"Some men are born to serve," said the man in the long grey cloak. "Others are born to be served. We, on the other hand, are born for a greater purpose. To dedicate our very existence to the gods. To seek knowledge, guidance, wisdom. To learn our fate. To guide the people of Renryre Island, spiritually, as they seek their place in the skies among the Restless Stars; an eternity in the company of the gods."
The young man was nodding along as the druid Cedwyck listed their sacred purposes.
"Yes, I understand all that, Master, but what are we doing here?"
Cedwyck sighed. Another acolyte seemed destined to be claimed by the sea.
"Have I not made myself clear?" said Cedwyck. "We are here to serve the gods."
"I thought you said we weren't born to serve?"
"What?"
"Well you said—"
"I know what I said."
"Well, it's just that, well... it's a bit nippy out here, couldn't we do this indoors? Say perhaps sitting around a warm fire hearth? Sipping a special brew—"
"We do not become druids to spend our days drinking alcoholic and hallucinogenic concoctions," Cedwyck retorted, his lips shaking as he spoke, spittle firing out at the young man.
"Well then, at least let me wear one of those long grey cloak—"
"Arggh!"
Cedwyck felt his patience vanish, his anger flush, his staff swing. He watched as the young man toppled over the cliff, his pitiful scream fading away as he bounced twice against the bluff and landed awkwardly on the jutted rocks below. He waited for any signs of movement, but the former acolyte lay perfectly still, his legs twisted the wrong way. Then the waves crashed in, sucking the body into the sea. He kept watching as the corpse floated away, searching for signs of fins breaking the surf. Sure enough, they were there. The tailsharks were always waiting.
"A gift from the gods, my friends," he called out over the waves.
Cedwyck turned back to the Godstone. It was judging him. It did that a lot.
"He deserved it!" he insisted.
The Godstone didn't reply.
A sharp gust of wind blew his cloak free, exposing him to the elements. It was cold. It was always cold in the morning on Littleren — the only island off Renryre Island — tucked away off the south coast and forming the sharp end of the Hook Peninsula. It wasn't named that for the bountiful fishing, but rather for the strong current which hooked daring ships, and smashed them against the rocks in sight of the Godstone. The Whalebreaker, it was called, purportedly swelled by giant sea monster of the same name as he searched the southern oceans for his mate. The current split as it hit the southern coast of Renryre Island, pushing north to either side. The Hook was its most deadly trap.
"Maybe it's time to call it a day then," he said to the Godstone. "I could do with a drink to clear my mind. I happen to have mixed up something interesting last night."
The Godstone still didn't reply. It wasn't much for conversation, but its gaze was ever unforgiving. Nine feet tall it stood, surrounded by a circle of green grass that stretched nine feet from its base, which in turn was enclosed by nine smaller stones placed equally around the circle. From there, the cliff fell away on all sides, save for the path leading back along Littleren.
Cedwyck glanced back down at the waves crashing on the rocks some hundred yards below him, making sure that the acolyte hadn't washed back ashore. Confident that the tailsharks had destroyed the evidence, he began his long journey back to his home. It took half the morning to reach the Godstone, and he had gained nothing in the process save for an opening for a new acolyte.
* * *
Indoors once again, Cedwyck relaxed near the fireplace sipping on a special brew, aware that it would take him to places that he probably shouldn't go. Renryre Island wasn't safe for those who dreamed without caution, but Cedwyck believed caution was a quality better suited to the unrighteous – those who had abandoned the gods and had in turn been abandoned themselves.
He lay back, groaning slightly as his bones struggled to ease him down. Another sip went down as he stared at the ceiling of his crude hut, shoddy mud work leaving cracks in the uneven concave surface. He focused on a chipped piece of clay that had been gradually breaking away with every storm, wondering how thin the layer behind it was. He could almost see through it. In fact, he could see through it.
