The sound that pulled her from these thoughts was followed by the realization that the spiked end of Hokra’s hammer was buried in the man’s chest. If his heart had a beat the blow would have stopped it. The man looked down as if waiting to turn to dust, and when nothing happened, he pulled the hammer from his chest and threw it back toward Hokra with astonishing speed. It stopped inches from the Chags’ face and fell to the ground. The dead man halted for a second to note that the hammer didn’t strike its target. Then he snarled, pulled a rusted and decrepit sword with his right hand and a large knife with his left and moved toward the group.
Understanding what Hokra had done, Lydria shielded herself and Haustis as the three moved away from each other. The shield would stop a thrown object but was unlikely to stop a slow jab with a blade or a punch. Dravud did not move; intent it seemed, on watching the battle take place around him.
A black arrow from Haustis’ bow streaked across the closing distance and lodged itself in the dead man’s neck. He stopped but didn’t bother to take the arrow out, instead looking at the Eifen carefully before hurling his knife in her direction. The magic shield didn’t have an opportunity to stop the blade - Haustis spun away as the weapon left the dead man’s hand, landing nimbly on her toes, crouched with one hand up and the other clutching a long dagger.
Lydria’s collar flared up and in moment, the assailant was waist deep in the ground. Unable to move, the man continued slashing with his sword, crying in anger. Slowly, the weapon fell to the ground and the man’s shouts of anger subsided and he looked at the three, ignoring Dravud as if he weren’t there.
“Kill me, please, kill me. Give me the True Death and let me leave this unhappy place.” His eyes moved furtively between them before landing on Lydria, his Eifen ears pointed only toward her. “There is nothing here. There is no life, no happiness, no family, no love. It just … is. I can’t even find my way back to the wretched towns.”
“We should just kill him and be done with it,” Hokra whispered to himself.
“But magic can’t kill, and our weapons have no effect.”
“I have an idea.” The words came to Lydria from a distance away and Lydria turned to find Haustis who had moved further into the trees near where they first saw the man. “Bring him here.”
Lydria and Hokra together lifted the man from the dirt and bound him, flaming blue circles binding his wrists and ankles with azure chains glowing brightly in the dusk. With his feet shackled, the walk was slow, the man making careful steps to avoid falling, while at the same time pulling his hands out wide to test the bonds of blue light that held him fast. He wasn’t trying to escape; his gaze was focused on Haustis and Lydria could feel hope creeping into the man.
The Eifen had found another of Wynter’s gold marks, churned up in the dirt after the man charged at them. “What you saw in Safarngal, Lydria, the spirit who came to you. I think they may come from these marks. As Wynter tore open a path to the Melting Grae, so too does the Sword of True Death open small doorways when it contacts the fabric of the Nethyn Plains.”
Understanding what Haustis suggested, Lydria held the man’s arm as she walked him to the small patch of gold on the ground in front of them.
“I don’t know if we can do what you ask, but there is a chance.”
“A chance is more than I’ve had in a long time,” the man answered. “That you try to help me at all is welcome.”
Kneeling, Lydria and Hokra cleaned a space around the gold scar, careful to not touch it lest they be sent through the break into Eigrae as well. Neither of them knew if they would be taken to Eigrae, or if they would survive if they did, so they gave the mark a respectful distance, but made the way clear for the dead man bound near them.
Unbinding their captive, Lydria explained what would happen and asked him to step onto the mark.
“May whatever gods you serve speak well of you,” the man said. “Never had I dared dream that I would leave this place. But to look upon Eigrae once more as well...” He was smiling as he stepped on a space of gold the size of his toe, and almost at once he was elongated and pulled into the crevice, like running water in a gutter, so that his body was, for a moment, stretched. But the man’s face was alight for the second it took for him to disappear entirely. After he was gone, the gold scratch in the ground pulsed once, and vanished as if it had never been.
“Well done. You’ve defeated the single most timid and meek person the Nethyn Plains has ever known. I’m not entirely sure how he managed to make it across the Lake, much less find his way to the Shade.” Dravud walked slowly toward them, his hands tucked into the belt around his mail shirt. “Don’t bother congratulating yourselves, we’ve got a long way to go.”
The guide waited until they started down the path again. Lydria walked in front, her bow out, an emerald arrow knocked to the string. Behind her Haustis and Hokra walked in a line followed by Dravud whose demeanor had been changing the further they progressed. He was no longer the friendly boy from the beach. His demeanor seemed to grow with his body and change with his clothing. He was becoming more practical, more pragmatic, and more concerned with the seriousness of what lie ahead, but Dravud was a being unto himself, and they could do nothing about his mood.
“Do you think it likely we will come across more of these lost souls before we arrive at our destination?” Lydria looked pointedly at Dravud, as if daring him not to answer her question. The man looked at her, his face impassive and unmoved by her eagerness.
“Yes.” Dravud let the single word stand in the air on its own for a moment, perhaps to see how Lydria would respond, or perhaps to show that he was not without feeling. When it was clear Lydria would not accept the answer on its own, he continued. “Those who live in the Shade will notice if one of their number is missing. They will start to come this way. If you are not prepared to fight, then you should prepare to flee.”
