Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  “Where?”

  Reder looked up from his list for the first time and met Serinde's stare.

  His dark eyes showed his irritation with being questioned.

  “By the Lower Gates,” he replied, beginning to make a check mark on his list and continue his emotionless description of the events.

  “Your family is granted one day to mourn before you are expected...”

  His words were interrupted by the force of Serinde's bucket breaking his nose.

  “You burned him with the trash!?” she shouted, causing many elves around them to turn their heads and see what the ruckus was all about.

  Hands reached down to grab Serinde, but she refused to relent. She clawed at Reder, using her nails and hands to scratch and grab any part of him she could reach.

  Blood began to cover the elf's face as he howled in pain. Again and again she brought her bucket down on the elf's face with one hand while she punched and scratched with the other.

  Every blow was punctuated with shouts of rage.

  “He. Was Not. Garbage!”

  More hands were reaching and grabbing around Serinde as she kicked and flailed. She was barely aware of her surroundings, only acknowledging that she would soon be taken by the guards who had come with Reder. More than likely, she'd be thrown into a prison somewhere to rot. Or hung and made an example of.

  She didn't care.

  The only thing that mattered was how much pain she could inflict on this one elf who embodied those responsible for her father's death and the disregard for his burial: the Empire of Enoth. The guards who had accompanied him ought to be dragging her away at any moment. Reder wasn't fighting back against Serinde's relentless assault.

  He was lying still.

  When she was finally pulled away from the short elf, it was Wyan's strong grip that was guiding her onward. And it was then that she took in the scene that had been happening around her.

  The quarry was in chaos.

  Elves from all over the place had taken chisel and hammer and pick and risen up against the guards and elves who oversaw them. A large group from the work station Serinde was assigned to had taken the four guards who had come with Reder and were overpowering them with sheer numbers.

  In the bottom of the quarry, a great storm of dust was rising up from the elves who had taken up arms against their station leaders. Shouts of pain and rebellion were echoing all around them. From above, a column of soldiers was marching double time down into the hole, shoving any who stood in their way off the path and down to their deaths below.

  “What's going on Wyan?” Serinde asked, hands covered in blood and dizzy from her assault of rage on Reder.

  She looked back to the see where the elf still lay in a pool of blood, unmoving. Her glimpse of him was interrupted by a group of quarry elves throwing down another guard, stealing his spear, and ending his life as well.

  “Run,” Wyan replied, his words came fast and forceful. All signs of sadness had left him and determination filled his face. “Get as far away from Azol as you can. Go to Eccott. Don't stop until you get there.”

  Serinde saw that he had led her to the buckets they used to send up their small rocks and debris.

  Erilas was at her side, her face scratched and body trembling. There was a small cut on her shoulder.

  “Did I do this?” Serinde asked, looking around at the chaos in the quarry and the guards now coming in contact with the Azol elves who were fighting with picks and hammers and rocks.

  A contingent of the guards were dangerously close to their work station. The few elves that had managed to overthrow the guards with Reder would not be able to hold against so many armed warriors.

  Wyan looked over his shoulder to survey the area and then turned back to the sisters.

  “No time,” Wyan replied, putting Serinde's hand on the rope and helping her place a foot in one of the buckets. Erilas mirrored her.

  He took a knife from his pocket and began to saw at the rope just below the buckets the girls were standing in.

  Looking up at them he gave them one last instruction.

  “Hold tight,” he said.

  Looking up into Serinde's eyes, his face was more serious than she could ever remember seeing. His next words were spoken with precise care.

  “Don't waste this.”

  With a final cut of his small blade, the rope below broke free. The weight of the rocks on the other side launched the sisters up so quickly that Serinde nearly lost her grip on the rope.

  A moment later they were flying towards the pulley at the top of the quarry.

  “Jump!” Erilas ordered.

  At the last second, the two jumped from their buckets and grabbed onto the edge of the cliff, dangling precariously on what little ground they could hold onto.

  They scrambled to their feet and looked back down at the hole in the earth. Two sides clashed against each other.

  One robed in purple with glittering metal and shining spears, the other in tatters with rocks and tools.

  “Did I start this?” Serinde asked out loud.

  In response, a shout of an Enoth guard told her and her sister this was no time for finding answers.

  It was time to run.

  16

  Barefoot

  Still prodding her horse on, as if the creatures were still in pursuit of them, Blume raced towards the city gates. She was surprised to see them opened as they normally closed right before the suns' set.

  What was even more surprising was the sight of Ealrin and Holve down by the gates. The old man stood over the younger, who lay on the ground on top of a mat that had been produced for him. His shoulder was bleeding terribly from what looked like a horrendous bite. Holve's sleeve was wet with blood as well.

  Two men in white robes attended Ealrin, as he looked to be the more grievously injured.

  One was muttering under his breath and waving a wooden rod over the wound.

  Blume brought Snowy over to the scene and dismounted, nearly knocking Jurgon off the horse in the process. She helped him the rest of the way down before running over to Ealrin and kneeling beside the healer.

  “What happened?” she asked breathlessly, looking at Ealrin's face. His eyes were closed and his face was pale. Sweat poured off of his forehead.

