Other Lives

[Aedon Durreah]

Aedon,


For many centuries I have served a heavy purpose. I have watched many of your kind come and go, from womb to tomb. I have born witness to tremendous joys and to heart-rending sorrows, yet I have not been allowed to become involved. I could not comfort a grieving husband over the loss of his wife, nor celebrate with him the casual birth of the child she left behind. All I could do was watch, and write.


I have written much.


As it would happen, one mans duty is often tied to that of another, one mans fate akin to a second. Now it would seem that I have seen all I was intended to see, and my time grows thin.


The deeds of those I have witnessed were of great import and worthy note, yet they have gone unnoticed by the eyes of so many, and must remain untold by those who attended the final days of A Houn and her master. This is a great sorrow in my own heart. The difference now is that I am no longer on assignment. I need not simply watch; I may act.


Contained within this chest are my various accumulated writings—those of my own observation and those produced by the great people I have had the pleasure to observe. I entrust them to you. Keep them well, and tell the stories found herein to any who would hear great tales of valor, of compassion, of sacrifice; tales of sorcery and of shield, of hammer and plow; tales of men and women who worked together—across time and hidden from each others eyes—to ensure the betterment of a world which hardly knows they existed.


Word has reached me that you are soon to open a mercantile of literature; consider this my gift of an opening investment.


Fare thee well, good Sir Aedon, and may you find peace in your years.



Lamaste



-Aralanth of the Lamerians


Chronicler of Connemara

 

[Aedon Durreah]

He had long avoided aspects of his past in the belief that, if not acknowledge, none of it will have happened. A foolish idea; but, when facts and figures are not the things you wish to face, a fool’s tale must suffice. Yet recent days and events had emboldened him, and he found himself digging through the chest of books left behind by Aralanthe.

Many of the tomes dealt with days and people who preceded his birth. Sons were born to mothers under the watchful eye of the eld mage. Lives deemed less than worthy, things to be discarded, as worthless bits of trash to be excised. Like old pages of worn out books he shuffled their lives generation after generation.

In a corner, near the bottom of the box, lay a stack of books tied together with green twine. On the cover, a Rowan tree was etched into the leather, below which the name Aedon was written in fiery red ink. Taking the stack, he went to his chair by the hearth, and carefully untied the binding. Then taking up the uppermost book, he opened it to the first page and began to read.

He is smaller than the rest. At the age of seven he now stands at a height equal to that of a three year old boy. But, there is a light in his eyes that I did not see in the other subjects. He is quick to learn, taking on with ease some of the most complicated reading materials I have been able to offer. And always he seems to thirst for more. Knowledge to him seems much akin to the air others breathe. It sustains his life and opens before his eyes new worlds and lands.

Figol claims to see nothing of value in him. He has called him an ill conceived runt, and has often spoken of destroying the subject; but, I have been a chronicler, for far too many centuries not to notice the softness with which he looks upon the child. He favors this one, and tries to conceal this by driving the boy harder than he has any of the rest. And, with each accomplishment, I watch as Aedon looks to the mage for approval only to be met by a cold gaze and a muttered. “Not bad.”

It has always been my part to merely watch and record; but, with this one, who Figol gave the name Aedon meaning fire, it is harder to see him as only another stage in a long drawn out experiment. This one is alive in ways that the others have not been.

Long the eld mage meddled in the breeding line of the Durreah clan, uprooting them time and again to set them down in another area and time in order to produce the offspring he needed to fulfill the purpose of the Gathering (conclave of wizards). And, if a subject utterly failed to meet the standards, they were wiped out of existence, and the family taken down a new path.

This may seem, to some, cruel and unfeeling. Yet in the mind of beings such as the Gathering, they were but marks on a piece of paper. When an error seemed to be made, the mark must be erased before new lines can be formed.

Figol knew well that many in the Gathering were not pleased by this latest attempt. They did not believe that Aedon had the sinew needed to stand the trials to come, as he seemed more given to books than blades. And, though they urged him, time and again, he could not dispose of Aedon; instead, moving the family as often as needed to shield them from those looking to stop what should not have been begun.

