by Ross Turner
“What is it? What happened?” Zanriath gasped, catching his breath from their sudden sprint. Isabel didn’t answer; she was watching the old man with trepidation.
Without warning, he collapsed, sprawling flat out on his pathway. He seemed to have a fit of some description before adopting a horribly rigid position with his back arched, arms jarred and blood slowly trickling from his mouth. Behind his limp body the door creaked almost unnoticeably. Zanriath hadn’t the slightest notion what to expect. Isabel on the other hand, had a very good idea.
A black four-legged creature abruptly darted from the house and leapt out onto the cold cobblestone street, tearing up sections of the short pathway as it did so. It shook itself like a dog and looked round testily. It spotted them immediately; its eyes were sharp and its fangs lethal.
It was a strange colour compared to other demons Isabel had seen. This one was a very profound, dark indigo and had peculiar markings running from its nose to tail, black and very deep, indented, as if carved with a blade. Its body was hairless; instead, thick and inflexible looking armour covered the beast almost entirely. And in its unique dark purple it gave the impression it was only able to move because of those odd carvings, separating the plating, allowing movement even when the armour was too rigid to flex.
It calmly and confidently stretched its legs before beginning toward them with frightening speed. Resembling a cheetah chasing down its prey, only larger and with more monstrous fangs, the creature had but one thing in mind, and they were stood a mere hundred and fifty metres from its rampaging jaws.
“Isabel…”
“Don’t move. It’s complacent.” She ordered without taking her eyes from the demon hurtling towards them.
“Surely that won’t stop it from killing us?” Isabel didn’t reply, leaving Zanriath’s usual composure slightly ruffled by his uneasy question left unanswered. Though she was surprised he didn’t move to run. Why did he trust her so? Either way, she hoped she wouldn’t fail his faith.
She focused entirely on the charging monster, tearing closer and closer by the second. With every muscle in her body tensed, her expression reflected pure concentration. Fifty metres now, they were moments from being ripped to pieces. Then, in an instant, the cobblestone floor beneath her feet began to change; it rippled as if disturbed, a stone tossed into a placid lake. Here however, that disturbance was Isabel. The energy she created was great, an intense power launching itself to meet the stampeding monster. It seemed not to notice the atmospheric change that was so obvious even to Zanriath. It was blinded by its berserk charge.
Isabel’s forehead creased and beads of sweat stood out even in the still cool air. She was all too aware of the residing fatigue she felt, even before she had begun.
But she needn’t have worried. When those seemingly insignificant ripples reached the demon, the result was catastrophic. It collided with the invisible barrier, so solid and steadfast that it was unable to advance even another inch. As a result its skull was crushed with a repulsive crunch. Smashing into the impenetrable barricade the beast was brought crashing to a messy halt in the centre of the street, its own momentum forcing its bones to lurch from their original positions, ripping through muscle and flesh and snapping against neighbouring joints. The sickening rips and cracks forced Zanriath to heave and avert from the disgusting mess. Isabel stood strong without a hint or even flicker of remorse. The amulet burned bright and bold ochre, fuelling her power and confidence - the God’s amber luminosity.
Her attack hadn’t been aimed at the demon directly. She hadn’t attacked it, rather she had resisted it, using the beast’s own momentum against it.
With obvious relief Zanriath looked to Isabel. She recovered from her trance and the creature crumpled, reduced to a bloody, crippled heap, steaming on the cold floor.
She faltered slightly, swaying with lethargy, but quickly recovered herself and without waiting she turned and led Zanriath back the way they’d come, not wanting to look at either of the bodies any longer than she absolutely had to. She stumbled again for a second, her legs weak, but Zanriath caught her arm and steadied her. She considered refusing his aid but was unconvinced that she would want to be without it. She forced herself to remain standing and continued.
“You’ve come a long way already Isabel.” Zanriath said breaking their silence.
