Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  "Something's beyond them," Urt said as he leapt up to her side, pointing to the ships that were tracking them.

  Felicia spared a glance behind her to see even more cannon fire.

  "Praise the Suns they ain't shootin' at us!" she said as she put their ship on a straight path.

  "Who are they?" Tory shouted as he ran to the back of the ship to get a better look at this new group of ships.

  Felicia turned her gaze to see at least four other vessels, not the elven ones from Enoth, launching an attack on the ships that had been firing at them.

  "Can't make out their colors in the night!" she said. They were too far off for her to tell.

  Now she had a decision to make.

  She could sail back to Lone Peak, or to another Darrion city, wait for the day and see if they could outwit and outrun the elves.

  Or.

  "Grab whatever you can and head for the lifeboat!" she commanded. "We're going ashore!"

  "Now!?" Tory asked, his eyebrows raised high.

  Felicia jerked the wheel again, pointing the ship north and sending Tory down to the deck again. He made a satisfyingly loud moan of pain.

  "Or we'll leave you to steer the ship by your lonesome!" she replied. "Now!"

  Gorplin and Jurrin began to load the small lifeboat with supplies while Felicia took a nearby rope and tied it from the rail to the wheel, hoping the tight knot would hold for an hour or two against strong winds and hard currents. Tory hobbled down to the lifeboat, hoisting a pack over his shoulders.

  Urt was by her side.

  "I really hate abandoning ship," she said as she secured her last knot.

  "For Holve," he said simply.

  Felicia trusted the old man. She had trusted him before the world had gone mad with wars and comets and she would trust him now.

  And his last orders were to warn the Wood Walkers.

  "Aye," she replied.

  The two of them ran for the lifeboat and, with one last look at the deck of yet another ship she was giving up the privilege of captaining, lowered it into the sea.

  The company came upon the sea shore without much difficulty. Urt and Gorplin hopped out of the boat and struggled to pull it to shore once the water was shallow enough.

  In moments, the boat and all of its supplies and occupants were underneath the protective canopy of the forest.

  Tory was taking stock of what they had, while Felicia restrained herself from slapping him every time he pointed out something they lacked.

  “And whose bloody fault is that!?” she said after he mentioned for the third time that they hadn't brought with them enough meat to last more than a week. “Weren't you in charge of getting supplies!?”

  Tory looked like he had a comeback prepared, when Felicia felt Urt at her side, staring hard at the soldier.

  He grumbled under his breath and began to count again the meager supplies they had.

  “Those ships sure are fast,” Jurrin said as he looked out from the trees out to the sea.

  Felicia turned her attention back to the water as well. The moon lit up the sea and several boats were in view. Some were the old vessels of Darrion, hardly anything to be proud of. It seemed the city had managed to wrestle up a few ships that could still sail and follow the elves south.

  Three were the great white ships of Enoth, as well as the anchored orange ship further off. The one Holve and his companions were trying to sneak aboard. The last few, were not vessels Teresa had seen in Lone Peak. But the flags she had come to know well.

  “Who invited the pirates?” Tory asked as he too looked out and saw the same thing Jurrin and Felicia did.

  “Nobody ever invites us,” a voice said from the trees a little further in.

  The whole company drew swords, axes, and knives to face the owner of the voice. Urt nearly had his spear at the elf's throat before relenting. There was no way the five of them could take on fifty.

  It was the black haired elf they had seen in Bestone, standing just as casually as he had then, as if the whole idea of his crew armed to teeth and facing off against a group of strangers bored him. Felicia snarled at him.

  “What are you doing here?” she said through clenched teeth.

  The black haired elf shrugged his shoulders.

  “I came to get my boat back.”

  43

  From Bad to Worse

  Holve and Ealrin pulled Blume and Jurgon out of the boat and started gathering supplies into their packs. The rain had just begun to let up. Blume didn't mind being soaked through. She liked the rain. What bothered her more than anything was the squelching noises her shoes made.

