The Statue of Bandallion

Genre: Fantasy

Synopsis

Every five hundred cycles harvest world champions, one planter (male) and one picker (female), are carefully chosen and plucked from the harvest world. According to tradition they shall be honoured and revered as high royalty by all tribes of the third kingdom before commencing their procession to the valley of Khazurn on the first moon. There on the onyx redemption thrones on the night of the third moon the rebirth ritual shall be performed when the planter and picker shall meld and restore equilibrium and order to the union of worlds. So it is written.

Except that five hundred and thirty eight cycles have now passed since the last ritual and the laws that rule the elements are beginning to fail. The Lore of Invocation, the lore to bring champions from the harvest world, has been lost when the assembly of summoning, an academy of the finest sorcerer minds in the land, was disbanded over two hundred cycles ago, disbanded and exiled. So a collective of the best available magicians is hastily assembled from all corners of the kingdom, some of them fledgling apprentices to aged inept tutors, some little more than daughters of woodland witches, some from dark corners considered dangerous by the old assembly where old animosities are not forgotten. But in any world desperate times call for desperate measures.

And out of the six and a half billion people currently populating earth, the harvest world, Simon Banner is not one of the chosen. He is nevertheless drawn to the kingdom through a series of seemingly unconnected events.

In the meantime, the hastily chosen Jessica and Daniel may not have been as carefully chosen as tradition might otherwise have dictated. She is a disillusioned valium-popping housewife and he is a gay depressive teacher. Not exactly the ideal partnership for a melding.

 

Part One: The Sunflower Stone

Chapter 1: Aulderly - Found and Lost

Oscar-Lee squinted down at the yellowing parchment and could not resist a soft snuffle of triumph. With the inside of a bony forefinger, he wiped his runny nostril and popped the shiny digit into his mouth. It tasted of salt and dust. His stomach rumbled at the thought of another forgone supper.

Reading by candlelight after last victuals carried all the ingredients of a severe reprimand, but getting caught doing so in the library vault would incur something far more serious. If the head librarian found him, the masters would send him home without question, not just for referencing forbidden materials but also for using a naked flame in this precious vault. However, access to the archives was strictly controlled which meant his only option was to hide out until everyone left and then sneak down. Luckily, tonight he remembered to bring a saucer to prevent any incriminating wax from spilling onto the stone floor.

Only Mirakel knew where he was. Of all the students, he warmed to her most; she did not whisper cruel jokes about his glass eye, the one that remained unmoving while the other twitched furtively around the room. She had been there when they overheard the whispered conversation, both hiding from another tedious lecture under cover of one of the generous spruce trees bordering the college grounds. About to light up a rolled cigarette, they froze when a pair of sandaled feet poking out from the hem of a purple robe stopped in front of them. It was the robe of a master. For one heart-stopping moment, they believed their game was up. Until another sandaled master joined the first.

"Quickly, my friend. What is so urgent?" One of the hushed voices sounded old and cracked.

"It has been confirmed. The book is secreted somewhere here in Aulderly. The other townships are as yet unaware. I recommend we leave it thus until we have it safe in our hands." The other was a younger, deeper voice, yet full of authority.

"Finally. Perhaps this madness will soon be over."

"I wouldn't celebrate just yet. It may take years to uncover and more still to decipher. The old radicals were not fools. Keep this between us for now. Dark rumours are circling and not everyone is to be trusted. Next week I will move for a special meeting of the committee of elders."

"I agree and will second." It appeared the conversation was over. They spied one pair of sandals crunch away in the charcoal snow and then halt. "What is the source of this evidence?"

"A name I have not before heard uttered. Piratemus. A rider from Dharl  brought a communication scroll preserved through the generations. And before you ask, it has been tested and it is genuine. It states Aulderly as the resting place. Have you heard of this scribe, Piratemus?"

"No, but I will learn what I can. Go peacefully, brother."

They may not have heard of him, but Oscar-Lee had. Piratemus the archivist. Back home the mountain village of Dunkell Pass, his doddery old tutor's great grandfather had been apprenticed to the local scribe. The two hours a week Oscar-Lee spent with him, learning basic lore, usually entailed listening to forgettable tales about the life of potty Piratemus. What he did recall was the last lines of a jaunty folk song the old codger used to sing:

And as old Piratemus lay a-dying in his bed
A-muttering of the ten steps under ground
Twixt the lore of flesh and bone
Buried deep in orderly stone
Where the secret scrolls and volumes can be found.

Of course, the word was not orderly, as he had remembered it, but Aulderly. Mirakel figured out the ten steps, the steps leading down to the archives in the library where she helped on weekday evenings.

He turned the large crusty page of the ancient tome and scanned the runes drawn with painstaking clarity, sniffing with satisfaction. There was no mistaking. He had found it. The book they had all been frantically seeking, the Lore of Invocation. Somehow, this book was going to help stop the recent run of unnatural events; the mysterious dark clouds from the east that had chilled the skies for the past eighteen months and shed black snow like volcanic ash; the strange crimson bird-like creatures that inhabited the trees around the grounds, waiting and watching. This book was going to restore balance and he, Oscar-Lee 'Good-For-Nothing' Magrillow, the stupid student who was unfit to mop the privy floor, had found it. They would make him a senior apprentice perhaps even an honorary sorcerer. They would call him the hero of the hour. A droplet fell from his nose onto the page. Half way through wiping it off with the sleeve of his robe, he froze.