“What do you mean?” Her voice sounded weak, though she was recovering quickly.
“You’ve fought in the Vale, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that must have taken a lot out of you, just like the boy did. But you’ve just reduced that demon to nothing, even though you’re already exhausted, and you’re recovering even now. Do you have any idea how much potential you have?” Isabel said nothing, but was clearly uncertain. “It seems I’ve not been misled.” Zanriath continued, sounding more like he was thinking aloud than anything else. “I’ve never seen such will, or such a focused individual.” He looked up as if a thought had just come to him and his hand came to his chin in thought for a moment. “I think the time has come for us to leave. We’ve got a long way to go.”
“Where are we going?”
“Hinaktor, it’s far, but I’d like to think we’ll be on the island within a week, as long as we can find half-decent horses. There’s someone we need to find. Someone who can help us.”
“Hinaktor? Who?”
“Yes. I know you’ve never left this island, but the time is now, and it’s probably long-overdue. And I’m not sure, but hopefully we’ll find out soon. Have you ridden before?”
“Yes I can ride, my mother taught me. But how do we get through Compii Tower? How do we get permission of safe passage?”
“The Gods will allow us passage Isabel, we are their mortal representatives. I’ve already had to pass, remember?” He smiled and, as before, placed his protective arm around her. And surprisingly, once again, his small gesture offered her significant comfort and security.
They continued back down towards the distasteful tavern and to the stables just opposite it. They would need clothes, and supplies, and mounts. Isabel hoped he had money enough to get everything they needed - everyone’s prices had been getting rather steep of late. Zanriath had seemed indifferent to the price in the tavern; it had practically been daylight robbery for the food they’d been given, but she didn’t push the matter. She imagined he’d thought the whole thing through rather carefully. He didn’t seem like one to leave things to chance…if that were even possible she thought.
What he’d said had truth to it though, there was no doubt about that, it all just seemed too unreal, fictitious. Admittedly she was no ordinary girl, but immense power? And whom else were they going to find? Chosen by the Gods?
She smiled at the thought as they walked in concert. Surely not.
7
The weather worsened by the hour, though the morning had bloomed with promise of a pleasant afternoon. Conditions had deteriorated into a sheet of steady drizzle with black clouds looming overhead, obscuring the sun, becoming nothing but an ugly and overwhelming blot, concealing the calming blue skies that surely lay hidden above.
As they’d planned to leave almost immediately, this was not a promising sign. They both knew full well the rain could settle for a good week or two in Land, and would most likely worsen before it improved. Dreadful weather for travel, but it seemed they had little choice in the matter.
The store they visited in briefly before their departure was homely and quiet with its own stables attached. The owner was a plump fellow named Darin who greeted them with open arms, provided of course that they obligingly emptied their pockets. His head was almost completely bald and the untidy beard he wore showed a distinct lack of attention and was touched here and there with flecks of grey and white. His shirt was stained and his shoes mismatched, one almost completely worn through.
Despite his shabby appearance he had sharp wits about him and Zanriath was clearly on his guard as their conversation took off
to an uneasy start.
Though Darin expressed a concern for his patrons in these most difficult of times, Isabel suspected quite strongly that his primary worries lay with his profits. His prices were as false as his greetings and Zanriath was required to reason and barter with the man at some length until their deal for horses and supplies vaguely resembled a fair offer.
Within an hour the couple were saddled to their new mounts and moving, not quite as swiftly as they would have liked, north and away from Aproklis, leaving the demon-infested town behind and staying to older and more infrequently used tracks. They were often forced to stray from tracks of any kind, as no one before them had ever intended to cross through Compii Tower, meaning consequently that there were no tracks leading directly north to the bridge. Cutting across farmers’ fields and hand-railing fence lines were sometimes their only options, but it didn’t slow them too much.
Their pace was hurried, but not so rushed as to tire their horses quickly, and Isabel knew their journey was going to be a long one.
