When Twins War: Book I

Rubbing his freshly shaved beard, Tarkanyon, with a smile, enjoyed the morning view from his balcony, breathing in the fresh and cool air breezing in from the Great Mountains to the north. It was breathtaking, the clear morning exposing a full view of the mountains in their wondrous beauty.

  He spent a moment looking at the tower on the island while wondering about his dream. He had a strong unction to support Ay and leave to the Twins this morning, as his dream implied he should do, but he knew that a dream is not always trustworthy and that there could be another interpretation for what it meant anyway. He decided that it was best to stay a while longer and find out what he could about Ay, and to judge for himself what was prudent.

  And that he did. For two days following they stayed, Tarkanyon gathering as much information as he could about the Earl. He was unable to find a correlated story. One claimed that he was giving too much of his produce to the Earl, who would pay nothing for it, while another said the Earl paid him too much – he was quite satisfied with the way things were governed. However, Tarkanyon was still disturbed at some of the things being said, and made it a goal to ensure that justice would be restored here. When Chrisolian challenged him on this, saying that perhaps they had lost sight of their original mission, Tarkanyon brushed him off saying, “We Outlanders must stand for righteousness if no one will.” Chrisolian answered that there was a certain righteousness that was fitting, and one that was, in fact, only pride. Tarkanyon ignored him.

  He also sent letters to Luillan explaining some of the strange things Ay had been telling him. He hoped he would receive Luillan's correspondence quickly when they arrived at Iza – for that is what their arrangements were.

  After the two days Tarkanyon eventually began to calm down and heed Chrisolian's advice. He decided they would stay one more night. His thoughts were now beginning to pass to Altana, wondering what would happen if they left. Altana had already said to him that they would not leave until “it is assured that these once-were rebels serve our king.”

  He thought of leaving some of his company behind to keep a watch on both Ay and Altana. The dream he had was now beginning to prick his conscience and he longed for the peace he had experienced the morning after it.

  On the third day, very early and just before first light, Tarkanyon awoke to hear splashing outside. He got up, looked out his window, and was astonished.

  At the bank of the lake stood a dark cloaked figure, holding a thick double-edged sword before itself, the point in the ground. It stood very still with only its cloak moving in the breeze.

  Tarkanyon grabbed his bo from the side of his bed. He jumped a little when there was a sudden knock at the door.

  “Tarkanyon,” whispered a raspy a voice. It was Ay. “Tarkanyon, you must wake.”

  Tarkanyon stood for a moment wondering what this was about.

  “Tarkanyon?” Ay said again.

  “I'm just getting my cloak,” Tarkanyon replied and grabbed it, wrapping it around himself.

  “You must come with me,” was the response. “Quickly.”

  Cautiously, Tarkanyon moved to the door and slid open the lock. He saw Ay holding a lamp in his hand as he opened the door.

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  “No doubt you have seen the traveller?”

  “If you speak of the figure below, at the bank, yes. Who is he?”

  “I have seen her before.”

  “Her? So you have spoken with her?”

  “Yes. But she was seeking for another.”

  “She was seeking for someone?”

  “Yes. Come quickly,” Ay said, beckoning for Tarkanyon to follow him.

  “What more do you know of her?” Tarkanyon hesitated. “She has the look of a warrior. Is she friend or foe?”

  “I do not know if you are friend or foe, Tarkanyon,” replied Ay sternly. “Yet, we talk. Now come.”

  “I must wake the others,” Tarkanyon said as he moved out the door.

  “No,” Ay protested. “That will only anger her. Come, we must talk to her alone, you and I.”

  Tarkanyon looked at Ay, frowning.

  “She has asked for you by name,” Ay said at length.

  “What?”

  “Come, quickly,” Ay said. “Now.”

  Tarkanyon followed Ay down the stairs of the castle, through the modestly large kitchen and out the back door. The air was cool and pleasant. Cautiously they both approached the dark figure at the bank, who stood resolute and as ominous as before. As they approached it spoke in a low drone, but they could hear it from a distance.

  “Are you Tarkanyon, the Outlander of the Fourth?” it asked.

  Ay responded first. “No, I am not.” He then looked at Tarkanyon, beckoning for him to respond.

  “Who is it that asks this question?” Tarkanyon asked, readying his bo.

  “I seek for Tarkanyon of the Fourth.”

  As Tarkanyon neared closer he became aware that he was feeling nauseous. The nausea increased with each step as he approached. His head started to feel muddled. He sensed a rage and fear surrounding the figure – as if the figure itself exuded fear.

  He realised that he had felt this before, in his dream.

  “I am Tarkanyon of the Fourth. State who you are and what it is you seek.”

  The figure drew a long and low breath, almost as if it studied Tarkanyon closely. He could feel her eyes upon him. “Yes, you are,” she replied at length. She stared at him for longer, then continued, “I have been searching for you.”

