Vegard continued to mutter about ‘that damn Mohin’. The Mrkyr Brodir’s odd way of sending messages to one another—by tapping the soul of another.
The very thought sent a shutter down Vegard’s spine. Not that he was one to talk. Still, he couldn’t help but ponder if he had ever been made an unaware vessel for a magical message.
As if Mohin and Wera had had full conversations with Vegard playing host-body.
The carriage came to a stop. The girl drummed on the roof of the cab. “Your stop, thief!”
Vegard jumped from the carriage, his boots kicking up a cloud of ash as he landed. It was everywhere. It coated everything like some great giant’s ashtray.
Vegard and Chenway were on their own now as the girl turned the horses about and left without so much as a goodbye.
They were at the edges of the Graves of Arofin. The warlock could see where it got its name. Throughout the cresting valley, oddly shaped rocks and structures stood like gravestones. White as bone and gangly limbed. Almost human shaped features to some, while others stood as tall as towers, leaning to the side or fallen entirely. Even the rock appeared lifeless. Everything carved from despair.
Vegard started forward through the stones and pillars. The wind was nowhere to be found. The only sound coming from the scuffing of his boots and the faint sniffing noise made by the chenway, who had his head poked out from under the cloak.
How he was to find this druid of the graves, he wasn’t sure. Mohin had given him nothing to point him in any direction other than this region.
He found he was picking his way down stone steps that led around a bend towards the coast. The sound of the waves would be a welcome reprieve from the silence that dominated this forsaken place.
Vegard plopped the little chenway down to let it run around the area. The ash buried itself to about knee high on the dog. They both clattered down the winding natural steps toward the extended expanse below. Vegard shimmied out onto a ledge of a jutting rock and peered out over the valley.
He spotted a river that snaked through the valley into a wide basin at the bottom. The waters looked black as night. A stark contrast to the gray atmosphere around. One tree decorated the edge of the black bowl of water. Its greenery was like a brilliant magic in the graves.
“Come, dog! If ever there would be a sign.” He clambered off the ledge and ran down the curving, natural staircase that lined the valley walls.
At the bottom the grave stones tripled in number. Some were melded together with others. A twisting of malformed figures as if the stone itself set out to embrace one another. Vegard weaved his way around each one. He dragged his fingers across the unnatural structures, wary that at any moment the oddities could come to life and strike at the intruders. Or was that his imagination? They were different from gargoyles yet similar in a way he couldn’t put his blackened finger on.
Vegard and Chenway came to the river. It flowed thick like blood from a wound. The edges of the river were crusted over and black, congealed to a solid. Vegard kicked at it with his boot before some pried away and fell into the slow moving river.
Following the bed eventually led to the deep waters of the basin. It was a perfect circle around, unnaturally so. Vegard didn’t know much of the Graves of Arofin but one thing he remembered rumored was there were no rivers. There were supposed to be no lakes.
But here one most definitely was, as murky and disgusting as it looked, it still technically qualified.
He kicked around the edges of the lake, making his way to the solitary tree that he had spotted from above. Chenway ran ahead, suddenly.
“Hey, dog! Chenway, ya little shit!” Vegard gave chase, darting around the broken stone structures. The little creature was much faster than he appeared. Its tiny legs excitedly kicking up dust and weaving between and through the structural abnormalities.
Before he knew it he was standing before the one tree. It was a frail thing but tall, lush with emerald green leaves. It truly did look as if it was shining amongst the dank environment.
Vegard was transfixed by its color. The raw, natural beauty. It was odd to him that he never noticed the beauty of such a thing—till it was gone. This solitary tree, plucked from its friends, becomes so radiant and lonely, in this land of ash and rock.
