The Heart of Wilderness

Chapter 2 of “The Elder Ones: Earth Splitter”

• Chapter 1 – New Horizons

The first day after Juurynn’s flight from Buulan is quite easy, given the terrain stays flat for as far as his eye can see. The only issue Juurynn needs to worry about are the risks of sunburn and of dehydration. One does not expect the chill of Kulvaan to find itself conducive to either of those afflictions. However, south of the great fortress-city of Buulan, the weather of the continent becomes more akin to a desert region. The hostile and arid terrain prohibits expansive construction and travel through the region. The intense nighttime cold further impedes movement, though this fact does little to stop merchants from undertaking the risky path of the Southern Causeway.

It is on this passage where Juurynn comes across one such merchants less than a half-day journey as the gull flies from Buulan. The merchant first appears as little more than a hazy speck on the horizon. As Juurynn finds out, this merchant moves no quicker than a slow saunter. It takes Juurynn a half-hour to catch up to the traveller and his bull-drawn cart. Alongside the many crates of apples and pears and corn and wheat are dozens of small chests. Juurynn suspects they harbour a mighty amount of coin, but what draws his gaze is the look of the owner of the cart. At first glance, it seems the merchant is a simple man. He wears no shoes on his hairy and calloused and blackened feet. The rough stones underfoot do not bother him.

However, Juurynn notices one key feature. The robes the man wears giveaway the fact the cheerful man is not a merchant, as most peasants would assume, but one of the Druyaan Monks. A small smile crosses Juurynn’s face, since he believes fate drew the two together.

‘Brother,’ Juurynn says when he is within earshot.

The monk further slows his pace and looks over his shoulder to catch a brief glimpse of Juurynn. The pale grey eyes of the monk sit shrouded by unkempt and bushy eyebrows. The Druyaan Monks pride themselves on being a peaceful order. It comes as no surprise to Juurynn when this monk gives a swift nod to the captain to acknowledge his presence.

‘How joyous it is to come across a fellow traveller on such a wondrous day. I will be the first to admit I did not expect to come across anyone for twenty or thirty leagues more. Might I be so bold as to inquire why you are heading this way? Or to be more specific, if it is not too much hassle, might I inquire as to where it is you are going?’ he says.

Juurynn walks at a brisk pace until he falls into step with the grim-faced monk. The duo passes a mossy and burnt-out ruin on their left. The balding monk bows his head in a silent prayer, while Juurynn tilts his head to the former farmhouse. He recognises it and deep down he knows who used to live there. He knows the story much like the back of his hand, but in this moment, he cannot recall any part of this ancient memory. Juurynn shakes his head and turns back to the monk, who waits with unending patience for Juurynn’s answer. Such patience is a hallmark of all those who come from the Druyaan Monastery.

‘It seems I have business within the Monastery. I seek definite answers to a myriad of questions I have. Your order amasses information, so fate has a curious way of guiding me to your home,’ Juurynn says.

Leander gives Juurynn a quizzical look, but he does smile after a long pause before he gives a hearty chuckle. The monk reaches into a weathered brown satchel dangling from a rusted and worn hook near the front of his cart. He shuffles the contents around with his hand for a few seconds until he produces a dark and unlabelled bottle of liquid with a fine cork jammed in the neck. With a deft hand, the cork pops out with a satisfying pop. The monk sniffs the opening and lets out a contented breath.

‘Then I welcome you to join me on my journey homeward. It is an awful long road to get to the safety and security of the Monastery, and I fear the bull I have here is of the most terrible company. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Brother Leander, the fifth disciple of His Most Holy, leader of my order. Pray tell me, do you know the story behind those ruins we passed, Sir? You had the look of a man who knows a good deal of the history of such a place,’ Leander says.

