The Blackest Heart

by Brian Lee Durfee

  Stefan’s nerves were perfectly flayed.

  “Your fight echoed through the canyon like an avalanche,” Culpa said, sheathing his sword. Nail sheathed his, too.

  Val-Draekin hurried to Seita’s side. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” she answered.

  Stefan suddenly felt a fool, realizing that the Vallè maiden was the most skilled fighter he had ever seen. Roguemoore, Godwyn, and Dokie entered the grove at the same time, all huffing from their journey down from the ruined fort above. Dokie, eyes fixed on the bloody heaps lying on the forest floor, did the three-fingered sign of the Laijon Cross over his heart. “Bless me,” he muttered.

  “I’ve bandages if anyone is hurt.” Godwyn began digging in the leather pouch at his belt.

  “I think we are all okay,” Seita said. Except Liz Hen was now gasping for breath, struggling, leaning on the bloody sword like it was a crutch.

  Val-Draekin went straight to her, placed a hand on her back. “Take three slow breaths like I taught you. Then hold it for a count of five. Then three more.”

  “I can’t . . . r-rightly breathe at all,” she stuttered.

  “Three deep breaths, then hold it,” the Vallè repeated.

  “The girl’s bound to be exhausted,” Seita said, dabbing at the blood on her own face. “Was Liz Hen with that longsword who helped kill the bulk of these oghuls here. She’s like an assassin.”

  Between breaths, Liz Hen glared unmercifully at the Vallè maiden.

  “It’s true,” Seita continued, her blood-smeared face set firm. “The shepherd dog chewed the throat out of one. I knocked another one down with my chain-mace, but my weapon got quickly lost in the trees. Liz Hen tore into the rest with that big bloody sword in her hands. Two were arrow shot by Stefan.”

  Culpa slapped Stefan on the back. “That’s some nice shooting, Stef.” But Stefan wondered why Seita was exaggerating how many oghuls he and Liz Hen had killed.

  “These oghuls were lying in wait for us,” Seita said. “Silent in the bushes, otherwise I imagine Beer Mug would have alerted us.”

  Culpa Barra cast his gaze up at the surrounding canyon. “I wager these oghuls watched us set up camp, then hid here, waiting to attack us after dark. You stumbled right into them. We must leave this place. Camp elsewhere. Who knows how many more have watched us? We must put at least five more hours between us and this place before we stop again for the night.”

  “Five more hours?” Dokie grumbled.

  “Yes, Dokie, we can no longer stay here,” Culpa said.

  “Let’s head back up and gather the mules.” Roguemoore clapped Dokie on the back.

  “I’ll stay here and help them clean up,” Val-Draekin said. “They are covered in blood. The creek is right there for washing.”

  The dwarf nodded. “Be quick. And be wary. I do not like the thought of us being separated for longer than need be.”

  Roguemoore and Culpa headed back up the hill, Nail and Godwyn following. Dokie cast a concerned glance at Liz Hen, then scurried after the bishop.

  Seita knelt at the creek’s edge near the first oghul she had killed. She twisted its face up, yanked her black dagger from its gray mug, and cleaned it off in the stream. After pocketing the blade, she dipped her own face into the waters, the blood sweeping away in the current. She wiped herself down with a kerchief she’d pulled from somewhere inside her doublet.

  Liz Hen plopped down at the edge of the stream just behind the Vallè maiden. She asked to borrow the cloth, and Seita handed it over. Liz Hen scrubbed her own face clean.

  Stefan went to the water’s edge and cupped his hands in the cold stream. Beer Mug was near him, lapping at the water.

  Val-Draekin found Seita’s chain-mace dangling in the nearby bushes, then began inspecting the dead oghuls, pulling Stefan’s two arrows free from the bodies, washing them in the stream.

  “You saved my life.” Liz Hen broke the silence, handing the kerchief back to Seita. “Why?”

  The Vallè maiden stood. “Aren’t you the reason we are here?”

  “No teasing.” Liz Hen stood too. “That’s why I don’t like you. Everything seems like a joke with you. Telling everyone I did the killing, when all I really did was stand like a petrified tree trunk. Always with the cruel teasing, you.”

