The Awakening

by Gary Alan Wassner

  “We should get moving now,” Marne urged. “I dislike the idea of standing in one spot for too long a time. We become easy prey for any animals who desire to track us. Who knows what lurks in these woods,” she commented.

  “I too am so anxious for news, I can barely contain myself,” the Queen replied, adjusting the plain cloak over her shoulders and raising the hood to cover her hair, interpreting Marne’s apprehension as nothing more than a longing for information about Filaree.

  She walked over to the dapple mare that stood nearby and retrieved the reins that lay over the pommel of the saddle. Deftly, she slipped her foot into the stirrup and pulled herself up onto her back. Marne likewise, prepared to ride as well.

  “Follow me then, your Highness. I will go to Jareth first so as not to frighten him and to ascertain that he is alone as we planned,” Marne instructed cautiously. “Whence we meet, I will signal for you to join me by raising my left hand,” she said.

  “As you wish,” the Queen replied.

  Riding one in front of the other, they departed the shelter of the woods and stepped onto the charred soil of the clearing just beyond. In the distance, they could see the remains of a building, the specific landmark that Marne had been instructed to look for. Most of the smaller trees and bushes surrounding it were splintered and damaged, though some new growth was evident all around. The larger of the trees still flourished, and they formed a ring-like wall behind what once was the house. One beautiful sapling stood out from all the others on the side of the ruins of the cottage. It grew straight and tall and was covered with healthy, shimmering leaves. All that was left standing of the former edifice was the rear wall containing the hearth. At one time, it must have been a comfortable cottage, but now it too was cracked and broken and blackened both inside and out, as if some great fire had consumed the entire place.

  This place has an ominous feel to it, Marne thought. Something terrible happened here once.

  At first, Marne barely noticed him. But as she neared the structure, she discerned her friend sitting up straight against a tree to the left of the erstwhile doorway. He apparently did not yet notice her approach, and she was glad for that, thinking that he must not be worried for his safety, if he was so casual about his surroundings.

  She walked her mount cautiously forward, though she found it a bit uncomfortable to be standing in the clearing so exposed. Regardless, she was inspired by her desire to retrieve the information promised by her associate so she moved ahead. After advancing another ten feet or so, she could not understand why Jareth did not look her way.

  Perhaps he is dozing momentarily, she thought. He could not have known exactly when we would appear.

  She cleared her throat with a loud harumph, attempting to gain his attention thereby, but still he was motionless. His head lay back against the tree trunk, and although she could now see that his eyes were closed, there was a strange smile frozen upon his face.

  He must have been having an odd dream, Marne thought. Knowing him, he probably spent the entire night sitting here in anticipation of our arrival.

  She made one more effort to awaken her friend from his apparent reverie, and as she did so, she realized that it was not a smile frozen upon his countenance, but a grimace. From her vantage point, she then saw that he was bound to the tree with thin cords that were apparently meant to be inconspicuous from a distance. Her heart began to beat quickly and the blood surged through her veins as she began to realize what was happening. He was totally and unnaturally immobile.

  “Retreat, my Lady,” she shouted back at Esta who was standing impatiently behind the cover of the woods. “It is a trap— Jareth is dead,” she cried as the recognition of that fact hit her like a sharp slap across the face.

  As she spoke, from behind every large tree surrounding the ruined house, a soldier emerged, each with his weapon drawn. And from behind the hearth itself a woman stepped out with wild, raven hair and eyes as black as night.

  “Run,” she shouted again, as she reached for her bow.

  As she went to set an arrow to the string while standing high in her stirrups, the dark woman spoke.

  “You are surrounded. There is no place for you to go. Drop your weapons.”

  Her voice was menacing and cold and it sent a chill down Marne’s spine.

  Queen Esta had already retreated deeper into the cover of the woods, but she was reluctant to leave Marne behind, despite the danger. She pulled up behind a large willow, hiding under its voluminous branches. Frantically, Esta removed her dagger from its sheath and brandished it before her. She waited there in silence while she reviewed her options. She could hear the voice addressing Marne, and just by the sound of it, she knew that their chances of escape were slim.

  “Challan. Fetch the Queen. She cannot have run far,” she said to the large Troll beside her.

  “As you command, my Lady,” Marne heard him reply, though she detected a slight hint of sarcasm in his guttural voice.

  He strode quickly past her, taking three of the smaller ore guards with him into the trees behind her.

  “Kill this one. We have no need for her alive. It is the other one who is valuable to us,” she ordered another group of orcs who had assembled to her left.

  Knowing that her life was in imminent danger, all that she wished to do was cause enough of a delay to allow the Queen to escape. She continued to draw her arrow from the quiver behind her back, knowing that her life was forfeit anyway. The group of orcs advanced slowly at the dark haired woman’s command, each looking to the others for guidance.

  Before anyone could unleash a quilled shaft, Queen Esta stepped into the clearing. She sat so straight upon her horse, with her head held high and her presence so regal and determined, that no one even dared to stop her. In stunned silence, they all watched as she walked into the open space and stopped directly next to Marne.

