Sapling: The Broken Halls

by Dan Gillis

  Zyr had faith that Shien would do all he could to protect her, but Zyr could not remove the uncomfortable feeling in his guts. It had dwelt there, a troubling precursor of fate, since their arrival. It was almost too much to let them go, but he had weighed the priorities of greater needs. The sceptre was the only key to victory, all else was chaff in the wake of the demon. Time was diminishing, running its course to the fateful end. Zyr glanced upward into the cool Darkwood sky and set off into Terlan without another thought.

  “I’m just saying that there is no need to walk so close,” Firah sputtered indignantly at her companion. Shien raised an eyebrow at her outburst. He had only inquired as to her speedy pace into the town. She was glowering but not looking directly at him. His strange inability to read her emotions was a moot point. Firah tended to wear her emotions upon her sleeve, leaving no mystery as to how she was feeling. She continued walking at a furious pace that frankly had his lower legs burning in effort to keep next to her without breaking into a dead run. He put a hand up to brush aside a low hanging tarp. They had entered the market circle, and immediately his hand went to his waist. With the full cloaks on, it would be near impossible for the best lifters, yet he could not deny instinct. He had spent many a harsh day in the country towns in the shadow of Tamers Reach in his teenage years. Sadly, he had learned many of the lessons firsthand, which always led to hardship. Firah seemed to share some of those same qualities from his youth. Though she was not so much younger, she seemed at times a fledgling in the ways of the streets. This was likely the result of growing up in one place. For Shien, his had been a battle for survival amongst endless cold faces across the country.

  Firah was looking about the square and seemed intent on something. She set off at a quick trot to which Shien sighed and plodded on after. She was impossibly stubborn to a fault. She had been edgy all day, and through particularly icy body language, deterred all but the essentials in conversation. He could not understand her at the best of times and it had become increasingly difficult in the last few days. He could only imagine her inner turmoil over the demon that lurked within her. It seemed its influence remained in some semblance to haunt her, at least that is what he gathered from her antics. She did not know but he had watched her closely ever since the rift weaving. He was careful because he knew it bothered her to have others mothering over her. He watched her battle through spells of depression, sadness … even rage. She was unpredictable as a wild grass fire in the mid-Bloodstone cycles.

  Firah had made her way to a vendor, whom Shien detected as a purveyor of arms. She whirled about to face him, with a poignant finger thrust outward, just before she reached the makeshift shack.

  “Stay right there! I need to do something, and I don’t need your help.”

  Shien was taken aback slightly but nodded with a grimace and leaned against a near shop stand. Firah stepped into the shack and Shien breathed out in frustration. Looking about the market, there were all sorts assembled. He could detect by the mannerisms and stances, even by the walk and talk, who was war born and who was a pretender. There were many carrying arms, though the local law required a tying of the hilt and scabbard. It was a ceremonial gesture at best, especially in this town. Shien doubted that many of the cloth scraps twisted about the bladed weapons were tightened in any respect. A tense air seemed to lurk about the town like the stink from the midden heaps. Intermingled with the warrior caste were the poor and downtrodden. They seemed to be everywhere, a sign of a kingdom in duress. Recently they had multiplied as rats, scattered throughout the streets of every town and city he had come across. It was enough to cause a man distress if he contemplated it long. So, like many others, Shien turned his thoughts to other matters.

  Firah emerged from the merchant shack looking somewhat pleased, then upon spying Shien, walked briskly past him into the crowd once again. Her countenance changed from a gleeful mirth to a glowering scowl. Shien was starting to get particularly annoyed at her insufferable behaviour. She certainly had right to be upset and angered at what had come to her by fate or choice, but she did not have to be subject to it. He also despised being her catalyst of moodiness. Everyone had the ability to fight or lie down. Right now he saw her giving up, at least giving up the Firah he first met, full of spirit and life. She was a mere shade of that now, constantly brooding and sulking. The only solution to the problem was to get her to face her conflict instead of internalizing it.

