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.
