Severed Empire: Wizard's War

by Phillip Tomasso

  Mykal knew his eyelids grew heavier each mile they traveled. The simple joy of riding faded. The steady fall of horse hoofs on dry ground became rhythmic and almost hypnotic. The scenery didn’t change. White moonlight cast a glow across the open land, tall grass, and weeds. There was no stopping. Mykal had no idea how much time remained. King Hermon Cordillera had Galatia, and the talismans. With her powers stifled, how long before he forced her to obey his will and summon the other wizards? If they came to her call, they would be walking into the Mountain King’s trap.

  These were the things he’d put away in the back of his mind. Tired, everything slipped out from under lock and key and saturated his thoughts. He closed his eyes against images flashing behind his eyes. He saw Galatia beaten and bruised, bloody and broken. He could hear her screams. They filled his ears as if she were being tortured right beside him.

  He opened his eyes, and yelled, “We must reach the forest tonight!”

  He urged Babe faster, riding her hard. His heels kicked her side. She responded. The mare must have been tired, too. She had been kept at a gallop for a long time. He didn’t want to slow down though. He wouldn’t suggest taking a rest, even if they could all benefit from a break. There was no time for sleep. He could not imagine sleeping soundly until Galatia was freed.

  The responsibility was his. He wasn’t sure if the others expected his leadership for guidance, or not. He knew he looked to them for support, and strength. Regardless, he was not going to let them down, or let the Mountain King win a war.

  He would rescue Galatia, and with any luck at all life might finally go back to normal.

  Chapter 3

  The Cicade Forest loomed just ahead. Under the moon’s light the trees were undefined, other than a large mass; it was as if they approached a giant black wall. Mykal and the others did not slow the horses with the destination within reach. They had covered a lot of ground in a short period of time, and the sun wouldn’t be up for a few hours.

  Once inside the forest, between the trees, they stopped when they reached the Eridanus River. Parts of the river the horses could walk across. In other areas the current was too strong, and the only way across would be with the use of a bridge.

  They let the horses drink. Mykal knelt on the bank, cupped his hands and poured cool water over the top of his head. He pressed wet hands onto the back of his neck, and then used the river water to wash his face, and then to quench his own thirst. It refreshed him.

  As he stood up he took in the sheer size of the cypress, white oak, and hickories. There were also several unfamiliar types of trees in the mix. These were different though, taller and with thicker trunks, and rougher bark than any trees he’d ever seen before—except here in this forest.

  “And not one of you is worried about ghosts?” Coil stayed on the saddle while his horse drank from the river. Mykal almost laughed. Coil resembled a frightened child at bedtime instead of the fearless man of muscle Mykal was accustomed to seeing. The miner’s wide eyes scanned the treetops. Although up until recently he too believed the haunting tales about the forest, Coil looked like he might yank on the reins and race out of the woods at the first sign of a falling leaf, or anything unfamiliar.

  “The forest is an amazing and somewhat scary place, Coil, but I assure you, there are no ghosts.” Mykal thought back to when he first entered the world of trees, but from the southern end, at the beginning of the quest. He felt similarly chilled at the idea of entering the legendary forest. Every kid knew the tales of the haunted woods. Only, Mykal’s grandfather never told him any tales. At least now he understood why his childhood was absent bedtime stories of the Cicade: his uncle, and his father. “Climb down. Have some water. It’s quite refreshing.”

  Coil attempted a smile, but thin lips stretched over a large mouth made the smile look quite awkward. Each of his sledge hammer-sized hands was wrapped in a rein so tight his knuckles had gone white. “I think I’ll stay up here for now. The horse is drinking. That’s good enough.”

  They then silently rode the horses across the river and deeper into the forest. Quill led the way. They stayed in single file with Blodwyn next, Coil, and Mykal last. Mykal knew sentries watched them, had been watching since their approach. He felt like a target, as if a bullseye was painted on the top of his skull.