As she had gathered already, Zanriath had an unusually good sense of direction; out in the open countryside he displayed an uncanny ability to retain their intended course and always knew exactly which direction north was. This became essential as the day wore on. It would be the first of many days travelling, and their journey would almost certainly not stop as soon as they reached Hinaktor.
Burned down buildings and the scorched remains of farmsteads were their only landmarks and Isabel found herself relying solely on Zanriath’s acute sense of direction. For several hours they rode in silence, pushing their horses, putting a decent number of miles between them and Aproklis, though, with dotted ruins as evidence, the demons clearly had not confined their exertions to within the town. Something had happened. Something Isabel thought must be vital, and it was forcing them to spread. Could that be the cause of Zanriath’s sudden appearance? The odds, she imagined, were quite favourable.
As the day aged the rain grew heavier, the wind bayed and howled constantly at their backs and black clouds blocked most visible light from the sun. Nevertheless, they rode on in the dim daylight, slowing their mounts after a while to give them adequate chance to rest. It had quickly become apparent that Darin had not been entirely truthful about the quality of his goods.
Isabel and Zanriath rode side by side with their heads down in a fairly feeble attempt to keep warm and dry.
At first Isabel regularly looked back over her shoulder towards Aproklis, feeling a definite wrenching at her heart for the home she was leaving behind, though she couldn’t be sure how much of that feeling of loss was from losing her father and how much was homesickness.
For her entire life it was all she’d ever known; childhood memories came flooding back to her. Her mother, her father, and the times they’d had. Admittedly, as would be expected, there were sorrowful memories among the happy ones, but as a family, they had been incredibly close. But now, without either parent, she felt very alone. She had no family left. She allowed herself some gloomy self-pity and continued to ride in silence, for some time totally absorbed in her own misery.
Yet, despite her loss and silent mourning, she felt strangely at home with Zanriath, and she suspected he sensed her sadness. With surely countless burdens placed upon him that her understanding still barely only scratched the surface of, Isabel could but begin to comprehend his ability as he maintained such a calm and collected manner. And how he managed to remain so selfless while she floundered in her sorrowful emotion, even though it seemed the fate of the entire Kingdom rested solely on his shoulders, she would not know. Surely it was resting on his back and not hers…she was just along to help him…somehow.
She felt suddenly very ashamed.
“We’ll be back don’t worry, but we have to do this, and I think after what’s happened, you’ll be better away from Aproklis for a while.” He placed a gentle and affectionate hand on her shoulder and rode a little closer, slowing their pace. She instinctively rested her cheek on his hand and sighed quietly, knowing deep down that he was right.
“It’s hard to leave.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But we’re the only ones who can do this, and it won’t be long before the demons spread to the other islands. Even if I wanted you to stay, I doubt I’d be allowed to leave you. We must find another in Hinaktor and then continue to Vak’Istor. For the moment I’m afraid that’s all the information I have. I know eventually we’ll have to go to the Lair of the Demonic and I can guess what has to come to be, but I’d much rather act on certainties than guesses.”
“The Lair of the Demonic?” Isabel repeated, apprehension clear in her tone.
“That’s still a long way off.” He reassured her, not that Isabel was sure it worked. She decided not to push that particular issue any further; Zanriath knew what he was doing, she assumed, and the meaning of his words struck fear at her heart.
They both wore the black cloaks they had purchased at outrageous prices from Darin, and thick robes beneath to keep the chill at bay. The caring fellow had taken utmost delight in emptying Zanriath’s pockets on additional clothing, two horses and two saddle-packs worth of supplies. Their horses were large and sturdy, but as they had soon discovered had little stamina, only just worth the money Zanriath had eventually managed to haggle for them.
“Everything leads on to the next stage almost perfectly…it’s like a compilation of preparations…” Isabel said suddenly, not even realising she was thinking aloud as she worked back over the last few days in her mind, before adding more sullenly, “but by the sounds of it there’s still so much we’ve got to do…”
“Yes.” Zanriath agreed, nodding as he did so. Isabel looked up. “That’s the way of the world…for whatever reason you decide to believe.”