  “It is my captivity you desire. Let my friend go,” she said in a steady, controlled voice, mesmerizing the group of ambushers temporarily, while she slowly walked her horse nearer to Marne’s side.

  “Halt, woman. If you take one more step forward, she will die,” Margot finally said to Esta, practically spitting out the words, while trying to shatter the awestruck silence her noble presence generated. “Your sacrifice will gain you no appreciation here,” she remarked caustically. “Drop your weapon and surrender. After you do so, I will consider your request,” she said,

  Esta threw the dagger onto the ground and held her hands out before her, as if they were of no consequence.

  “Marne, do as you are requested. Drop the bow,” she asked of her companion.

  Marne looked at her askew, knowing that to do so would be to give up any hope of creating a disturbance during which Esta could possible get away. No matter how unlikely an escape would appear to be, Marne blamed herself for this situation and she was unwilling to simply surrender. She knew that the dark eyed woman was not going to allow her to live much longer anyway.

  “I cannot, my Queen,” she whispered to Esta. “You must try to run. They will not kill you too. It is you that they came here for,” she said under her breath. “I will pretend to give in to your demands, but be prepared to turn. Head for the nearest trees,” Marne advised.

  Esta knew that any attempt at flight would be fruitless, but she could not persuade Marne to do what she was unwilling to do. The large guard called Challan reappeared beside the Lady Margot, as Marne finished her sentence.

  “Silence, you two,” Margot hissed.

  “With dazzling speed, Marne notched an arrow and drew the bowstring. She leapt forward at the same time and sidestepped the circle of orcs that had surrounded them, knocking two of the surprised creatures to the ground. Queen Esta bolted backward. Her horse’’s front hooves flailed high in the air, then she turned and dashed off for the cover of the woods.

  “Follow her,” Margot screamed, and a group of black armored soldiers tore off after the fleeing woman.

  As Chall
an bounded toward Esta with extraordinary speed for a being of his size, Marne pulled back upon her bow and unleashed an arrow directly toward him.

  “For Avalain,” she yelled at the top of her lungs, and then she charged into the group before her, attempting to cause as much of a diversion as she possibly could.

  The arrow burst upon his chest within seconds, shattering the bone-like armor plate and knocking him backward upon the ground. Black blood oozed out from his wound and began to form a small pool on either side of his prone body.

  Margot watched in disgust, as the orcs scurried out of the frenzied woman’s path, scattering every which way like a school of frightened fish. Marne swung her mount from left to right, trampling any of the beasts that were not quick enough to avoid her horse’s heavy hooves. She then turned and caught Margot directly in her vision. With a blood curdling scream, she went for the woman in black, her own deadly dagger now drawn and brandished before her.

  “Avalain and the Queen,” she screamed again as she galloped ahead.

  But this time, the orcs on Margot’s right flank were standing out of harm’s way, safely shielded by their leader herself. Unafraid, they loosed their black tipped barbs upon the charging maiden. Marne took two arrows in her upper arm, causing her to drop the knife and slump forward momentarily. She quickly mustered her energy and straightened up in her saddle despite the searing pain. She clutched the reins and pressed her blood streaked shoulder with the same hand, while her other arm hung limply at her side.

  Queen Esta turned her head as she reached the cover of the trees once again after hearing Marne’s valiant scream, and she saw her stumble upon her horse as she lost her weapon. Unable to simply abandon her to fate, she hesitated a moment too long. In seconds, she was surrounded by the enemy which came at her from a different direction entirely, slowly encroaching upon her in an ever shrinking circle with their weapons drawn and menacing.

  “Run, my Queen—Run. Do not stop for my sake,” Marne yelled, sensing more than seeing the skirmish behind her.

  “I cannot leave you,” Esta shouted back.

  “You must. I am already dead. The arrows were tipped with poison. You cannot help me now. Save yourself,” she pleaded, her voice weakened.

  Marne felt the numbness creeping up her arm. She knew she had only moments left, and in her last seconds she wished only to know her Queen would escape and not be caught in the trap that she herself had led her into. She was standing within a few feet of Margot, who had barely moved during the past events, and she tried to block her from advancing now and reaching Queen Esta.

  She was beginning to lose feeling in her legs, and it was difficult to remain upright upon her mount. In a last fierce attempt to delay the inevitable, she spurred her horse sharply in its soft belly. The shock sent the animal lunging forward, and Marne, unable to grip with her legs any longer, went flying through the air straight toward the evil, dark haired woman. Margot had not expected such a desperate attack, and she raised her arms protectively as Marne’s now limp body sailed into her with the force of a propelled missile. The two women fell, sprawling upon the ground.

  Queen Esta pulled sharply upon her reins and her horse reared once again, scattering the enemy in her immediate vicinity. She tried to charge forward, but this time, sensing victory, a more determined group of orcs started to close in upon her. As soon as her horse’s hooves hit the ground, they tightened the circle that surrounded her. Their short swords were drawn and they were thrusting them dangerously close to the animal.