  He was surprised no one confronted them. He wondered if Uncle Quill had sent some sort of a signal. Could the guards see that Quill was one of the riders? It was far too dark to see signals flashed, or who rode a horse, Mykal thought. And yet, no one stopped them. The Archers did not attack.

  As soon as Mykal’s thought finished, Quill stopped. Archers repelled down from the treetops; secured with ropes under thighs and over shoulders for friction, they bounced out, kicking off tree trunks as they quickly descended. There were countless men dressed in leaf greens and dirt browns. The men reminded Mykal of giant spiders dropping from the ceiling on threads of spun silk.

  Coil sprang up and off the saddle. He landed on the ground with a hollow thud. He yanked a sword from his belt. Holding the hilt with both hands, knees bent, he looked ready for battle.

  Quill spun around. “Coil, this is my family. Lower that sword.”

  The Archers hit the ground and dropped low, bows raised, arrows nocked, string pulled taut with their thumbs against their cheeks. If Coil didn’t react accordingly, he’d become a cushion to a quiver worth of arrows.

  “Coil!” Mykal jumped down from Babe’s saddle. He set his reins around the saddle’s horn, and then held his hands up in the air as he walked slowly toward Coil. He whispered, “Lower the sword, my friend. These are not the ghosts to fear.”

  Coil’s eyes fanned left and right. He breathed heavily, but lowered his steel. “I swear it looked like they floated down from the trees. I’ve never seen the likes of this before. Never.”

  “You think that was impressive, wait until we get up top.”

  “Up top? Where?” Coil said, looking about.

  Mykal pointed up. “There.”

  ***

  Rungs fastened to the tree bark like ladders made for easy climbing. Sprawled out above the canopy of the Cicade Forest was an entire village. Wood planks with rope railings created walkways leading from home to home. The huts were not large, but housed Archers comfortably. Some trees rose above, their large leaves providing additional shelter from the sun, and elements.

  “If you’re uncomfortable with heights,” Mykal said, swallowing hard. He hated heights. The trek had forced him to overcome the fear. He’d climbed trees, and mountains. He wasn’t over the phobia, but pushed on because he had to. “I don’t recommend looking down.”

  Coil held onto a rope and peered over the side. “This is amazing.”

  “Glad you think so,” Mykal said. If he wasn’t terrified of falling, he’d shut his eyes. Tight.

  “Follow me.” Quill gestured with a wave. “I am having a small meal prepared. The three of you can dine. I need to talk with my family, explain to them what happened to Anthony.”

  Blodwyn pursed his lips, and nodded. He gently tapped the end of his staff on the plank. “You take as long as you need. We’ll be fine.”

  They called it the mess hall. There was nothing messy about it. Inside the wood structure were several tables and benches. They sat together in the center of the room. It was set for three, with a bowls of nuts, fruits, and slabs of meat.

  “If you need anything, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Quill said, turned and walked out of the hall.

  Coil filled his plate. “They said we could eat, right?”

  Mykal thought about Anthony’s sacrifice. Although Blodwyn stressed the importance of eating to keep up strength, he was anxious. Galatia was on his mind. He hoped for the best, but felt certain she wasn’t treated to sit down meals. He wasn’t sure if he had much of an appetite.

  “Eat,” Blodwyn said. “Times like this may not come often enough. When there is food in front of us, we need to take advantage of it, whether we a
re hungry or not. I’ve been involved in plenty of situations where I worried starvation would cause my death. We need to sleep when we can, and eat when there is food.”

  Blodwyn placed nuts, fruit, and meat onto his wood plate. “Also, we do not want to offend our hosts. They’ve gone to the trouble to prepare food for us, even in their time of mourning.”

  Steam rose up from the thin cuts of meat; he knew venison when he smelled it. He chose a few pieces, picking them off the platter with his fingers. Biting in, he expected tough meat. His teeth cut through easily. His mouth watered. Seasoned flavor attacked his tongue. “This is good,” he said, while chewing.

  A silence fell over them while they ate.

  Mykal cleared his throat as he cracked shells and popped nuts into his mouth. “Wyn?”

  Blodwyn grunted.