  Short spring showers would help to hide them as they made their way to where the elven boat had anchored. However, now that it was clearing up she was able to see better. They all rushed towards the cover of the trees that lay just beyond the sandy beach. Once safely inside, they turned and looked out towards the sea. A few of the clouds parted, enabling them to see a bit of the scene in front of them by the light of the moon. Felicia's ship was sailing on past the priest's vessel they had sought to follow, with three others trailing it. Behind them, two different ships blazed with cannons.

  Blume wanted to make sure everyone was going to be okay. She didn't like the idea of not knowing if those on board were going to make it or not. But she also knew she had to do her part to rescue Teresa and Wisym. Of that she was fully convinced. She looked towards the strange ship they had followed to the shore and saw something else beyond it.

  “What's that?” Blume asked, pointing to a spot on the horizon.

  Little dots of light floated between the dark patch of sky and the still rolling sea.

  “Possibly more elven ships,” Holve grunted. “Seems they're ready for a large scale invasion.”

  “Seems like overkill for the Wood Walkers,” offered Ealrin.

  Blume agreed. There were too many ships from the elves of Enoth to give support in attacking elves who refused to kill one another. She didn't get the impression from Elen and Eren that the Wood Walkers were a strong military power. If these ships were different from the ones at Lone Peak, then there was a huge elf army moving around the continent.

  “I agree,” said Holve, walking down the tree line a bit. “We'll need to get closer if we're going to see what's going on.”

  Arranging their still soaking packs on themselves, they began to move along the shore under the cover of the trees. As they did, Blume continued to be bothered by the squelching of her shoes. She bent down to see if she could squeeze out some of the water in them by hand. Before stooping down, she took off her pack and laid it beside her. She looked up to make sure the three others weren't too far ahead and met Ealrin's gaze before he turned to tap Holve.

  The older man signaled for them all to stop. Something had made a sound to their right, inside the forest. It happened before any of them had time to properly react. Blume had attempted to stand up, but something heavy hit her, knocking her down into the sand beside her pack. Twenty elves emerged from the woods, all armed with flails, some of them already swinging over their heads. And one especially tall elf came striding out from their midst, a smug look on his face.

  "Holve, was it?" he said as he considered them. "And two more of your group it would seem."

  Holve was holding onto his trusted spear and ready to strike. Ealrin was also prepared to attack, his sword drawn and his pack off his back. Jurgon was twirling his wand in his hand, ready for the conflict.

  "I believe I have a few of your friends on board my ship," the elf said as he motioned down the shore. "If you wish them dead, simply attack us and at least two of our group will surely reach their cell and dispatch them before you're able to deal with the rest of us."

  Blume could see that two of the elves had indeed already broken off from the group and were shouldering their flails, ready to run back to the ship. Would they really kill the others if they fought? Would there be anyway to stop them? She wanted to move, to get up and to
help. But what could she do? More than ever, Blume felt helpless without her magic.

  Ealrin let out a grunt of frustration and drove his sword deep into the sand. Some of the elves had rushed forward, thinking his outburst would mean an attack. Seeing his hands lifted up above his head, however, caused them to pause long enough not to strike. Blume saw the tall priest smile.

  "Bind them," he said. "Then have them ready to go alongside our troops. Lock them up tightly."

  To her amazement, the elves took Holve's spear from him and Jurgon's wand before binding them, but did not even step near her, or make to tie her up. She didn't dare move or make a sound. Her eyes looked down at her shoes and she nearly gasped. Her feet were gone. So were her hands. It was like she had become invisible.

  The three were being led away before she spotted it. Though the halfling's hands were tied behind his back, a faint glow came from inside his shirtsleeve. A piece of rimstone was faintly glowing with magic. He must have saved a small chunk of the wand Blume had destroyed.

  As they got further away, the glow faded and Blume looked down to see her feet returning into view. Ealrin's throwing his pack at her and Jurgon's spell had caused the elves to miss her entirely.

