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“NO, NO, YOU’RE DOING it all wrong,” Airdella spread her arms protectively over the map on the table, blocking Walter and his pencil. “That’s not where the Triple Cleft is.”
“It is according to this map,” Walter protested, waving a sheet of parchment in her face.
“Well, that map is wrong!” Airdella decided.
“How would you know when you haven’t even taken a look at it?” Walter asked.
“Sir Dorrian told us to create and label a map of the D’zil Mountains, using this one to help us.” Airdella grabbed another sheet of parchment to her right. “There, if you look at our map and the one Sir Dorrian gave us, you can clearly see where we need to label the Triple Cleft.”
Walter frowned and leaned in over the two maps. “You drew it wrong,” he decided.
“No, I didn’t,” Airdella rolled her eyes.
“Yep, you missed this bit.”
It was Airdella’s turn to lean in over the two maps. Now that it was pointed out to her, she could see that a section of the mountains was indeed missing. She straightened and pursed her lips.
“How do you miss an entire section of mountains?” Walter asked.
“It’s hardly a half inch! And I was helping Amy.”
Amy sat at a different table, painstakingly translating The Ballad of Tallenor from Arualian back into the Olden Tongue and doing her best to ignore the arguing of her brother and sister.
Walter set his map down on the table. “The Triple Cleft is part of this outcropping from the D’zil Mountains,” he pointed out. “If you just erase everything north of where you left it out, then we will have less to redo.”
“But then where are we going to put the End Chasm?”
“Well, it’s not like the End Chasm is actually a part of the mountains, and I’m pretty sure everyone knows where the edge of the world is, and not to fall off it, so I think we’ll be fine not including it. Just draw an arrow pointing to the North where it would be off the paper.”
Airdella sighed. She hated doing what she thought was incomplete work, but she also did not want to redraw an entire map. So, she got out an eraser and began to rub at the top of the map.
Within an hour, they had the map corrected and had finished labeling the key locations and features of the D’zil Mountains. Having finished, they set their map aside for Sir Dorrian to inspect the next day and rolled up the other maps to put away.
“I sometimes wonder what’s the point,” Airdella told Walter as they carried the maps over to the cabinet.
“Of?”
“Why do they make us study geography and maps and such. Not saying it’s not interesting. But the D’zil Mountains? It’s not like I’m ever going to go there.”
Walter shrugged, unsure of how to respond, and opened the map cabinet. An avalanche of maps and scrolls came flying and rolling and tumbling out of it, falling into a heap at their feet.
“The cabinet of death strikes again,” Amy announced ominously in a low voice from behind them.
Airdella and Walter let their shoulders sag in defeat. Airdella dumped the maps in her arms, adding them to the pile at her feet. “I hate this cabinet.”
“I’m hungry,” Walter sighed.
“Why are there no shelves in here?” Airdella demanded, shaking her fists at the cabinet.
“It would be handy to have some kind of rack with individual slots for them.”
“I guess we will just have to stuff them back in there. Is there anything that didn’t fall out?”
Walter reached into the cabinet that was just above his head to feel around. His hand found a few small scrolls, which he rolled out of the cabinet, and a folded-up piece of leather wrapped around a wedge-shaped stone.
Airdella sat on the floor and sorted the maps by size and content. “Arualia,” she muttered, setting one of the smaller maps aside. “Caprika. D’zil Mountains. Why are there so many maps of that place? This isn’t even a map. This is about the types of fish in the Wantu River. Who even cares about that? What’s that thing in your hand? It looks like animal skin.”
“It is a map,” Walter announced, unfolding it and examining it.
“A map of?”
Walter frowned. “Well, that’s rubbish. Supposed to be Arualia, but it’s got it all wrong.”
“Why are you so critical of everyone else’s maps?”
“It’s got the names mixed up. Here, see for yourself!”
Airdella frowned over the map. It was a map of Arualia and some of the Western Nargani lands, crudely drawn, with the size of certain geographic features distorted, the names of key locations were labelled differently, and instead of being depicted as the dark shadowy edge of the world, the End Chasm was labelled as Gaya’s Fury. This map also showed a land beyond the edge, simply labeling it as “Ko’atzalon”. It labeled a few specific locations within this unknown northern land, including a few rivers, a waterfall, and some mountains.
Amy gladly left her translation work to come take a look.
