Mist & Whispers

by C. M. Lucas

  ‘Son, I’m not sure you are ready for such responsibility!’

  ‘Sire,’ Gavriel interjected with a respectful bow. ‘I too had my doubts when Prince Harrion came to us, but we have put him through his paces for the last seven sleeps and I have to say he has met all our challenges with great skill. Your son is a phenomenal swordsman.’

  ‘He should be, I trained him myself,’ Theone said, annoyed that Gavriel would suggest he had no knowledge of his own son’s talents.

  ‘Of course, Sire.’ Gavriel nodded apologetically.

  The room fell silent, and Theone took his seat. ‘I take it that means you’ve been sneaking out again?’

  Harrion sighed. ‘I am going mad sitting around doing nothing all day. Now, you won’t believe me that I saw the castle that sleep – ’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t believe you, Harrion, but the forest is not to be trusted! It bewitches minds and fools even the sharpest eyes.’

  ‘But think of all the good I can do! You saw the men after they had that bread; it put the spirit back into them! What the Stragglers do for the camp is important, and I want to be part of that. With my magic, they can look for supplies in places they couldn’t get to before, and I can help if they get into any trouble.’

  ‘Staying out of trouble is not usually what you use your magic for, as Anya well remembers.’

  ‘Hey, don’t bring me into it!’ She didn’t need a reminder, she still had nightmares about the Potentilla and often woke in a cold sweat. She was lucky Lorcan had managed to escape.

  Lorcan. She hadn’t any proof but his word and yet somehow, she knew he was innocent. She felt it in her bones, in her blood, in every part of her being. She had to find a way to help him.

  ‘Father, I’m doing this with or without your permission. Faust isn’t the right man for Anya’s training, and Gavriel agrees.’

  ‘Sire, with your blessing,’ Gavriel said, stepping forward, ‘we would like to train the Marked One, Straggler style.’

  ‘And what, pray tell, is that exactly, Gavriel?’ the King said, rolling his eyes.

  ‘We would take the Marked One – ’

  ‘I have a name,’ Anya interrupted.

  ‘Sorry, Anya. We would take Anya and her companions into some of the old villages. Give them a sense of real threat in a controlled environment. Ignite that fighting spirit then teach them to control it, so they’re ready when it counts.’

  Faust snorted. ‘Ha! It’s not spirit she lacks, I’ll give her that, but control is far from her puny reach.’

  God, she wanted to hit him, but that was what had got her into this mess in the first place. Plus, it would only prove him right. She gritted her teeth and allowed the urge to pass.

  Theone took some time to contemplate.

  ‘I will grant your request,’ he said. ‘But on these terms, one: you choose a village close enough to camp that, should you need it, medical help won’t be too far away. Two: the moment the Anya’s safety is compromised; all training reverts back to camp.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Harrion and Gavriel said in unison.

  ‘Three: and this is the most important – Faust and his men will be there.’

  ‘What! Why?’ Harrion demanded.

  ‘In case anything happens. The more men on hand, the better chance we have of Anya returning safely.’

  ‘Sire, I’ve already said I want nothing more to do with this,’ Faust protested.

  ‘What’s the matter, General? Scared we’ll put you to shame?’

  Faust’s eyes narrowed, but the blue-eyed Straggler next to Gavriel kept on grinning. ‘How about a little two-team training session? The chapter of your choice versus us, Prince Harrion and these four.’

  ‘Well Cael,’ Faust drawled. ‘I don’t see how that is fair. My smallest chapter has sixty-two men.’

  Cael laughed. ‘You can bring your largest chapter if you’re worried.’

  ‘So are we all in agreement?’ Theone said, clearly losing his patience.

  Anya liked the idea of training in the villages. Exploring the land could yield more clues about what really happened on that fateful day, many years ago. And then it hit her.

  ‘I have my own condition.’

  Faust groaned.

  ‘The venue. I want to see where this all began. I want us to train in Silver Forest.’

  ‘Very well,’ Theone nodded. ‘Silver Forest isn’t far from here so I don’t see that being a problem.’

