Laeroth

I.

“Laeroth! Laeroth!” the faction cheered,
their fists up high, blades gleaming in the sun.
“No longer shall we labor for the Cult
of Azdan, slaving for his selfish priests.
We’ll burn these robes, and follow only you!”

“Not me,” said Laeroth. “Follow yourselves;
seek out what you want most, and make it yours.
No masters. Take your freedom.”

				                        “Aye!” they yelled,
and joined the celebrations in a town
freed from the Cult’s control. But Laeroth,
though tempted to indulge, noticed his friend
the lizard Kroff depart from us, and said,
“Hey Kroff, where are you going?” 

				                         Then Kroff turned
and said, “Lord Diedrich’s here, inside his tent.
You party. I won’t join until he’s dead.”

“My man,” said Laeroth, “that’s nobly said.
Let me come with you: I will help to kill
his guards. Don’t worry; I’ll leave him for you.”
Kroff nodded. So we joined him in his quest.

But as we traveled through the joyous throng,
a wizened man accosted us, his face
familiar: it was Olin Geen, the mage.
We hardly marveled that he’d found us here;
his magic was beyond our comprehension.
“Laeroth,” said the wizard, “you have passed
your light into another of your blood:
a daughter of the Goddess Arc!”

					             “No way,”
said Laeroth. “That’s blasphemy, old man.
Calistria’s the only god I worship.
So if I had a daughter, she would not
have anything to do with Arc.”

					           “She does,
and she will bear the likeness of the Goddess.”

“Fuck the Goddess,” Laeroth said then.
“I don’t have time for this. We have to kill
a vampire. See you later, Olin Geen.”

So we continued to Lord Diedrich’s tent
of garish red and yellow, carnivalesque.
No guards were there without, and none within;
only a mirror stood inside the tent,
in which appeared the vampire’s wicked form.
“Give me the ring you stole,” he said, “or else
you’ll never leave this tent. For Neverdead,
my master, wishes nothing ill for you:
he only wants the wedding ring. Be wise.”

“Then leave the mirror,” Kroff said. 

				                          “Leave the ring.”

So Kroff approached the mirror. With his sword
he shattered it, and Diedrich disappeared.
“The coward hides behind illusions still,”
he said, and though we searched the place with spells,
we found no trace of him, and so we left.


II.

The sun had shone when we went in, but now
the sky was black; the people all were gone,
as were the buildings. Trees now stood instead,
with mountains in the distance. Then an ape,
or something like an ape, leapt from a branch
and beat upon a bongo drum before us.
“So we’ve been teleported to a jungle,”
said Laeroth. Llewellyn looked at length
upon the creature drumming, then said, “No,
not just a teleport. This animal
has been extinct for centuries. We’ve gone
into the past.” 

			“Then how do we return?”

“Well, none of us has magic of that sort.
But maybe this Cheraka with its drum
will lead us to a town: this instrument
was made by someone smarter than a beast.”

We let the creature lead us through the trees,
though frequently it stopped to drum, or scream
at nothing (so it seemed). At one such pause
Laeroth heard a squeak beneath his foot,
and looking where he’d stepped, he saw two blobs
staring at him. He picked them up and said,
“Now what are you?” 

         		            The blobs responded, “Ams!”

“I didn’t mean to step on you.” 

                                                   “Is fine!”

“I’ll put you back now.” 

                                      “Ams can come with you!”

“Then can I carry you inside a can?”

“You can! Yes! Ams in can!” So in a can
He put the Ams. 

  			    At length we heard great thuds
thundering in the distance, like the steps
of some colossus. And toward this sound
the animal advanced, quite unperturbed.
In fact, it seemed excited, for it smiled
and hopped much faster than it had before,
until we saw the source: a walking hut,
around which flew not birds, but giant eyes.
The animal climbed up its wooden legs.

We followed, and inside the hut we saw
a man in robes amidst his library,
and sitting at his desk, his back to us.
To him the apish creature lightly leapt.
“You’ve brought some friends,” he said, still looking down
at some old tome. “I saw you with my eyes–
not these, but those outside. They watch for me.
What brings you here?” 

                                      “We’re lost, stuck in the past,”
Llewellyn said. “We seek a mage to help
return us to our time.” 