“It feels so old.” Walter rubbed the edge of the leather between his fingers. “I wonder where Sir Dorrian got it.”
“We can take it down to dinner and ask him,” Airdella said. “What’s the stone?”
“It’s a stone.”
“Yes, but why was it inside the map? Is it important?”
“Again, we will have to ask Sir Dorrian about that.”
The three of them gathered up the maps on the floor and tried to put them back in the cabinet as neatly as possible, based on Airdella’s sorting, but it was a hopeless cause without additional shelves. They finally finished stacking the scrolls and shut the cabinet doors without much hope that it would not explode again the next time they opened it.
They brought the map and stone downstairs with them when they went down to dinner. Sir Dorrian was leaning over a pan, checking to see if its contents were fully cooked.
“Ah, there you all are!” he said. “The chicken appears to be ready as well.”
“We have got to get new shelves for the map cabinet,” Airdella announced earnestly.
“Oh, yes, I’ve been meaning to do that.”
“It took us a half hour to put it back together!”
“More like ten minutes,” Walter interjected.
“I’m pretty sure I got paper cuts from some of them.”
“She does love being dramatic doesn’t she?” Sir Dorrian turned to Walter and Amy. “Hello, what have you got there?”
“We’re not sure,” Walter held it up for him to see. “We were hoping you could tell us.”
Sir Dorrian let out a low whistle. “I haven’t seen that for many a year. I was wondering where it had got to.”
“It was at the bottom of the map cabinet.”
“Well, there you go. Aren’t you glad we don’t have proper shelves in there yet?”
Airdella groaned and burried her head into the table.
“What kind of map is it?” Walter asked.
“This is something I picked up during my old adventuring days,” Sir Dorrian told them, gingerly unfolding the leather. “Bought it off an old gypsy traveler who claimed to have found it in an abandoned troll’s hoard.”
“Trolls aren’t real,” Airdella lifted her head.
“No?” Sir Dorrian asked her, cocking an eyebrow. “Just cause you’ve never seen one doesn’t mean it’s not real.”
“You think they really exist?” Walter frowned.
“There are so many varying legends and myths of trolls, even different versions of the same story, from all over the known world,” Sir Dorrian pointed out. “Maybe there is some truth behind all the old stories.”
“What about the map?” Amy asked.
“Well, what I know of it is that it’s very old,” Sir Dorrian told them. “Many of these names and labels appear to be based off the Olden Tongue. Gaya is similar to Gashaya, the Olden Tongue for earth or caretaker. Ko’atzalon is Olden Tongue for unknown or wilderness. Others are older names that haven’t been used for these places in more than forty years.”
The three contemplated the possibilities that the map brought up.
“Do you think it’s possible there is a land beyond the End Chasm?” Airdella asked.
“I have no idea,” Sir Dorrian said, but his eyes gleamed. “But I would be willing to take the risk to try to find out. Had I been younger when I bought this map, I certainly would have tried. As it was, it was near the end of my adventuring days that I acquired this. What I was really after at the time was the stone.”
“What’s the stone for?” Walter wanted to know.
“Watch this.” Sir Dorrian picked up the stone from where it sat on the table and tossed it in the air. It landed in almost the exact same position. No matter how many times he did this, it always ended up pointing in the same direction. “It’s an enchanted stone called a star stone. No matter what, it will always point north. Pretty handy in a tight spot for figuring out direction. Very few of them out there in the world.”
He fiddled with it for a moment, with a nostalgic smile. “Not much use to me now, though, I suppose. Why don’t you hold onto it? You may find it handy one of these days.”
As Walter took the stone back, his stomach rumbled loudly.
Sir Dorrian chuckled. “I know what that means. Thankfully, the chicken is ready.”
Throughout dinner, Sir Dorrian told them the full tale of his adventure and how he had acquired the map and the stone. He had been in the Northgate region helping to hunt down a rogue spy that was trying to sneak out of the country with vital information. After dinner, they sat upstairs in the sitting room and listened to him tell more stories of his adventuring until Amy started falling asleep. Then he said it was high time they were all in bed. And so, they all drifted off to sleep dreaming of trolls and knights and faraway forests.
––––––––
Airdella did not quite know what had startled her out of sleep. There was a tap-tapping at her window, and she rolled over to see an enormous raven pecking at it with his beak. As soon as she rolled over to look at it, it flew away. Or it could have been the sound of hoofbeats pounding the drive. Sir Dorrian rarely had any visitors that she knew of, and none of them came in the middle of the night.
