Oberon’s Powers

"Lontel." The angelic voice seemed far away. A call from a beautiful dream. "Lontel, you must awaken," it said urgently. He cracked open his eyes and saw a pretty young woman looking down at him. He could feel her soft hands stroking his head cradled in her lap. His eyes started to close as he sank back to the dream.

"We are going around in circles, and I don’t know what to do about it." Slowly her words sank in. Lontel sat up and looked about, remembering he wasn’t with some whore and dreaming. Everywhere he looked, there was water. Choppy waves thumped the boat rhythmically. A cool breeze nipped at his bandaged chest. Bandaged?

"Where are we?" he asked working his way carefully to the stern of the boat.

"Somewhere in the middle of the lake," Davlena answered.

"And what time is it?"

"Midmorning." Lontel gazed at the cloud-covered sky. Luckily the sun peeked through now and again. He swung the boat so the sun was to his right. Now they should be heading north. He hoisted the sail that had been carelessly taken down. The southerly wind caught it and soon the dory was cutting through the choppy waters.

"Look in that forward most bundle and get us the coats," Lontel ordered as he shivered away the increasing chill brought by the strengthening wind. "There should also be some cakes and salted meat in the sack to your left," he added in response to his grumbling stomach. By the time Davlena had freed the coats and found the food, the wind was howling.

"Hold the rudder," Lontel shouted over the gale. He crawled to the mast and reefed the sail. Shaking badly, he wormed into the coat and took over steering their bobbing craft. The waves began cresting over the boat and slamming into its side.

Quickly Lontel changed course so the waves hit the stern. Now they were riding over them. As they rode with the storm, he devoured the food Davlena had brought for him. "You had best eat while you can," he shouted. "Things could get a lot worse." Just as he finished his sentence, the wind abruptly changed, as did the waves.

One smashed into the yawing dory and flung it nearly to its side. Soaked by the spray, Lontel fought the rudder to bring the boat around to ride with the waves again. Rain began pelting them as he worked. Lontel watched the water level in the boat slowly rise.

"Grab a pot and begin bailing," he shouted. To his amazement, Davlena did nothing. She seemed entranced as she stared into the wall of rain. "Begin bailing," Lontel roared. Nothing. Angrily he fought with numbed hands to tie the rudder in place with the tether used for just that purpose.

Suddenly Davlena rose and began to step out of the pitching craft. A large wave threw her onto the covered supplies. Lontel crawled to her and stared in awe at her blank, unblinking expression. All life seemed drained from her. Then like a zombie she rose and again tried to step out of the boat. This time Lontel pushed her onto the supplies.

"Have you gone mad," he said more than asked as he covered her with the coat she had never put on. Again she tried to rise. He knocked her over. Pinning her between his legs, he searched under and around his sacks until he found the anchor rope. He clumsily wrapped his ward until she looked like a cocoon then turned to the task of bailing the water out of the dory while the driving rain filled it.

Finding a cooking pot, he crawled to the rudder and began bailing. The hours dragged by. Lontel’s entire body ached with cold and exhaustion. His hands were numb from the uncommonly cold water. Water sloshed into the boat from the wildly churning lake. Again, again, and yet again Lontel bent, scooped, and threw out a pitifully small amount of water.

The rain stopped as abruptly as it started. Slowly the winds died and the lake settled to a glassy calm. Too tired to be astonished, Lontel slumped over the rudder and fell asleep. The sun rose to see a solitary boat sitting serenely in the midst of a mirrored lake.

The heat of the sun broiling him in his coat woke Lontel. He eased out of the coat despite the protests of his abused body. Floating in the three inches of water still in the boat was a piece of salted meat. He popped it into his mouth and went forward to check Davlena. Her eyes were closed, but she still had a blank, unearthly expression. Shrugging, he found more food then bent to the task of bailing out the boat, groaning as he began.