  “Me? Teasing? What about you teasing?”

  “I’m sorry,” Liz Hen said, eyes downcast. “I know I’ve treated everyone poorly when I ought not have. You and Nail especially so.”

  Seita stepped up and grasped Liz Hen’s hand in her own. “You’re scared, Liz Hen. We all are.”

  “I’ve been scared every day of my life,” Liz Hen said. “Every single day.”

  †  †  †  †  †

  Five hours later the Company of Nine hiked up a grassy, snow-patched slope of yellow grass toward a cluster of weather-beaten boulders nestled comfortably among the dark pines. From atop the ridge, they had a good view on all sides. Black shadows quietly blanketed the ravines to the south, ravines they had just journeyed through. Below them to the north, a landscape of snow-streaked coves and vales glinted in the starlight. In Stefan’s estimation, they’d left a trail any oghul tracker worth his salt could have followed, but they’d had scant choice.

  Shrubs and fallen branches dotted their chosen campsite. Culpa Barra tethered the pack mules to a tree, whilst Roguemoore passed out a dinner of cold salmon and elk jerky. Godwyn spread the four tarps out over the cold ground. After eating, Nail and Dokie went straight to bed, both breathing heavily in deep sleep almost as soon as they’d crawled under their thick blankets. Beer Mug curled up next to Dokie.

  Culpa, Godwyn, Val-Draekin, and Roguemoore walked down the slope no more than twenty paces into the darkness, talking in whispers, deciding who would take fist watch, something the four had arranged between themselves every night since their journey from Lord’s Point had begun.

  Stefan found he was alone again with Liz Hen and Seita, the three of them sitting together on a tarp, each huddled under their own individual blankets.

  “I won’t be able to sleep tonight,” Liz Hen said.

  “Still anxious from the encounter with those oghuls?” Seita asked her.

  “Terribly so.” Liz Hen seemed to shudder under her blanket.

  “I used to braid my sister, Brieta’s, hair when she was upset,” Seita said. “It would relax us both. Have you ever had your hair braided?”

  “Not that I recall,” Liz Hen answered.

  “If I may”—Seita’s voice softened—“I could braid your hair, Liz Hen, like I used to braid my sister’s.”

  “Could you?” Liz Hen seemed eager. “You’d braid my hair?”

  “Of course.” Seita sat behind Liz Hen and began working on her hair. Liz Hen immediately seemed to relax. Watching the two girls, it did seem to Stefan that some of the stress of the day’s events was swept away. Stefan stroked his ash-wood bow and thought of Gisela.

  She would have been so mortified by those oghuls. What an absolute horror of a battle they had just survived! Stefan was confused by the entire battle. Seita had not been honest with him. The Vallè maiden clearly knew how to fight with cruel efficiency.

  Probably even knows how to use a bow better than me.

  If not for Seita, both he and Liz Hen would surely have been slain. And then Seita had given all credit to Liz Hen. No. None of it made any sense. Running his fingers over the name carved in the stock of his bow seemed to be the only thing that could relax him. What would Gisela think of all this? Could she have handled this journey?

  “She was Maiden Blue of the Mourning Moon Feast,” Liz Hen said, watching Stefan stroke the bow. “The most beautiful girl in all Gallows Haven.”

  Stefan’s ears perked up when he heard Liz Hen mention Gisela’s name.

  “I’m sorry I made fun of your noodle earlier today, Stef,” Liz Hen said. The left half of her head was now almost braided. “It wasn’t right. I’ve been acting horrid. Jealous. And t
here has been no excuse for my behavior. You touching Gisela’s name on that bow day after day almost breaks my heart, Stef.”

  Stefan said nothing. It seemed the oghul attack had brought on an absolute reversal of attitude in Liz Hen.

  “I’m only trying to apologize, Stef. To you and to Seita both.”