  He briefly considered the complications he encountered days ago outside of Khyvla. Their argument had grown heated, and without warning she was overcome with strange forces. He did not wish to repeat that experience. He drew some comfort what Zyr had said to him at the Broken Halls. Firah would not suffer again from the effects of the dagger now that it was gone. Shien felt safe in confronting her and pushing a button or two. She would likely resist, but seclusion was destroying her slowly and there seemed no other way. In any event, he determined to face her down before they proceeded farther.

  He suddenly seized upon her shoulder and a portion of her clothing, and shoved her into an abandoned side alley.

  Firah spun around angrily to accost him, but Shien was first out of the docks.

  “Look, you have a problem and you are going to ditch it before we go any farther.”

  Her blood red eyes seared with fervent heat and her mouth curved in the most spiteful fashion. She glowered at him as he soldiered on.

  “You’re getting annoying with your sulkiness and brooding. So we all have problems and difficulties. You act as if you are the only one who has ever had a rough life. Get a grip! When are you going to start taking charge of yourself and try beating this thing?”

  “You think I haven’t tried?” she shouted. “How dare you even compare yourself or others to me? What do you know what I am going through with your self-centred and careless concern? You’re so good at keeping to yourself, why don’t you shut your face and stick it into someone else’s affairs!” She was red-faced and screaming at the end of her tirade.

  Shien was unperturbed at her outbursts, of which he had been the focus on many occasions. Sadly, she had noted his lack of communication with her the last while and taken it personally. It was hardly all his fault; he may as well have tried to start a conversation with a stone wall.

  “At last, a confession from the sulky one. Listen, I would have gladly have talked to you, but you are always pushing me away, even Zyr. What am I supposed to think when I see that? Hmm, maybe I should go talk to her now that she has practically told a loyal friend to jump into a Gnarel pit.”

  Firah appeared too mad to accept reason from him. Her chest was rising and falling, her breath short, her eyes fixed upon his. Despite her fury, he was suddenly caught up upon the wings of heated emotion. It was the same feeling as before, that he had found himself entertaining so many nights before in Khyvla.

  Standing furiously before him, the penetrating crimson gaze, her ebony locks tousled about her face and her full lips clenched in anger, she was enticing him and she did not even realize it. Strange how it felt inside, to feel the heat of attraction amidst the verbal conflict. Amid the twisting flows of desire, he felt as if he was being moved upon by an unseen force, yet it was all his own doing. Truly, it came from the deepest trenches of his heart.

  Firah made to move herself around him and leave the alley, but Shien moved to intercept her. He pressed toward her causing her to backpedal into the near wall.

  “What? You think you are going to force me to go with you? I wouldn’t spend another moment with you if I …”

  Firah’s retort was cut off suddenly as Shien lowered his head toward her, pressing his lips to hers. Her eyes flashed open wildly in shock for a moment but slowly her eyes fluttered and closed gently. Her arms quietly slipped upward along his chest and then reached past to grasp his sturdy back. The young man leaned toward her maintaining the embrace, bringing his hands upward to caress her long flowing hair, his fingers running smoothly through to stroke the skin of
her head and neck. They stood thus for many moments before they slowly but mutually parted. Both opened their eyes to meet the other’s. Firah’s expression slowly shifted from rapture to something that Shien could not interpret. She suddenly screamed out grasping her temples with her hands.

  “No!”

  Pushing him aside roughly, she dashed from the alley and into the throng. Shien was taken aback a moment, and upon gathering his senses exited the alley quickly.

  “Firah, wait. Firah!”

  The girl was nowhere in sight. He scanned the crowd furiously, angered at his actions. What had he done? He moved into the masses quickly calling her name, all the while the sensation of the kiss lingering upon his memory.