  She felt a surge of empowerment. With Harrion and the Stragglers backing her corner, things were starting to come together. Now, if she could just find that Weaver Barlem had mentioned...

  ‘Oh, and one more thing,’ she added. ‘We get to go on the next mission to Thule.’

  Whispers shot around the pavilion.

  ‘Child...’ The King’s voice shook with genuine worry. ‘Thule is the closest city to Castle Lake, there are more dangers there than anywhere else in the Kingdom.’

  ‘We need to go to the old library, Theone. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t imperative.’

  The King exhaled, long and heavy. ‘It seems my son is not the only person I am yielding my trust to. Very well. One must let a bird spread its wings if it is to achieve great heights.’

  She left the pavilion with a new sense of excitement, but it didn’t last. The General caught up with Anya by the fire later that sleep ‘Be ready,’ he breathed ‘Don’t think I don’t know how to destroy my enemy.

  IN TRUE PLAYGROUND fashion, the discussion in the pavilion soon became the biggest talking point in the camp. The soldiers, loyal to their General, backed Faust completely and they let Anya know as often as they could, taunting her and her friends whenever the chance arose. Some of them didn’t say anything at all; they’d just break out in laughter whenever she walked by.

  The civilian residents however, like Joliver and Grinling, all seemed to be rooting for Anya’s team. Whenever she’d pass one of them, they would wish her luck or share words of encouragement.

  One person even gave her a token of support. Trace, Feiron’s apprentice at the armoury, called upon her hut the rising of the, holding a small bag.

  ‘For me?’ she asked, wanting to be sure she’d heard him correctly.

  ‘It’s just a token... to wish you luck.’

  Michael stared at him as if he were mad.

  ‘Thank you, Trace,’ she said, giving Michael a kick. It was obvious Michael was making him uncomfortable, the poor boy couldn’t stand still.

  The bag was pale blue, and adorned with beads and a silver pendant; a crown with butterfly wings either side. She ran her fingers over the pendant.

  ‘That’s the symbol of our Kingdom. It belonged to my mother.’

  ‘Oh, are you sure you want me to have it? Don’t you want to keep it, as a memory?’ She was honoured, but at the same time felt terrible.

  ‘No, I want you to have it, and so would she. She’d have liked you. She hated bullies like Faust and she always taught me to stand up for myself and others. You remind me of her, so just you wearing it will keep her memory alive.’

  A little choked at the sentiment, she put the bag carefully over her shoulder. ‘Do I do it justice?’ she smiled, doing a little turn on the spot.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he replied, wiping the shine from his eyes.

  Michael seemed to have something tickling the back of his throat, and it must have bothered him greatly as he began coughing with vigour. Anya gave him another kick, and the tickle cleared as quickly as it came on.

  ‘Oh, Feiron asked me to fetch you, which is the other reason I’m here. He’s got something for you; said it may come in handy for later.’

  ‘What is it?’ She hoped it was the mystery thing he’d been working on for her.

  ‘Have you met Feiron? He doesn’t tell anyone anything, not even me!’ Trace laughed.

  She followed Trace across camp to the armoury, pretending not to hear the soldier’s put-downs as best she could.

  ‘Faust and his
men are going to crush you, little Marked One.’

  WHEN THEY GOT there, the armoury was lit better than she’d ever seen it. She’d not realised just how many things Feiron was working on at once but seeing them clearly for the first time was eye-opening. He certainly liked to keep busy.

  The Smith, a black stone in his hand, was sharpening the blade of a cruel looking sword. The hilt looked like a scorpion, with jagged, protruding spikes that hung around the shoulder of the blade like legs, and a flick of metal that twisted to a deadly point, like a tail. She knew it belonged to Faust; it looked almost the same as the one she’d destroyed, only bigger. The mere sight of it put her in a bad mood.

  When he finished sharpening the blade and meticulously checking his work, he sheathed it and sent Trace to deliver it to the General. Trace seemed disappointed by this. She got the impression he was as eager to get a look at Feiron’s secret project as Anya was.

  ‘The whys and hows of it are not important. What matters is what it will do for you.’ Feiron spoke so matter-of-factly, they could have been discussing the weather.