                                      The man then turned
and looked at us with interest, and he said,
“Travelers from the future! I am blessed.
I study time, and how it might be changed.
My name is Arilyn. I am a mage,
though not as powerful as you would like:
I cannot alter time. But I do know
what can: A scepter, kept within a realm
of darkness, guarded by an ancient race.
And I can take you there. But be forewarned:
it is not safe. We will be hunted. So
if you are weak of body, mind, or magic,
it’s likely you will perish.”

				         “We are strong,”
said Laeroth. “We’ll go. One question first–”
he showed the can, and asked him, “What is Ams?”

“Be careful! Ams is ticklish,” said the Ams.

Arilyn gazed into the can and said,
“I do not know. But do not tickle them.”

We gathered ‘round the mage, who rang three bells
upon his chest. The hut dissolved, replaced
by storming skies that buffeted us with gales.
Beyond, we saw a silhouetted castle,
its moat a flashing current made of lightning.
Its gargoyles’ water flowed up to the sky.
The drawbridge stood against the wall: no passage
across. Except we saw an iron lever
on our side of the moat. So Arilyn
pulled with all his might against that lever,
but barely did it budge. “Help me,” he said,
“to drop the drawbridge.” Laeroth stepped up
and pulled the lever til it yielded. Hard
against the iron casing then it rang.
The drawbridge slowly lowered.

     					               But the sky
was ripped apart, a dreadful world beyond
now seeping through the severed storm above.
And from the firmament flew chaos wyrms
into this world from theirs: the proteans
whose presence twists reality, and tortures
the laws of nature. Slicing through the air
they came. We drew our weapons, and we fought
with desperate blows, each strike almost our last,
while from the wounded sky more serpents flew,
til Ihsan cried, “the portal must be closed!
The lever! Pull it now!” For he was grappling
with godless claws and jaws. 

       			                         Then Wiccup saw
the lever guarded by a protean,
and with his sorcery, the gnome transformed
the protean to stone. 

                                    Then Laeroth
rushed past the statue, to the lever, pulled
and pulled, the lever somehow heavier.
The statue cracked; the protean broke free;
still Laeroth against the lever fought.
The serpent caught him with its deadly fangs
around his middle; still he stood his ground
and pulled, while teeth tore into him, and wrenched
his body back and forth. At last the lever
slammed back. The drawbridge started its ascent,
the sky closed up against the world beyond,
the serpents disappeared; but not before
Laeroth felt his belly rip apart,
his legs torn from his torso. Still he hung,
his upper half, from that accursed lever,
his guts in bloody ropes upon the ground.

He did not see them, though: he saw his god
Calistria above, her waspish wings
abuzz as she gazed down on him and said,
“Kill the Elebrian.” And then he saw
a green-skinned creature with a bulging skull.

Then Ihsan knelt beside him, placed his hands
upon both parts, and guided them together,
and prayed, while Kroff cleaved both the drawbridge chains
so that the bridge came crashing down again.
When Laeroth was whole, and he revived,
he asked us, “Was it cool?” We said it was.

We crossed the drawbridge to the castle walls,
and climbed up twisting stairs until we reached
a void of black, and in its depths a star
bereft of light, which hung above two rows
of people: green-skinned, bulbous heads; and one
apart. And in its hands it held a scepter.
It strode between the rows to Laeroth
and uttered words he could not understand.
It offered him the scepter, which he took,
and then he stabbed his blade into its neck.
The other figures watched, but did not move
as to the floor it sank, a bloody heap.
Laeroth, with the scepter, turned to us
and said, “It’s time to go.” And so we did.

Arilyn struck the bells upon his chest;
his hut appeared around us. Then he said,
“Give me the scepter. I will take you home.”
“You can’t,” Llewellyn said. “This is your time;
to leave it would disrupt the natural law.
Is there within this library of yours
a book about the scepter, and its use?”

“Perhaps,” said Arilyn. “Feel free to look.”

Llewellyn searched the shelves, and looked through tomes
of magic, politics, and subjugation,
and saw within their pages evil signs
belonging, in his time, to Azdan’s cult.
He realized that this was Arilyn
the All-Sight, who would later found that cult.
He wondered if they ought to kill him now,
but knew that such a change would damage time
in awful ways which he could not conceive.
So through the books he searched until he found
the book he sought. We held the scepter while
Llewellyn read the text. But Arilyn
upon the final words reached for the staff
and joined us as we traveled back through time.


III.