Lydria considered his advice and realized she was not yet to the point where she was ready to flee. “We helped that one, we can help others.”
“If Wynter has been kind enough to leave you scores of these marks upon the ground, then yes, you may be able to help some of them – if you can find the scars. But not everyone is as obliging as the Shade you met. There will be some who do not want to leave, and some who only want you to stay.
In the time the exchange took, another Shade had made her way through the trees near to where the other had passed through to Eigrae.
“Do you bring True Death?”
Lydria turned to find a young woman who looked her own age. Where the other man had seemed almost alive, this one looked very different. There was no color in her skin or clothing. She had become grey and her skin was almost translucent. If she had the time, Lydria was sure she could see through the thin skin wrapped loosely around the woman’s arms. She looked up and saw in the woods several other Shades who waited by the stumps of rotted trees, their ears turned toward the group, keen on a single answer.
“We cannot help you,” Haustis called out to the woman and those in the forest beyond. “There is man whom we follow, and he can help you. He carries a sword, the Sword of True Death that is made from darkness itself. The least prick from that weapon will grant you the peace you desire. To find him, watch the ground. Where the Sword of True Death touches the ground, it creates a golden mark, a scar upon the land – find the scar and touch it, and you will be taken from this place – and so earn your True Death.”
“Does this woman speak true?” The young woman in front of Lydria didn’t turn to watch Haustis speak, instead keeping her gaze firmly on the green and blue eyes of the woman before her.
“She does.”
“Why do you not run toward this man, then? Why do you stay here?”
“We are not of this place – we merely travel through it to another place.” Lydria’s eyes shifted, watching as more of the Shades gathered in the woods, surrounding their position. Even Hokra was showing signs of nervousness. Against living
people, Lydria knew the Chag would welcome the fight, but against the dead, he was less desirous of fighting. “What is your name?”
The Shade looked at Lydria and to Hokra. She ignored Dravud as if he could not be seen. “I do not know. It matters not. Strike me down!”
“I cannot.” The voice that came from Lydria was loud and powerful and her collar brightened noticeably. The woman in front of her recoiled and even those in the trees took a hesitant step backward. “As the Haustis has told you, the man we follow can help you – and if you cannot find the scars he leaves, the weapon he holds can do what you wish. Ask him to strike you down and I am sure he will oblige. He walks toward Vul along this same path but ahead of us. If you go now, down the path toward Herewist, look for these marks and you will know you follow his presence.” Lydria waved her hands in front of her, and they were engulfed in a small cloud of smoke, with a bright blue light in its center. In the middle of the smoke was an image of a golden scar like they had discovered. “Now, go.”
The unnamed spirit in front of her and most of those in the woods, looked up as Lydria mentioned Haustis by name, and they listened intently. They knew the Haustis would not lie to them, and those who were not Eifen were brought quickly in line with the majority of those who were, bowing slightly from the neck toward the tall Eifen, having all but forgotten Lydria existed. The Shade who was foremost backed away and called to her fellows who made straight for the path they were shown.
“Perhaps they will slow Wynter somewhat and we can catch him before he reaches Griffis,” Lydria said, pulling on the bottom of her shirt and shrugging her shoulders as if to rearrange herself before they started on their way again. She turned to follow the Shades and saw Hokra from the corner of her eye waving his hands in front of him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to do what you just did, but I cannot seem to do it. And your voice, how did you learn that?”
Lydria stared at the Chag and turned slowly to Dravud who raised an eyebrow and then to Haustis who closed the distance between them and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You are not aware?”
“I only told them to go away and to follow Wynter.”
“We heard what you said, but it was how you said it,” Haustis explained. “Your voice was not your own. It was…power.”
“My voice is not one for singing, but I would never say it’s powerful.” Lydria looked between her friends for simple confirmation.
“Nay, lass. She does not say your voice was powerful. She said it was power. It moved us all as if we’d be pushed by something much larger and stronger than you. And when you told them to follow Wynter, I almost followed along. They did not go of their own will, or because they trusted the Haustis, they went because you made them go.”
The three companions turned to Dravud who was watching them converse with something bordering on interest. “Do you know what has happened?”
“In truth, I do not, at least, not yet. Magic is new to Eigrae and so it is new to the Nethyn Plains as well. There is much to be learned, but to do that we will have to wait for those who have used magic to arrive on our shores.” He looked at the three sets of eyes burrowing into him and added quickly, “arrive to stay, not to visit. Still, as one works their way into the kingdoms from the beach, one begins to remember more and more of what one has learned. This includes me. Each time I am on the beach I remember almost nothing of my time here, but when I am asked to guide someone, the memories return as I continue my way into the Plains.”
Dravud lowered his head and walked slowly around the group to join the path the Shades had taken, turning to the others and extending his hand in the same direction. “We should continue.”
