The Chronicles of Quat Short Story: The Courage of a Chandar

The Chronicles of Quat Short Story:  

The Courage of a Chandar 

by Bryen O'Riley

Chandoon watched the Faellyn Isles grow smaller and smaller. His boat was pointed south at a fast clip. Speed was perhaps the most important aspect of a successful mission for him. In fact, it was always a large part of any activity that must be completed when one's life was ending before the mission had even begun.

He and the four other remaining Chandar had left a note, a fabrication, for the Fae and the Blanæuthra. It claimed that the Stone had warned them of the necessity of this suicide mission. It said that the Stone told of certain disaster if anyone else attempted to join them in the rescue of the Stone. It was all lies but the Chandar couldn't allow more people to die defending their homeland.

When the powerful men in blue robes came to their island to inhabit it, the Chandar hadn't dreamed they would be forced to master the skill of fighting and killing. The Chandar remembered when the Fae had first come to their island many, many years before. They thought the men in blue would be the same, a peaceful neighbor, but the Chandar couldn't have been more wrong. The Fae had been happy to train them, they needed an ally in their fight against the blue men, and the Chandar had learned. They had become fearsome warriors. They had given everything, their very existence, to their revenge.

Chandoon looked down at the last female Chandar, Nandeeroon, who sat slumped in the bow of the boat. She had agreed to their mission but was the most reluctant. Before leaving the island she had demanded that each of the males attempt to sire a child with her. Why, was a mystery to Chandoon. Not a single Chandar woman had become with child since leaving their island two years previously. The Fae Meddyg had studied the problem and found nothing wrong with the health of any Chandar, female or male. Even if she had become with child, what good would that do? If it were a boy, he would be without a wife and if it were a girl, there would be four men, each a possible father, to choose for a husband when she was of age in nearly two decades.

And then all the children had died. One by one, without getting sick or any other explanation. The entire nation of Chandar had mourned, and then they went to their island and slaughtered any man in blue that they saw.

But the blue men kept coming. There were more and more of them, a seemingly unceasing tide, moving onto their old island home. And they were powerful. For each single man killed, more than a dozen Chandar had to die. The toll was heavy and quickly felt. Two years and only five remained.

Chandoon thought Nandeeroon just wanted some hope, something to show that they could win; that they could continue. But they couldn't win. They had already lost. But they could help the Fae, and someday, he knew, the Fae would win. He had hope— it just wasn't hope for the Chandar.

There were several theories. The first was that being away from their island was killing them. They knew that they had a special connection to it and well-traveled Chandar had previously experienced sickness if they were away from the island for too long. That was probably true in the beginning and is probably what killed the children. But after a year or so on the Faellyn Islands the remaining Chandar did begin to develop an affinity toward the new island that was so very similar to theirs. But the women still couldn't conceive and some of the best warriors began to die like the children. Another theory developed, and as their boat approached their island Chandoon could feel its truth, that the blue men were corrupting their island and any Chandar who spent very much time there came to the same end as those who had died from being away from it.

But the change was much worse now. Chandoon hadn't been to the island in almost a year and he could feel the difference plainly. The natural order had been shifted, skewed. The blue men were rearranging the make-up of the island itself to suit their purposes and the nature that the Chandar had lovingly attended was off-kilter now. It was jarring to his very essence and from the sharp tensions in the boat he knew the others felt it too. They had known this was a suicide mission but now there could be no doubt. This return to their homeland would kill them. He just hoped it wouldn't kill them too quickly, there was work to be done.

Once they landed they had to traverse their former home into the middle of the island. It was easy for them, even in the dark, they knew their island so well. Finally, they came upon the city the blue men were beginning to build in the very center of the island.

The Chandar stole through the streets unnoticed in the dark.

The Fae had been happy to receive their help but reluctant to let the Chandar do very much. The Chandar didn't have special powers as the Fae and blue men did. They bled and died like anyone on the Continent would but they were fearless. That is what the Fae leader had said about them. Chandoon could feel his chest swell with pride remembering that moment.

But they were in the city now and he couldn't afford to be distracted. This final act was their only chance to thwart the blue men's plans and to thank the Fae for equipping and allowing them to seek their revenge on the parasites in blue.

The arrogant men in blue didn't even have a guard on their only finished structure of governance. The Fae's Stone had been located within this building by one of the Fae priests. They merely had to retrieve it and return it to the Fae before they all died.

The plan was simple and made simpler by the apparent lack of guards. Get into the building by any means possible. Get the Stone. Get out of the building by any means possible. Get the Stone to the Fae. Then, die.

They entered the building through the front door. The blue men believed they had won the war against the Fae and the Chandar and now were wholeheartedly focused on building their city and solidifying their rule.

The five Chandar slipped through the building. The hallways were empty, the blue men were all sleeping in their beds at home. At the top level, the Chandar stopped. There, in the middle of the hallway, was a guard. He stood outside the most central door on that floor. Chandoon couldn't tell if he was a blue man or just a regular man from this far away.