Aedon grew up strong in faith and purpose; but he was never as fit to wield a blade as his brother seemed to be. Llyrwech was favored by their father, and first in line to inherit the throne. Their father, Ethan, saw little of value in his younger son and, more often than not, sent him off to stay with the blacksmith’s family when matters of state were pressing.

Aedon loved spending time at Clancy’s shop. There he had a friend to play with. Sean stood at least a head taller than Aedon, was a bit gawky and uneducated in most matters other than the trade. Aedon took to tutoring Sean in reading and writing, and Sean, in turn, taught Aedon to craft swords and shoe a horse.

As time went on, Aedon spent more time with the Smith’s family and less time with his own. A few times the lad expressed to his father wishing to come home. He missed his brother and could not help but wonder what he had done to be so ill-received by his father.

The day came when Aedon was in his mid teens, that he again pushed his father for answers. Battle was on the horizon and the men of the castle were rushing about making sure that nothing was left behind lest they prove ill prepared to fight. Aedon pleaded with his father to be allowed to ride along, even as his squire. Instead - he was told - that that he should remain with the women for his own protection.

Aedon stood watching as the men of Connemara, including his brother Llyrwech, rode off to meet their fate. It was the last time he saw the man he called father alive. Llyrwech returned, and took up his place as king and sent word for Aedon to come home.

 

[Aedon Durreah]

Llyr had proven a better leader than he thought he would be, and Aedon, as his advisor was happier than he could ever recall being. In all matters relating to the greater realm Aedon’s input was valued over all others. A measure of peace had come between the tribes in these days, and war had become a tale spoken to the young around the fires at night.

During this time Malac had increased the training demands on Aedon. To him it seemed a waste of time that he learned how to fight, but Llyr insisted that it was important that he do so. Never wishing to disappoint his older brother Aedon capitulated, and dove in earnest into the task.

To Malac’s surprise, Aedon proved to be a bit of a natural with the blade when left to his own style. As he watched the younger man sparring with a more practiced fighter, he could not help but note that Aedon was more dancing with the blade than swinging it. His movements were smooth and almost hypnotic in their beauty and precision. And his accuracy proved to be every bit as impressive as that of his master. In the evenings, Aedon would put on a display of his skills for the enjoyment of his brother. Llyr would laugh, and cheer him, and the more he cheered, the more elaborate Aedon’s moves became.

Figol had not been seen much in these days, and it was often speculated that he had wondered into a deep hole and been eaten by a dragon. But late one winter, as chill winds blew across the water, the old mage was once again seen walking along the cliffs which overlooked Galway Bay.

At first, Aedon was thrilled to see his old teacher had returned. He had hoped not only for a chance to ask if he had gathered any new books for him to read, but also to impress him with his new found skills with a blade. But as he greeted Figol in the hall outside the throne room, the mage brushed past Aedon and into the room calling out to Llyrwech.

A bit dejected, Aedon followed the eld mage into the room and stood beside Llyrwech’s chair. As he listened to the two men talking, Figol spoke of a cave not too far away in which it was said that a greater demon had taken up residence. For the past few months the thing had been coming out by night, and attacking villages or waylaying travelers upon the road. The mage thought it would be wise if Llyrwech led some of his best men into the cave and destroy the demon.

Aedon stood forward and offered to accompany his brother on the quest. It would be his chance to show that he was more than some thought he could be, and perhaps impress his old teacher. Looking towards him Figol managed a half smile and said.

“This is not a task for boys Aedon. Stay here where it is safe.”

Aedon looked towards Llyr with pleading eyes. He had hoped that his brother would speak up on his behalf and assure Figol that Aedon was more than capable of riding in the vanguard with his men. To his utter disappointment Llyr looked at him and said;

“Perhaps it would be better if you stayed here and keep things running for me Brother.”