  She waited until they were fully out of sight before standing up and digging Ealrin's sword out of the sand. She wasn't skilled at fighting with a blade, but without her magic, it was all she had at the moment. Plus, she knew the sword was important to Ealrin and she was sure that, in his defiant gesture, he had sent her a message to keep track of it. Jurgon and Holve's packs lay close by. In each were food and provisions, but also four books: one from the library at Lone Peak, the one they had acquired from Silverwolf, and the two from Jurgon's hometown.

  Blume hastily stuffed these into her pack and, being careful to be as quiet as she could, followed their footprints up the beach. She had no plan in her mind, but she could not rid herself of one terrible thought. It had begun outside the coffee shop at Lone Peak when Wisym had pushed her back into the street and now reverberated throughout her brain with each step that Ealrin, Holve, and Jurgon took away from her.

  Every single person who had been captured by the elves of Enoth had sacrificed themselves for her.

  As quietly as she could, Blume followed the elves along the beach. She knew elves could hear her feeble attempt to keep quiet, so she just prayed that their loud noises would mask her approach. The beach was alive with activity.

  Elves were unloading boats and then piling the supplies onto carts. Beasts of burden were being harnessed down, ready to pull their loads. And row after row of elven soldiers began to march into the forest, down what looked like an ancient path.

  Blume wanted to see where they were going. The tracks of her friends from the beach blended into a mass of elves and she couldn't follow them any more. She needed to get up higher. Her first thought was to climb a tree, but the ones closest to her were young and short. Looking into the forest, she could see that the ground rose up higher into cliffs.

  Maybe she could climb up there to see the elven camp better?

  Her mind made up, Blume headed into the woods and started trudging up the incline. It wasn't difficult work, but the sword in her hand kept giving her the chills. Like it was freezing.

  Slowly, Blume followed the line of elves from their starting point on the beach to the path they were walking down. Banners flew proudly in the night. Torches lit their way as they went. She climbed higher and higher, searching for a glimpse of her friends, trying to figure out where they might be taken.

  That was when she hit something hard and fell backwards. She landed in a wet patch of grass where the canopy of trees had not protected the ground from the storms. Blume only had time to recognize that she was still clutching Ealrin's sword and that several things had fallen from her pack when a sound registered in her ears.

  The something hard was growling at her.

  44

  The Strength of Flames

  Cuno was panting hard. He and his pack had spent the last two weeks in an all out sprint to arrive back among their kind. Some of the tribe had given in to fatigue or hunger.

  Not Cuno.

  A new energy was welling up inside of him. He felt stronger, taller, more able than all of his pack. When they had last left the land of the Wrent tribes, he had been a tall but thin creature, skulking in the shadows of his superior. Now that Domne, their former tribe leader was dead, and this new gift was granted to him, Cuno was a threatening challenger.

  Many skin tents and holes dotted the hills the Wrents had called their homes since being driven from the south. The paths worn down by Wrents traveling to and from the lands below would go on to lead Cuno and his pack to the other Wrent settlements. He would follow this trail until he had united the Wrents or perished in the attempt. And in his mind, he could still see himself as the leader of the Wrents, the one to unite the packs and tribes into one.

  The dusty trail wound on around a large hill, and Cuno knew he was approaching the leader of the Arras tribe. It was he who had sent Domne and his pack down south to the elves of the woods. It had been their hope to kill as many of the long-legs as possible and return with their heads, securing their pack's place within the tribe.

  Cuno now had a different mission.

  He walked with a saunter as he came upon the hole of his tribal leader: Dumna.

  The den of Dumna was the largest of the tribe. All around the path that led to his door, the heads of elves were shoved through wooden stakes. The banner of the Arras tribe flew above his den: a black cloth with one red line, with another white on top of it that formed an "X".