Chandoon signaled to one of the other males and they stalked forward, keeping to the shadows of the hallway which was only dimly lit by scant lanterns.

The man noticed them a few paces away. Chandoon immediately lunged for him and the other Chandar hung back for a moment to keep their target from finding a rhythm in their attacks. They needed to keep the confrontation as silent as possible, to keep from warning anyone in the room. After they both landed a couple of blows they were able to silence the guard forever with a quick twist of his head.

The other three Chandar joined them at the door. Chandoon listened for any sound within the room. They knew someone must be inside and, surely, he had heard the guard's grunts and groans.

They stood there for a moment, unsure. They were only five. If there was one blue man in that room, and surely there was, would they be able to overwhelm him?

It was Nandeeroon who shrugged and opened the door. Chandoon was impressed. She was fearless, it seemed.

Another Chandar followed. He slipped through the door behind her and Chandoon and the remaining two Chandar let the door close. A moment later the next two Chandar slipped into the room and Chandoon counted slowly to fifteen before he, too, entered. The hope in spacing out their arrival was that at least one or two would enter undetected, giving that person more time to locate and exit with the Stone.

They knew that five were not enough to overwhelm a blue man but hopefully the first two to enter the room were able to get him to put his back to the door, allowing the second group to attack him from behind, which might allow the last, Chandoon, to enter unnoticed.

Somehow the four managed to keep the blue man from seeing Chandoon. They danced around lightning strikes that shot in from the room's solitary window. The Chandar leapt through flying rings of fire and dodged various items thrown at them by invisible hands, all while bludgeoning their enemy with their weapons and anything they could put their hands on. Their small battle inside a room must have rivaled the greatest battle the world had ever known for bravery and courage. They fought as no warrior had ever fought before against a much stronger foe. They were Chandar.

They kept the man distracted with their attacks and, still fighting, their deaths. As Chandoon slipped out the door with the Stone, he saw the final standing Chandar, Nandeeroon, near to death herself, strike a fatal blow to the man in blue.

Chandoon had the assurance that he might have several hours before anyone even missed the Stone. Even better, he knew that his kinsmen had fought an enemy more powerful than they could understand with more valor than he ever dreamed they had. The Chandar would not be remembered as people of peace.

They had accomplished so much of their plan, now it was up to him to finish this part alone. They had left a second note with a trusted Blanæuthra. He was not to deliver it until the Fae had decided not to follow them in retrieving the Stone. Once that decision was made the Fae would not alter it. That second note told the Fae where they would hide their Stone. Chandoon just had to get it there.

During the fighting and retrieving of the Stone he had felt fine, wonderful even, but it seemed that that reprieve had a high cost. For now his whole body was aching and truly beginning to lose energy at a rapid pace. He would never be able to make it back to the ocean while carrying the Stone if he stayed on foot. Chandoon swerve toward his right; he had to find a horse.

“Chandoon!” a voice whispered urgently from the shadow of the nearest building.

Chandoon nearly collapsed in shock. Who could be calling his name in the middle of the blue men's city? It could only be a friend. He trotted over.

There, grinning from ear to ear, as he casually leaned against a stone wall, was the very Blanæuthra Chandoon had trusted with his second note. He wanted to throttle the little man! Had he even bothered to give the note to the Fae? But instead Chandoon stumbled and the Blanæuthra was there in an instant catching him and leading him to the shadows.

Chandoon couldn't believe his eyes. Hidden in the shadows was Defand, the most powerful of all the Ne'phuleem.

“I can take you anywhere you wish to go.” He bowed low, honoring Chandoon's sacrifice.

Chandoon handed the Stone to the Ne'phuleem. “I would like to die where I was born.”

Defand nodded sagely. He grasped hands with Chandoon and the Blanæuthra and a few searing moments later, Chandoon found himself on the great rocks overlooking the eastern sea. This had been the spot of all the important moments in his life. His birth; his dedication. The day he had been named a man before his tribe; the day he had been made a man in his first coupling with a woman. The announcement of the arrival of the men in blue; the announcement of the Chandar's departure from the island. It was fitting that the last Chandar would die on these rocks, that he would die as the first rays of sunlight lit the Stone, the remaining hope for his people.

Defand propped him up, his back against the large rock to the north so he could watch the sunrise with ease. Then the Ne'phuleem settled down beside him and the Blanæuthra sat on the other side.

“You are a great man, of a great people,” Defand spoke quietly, almost reverently. “The Fae will never forget your sacrifice or your friendship.”

“May you use the Stone to put an end to these men who have ruined our land and decimated our people. May you avenge what I could not revenge.” Chandoon's eyes began to slide closed. His strength was nearly spent.

“We will do that, I promise you.” Defand clasped Chandoon's hand.

“Always remember the Chandar as fearless.” The murmur was barely from his lips before Chandoon slipped away.

“Chandoon, the prince of Chandar. The fearless prince of a fearless people. You will never be forgotten.”

The sun shone radiantly, its golden rays warming the cooling body of the last Chandar.

The End