Dawn found Aedon once again standing among the women as they bid farewell to those riding out to face the demon. Figol, horsed and standing along the road nodded to Llyrwech as he rode past. Malac rode in the front guard alongside the king. At the edge of the road leading out of the main courtyard, Llyr raised his hand signaling the men to stop. Then turning back to look at Aedon he raised his hand, and waved once.

 

[Aedon Durreah]

The company rode on and on, and soon it became clear that what was close by to Figol was several days ride for Llyrwech. They came at last to the spot marked on the map where they were to make camp. After a light supper, Llyr called Malac to his tent, and the two sat going over their plans for the next day.

The cavern in which the demon laid was filled with many rooms and tunnels. Convoluted twists and turns which without the map Figol provided, they would easily become lost and perhaps perish in the bowels of the earth without any battles being fought. The plan was to take a count of thirty-five men into the cave, and leave some spaced at odd distances in order to keep some track of the way out. If things were as the map spoke, Llyrwech could still arrive at the demons lair with a full count of twenty fighters. There plans set solid, the company all went to their rest.

Dawn came with a red sky, and some of those in the encampment quailed recalling old prophecies’ and tales. It was said that such a dawn was a foreboding of death and loss. Malac did what he could to calm the men, while the king finished his meal.

Three hours from dawn, those who were to enter the camp rode off. The journey to the caverns was less than an hour’s ride, and the company moved slow and deliberately keeping sharp ears for any rumor of trouble. Arriving at the entrance, a huge gaping maw in the side of the mountain, the men dismounted, and leaving the horses in the care of a few who were to remain at the entrance, they entered in.

The cave was damp and moldy, and the ground they walked upon was strewn with the bones and leavings a large creature might drop at the end of a meal. There was a stench which assaulted not only the nostrils but the mind as well.

A couple of the younger among them began to tremble as they walked deeper within. Llyr took some pity on them and started assigning the less seasoned men as those who would form the chain towards the exit.

They listened carefully as they navigated the twists and turns, referring often to the eld mages map for guidance. And yet with suddenness they came to the end of their path and stood starring into a cavern lit by many burning fires. In cages formed of bone they could discern the forms of men held captive awaiting their time. Some few seemed to still linger on the edge of living, others were grotesque sites. Some maimed horribly or ripped apart and then tossed back within the cage to rot.

Llyr stood for a moment looking down on the scene. He was no stranger to the death and barbarity of war. But this was not the same. This was wonton killing for the pleasure of watching something die. Silently steeling his resolve, Llyrwech gave the signal, and his men began to move down into the demons lair.

 

[Aedon Durreah]

If the view from above was grotesque, what met their eyes as they walked upon the floor thick with blood and the oozing leftovers of human life was far worse. Many of those strewn about appeared to have been ripped apart and not hacked with any sort of blade. Heads upon wooden pikes stared towards them with mouths frozen in terror as death claimed them. Those still in cages were piteous things that reached through the bars and begged Llyr for the release that a swift death could bring. He and his men granted them this at least.

Once the deed was done, they turned towards a darkened tunnel. From within low growl could be heard, and then the thunderous sound of the creature as he moved forward. Malac cried aloud as the thing stepped forward into the light. It stood far taller than any demon they had ever encountered, with a wing span which not only stretched the width of the room, but also wrapped around on each side nearly encompassing Llyrwech and his men.

They were struck still at first by a gripping fear that seemed to reach within the soul. As it lurched forward step by step it assaulted them from within, ripping away not only flesh but the mind as well causing those about the king to fling themselves on the ground and beg for mercy. And it laughed a hideous laugh and delighted in taunting those before it.

Some of the more seasoned fighters mastered their fears, and gathering behind Llyr and Malac as they prepared to charge. Even as the demon reached down a claw and picked up one man ripping his body asunder, the men of Connemara surged forward seeking to strike down, or at least damage the thing. And one by one it stopped all attempts to approach it enjoying not only the cries of those beneath its feet, but the terror of those still standing before it.