Two hours later he finished, sat back, and stared at the glassy water. Not a ripple stirred it. No bird soared overhead nor was there the hint of a breeze. Lontel shivered even in the heat. Something was not right. He ate again, relieved himself, and hoisted the sail. It sagged lifelessly. Sighing he unlashed the oars and secured them into the oarlocks. The first stroke would be the hardest.

Their creaking was the only noise to break the absolute quiet. Small ripples floated away from the boat and were swallowed by the eerie calm. Lontel tried to ignore all of it by keeping his back bent into the rowing. Sweat trickling down his body as the sun beat down on him was the only thing that reminded him this was no dream.

Suddenly a giant lake saurian shattered the lake’s calm as it burst to the surface. The waves of its arrival lapped against the boat as Lontel stared at it, scarcely breathing. His heart pounded furiously against his chest. The saurian looked around the lake slowly as though wondering where the life had gone. It then rested its brown, froglike eyes on the boat.

The shock of the monster’s sudden appearance gradually eased. Lontel smiled at the flattened oval head on its slim, long neck. "Welcome to death’s stillness," he said warmly. Slowly the saurian circled the boat. Lontel watched anxiously as the thirty-foot hulk outlined in the water cruised by. "Please, please don’t capsize us," Lontel pleaded under his breath.

"It’s a beautiful day if you don’t mind the absence of wind or sound," Lontel said as he cautiously dipped his oars and took a stroke. "You certainly surprised me," he added as he took another stroke. The saurian quit its circling and began swimming just ahead of the small craft. Lontel kept talking as he resumed his monotonous rowing. For nearly an hour the two journeyed north. The long, thin neck of the saurian cut through the water followed by the boat with it rower chattering constantly.

Lontel heard a slurp ahead and turned in time to see the water close around the space left by the diving lake creature. He smiled and called out, "Thank you for the visit." He studied the horizon and thought he could see the outline of land. "Ho ho! You won’t be my tomb this trip," he laughed to the lake as he resumed rowing with renewed vigor. As if on cue, a gentle breeze stirred the limp sail, caught it and began pushing the dory forward. At the same time, Davlena moaned and began struggling with her bonds.

Lontel secured the rudder and hurried forward. Life had definitely returned to Davlena’s eyes. Anger sparkled in them as they silently accused Lontel. He felt such anger that for a moment he hesitated releasing her.

"I am sorry," he said quickly as he untied her. "I had to bind you to keep you from jumping overboard. During the worst part of the storm you became like a zombie and would do nothing to help. You wanted to do nothing but walk into the lake." He saw his words were making an impact. Davlena’s eyes softened as did her features until she again looked to be the innocent young woman he had first seen.

"Do elves always feel the compulsion to commit suicide when a storm hits?" Lontel asked.

She laughed. "No, we rather enjoy watching nature work her wonders, even the violent ones." Her tone became ominous as she added, "That was no natural storm. Oberon caused it. He also had the time to create an incantation to steal my soul from me if what you tell me is true."

Lontel looked shocked. "Of course it is!" Hurt by Davlena’s innuendo, he returned to the helm. "We will have to begin looking for the North Enil when we get close to shore. It drains Lake Sepultha and will carry us north."

"I’m sorry," Davlena said. "There must be a reason Oberon’s magic didn’t affect you." Even as she finished her sentence, she remembered the words of Licius, the elder who taught the young about the different races of the world. "Of course," she laughed.

"Of course what?" Lontel asked sourly.

"The reason you weren’t affected by Oberon’s spell," Davlena answered. "One of the elders of Elysium told us that man is impervious to the spells of wizards and witches. Man lives on a different plane of consciousness; therefore, he cannot be directly affected by the strongest spells. Only indirectly can he be threatened."

"I don’t understand," Lontel said.

"Oberon can’t cast a spell to steal your mind as he can mine. He can cause a storm that has the power to kill you just as easily as it would kill me or any member of any other race."

"Oh," Lontel murmured. The idea of a wizard trying to thwart their efforts dampened his spirits considerably, especially since he thought only man and perhaps a few elves had survived the Great War. He began scanning the approaching shore for a break that would indicate the beginning of the North Enil.