Juurynn glances over his shoulder at the shrinking silhouette of the ruins. He takes in the sight of the gnarled wood of the building. His eyes trace the outline of the twisted and burned willow. Such a majestic tree once brought inordinate beauty to the coldness of the mountains looming in three directions for miles upon miles. Juurynn sighs and shakes his head as for the life of him he still cannot remember this place. He knows he should, but nothing comes to mind.

‘I’m trying to remember, but I’m afraid nothing is coming to me about these runs. Sir Juurynn Faustren is my name,’ he says.

Leander takes some time to stroke the scraggled mess of salt and pepper whiskers swaying from his chin whilst he looks Juurynn over. Juurynn does the same from his side, doing his best to discern anything about the righteous monk standing next to him. No matter how hard he may try, Juurynn cannot decipher anything hidden behind the saggy skin and pale colouration of Leander.

‘Perhaps it would be wise of you to have a drink. It can help to expand the mind. I can assure you it is not poison. If it is, then you can punish me as you see fit. You’ll need something to drink if I am to tell you the story I know. Please,’ Leander says and offers the bottle to Juurynn.

One of the many customs ingrained into Kulvaan culture revolves around the hearty indulgence in a good ale or wine or brew. The custom comes from the moment Tor claimed the northern coast, whenever a friend or stranger offers you a mug or a bottle holding an alcoholic substance, the best choice one has is drink it without question. Those who hesitate or refuse the drink offered forsake the hospitality of the host offering them the courtesy of hospitality. Juurynn knows this and so he tips his head to the monk as he takes the bottle.

‘I would not expect a man of your piety to stoop so low to poison someone they know, let alone someone they only met. How are you sure I won’t stab you even after drinking your offering and running away with all the gold you have?’ Juurynn says.

Leander gives another hearty chuckle to Juurynn’s comment. The Druyaan Monks are a spiritual order and thus place little value in material objects, and so when any mention of gold or possessions hits their ears, they know they are safe. A monk such as Leander who travels between towns and cities to bring food and blankets and other necessities does not care for a brigand trying to rob them. The fact is, the heavy chests in Leander’s cart are not full of gold, but unrefined ore the smiths of the monastery fashion into some of the finest tools and weapons found across Kulvaan.

‘The recent stories say a man lived there with his wife and two children. They lived quite a prosperous life, for the land around here is fruitful,’ Leander says as he gestures to the green fields nestled amongst the gentle valleys between the harsh mountains. ‘The parents were in quite a loveless relationship after the birth of their second child, a beautiful daughter. But this daughter was no ordinary child. The parents did not know such a fact, for they were a simple folk, for the most part. The father and his favoured child, who so happened to be his son, were degenerates who would indulge in the heinous act of rape, and both would abuse this daughter for many years. The mother, who witnessed those gruesome acts, chose to say and to do nothing.’

As Leander speaks, fragmented memories of the night Gaelìn fled the Buulan region come back to Juurynn. What the monk knows of the story holds an eerie similarity to the version Gaelìn tells. Juurynn knows the story well enough the end of the story is a foregone conclusion. Despite his best efforts since, the location of the ruins of Gaelìn’s childhood home stays unfamiliar to Juurynn. He wonders why this is.

Listen close to what these monks have to say, Master Faustren. Their words of wisdom carry through the ages and persist until the very end of time itself, Mercer says.

The Southern Causeway takes a dip and begins to descend the wall of a large valley many call the Idunn Depression. This great chasm serves as the end of the jurisdiction of Buulan and the start of a long and barren stretch of land. The size of Kulvaan is the source of the true strength of the vast continent. It is the reason why Buulan is the seat of power across all Terrus. The Idunn Depression is perhaps the greatest example of the varied and storied history of the lands of Kulvaan and serves as one of the key farming regions servicing the great Fortress-City of Buulan.

