maintained his iron rule by coordinating mutual threats and balancing the reigns of tension in his dark fists.
I hoped, for the sake of our company, that this time he had chosen to travel with the satyrs rather than the dryads.
From the prints on the trail further up the road, this had seemed to be the case. The evidence that the dryads had been here was ominous and obvious. Knowing that The Pan was coming, and would be traveling with satyrs, they would have been forced to vacate those portions of the forest, but they were loathed to do so and were not above sending a dire warning message to the satyrs even with The Pan in their midst. But the fires to the north would eventually drive the dryads back this way and soon. Whatever creatures The Pan had used to compel the dryads to temporarily vacate their domain would serve to keep them at bay only as long as their threat was not exceeded by the need for self-preservation under the threat of the approaching fires. As soon as the fires became the greater threat, the dryads would return in force, despite the creature-threat of The Pan’s brute squad sent to clear the forest. A confrontation was coming. It was only a matter of time.
If it was still possible that The Pan did not already know we were in the forest, I could not reveal their presence. I could only buy us some time to allow Maeven to join us soon.
I addressed the group.
“I need to scout the way ahead for a bit,” I said quietly, “And I am going to need all of you to wait here until I come back or Maeven does. If Maeven comes back before I do, go with Maeven. I have an idea where she is taking us to get supplies. The place is not unknown to me. Go with her and wait for me there. I will catch up to you.”
Miray moved forward and took my hand, “I’m going with you.”
I turned and knelt down and cupped her cheek, “Miray, I’ve got to go this one alone. It is too dangerous to bring anyone with me into the presence of the creature that lies ahead of us.”
“But I want to go with you,” she protested.
“I know. I know,” I took her arms gently, and looked her directly in the eyes, “But I need you to be brave and protect these others. I need to give us some time to get to safety. I will do everything I can to return quickly. Please be brave for me. Can you do that?”
“I can but I am much braver with you here.”
There was no arguing against her pure and simple logic, but there were things I could not share with her at that moment. I hugged Miray fiercely because I could give her no other response, “Please trust me, Miray. I will return as soon as I can.”
I had barely escaped death in my last encounter with The Pan, but I could not run from him forever. Part of my calling by the One required that I face The Pan again, and trust that a way would be revealed to redeem the losses suffered during the failure of the second quest—a failure that I was partially responsible for.
There was something he took from Caleb before having him slaughtered. Something that I may still be able to retrieve from him if I chose to believe what I was told rather than fear it. I was confident that The Pan still had that thing with him. That he used it to gain the advantage he now had over his warring kingdom. If he turned that thing against us, he would destroy us one by one and the stories would die forever.
Where was Maeven, I wondered. She should be here by now. Had she found who had taken Will? Was Will a captive to The Pan, and Maeven was still gathering intelligence as to what had been done with him or to him? All of these thoughts weighed heavily upon me as I walked forward towards the glowing mist, under the shadow of a cursed man-creature that was as old as Hanokh himself and had come into the Mid-World no long after Hanokh himself had arrived.
***
Maeven and Will ducked low in the forest brush uncertain of what the faeries might do. Maeven knew they were dangerous. That even the Half-Men wanted nothing to do with them. That the Xarmnians were terrified of them, and those were enough of a reason to give them a wide berth and try not to provoke their interests. A mere touch of a metal blade and the blade tip broke away flaring red as if it had been pulled from a forge. It had scalded the troll creature and driven him off abandoning his captive. Maeven had done all she could to avoid trolls and she wasn’t about to pursue this one. Trolls had the strange quality of pulling out painful memories and assaulting their victims with them, and she had already re-awakened to some terrible memories of her own. She didn’t need some troll making them any worse. There were many creatures with whom she was willing to fight face to face, but trolls were not one of them.
In her mind, the sooner they left the area the better.
Again, came the odd top-canopy rustle that she’d heard in the upper trees when she’d left O’Brian and moved into the forest. Something was up there.
Then she saw what was making that noise and her breath caught in her throat.
“Oh my God, no!” she whispered, drawing in a shuddering breath.
“What is it?” Will asked.
“Harpies,” she answered, twisting and holding his mouth closed, “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”
***
The four faces of Brian glared angrily and contemptuously at the soldiers who now held them bound to one another and tied with strong cords so that they could not escape. Their eyes burned with a seething fire as they saw that the one they had thought they had brought down now stood before them with bloodied chest, the shaft of an arrow bristling from his chainmail, to be attended to later. Their plan had failed. The man still stood resolutely, though propped up, before his enemies. His indomitable spirit was determined and bolstered by a new-found fire that did not serve the ends it once had when he was their unwitting ally.
“You betrayed us, Captain Mattox,” the four bound bodies said in disturbing syncopated unison. Their doppelganger voices sounding somewhat like O’Brian’s but not. Vocal modulation, airway throat structure and simulated muscle movements copied from that of O’Brian, but the interior animate presences were that of wind creatures who spoke with more force than that of the human they replicated. There was no denying that these were not the original, but Mattox was worried that if there were four, there would most certainly be more.
“Whom do you serve?” Mattox pressed them.