  Dumna was the brother of Domne. He, too, was an albino Wrent. The two had claimed this was a sign that they were the strongest and most capable of leading. Cuno was there to disprove that.

  He let out a long and loud howl, signaling to all around that there was someone now calling all attention on himself. Slowly, Dumna came from his hole, a few female Wrents following him, basking in his leadership and dominance.

  "Cuno," he snarled lazily.

  Dumna was not as tall as Cuno, but he was much broader and his power was known far and wide. The other tribes respected him, even if they didn't trust him. Those who got too close to Dumna and posed a threat were often dealt with quickly and publicly. Which was why Cuno had decided not to wait to make his own claim.

  "Where is Domne?" the white Wrent asked, looking over the remnants of the pack he had sent south. "And where are the heads of the elves who will bring our tribe honor?"

  The pack had brought back none of their revenge killings, such was their speed in coming north and the urgency with which Cuno had driven them.

  "Domne is dead," Cuno replied, taking a step towards Dumna and standing to his full height. "And I am here to replace him as our pack's leader."

  "That is not for you to decide," Dumna replied, also standing and sticking out his chest.

  Dumna had the final say on all pack leaders in the Arras tribe. If he disapproved of any selected by trial, he himself would challenge them. Any Wrent who fought Dumna ended up dead. Cuno snarled and let out a threatening bark.

  "It had been determined by challenge," he said, not taking his eyes of Dumna. "And I am Cuno, the Red Handed, leader of this pack."

  Dumna jumped forward and bared his teeth at Cuno.

  "You are a rat and not strong enough to lead any Wrent," he snarled back.

  Many Wrents had gathered around the confrontation that was happening. Some growled at Cuno and snapped at his heels. Others barked their displeasure at Dumna.

  A Wrent tribe leader had just as many friends as they did foes. Dumna had been the tribe's leader since before Cuno could recall. The young Wrent closed his paw around his embedded piece of Rimstone. He felt it burn with power.

  A sensation he was becoming used to.

  Cuno looked down and saw, as it had been doing each time he grasped his paw in this manner, that it had been engulfed in quiet flames of red. D
umna's eyes looked at the fire in Cuno's paw, then barked and bared his teeth at the challenger. Cuno could see a trace of fear, despite the fox's defiant yell.

  “No fire will scare Dumna!”

  Several other Wrents were howling at the red flames that began to engulf Cuno's paw and arm.

  Then Dumna made his move.

  There was no circling and sizing one another up. No threats and talks of whom knew the tribe better. Dumna had always been quick for the kill. It was his undoing. Cuno caught the Wrent as he charged, steadying himself with his hind leg and using his arm covered in fire to grab at Dumna's throat.

  Though the tribal leader charged at full speed, Cuno stopped him easily. Power surged through him as he gripped his adversary. Dumna yelped in surprise and pain as the fire moved from Cuno's paw to his own fur and flesh. He tried to break free of the grasp that held him so tightly, but could not.

  Cuno's new power was overwhelming.

  Within moments, the strong white Wrent was consumed in red flames. A victorious howl escaped Cuno's snout as he flung the lifeless body of Dumna as easily as if he were a branch. The circle widened as Cuno strode around it, looking for any challengers who may try to face him now.

  None appeared.

  He barked wildly at the Wrents gathered around him.

  “I am Cuno, the Red-Handed!” he shouted with all his might. “Follow me as leader, and see the Wrent tribes united under my strong paw!”

  With his final words, he threw his paw into the air and out of it shot a brilliant red flame.

  Howls of agreement echoed around him and sounded the first calls to unite the tribes since the days of old.

  Cuno was growing strong.

  45

  Running Low

  “What I want to know,” Bernard asked as he found himself, again, marching away from Lone Peak with Lincoln at his side, “Is why they only want to feed us two meals a day. It's preposterous!” The large man was still trying to work out a useless poem on a scratch piece of parchment and not paying much attention to his companion's complaints. Bernard's stomach was growling as much as his mouth was moving.