The Key of Ban
For a long time Pacer stared at the sagging roof timbers of the old cabin. The confusion in his mind continued to create a sense of fantasy and disorientation. He knew he had been unconscious for a long time but for how long? He had no way of knowing. His feverish mind began to search beyond the delirium to remember what happened to him. In his first image, he saw Topple standing in front of an old stone building. He also recalled fleeing from hundreds of trogs and jumping into the river. Finally, the memories of agonizing pain, a cabin, and a high fever helped refocus his mind. The past and present finally blended to a conscious whole.
He commented to himself, “Where are the trogs? They should have found me by now. The smoke from the fire can be seen for miles. Oh well, I should appreciate the fact that I am still alive.”
As the cloud in his mind cleared, he became more aware of his surroundings. Next to his mat sat a loaf of honey bread and a bowl of sweet fruit drink. The aroma of fresh cooked food lingered in the drafty cabin. After eating the meal he became dizzy and lost consciousness.
In the midst of his feverish hallucinations, he became aware of movement around him. He opened his eyes to see many small elves dancing around a magical fire in the center of the cabin. The flames burned with a stunning blend of bright colors. Fingers of vivid greens, blues, reds and yellows reached out and touched him. A warm sensation of healing flowed into his body. Looking away from the fire, he saw many smiling faces staring down at him. A gibberish of unrecognizable words floated from their mouths. He did understand one sentence. A gentle voice stated, “He is an important friend of Brad and Coaldon.” In the background he detected the smell of food.
A humorous voice recited, “Pacer, Pacer - with feet so base, with homely face, with clothes of lace, with mind of space, with wizards to chase, and with trogs to race.” The odd humor brought much clapping and laughter. At the sound of a loud clap, the room was instantaneously empty. Only a black void remained in his mind.
He awoke in the middle of the night to the warmth of the fire on his face. Again there was food and drink next to his mat. He sat up and ate but dizziness forced him to lie back down. With increased awareness he listened to the sounds of the night. The hoot of a large owl was answered by its mate. Several foxes scampered through the old cabin chasing one another. A breeze rattled a pile of leaves next to the door. The light of the full moon drifted through the window casting soft shadows. In the distance the rumble of the river offered a peaceful backdrop to the fogginess of his mind. Pacer tried to stay focused on his surroundings, yet the cloud of sleep slowly blanketed his thoughts.
He awoke with a cold wind blowing on his face. The light of a new day was shining into the cabin. He rolled over onto his knees in order to get up. As he rose to his feet, lightheadedness caused him to pause. He took several wobbly steps before he rested. A stack of wood was piled next to the door. With increasing strength and coordination, he carried the wood to the fireplace and rekindled the fire. He walked outside the cabin with his cooking pot to get water from a small stream. Within an hour he was eating a meal of hot trail food. He sat in front of the fireplace enjoying the feeling of improved health. He realized his next step was to go to the Monastery of Toms. He did not want to stay in the cabin any longer than necessary.
In the late afternoon he went for a walk around the outside of the cabin to build his strength and stamina. By evening he was tired from the physical activities. At sunset he collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The new day brought the demand for decisions. Should he leave, or should he stay in the cabin for another day? His food supplies were low. He was still very weak. The hike to the Monastery would take several days. He also knew that the trogs could arrive at anytime. After weighing the different factors, Pacer decided it was time to depart. He loaded his pack and set off at a slow walk. He found a path leading down a ridge top, descending onto the grassy plains. The ground was muddy from a recent rainstorm making walking difficult. He was thankful the ground had a rock base to keep his feet from sinking out of sight. He reached inside himself to find the additional strength to continue to walk. By noon it was time to rest his weary body. After a meal of hard bread, he sat with his back against a tree studying the surrounding area.
At this moment, the beauty of nature overwhelmed him with peace and wonderment. The ground fell away before him into a panorama of royal elegance. The deep blue sky blended into light green colors of the rolling prairie. The dark green forest of the mountains cascaded into the richness of a sea of swaying grass. He thought to himself, “The One Presence must have created the world in its own image. It is all so splendid.”
As he continued to walk, the afternoon sun dropped into the west. The pain from his leg wound increased with each passing hour. The trees of the forest melted away into the flat lands. The tall grass supported herds of wild deer, horses and buffalo. To the south he could see the beginning of the Wastelands. The Wastelands surrounding the Monastery of Toms were a bleak and barren labyrinth of unending canyons and gullies. Many travelers died from starvation after becoming disoriented and lost in the baffling maze. The Monastery was built in the center of the Wasteland to protect it from the corruption of the outside world. This isolation helped maintain the purity of the Monks’ contemplative lives.