“Our service has now ended,” they responded, “now that our master has been slain. We are freed to our own will.”
“You lie,” Mattox retorted, “you do not bear these forms without a purpose in them.”
“Strike us from these forms, deposed Captain. We will find others. The awakened one shall not be long into his quest until he finds us again standing in his path again. You cannot hold us here. We have many faces yet to wear. He has taken the sword and there are none like it left that can alter his fate to treat with us.”
“That is not true,” Mattox responded, “There is another.”
For the first time, since their capture, these creatures bearing the shared image of Brian studied him for a moment and looked collectively worried.
***
High on a weathered hill, upon the crest of the mountain known as Mount Zefat, a sword similar in kind to the one borne by the one called Mr. O’Brian, stood blade down within a broken assemblage of mountain stone, its driven blade whistling in the mountain wind. Its forbearer had abandoned it there many years ago, overcome with grief and crushed by betrayal. He had walked away from the call to lead, abandoning the quest as hopeless and too dangerous.
Its age-worn sash, called the bloodline, was frayed and severed from the cross-guard. The material had floated down the mountain and eventually became snagged somewhere below, caught and held by the jagged edge of fractured rock.
Mattox’s men had repeatedly tried to dislodge the sword from the rock and scree pile but were unable to do so. Mattox realized that human-might alone could not wield this type of sword destined to serve those under the specific calling of the One. Supernatural forces held the sword in its present resting place. Only the one designated to wield it could take it up again.
Mattox was certain he knew who this remaining Honor Sword had belonged to. The man had come to Azragoth many years before and left something of value to be kept within the secret city while it was being rebuilt. Mattox had faced the man on the field of battle, but time and circumstances had so radically changed their positions that now they had become allies. Mattox’s heart and perspective had changed, while this man’s heart had been hardened and distant, even though now they shared a common cause. Mattox had found the frayed sash and had taken it up and kept it in his pocket. The sword was left in place, and its present location was carefully marked upon the map Mattox and others were compiling. And perhaps eventually the man would be brought to the place where he might take it up again…if only Mattox could convince him to try.
***
I moved into the edge of the glowing fog, and realized that is was not fog at all, but smoke.
The fires of Azragoth were moving faster, and the strange winds moving through and under the forest canopy had driven this stream of smoke to creep along the forest floor and weave its smoky tendrils through the tall trees. Fire and smoke–a combination that would excite the satyrs- given their interest in ash, would ultimately bring these out towards the burning city environs surrounding Azragoth. And if, as I suspected the forest dryads had been driven ahead, they would soon turn back this way, for these had a particular fear and aversion to fire. If The Pan had used some other Half-Men agents to drive the nymph dryads to the northern side of the forest, they would eventually encounter the fires and surge back this way in fear. Whether the Pan intended to or not, both the dryads and the satyrs with him presently in the woods come into contact and mayhem would ensue. And there we were, right smack dab in the middle of it. The dryads would entice, bate and stir up the satyrs, appealing to their carnal natures to lure them into the trees—to be ravaged and savaged. Whatever third group the Pan had employed would be friends of neither the dryads nor the satyrs and bringing those into the mix would only complicate the Pan’s attempts to control the situation. What the Pan did not know is that his pitting one group against the other to manipulate the situation into his favor was about to backfire on him. I only hoped that our company might be able to occupy him here for the moments needed to allow these beast-men to come back together and create that circumstance whereby we had a chance to elude capture. I needed only stall him for time. The heads above me swayed ominously at the ends of their vine tethers, reminding me that what I was attempting was extremely dangerous. I still had not heard from Maeven, so whatever she had found that was tracking us, must either be eluding her, or she was heading right into danger with the enemies about to converge in the forest. That is if both she and Will were not already either captured or dead. I knew I should have insisted that we stay together, but she had convinced me that there may still be hope for finding Will. I had hoped that too, but not at the sacrifice of Maeven. I had felt like we almost lost her earlier, and was praying that a second miracle might spare her once again. I wondered also if I was asking for too much as I moved into the smoke, motioning the crew to stay put, while I treated with The Pan. I bore the Honor Sword, my wrist firmly wrapped in the bloodline sash, as I raised it into the guard position and moved into the smoke fog screen towards the shadowy silhouette. I had seen The Pan back down from one who bore an Honor Sword before in my past. One who had been my friend, who had been betrayed by my failure to keep my presence of mind about me. A friend the horrible Manticore alluded to back on the Lake at the Trathorn Falls behind us. A fellow warrior and resistance fighter named Caleb.
***
Dob had become enmired. As he had burst through the forest underbrush attempting to flee the attack of the faeries, he’d become disoriented. He wasn’t used to running for more than short distances. He’d picked up the burning smell and had panicked further and was running blindly when he’d plunged into the dark miry water, black with rot and decay. The ground had become soft and his hooves sank deep into the sucking mud below, slipping on oily mud, descending into the bog. A slough. The black, greyish water stank, its surface swam with water bugs skittering in all directions.
A murky film of grey water-moss sloshed around him as he fought against the sinking tug of the mud.