  The Vallè maiden ran her hands through the hair on the right side of Liz Hen’s scalp, speaking softly. “You suffered a huge trauma when the White Prince destroyed your town and killed your family, Liz Hen. You need not apologize to me. We all of us grieve in our own way. Your suffering turned to anger and you lashed out. It’s okay. And I should not have goaded you as I did. You have all suffered loss and handled it as best you could. Dokie often chokes back his tears, but I hear him cry at night under his blanket, and I see you hold him in comfort, Liz Hen. Nail scarcely talks to anyone. He suffers his pains in silence. As does Stefan.”

  Liz Hen’s eyes met his. “Yes, Stefan has lost love. I see his struggles too.”

  Both girls were now looking at him as if expecting him to say something. He couldn’t stop thinking of the greatest pain he still fought to endure—the death of Gisela Barnwell. They were right. He suffered in silence. And this mysterious Vallè woman somehow seemed to know his deepest thoughts. “Do you really want to know why I carve Gisela’s name in everything?”

  “I do,” Seita said.

  He could feel tears welling in his eyes. “I feel guilty for her death. And you were right, I do think she follows me. I think she watches me. I feel her with me always. I do not want to lose that. So I carve her name in things.” He ran his fingers reverently over the name carved on his bow. “I don’t know what else to do for her.”

  “See, you’re breaking my heart, Stef.” Liz Hen’s voice cracked with emotion. “Now I’m wishing it was me who ate all them poison mushrooms instead of her. Blame me if you wanna blame someone.”

  “Blame the White Prince and his religious crusade,” Seita said. “You’d all be safe and sound and tucked into your warm homes right this minute, if not for Aeros Raijael believing different about the history of Laijon, believing different than those worshippers like yourselves in Gul Kana. For thousands of years these battles and crusades have reaped naught but suffering.”

  “Laijon save us all.” Liz Hen did the three-fingered sign of the Laijon Cross over her heart. “But his armies were savage and mean and truly not of Laijon. That I believe.”

  “I’m not sure what I believe,” Stefan said softly, knowing Liz Hen could be quick to anger about matters religious. He looked off into the night. Culpa, Godwyn, Val-Draekin, and the dwarf were still out there, murmuring in quiet conversation.

  “I’m done with your braids,” Seita announced.

  Liz Hen ran her fingers over her hair, seemingly pleased with the results. She turned and gave the Vallè a quick hug before muttering her thanks. “I’m off of bed then.” Liz Hen stood, still wrapped in her blanket. She waddled over to where Nail and Dokie were sleeping and curled up on the tarp next to Dokie, leaving Stefan and Seita alone.

  The Vallè girl scooted next to him, her hand on his knee. Stefan was both confused and alarmed by her nearness. The warmth of her body nestled against his was comforting. “You cared for her so much, didn’t you?” she asked. “The girl named Gisela?”

  “I did love her,” he answered, almost wishing he didn’t have to speak of her.

  “And that is why I like you, Stefan. You are the most honest one in our company. Your abiding affection for your lost love tugs at my heart. And I desire to be near you all the more. ’Tis why I pretended to know nothing of archery when we first met. Because I wanted to be close to you.”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. It reminded him of how Gisela used to do. “Can you forgive me for my lies?” She pressed her cheek gently into his arm.

  “I . . . I feel stupid though,” he stuttered. “Watching you slay those oghuls. As violent and easy as you please.”

  “Truth is, all Vallè are trained to fight as violent and easy as you please, and with many different kinds of weapons. Even the females. It is just who we Vallè are.”

  The heat of her face against his shoulder was like a burning hearth flame, seemingly comforting and dangerous at once. He could feel the stiffness of her ear. And there was a scent to her, an earthy, fragrant, flowery scent that held a certain familiarity he couldn’t quite place.

  “I’ve a secret of my own,” she continued. “A secret I have told only my father and one other person. But may I burden you with it now, Stefan?”

  “I suppose,” he answered, basking in the warmth of her cheek against his shoulder, suddenly wishing he could sit like this with her forever.

  She pulled away just enough to look up at him with big round eyes, luminescent green in the starlight. “I can see into the future.” There was an anxious tremble in her voice. “I see visions of people, just bits and pieces, vague images really. Images of what some people will be doing later that day, or later that year. Or in ten years.” She glanced away from him. “Knowing the fate of some can weigh heavy on my mind.”