Chenway’s high-pitched barking got the warlock’s attention. The dog was hopping back and forth over by the lake the tree was rooted by. It took his eyes a moment to realize there was a human woman there, knelt next to the lake. She had long strawberry blonde hair that lay untamed and relaxed down her back. She wore a light green sundress that was coated and stained by the ashy environment. Even from this distance Vegard could make out her glowing, soft blue eyes. They shone like crystals in the girl’s expressionless face.
The girl cocked her head to the side, as if waiting for Vegard to answer for his trespassing.
“Are you a druid?” It was the only thing Vegard could think to say. The girl stood, regally, and dusted her hands on her silk-thin dress.
“Dat depends.” She answered. “What’s yer business ‘ere?” Her voice danced with melody and was heavily accented with the tinge of the plains people. Much more elegant and earthy than his mountainous brethren.
“My business is finding a druid.”
The girl starred at Vegard then picked up a bowl by her feet and brought it to the beautiful tree. She poured the liquid into the base then pressed her forehead against the tree. A soft whisper of a prayer could be heard. She turned to regard the stranger once more.
“Ye were sent by Mohin, weren’t ye?” Her stare was stoic but pure. There was nothing hidden with this one. She was as blunt as nature itself. “Don’t know why I asked. Course ye were.” She repeated the process with the bowl and lake water. “He came to me in a dream de other night. Told me of a lost friend. And that he’d be sending a helper. Dat be you, then, right?”
“What are you doing?” Vegard asked, regarding the water and the tree.
The girl looked around. Her bare toes dug into the gray earth.
“It’s a very sad ting that happened here. So long ago.” Her crystalline eyes shone. “This was once a place of life. Now so much of the surface is dry and crusted. But life…” She dug more with her toes till the ash and rock gave way to a rich soil underneath. “Is but under the surface.”
“What happened he…”
“You make me uncomfortable.” She interrupted. There was no change in her general demeanor. The statement was spoken as if giving directions.
“Right.” Vegard sighed. “That is the general consensus. I am warlock.”
“It ain’t that I’m feelin’. Somethin’ different. You have the mark of darkness around ye.”
Vegard opened his mouth to say something but the girl continued. “This place was kissed by death, many years ago. The wars of men tore the land asunder. Their blood stained the sand. Their beasts were trained to do things unnatural to their ways. And their magic burned the skies.
“It all culminated when a Grand Archmage who weaved an ancient and forbidden spell into the belly of the mighty volcano, Mount Brunnr.” She pointed to where Vegard had come. The hill he descended from was actually once a mountain, completely gutted out and hallow.
“The mountain didn’ erupt as much as it was destroyed. Its side split and its red hot blood spewed, covering all da armies of Arofin. Its smoke shamed the sun and the snows and rain turned to burning ash dat fell from the sky like an eternal storm.
“The ‘tombs’ people speak of, they are cities, buried. The ‘graves’ are men and beast cast in lava stone and stained with ash.”
Vegard whipped around, suddenly realizing what she had said. All the tombstones and graves he had passed—were living creatures once. The sadness of this place was not only in its gray death but in its volatile history cast forever in stone.
“Why did you tell me this?” Vegard shuddered.
“Ye asked. Or, were bout t
o, ya?” She prodded at the earth more with her big toe. “There is still life to be had here, though. Beneath its scars there still be good.” Her heavy gaze fell upon the warlock. “Ye be shrouded in darkness. But I sense life beneath dem scars. Somethin’ to be had of you, that’s fer sure.”
The pair starred quietly at one another for a moment. “And, yes, I’m druid. I’m the one Mohin sent ye fer. My name be Fulvia Sparrow. And yer…?”
“Vegard Orlo.” Vegard noticed the little chenway growling at the druid and running about the warlock’s feet. “And that noisy thing is Chenway.”
Fulvia crouched down and beckoned Chenway closer but the dog was having none of it. “Odd lil creature, I’d say. I usually have a knack for all types.”
“You’re telling me.” Vegard sighed. “So, you are willing to help, then? To find our captured companion?”
