Doran in Goldstone Wood
By: Caitie Marie
Doran did not have to dream to get there.
Or perhaps he was dreaming. It was hard to tell, the way the
woods shifted around him, closing in and then drawing back as if tentatively
sniffing. They knew he did not belong there.
He had barely felt the shift, barely noticed when he had
stepped from the woods near his house to these woods. One minute he was walking
through the woods he knew, woods with little undergrowth and trees small enough
that he could wrap his arms around them, and the next he was standing on the
middle of an ancient forest, thick with plants that clogged the area between
the trees. It made no sense. He was not asleep, or he would have been
semi-transparent as soon as he stepped into this world. He had not stepped
through an open passage, or he would have vomited. Making passage the
traditional way always made him sick.
A gorge lay off to his right, a deep scar in the earth that
ran as far as he could see either way. Spanning the gorge was a white bridge,
magnificent and beautiful, with an otherworldly look that made him nervous. He
stared at it a moment, then looked across the gorge.
He could see nothing.
A thrill of fear running through him, he stepped toward the
edge of the gorge and strained to see what was beyond it. He could see no
further than the other side. It was as if there was a veil between him and the
rest of the world.
"All right, Doran," he murmured. "You
shouldn't be here. Turn around and go home."
He did not move.
He was a fool. No idea where he was, no weapon, no time to
waste, and he wanted to go exploring? But he did. So he glanced once behind him
to memorize the place he had stepped through, and walked toward the bridge.
Standing at the foot of the bridge, he looked down into the gorge.
It would be easier to cross the bridge. Infinitely easier than climbing down
the side of the gorge, fighting through the underbrush, and then climbing up
the other side. Easier, but more difficult was usually safer.
Doran walked past the forbiddingly lovely bridge until he
sighted what looked like an ancient footpath down the wall of the gorge. If
there was a footpath, maybe there was something on the other side.
Climbing down was easier for him than it might have been for
most boys his age, though the closeness of the woods ensured he worked up a
sweat before he reached the bottom. Pulling his damp t-shirt away from his
back, he huffed. Definitely more difficult.
He gave himself five minutes to catch his breath before
beginning the ascent. Going up was both harder and easier than coming down; on
the one hand, he didn't have to worry about over-stepping and falling headfirst
to the bottom of the gorge. On the other hand, gravity was working against him
now.
He stopped one step short of the rim, half-kneeling. Even
here, one foot from the edge, he could see nothing past the curtain of white
mist. He could have reached out and touched it. He did, and felt nothing.
Something beyond the mist beckoned to him, calling him to
step beyond the veil. Was it his imagination, or could he hear the faint sound
of birdsong?
Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and plunged into
the mist.
The world constricted around Doran, spinning around him as
it got tighter and tighter, and then snapped wide. Doran emptied his stomach on
the ground.
Making passage always made him sick.
When his head cleared, he was kneeling on the rocky ground,
a ruined land stretched out before him in every direction. The sun was barely
up, and the chill of the morning froze Doran right through to his bones. He
breathed in cautiously, shallowly, testing the air of the place he had ended
up. An acrid smell tinged the air, like smoke that had refused to be cleared by
the wind, though the fire had been gone for years. Like poison. Doran hissed
through his teeth and stood unsteadily. This place was neither very welcoming
nor very safe. He turned to leave. The veil was gone and he could see clear
into the gorge and over to the other side.
Won't you follow me?
It was the bird's song, yet Doran heard the words in it
plainly. He knew that voice. Cocking his head toward the sound, he whispered,
"My Lord?"
Won't you follow me?
There was no explanation, but Doran needed none. He knew the
voice well enough to recognize it no matter the way it sounded, no matter the
world he heard it in. And he trusted it.
He turned back
away from the gorge, wrapped his arms around himself, and followed the bird's
song. Before long, he could see a city in the distance, and his stomach twisted
into a knot.
The city was ruined.
Oh, not totally. It was standing, and carried the memory of it's former glory.
But as far as he could see there was nothing green, and the city itself... What
kind of invasion could make it seem so dead, even while the faint sound of
celebration came from inside? The bird led him around to the back of the large
city, where, straining his eyes, he could see a small figure on a bridge over a
ditch. The bridge was aflame.
