The Orb of Truth

  “I worked up an appetite. I can smell it already,” Dulgin sputtered. “Abawken, start a fire with that fancy sword of yours.”

  He gathered the wood while Bridazak helped his friend out of his armor to get a better look at his wound. A purplish, powdery substance stained the Dwarf’s skin around the cut. The Dak used some of their water supply to clean the area and shredded an extra tunic, wrapping it around Dulgin’s barrelled, red-furred chest. In the meantime, Abawken prepared their meal and soon the sweet smell of roasted Varouche captured their hearts.

  “Too bad we don’t have any Dwarven Ale to go along with this.”

  Bridazak picked at his food and stared at the pile of mixed feathers. He stood and walked over to grab one of them. “I’m keeping this, in honor of Spilf.”

  “Me too,” Dulgin said. “Bring me one of them, would ya?”

  “Make that two, Master Bridazak.” Abawken surprised them. Bridazak smiled in recognition of their new companion’s respect for their fallen friend he never met.

  He held his feather up, as a toast, and his two comrades joined him, “We wish you were here with us Spilf, but we know you will always be here in spirit. We honor you my friend, my brother, and we will never forget you.”

  “Well said, Master Bridazak. I look forward to getting to know him through you both. A part of him resides in each of you; as you have shared life together, he helped shape who you have become.”

  “You are some talker, Huey, but I like it. Your words touched me.” Dulgin grimaced in pain again, and looked at Bridazak, “I recognize poison. That critter gave me something to remember.”

  “We need to find a way to get him healed. Maybe the temple has someone there,” the Ordakian suggested.

  “Come, no time to waste. Let us get back on track.”

  Many hours of traveling had passed and the sun was quickly moving down to the west. The already dark environment was losing the little light that was allowed within its confines for the day. Abawken spotted a clearing up ahead, and hurried them to follow. They came to the opening along the river’s edge; it was circular in design with a strange, grassy field nestled inside the immense forest—an oddity that they might never be able to explain. The green blades of grass came to Bridazak’s chest as it swayed gently in the cool breeze that brushed over the top. There was a mysterious and strange glow to the meadow before them, but it didn’t stop them from entering into the confines. As they began to wade deeper into the sedge, the magical effects of the field made itself known to them. Small bits of dust floated into the air with each step they took.

  “I feel strange,” Bridazak softly muttered.

  “I feel good,” Dulgin responded with a drowsy smirk.

  “Something is wrong.” Abawken’s speech slowed. He fell to one knee and then collapsed face first, pushing the grass blades down from his weight.

  “Look, Abawken is sleepy,” Dulgin chimed slowly.

  “Sleep is a good idea,” Bridazak said as he, too, collapsed.

  “You guys are lightweights. That is why I can out-drink any of you blundering fools,” he slurred as he fell to the powerful enchantment.

  It was as if time had slowed. Their muscles relaxed and their eyelids lowered. The deep of sleep consumed them and all was quiet except the thumping of their heartbeats. Bridazak had never really imagined the end of his life, but there was always the assumption that it would come with another quest in pursuit of some trinket or treasure. But in the end, it was instead just a beautiful, enticing sward within the great Everwood Forest. He relaxed, and realized he didn’t care about dying this way, or dying at all. It was actually quite nice. He fell further into the depths of his end.

  Bridazak felt a sharp sting in his side. The pain hit him again and his eyes opened wide. He felt instantly transported back to reality; back into the grassy blades where he thought he had died. His blurry vision refocused to see, looming above him, a magnificent, pure white steed with a large spiraled horn protruding from its forehead. The legendary Unicorn, flawless, not a speck of dirt on its gleaming body, made him wonder whether he wasn’t still dreaming after all. Bridazak slowly stood, not taking his eyes off of the mythical creature, until something flew by his face and distracted him from his stare. The new visitor was not much bigger than the length of Bridazak’s arm, and was difficult to see. Several of these beings fluttered about the area as they flew in a protective pattern around the Unicorn.

  Abawken sat up yelling, “Fairy dust!,” as he came to his senses. He peeked over the blades of grass that rustled from his movement. He grabbed his head to try to stop his mind from spinning and then he let out a groan of discomfort. Dulgin also stirred awake.

  One of the small critters squeaked in the common language, “You will follow and not stray.”

  “Who are you?” Bridazak asked.

  “We are your guides, and you will follow Chaadra.”

  The fascinating steed hurled its front hooves high into the air and then came down with a thud. It turned and began to walk toward the forest, then stopped and looked back at them with its beautiful almond eyes.

  “Go. Chaadra will not wait,” the small creature indicated with his hands to follow once again.

  The others had stood up and regained their composure. Dulgin noticed his wound was completely gone, healed magically.

  “Where is Chaadra taking us?” asked the Ordakian.

  “You will find out soon enough.” The fairy-like being mischievously giggled.

  “I hate Pixies!” Dulgin blurted openly.

  More laughter erupted around them and then they purposely zoomed pass the Dwarf’s ears. Dulgin swatted the air in frustration.