He decided to make camp at the edge of the canyon lands. It took about an hour to reach his destination. This doorway into the Wastelands was bordered by steep walls towering high over his head. He took special care to find shelter that provided protection in case of attack. He selected a recess at the base of a cliff next to a small stream. The shelf opened into a small cave in the side of the cliff. His camp would be easy to defend.
Pacer’s first task was to rest his weary body. His leg throbbed with pain. He wondered if he had pushed himself too hard. The long shadows cast by the setting sun brought him to an awareness of his present situation. It was getting dark. He was cold and hungry.
He gathered wood from several trees growing in the area. At sunset he built a fire. The warm flames, offered him a hot meal and relief from a difficult day. As he stared at the fire, the gentle flames mesmerized his mind and introduced a comfortable sleep. The insulating effect of the gully caused a dead silence. The cold night air forced Pacer to roll tightly inside his blanket.
Several hours before dawn, the silence of the night was broken by the snarl of several animals. Pacer’s survival instincts put him on high alert. He quietly sat up with his sword in hand. His fire had died down to several hot coals. He crawled to the edge of the campsite to watch for any movement. He had learned that patience was the key to survival. He would have the advantage if he could outwait his opponent. After several moments four eyes appeared about 30 strides away from him. The light of the setting moon reflected off their burning, red eyes. The eyes slowly moved towards his location with stealth. He finally saw the bodies in the moonlight. Standing before him were two giant wolves. Their large heads had heavy eye ridges which dominated huge circular eyes. The long, broad, wrinkled noses lent emphasis to outsized mouths full of sharp teeth. Each broad forehead was bordered by two long pointed ears. These were not ordinary animals. They were spirit wolves, a creation of evil. He watched as the beasts talked to each other in a series of growls.
As they came closer, he could hear their soft breathing and smell their foul odor. This was not the scent of nature.
He patiently waited until they were within two strides before attacking. With a short stroke of his sword he decapitated the first wolf. The second wolf instantaneously began an aggressive attack. Pacer rolled to his left as the wolf lunged toward him. At the end of his roll, he brought the sword up in a swinging motion. As the spirit wolf leaped over him the tip of the sword bit deep into wolf ’s side. Pacer jumped to his feet ready for the next attack. To his surprise, the beast only stood watching him with hateful eyes. It was too dark for him to see if the beast was badly wounded. With a look of defeat, the creature slowly limped into the darkness. Pacer crawled back i
nto his shelter to wait for sunrise.
He rejoiced when the daylight finally revealed the surrounding area. As he ventured out of his shelter, he could not find the remains of the dead wolf. This confirmed his assumption. The beasts were the product of evil. Once the spirit wolf died, its body evaporated into a cloud of nothingness. He saw the footprints of the spirit wolf lead away from the camp. The footprints disappeared in the tall grass.
Pacer knew he had to finish his journey to the Monastery before his health collapsed. After his morning meal, he spent an hour reviewing his map of the Wastelands. He did not want to get lost in the maze of canyons. The map showed a route starting in his present location. He mumbled to himself, “Am I willing to gamble my life on the accuracy of this map? Oh, why not? I have nothing else planned for today. Besides, waiting will only give the spirit wolves a better chance to nibble at my toes. No, I must go even though I am not physically ready.”
With the map in hand, he began the dangerous trek into the Wastelands. It took great willpower to force his tired body and wounded leg to keep hiking. The journey down the canyons dissolved into a perplexing series of choices. Diverging channels took off in different directions at major intersections. Each junction had a right or wrong choice. The height of the canyon walls prevented him from gaining a view of the surrounding terrain. His mind melted to a state of disorientation after he made an infinite number of turns and followed endless trails. By noon he was convinced he was totally lost and heading for an early grave.
After a short break, he continued to follow the lines on the map. By mid-afternoon he collapsed into a heap of fatigue. Before continuing his trek, he closed his eyes for a short nap. The pleasant sensation of deep sleep caressed his mind and body. With a jerk he opened his eyes to see the fangs of a large mouth over his face. Saliva from the animal’s mouth dripped on Pacer’s face. The animal’s hot breath warmed his cold cheeks. Any movement of his body was met with a vicious growl. Pacer said to himself, “I wish Topple was here to provide an appropriate response. As my grandfather said, ‘There will be days like this’.”
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