  Suddenly it was as if her eyes dug into him (although he couldn't see them). It felt like she was trying to dig into his head, searching for something, like an icy hand was at the back of his head, fingers searching frantically for a way in. He felt almost paralysed, unable to respond.

  “Give it to me,” she demanded.

  “I do not have what you seek,” Tarkanyon said tightly, still struggling.

  Suddenly the searching stopped. He could feel her icy grip loose hold. She sighed. Hesitantly, Tarkanyon asked, “What is it you seek?”

  Then a premonition came upon him. “You seek for the Wealth,” he said, answering for her.

  The figure hissed and stared at him, moving its head from side to side. Where her face should have been there was only a turbid darkness. Then she stepped backward and fell into the water, disappearing. Tarkanyon moved forward instinctively but stopped himself.

  Ay was transfixed and staring where the figure had been standing.

  Tarkanyon moved over to him and put his hand on his shoulder. “You have spoken with her before?” he asked. “So who is she?”

  Ay nodded. “Her name is Bahula. I have spoken with her before and know her from the tales I have studied.”

  Tarkanyon nodded, listening patiently.

  “I had spoken with her only a few months ago, when, as now, she asked for you by name,” Ay said.

  Tarkanyon stood back. “She asked for me by name?”

  “I remember now. I had thought I recognised your name when we met. Yes, it was you she was looking for the last time. I could not understand what she was saying at all at that time.”

  “What? What for?”

  “I do not know, save what you seem to know, from our encounter now.”

  Tarkanyon blinked.

  “What do you know of her?”

  Ay drew a deep breath. “It is a sorrowful tale. Bahula was once a magnificent and fair dragon of the water, virtuous and powerful as all the water dragons were.”

  “But she doesn’t look like a water dragon,” Tarkanyon replied.

  “No, she is merely a shadow of her former self, taking on other forms. Her story explains why.”

  “Tell me then,” Tarkanyon replied.

  “She was bound to her mate, Deeharak, who lived in other waters of Lexedore,” Ay replied. “Water dragons were bound to only one mate for all of their long years and were united through the Light of their Heart. Through this Light they can be anywhere in the worl
d apart from each other yet still adjoined one to another.”

  “Yes, I have heard of such things,” Tarkanyon replied.

  “In the great war with the Moncoin, Deeharak was slain by Hircoi, which drove Bahula to a deep melancholy. She swam the darkest depths of the lakes, longing for death, the tales say. But a Genicoin who we call Gharouk, as his name is said in most of our tongues, had become increasingly a follower of the Moncoin and sought out Bahula whom he wished to control and make his own beast. Knowing the water dragons and how their heart united them to a mate, he wished to deceive Bahula in giving him the Light of her Heart.”

  “In this he succeeded, through many years of befriending Bahula in her grief, taking advantage of her deep longing for companionship. Deceiving her, he promised that he could find her another mate; which was impossible; but nevertheless he succeeded to convince her, if she only gave him the Light of her Heart. In her desperation she eventually gave in, trusting that he would fulfil his promise.”

  “But he didn’t,” said Tarkanyon.

  “No,” replied Ay. “Gharouk took the Light and forged it to the Riches.”

  “He forged it to the Moncoin's magic?” Tarkanyon said. “How?”

  “It is not known,” Ay replied. “But upon returning, he still convinced her that he had accomplished his mission for her, and she took the twisted Light and moulded it back into her heart. But this enslaved her to Gharouk's will and she was transformed into Hircoi and his beast, which he named 'Bah’rak'. He rode Bah’rak into war and she was indeed terrible; her name became well known amongst those that fought against Hircoi, as a formidable and powerful enemy.”

  “Gharouk, with Bah'rak, gained many victories for the Moncoin. However, as Gharouk had forged Bah'rak's heart with the Riches, which had formed Bah'rak into Hircoi, Bah'rak was also united with the Moncoin, as all Hircoi are. Many years later Gharouk lost a decisive battle for the Moncoin and in his rage the Moncoin caused Bah'rak to turn on Gharouk, by allowing Bahula to return to her right mind for a moment. In her bitterness and hatred towards Gharouk she tore him to pieces and thus destroyed her master.”

  “But she was still Hircoi,” Tarkanyon added.

  “Yes,” Ay replied. “However, not entirely, due to the nature of her forging. Bahula returned to her waters, never to be seen again.”

  “Until now,” Tarkanyon remarked. “But not in her original form.”

  “No,” said Ay. “Perhaps she can take her form in the water — but she is also Hircoi, and what damage the Riches has done to her, and what magic she has, I do not know or understand.”

  Tarkanyon looked at the lake edge. “She must be terribly old,” he said. And, he thought, sad.

  “Yes, she is old, and who knows if she still has a mind at all,” Ay replied.

  Tarkanyon looked squarely at Ay. “There are three things I do not understand, Ay. First, how you know of such things; second, why they interest you; and third, why you say she asked for me by name.”

  “I do not know the answer to the third,” Ay replied. “As to the first, I will have to show you.”

  “Show me?”

  “Yes. Come.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN