“Where did he go?” Ahna wondered.
“I don’t know,” Cayne confessed. “It still remains a mystery to me.”
“What’s their stake in a potential declaration of war?”
Cayne took a deep breath. “I believe they have something to do with the undead infestation and their influence on the general. They’re planning something, a coup, perhaps. They want Bravoure to doom itself.”
Ahna remained silent. Bravoure had really sunk deep this time. Genocide, invasion, war, and now...conspiracies? She could not believe all of this to be true. However, she trusted Cayne and her judgement, no matter how crazy it sounded. Because in this young woman’s eyes, she saw Kairen’s spirit. And Kairen was never wrong.
Cayne’s eyes beamed again when she recognized someone walking behind Ahna. She immediately went to them. Ahna looked back and saw a short woman in a long, white alb appear from the corridor. The woman had her black hair tied in a knot and greeted Cayne with two palms joined and a head bow. She was definitely a cleric of some sort. Around her neck was a silver pendant of an oval shape, with some engravings Ahna could not distinguish from where she stood.
“Sister Giselle, good morning!” Cayne greeted. She then motioned for the elf to come closer. “This is Ahna, she’s a friend of Jules’s. One of the Missing.”
Giselle’s eyes opened a little wider when she saw Ahna, but not too wide. It was as though she wanted to hide her surprise. Ahna concluded it was probably because of her blue skin, pointy ears, and silver hair. She gave the cleric a warm nod and a greeting smile.
“Sister Giselle has been on our side for years now,” Cayne pursued her introduction. “She works in the castle and acts as our eyes and ears from time to time.”
Ahna noticed how young Giselle was. At least five years younger than Cayne, maybe even ten. Such a dangerous responsibility for such a young girl.
“Nice to meet you,” Giselle said as she relaxed a little. Ahna saw a faint spark of curiosity in her nut-colored eyes. Maybe it was, again, because of Ahna’s appearance. After all, most people alive this day had never seen a dark elf before.
“Likewise,” Ahna let her smile fade and addressed Cayne. “I’ll be leaving now.”
“Ah!” Cayne exclaimed, remembering the last thing she needed to tell the elf. “There will be a horse waiting for you by the northern gates, a black horse. He’s been trained. Take the tunnel over there,” she said as she pointed north. “It will lead you where you need to go.”
Ahna felt warm to be shown such kindness. She had not even asked for a bed, clothes, food, let alone a horse. Cayne truly trusted her. Ahna saw that wild flicker in the woman’s beautiful copper eyes. The glimmer of a fiery spirit full of compassion. She reminded her so much of Kairen.
Once Cayne turned away, Ahna had to hold in a tear. The images of the Falco-Dallor grave appeared in her mind. She had lost Kairen, but perhaps the gods had given her the chance to meet Cayne Falco, their descendant. The woman with David’s tact and Kairen’s eyes and allure. But this was not all. In her copper gaze, Ahna had seen mossy-green shards, remnants of the memory of Iedrias Dallor. And she had seen Clarice’s passion for knowledge when Cayne had recited history books, almost by heart. Cayne was the embodiment of the people she had held dear and had lost. A true gift of the gods.
Ahna headed out of the speakeasy, through the tunnel, until a set of two armed men showed her the way out of the Bravan sewers. Once outside, she hooded her face and vanished from the eyes of strangers.
4
Nightfall
The air was the first thing that triggered Luthan’s memories of his youth. They returned, one by one, and cycled around his mind. The gates of Norsika closed behind him. Luthan looked over his shoulder to take one last glance at the large oak portal with endless adornments. Coils and loops of sculpted veins that formed the shape of Fallvale’s emblem, the Oak of Life. This place he once had called home had just closed its gate to him again.
Luthan retrieved his horse from the city stables posted by the gates, a grey shire mare he had borrowed from the Academy and made his own. Her name was Mist, for her pale colors of a cloudy winter sky. Mist trotted beside him until they rejoined the road that descended into the Valley of Tears, Fallvale’s hidden gem, only accessible through Norsika’s Pass. Luthan took a moment to drench his vision in the highlands that extended before him. An endless sea of green split into a canyon where a river of turquoise water rushed smoothly by. The gorge had earned its name from its sheer number of waterfalls.
The place had not changed. Over two hundred years had passed since the last time he had gazed upon the valley’s unique beauty, but it was still exactly as he remembered. In this moment of pure awe, Luthan realized he had missed it. This was the place that had inspired him to become the man he was today. This was his home.
But as the feeling of home settled in his heart, there came the image of someone he had lost, and it left him with a pang of intense sadness. Oh, Meriel, where are you? The vision of Ahna overtook his thoughts. He had forbidden himself to think about her because her image only brought him pain. He had lost her once and then all over again. She was somewhere, lost in space and time, just like he had been.
Mist’s snort hauled Luthan’s thoughts back. He caught himself panting and shook his head to get back on track. He had a mission to accomplish and could not let himself be distracted. Especially not by the pain and disarray he felt. Luthan had a task to accomplish. A long shot, but a crucial mission nevertheless. If he could retrieve the Wayfinder, maybe he could fix this whole mess. What had happened to him, to the magi scattered across time. To Bravoure. Was it not the whole purpose of this Item of Power? Fix things? Set things straight? A long shot, alright, but it was all he had.
Luthan mounted Mist and set out down the Valley of Tears. He took the path of grey sand and pebbles that slithered along the blue waters. The scene was still, like it was frozen in one moment. There was only the sound of tern chirps and puffin wails coming from the canyon’s cliffs. Those songs were soon entwined in the flurry of a distant waterfall. The first teardrops of the valley Luthan would encounter. It brought to him a sort of calm, the silence of the Valley of Tears. A semblance of peace that could blanket everything else in his mind. Luthan let Mist guide him at her own pace in this quiet gorge where he was entirely alone.
Hours passed, and only the soothing rhythm of nature swayed Luthan to its beat. His mind had come to a quieter stance. The sun sought refuge behind the peak ahead, and Luthan was instantly reminded why they called it the Sun Mountain. A halo materialized in an arc above the summit with the aspect of a solar crown. Night would fall soon, and the tall elf began searching for a place to make camp. Following a trail of pebbles that stretched from the river to the cliff, Luthan found an area enclosed within the drooping branches of a weeping willow. He dismounted his grey horse and let it roam the surroundings freely.
“Don’t stray too far,” he said, and Mist trotted away.
Luthan smiled. He felt at rest here—something peaceful about the feeling of home. He looked around and halted his gaze on the Sun Mountain again, still far ahead. Two more days of travel and he would reach the foot. He would set on the path to the top, to a temple built by the Ancients themselves. One that the Fallvale elves had made endless efforts to preserve. He would retrieve the artifact he had traveled all this way for. But first, there was another thing he needed to do. A being he needed to face. The temple’s guardian. A creature as old as Terra’s dawn.
Getting out of the city was yet another challenge she needed to face. Ahna headed toward the western gates, blending in with a caravan of merchants making their way out of Bravoure City. She found Cayne’s steed in the stables, the black shire horse. Coal was his name, and it suited his color perfectly. He had a large satchel strapped to the saddle. Ahna checked its contents and opened her eyes wider when she noticed the smuggled shortsword inside. Nice. The stabler, an old man with a limp, acted as if Ahna was not
there. He had noticed her, though, Ahna was sure of that. Something else about him seemed odd. Ahna gave a few soft taps to the horse’s neck, and Coal let the elf lead him with no objections. That is when Ahna and the stabler’s eyes met, and the old man gave her a slight wink that offered answers to her questions. The stabler was undoubtedly part of the Wolf Pack.
Ahna queued up in the line of merchants amassed by the city gates. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground. She had to lay low and not draw any attention to her, just like she had done the past week, every day leading up to now. No one noticed her. She was a simple traveler in a brown cloak.
Ahna had one advantage: guards did not really expect a dryaa to wander the Bravan roads anymore. Not after the cleansing. Her brows furrowed. She still shuddered at the word. As much as she wanted to silence it, the anger still brewed inside her veins. And it burned her skin from within.
The City Watch guards bid the caravan, “Safe travels!” Unimportant words were exchanged. The guards did not even lay eyes on Ahna.
She overheard a few people talking about their travels. Some were headed to Mokvar, others to Elgon. A whiff of concern spread through the air as they spoke of their route. They would ride past Mokvar and along the Azul, and they would do their everything not to stray away from the river. They had to. Those merchants had a flicker of distress in their eyes, like they dreaded the fact they even had to set foot on that track. But no one spoke more of it. No one dared.
Once the caravan of horses was set in motion, away from the city gates, Ahna mounted Coal in a hurry. She clacked his reins in a flick of her hands. She overtook the long train of wagons on the main road with amplifying speed. Furtive and confused glances landed on her. She felt them, though she could not linger on them. She had to hurry away. A voice called, “Hey! Slow down!” but Ahna had better things to do than to let her attention be drawn. She rode away from Bravoure City and onto the western plains.
* * *
The sound of crackling flames brought Ahna calm. She sat still by the fire, staring at something deeper than the burning embers before her eyes. Her thoughts whirled inside her mind. A day of travel was behind her, and she had made camp here, close to the forest west of Mokvar.
She could not stop thinking about that look in those merchants’ eyes, as though their very soul feared the route they were about to take. Something beyond the river scared them. Something between Mokvar and Elgon. A shiver ran down her spine. The ruins of Antaris. Where it is always night and the Restless walk. By the gods! Ahna buried her face in her hands. What in Hell would she find there? What in Hell was she getting herself into?
She took the weapon she had hooked to her belt, the arcane pistol, in her hands. She squeezed it slightly, unsure of why she held it. She just contemplated it with distant eyes. She knew how much power it held, yet she could not feel it. She could not feel any energy coming from it. Only something distant, like a memory out of reach. Like the image of something lost.
“Boo!”
Ahna’s heart rocketed away. She jumped to her feet. And tripped on a haphazard stone. She fell on her buttocks, away from whatever had startled her, panting and gasping in shock. She looked at the source and only saw a tiny red sindur laughing like he had heard the greatest of jokes.
Luky.
The young sindur was on his back, legs and paws kicking the air, chortling at his own farce. Ahna was too confused. Had Luky followed her all the way here? How had she not heard him? How had she not noticed? She had the pointy ears of dokkalfar, for Guan’s sake!
“Your face!” Luky laughed. “You’re bluer than blue!”
Ahna felt angry, then irritated, then confused, then she started laughing herself. Compulsive chuckles that encapsulated this rollercoaster of emotions.
“What...” She tried to speak. “What are you doing here? How...why?”
Luky rose back to his feet. His feline ears folded as he regained his calm.
“Easy!” he praised himself. “I snuck on the fastest caravan to Mokvar, then I followed your tracks. You’re not good at covering your tracks.”
The elf shook her head and sighed. She would ignore that mildly boastful comment. Luky was not answering the most critical question.
“But why?” Ahna asked and brought two hands to her hips.
Luky cleared his throat and his whiskers, which were full of dirt from rolling on the floor, laughing. “You said you were going to the night. If we’re going to stop the cultists, I’m coming with you!” He was throwing punches at the air with his paws.
Ahna, perplexed, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “We’re not stopping any cultists, Luky,” she said. “And what about Cayne? And Jules? They’ll be dead worried looking for you!”
“I left a note!” Luky announced proudly.
“You’re irresponsible. And foolish.”
Luky seemed to ignore her scolding. Instead, he followed a knight beetle with his yellow eyes. The large insect had just found its way between him and Ahna. It crawled nonchalantly as if nothing bothered it. Dead leaves crackled beneath its tiny legs. Ahna could hear them. She wondered again how she could hear that but not Luky sneaking up to her.
She took a deep, long breath. “If what Jules and Cayne said about the night is true, it’s too dangerous for you. I won’t let you come with me.”