There seemed nothing that could be done. All the training, all the experience gained facing great armies did not serve them here. This, Llyr thought, is a beast beyond our capabilities. But he would not give way and flee up the tunnel even as the creature stopped before him giving the king a chance to think on the pain of his own death. And Llyr watch and waited. And thought about his brother Aedon and those left behind in Connemara, and he smiled.

Raising his sword, Llyrwech charged the demon even as Malac, who had been bypassed by the creature attacked from behind. The demon began to flail around trying to reach the men, but they moved far too quickly and were able to dodge his blows by standing inside small crevices within the walls of the cavern. Time and again they struck the thing and then retreated to a spot of safety. The demon became enraged; his lashing out at his foe became wild and uncontrolled. Turning around swiftly, and reaching wildly towards where Llyr stood, it tripped over one of the cages in which he had kept his playthings. As the demon hit the ground, the cavern shook. At that moment both Llyr and Malac leapt out, and were upon it - Malac driving his blade into the chest of the creature, as Llyr, who was standing above it buried his sword into the skull of the hideous thing.

The battle over, Llyrwech and Malac moved across the floor weeping as they gazed upon the faces of the fallen. Among them were dear friends and men who had served with honor their people and land. Among them were some lay wounded and crying in agony. There was no craft that could mend these men, so the task was laid on Llyr and Malac to give the valorous one final gift. Moving from man to man, they carried out the task as swiftly and with as much compassion as they could. The last of it done, Llyrwech let his sword fall to the ground, and began walking back up the tunnel gathering the men he had left behind him. He spoke no word as he went, his eyes focused straight ahead. Arriving back at their camp, Malac told those assembled all that had happened. Llyrwech never spoke, but as he sat there and listened to the full recounting of the tale, something within him was lost.

When all others had gone to their rest, Llyrwech went to his pavilion and taking up a parchment and writing instrument penned a letter home, laying it on his table where it would be found in the morning. He then packed some goods into a pouch, and walked out into the night. He did not know that not too long before Malac had done much the same thing, leaving a note behind for Llyrwech.

The ride home for the men of Connemara was not a happy one. They had won victory, but the cost had been steep. Of the thirty-five who set forth, only nine returned. Among the dead or missing were Malac and Llyrwech. There were no celebrations within the city that night. Only the tears of those who had lost a loved one or friend, and confusion as Aedon stood holding tightly two letters.


And from his chair at the other side of the room, Figol looked on and smiled.

 

[Aedon Durreah]

For Aedon his life seemed to change in the blink of an eye. Thrusts suddenly into power he tried desperately to hold things together. As advisor to the king Aedon had it a bit easy, and in truth taking on the burden of the lands he had become convinced that Llyr had been carrying him all along.


Not believing his self to be a man of war, Aedon looked to leaders of other lands and sought to bring some lasting peace between the tribes. And always from the background Figol watched and shook his head often in disapproval.


And in fact, the Gathering were once again pushing Figol to dispose of the subject and look to breed one more fitting to their needs. In an effort to placate them, Figol began to look for a mate for Aedon so that the breeding process could begin again. He found no shortage of fathers, brothers and uncles more than willing to offer their daughter in marriage to the young king.


Aedon tried to resist when Figol came to him saying that a match had been made between Aedon and the daughter of a tribal leader. Being from across the Bay and her people being warlike in nature the mage believed that it would be a wise course to take, and the meeting was arranged.


Standing by, looking at a woman he had never met, and listening as bargains were struck in his name, Aedon wished Llyrwech were there. The thought of a loveless marriage to a maiden did little for the heart of a man who lived with in books, and dreamed of one day finding his true love. The papers signed, the marriage took place immediately, and the bride and groom sat in their bed chambers staring across the room at each other.


It was not that Shauna was not an attractive lass, in fact she was most pleasing to look on. But she often made it clear that she was only there at her father’s command. Time passed and the couple became much more tolerant of one another, though they had yet to fully seal their vows. Figol was always urging Aedon to go to his bride and see to it that the kingdom had a strong male heir. But between he and Shauna there seemed little, not even a level of friendship. And this suited him well.