Juurynn looks to Leander once more. The monk is patient enough to hold his story to give Juurynn a chance to look around and absorb the intricacies of the strange landscape around the pair. It is a grand sight to take in, despite not appearing any different to the thousands of other crevasses crisscrossing through the Dragon’s Spine Mountains. Juurynn sighs and turns his attention back to his Leander in the same moment the monk pops the cork from another dark bottle and takes a deep swig of the contents.

‘Now I have heard you say some of it, I do recognise the story. I have a friend who lived in a similar situation, though the way her story ends is one of death and betrayal and fire and the ruin of a family. It’s quite a gruesome thing to recall and I try to push it to the back of my mind at all times,’ Juurynn says.

Both men drink from their bottles and the fruity taste of the wine gives Juurynn a nice surprise. The path before them takes a gentle turn to the right to avoid the harshest terrain where shrubs and spiny bushes cross the loose cobbles of an old road.

‘Truly, Sir? It seems your friend is the same person responsible for the terrible inferno. I’m sure you know how quick the inferno consumed the farmhouse, and it seems you already know what happens after such an event. Perhaps you can tell me something, then. You know we of the Druyaan Order are always on the search for great knowledge so we might provide the appropriate answers to those who seek our assistance. What is this young lady up to these days?’ Leander says.

Juurynn’s mind flashes back to the day Pûlânnân-Dûshfôn attacked Druusys. He sees the moment he last saw Gaelìn and Aurelee. The sight and smell of molten flesh comes back to him with a mighty vengeance. A wall of crimson flame reflects off his retinas as he recalls the devastation wrought by the power of a single Elder One and how what Gaelìn did to her father and brother cannot compare. A vicious image of The Firstborn enters Juurynn’s mind and with utter clarity, he remembers the triple-jointed jaw with the two-hundred razors serving as the fangs of all Dûgán. Most of all, Juurynn remembers the four cloudy and crimson eyes and the way they blink in alternate fashion so the owner of them never misses anything. It is something which frightens Juurynn and haunts his dreams. It reminds Juurynn how insignificant the world is to beings of terrible power.

‘I think she’s saving the world alongside my sister,’ Juurynn says.

Leander nods. Even in voluntary seclusion on the steep slopes of Druyaan Peak, word of events around Terrus reaches the ears of Leander’s order. The Druyaan Monks know of the adventures and escapades of Commander Aurelee Faustren, and they recognise her current task is perhaps the toughest she will face in her lifetime. Indeed, they feel it will be the final task she will face, based on the portents provided by nature. The question Leander posed to Juurynn was a test to see if Juurynn would deny any knowledge of Gaelìn after her powers awakened.

‘Indeed, it is true they seek to save us all. The roars of the first of those great beasts rung out across the entirety of the Dragon’s Spine Mountains. In this dark moment, we knew the balance of the world began to shift away from the norm. Not since the dawn of man has anyone come close to victory over the Dûgán, yet now the rumours are true and the heavens themselves do not lie. One of those great and fell beasts lies dead and the balance of the world is in the air. The world is changing, Sir. Whether it is for the better is as of this moment unknowable, but the omens provided by the stars shining brightest in the night show the status quo is no longer in harmony. There is a new power on the rise. Tell me, friend, do you know many stories?’ Leander says.

Juurynn does not know how to respond to Leander’s nonchalant question. He does know of some tales he can tell, but most of them revolve around his experience as a soldier. Juurynn feels the many nuances and subtleties of his position would not resonate well with the monk. Yet, as is the case with the refusal of a drink, it is poor taste to tell a lie to an anointed knight or a man of the cloth or a monk such as Leander.

‘I know a couple of stories, yes. I doubt any story I can tell could compare to any of the ones you can tell, for I am afraid I am not much of a storyteller. However, I know your order holds great renown when it comes to storytelling. Why don’t you tell me a grand story?’ Juurynn asks.

The monk throws his head back with laughter. He knew Juurynn might come out with such a question, and of course, Leander keeps a story or two prepared in the event anyone asks for a tale. Being one of the few ordained disciples of the order, Leander roams around Kulvaan to both share and gather information from peasants and nobles alike.