There it was again, a soft rustling noise coming from the shadows. At first, he dismissed it as termites or nocturnal rodents but this time it sounded louder, closer.

"Is somebody there?" It stopped instantly. "Hello?"

He felt sure he had sealed the vault door from the inside. Yet a moment of doubt trickled into his mind, so lifting the candle he retraced his footsteps across the long room to the ten narrow stone steps that led up to the library door. He stood at the bottom and craned forward, holding the candle high in the air. Just as he thought, the chair remained buttressed under the door handle where he had left it. Cursing his febrile imagination, he pushed a hand into a robe pocket and brought out a fresh candle. Walking back to the table, he lit the new one and had it squashed firmly on top of the old just as he reached the table.

The book was no longer there.

With cracking joints, he crouched to the cold stone floor and thrust the candle beneath the table. Nothing. As he stood, a disembodied voice, cold and cruel, deep as a mountain cavern breathed into the darkness.

"What you have unearthed is beyond you. And with it must end your path through existence."

Oscar-Lee looked about wildly unable to determine the direction of the voice. Icy instinct told him to back away, run to the door. However, another knew he would lose everything. He sniffed and edged the candle onto the table. Although the voice had sounded oddly familiar, he heard his own tremble as he said. "Who...who are you? Come into the light."

"No." The faintest trace of a sneer cut through the gloom. "Come into darkness."

At the word darkness, the candle extinguished and an eerie sound shook the air. A deep, throaty hissing culminated in a muffled boom like a giant boulder hitting the earth.

The last thing Oscar-Lee saw was a sickly yellowy-green light the colour of pus, before his frail flesh and bones evaporated. Like a dishrag, his empty brown robe dropped to the flagstones while his glass eye rolled finally to a stop beneath a dusty bookcase.

 

*****

Part Two: Of Picker and Planter

Chapter 26: After the Fire

Simon found Daniel in a clearing away from the main gathering, alone, gazing lost into the embers of a campfire, absently rubbing the tips of his half-gloved fingers. The blood on his cheek had set hard resembling a dark spidery birthmark. Silhouettes punctuated the plain, of broken boulders and charred tree stumps thrusting up from the charcoal silt, a landscape of dark desperation cheered only by rapidly fading dusk and scattered campfires.

Simon knelt opposite, breathed warmth into his own hands before holding them to the fire and spoke quietly. "This place looks as though it’s been napalmed, I'm sure that stump by the camp is the remains of some wild animal. Christ knows what happened here. One of the Woodsmen reckons it was once a beauty spot before the Wars but I can't see it. Here. Don't take it all." He pushed his water sack across to Daniel and continued as his silent companion unplugged the stopper and gulped a couple of mouthfuls.

"They're still talking about breaking camp two hours before first light. Jessica reckons the Duke won't travel at night, so that way we stay ahead." Simon studied Daniel's tiredness. "Probably got time for an hour or two's sleep at the most, so you better get your head down, my friend."

"Jessica's got a stick up her arse." Daniel murmured. He had never warmed to her formality.

Simon chuckled. "She thinks we're kids. Not old enough to make a decision." He looked away into the night. She was also the only one who had been under the influence of the Duke, which, according to Jalmarnic, was a cause for more than a little concern.

"What about Shandrake?" Gently, Daniel fingered the dried blood on his cheek.

Trust Daniel to hit a nerve without even trying. They were going to leave Shandrake behind. He had argued against it but Jalmarnic was seasoned in battle, knew protocols for situations that Simon could not even begin to imagine and countered arguments with calm unarguable logic. Carrying the injured warrior would slow them down. Without horses they would need two strong men to pull the pallet and even then, it would be no easy task across the rough terrain.

"They're leaving him here. Jal said that if Shandrake were conscious he'd say the same thing."

"You're fucking kidding?" Daniel was instantly on his feet. "What's wrong with these people? How many times does he have to save their arses to get some respect?" The reaction took Simon by surprise. "Shandrake is worth six of those lame-assed Woodsmen. Well, they can leave him behind but I'm not going to."

"What? I thought you didn't give a toss--?" Daniel almost laughed at the vision of this slight man single-handedly pulling the litter and would have done, had it not been for the fiery resolve reflected in the eyes of his comrade. "What do you mean, you're 'not going to'?"

"If he stays, so do I." Daniel's voice was resolute.

"Come off it, Dan. You'll die out here. We've scant rations as it is and the only source of water is a day's ride away. Even if they chose to send someone back with supplies, its unlikely Shandrake would last the night. Look, nobody wants to do this, but we have no choice. Jal says one of the Woodsmen has a potion that will help him pass a little easier, without--"

"Euthanasia? Are you out of your fucking mind? I expected more of you." Lurching back towards the gathering, his threat came out of the darkness along with the clash of an unsheathed sword. "If anyone so much as goes near him I swear I will personally cut off their testicles."

Simon exhaled quickly, threw himself back against the charred mound and rubbed his eyes. Reasoning with the people of this world was a lot easier than with those of his own. The man's usual wisecracking cynicism, at best amusing at worst irritating, was nonetheless harmless. That particular Daniel he could deal with, but in this passionate, earnest, 'man with a mission' he could sense nothing but trouble.

"Oh, bugger." Despite his tiredness, he clambered unsteadily to his feet and headed towards the newly raised voices of the distant gathering.