  Bridazak saw the other fairies fluttering about, but their bodies appeared clear as glass. The steed had also passed from sight and he quickly spotted the fabled legend across the grassy field at the base of the dense forest. It seemed to be waiting for them to follow and bobbed its head up and down.

  “Maybe it will let us touch it. Come on, let’s go!” Bridazak chimed with enthusiasm and headed off, not wasting any more time.

  “I’m not interested in the creature, but in where it is taking us,” said the human under his breath as he also complied, following behind the Ordakian, with Dulgin bringing up the rear.

  “I can’t take much more of this, ya blundering fools!”

  .

  8

  The Door of the Divine

  After several hours of traveling they came upon a crumbling structure. The unicorn, Chaadra, never let them get too close, but just enough to not lose them within the sylva. It stood at the foot of the rubble and lowered its head, bowing before something unseen. The breathtaking steed began to blur; the heroes squinted as they watched the distorted form blend into the surroundings.

  In front of the adventurers laid a large pile of fragmented rock. The ancient dwelling was overtaken with vines that intertwined through the stone scattered about the area. Bushes had grown in pockets and several small creatures had taken residency over the many years since the edifice fell. They walked the perimeter and saw nothing of interest. Bridazak took it upon himself to climb and maneuver to reach the precipice.

  “Get up here! You need to see this.”

  Soon they were all gazing upon the skeletal remains of a small humanoid, roughly four feet tall. It was clothed except for its bare, boney feet.

  “It was probably an Ordakian,” surmised Abawken.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, for one thing, it has no boots, just like you, and the other is that it’s very small in height, just like you. My guess is it was some kind of Halfling.”

  “So I’m not the only one of my kind to set foot in the Everwood after all.”

  Abawken studied the scene, “I think we will need to head in the direction of where his boney finger is pointing.”

  Indeed, this fallen Dak was indicating a direction that led further into the forest; probably its final message before dying, but a m
essage for whom to receive? Surely not them. Bridazak stood and prepared to make his way back down.

  Abawken stopped him, “Where I come from, the living show their respect for their race by burying them where they lay. It is said that the dead will then bless you with favor. We call it ‘mouton’.”

  Bridazak was pondering the foreigner’s suggestion when Dulgin spoke, “I agree with you, Huey. Dwarves have similar burial procedures.”

  “I’m not sure of the Ordakian’s ways of death, but any favor we can get is great with me. Help me cover him up.” Bridazak grabbed a broken rock and stopped when the others did not move to assist him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Master Bridazak, it is your duty as his kin to cover him.”

  “But,” Dulgin added, “we can hand you pieces to help you out.”

  Bridazak grinned as his friends helped him, handing him one fragment at a time. He felt something inside of him that he had never felt before—a sense of honor.

  He carefully laid each piece of stone, slowly covering the remains. Some of the bones crumbled from age, and the tattered clothing fell away like fine powder. After the body was completely covered, Bridazak spotted a message etched into one of the pieces of rubble next to the forgotten kinsman. It was written in the Ordakian language, again confirming Abawken’s suspicion.

  He read it aloud, translating it to the common tongue, “Loyal Follower Billwick Softfoot,” as he placed it near the head of the newly formed grave. He stopped and peered up at his companions, who seemed to be waiting for more, “That’s all it says.”

  “A follower of whom, is the question.”

  “Maybe he worshipped whomever this temple was built for,” Dulgin surmised.

  “Good point,” said Abawken.

  They each made a final bow to the loyal follower, Billwick Softfoot, as they turned to move out, but Bridazak stopped as he spotted an ornately carved wood piece protruding from the rocks close to where the deceased Ordakian lay. He veered away after tugging at Abawken’s shirt to let him know of his detour. After removing several stones, a short bow was birthed. Once again, there was Ordakian writing carved all over it.

  “What does it say?”

  “Let’s see. “Bridazak began to inspect it, “It says, ‘When you notch, I will be ready. When you pull with desire, I will be the The Seeker.’ This bow is incredible. Would any of you like my old short bow?” Bridazak asked innocently. “My axe is good enough,” Dulgin scoffed.

  “You are truly favored, Master Bridazak. Now, let’s get moving. It should be getting dark within a couple of hours.”

  Bridazak tossed his old bow away and then strung his new find, testing the pull strength on it. When he stretched the string back without an arrow notched, his eyes focused on something else in the distance. Abawken noticed the Ordakian’s eyes change in focus.

  “What is it now?” he whispered.

  “Something sparkled off the sun’s light over there, but now I can’t see anything.”

  “What sun, ya blundering fool?”

  The fighter admired Bridazak’s keen senses, and a deeper appreciation of his Master’s bestowed giftings began to shift his duty-bound motives. Normally, he would insist they press on, but he surprised himself and said, “Let us investigate, shall we?”

  As they moved toward the general area, the shaft of a gold-painted flight arrow emerged into sight. Bridazak removed a rock piece that pinned it down, unveiling yet a bigger gift—an entire quiver of arrows. Eleven were nestled beneath the twelfth he had originally spotted. He slung the case over his shoulder after pulling it out of its confines.