The hut became a wilderness. Beyond
we saw the Nightspire black against the sky.
Arilyn tried to take the scepter, but
Laeroth wrenched it free, and shoved him down,
and said, “We told you not to come with us.”
“He started Azdan’s Cult,” Llewellyn said.
Laeroth glared at Arilyn and drew
his kukris, slashed the mage with dual blades,
and Arilyn the All-Sight saw no more.

Then Laeroth knelt down beside the corpse.
“Calistria,” he prayed, “I give you thanks
for guiding me, and hope that you accept
this offering of blood spilled in your name.”
Then in his veins he felt a holy strength
as from his shoulders sprouted wasp-like wings.
“Oh yes!” he cried. “Your Herald I shall be!”
We stood in awe of his divinity,
even Llewellyn, who was envious;
and Malfyre dared not loot the sacrifice.

A metal one-eyed orb with arms appeared
and cried, “You! Criminals! You broke the law.
You must stand trial.” 

  	 		            “He was evil, though,”
Laeroth said.

		          “I don’t mean that! You stole
the Scepter of Time! And used it! You have changed
the timeline irreversibly!”

			                   “But we
just used it to return to our time.”

					                 “No,
you’re eight years in the future! Come with me;
the trial’s starting soon.”

			                “And who are you?”

“Farritolicci,” said the orb. “And who
among you will defend the rest in court?”

“I will,” said Laeroth. “We’ve done no wrong.”

“You have, though,” said the orb. Then all around
an audience appeared, all metal beings
who jeered at us until a gavel struck.
The metal judge said, “You all stand accused
of stealing the eternal sacred scepter,
and altering the timeline through its use,
and through your acts committed in the past.
What say you to these charges?”

					               “Innocent,”
said Laeroth. The crowd broke into murmurs.

“Be warned,” the judge said, “we can see through lies.”

“I tell you true: No scepter did we steal,
for it was given freely to my hands.
As for its use, we merely meant to right
a wrong done not by us, but to us! That’s
the crime. Lord Diedrich sent us back in time.”

“But you affected things while in the past.”

“Everything that we did was to return
to our time. With no scepter, we’d remain
and do more damage simply by existing.”

“Two wrongs do not make right: you used the scepter
and traveled to another foreign time.”

“We overshot. At least we’re in our lifetime.”

“What’s more, you bear the stench of proteans:
abominations, threats to natural law.”
A gasp erupted from the audience.

“We fought the proteans!” said Laeroth.
“Ihsan, tell them what I did.” 

  				              Ihsan said,
“He was bisected while he banished them.”

“What say you to our heroism, then?
What say you to the crisis we precluded?
What say you? I have answered every charge.”

The crowd burst into heated conversation
until the gavel struck again. The judge
said, “Of the charges heretofore discussed,
we find you innocent. But be more careful.”
A clockwork goddess glided to the stage
and, smiling, took the scepter. Then she went
along with all the rest into the sky,
returning home to Axis, land of law.

IV.

“I don’t have time for this. I have a daughter.”
Thus Laeroth insisted that we go
to Coringarth, his home, to meet his child,
whose childhood he had missed. 

         			                       His home now housed
another whom he had met– once, but that
had changed her life. For suddenly with child,
and no one to support her, she had labored
alone, until the agony of birth
(she had no funds for magical relief)
delivered a sacred daughter, with the face
of Arc, the goddess. Such a face was seen
on others bearing holy blood; therefore 
it marked her for destruction by the Cult
of Azdan, for they hated Arc. And so
Amy entreated royal grandparents,
the king and queen of Coringarth, to keep
her daughter safe within their castle walls.
And if they doubted Laeroth had sired
the child, they made no mention. They invited
the mother to their home as well. So she
was there when Laeroth returned. 

                                                         “Oh, hi,”
he said. “How are you, Amy? Where’s our daughter?”

“Our daughter? Where were you? She’s lived eight years
of fatherless existence. I have held
Avalia, and told her she is loved,
despite a father who cared not to stay,
nor even send a word to her, who left
before her birth, as if she were a curse
he fled from, disappearing from the world
instead of spending one moment with her.
What words can reassure abandoned children?
What syllables can take the place of love?
Nothing I can give can overcome
the doubt, the insecurity, that tears
at her self-worth. One voice of cruelty
speaks louder than a thousand compliments.
What’s more, I cannot offer her a life
among her peers, or anyone, for she
is hunted for her face, the face of Arc.
So in a tower prison she has lived
for all her life, to keep her safe. What mom
would do that to her child? How can I say
‘I love you’ while I keep her in a cell?
It is a cell, despite its royal comforts.
You will see her; you must. But do not say 
that she is yours. You’re nothing. You were gone.”