She slid out of the bed and tiptoed across the sheepskin rug to the window. By the time she gently pushed the window open to see who it was, Sir Dorrian had already let whoever-it-was inside and shut the door. So she went to her bedroom door and opened it. Sticking her head out, she could hear Sir Dorrian’s and the stranger’s voices, but they were still a little muffled. She grabbed a shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders, and slid quietly out into the hallway.
She hated to risk the stairs. There was the risk that the old wooden steps would creak. But if she were going to hear what they were saying, she was going to have to go at least part of the way down the steps. Gingerly, cautiously, she made her way down the steps. Halfway down, she hesitated. That next step was the one that always squeaked. Besides, she could hear them decently enough.
“What do you mean, ‘sleeping death’?” That was Sir Dorrian speaking.
“Black magic, sir.” (That must be the rider, she thought.) “It’s some kind of poison mixed with black magic. Anyone so much as gets wounded, even a small cut, and they eventually just fall asleep. You cannot wake them, and yet they don’t die. It’s as if they were in a coma, and their eyes...” here the rider trailed off for a moment, his voice shaking with fear. “Their eyes go black. Completely black. Blacker than anything I’ve ever seen. As if there was nothing there. Nothin’ but evil itself... Unless we can find a cure for it, I fear the worst, sir,” the rider’s voice trembled. “Our king is as good as dead. He will die, along with all his men, and countless innocents!”
Airdella did not hear the next thing that was said. Her head was whirling, and her ears sang. Poison. The dreaded feared word echoing in her mind, trapping her in a deep well where the noise around her sounded as if it were coming from far away and the dark past tried to suffocate her with horrific images.
“I fear all is lost, sir,” the rider breathed heavily.
“No... no, not yet.” She could just barely hear Dorrian’s next words.
His footsteps shuffled hurriedly and purposefully back through the house. The rider followed him, scrambling after him.
“What do you mean, sir?”
That was the last Airdella could hear clearly as Sir Dorrian threw open the doors to his chambers at the back of the house. She sat on the step shaking, struggling to fully grasp all that she had just heard. Finally, she forced herself to grope her way down the rest of the stairs in the dark and along the wall towards Sir Dorrian’s quarters.
––––––––
Walter woke because he knocked his star stone off his bedside table in his sleep. It clattered loudly to the floor, and he sat bolt upright from a dream where he was being stalked by bears and trolls. He awoke half expecting them to be right there ready to attack him but sighed with relief to find there was no one in his bedroom besides himself.
There was, however, someone coming up the driveway. He could hear the hoofbeats through his open windows. Wide awake with adrenaline and curiosity, he scrambled from bed and bounded the two steps to the window. They were stopping at the front door. Now, Sir Dorrian had let them inside. Well, there was no way he was going to be able to hear what they were saying from here. And the stairs and floorboards always creaked. He popped his knuckles and stretched. Time to implement something he had always wanted to try.
The climbing roses and morning glories that covered the house used a nice handy network of trellises and frames as supports in their ever upward climb. Walter had always wanted to try to use them to climb up and down. Luckily, he put his shoes on. But in the process of climbing, he thought how wonderful it would be to have armored gloves. He had to bite back several screams whenever he accidentally grabbed a handful of thorns trying to find a secure handhold.
When he finally reached the ground, he could hear muffled voices coming from the wall right in front of him. Sir Dorrian and the rider must have moved to the back of the house into Sir Dorrian’s chambers. There was a lot of scrambling going on, a few thuds as things fell to the floor, and confused pleas from someone. Walter assumed that would be the mysterious rider.
He crawled up close to a window and risked a peek. Like him, Sir Dorrian preferred to keep the windows open. Sir Dorrian was rifling through several bookshelves, letting things fall, tossing them to the side when they were not what he wanted.
“I don’t understand, sir,” a young page was pleading. “The war’s as good as lost. What hope could we possibly have?”
Sir Dorrian finally found what he had been looking for. A large tome of black leather. Walter caught a glimpse of the word “Euciphidus” before Sir Dorrian set it on a desk and began flipping through the pages. Euciphidus, Walter remembered, was an ancient historian and poet. Much of his work was debated as to its accuracy, and many scoffed at his work as attempts to use the past to predict the future. All Walter really knew was that many of his works featured long unnecessary passages that were written in the Olden Tongue, and he had spent many hours having to translate them.