“I suppose. Mohin’s dream message be vague but I tink I got the picture, more or less. And if’in the Mrkyr Brodir find it necessary to involve themselves in worldly matters once again, I’m sure it’s fer good reason.”
The druid girl whispered another prayer to the lone tree. She tucked her goods away and beckoned for Vegard to follow.
They crossed the crag ridden valley floor. Vegard having a new respect and perspective on the ‘graves’ that dotted the area. Before they were just rocks in his mind. Now they were memories made shape and form. Atrocities that stood as monument to their perversion.
A small path led out of the Graves of Arofin through the mountainous surrounding. “Where are we headed?”
“To the shore.” The druid spoke without turning her head. “After my dream I went to the water to hear its story. Vlero will tell us all if’in we have the mind to mind it.” Her fingers dragged across the walls of their slim path.
“What did the waters say?”
“There is a warship carrying a tortured soul. Tortured souls are not rare to the sea, mind ye, but one aboard a warship got my attention. It be cutting the waves slowly, with the caution of discipline in her sails, but not with the permission of the winds to guide her.”
“What are you talking about?”
Fulvia turned and spoke bluntly. “The winds are not in their favor. Sometin’ that won’t be plaguing us, I can assure ye.” She smiled.
With that the shore opened up as the curtain of rock and depression gave way to the immaculate shores of the beach beyond. Night had fallen upon the land and the shining stars illuminated a long, thin boat pulled to the shore. Its sail lay bundled within the sea vessel.
“Wait!” Vegard said, sudden anxiety gripping his heart. “You don’t mean to catch up to them on the sea, do you?”
“O’ course.” The druid blinked at him. “That be the most direct path to dem.”
“Listen, I’m not sure you understand the gravity of this situation. They have a powerful foe aboard their craft. A man named Asmundr in consort with an evil power. Last thing I’d think to do is force myself into close confines with em!”
“The last ting they’d expect, either.” She smiled and got about prepping the small boat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dark Waters
The boat resembled a traditional knarr, yet slightly smaller and lighter with a small cabin area constructed near the back. Inside was where the druid must have slept. A bed roll was laid out along with a crate of rations and spices hanging along the wall.
Vegard set the chenway in the cabin area and tossed it a bit of cured jerky.
“That should keep ya busy.” He shut the circular door behind him and went about helping Fulvia with the sail.
The two pushed the boat from the pebbles of the rocky shore and pressed forth to the open Mior ocean. Vegard manned the rows although he made very little in the way of progress. It had been a time since he last fed his empty soul. His bones ached with the cold.
“What were ya saying about that wind? If you’re thinking I can row us to Temuria than you drastically overestimate my strength.”
Vegard turned to see Fulvia knelt down near the bow of the ship. In her hand she cupped an emerald the size of a pinecone that was secured about her wrist with a delicate silver chain. With soft words she whispered to her gem, cradling it like a newborn child.
Vegard was about to repeat himself when he heard a gust of wind rip across the water. He turned about to see strong, black waves in the night coming forth. The wind whipped his hair back and the strain of rope and wood creaked under the sudden pressure. The sails snapped to life, catching the enchanted wind, and filling them with forward motion.
The jerking of the boat caused him to tumble from his bench. Even the druid, herself, snatched the sides of the boat in surprise. Her strawberry air danced around her head and she wore a grin as wide as the crescent moon above their heads.
She laughed gleefully. “Oh my! Came with a bit o’ gusto, didn’t she?”
The boat tore through the waters. The shores of the Jagged Coast fading like a setting sun. Waves billowed from the sides of the knarr as the little boat cut through the waters with great speed. Vegard secured the paddles inside and shimmied carefully to the bow to join the druid.
“How long will it be?” He asked. “Till we catch up with them.”
Fulvia was lost in the moment. She was squinting and smiling as beads of water jumped up to touch her smooth cheeks.
“They were havin’ a couple days on ya, since they set off with yer friend.”