Behind it, the stars circled above, restless as always. Some of them chased others across the sky, others wandered aimlessly. He had come to know them over the years, learned their patterns. He knew which stars had given up their hopes, tired and lost. He knew the ones that still raced around, chasing their ambitions. Some were familiar to the druids, held places in the sacred pantheon, but most remained little more than specks of light in the darkness. In his mind he had given many of them names. After all, one cannot pray to nameless gods.
He sat up sharply, suddenly aware that the drink had taken him away from his body and out into the ethereal universe. The walls of his hut no longer constrained his mind, and he was free to walk to unseen worlds.
He searched the skies for Irikhart, a particularly bright star that usually circled high above, stubbornly gazing down at Renryre Island, but never taking any notice of Cedwyck. Irikhart always appeared to be otherwise occupied. At present, he was wandering around his usual part of the sky, paying Cedwyck no attention. There were others up there that at least glanced towards him at times.
That said, he had bigger plans than to spend his ethereal adventure locked in the skies. What he sought wasn't up there – it had already fallen. She had already fallen.
"Back again, Ced?" sighed the goddess.
Cedwyck dropped his gaze back to ground. He was standing in the desert, the darkness had vanished into daytime, the sun burning his skin as he desperately raised his arms to cover his face.
"Are you going to invite me in?" he pleaded.
"I think I'd rather let you wither away out there," she said, but quickly relented. "Fine. Come in."
Cedwyck took two steps forward, and immediately felt cooler under the trees. The oasis was much more than a desert spring with a few plants: it was enchanted. Powerful. The cool breeze didn't flow in from the hot desert, rather it was born of the oasis itself.
"I have company, you know," said the goddess. "You can't just turn up whenever you feel like it."
"Sorry, Lytette," said Cedwyck. "Company?"
He glanced around and found an old man sitting by the water's edge. Someone he recognised, had seen him there before. The man had been around some time, and by the looks of it, had spent far too much time in the desert. His skin looked like leather well over-tanned, beyond sale even to the most desperate of merchants.
"Don't worry," said Lytette with a mild tone of sorrow, "he never stays long. Can I get you anything? A drink."
The goddess turned without waiting for an answer, filled a glass with water and brought it back to Cedwyck. He took a sip, tasting the sweet fluid, and felt it run down his throat. As always, it felt so real. Too real. Lytette managed to linger between the world of reality and of dreams, but Cedwyck could only find her in the latter.
Lytette made a show of shaking out her wild sun-bleached hair, and adjusting her scant clothing. Cedwyck noticed the old man stand up and walk away, exaggerating a sigh.
"See you again soon," called Lytette as she waved to him. "Now, where were we?"
Cedwyck felt his excitement rise. Alone at last, and nothing to interrupt him. Lytette stepped forward slowly, her smile disguising her true age. She looked to be in her twenties, some long set of zeros short of her true years. In fact, all of her looked younger.
"Ouch!" he cried. "What was that for?"
Lytette's hand swung round again, connecting even harder, a loud crack echoing through the oasis.
"Stop it!" he yelled. "What the hell are you—"
But before he could finish his sentence, his cheek was burning again. Cedwyck felt his patience vanish, his anger flush, his fist swing.
A young man fell on the floor before him, holding his nose and crying out in pain. Cedwyck glanced around; he was back in his mud hut, the evening light easing through the doorway.
"Serves you bloody right!" yelled Cedwyck. "Why the hell did you wake me up? Who are you, anyway?"
The man rolled onto his backside and looked back up at him, holding his nose as the blood oozed out.
"Sorry, Master," he whimpered. "The council sent me. They said you would be needing a new acolyte today. Fourth one this month, they said."
"Fine. But why did you wake me up?"
"You were, er, making strange sounds. I thought maybe you needed help. You are... er..."
"I am what?"
"Er, you are, er, my master?"
Cedwyck sighed. Another idiot.
"What's your name?"
"Acolyte, Master," he whimpered.
"Correct."
Maybe he wasn't a complete idiot. But a partial idiot was little better.
"Fine. Go fetch me something to eat, then get some sleep. We will wake up early tomorrow. I'm taking you to see the Godstone."
Cedwyck's Tale continues in The Hook And The Godstone part 2 >>>