  ‘No!’ Firah screamed out within herself again. Every moment was agony as she dived between the shifting bodies around her. They all wore pale expressions of death, all contorted into black forms of hate. Her mind was on fire. All was flashes of flames and darkness, and at the centre of it all was the man she cared for. His body strewn out upon the blackened sands, all scorched and torn. His parched lips that had touched hers now cried out in desperate and pitiful pleas for help. The site of his tortured body, exposed to endless designs of merciless demons, was a shell of his former self. All this and endless more images flashed across her mind. In the waking world she could not discern what was real or illusion. She ducked about the walking corpses in a desperate attempt to escape, but they were everywhere. Somehow, her rational mind attempted to make sense of the living nightmare. She had let her guard down, and the demon remnant was tearing through her soul unchecked. For one moment of absolute euphoria, she was enduring an eternity of hell. Within the tortured screams of those endless bodies mounted upon the pikes adorning the many buildings she passed, she found her own voice crying out desperately. “Why? Why did you do that!? I can’t …”

  She ran from building to building throwing herself harshly against the doorways in attempt to escape the throng. After several attempts, a weakened door gave way to her attempts. Firah rushed into the apparently vacant house to collapse against the wall in wracked sobs. She struggled to regain control, but Shien had stripped her defences, and now the nightmare was leading her through a terrible journey. Even with her eyes squeezed tight, she could not escape. Desperately, she called out for help as a whimpering child.

  “Mother, please take these things away. Please … Zyr … Tohm … anyone!”

  * * *

  “You say a girl brought this in for exchange?” the man asked the weapons hawker. The merchant, who was busy moving things about in desperate attempt to tidy his displays, nodded vigorously. Small beads of sweat dotted his heated brow, and a nervous smile was plastered upon his face which he seemed unable to change. Finally, the merchant ceased his frantic scrambling around the small shack. He stood rocking on his feet, his hands gripped uncomfortably together behind his back respectfully. “When did she come?” the visitor asked in a quiet voice. The tall man’s presence coupled with terrible silence between each response served to distress the merchant all the more.

  “Not within an hour ago,” the shorter man answered hurriedly. His eyes kept flicking to the canvas that comprised his partition to the outside market. It was a futile hope that he could leave prematurely. He was caught and at the whim of his guest.

  “Was there anything about her that strikes your memory?” the next question pierced the air.

  After a moment the small merchant replied.

  “Aye! There was no mistaking that black as sin hair and her fiery gaze. I couldn’t look at her in the face, it was downright unnatural.” The shopkeeper fidgeted behind his back, his fingers wrestling in knots. The man touched his chin thoughtfully and after a moment turned a cool gaze toward the merchant.

  “I would like to take this if it’s no trouble to you.” The sturdy bow was hefted in the unusual patron’s weathered hands.

  “No trouble at all, m’lord! I would be glad to assist in any way!” The vendor’s voice came strained, a clear conflict in his mind regarding his own profession and profit versus self-preservation. He knew what was to come and there was precious little he could do to alter the course of the barter.

  “How much are you owed?” the quiet one asked.

  “For that old thing … ‘twould be a mothersend if you were to take ‘er off my hands.” That same smile trembled upon his lips but remained firm. The patron nodded and stepped toward the partition.

  “May fair winds lead you …” the voice trailed off as the man exited. After many moments, the merchant slumped to a stool and exhaled sharply. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. Ever since that raven-haired girl stepped into his shop, was filled with doubt and apprehension. This last encounter confirmed the worst.

  “Those forsaken Wilders,” the merchant muttered deep in his breath. He had a mind to pack up and leave this unsavoury town. Despite the business of selling his wares to prospective greedy gladiators, it all seemed to pale now. There was a dark cloud of ill fortune that had settled upon his humble store, and there was no removing it. It was as though it became cursed when that forsaken girl entered. He sat upon the stool and held his head in his quivering hands and cursed her in return, over and over.