  “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  “Anything else, Master Bridazak?” Abawken asked, amused, gesturing to their view of the entire rocky area.

  “Nope, that should do it.”

  “Just leave it to the Daks; they seem to sniff out treasure like a vampire does blood.”

  They headed off with no more detours or distractions and discovered another part of the temple complex that still stood intact. The same vine network that had established itself amongst the rubble also covered this structure. A wall of the woven green growth now stood between the heroes and the building. Two faded ivory pillars stood on either side of an immense stone door, rivalling the size of a mountain giant. They approached the ancient entryway and began to remove the vegetation.

  Bridazak found something strange about the stone doorway. He noticed hundreds of miniscule holes, from top to bottom, which left a grey powdery residue covering his fingertips when he touched them to inspect more closely. He also spotted several inscriptions, and realized they were magical in nature, and most likely strong glyphs of protection.

  “Look here, Abawken.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “This is a magical trap, set for any who might open this door. I am not sure exactly what it will do, but I am guessing it has something to do with those tiny holes. Basically, if we open it, something bad will happen.”

  “Can you disarm it?”

  “Maybe.” Bridazak pulled out the magical thieves tools. In his mind he said to them, “Okay, now it’s your turn. We need to get inside, and this entrance appears to be trapped.”

  “Let’s take a look. I am so excited to help our new master. Ross, can you see if there is anything hidden?” Lester’s metallic voice sounded.

  “Sure thing, Lester. Now you are going to see some real skill. Master, can you show me the door and let me inspect it? Move us in closer.”

  Bridazak moved methodically with Lester and Ross in hand. The animated objects mumbled several words as they instructed their master to move them.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Okay, we got it.” Lester announced.

  “You disarmed it?”

  “No, we understand how to open the door,” Lester responded.

  “We sure do, Lester.”

  “So, how do we open it?”

  “Um, we cannot open it.”

  “Yep, you are right about that, Lester.”

  “What do you mean you can’t open it? You said you can unlock any door and disarm any trap.”

  “I am happy to tell you that this is not a trap and the door is not locked, and thus our reputation is still intact.”

  “Good call, Lester. Yep, reputation is still there.”

  “I don’t care about your reputation right now. How do we open the door?”

  “Lester, he doesn’t care about our reputation!” Ross whined.

  “Calm down Ross. I will explain it to him.”

  “Yeah, okay, explain it.”

  “What is it?” Bridazak charged through his mind link.

  “This is a door of the divine. It has no lock and there are no traps.”

  “And?”

  “It will require a sacrifice to open it—the shedding of innocent blood. The magical writing embedded into the door itself gives the instructions. There are two sections, one on each side. You attach a rope or chain to the rings in each section and pull the door open from a distance. Whatever is standing in front of the door will be sacrificed. If it is worthy, the door will remain open for several minutes, before closing again.”

  Stunned, Bridazak placed Lester and Ross back inside his belt pouch. He could hear Ross complaining to Lester while he put them away. Abawken saw the change in his demeanor.

  “What did you find, Master Bridazak?”

  He didn’t respond until Dulgin smacked his shoulder to knock him back to reality, “He asked you a question.”

  “It’s a divine doorway, and it requires a sacrifice to gain entrance.”

  “What?” the Dwarf asked. Bridazak explained in detail what was revealed to him.

  Abawken thought for a moment before responding, “I see. Then we have a dilemma here.”

  “What are we going to do, boys? I didn’t go through all this just to be stopped by some door.” Dul
gin’s gruff voice broke the lingering silence.

  “I don’t know, Master Dulgin. Perhaps there is another way inside that we haven’t found yet.”

  “Well, let’s get a searchin’ then.” He investigated a walled section covered in vines.

  Bridazak hesitated, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out the Orb. The perfect golden sphere was warm to the touch and once again brought him the strange peace he had felt before. If ever there was a time they needed the promised provisions, it was now. “We need your help.” It rose from his palm. “How do we get inside the Temple?”

  “A door of the divine requires a sacrifice, the shedding of innocent blood.”

  Dulgin stopped ripping the strands and stood beside his comrades.

  “But we have nothing to sacrifice. There must be another way,” Bridazak continued, scanning the building for something they might have missed.

  “The Temple is impervious to magic, and to any method known to man. There is no other way.”

  “Why would you take us to this place knowing we don’t have anything to open this with? Why didn’t you warn us?”

  There was silence and then Abawken rested his hand on Bridazak’s shoulder, “I was warned.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The same voice in my dreams, which called me to you, told me of a time that would require a great sacrifice. This is that time.”

  “What? We have to find another way. This is not right.”

  “Are you saying you want us to sacrifice you to get inside this temple, ya blundering fool? I don’t think I will ever understand you humans. This is ridiculous,” Dulgin scoffed.

  “I believe in this quest, and I believe in you, Bridazak. A great shift in this world—to restore what it was meant to be—is upon us. My sacrifice is for that change. It is my choice and my wish.”

  “It’s not my choice, nor my wish,” Bridazak protested. “Abawken, we need to find another way.”

  The human fighter withdrew a two-inch tall statue of what was known as a lizard man.

  “What is that?”