  “Did you know my father was here, that he was living with the Archers?” Mykal kept his eyes lowered. He didn’t want to see Blodwyn’s expression. He was afraid he’d let a feeling of betrayal overcome him.

  “I’d heard rumor.” Blodwyn peeled skin off a piece of bright blue fruit. He raised the fleshy pulp to his lips and sucked up the citrusy juice before taking a bite.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t he come back home? If he couldn’t find my mother…”

  Blodwyn set the fruit down, and rubbed his fingertips together before sliding his palms down his pants. “Unfortunately, it was not my place to tell you anything. Now don’t look at me like that.”

  “Not your place? But I thought you were my friend.” Mykal felt his face grow hotter, and knew his cheeks must be turning red. “Did my grandfather know?”

  “I’ve always been your friend, Mykal. You know that.”

  “I thought I did.” Mykal wanted to stop talking. He didn’t want his feelings to get out of control. His fingers rolled into his hands. Before he realized it, he’d made fists, and had to fight the urge to punch something. “You knew where my mother has been all this time, and my father? You let me grow up without my parents, Wyn. You let me grow up an orphan. You let me think my parents were dead, but all this time you knew they weren’t. I… I can’t understand. Why? I wouldn’t have done that to you, Wyn. I’d have told you. I would have told you.”

  Mykal got up from the table. His head spun. The room seemed like it was moving, swaying. He pressed his hands against the sides of his head. He could hear his footfalls on the wood planks as he made his way out of the mess hall. This wasn’t the first time he’d realized the deception, but it was the first time he had the chance of confronting Blodwyn with the facts. It was the first time he actually spoke such words out loud. The thoughts had been bouncing around inside his skull for weeks, echoing between his ears, but that was nothing compared to actually saying them.

  “Mykal!” Blodwyn called out to him from inside the mess hall. Mykal didn’t stop walking. He needed to get away. He wanted time alone. “Your grandfather doesn’t know either.”

  That stopped Mykal. His feet felt suddenly stuck to the wood, his legs as heavy as tree trunks. He wasn’t sure how that made him feel. He’d have been even more hurt if his grandfather had kept such secrets from him, but he was also sad that so many years passed where his grandfather silently mourned the loss of his son and daughter-in-law. There was no winning in this situation. Only pain.

  The pain is what made him move again. He forced himself forward, and around a corner where he bumped into Quill.

  Quill grabbed him by the arms. “Are you all right?”

  “I needed air.” Mykal stared up toward the canopy, not really looking at anything in particular.

  “Did you get to eat?”

  “Yes,” Mykal said, sullenly. “And your family?”

  “They’re upset, mourning.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m doing okay,” Quill said.

  “We’re family. We have to be honest with each other.” Mykal chased thoughts of Blodwyn out of his mind, remembering instead countless days spent together not just training, but as friends fishing, or going to the market for his grandfather. The good far outweighed anything else. Keeping that in mind was easier said than done, though.

  “I’m doing okay, really,” Quill said, and nodded. “Now, do you want to rest, or do you want me to take you to see your father?”

  He was here. His father was really here. Mykal looked around taking in the expanse of the village on the canopy. “Is he inside one of these huts?”

  Quill shook his head. “Eadric lives alone. He didn’t want to live up here with me, with the Archers. Didn’t think he deserved it. He has a modest dwelling that sits at the west end of the forest, alongside Lantern Lake. It will take us a while to get there. Babe is being cared for, and if you don’t mind, you can ride one of my horses.”

  Mykal followed Quill through the woods. The horses needed little guidance. They avoided trees and stepped over, or jumped raised roots, and fallen limbs. Mykal ducked under low-hanging branches. His breathing was quick and shallow. His breath puffed in front of his face in wispy plumes, and was gone. Although there were shafts of light here and there, the heat from the morning sun did not touch the inside of the forest.