‘I will make you a deal, Sir. I shall tell you a story I know quite well. In exchange for me doing so, you must relay one of your own, no matter how terrible you might think it is or how bad you claim to tell it. The beauty of a tale is everyone carries in them a different perspective on the matter and so what you might not see, another might. I believe this deal is fair, do you not, Sir?’ Leander asks.

Some part of Juurynn does not trust Leander’s words, since he knows people will say whatever they need to prolong their lives. Yet another side of Juurynn tells him Leander is one of the most trustworthy souls in the world and wishes no ill upon anyone. In this situation, Juurynn cannot look to Mercer for advice since the guardian is out of his element right now. Or Mercer chooses to not relay any information in this moment.

‘Yes. The deal is fair in my mind. It would help to pass the time and it’s been too long since I enjoyed any form of relaxation. Besides, I believe the road to the Druyaan Monastery is boring when one travels alone or in silence,’ Juurynn says.

Leander nods and clears his throat after he polishes off his bottle of drink. Leander pats the side of the black bull pulling his cart. The beast gives a contented grunt. Juurynn cannot recall the last time he saw a bull used in the same fashion as an ox, but the animal seems content to be doing this activity.

‘Now then, which story should I tell? There’s so many to choose from and it is awful hard to choose the right one for a day such as this. Oh, I think I have a good one for the trials and tribulations all Terrus will undergo in these trying times. It’s the tale of King Vidar the Foolhardy. He was a terrific ruler and he brought great prosperity to his people throughout the length of his rule. Now, Vidar loved to indulge in tremendous feasts which would fill his hall to bursting with the sheer amount of foodstuff he stocked in his larders. Vidar adored his food, far more than he did his crown.

‘The first few years of his reign, which he managed to secure through prowess in battle, were uneventful and the common people relished in his boisterous and often hedonistic lifestyle when no war was happening. This peace lasted until one day in the spring of the sixth year of his reign, Vidar’s greatest rival declared war upon his kingdom. You may recognise this foe as Dread Queen Urd, who served as the originator of the Fortress of Buulan near five hundred years ago. A fierce and powerful woman, she was. The great outer wall of Buulan is of her design and, throughout her cruel rule, she claimed to be the master of fate and the past. One would be hard-pressed to disagree with her given how effective and brutal she proved herself both in and out of combat. Her prowess secured her many victories. This irked Vidar and the other kings, yet none dared to stand against her. Mystics back then say she practiced black magic.

‘Now, the Dread Queen’s attack on Vidar was nothing new for the scattered and divided First People. However, Vidar was a devout follower of the old ways of his people, and he viewed women as nothing other than slaves for the men to enjoy where they would. For this False Queen, as those in Vidar’s Kingdom put it, to assault them was something they would not tolerate. So, over the next six months, Vidar led his mighty forces to a half-dozen victories over the Forces of the Dread Queen. Vidar, being a proud warrior King, would himself led the fights from the front lines, and people still speak of how quick and precise his blade was. A weapon made for death it was.

‘The greatest battle of those two peoples occurred in this valley, or so the stories say. The Dread Queen was smart, much smarter than Vidar, and she reckoned Vidar would send everything he had at her forces all the time, so each battle she lost was because she sent in her most devout and loyal peasants. Most were elders who could think of no better way to die. The old ways were brutal, but a death in battle ensured entry into the afterlife and eternal glory. Seven thousand sacrifices fought against the heavier armed and armoured army of Vidar, but they gave more than what they got. Of the twenty thousand who entered this valley to fight, six thousand left with minor injuries. Yes, senile peasants slaughtered Vidar’s men in a one for one ratio, which is something quite unheard of since. Now, after his victory arrived by such a narrow margin, King Vidar’s generals urged him to regroup and retreat, yet he knew he was close to Urd’s Fortress and capital and thus earned his nickname through disregarding the requests of his wisest advisors to march on what he assumed would become the easiest victory of his life.’