  He bent down underneath his work-bench and pulled up a stone slab from the floor. Placing it to one side, he revealed a cavity in the dirt below, inside of which was a long, rectangular box. He placed the box on the bench, blowing away the few marks his fingers had made in the dust. He lifted the lid and stepped back, inviting Anya to look inside.

  She approached carefully, her hands hesitating to touch its contents out of sheer confusion. She had imagined some sort of a weapon – a sword-for-dummies perhaps, that magically did all the work for you. But what was in front of her now... well, it was stunning, but she hadn’t a clue what it was.

  From its shape, and the fact he’d measured her up for it, it seemed logical that it was to be worn around her forearm, but how it would help her she failed to see.

  It was beautiful; a real work of art, made from rich brown leather and a rosy-gold metal plate, intricately cut to a lattice of swirling tree branches and roots. It was so detailed that she couldn’t fathom how he could have possibly made it in the short time that had elapsed between their last meeting and now.

  ‘It’s a vambrace. Not an ordinary one mind. It has a... rather useful quality.’ He turned it over, unlaced the back and placed it on her arm. When he finished lacing it back up, he allowed her a few moments to get the feel of it.

  She noticed her mark worked into the design of the tree and, for the first time in her life, she felt important. Here was this beautiful, mysterious thing, made by this brilliant, mysterious man, and it was intended for her and her alone, to aid her on this mammoth quest that fate had decided was hers.

  Feiron reached for her arm and lifted it slowly out in front of her. He took a sword from his bench then locked eyes with her. ‘Stay still.’

  He lifted the blade with precision, then, with every ounce of strength that resided in him, he struck her arm.

  Like a sheet of ice, the blade shattered, and thousands of tiny shards rained down around them.

  Anya’s mouth fell open. ‘How?’ was all that came out.

  ‘Mageium. Rarest metal in the world. A bugger to work with, but the worth – well, you just saw. It absorbs the wearer’s strengths and abilities, and magnifies the effects. Extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.’

  ‘Why trust me with it then?’

  ‘You’re not a bad kid. The heart is there, it’s just your skill is in close combat, not bulky weaponry. I have my own faith in the Prophecy of the Marked One. I believe when the time comes, you’ll not abuse its power.’

  She scratched her arm, not because she itched but because she didn’t know what else to do. Compliments weren’t easy to take, particularly when she didn’t think they were justified, and given her history, she was amazed he felt that way. Trust was something she seldom gave away herself; there was no way she was going to let him down. Not now.

  ‘You have my word, Sir.’

  HER FRIENDS WERE as confused by the vambrace as Anya initially was, but after explaining it was made from a magic metal, they sort of grasped the point. She’d left out the part about it magnifying strengths and abilities. From what Feiron had said, she’d gotten the impression that he thought she harnessed some sort of power, but since when had an uncontrollable temper been classed as a gift?

  A BOWL OF mushroom broth was all Joliver was serving at breakfast. The wheat berries hadn’t taken long to run out, so gone were the days of flatbread. Her stomach longed for sustenance. She kept thinking about Mrs Prior’s Cake Shop back in Little Wolf Green, and the image of a full pastry case had her salivating. What she wouldn’t give right now to taste something sweet – a cinnamon swirl or one of her apple cupcakes with a dollop of cinnamon frosting. Even a cinnamon bun – which had never been her favourite as the dough was always ruined by sultanas – would have satisfied the craving.

  Anya had eaten a cinnamon swirl for breakfast nearly every single day since she’d “officially” turned eleven. It had been two weeks without one, and the withdrawal symptoms were starting to get to her.

  She knew that now was not the time to disregard the food in front of her. She’d need every bit of energy she could muster if she was going to put up a good fight in Silver Forest.

  The Four met with Harrion and the Stragglers at the paddock where each of them mounted a winged horse and set off through the woods.

  Gavriel lead the convoy with Michael close behind, trying his best to keep up in the conversations between him and Cael. Steph and Tim rode next to each other and were kept amused by Basra and Bear, two brothers who seemed to place a bet wherever chance could be found.

