The Dream of Lorn in the Forest Tegoth
JANE RITA O’SHAUGHNESSY
‘Like a spirit within’ quoted the dwarf, ‘possibility depends on the truth in the heart.’
© Jane Rita O’Shaughnessy 1993; 2021
Illustrations by Mary Gordon-Smith
Chapter One:
Time as it Happens
The sun set in the west and the last golden rays danced on the trees in the dense forest Tegoth, beneath the foot of Black Mountain. Under these trees the werewolves of Kodrain stalked their prey after the twilight hour had passed.
An old hideous cottage stood alone in a raised clearing in the very thick of Tegoth. It was dreary and unwelcoming and it shone a golden-grey in the light of the moon in the now starless sky.
An elderly man—with a crooked stick in his hands—beckoned to his friends to step out of the shadows of the forest and follow him. He was tall and well-formed; his black eyes were sharp and intelligent. He pointed with his stick in the direction of where they were heading. The first to move from the shelter (but not safety) of the trees was a dwarf.
This dwarf had a fine beard of silver-white and carried an axe and shield upon which strange engravings were drawn. He shook his head regretfully as his friend walked up an ancient path to the house, but he followed.
A tall man of seven feet in height strode after the dwarf. He too carried a weapon, a hefty sword made of silver, which also bore the curious runes. The last to follow slunk from the shadow of the trees. It was a wolf. Its eyes slyly took in the surroundings as it stole silently across the clearing.
The old man looked back to see if his three companions were following his lead. Seeing that all was as it should be he continued on up to the door. BANG! BANG!
The sound of his stick against the wooden door echoed in the half-light. A shuffle of footsteps whispered along the road of sound. The door did not open. Instead a muffled voice hissed through a tiny crack: “Who is that? What do you want?”
The old man answered quickly and urgently: “I am a friend. My comrades and I seek shelter for the night and mayhap for some days ahead. Pray let us in for the evening will soon be upon us and I am not a stranger to these parts. I have strong knowledge of these enchanted spirits, werewolves and the like that do lurk here in the forest after dark.”
He heard the heavy bolts being drawn back and the thick oak door opened slowly inwards. A thin veil of grey light fell on the face of the leader. But only a figure did he see and of what shape or form he could not dare to guess. The interior of the house was almost blacker than the weak light in the clearing.
The leader stepped into the house regardless of the consequence of his haste with more speed than others of his age. The dwarf followed suit and pulled off a twilight-coloured cap. The giant bent his head as he walked through the small threshold. The old man hastened after the figure as the giant drew back the bolts as the last guest entered.
Soon they were all seated round a dying fire in a musty room. The leader laid back in a large arm-chair, the dwarf on a sofa riddled with moth holes. The giant sat on the floor—for no chair this mysterious house possessed could hold his weight. The wolf lay by the fire. But it did not sleep. Its ears were alert and it missed nothing of what was said.
The strange housekeeper stood by a table and poured the newcomers some mead. As the figure poured, long shadows leapt in the room and the threatening howls of the werewolves of Kodrain could be heard, some close at hand, some far off. But all were menacing and bloodcurdling. And by the fire the wolf’s ears pricked up. But he sent no answer, challenging or otherwise.
‘Who are you?’ enquired the old man as he accepted his mead with a polite nod.
The being chuckled and took a tinderbox from the table and lit the oil lamp that stood there. As a flickering light filled the room the old man noticed its tidy but dusty image. With heavy blinds closing the windows and so shutting out the forest Tegoth and all that stalk their food in it during the hours between twilight and the day. Also, he noticed the red rug that covered the floor underfoot.
Then he looked at his newly-found friend or so he hoped. It was an elderly woman, with ugly features and small beady eyes of no true colour. She chuckled again.
‘Not a pretty sight am I, fellow? Creatures of the night don’t even come to me. Not a thing I’d like to encourage though for I have no joy in the company of others.’
‘I hope we are not burdening you with our presence?’ asked the old man, setting his mead aside in the interest of getting to know the attitude of his hostess.
‘No. How long will you be staying here? I see you are travellers of such—perhaps in need of a rest?’
The dwarf spluttered into his goblet and stood up indignantly. ‘Travellers of such? I’ve never heard the like! Why we are famous, near to legends in this part of Naldae.’
The woman only smirked and rubbed her aged hands together.
The old man motioned to the dwarf to sit down, which the latter did somewhat reluctantly. His dwarf’s pride kindled deep within him, so that his eyes burned first yellow, then brown. And he was silent.
Then the old man spoke: ‘I think the time has come for me to introduce who we are. I am Lorn, King of the Kingdom of Verr, Warrior of the Flame, Ambassador of the Divine Empire of Five Moons. I have come to die in this dismal land which once my home.
This is Torr. He is a splendid hand with the axe and a fiery comrade. For both of these gifts I love him and my other two friends for they have followed me through life to glory… then sorrow… and soon death.
This is Dane, descended from the first line of the Benith race. It is he who has strong knowledge of lore and dreams, whereas I am more used in language and war.
This is Scarr, a trailer in the dreams of Aurora, a direct descendent of the last Chieftain of Blue Moon. A more worthy tracker I have never known or wish to know.’
The woman kept her small eyes fixed on Lorn’s face. ‘Grand titles’, she said, cunningly. ‘Perhaps I have heard of you, perhaps not. Verr is no more, my man. It is but marsh and bog. I think you know of Zora’s fate?’
Lorn nodded, memories flooding back to him, memories he had thought he had long lost forever.
Their hostess seemed to delight in his silence and chose to speak again.
‘Where will you be going from here? Do you intend to stay in my residence for your last days? But you are but sixty looks or I be blessed! That bears no age, O warrior, O king! But you say, Lorn.’
Lorn was used to the language forest dwellers used and answered at once. ‘We have no gold or jewels to pay for our stay. I fear it will be a long one What shall we do?’
The old woman glanced suspiciously at him. ‘If what you say is true then we will pay by another method. So dull is my existence in this dwelling. I am in need of entertainment, O king. Perhaps you have a tale as grand as your titles? Maybe you could weave it to me to enlighten many a dark evening? What say you?’
‘It is a wise choice you have made’, put in Dane, speaking for the first time.
‘We accept’, added Torr, though in his voice his wrath at her still lingered.
Torr stroked his lengthy beard and smiled at Lorn for he had been pleased at the praise of the King and was in two minds whether he deserved it or not. And of his dream you will hear and decide ere the shadows lengthen in the summer months when we reach the story’s end and have told all of the dream of Lorn what we will cover fully.
Lorn nodded and sipped his mead. ‘What would you like to hear?’ he offered.
Here it was that she surprised him. For she was curious to know all about these strange new arrivals in Tegoth who were yet not strangers nor new arrivals. And she was puzzled so she replied to him: ‘The beginning, O king. The middle, O warrior. The end—if you ever end it—would be most pleasing. To me, you must weave your whole story, the whole dream, O ambassador! Weave away, weave away!’
So began the telling of the Dream of Lorn, also known as the Story of Lorn. It begins after the fall of Aurora and ends… well, we shall see.
To be continued.