Time passed and there came a day in the second year of their marriage when Aedon came upon Shauna standing in the garden. She had released her braided hair, and stood on a low bench singing to the birds in the trees. He watches as she moved with grace from one side of the garden to the other, stepping on stones and benches as she twirled. He stood there, trying not to make a sound, not wishing to disturb her joy. But when her song ended, he was moved to go to her and take her hands in his.


Over the next few months they spent more and more time together, and their affections for one another grew -and late the following year, their first child Michael was born -followed soon after by Aramis and a daughter who they named Cara.


Figol found little useful about Michael. He was spoiled and vain and not one to listen to advise. The Gathering found him useless to their needs, and could see no reason to further his training. Cara being a maid was seen by the mages council as little more than a distraction to their plans.



A day came, 7 years after the birth of their daughter, when Shauna asked her husband if she might sail with the children across the bay and visit her people. Aedon by this time could refuse her nothing and granted her request.


Upon hearing this Figol urged Aedon to keep one of his sons behind as it was not proper for all heirs of Connemara to be away at the same time. Aedon thought then that Michael should stay, but he eldest son would not hear of his brother going over the waters and he having to remain behind. Aedon relented, and kept Aramis with him, and Shauna, Michael and Cara set sail.

 

[Aedon Durreah]

It had been about three week’s time since the departure of the ship baring Aedon’s wife and children to visit her family. One day a messenger came from across the bay with the news that the ship had never made it to port. It was hoped that with a sudden storm cropping up the captain had come about and returned to Connemara. A search of the waters between the Highlands and the point of departure found wreckage from the vessel. No bodies were ever recovered, and it was assumed that all souls aboard were lost.


The news devastated Aedon, and he took to sitting alone on the porch overlooking the Bay of Galway. He had no interest in affairs of the kingdom and even Figol’s prodding and encouragement had no effect on his grief. His one bright spot was Aramis, but though he loved his son deeply, he was unable to look upon him without recalling his great loss, and pain. Therefore, he sent the lad to live in the McDermott household.


Aramis was happy in the smith’s shop, much as his father before had been. And Sean took extra time to help him through his grief. There he had a playmate in the person of Sean’s son John. The lad stood a good head taller than Aramis, with a ready laugh and an impish grin. Always ready to cause a bit of mischief, John easily drew Aramis into his conspiracies. Before long the two were known as the terrors of Minoc.


Back in the main house Aedon seemed to be drawing further inside himself. Figol found that he was now dealing with the day to day running of the kingdom, a position the mage had not bargained for. One day, after having had enough of the mundane works of men - the mage went to Aedon’s room and confronted him. He was taken aback by the over flowing of anger and grief directed at him by the over wrought man. Years of loss, and pain seemed to over flow at once, as Aedon accused Figol of not only being happy at the loss of his family, but having planned and executing the event. His tirade ended, Aedon laid his head on his desk and seemed to fall into a deep sleep. Sitting across from him, Figol watched his creation wrapped in unspeakable sorrow and harkened back to a day many long years ago.


The manipulation of the Durreah line had been meticulous. From father to son for generations they have been moved around, paired with others and herded like cattle to the next home. Men never had a choice in the choice of a mate. Always it seemed that Figol had found for them the right one. And each man, for years to come watched as children died, to be quickly replaced by another offspring. Mothers laboring hard in birth were visited at the point of breach by the vision of an old man dressed in wizard’s garb, face concealed. To each woman one question was asked.


“What would you give for your child?”


The answers to this question varied from vows of gold, gems and riches untold to nothing at all, I never wanted this brat. Some children were born and took their place in the ongoing breeding process, and others allowed the peace of oblivion. And always the Gathering urged Figol to try again, and bring in more stock.