Luky’s attention veered back to Ahna. His eyes flickered with a spark of wit. “As long as we don’t go to the ruins, it’s fine. That’s what people say, at least.”
Ahna’s eyebrow joined the other one in a frown. “The ruins of Antaris?”
Luky nodded with all he had. Ahna noticed he had already sat down by the fire, and he was now playing with that knight beetle, handling it like a toy, making it leap in the air. The poor insect had its legs desperately wiggling back and forth, trying to keep a hold of the world.
“Don’t do that,” Ahna commanded. “This is a living being.”
Luky would probably not listen to her. Ahna realized that night how terrible she was at giving orders, let alone to a child.
But against all expectations, Luky released the beetle and let it cower away. There was a pout hiding his facial expression. And perhaps something else. Something Ahna could not really define. Was it apprehension? She came to sit beside the boy-lynx by the fire.
“You know,” she began, her gaze distant but on the sindur catling. “I knew you once, in a previous life.”
“Back when I was a councilor?” Luky asked with a wide smile.
Ahna confirmed, repeating his words in a wistful tone. She then pointed at the beetle, which was still in sight but had almost vanished among more dead leaves. “The Luk Ma I knew didn’t eat meat. Not even beetles.”
Some sort of clever joke was obviously hiding in her words. Meat eaters would never possibly think of eating insects, let alone big juicy beetles. But there was a point she wanted to make—eating one animal was the same as eating another, regardless of the animal. Eating a cow is the same as eating a beetle, both are alive beings with a soul, and the eater should be aware and respect that. That point awkwardly passed by though, because Luky entirely missed it.
“Ew!” he yowled. “Why would a meat-eater even want to eat beetles?”
“Well, why would a meat-eater want to eat meat?”
“Beetles aren’t meat!”
Ahna raised a didactic finger. “But they are living beings.”
Maybe Luky understood now. He nodded at Ahna, then at the fire, and remained silent for a few minutes.
“You said something about the ruins?” Ahna asked Luky, whose eyes were still fixed on the flames.
Luky turned his face to her and frowned like he was recollecting words someone had told him. “They say that’s where the night started.”
Gears rotated in Ahna’s mind. Jules had mentioned it before. Luky too. A place where night never stops. What kind of magic could possibly cause this eternal night? Was it even magic?
The ruins were not far. It was night no
w, but nothing was different about the sky. Ahna needed to find out more. She would go near the ruins tomorrow, see how far this eternal night might reach. She needed to be careful, for Cayne and Jules’s words now echoed in her mind.
The undead. Eternal night was the place the undead roamed, away from the sunlight. But after decades of studying everything about magic and schools and spheres and arts of the arcane, Ahna knew little about the undead. It was a cleric thing, after all. Varkadian clerics spoke oaths and blessings that protected against the undead. Maybe she should not have come here, not without a cleric, that is.
“How long do elves live?” Luky asked out of the silence.
Ahna chuckled. “Lifetimes.” She paused to think of something to add. Luky sure seemed eager to learn more. She could see it in his eyes. “I’m pretty much almost two hundred Sols.”
“What?” Luky prompted, startled. “But you lived the war, right? The Rule of Sharr?”
“Yeah...” Ahna sighed. “Tell me about it.”
“You’re like Jules. You traveled time.”
Ahna gave the flames a series of slow and ample nods. Her thoughts returned to evaluating her entire situation. How and why she had arrived here, almost two hundred years too far. If only she could get to the Academy. Time travel. Something the magi had always speculated was possible but never proved. If she could get to Luthan, maybe he could explain. Maybe he could tell her how this all had happened.
What did you get yourself into, Ahnny? Ahna asked herself using Jules’s voice.
“Do you, like, grow old?” Luky wondered. “How do you grow up? I know us sindurs grow up faster than humans. Is it slower for elves? Can you be a fifty-Sols-old baby?”
Ahna smiled. “Actually, now that you mention it, our process is not linear.”
“Linear?”
“For the first thirty years or so, we grow as fast as humans. Then it slows down considerably.”
Tempest of Bravoure Page 5