Leander pauses and notes the light beginning to fail as it passes the edge of the valley wall rising around both himself and Juurynn. For those who know the story of Vidar and Urd, this same sky shone down on Vidar’s army the night before his march on Buulan. Leander leads both Juurynn and the bull into a small alcove in the side of the wall. This alcove, though limited in space, is sufficient to supply a great deal of protection against the elements of the night.

‘We’ll rest here this evening and feast like kings. Now, where was I with the tale of the King and the Dread Queen? Ah yes, his assault on her stronghold. You see, King Vidar, though he was a capable warrior and a benevolent ruler, he was no tactician. In his mind, there would be no way a woman could ever outsmart him in war,’ Leander continues.

As Leander speaks, he busies himself with preparations for what looks to be a decent meal. He retrieves salted pork and jerked beef from half-empty crates and places them in a deep pot he had somewhere in amongst the jumble of food and crates. From hand woven wicker baskets, Leander produces a couple of large and juicy ears of corn. He extracts a half dozen small carrots and a couple of handfuls of broad beans, all which Juurynn recognises as crops grown in the Buulan region. Despite the distance from the Nair, the soil of the capital region is some of the most fertile around Terrus, no doubt due to the machinations of Urd. Any type of vegetation sprouting from the ground possesses incredible colouration and seems to taste better than any contemporaries do.

Listen to this friar with caution, Master Faustren. Pick his brain and get any information from him you can. I have a feeling he knows far more than his humble appearance lets on, Mercer says.

Juurynn takes a seat as Leander lights a small fire and begins to prepare what looks to be a hearty meal. Leander places a metal sheet over the fire on which he places the pork and beef to warm them up. His hands move at a dizzying pace as he dices the carrots. The pot he fills with water, and places it alongside the meats. The liquid comes to a swift boil. The ears of corn do not last long against Leander’s skilled hands as he shucks it with unnatural speed and precision before, with meticulous precision, removes each individual kernel from each ear. Leander does not add a single resultant kernel to the water. What he does is drop the corn into a pre-prepared mixture with a pleasant scent. The monk looks to Juurynn and gives a warm, reassuring smile. Juurynn notices Leander is missing a couple of teeth.

‘Tell me, Sir, have you ever had the pleasure to feast with a handmade Vugian sauce? It’s quite delectable, though many of the ingredients for it are now rare. I add corn to mine to make it more appetising to look at, while not detracting from the flavour,’ Leander says.

Juurynn shakes his head to the monk’s question. In all fairness, it would bring great amazement if Juurynn had tasted a Vugian sauce before. The name itself is ancient around Terrus, and the now-extinct race produced some of the finest feasts ever. A handful of their recipes survived many years of turmoil and strife and civil war.

‘I can’t say I’ve heard of such sauce before. I’m not as cultured as you are, brother. I might hail from Buulan itself, but I do not enjoy many good meal, despite being a knight and a soldier. Well, I guess it is ex-soldier these days.’

When he says these words, a sense of dread descends upon Juurynn. He believes his entire life revolves around his service to the empire to show to not only his father, but the entire world he could and would forge his own path in life, much like his sister. A thousand memories flood into Juurynn’s vision. The one which sticks out above the rest is the day he mustered up the courage to act on his emotions for Gaelìn. Though his efforts ended in rejection, he harbours no ill will against Gaelìn.

‘It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, Rynn? I always love how the sun reflects off the stones making up the walls. It gives Buulan a mystical radiance, don’t you think?’ Gaelìn says.

Juurynn smiles at her commentary. He knows what she means. The duo walks through tall grass scarce more than a league outside the limits of the Fortress. Gaelìn is under the pretence Juurynn wishes to show her something magical in the hills crossing the plains around the Kulvaan capital right to the gentle slope running into the sea. He did not expect Gaelìn to believe him, nor did he have much of a plan after the two of them got away from the city.