  “Ran into some Wrents,” Holve answered for him. “One of them got him pretty good. He got a few in return.”

  “Wrents?” Blume asked, not knowing what Holve was talking about.

  “They look like foxes but walk like men,” Holve replied, a small bit of concern on his face for Ealrin. His brow was furrowed and he kept avoiding looking at Blume. “We heard them while we were on the wall.”

  Ealrin still hadn't spoken, but lay on the mat, eyes shut tight. Blume reached out her hand to his forehead. He was red hot.

  Dread began to fill her.

  “Can't you fix him?” she said hastily to the healer.

  His partner scolded her while the one speaking over Ealrin said nothing but his own words of magic.

  “Give him time, young one,” he said with an air of superiority. “No one can heal in an instant.”

  “I...” began Blume. But that moment Ealrin opened his eyes and looked right at her. She found she couldn't speak.

  There was a surging guilt welling up inside of her. The question escaped from her mouth before she could withdraw it.

  “Why were you outside the city?”

  Holve let out a sigh and Ealrin closed his eyes.

  The city of Lone Peak was still bustling around them, despite the late hour. Street vendors were closing up their shops. Shoppers were still wandering around trying to find the last deal of the day. Parents were carrying sleeping children to their houses.

  Blume felt as if all the activity were happening on a different planet. There was just her, Ealrin, and her guilt. She knew the answer. The silence between them hung in the air like fog.

  “Looking for you,” Holve said, finally.

  B
lume took her hand away from Ealrin's forehead and put it in her lap. She looked at Jurgon, who looked at the ground. Holve wouldn't meet her gaze either.

  “We were attacked too. By Wrents, or whatever you called them,” she said. Her mouth was dry, but she kept talking. “Jurgon and I were practicing. Down by the stream. There were at least a dozen that snuck up on us. They attacked us. We just barely got away. Jurgon was great. He blasted a couple and smashed another with a rock.”

  The bare foot on earth reminded her of something.

  “One almost got my foot. It took my shoe instead.”

  She didn't know what she was trying to say. The words that had flown from her mouth seemed empty. Void of meaning. Like she was trying to justify being out there, or Ealrin's injury.

  But it all felt so small. She held one hand in another, fidgeting. Blume looked back at Ealrin. He hadn't opened his eyes.

  “Ealrin...” she began.

  He shook his head.

  She wanted him to say something. To be mad. To be alright. To say anything. But his face grimaced as a faint glow came over his shoulder. His wound was turning an odd shade of orange. Holve put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Jurgon,” he said without looking over to the halfling. “Take Blume back to the house.”

  She felt rooted to the spot. A small hand reached for her arm and tried to help her up. Holve did the rest. Wordlessly, they turned and began walking down the street towards the house they had lived in for the last month.

  Looking back, Blume saw the healer still bowing over Ealrin, the rod he held in his hand glowed faintly. A tear came to her eye and she brushed it away. But as every other step her barefoot hit the cobblestone street, new tears filled her eyes.

  17

  Apologies and Anthologies

  The mood on top of the cliffs of Lone Peak did not reflect the brightening spring outside its walls.

  Holve had engrossed himself deeper and deeper into searching the libraries for maps, legends, and histories of the continent looking for some clue about the mysterious tree they sought.

  Ealrin was torn between his desire to help Holve and search the catacombs for the lost piece of their puzzle and his constant reminding of Blume that she ought to be practicing her speaking.

  Currently, all three were on a morning long search through another section in Lone Peak's massive library. Holve had disappeared a few minutes ago to get more books to search through. Blume was half buried behind their current pile on a large oak table used for study and reading.

  Maps of every city, forest, and ship trade route were drawn into the large green tome she was flipping through now. Ealrin wanted to try to talk to her about more than her need to practice magic, but found it difficult. He turned another page in the book of leaders of Lone Peak and their accomplishments. The movement made him wince.

  A bandage wrapped around his shoulder was a constant reminder that he had gone out to search for her and been injured in the process. If he admitted it to himself, he might have realized he was beyond relieved to know that she had come home safely. But the pain in his shoulder reminded him daily that due to her irresponsibility, he had been gravely wounded.

  Another part of him wished that Blume had her magical abilities back. Not so she could heal his shoulder, though that certainly would have been a perk. He wanted her to have her self-confidence back.

  He had seen her bring people back from the point of death. She had once even healed herself from a terrible wound, which according to Holve was a great feat of magic.

  Now she appeared to have given up magic altogether and spent nearly as much time as Holve in the library, searching the books.

  He wondered if she was doing it in order to apologize for her reckless behavior.

  Dexer, her instructor, had not asked about her recently. His student, Jurgon, was his star pupil.

  The halfling's skills were improving greatly.

  He, like Blume, had been taught on his own. Both of their cases were extremely rare as most speakers needed a great deal of training to gain any sort of ability. But Blume, unlike Jurgon, seemed to have lost all of her magic ability with no sign of it coming back.

  Ealrin wondered how long he would hold this grudge towards her. He felt it strange to be so wounded by someone so young whom he cared so much for. But as he looked at her now, pouring over an ancient tome, she looked less like a scared little girl from a devastated demolished hometown and more like a young woman who was a little lost as she searched for who she was.

