Mary Herbert - Valorian

Swiftly the plant grew taller, without water, earth, or real sunlight. It stretched its stems and leaves up toward the sky in joyous, quivering life and suddenly burst into brilliant bloom. The flowers were of every hue imaginable, glistening bright with morning dew and filled with a delicate unearthly fragrance that was sweet and alluring.

Valorian’s mouth dropped open and he fell to his knees. “The flower that shatters the stone,” he breathed. The power of life. The power of the goddess Amara.

As the truth clarified in his mind, the plant began to shimmer with a pearlescent glow. Its stem, leaves, and flowers wavered and shifted before the man’s eyes into the shape of a woman.

She was a glorious woman to Valorian’s mind: tall and fair, with strong limbs, wide hips, and a noble figure. Her long, heavy mane of hair hung to her waist like a swirling cloak of pale spring green. Her eyes were as brown and deep as the earth. She wore a gown that belied description of its color, for it shifted in rainbow hues with every move of its wearer and clung to her body from her neck to her feet like gossamer webs of silk.

Valorian bowed low before her.

Amara, the goddess of life and birth, of the rejuvenation of spring and the grace of fertility, the beloved mother of all to the clanspeople, stepped forward and raised the hunter to his feet.

He looked into her face with awe and felt her love for him surround him with comfort and warmth. His anger and fear fell away in the joy of her presence.

“Amara,” he whispered.

A smile lit her face, and Valorian wondered at how ageless she was. Her eyes were as ancient as the bones of the mountains, but her cheeks and her smile glowed with the youth of dawn.

“Please, my son, walk with me awhile,” the goddess said to Valorian. Then she turned to the horse. “Hunnul, you must come, too, for this concerns both of you.” With one hand on Valorian’s arm and the other on the stallion’s shoulder, the goddess walked slowly across the empty plain of stone.

She said nothing at first to her two companions, only strode majestically by their sides. Valorian respected her silence, even though a thousand questions burned in his mind.

They walked a little farther, to nowhere in particular, before Amara turned to face the man and horse. She seemed to study them both from head to foot and from the inside out before she nodded in satisfaction.

“Valorian,” the goddess spoke sincerely, “a great misfortune has befallen me. To my distress, I have lost a possession that is very dear to me and very important to your world. ”

Valorian said nothing, only lifted an eyebrow to punctuate his interest. It was obvious to him that Amara had snatched him away from the Harbingers for her own purpose, but he couldn’t imagine why. What would a goddess as powerful as Amara need with a simple mortal clansman? He tilted his head slightly to watch her face and listened as she continued.

“By the reckoning of your world, it happened fourteen days ago. My brother, Sorh, opened the mountain fastness of Ealgoden to imprison the soul of a particularly loathsome slave collector, when he made the mistake of allowing several gorthlings to escape.”

Valorian drew a sharp breath.

“Exactly,” the goddess said flatly. A grimace of disgust marred her exquisite face. “The little brutes were quickly retrieved, but not before they wreaked havoc on the mountaintop where we reside. One of the gorthlings stole my crown and took it back with him into the mountain.”

The clansman’s hand tightened around his sword hilt. He wasn’t certain whether to be furious with indignation at the crime perpetrated on the Mother of All or horrified by the thought that was beginning to form in his mind. “Have you asked Lord Sorh to return your crown?” he asked quietly.

“Naturally. However, my brother is in perpetual competition with me. What I bring to life, he brings to death. We battle constantly. He feels this is just another game and that I must fetch the crown myself.”

“Which you cannot do,” Valorian stated. He thought he knew now what she wanted . . . and it terrified him.

The goddess turned her ancient eyes on the man. “As you have wisely deduced, Valorian, I cannot. I have very little influence over Sorh’s minions, so I dare not go myself.” She gestured angrily at the sky, setting her dress shimmering with her agitation. “The crown stolen by the gorthlings is one of three divine emblems that I bear. My scepter controls the wind and my orb governs the clouds, but it is my crown that carries the power to rule your sun. Without my three regalia working in harmony together, I cannot properly control the natural forces of the weather.”

“ That is why there has been so much rain?”

Amara swept her arm down. “Yes! Without the power of the sun to balance the wind and clouds, your world will eventually drown in rain.”

Valorian made no reply, but a host of unpleasant thoughts trooped through his mind. He was horrified by the idea of entering the sacred mountain of Ealgoden. The mountain in the realm of the dead was both the home of the gods on its peak and the prison of the souls of the damned. Within its dark heart, named Gormoth, the fearsome gorthlings of Sorh kept the souls of those unworthy for peace trapped in eternal torment. No one went willingly to seek the gorthlings inside Ealgoden. Valorian knew if he failed to escape, he would be trapped inside forever.

Still, he believed he had to try, not only for the sake of his Clan’s beloved goddess, but for his people as well. If he had to be dead, he could never be at peace knowing he had failed to try to save them from a world doomed to die.

A sudden glint lit his blue eyes at another thought. If he were successful, the goddess might want to reward him, and he could think of several things the goddess of life could do for his Clan.

But the gorthlings of Sorh! By Surgart’s sword! He just hoped the goddess’s trust in him was not misplaced. He took a deep breath to steady his voice.

“I will find your crown,” he told her.

Amara smiled a long, knowing smile. “Thank you, clansman.” She turned to Hunnul and laid her fingertips on his soft muzzle. The stallion didn’t budge. “What of you, my worthy child of the wind? Will you go also?”

Valorian wouldn’t have thought his horse had understood what was being said, but Hunnul bobbed his head and neighed in reply.

The goddess stepped back, satisfied. “He is a good horse. He will follow you where you need to go.” Her soft tone hardened to a command. “Now, mount, my son. I have something to give you before you go.”

Valorian quickly obeyed. Now that his decision was made, he didn’t want to risk having any second thoughts. He sprang into the saddle and faced the goddess, his expression set.

“Lord Sorh will give you no trouble. I will see to that,” Amara said. “However, the gorthlings will be more than trouble. Your sword will not avail you in the tunnels of Gormoth. Therefore I give you a greater weapon.” Raising her arms high, the goddess cried, “By the power of the lightning that brought you here, I name you magic-wielder.” She abruptly flung her hands out toward the man, and Valorian gasped as another bolt of lightning hurled toward him. He had no chance to flinch before it struck him full on the chest.

Yet this strike did not hurt. It pierced through his chest and sizzled to the ends of his soul, warming him to the core of his existence, strengthening him, empowering him with a strange new energy.

Surprised, he stretched out his hands and saw a pale blue aura covering his body like a second skin. “What—what is it?” he managed to ask.

“You now have the power to wield magic, clansman.”