They walked in silence with both Lydria and Hokra waving their hands before them but neither able to make the smoke appear to show an image. It wasn’t until Haustis found a small pile of dust that they stopped again. While the others stood on the trail, Haustis scouted the area finding several additional piles of dust and a single gold scar. “They have come this way and they find the trail Wynter has left. If he continues to use his sword as a stick, there will not be enough people from the Shade to slow him down.”
“There are far more who reside in the Shade than in the towns,” Dravud said, his voice low and intense. “That you have not seen something does not mean it does not exist. For every Shade who falls through a golden scar, a dozen more will take its place as they feel their fellows departing.”
“Will Griffis notice as well?” Hokra was standing next to the guide, but he looked down at a pile of dust and not up at Dravud’s face.
“It is unlikely. It was a risk you took. If he does not realize, then your risk may be your good fortune. If he does look to the Shade, and senses there that some have escaped, you may not have to travel far before he comes to look for you. If you are people of prayer, you should look to your gods that he does not notice.”
They were walking again before he finished speaking and when their line had been moving quietly for a fair time, climbing small hills and winding their way through twists in the forest on a path that even Haustis could no longer see, Dravud said, “we are nearing Herewist. Most who enter this city do so from the main path and they are taken to the city center to meet with the person in charge of this place. As we come from the forest, we will take a secret path known to few. We need permission from Vul Griffis’ lieutenant before we can proceed to Agubend.”
“If this lieutenant is the same as Rax, we should be on our way quickly,” Hokra said. The Chag’s impatience was plain on his face.
Dravud smiled and walked beside the prince, placing his hand on the smaller man’s back. “If you pine for a challenge, young Chag Ca’Grae, your wish will be granted. Rax is a mite. He is the furthest removed from Vul and he is paid little mind. Those who make it as far as the gates of Herewist have earned a modicum of attention.”
With his last word dying on her ears, Lydria realized they had left the forest and stood on an open plain. Grey grass covered a dead hillside where small monuments were silhouetted against the pale light of a town further away. As they crossed the plain, the monuments were revealed to be headstones. Blank pillars of rock that gave no indication of what might lie beneath.
“Why are there grave markers in the Nethyn Plains?”
Dravud winced and looked to Haustis. “They are reminders of what cannot be. They serve merely to destroy hope. Before they were Shades, many lingered for ages staring at these stone monuments – their minds twisted by the futility and hopelessness of forever. They wonder about what they have lost and consider that their time in the Nethyn Plains may have just started or may have already lasted a dozen ages of Eigrae. The headstones are simply there to push them over the edge – the gentle nudge they need before they give up on whatever it might be that they could have here and take the long walk into the woods. But hope is not lost for you, not yet at any rate.”
As they walked across the brown field Lydria saw a town larger than Eigroth, with houses that might be considered stately, arranged neatly in straight rows, and up the sides of meager hills just tall enough to allow the silhouettes of the buildings to distinguish themselves. People roamed across the fires burning in raised stands along the streets, their unseen bodies black smudges against the walls, the flickering of the light testament to their numbers moving to unknown destinations.
“The people of Herewist are more than those of Eigroth, and they are out more in the streets and amongst their own,” Dravud explained, keeping to a path only he knew, away from the light of fires. “Those who have made it this far have accepted their fate, though they get no joy from it. Also, the lieutenant of Vul Griffis does not lurk on the street corners here. In Herewist, Karjan keeps her work hidden.”
“Will it take long to find her?”
“Karjan will find us; of that I have no doubt.”
Dravud walked ahead of the others, stepping lightly over piles of stone and rubble and motioning to keep the others
out of the thin light cast by fires. He hurried them across a deserted crossroad and ushered them toward a small building with dark coverings on the windows. Up close, a hint of light could be seen through gaps in the fabric, and Lydria expected a brilliant light to momentarily blind them when their guide opened the door.
Without preamble, Dravud threw wide the door to the establishment and instead of light, Lydria and the others were met with more darkness. “Karjan does not like light flooding into the street,” Dravud explained. “We will wait in this space until she allows us to enter.”
The space was a small room between the street outside and the fire inside. After securing the street-side door, the inner door opened almost immediately, causing them all to stand still while their eyes became accustomed to the light. Hokra’s lower eyelids were fully up, which allowed him to see but protected his eyes at the same time.
“Dravud. Mistress Karjan sent me to find you. I am glad you are so keen in your work, otherwise I might have had to go into the streets to look for you.” The man shook a little as if the thought was more depressing than his surroundings. When his shoulders were still, he continued. “She bids you welcome and would see you and your guests.”
Dravud followed the tall, thin man who had been sent to find them. He was almost pure white, except for his eyes which glowed blue like a wielder’s collar. His hands were wide, and Lydria counted six wondrously long, delicate fingers on each, as well as an improbable thumb, which Lydria watched as the man moved it continually, touching the pads and nails of each of his six fingers in turn, repeating the process when he was through. The joint of his thumb allowed it to travel in a full circle, and the thumb, as well as the fingers were twice as long as human fingers, and each had four joints, allowing each digit to form its own circle. The white guide did this now, alternating his peculiar thumb strikes with making circles of his fingers and moving them like a row of spoons.
Magic's Genesis- Reckoning Page 11