Sir Dorrian finally found what he was looking for, so his fingers came to a rest. Quietly, he breathed out the words on the page in front of himself, as if willing it be true:
“If thou wouldst wake from sleep the dead inside
Brought low by poison of the traitor’s sorcery,
Hope will be found at the top of the falls.
The ancient river’s source can cure.
Gaya’s Fury no longer divides
What was separated must be reunited.
The door once shut reopened once more.
Friend or Foe each must choose to be,
Unite or perish in the final stand.”
There was a moment of silence so loud Walter held his breath for fear of being heard.
The page drew a deep unsteady breath. “I don’t understand, sir. Are you saying there is a way to defeat this Sir Clint? What kind of prophecy is that?”
“Instructions. Directions for just such a time as this.”
“So, do you really think there’s a way to save the king?”
“If we hope to save the king, and Arualia, it’s the only hope we’ve got,” Sir Dorrian breathed.
A long time passed before any of them moved. Sir Dorrian stood lost in thought, focusing intently on the book before him, pondering the old prophecy that he had found. The page waited quietly, breathing heavily as he struggled to control his emotions.
Finally, the page broke the silence. “Do you, perchance, have a fresh horse I could borrow? I’m off to Chalef next and mine is spent,” he said dully.
Sir Dorrian stirred. “I have the one out in the stable. You are welcome to borrow it.”
The two of them left the room. Walter’s heart was pounding, his head reeling with the stunning revelation of why they had been sent to Sir Dorrian’s – and the terrible truth of what had been going on the whole time on the other side of these walls of safety. The great shadow that loomed over them and threatened once more to strike their family with loss. But he forced down the anger and fear and concentrated on the one most important thing: the small chance of hope that this prophecy offered. He took hold of that thought and climbed through the window. He wanted a look at that prophecy for himself before he climbed back up and started packing.
––––––––
Some time passed before Airdella could move. When Sir Dorrian and the page had come back out of the room, she had slid behind a tapestry. But now that they were gone, she struggled against the storm of emotions whirling around inside her, fighting for control before one of them got loose and overwhelmed her. Underneath them all, resolution began to grow. A resolution that grew stronger, surfaced, and mastered the others. Before she slid from behind the tapestry, she did some quick calculating in her head. Then she silently headed for the kitchen.
After finishing up in the kitchen, Airdella headed back upstairs to her room. She had just reached the top of the stairs when Sir Dorrian came back into the house and shuffled off to his chambers, muttering something about an ancient scroll.
She would never make it out the front door now. The heavy oak door would definitely be heard by Sir Dorrian. She thought more about the problem as she dressed and laced up her boots. There was only one solution, really.
She opened the window and leaned out. Good thing she had stripped all the sheets from her bed. She was going to need all of them.
“Here, you’ll need these too,” Walter spoke up behind her. He dumped more sheets on the floor and walked past her to the window.
“What?” she gasped.
“Well, this is the highest window in the house after all.” He took over, tying the sheets together.
Airdella stared at him. It was the sword that convinced her he was not playing around. “Oh, no,” she said. “Ooooh no!”
“Shhh!” Walter warned her.
Airdella lowered her voice. “You can’t come with me. I don’t know where I’m going. I – I don’t even know if I’ll find what I’m looking for!”
“Precisely!” Walter grunted. “I suppose you didn’t think to get a map?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did!”
“Which one?”
“I grabbed one out of the study.”
“Ah, but did you grab this map?” Walter held up the folded piece of leather they had found earlier in the day.
Airdella paused. “And why would I need that map specifically?” she asked, though she already knew what he was going to say.
“Because it is the only map that labels the End Chasm as Gaya’s Fury. Which is specifically referenced by the prophecy. Not to mention, it handily labels a waterfall, which is supposedly where we are to find the cure.”
“And how do you know that it would be that waterfall? There are dozens of waterfalls in Arualia.”
“Let’s see your map. Well, I only see two waterfalls labeled here: Pearl’s Gates and Trinity Falls. I would rule out Trinity Falls. It’s not like it would be a sort of challenge to find its source. Same with Pearl’s Gates. Part of Glass River, which originates down here in the Southern March. Now, if you look at Sir Dorrian’s old map, one of the places it specifically labels on the other side of Gaya’s Fury is a waterfall. Thunder Falls.”