The person on
the bridge was covered in cloth from head to foot, pale rags that reminded
Doran of a Halloween costume. He or she struggled to raise something large and
dark from the bridge. As Doran drew closer, he realized it was a person.
Though the veiled
person could not have been more than a child, he or she lifted the man as if he
weighed nothing. Doran slowed. What was he supposed to do? His mentor had told
him to never interfere without permission, but surely helping a man back into
the city would not be counted as interfering. Or would it?
Doran was close
enough now that, had either person turned, they would have been able to see his
face clearly. The smoke from the flames swirled around him, thick with the
poison he had smelled upon first entering this world. His heart began to pound.
At last, he recognized the smell. He had smelled it before, in a dark fortress
at the far east of another world, in a world empty and dead, and in many other
places in many other worlds. He pulled the collar of his shirt up over his
mouth and nose, but still it seared his lungs and set his eyes on fire. It
brought back memories of shame and regret.
Do not be
afraid. Follow me. You are mine.
Focusing all of
his heart on the silver voice, he lurched forward. The poison still hovered
around him, burning his eyes and his lungs, but it was blocked from his heart.
He finally drew
near enough the bridge to hear their voices.
"Put your
arm round my neck," the veiled person was saying, a woman's voice.
"That's right. Now this way."
The woman led the
man off the bridge, supporting most of his weight for him. She was focusing all
her attention on him, on getting him away from the flames, away from the
poison. So Doran saw the crowd before she did.
There were
hundreds of them, clothed in celebratory clothes, their faces etched with
hatred and fear. Each person was armed with some sort of makeshift weapon—
rods, rakes, pans, seemingly anything they could get their hands on. Doran
dropped to his stomach to avoid being seen.
"Come on,
Leo," the woman said. "Let's get you back to—"
Then she noticed
the crowd. There was a second of shocked silence from both groups, and then
someone in the mob shouted.
"Demon!"
The cry was
immediately echoed by the rest of the mob. Louder and louder they grew, like
fans at a football game suddenly gone crazy, hatred clear in their voices and
their faces. Before Doran could react, they surged around the woman and Leo and
started to pull them apart. The woman shouted something as she tried
desperately to hold onto the Leo, but the mob's roar swallowed her voice before
it reached Doran. His heart urged him to stand up and help her, but he
hesitated. Every one of the people he could see had dark hair and dark skin.
While his hair was dark enough to pass, his skin was so pale he would be
noticed in an instant. What if that made things worse for them?
"Lord, what
am I supposed to do?" He whispered.
The mob surged
into the city, leaving behind a small group of men that supported the man from
the bridge. Doran inched forward on his belly.
"Are you
hurt, Your Highness?" Someone asked. "Did she harm you?"
The man shook his
head as if trying to clear it. "What are they doing?" He looked
dazed, the poor man.
"They'll
hang the little beast at last," came the answer. "She's bewitched our
land long enough."
Doran's heart
rose in his throat. What was going on here?
The man stood
there dumbly for a few seconds. Suddenly a wordless shout burst from him and he
broke from the other men, running toward the city. He ran faster than Doran
knew a human could, and Doran finally made up his mind. He shot to his feet and
ran after Leo. One of the men left behind shouted something he did not
understand, and he glanced over his shoulder to see them chasing him, hatred and
panic twisting their faces into hideous expressions.
Not very friendly
to outsiders, it seemed.
Doran yanked his
shirt off his face and looked around for a place to hide. Mingling with the mob
would never work; they would spot him in an instant, and he would be literally
torn apart.
One of the
benefits of being a sixteen year old boy who has traveled regularly to
different worlds was that he was faster than most grown men. One of the
disadvantages was that old wounds never really heal. Doran's leg started aching
fiercely before he developed a stitch in the side. He had to find a place to
hide. He could not run for much longer.
"Lord?"
He gasped out.
Follow me,
sang his Lord.
The bird's call
led him into an alleyway, where a heap of fabric lay on the ground. His
pursuers did not follow. Coughing and gasping, he pressed his hands against the
nearest wall and leaned over.
Come on,
Doran, he scolded himself again. You're not doing any good suffocating
here!
As soon as his coughs
subsided, he scooped up the pile of cloth, threw it around his shoulders and
head as a makeshift cloak, and started jogging toward the angry sounds of the
mob. He kept his head down, and focused on breathing.
They were at the
front gates of the city, clogging the steps up the wall and coating the top.
