Lucky the few who tread these ways / And dwell within these bounds; Where cool bough shades the sun’s bright rays / And rushing stream resounds. Thus with glad song to Harga’s lake / We take the forest’s course, On Harga’s isle new lives to make / For boy, and hawk, and horse! Gom’s song of the Dunderfosse. Bonus Item: Image of Gom and Wycan standing under the Prime Tamarith Thanks to all who gave time and effort throughout the series, especially to Anya, Michael, and Caidren for their input, to Briony for her staunch support, and to Josua who started me along this wonderful road. Monday sees the beginning of ‘On All Hallows’ Eve’: the adventure continues!
As the fire struck, The Spohr let fly a howl of rage. Then turning, it entered the gate. “No!” Gom sprang forward, seized the monster’s arm and pulled but it was too strong. He passed into the gate with it. There came a brilliant flash, then darkness, then a burst of blinding quiet. Keke’s voice by Anya Eleni Thursday marks end of the Gom series: 3 years, 9 books. And next? On All Hallows’ Eve, just in time for the season!
The monster vanished, the Harga form stayed fixed upon him. Locked into her gaze, Gom felt a brief stab of urgency. A thought sprang, clear, into his mind. The thought became three words, uttered aloud. The voice was his own. Up to me. Keke’s voice by Anya Eleni Bonus items: Image of the Kithyweird taken from the back cover of the Feral Press, Inc. edition. Note on the name Kithyweird
“I ask again,” Stormfleet said . . . “What is (Wycan) after? Apparitions are not much use, however attractive to the eye. He should be running after mortal maids, a lad like him. And I shall tell him so.” Keke’s voice by Anya Eleni
“The shadows have gone,” (Wycan) said flatly. “They went back behind the rocks.” “Yes,” said Gom grimly. “I know.” Wycan knelt up. “You heard them? You understood? What did they say?” Gom swallowed. Said one word. “Katak.”
“While that mess remains, I’ll not leave Ulm. I’ll stay here until I find a way to dismantle the deadlock, just as my grandfather did.” “Well,” Wycan said brightly. “That’s one good thing to come out of it—at least, for me.”
“Gom.” Wycan looked around. “Remember those boulders in the Wilds?” “Ye-es. Did you learn something about them from Vala?” “Nothing specific. I saw them in the bowl. . . . Will you help me find them?”
“And Wycan? Will he be staying on here with us, or traveling with you?” “Then,” Vala said briskly, getting to her feet, “we’ll ask him tomorrow. I plan to give him a reading before breakfast. Perhaps we’ll know then.”
“Wait,” he said…. “I would like for us to be together—” “Wycan!” “—in Aelyth-Kintalyn.” “It is not—” “You are lady of Aelyth-Kintalyn, not Vala—” “How can you—” “As I one day will be lord.”
The speeches ended finally. Leochtor stood up to leave. As they filed out, Wycan took Gom’s arm. “I am meeting my mother in the garden shortly. Will you come?”
“Once (Vedastra) found that there were people, why didn’t he just undo the deadlock spell?” “There’s no spell. . . . It’s a string of crystals, feyer,* whose power runs counter to regular ones. . . . They pop up in the Tamarith from time to time, singly, widely scattered, thus harmless. Only when they are conjoined in a certain sequence and that sequence is completed—set—do they form a deadly string of negative power. . . .” * pronounced fie-yuh as in the narration.
“When Wycan first saw the Tamarith, he saw a tree, as did I.” “But the Tamarith is nothing like a tree.” “Oh, it is, Carlyss. Root and stock and branch of living crystal. . . .”
“You mean you’re going to stay up here?”. . . “Yes.” “But what of Ulm? And your island? And the Dunderfosse?” Gom waited a moment, then, as there was no answer, he took up his staff and tiptoed from the room.
Anja knelt beside her, felt her head, listened to her chest, much as Gom had done. She looked up. “I’m so sorry.” “Oh. Why?” “For you. Gom—your mother’s dead.”
The woman said that contrary to common belief, Harga the Brown was no alien wizard helping out. . . . That even as Jastra continues to act as Lord Regent, Harga is the rightful ruler of the Realms, and you’re her heir.”
Kurnyn followed his glance. “Where is Wycan?” “Right here, brother,” a voice said. “With me.” As the two figures appeared it seemed out of nowhere, Kurnyn stood stunned. “Anja.”
“Anja thought Kurnyn dead, too.” “You mean—she didn’t know until you told her just now?” Wycan whistled. “Both here in Lantyn, both fighting, and never meeting? And you knowing of both and not saying? Oh, Gom—Master of Secrets!”
“Kurnyn? . . . My brother? . . . Alive, you say?” “And in urgent need. It’s life and death and you’re his only hope.” “What does he need?” “That you come to us within the hour . . . ” Anja shook her head. . . . “We are seven days from you . . .” Seven days! Gom looked at her, stricken. “Unless—” Anja’s eyes went to his chest. “Do you still have the starstone?”
Gom . . . leaned in close. “We have to warn Kurnyn that it’s trap,” he whispered. “Will Karlvod’s people raid the bunker?” “It’s possible.” “Can you reach him alamar?” “There’s no time. I must help Harga.” “Do you know how?” “Not yet. Wycan, go to Kurnyn—now!”
Raze the hall! . . . (Harga) had shielded herself from the gate’s destruction, was intact against the fierce heat coming off the crystals. But how could anyone survive its total demolition? Gom was on his feet.