  * * *

  Zyr made his last rounds through the noble quarter before turning his steps toward the rendezvous point. Upon his shoulder he carried the necessary supplies that would last the westward course to Meahr. He shook his head toward the glamorous edifices to his right and left. They were silent sentinels and markers which divided the city. For all their sculpted glory they served to remind him of how much more he despised class disparity. The poor were subject to the whims of these nobles and lords, who were fed upon the dregs of humanity's worst qualities. Greed, lust for war and pleasure and everything base was seething from every room of every hall and tower. How he despised these places, for there was nothing to be done; the abscess had driven too deep for redemption, right to the heart of the commoner.

  He felt the slightest tug against his robes and looked down to spot a small urchin grasping his over-cloak and peering upward with a dirty face. The child was barely five years of age and shivered furiously due to the cold wind and lack of food. The monk noted that he had passed the last statue and was now upon the threshold to the squalor. Zyr let his hands slide within his cloak to his pouch where he retained some herbal remedies. It was an instinctive reaction; it always was. The herb would warm the child and suppress the hunger pains, but that was only a temporary measure. He had purchased the amount of food they would need and felt he could give little, especially as this was but one of hundreds of such children. The monk’s heart burned with terrible sadness. At length, he reached to his bag of supplies.

  “Take these, young one. The herb you must ingest first, and the food after,” he said, offering the small dirty child the herb and a modest pastry pie. The other benefit of the herb was that it alleviated pains of ingesting food in severely malnourished patients. The urchin took the pie willingly but looked at the herb suspiciously with a guarded air. Zyr knew that the child’s mistrust showed served to keep him alive from day to day. Reaching into his pouch again he withdrew another pellet of the herb and held it up to the boy to see. “There, you see. I will have one first, and provided I don’t fall over you should be safe …”

  Zyr stood still as he drew his hand to his waiting mouth. After a moment, he began to sway this way and that, reeling to and fro with a frantic expression, clutching at his throat. The child’s face took on a pale of sheer horror.

  Then Zyr collapsed to the ground next to the boy who came near to inspect the strange man.

  Zyr snapped his eyes open and winked at the youth. “Look at this! I guess I am fine after all that!”

  As his mouth quirked into a smile, the boy began to giggle softly.

  Suddenly, the pellet reappeared in the monk’s hand. “Oh, I could have sworn I ate that just now …” Another giggle.

  “Here, for real this
time,” the monk said as he placed the herb in his mouth, swallowed and then showed the now sceptical child his empty mouth.

  After a close inspection, the lad’s face looked upward in gratitude and took the gift slowly from the monk’s opened hand. Looking about several times, the nervous child ingested the herb and slowly his limbs ceased their trembling. Next, he devoured the pie ravenously.

  “I wish I could do more, but I have not the ability,” Zyr lamented while crouching down and placing a hand on the lad’s shoulder. The words made the Ashori’s heart ache; for all his ability, he was still powerless.

  Grateful bright eyes turned upward as the urchin finished. Then, in a flash, the child ran off into the streets leaving Zyr to ponder on what had just occurred.

  In a short period of time, Firah had changed him. This sort of behaviour would have been an anomaly to him in earlier years. Her spirited antics were certainly catching like the Bloodstone flu. He laughed within himself.

  Drawing himself up, he found the conviction swelling within his frame to secure the sceptre so he might help the young woman to the end of their journey. He had sensed her distancing from him, which was not unexpected. The fragment of the demon still in her had lodged a disdain deep within her heart toward all things pure. His naturally potent connection to the Root would grate against that disdain. Though painful and inevitable, he had accepted that fate and prayed that Shien would not suffer in the same way. That was partially why he wanted them to go together into town.

  He began to move toward their meeting point with purposeful strides upon the beaten stone.

  * * *

  Shien drove through the thronging mass in a panicked state. He frantically scanned here and there for any sign of her. It was nearly hopeless to locate anyone in the tangle of Terlans. He shook his head angrily, as he had many times since Firah had fled. She should not have reacted in such a peculiar way; Zyr had reassured him it would not happen.