‘There is a certain sensation to it. I will admit, there is something else I think is spectacular right now. I’ve never been good with expressing myself around others. I’m quite unlike my sister in pretty much everything we can do. She’s better than me in combat and she’s smarter than me and she’s more beautiful, but I can’t let our relationship hang over me every day of my life. It would destroy me before too long,’ Juurynn says.

Gaelìn lowers her head with a clenched jaw. She knew this day would come when the male Faustren sibling would come to her with these emotions. Most people around Buulan know of the deep seeded love Juurynn harbours for the young woman he sits with right now. Whispers spread fast in the streets by way of urchins and even in the countryside, word reached Gaelìn’s ear long before this day. She turns her gaze to Juurynn with stern eyes, a forlorn look on her face.

‘I know what you’re going to say, Rynn. I know how long it took you to muster up this courage, which is why it pains me to be the one to have to say this. I don’t mean to break your heart, but I don’t see us working out. You aren’t my type, if you get what I mean. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a sweet guy and all, but I’m not the type of woman you need in your life,’ Gaelìn says.

Juurynn suspected this might happen, though to the degree it affects him is up for debate to anyone who spies him in the next few days. It is rare to see the calm and reserved and stoic Faustren put on a façade, yet Gaelìn’s words cut Juurynn deep, and they affect him even to this day.

‘Now, Sir, you should not be so hard on yourself,’ Leander’s voice breaks Juurynn out of his funk. ‘The world is your oyster; it waits for you to take the great initiative. To reach into the water is only the first of many steps. Many consider it the greatest truth our doctrine teaches us of the order. Now, I believe I was regaling you with the tale of King Vidar and his siege of Buulan. The rotund King took what little remained of his forces and arrived in the fields of the Fortress of the Dread Queen the next morning.

‘Vidar expected a quick and decisive victory over this foil of his. What he found presented before him was something unlike anything ever seen before or since. The Fortress Urd created was impregnable, in a sense. This did not stop her rival from laying siege to her walls. Of course, this was well before proper tactics came into play when it concerns castles and keeps. The inexperience of this kind of warfare led Vidar to send a great portion of his troops to their death against the wall as he tried with all his might to break straight through it. For three days, he attempted to do so and found no success. Three thousand of his remaining six thousand he lost in assaulting the wall before he wizened up and ordered the construction of ladders from the woods which once bordered Buulan.’

Leander pauses to take a deep breath and passes Juurynn an unappetising plate of food. Leander encourages Juurynn to take a bite. Juurynn nods to the monk and from the first bite he takes, his tastebuds are in a state of ecstasy he thought impossible. All at once, the colours of the world spin around and amalgamate into a blended mixture of rainbow colours. What is odd about this sensation is no nausea accompanies it even though Juurynn feels what he sees before his eyes should make him quite ill. What Leander failed to mention about this specific Vugian sauce is one of the prime constituents is a powerful hallucinogen and only the toughest monks of his order can consume it without any ill from the many side effects.

‘Whoa. This is amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted something like this before. You are quite adept at preparing food for,’ Juurynn pauses to shake his head. ‘I look forward to, to…’

Juurynn slumps down where he sits. Aside from being a hallucinogenic drug, the Balma Flower, the primary ingredient in this version of the Vugian sauce, is a potent anaesthetic. The monk disposes of his dish with a crack of his neck and lets out a loud whistle. Several other robed figures appear in the faded light and stand over Juurynn. ‘I must apologise, Sir, but no man may see the path to the Monastery without proper induction by His Most Holy. Trust me, Lord Aethan will rejoice when he sees you. The Faustren Lord did his job well, but now it is time for the revolution to start. The world is ready for this change,’ Leander says. ‘Bring him.’

• Chapter 3 – City of Lions