“Companion.” Vegard corrected although it seemed the druid had not heard.
“I hear from the sea that their war vessel moves with no haste. The confidence of a predator, it has.”
“Meaning?”
“The winds will carry us swiftly. When night descends upon us again we will see their ship.”
“Great.” Vegard huddled down and wrapped himself in his thick cloak. He wanted to rescue Wera…yet was in no rush to meet once more with the formidable Red Paladin from Havansgard.
The little boat traveled swiftly amongst the choppy waters of the open sea. The reflection of the stars upon the waves appeared like the eyes of water sprites watching them from all around. Vegard dragged his hand through the depths. His charred hands felt just as cold as the waves splashing around them. He flexed his fingers wondering if he would heal from these wounds. Ever be warm. Ever be normal again. Whatever that meant.
“Why do you assist us?” Vegard asked Fulvia, wanting to clear his mind of these troubling thoughts. The girl had moved little from her spot at the bow of the ship since the beginning of their journey.
“Seems to me ta be the right thing to do.” She sat back. “It’s not usually in the nature of my type to get involved with these human endeavors. But if the Mrkyr Brodir tink it’s important, well den, there’s gotta be somethin’ to that, I imagine.”
“That’s the second time you have brought them up. What connection do you have with them?”
“Nun so much. Exceptin’ that our cultures are connected to the energy of it all. Not in the same sense. But they tend to be less blind den others.” She gazed about at the nightly surroundings. “And I be sensing somethin’ in the way of perverting all that.”
“Darold Shaw.”
“Or somethin’ of that sort. Somethin’ darker.” Her words were heavy with sorrow. “If Mohin tinks that savin’ this girl and helping ya along yer way can fix all that…den my assistance is the least I could be doin’.”
Vegard didn’t realize her gaze had settled upon him. He looked up at Fulvia Sparrow. “What is it?”
“Wondering why yer helpin’ the Mrkyr Brodir. You’re not like them.”
“Is that a question?” He asked defensively.
“It was somethin’ I was ponderin’ on. If you want to elaborate, ya can. We still got a ways.”
The winds pitched and changed direction on their own as if they knew where they needed to go. The boat practically steered itself with very little navigation fro
m Fulvia. Occasionally she got up to man the tiller, then she would plop herself back at the bow.
Vegard spent the time telling the whimsical girl his story. He started grudgingly but as the story progressed it all began to spill out. The slavery to Jogen, the goddess curse that took his soul, the journey to the Mrkyr—complete with trials—his unlikely companionship with the hver-girl, and their go at bandit-hood, and finally the events that brought him, and a tiny dog, to the Graves of Arofin.
Never could the warlock remember speaking so much of himself to another. He had mostly went out of his way to avoid such conversations, never fully wanting to allow people into his mind, his soul. Vulnerability was something to be crushed, in his experience, else be taken advantage of. But talking to the druid felt like introspective thought spoken aloud. There was an earthly lack of judgment to her demeanor.
“That is it for why I am here. I have a past, before my servitude.” He looked out over the never-ending horizon of the Mior Ocean. “But that is not relevant.”
Fuliva nodded, scrunching her lips together. “Everything is relevant. But nah need to recount it on my behalf.”
Vegard pried himself from his discomfort to let Chenway out of the cabin. He figured the little thing could stretch its legs, and piss on deck, before being kenneled away with the setting of the sun—and the dawning of battle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Rescue Party?
The day came and went much faster than Vegard would have liked.
The sun burned bright orange as its base began to dip to the far east. It took its comfort and warmth with it, along with its assurance of security. The mountains pulled the unwilling ball of fire down to heat the great forges at the heart of Vlero.
Vegard ate at its last bits of light ravenously, wondering if he was to see it birthed again. Or if it would be a corpse the sun was destined to greet in the morning.
A Forgotten Soul: The Vegard Orlo Saga Page 17