Daring to raise
his head enough to scan the wall, he finally found what he sought. The small
woman was at the very top, being held by the shoulders. Doran ducked his head
again and sprinted for the stairs.
The mass of
people pressed in on him, but he somehow managed to force his way through to
where "Your Highness," was flanked by a group of soldiers.
"She
does!" Leo roared for no obvious reason, brandishing a sword before him.
"Out of my way, you devils!"
The crowd moved
too slowly, until the bird sang again.
Make way.
The mob parted,
and Doran pressed as close to the man as he could so he could get through
before the way closed. He squirmed through the crowd so he could see what was
happening.
So he saw as they
yanked the veil from her face.
She was far from
beautiful, with wide silver eyes set in a pale, deformed face. It was her eyes
that struck Doran so hard, thrust him through the heart with the memory of another
goblin girl he knew. He took a step back in spite of himself, then stood still.
He had seen worse.
His Highness
apparently had not. Doran saw a shudder run through him, and the goblin girl
bowed her head.
But still, Leo
said, "Let her go."
No one moved.
"Your
Highness," the burly man holding her said. "The demon must die. She
let a dragon into the city. Everyone knows she's a dragon herself, or a witch.
We can't have her betraying our land no more!"
Someone stepped
forward and placed a noose over her head, and she screamed. Doran moved
forward, but Leo was faster. He swung the sword and the severed rope fell to
the stone walkway.
His Highness
moved forward, placing the tip of his sword against the burly man's neck.
"Let her
go." His voice was shaking in fury. "Am I prince or not?"
"Your
Highness!" The man said. "Your Highness, she's bewitched you!
Everyone knows it. Let us hang her and save you—"
"I'll kill
you."
Doran's gaze had
strayed back to the girl, but when the Prince spoke Doran looked at him
sharply.
"I'll kill
you, man."
That did it. The
man holding her backed away, and she fell on her face and crawled to the
Prince. Leo knelt and touched her back, but did not lower the sword for a second.
"The people
won't stand for it!" Another man shouted. "They won't stand for her
to live anymore! You're not thinking clearly for her spells, but it's the truth
we're telling you."
Doran looked at
the hideous creature huddled at the Prince's feet and wondered.
"There will
be no hanging," Doran heard the prince say. "Not by you."
By you?
Doran asked silently, without taking his eyes off the girl. She looked so
pitiful there, huddled in a ball at the prince's feet, so reliant on him for
her life. So trusting. So like...
"The people
won't stand for her to go on working her evil in the land," another
shouted. "We've seen one dragon already today. How many more will she
bring?"
"You escaped
those five years, prince! You don't know what it's like!"
As the crowd's
mutters increased to a low roar, soldiers moved to surround the prince and the
girl.
Doran stepped
back, pressing himself against the balustrade just to feel it hard in the
middle of his back. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out their anger long
enough for him to think. What was he supposed to do? He did not even know what
was going on here! "Lord, why did you lead me here?" He mouthed.
A voice rose
above the others and forced Doran to bring himself back to the present. The
Prince was balancing on top of the balustrade, shouting to the people below.
"There will
be no hanging!" he said. "We will bring the accused to the mayor's
hall for fair trial and there decide what is to be done with her. In accordance
with the law. Your prince has commanded!"
Doran's stomach
twisted. No ruler, no judge, no jury, would ever acquit someone this hated by
the masses.
The prince
climbed down and went back to the girl, whom he wordlessly lifted to her feet.
Unsure what to do, Doran followed them through the city until they stopped in a
courtyard before a wooden dais. Several important-looking people were there
before they arrived, but Doran skimmed over them and only focused on one, a
man, seated in a wooden chair aboard the dais. He looked ancient and weary, but
only a fool could not have known he was in charge.
The Prince
dragged the girl up onto the dais and said sharply, "Kneel."
She did, hiding
her face against the wooden slats. Doran's heart ached.
"What is
this, Lionheart?" The old man asked the prince.
"The people
of Southlands," Prince Lionheart said, breathing fully as hard as Doran
had when he was running, "bring accusations against this girl, my servant,
and wish to see her tried according to our law."
The old man
nodded wearily. "Have the people a spokesman?"
"Who among
you wishes to bring charges against this girl before your Eldest?"
Lionheart demanded of the crowd.