  Just ahead, where the trees thinned, Mykal saw smoke rising from a stone chimney. The small house sat twenty yards back from a placid lake. The aroma of wood on a fire filled the area. An axe blade stood lodged in the center of a tree stump with the handle up, split wood littered the grass and weeds around it, but also there were piles stacked neatly along the side of the house.

  Mykal’s horse neighed. He leaned forward and petted the side of her long face. He told her: “Shh, shh.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t stay,” Quill said. “You know the way back? No matter. Your horse does. Just tell her to take you home. She will.”

  “You’re going?” Mykal’s mouth felt dry. His tongue was like cotton. He couldn’t swallow.

  “I think what has to happen needs to take place between just the two of you,” Quill said.

  Mykal opened his mouth in protest, but closed it again. Uncle Quill was right.

  “Take as long as you need,” he said.

  “Quill? Thank you.”

  Quill gave Mykal a two finger salute, and then rode off.

  For a long moment, Mykal watched his uncle. He stared into the forest long after Quill was no longer visible. He was afraid to turn around. Although he had already seen his father’s house, he didn’t know if he could handle seeing it again. It was tiny compared to the ranch Mykal shared with his grandfather.

  His grandfather. Mykal missed him.

  “Are you just going to stay outside, or do you want to come in for a cup of tea?”

  Mykal closed his eyes. He had no memory of his father’s voice, but knew for certain who the man behind was. “I could go for a cup of tea.”

  Chapter 4

  Mykal slapped the horse’s reins over the wood post fence and followed his father toward the front of the small house. The porch was worn, the wood warped. Eadric walked through an askew doorframe and disappeared into darkness; the screen door squeaked and creaked as it banged closed. Mykal took a moment on the porch and looked around. The sun reflected off the lake as if it were a mirror. A large seagull swooped down, flew low, its talons skimmed the water. Snagging a small fish out of the water it rose back in the air and passed over the top of the house.

  In the corner sat a rocking chair. It looked well used; the wicker was frayed over the arms, and on the back, and beside it was a pail filled with smoke butts, and empty brown glass bottles. The mandolin rested on the porch rail, and of the eight strings it looked as if three were snapped, and rolled up toward the pegs. He didn’t know his father played the mandolin.

  “Don’t be shy. Come on in,” Eadric said.

  Mykal wasn’t sure shy was the correct word. He felt fearful. His heart hammered away inside his chest. Reuniting with his father was something he dreamed of all of his life. The fact he now stood on his father’s
porch felt surreal. Crossing the threshold into the house would not be simple. Turning around and running back into the forest seemed easier. There were so many questions. He thought getting answers was what he had wanted. Now, he wasn’t so sure. As a kid he was able to generate—fabricate—answers that suited his mind. It had been impossible not to see his father as a hero, off in search of his mother, ready to free her from enemy hands and return home to their son…

  The screen door did not have a handle; there was just a hole in the mesh. The wire scraped the back of his knuckles as he pulled open the door. Inside he saw a flicker of candle light. It was directly ahead of him. He shuffled forward. There was a small room to the right, stairs on the left. The place smelled of mold and urine. The kitchen area was tiny. The table holding the candle was pushed against the back wall. Eadric sat with elbows on the table, his forehead pressed into his hands.

  “Sit. Please,” he said.

  Mykal thought about running. It wasn’t too late. He pulled back the chair, and sat, instead. “So, you know who I am?”

  “They informed me you’d been to the forest back some time ago, and that Quill and another joined you on some quest,” he said. “Your uncle must have gone thinking he was doing a favor for me, but I’m not sure.”

  “You knew I was here before, in the forest?”

  Eadric looked up. He could barely look his son in the eyes. “Not until after you’d gone.”

  Mykal wished he could control his questions. He wanted them calculated and pointed, and not just bursting from his lips the way a small child talks. “Would you have come to see me, if you’d known? Would you have joined us on the quest?”

  Silence filled the room as thick as the darkness that threatened the single flame.

  “Father?” Should this feel so… awkward? Mykal knew something like anger was getting the better of him. Part of him, however, craved a touch. He wanted to hug his father. No. He wanted Eadric to hug him.