  Sighing deeply, looking overwhelmed with the book she was reading, she looked up and caught his eyes. He quickly closed his book, got up and walked down in between two shelves of books. He just couldn't bring himself to speak to her yet.

  Absentmindedly, he wandered down an aisle marked “Festivals and Traditions,” not seeing who was standing right in front of him.

  "You're going to have to talk to her eventually," Holve said, startling Ealrin.

  He looked up to see Holve holding three rolled up scrolls in his hand, heading for the same table Blume was sitting at.

  "What?" Ealrin said not really having heard the words, but rather just registering that he had grabbed a book off the shelf in an attempt to look busy.

  "Talk to her," Holve said flatly. "You two are making it feel like winter in here. I've never been around two people more agitated with each other and unwilling to talk about it."

  He shoved past Ealrin and headed for the table, depositing his scrolls on it and carefully unrolling the first one he came to. Ealrin grabbed another book off the shelf, took a deep breath, and returned to the table by Blume and Holve.

  “You scared me,” he said, looking down at Blume.

  She didn't look back up at him, but turned the page of the book she was looking over instead. Ealrin looked to Holve. The man was the best strategist he had ever seen. On Ruyn he had led armies to victory against overwhelming odds. Surely he could help Ealrin talk to this growing teenage girl?

  The older man looked at Ealrin, then at Blume, and then back to Ealrin.

  Something in this gesture said to him, “Try harder.”

  “You really shouldn't have been out so late, Blume,” he continued, feeling awkward. “It wasn't safe.”

  Blume closed the book in front of her and looked up at Ealrin.

  “And you've never done something that was dangerous before, right?” she asked him. For the first time in weeks, she caught his gaze and he didn't look away. Her eyes felt like they were trying to bore holes into him.

  “I don't go running off putting myself into danger, if that's what you mean,” Ealrin replied, feeling his face getting warmer.

  “Oh, so leading troops into battle isn't something we're talking about anymore?” Blume shot back. “Or chasing after some demon alone? Or how about asking an assassin for a helping hand?”

  Ealrin's face was hot now.

  “That's not what I'm saying! That's different!”

  “Completely different than me riding a horse out in the country for a bit? Good. I'm glad we've cleared that up so that I can go riding again without you worrying that I'm not coming back.” Blume was on her feet now. She was still a good head shorter than Ealrin. Her blonde hair was coming out of the braid she had put it in and was flying at odd angles.

  It gave the impression of a fire being lit.

  “You said yourself you almost got killed by Wrents!” Ealrin shot back. “And I got mangled by one looking for you!”

  “I didn't ask you to come looking for me!” she shouted back at him. “And I made it back just fine, thank you.”

  “Because Jurgon was with you!” Ealrin argued, his own voice rising.

  There was the sound of a few people clearing their throats. The three of them were not the only ones in the library. An old woman in a brown robe was shuffling towards their table, looking weary and upset.

  “This is a library!” she whisper shouted. “Please keep your voices down!”

  “So
I can't take care of myself? Is that what you're saying?” Blume yelled back at Ealrin, ignoring the librarian and pointing a finger at Ealrin. “Because I've done a pretty fair job of looking out for myself in a tight spot, you know!”

  Angry words were bubbling out of Ealrin before he could stop them.

  “But if you can't do magic then...”

  His sentence would remain unfinished. Blume threw a stack of books from the table onto the floor, causing the librarian to cover her eyes at the sight of so many volumes being mistreated. Before Ealrin could try to step over the pile of books, Blume was running in the direction of the door.

  “Blume!” Ealrin shouted after her, knowing full well his voice would not call her back.

  “Please! Sir!” the librarian implored, waving her arms in an attempt to quiet Ealrin. “If you have an disagreement with the young lady please shout at one another outside!”

  “I wasn't shouting!” Ealrin said in a voice that was just loud enough to qualify as such.

  From several balconies above them, people were glancing down over the railing to see what all the commotion was about. Holve turned his piece of paper over, took out a pipe from his coat pocket, and lit it.

  Small puffs of smoke were coming from the side of his mouth in moments. The librarian was bent over, salvaging any book she could reach and tutting every discarded volume.

  “I'd go after her,” he said in a calm voice that did not reflect how Ealrin felt at all.

  Ealrin wanted to run after Blume. He wanted to tell her she couldn't ever leave the walls again. He was scared for her. There was nothing he wanted more than to keep her safe and he couldn't do that if she kept running into danger on purpose.

  He made a few steps before Holve spoke after him.

  “And this time,” he said as he examined his paper a little more closely, pointing is finger at an intricate drawing. “I'd start with 'I'm sorry.'”

  18

  Cuno the Red Handed

  In the ancient forest of the Wood Walkers, a small circle of trees created a clearing where the moon shone bright. From the ground, small points of red light glowed in the darkness, contrasting with the silvery moonbeams. No Wrent had ever been able to speak to the stone, and so few understood it. The fifty that gathered in the small clearing threaded on the precious stone as if it were like any other. They cared little for magic.