“The crazy thing is, you’re probably right. I hate it when you’re right,” she added with a rueful smile.
“Too bad.” Walter, after giving the sheets a tug to make sure the knot was secure, began to tie another one to the end. “Let’s just hope Sir Dorrian hasn’t heard us yet.”
As if he had spoken too soon, a hand pulling on his cloak startled him. They both whirled around to find Amy half asleep as she rubbed her eyes.
Her brother and sister both let out a sigh of relief. It was not Sir Dorrian. Except that now, Amy was looking at them, the sheets, and the packs with that quizzical expression she got when she would not leave without an answer.
“Oh, Amy, it’s just you,” Walter sighed.
He and Airdella looked at each other. Now what were they to do? Inviting Amy to come along hadn’t even crossed their minds, but now that they were faced with that decision, they were unsure of what to do.
“You need to go on back to bed, Amy,” Airdella said firmly.
Amy’s lip curled, and she crossed her arms over her chest, drumming her fingers against her arms. Obviously, she would not leave without an explanation. As Walter debated with himself what to do, he knew there was no way he could leave her behind.
“Come with us!”
Airdella stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“She’s the best archer among us. Could come in handy.”
“She’s only eleven!”
“And you’re only sixteen!”
“We need to be able to move quickly! She’s too little.”
“I’m right here,” Amy reminded them.
“The most important thing right now is having each other. And what about the Order of the Roses? We knights have got to stick together,” Walter insisted.
“But that was just a game!” Airdella protested.
“It was. But this is our chance to do something real. Besides,” he added, “this is no time to go on arguing. Sir Dorrian will hear us sooner or later. We already lost one member of this family, are you really ready to lose another? We are a family, and somewhere along the way, we lost track of what that means. If we do this, we’re going to do it as a family.”
Airdella’s face stared at him, the hurt clearly plain on her face. But not because of Walter himself, but because of the truth and the reminder of what he said. She blinked and took a few deep breaths to steady her emotions. Walter was right. She knew deep down that she would do anything to protect her family. And Amy had that right to do so as well. “Very well, you finish getting the sheets ready.” She led Amy back to her bedroom.
Walter continued to tie sheets together and finally had them long enough to reach the ground.
When his sisters returned, it was clear that Airdella had told Amy everything. Amy’s face was pale but resolute. Airdella went down first; then she caught and untied the packs as Walter lowered them. Then Amy climbed down. She slipped near the bottom and fell but landed on her feet and was unhurt. Walter came last.
They stopped at the shed by the stables and retrieved three sets of bows and arrows. Walter already wore his sword, and the girls picked out a couple of knives to carry. They all paused when they saw three packs lined up against the wall. Sir Dorrian was supposed to take them on a training hike tomorrow and had prepared all their packs. Quickly, they rifled through them. Anything that they thought might be of use that they could carry, they pirated and added to their own packs. They all felt a sort of chill, warm as the night was.
They carefully and quietly shut the gate behind them so that Sir Dorrian’s goats would not get out. Walter spread out the map on the ground and studied it by the moonlight. He let the starstone fall into position beside it.
Each of them struggled with their own mixed feelings while Walter determined what direction they would need to go. Airdella shifted from foot to foot impatiently, jaw set and a little gleam of excitement in her eyes. Amy swallowed hard as she looked around at the darkness around them. Looking back at Sir Dorrian’s gate, a part of her wanted to go back and hide behind the safety of that wall. But she knew she would never forgive herself if she did, so she turned around and gripped Airdella’s hand. Walter tried to concentrate on the map before him, pushing away the uncomfortable feeling pressing at his chest. The weight of the responsibility of what they were about to do echoed in the back of his mind. If their father did die, he was the one who would become king. And he was not ready to let that happen. Not here and now, and never in this way.
Walter finally stood after picking out a northerly direction. “Are we ready, then?” he asked.
The girls nodded.
“Right, then. Off we go.”
He led the way, and they trudged off into the darkness, leaving Sir Dorrian’s cottage, safety, security, and everything they had ever known behind them. All of them felt the urgency of the situation and the determination to save their father, no matter how far or how long the quest took them. They had no illusions about how hard and dangerous the task before them could end up becoming, but their resolution did not waver.
And so began the first true adventure of the Knights of the Order of the Roses.