Splosh! A wet-noise to his left, caused Dob to turn as something or someone slid down an embankment, under the leafy plants and hit the bog water as well, rippling the grayish-green filmy mat of brown and organic black. Momentarily a grotesque, mud gobbed lump bobbed up from the water, spitting, sputtering…and cursing. Grum-blud.
The grey blackened lump that was Grum-blud sloshed, and flailed, sending water slashes slapping the shore and spattering the leaves the terminated and shrank to curled brownish husks along the edge of the slough. Gnats buzzed about his head as he clawed mud away from his eyes and face. His hair was a mess, but it had never been much of a fashion with him to keep it more than tugged under a dirty short woven cap.
Dob couldn’t help but bray out a laugh, as he witnessed this display, while Grum-blud swore and thrashed his way towards the muddy edge of the water, finally grasping at the broken root of a stump that jutted out of the mire.
Grum-blud turned reddened, blinking eyes towards Dob, and grumbled, “Clamp your yap, you black-eyed cabbage eater! I’ll boil your eyes out!”
“Nasty, nasty!” Dob clucked his tongue at him, “I don’t know which is fouler. You or this stinking water and muck.”
“Why you little…!” Grum-blud lunged towards Dob, but lost hold of the root stump, and splashed back into the murky water, going under once more. When he came up again, a small, brown water snake curled down from his brow, around his bulbous nose and dropped into the water and slithered away from him. Grum-blud gaped and panted, coughing brown water, and frantically sloshed towards the root he’d once held to. He trembled violently, and whimpered a bit, hugging the mossy root, searching frantically for any other reptilian creature that might come near him. “Sn-snakes, gawd!” he blinked rapidly trying to clear the water from his eyes, rubbing his face with his stumpy hand.
Dob laughed, knowing there was nothing Grum-blud could immediately do to him. For all of Grum-Blud’s blustering and bullying, Dob felt a savage delight knowing that there was at least one critter that could fill the troll with the cold dread he cruelly served to others.
From further up the forest line, where the slough and bogland curved around from the woods, a familiar voice called out to them. “Oy! That you Grum? What’re you doin’ muckin’ about in that stink?”
Another troll, not much different than Grum-blud in stature but considerably cleaner and drier, though soot-blackened and gray with ash flakes, stood holding a halter and gawking at them both. There beside him was the other Onocentaur named Bunt. Both wore a poorly veiled expression of amusement.
“Shelberd, you idiot! Where’ve you been?! Get me outta here!”
***
I was most worried about the dryads. I had to find a way to protect my burgeoning fellowship. I may be able to stall The Pan, but if the dryads came in contact with them, they would need to know how to resist their influence, They needed to be prepared to contend with these particular Half-Men race subset with something more than brute physical force. The Ancient Text came to mind again:
“6 So letting your sinful nature control your mind leads to death. But letting the Spirit control your mind leads to life and peace.” [Romans 8:6 NLT]
This was a critical truth. I was reminded of how when I was in a company of travelers, I had learned from solid other faithful followers of the One how to survive the enticement snares of a dryad attack. The satyrs could be fought with weapons alone but not the dryads. Two principles had sustained us.
Precept and Priority. That was the only way we had survived the last encounter with the dryads. The Ancient Text says:
“”9 [Beth] How can a young man keep his way pure? By guarding it according to your word. 10 With my whole heart I seek you; let me not wander from your commandments! 11 I have stored up your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you.” [Psalm 119:9-11 ESV]
But knowing the One’s precepts alone does not give a person the power to resist the temptation to fall away from The One’s loving commands to protect you from harm.
There is a second component that is necessary and that is learning to prioritize your relationship with Him in your own life.
“28 Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke on you and learn from me, because I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” [Matthew 11:28-29 NET]
By allowing Him to establish intimacy with you, you will come to value the amazing way He loves you in such a way that it restores you, comforts you and helps you to so desire that fellowship that you find anything that threatens that closeness to be an enemy of your own desire.
***
“Hey, pretty boy!”
Eyes beautiful and moist, blinking large, round and soothing beneath a porcelain brow and under a flaxen brown cascade of curls, rose slowly and casually from the brush, followed by a pair of soft, blushing cheeks, and full pouting lips of crimson, spoke seductively, “Wanna play with us?”
A dryad had found Will crouched and hiding under the rush where Maeven had told him to wait, and lie very perfectly still while the Harpies passed overhead.
As the woman-creature rose up before him, her sinuous, and slender, shapely body barely covered by forest flora, Will decided right then and there, that this was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life in the Surface World or in his teenage, pubescent dreams. No magazine or movie or siren actress could ever approximate her beauty and carnal sensuous appeal. Yes, he said to himself, rising towards her, mesmerized by the sight of her. He most definitely wanted to play.
A fine layer of dust sparkled in his hair and upon his shoulders, as he reached to touch her small extended hand, a grin spreading upon his face. The dust accumulated on the edge of his nostrils and lips as he unwittingly breathed it in. Pheromones.
Maeven turned as she heard the rustle from behind her and gasped as she saw Will’s body rising up into the tree canopy above born aloft in a tangled cocoon of extending vines.
Excavatia 