  His heart beat faster at her soft-spoken confession. It was the tone in which she was conversing with him that made him almost believe her. So honest and raw. And when she turned back to him again with her wide, vulnerable orbs, he could tell she desperately wanted to be believed, that somehow this was the most important thing she had ever told another living soul. “This clairvoyance within me is mostly a curse and a heavy burden,” she went on. “For in these visions, I saw all of you from Gallows Haven: Nail, Dokie, Liz Hen, even you. Many years ago I saw you in my dreams.”

  “You saw us before you met us?” Stefan asked. “Like our faces and things?”

  “I saw the very moment of our meeting at the Turn Key Saloon. I’ve seen visions of both Dokie and Liz Hen doing great and noble things.”

  “Noble things?” he questioned. “Liz Hen and Dokie?”

  “Yes. Noble things. That is why Val-Draekin was so eager to convince Liz Hen to join us on our quest. He is the one other besides my father with whom I ofttimes share my visions. He knows most of what I have dreamed. But not all . . .” She trailed off for what seemed the longest time.

  When she continued, her voice was filled with emotion. “Not only did I see our meeting, Stefan, but our parting, too. I foresaw the forming of our Company of Nine and this journey. I also know all of our fates. . . .”

  She took a deep breath. “The fates of three of the nine . . .”

  She trailed off again, almost as if she couldn’t breathe. Her delicate brows furrowed, as she contemplated whether to go on, as if fighting some great battle within herself. As if she is truly worried what I think of this craziness.

  Stefan wanted to find the right comforting words for her, words that did not betray his skepticism. But nothing came.

  “I am most troubled by my visions,” she started up again. “We will find Blackest Heart and Afflicted Fire. But not without suffering great loss. Three of the company of nine will not make it to the end.”

  “You know how we will die?” he found himself asking. “Three of us?”

  “I did not say any of us would die.”

  “But isn’t that what fate is, dying?”

  “There are worse fates than dying.” Seita’s face burned pale in the silken starlight. Stefan didn’t know quite what to make of the conversation. But he couldn’t break his eyes away from hers as he now found himself drowning in her gaze, spellbound by the tender, almost helpless look in her eyes. Such beautiful round orbs; even in the dark they were more brilliant than stained glass under the summer sun.

  She snuggled closer to him, one hand wrapped around his arm, pulling him into her slightly. “I knew we were destined to meet, me and you.” She leaned her face up under his ear, her dainty nose nuzzling his neck. He could feel her breath, spiced with a faint pine scent, quivering against his flesh. She whispered, “Just like Liz Hen and Dokie, we too are
destined to do great and noble things together, Stefan.” Then her lips were on his, lingering briefly before breaking away.

  She stood abruptly and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Without looking back, she walked toward Culpa, Godwyn, Roguemoore, and Val-Draekin.

  Stefan’s heart thundered as he watched her drift out into the darkness.

  * * *

  In those final moons before the return of Laijon, mankind shall seek death, but will not find it. They will yearn for Fiery Absolution, but it will elude them. For Laijon’s return will not come until after much slaughter and bloodshed.

  —THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  NAIL

  8TH DAY OF THE ANGEL MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON

  SKY LOCHS, GUL KANA

  Morning clouds clotted the sky whilst a shrieking gale swept over their path and lashed the trees. The gray gloominess above spat hail sideways at them, pelting every inch of Nail’s face and hands with an unnatural, venomous accuracy. All he could do was suffer the sting. All he could see through the hail were the formless shapes of the towering trees around the company, the trail Bishop Godwyn led them along nearly lost from sight. It was miserable. Liz Hen prayed aloud for Laijon’s mercy. Even Beer Mug looked disheartened.

  The group of nine eventually stopped near a half-frozen stream and huddled together around the pack mules. If the hail turned to snow, the bishop worried they might become hopelessly bogged down, a shame considering their destination was just over the next ridge—the far eastern loch and its massive glacier. But the hail eventually died to a cold drizzle of softly weeping rain, and the company picked themselves up and continued on.