“Why?”
“Try not to worry too much about why. Would you prefer it any other way?”
“I doubt it. It’s like all this has been planned…it just all seems so daunting.” Zanriath looked at her for a moment, studying the thought and confusion evident in her brown eyes,
“You’re very observant.” He replied finally, pulling his cloak tighter round his neck. “Don’t lose that perception. Not even when things get difficult. You’re definitely going to need it.”
They rode on through the rain and the fields continued endlessly, still keeping to the less frequented tracks as far as they could. Soon they were moving through common land without any trails at all. The ground rolled on in gentle hills for miles in all directions, the crest of each hill ahead of them looking higher than the last, kissing the darkening horizon in envy.
Far to the east Isabel could clearly make out the mountains rising from the north side of the Vale of Shadows. Aproklis however was well beyond view by now, and would remain so for the foreseeable future. She didn’t even really know if she could face returning. But where else would she go? Her thoughts deepened and filled her with a certain remorseful regret and they rode in silence once again for many miles.
It was cold, the rain and wind now creeping through to Isabel, chilling her through to her very bones. It was probably no colder than it had been for most of the day, but her weariness was sapping the heat from her.
Riding was becoming more and more uncomfortable and each time she changed her position or raised her head over the hours the rain managed to find its way beneath her cloak. This, coupled with the howling wind and bitter cold made it almost impossible to concentrate on anything but keeping as dry and warm as possible, let alone strike conversation, no matter how many yearning questions she had.
A brief passage through a thin stretch of woodland provided a slight reprieve from the unending rain. The wind however did not yield and surged through the trees, whistling and howling menacingly as it did so. Branches reached down, clawing the air above their heads, raking at Isabel’s face as she ducked to avoid them.
In the intensified darkness the pair sensed hungry eyes monitoring their every move, though they could
see nor hear anything. They pushed on, moving at a steady walk, taking relief amidst their temporary shelter, so far undisturbed.
But after just half an hour Isabel felt as though they’d been trapped in the woods for days. Eventually the darkness eased, if only slightly, and the overhanging branches thinned as they trudged on further, meaning of course that once again they were exposed to the hammering rain.
As they emerged from the woodland a strong gust of wind whipped past them and even the horses shuddered from the chill blast. The rain eased slightly, much to their gratification, and a little more sunlight was breaking through the dense cloud, filtering down and lighting their unclear path.
A figure appeared through the falling droplets, as if emerging through an opening curtain, approaching them at a leisurely pace.
“Good day to you!” a cheerful voice called.
“And you sir.” Zanriath replied as the figure came more clearly into view. He had to shout to be heard over the wind.
The man was elderly, a farmer Isabel presumed, dressed in old, ragged clothing. He wore a large, thick tunic to keep the icy rain at bay; it was grey and well worn, but still seemed in good condition. He held a long walking stick, carved from the trunk of a thin white barked tree, thicker at his hand and spiralling down to a blunted point. He stopped and stood with his feet apart and both hands resting atop his staff. The comfortable look he portrayed suggested he was perfectly content with both the weather and the demons, completely carefree, no matter how difficult the situation became, he loved every second of his life. Even in that shortest moment, in that smallest glimpse, Isabel learned a most valuable lesson, one that can never be taught, though it may have come at the cost of saddened envy.
He introduced himself as a humble traveller-come-farmer, and insisted his name was farmhand, as that’s what he’d become used to. He then asked what had brought them from Aproklis.
“Farmhand…” Isabel began, finding the name odd. “Please pardon my asking, but how do you know we’re from town? Isabel enquired, her eyes alive suddenly with hungry curiosity, intrigued and eager to find out more about this strange and yet somehow wondrous fellow.