Then, after reuniting with his parents,
his joy somewhat diminished by those words,
Laeroth found Avalia in her tower
of luxury. Upon her royal bed
she sat, and on his entrance leapt to him.
“Father!” she cried, “I’ve heard about your quests,
your battles, and your glorious victories.
I’ve often dreamt of fighting by your side.
I knew you would return, to fight against
the Cult of Azdan, as you did before.
I’ll join you. I wield magic of a god,
and though I’m learning still, you’re here to teach
the ways of warriors to me at last.
Together we will be unstoppable.
The cult that wants me dead (with those like me)
will fall before my face, and to your blades.
Let’s go! I cannot live a minute more
within this wretched room. Battles await!”

Laeroth looked with pride upon his child,
full of his fighting spirit, perfect. Yet
he knew that such a child, divine and royal,
would be a target ruthlessly pursued
by forces even greater than himself.
“Avalia,” said he then, “you speak great words
which, more than any victory I’ve won,
make me the proudest warrior alive.
But you are young, with power I won’t risk
falling into the hands of enemies.
Your mother raised you well, and here you’re safe.
The day will come when you earn glory, but
you must wait slightly longer.” 

    					         Now the child
looked into eyes she’d only seen in dreams,
and found them less than she’d imagined. She
said nothing more to him. 

   				          Then came the days
when Laeroth would weather Amy’s glares
to see his daughter’s face bereft of smiles.
And Laeroth smoked many herbs those days.

One day two women came to Laeroth
out in the streets he wandered. “There he is,”
they said, “the newest Herald of our god.
Come to the temple of Calistria
with us. Our mistress Heidi wants to meet you.”

But Heidi did not want to meet him. She
wanted him dead, for she had served her god
far better than this lout, she thought, so she
deserved to be Calistria’s new Herald.
And since this was the goddess of revenge,
perhaps it was her holy destiny:
revenge for stealing what was rightly hers,
a theft for theft. But taking just his life
would not suffice: he valued it but little.
His death was just a technicality.
To take as she deserved, it was his child
that he must lose. For Heidi knew of her;
Calistria had spoken of Avalia.

As Laeroth was led toward the temple,
a rocket fired against Avalia’s tower
burst in a blast of bricks, the shattered wall
disclosing small Avalia within.

Laeroth with his wasp-wings flew to her
and saw beside her Heidi with a blade
against Avalia’s throat. “Hi, Laeroth,”
said Heidi, “I deserve to be the new–”
But Laeroth had thrown his blade at her,
and knew that if it missed, his child would die,
but it struck true in Heidi’s chest. She fell.
Avalia ran to Laeroth, who said,
“Get out, my daughter. This you must not see.”

When she had gone, he knelt where Heidi lay,
and from his can he took an Ams, and put it
in Heidi’s dying hands, and whispered thus:
“Tickle the Ams.” And threatened by his blades,
she did. The Ams grew other Ams, which grew
more Ams until they covered Heidi’s form,
and grew inside her body til it burst
into a shower of Ams throughout the room.

Afterwards, Amy said to Laeroth,
“Avalia is not safe. You owe to her
all of your powers of protection. I
owe her a life beyond these castle walls.”
So at the festival for his return,
among the loyal soldiers of his guard,
Laeroth held Avalia aloft
and said, “This is my daughter!” 
				                      “Hail!” they yelled.
Avalia smiled that night. 

     				          When morning came
Laeroth gave a present to Avalia,
“For all the birthdays that I missed,” he said.
She took the can, and saw the Ams inside.
“Ams like small spaces. Give ‘em little holes.
They’re pets; you have to take good care of them.
Talk to them, walk them, take them on adventures.
Don’t tickle them. I saw someone explode
when they did that.” 

                                 “Wow, Ams is wonderful!
But this does not make up for every birthday.
You have to let me join you on a quest.”

Our ship, the Darkfyre, still was there, so we
set sail with young Avalia. On the sea
we saw another ship, and when they saw
Laeroth, they cried out in greeting, “Aye!”

“Aye!” said the prince. “My boys, how do you fare?”

“We sail upon the Aye of the Sea, a team,
no captain, just adventure! It’s a life
we owe to you.” Their blades raised to the sky,
“Aye!” they all cheered. Avalia shouted, “Aye!”