  ‘I bet you all our boot cleaning duties for a week that Faust goes back to camp crying like a baby that he had his hide whipped by the red head.’ This was Basra, balancing his dagger in the palm of his hand, blade side up, as they trekked along.

  Bear laughed through his nose and replied ‘I can go one better; I bet you a foot rub every sleep for a year that Faust gets his leg eaten by a manticore and fashions himself a false one from the bones it leaves behind when Anya slays it.’

  ‘Urgh, rotten! I’m not going anywhere near your feet!’

  ‘Wanna bet?’

  Wolfond, the long-haired, wolf-pelt-wearing soldier, followed up the rear, just behind Anya and Harrion.

  ‘So, you like the vambrace then?’ Harrion asked her. They were passing the swamp that Michael had not so long ago fallen into.

  ‘How could anyone not love it! Wait, you knew about it?’

  ‘Knew? I found the mageium and took it to Feiron myself.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘I shouldn’t really say, but I guess it would be okay to share it with you. Though, I would have to cut out your tongue if you repeat it.’

  ‘Yeah, we both know you’re not going to do that.’

  Harrion just smiled. She’d spent a lot of time growing up dreaming about what it would be like to have a family, and Harrion was just how she imagined an older brother would be, minus the wings, of course.

  ‘I went with the Stragglers on their last mission, when they brought back the wheat berries. They had seen the sacks the last time they were there but couldn’t get to them. They were trapped in a cellar, covered by a fallen wall. I used my abilities to summon them. I found the mageium on the way back out of the City. Lucky really, I’d heard stories about it from Trace a few years back. Apparently it was extremely rare even when everyone had everything.’

  ‘Hang on a minute – if you were with the Stragglers then you couldn’t have been at camp. I thought you were avoiding me after I got you into trouble with your dad!’ she said, relieved that her suspicions were fruitless. ‘How did you leave for that long without anyone noticing? I called around to speak to you a few times and the guards even spoke to you. They told me you weren’t seeing visitors?’

  ‘Magic. I projected an image of myself sulking in my room. I didn’t even realise I could do that until las
t year. It’s come in handy a number of times now.’

  Yeah. He’d have made the coolest big brother.

  TEAM ANYA, AFFECTIONATELY dubbed by Steph, was the first of the teams to arrive at Silver Forest. Gavriel wanted to give the Four some time to become acquainted with the village before Team Fausty (again, coined by Steph) arrived.

  Walking through the village, the images of tragedy rendered the Four speechless. It wasn’t big – a couple hundred houses – but the scale of destruction felt epic. Not one house stood complete. They had been reduced to nothing more than burnt shells; a blacked-out blue print of a once thriving community, mapped across a hopeless landscape.

  The ground was littered with rubble and fire-damaged objects, such as cooking pots, wooden carts and books. Outside one of the houses, half a wooden rocking horse lay on its side, made lame by the same flames that had taken its home. The smell of charred wood and burned bodies still haunted the village.

  Anya wondered which one of these houses had belonged to Lorcan. Which one had he grown up in, and played at being Spartacus and Crixus in when he was just a boy and not a hybrid? Which one had he watched his parents die inside?

  Every part of her body shivered, save the burning spot that surrounded her heart. The endless stories she’d heard about the devastation hadn’t prepared her enough, for the reality of it was far graver now that it was laid out before her eyes.

  A brilliant white blanket caught her attention. It lay crumpled on the ground, tiny black and grey marks peppering the downy fabric where spots of ash had tarnished it. She knelt beside it and picked it up. It was heavier than she had expected; a silver rattle was stitched into one corner, and the symbol of Virtfirth – the crown flanked by Royal wings – appeared proudly in another.

  She tried not to think about what had come of the baby that had been swaddled in the blanket, biting back the emotions that flared inside her. It was so wrong, what had happened here. So wrong, and so evil.

  Kneeling there, alone with mixed feelings of sympathy and injustice, a fragrance crept up on Anya. It was warming and sweet, and as it became stronger, there was no mistaking its identity. Somewhere close by was something smelling, so very deliciously, of cinnamon.