Doran watched as
the crowd chose a spokesman, one of the people who had been on the wall, and
the man gave his case. There was little besides what had been said on the wall,
but watching the face of the Eldest, Doran's stomach twisted tighter. His head
pounded from the poison on the air, and his heart pounded for the hideous girl
on the dais. Yet he stood motionless as the trial proceeded.
When Lionheart
asked the girl, Rosie as he called her, if there was anyone who could stand by
her, Doran almost stepped forward. Though he knew nothing about this girl,
though he knew they would never take the word of a foreigner, he had to do
something! He could not let an innocent person suffer. Not again.
Wait, sang
the voice of his Lord.
Doran's face
contorted. "Wait for what?"
Wait.
So he waited. He
waited, and no one spoke for Rosie, because Prince Lionheart's word did not
count. He waited, and the King told his son he had lost the people's trust. He
waited, and finally saw what he was waiting for when the Eldest said, "I
hereby give to my son, your prince, the duty of passing sentence upon the
accused."
Doran wrapped his
fingers tight around empty air. Say it, Prince Lionheart, he urged
silently. Live up to your name. Say she is innocent!
Doran barely
heard the crowd's furious mutters. His eyes were fastened on the prince's back
and his heart was pounding like a million feet.
"What is
your decision, Lionheart?" The king asked.
Lionheart pivoted
to face the crowd. "I sentence the accused to banishment," he said,
loud enough for all to hear.
He continued
speaking, but to Doran, his words were far away and indecipherable. He had
condemned her. Every sound faded away as Doran looked at the girl on the dais,
watching as she was dragged to her feet and pulled into a cart after Lionheart.
He had condemned
her, condemned this girl he thought was innocent! Yet, looking around at the
angry faces around him, Doran did not know what else he could have done. How
could he have set her free? The mob would have torn him apart, and if they did
not, he certainly would have lost whatever trust they had left.
Instead, he
gained their approval and lost his innocence.
Doran followed
them out of the city, his mind reeling. What should he do? What should the
prince have done? True, he had just banished a girl he knew to be innocent, but
what else could he have done? Heart and soul screamed that what the prince did
was wrong. His mind calmly said it was the only thing left.
He was surprised
when he realized they had come to the same gorge he had climbed through this
morning. Lionheart led Rosie to the edge of the gorge, and for a moment they
just stood there. Rosie was trembling. She grasped at Leo's arm, and said
something Doran did not hear. If the prince replied, Doran did not hear that
either. His heart convulsed as Leo shoved the girl to her knees.
"Go!"
The Prince shouted. "Never return to Southlands."
The pale eyes
stared up at him, and Doran saw them die. Then the girl stood, trembling, and
started quickly down the same path Doran had come up.
Doran shifted his
gaze from the girl to the forest she was heading toward. Was it his
imagination, or was it moving, reaching, coming up to meet Rosie? Forgetting
for a moment that he was not supposed to, he let down the barriers between
himself and the unseen.
Doran's heart
stopped. The Cowardly Lion had condemned Rosie to something worse than
banishment. The forest, every tree, reeked of otherworldliness. Somewhere out
there, something powerful was searching.
"NO!"
The voice, so
loud and desperate it nearly knocked Doran to his knees, came from somewhere
behind the crowd. Everyone looked. And Doran saw his chance.
He was not bound
by the people's expectations. He had no excuses this time.
Doran took a
breath and plunged in after Rosie.
Immediately he
felt the world contort around him.
No! Not now!
His protests did
no good. He managed to catch one last glimpse of Lionheart's face, and for the
briefest moment he saw himself.
Excuses and all.
Then he was on
his knees in his own woods.
5 comments:
I like it. It would be interesting to learn more about this character
I'm dying to find out more about this Doran! Let's see, he's a teenager, a world-traveler, and... he's wearing a t-shirt.
Wait -- a t-shirt?!
And he knows about Halloween, yet he's known a goblin-girl before... So, he's from our world?
You can't leave us here!!
This...this was wonderful. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed it!
So intriguing! Love the addition of a "worlds-traveler" in this piece. :) And I love these lines:
"He knew the voice well enough to recognize it no matter the way it sounded, no matter the world he heard it in. And he trusted it."
Very nice!
~Amber
What a great idea, Caitie! I have to ask: Is Doren from your stories? I wanted to learn more about him.
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