When Aedon’s father Ethan was in the youth of his reign he was, as the others of his line wed to a woman whose family line showed some promise. A marriage of convenience, the King had little interest in siring children with his queen, but again Figol cast his spells and of this union a child was born. His father named him Llyrwech which in their language meant "born of kings." As Llyr grew, he showed many of the qualities of the Durreah line which Figol found wanting. He did not seem to be suitable to the cause, but there was still a measure of greatness about him. Figol therefore kept the child and allowed him to grow. Llyrs mother was a bitter woman and offered no time to her son who was instead raised by nursemaids within the castle. When the woman died Llyrwech was ten years of age, and although she had never shown him a kindness, Llyr grieved long for her. The king went on with matters of state, and tried to spend as much time as possible with the young prince.


One day, Ethan made a stop at the blacksmith shop to inquire about a sword he had ordered. Clancy McDermott was a bit of a legend in the area, Known for his fine work and exquisite swords, he had been named Royal Blacksmith and moved, along with his family to a nice shop on the grounds of the castle. Living quarters were also provided for his family. This made it easy for him to be at the call of the king, and yet still spend time with his growing family.


As he entered the shop he was struck mute by the vision which greeted him. Mary McDermott, eldest of Clancy’s children was tending the counter. Ethan was so taken with her beauty, smile and gentle laugh that he took to spending more time at the smithy in the hop of seeing her. Mary too was moved by the manner and attentions of the king, and soon they expressed their love for one another.


It had always been Ethan’s desire to wed Mary, but fate and Figol took a hand in things and soon the young woman found that she was indeed carrying a child. She understood that Ethan could not step forth and claim her as wife because the proper time since his wife’s death had not passed. So they took to meeting in silence at the smithy, or in the pasture that lay just beyond the McDermott’s house. It was decided that when the time was right, the king and Mary would wed, and he would take her child on as an heir.


The Gathering in Athryvald was not pleased with the recent turn of events and summoned Figol to a meeting. Mary had interfered with their work and endangered the completion of the project. Figol was therefore ordered to destroy the woman and the child she bore. Figol believed that something might come of this coupling, and wished to try something he had been giving thought to. So he went to the woman as she slept, and performing a silent ritual imbued her and her unborn child with a bit of his own magical essence.


Going outside and calling on the wind, Figol watched as a golden moongate appeared over Connemara which encompassed the house, and smithy. As the winds began to swirl around the buildings, a loud hum built, and the houses faded from view. Then turning his face towards the village, Figol spoke a few words, and stepped through the gate.


The people of Connemara would carry no memory of the castle, king or any associated with the Durreah or McDermott line. The Gathering would have to look long to find where Figol had gone, and by then, he hoped to have progress to show them.


Mary’s time came, and as she lay on a bed in the home of her father, hard in labor, Figol came to her and setting a small blackthorn box etched with Celtic runes beside her asked;


“What would you give for your child?”


Without hesitation Mary replied;


“I would give my life.”


The child was born, but his mother never had the chance to look on his face. As he drew his first breath, Mary breathed her last. Overcome with grief Ethan could neither look at nor accept the child. Figol named the boy Aedon meaning fire. And then handing the child to his grandfather Clancy, Figol picked up the box, and walked outside.


Standing on a hill not far from the main building of Connemara, Figol again called on the wind. He watched as the large swallow tailed kite approached and landed with grace on the ground before him. Bowing to the Nemira Figol held out the box and told her the story of Ethan and Mary and of the son the woman would never get to see.


So moved was Nemira by the tale of love and loss -she consented to take within her the heart and soul of Mary McDermott. In this way perhaps one day mother could look upon her son and be proud. Figol held the box aloft as a small golden moongate encompassed it –a low steady hum could be heard, and then slowly, the box vanished.


Nemira smiled feeling the gentle grace of the woman who was now a part of her and looking to Figol said.


“He is now my child, and I will tend him with care.”


Bowing again to the bird, Figol turned to go back inside, as Nemira spread her wings and flew off to the east.