  She turned in a tight circle, all the while watching her dear friend struggle upon the soft earth nearby. Margot had scurried out from under the dying woman and stood up once more. She hurriedly brushed off the dirt and tried to regain her dignity. Marne had dropped her dagger when she fell, as her hands could no longer grip the hilt, and she lay there helpless, beneath the feet of her enemy. She glanced in Esta’s direction and a terrible look of sadness and defeat was etched upon her strained brow.

  “Stop your thrashing about. Death will come to you regardless, woman,” Margot sneered at the prone Marne, jabbing her with her pointed toe. “Your last visions shall be of me placing your honored Queen in chains,” she said venomously. “How fitting that you shall die knowing just how badly you failed her.”

  She began to walk over to the group of men surrounding the Queen, when from the direction of the bushes behind the cottage, they all heard a hair-raising cry.

  “Avalain and the Queen!”

  No one had time to realize what was happening before an enormous steed in plated armor came charging out from behind them at a dizzying speed. Upon the saddle sat the captain of the Knights of Avalain. With his huge sword high in the air, covered from head to toe in white armor, Parsifal attacked. Mercilessly, he skewered those orcs directly in his path upon his gleaming sword and sent them flying this way and that, never to rise again. His war horse trampled two others underfoot as its heavy hooves easily crushed their skulls. Turning in a tight circle, he effortlessly decimated the panicked enemy and cleared the way for Queen Esta to escape.

  “Run, your Highness. I will follow shortly,” he said, nodding his armored head in deference to her.

  “Marne?” she questioned, her features etched with pain.

  “I will do what I can,” he replied, understanding her devotion as few others could.

  Esta tore off into the woods, searching for the path that had brought them here originally. She heard the heavy pounding of Parsifal’s horse upon the ground, and she departed with the sounds of death in her ears and in her mind.

  Margot backed up a pace or two, hastening out of the way of this possessed warrior. She was too surprised by his attack to have reacted sooner and she needed a minute to gather her strength and her wits about her. She watched in disgust as her soldiers fled in fear, or died upon this knight’s sword. From the safety of distance, she began to gather the power she had. Lifting her arm, she conjured a ball of blue fire upon her palm. Pointing her long, crooked finger at the knight, she sent it flying in his direction.

  Parsifal was aware all the while of the menacing woman who led this disparate crew. He anticipated the moment when she would unleash her awful magic upon him, but he could do nothing to prepare for the pain. As the glowing ball of burning death came hurtling for him, he raised his arm to partially deflect it. The armor that covered his skin was thick and strong, prized by all and forged in the hills outside of Avalain, tiels ago by the great masters of the craft. It possessed the qualities of both absorption and diversion, stealing from the missile some of its potency, while throwing back a greater portion of its more dangerous elements.

  It struck him on his left shoulder, causing his arm to drop limply by his side from the impact alone. The pain was searing, burning through his body like the fire of Sedahar itself, and he slumped over in his saddle. His right hand remained fixed around the hilt of his great sword, though both hung almost to the ground. Margot could not see that his weapon remained within his grasp, as the huge body of his war-horse concealed it from her sight.

  Challan, weakened by Marne’s previous attack, grew bolder now, seeing that the Knight was injured and appeared to be unconscious atop his horse. He approached him openly, attempting to regain the respect of Margot and the other, smaller orcs after succumbing to the humiliating wound foisted upon him by the woman from Avalain. Arrogantly, the troll raised his axe high and whilst smiling, he turned his back upon Parsifal and his mount, thus displaying his fierce courage for all to see.

  Before his expression could even turn from hubris to fear, Parsifal rose in his stirrups, and in a sweeping arc, swung up and around, lopping off Challan’s head with his mighty sword. It fell heavily upon the soft earth with the smile eternally frozen upon his face for all to see. He then roared “Avalain!” once more, swung his horse toward the dark haired woman and leapt forward.

  Margot stepped aside in fear, searching for something to hide behind before she was trampled by Parsifa
l and his massive steed. She was too startled to focus her energy and attack him before he reached her. The Knight rushed directly for the panicked woman, but veered off in the final moment as he approached, and with his reins in his teeth, leaning precariously over the side of the saddle, hanging almost to the ground, he reached for Marne’s limp body. Without hesitating for an instant, he pulled himself upright, the barely conscious woman now cradled across his lap, and galloped out of the clearing in pursuit of Queen Esta.

  Margot stood once more, alone and furious. She could not believe that her efforts had failed to topple him from his horse once and for all. Angered by her own personal defeat, she watched in disgust as the frightened contingent of despicable orcs hung their heads in fear and cowered before the Knight of Avalain.

  “Go after him you fools, or you will have to deal with my wrath instead of his,” she screamed at them. “Someone will pay for this. I want that woman in chains before the day is out. I only hope for your sake that the others in the woods are not as cowardly as you are,” she hissed. “Follow them. They have nowhere to go. They will find soon enough that their paths are few and that I have not been so careless as to allow them a route by which to escape,” she admonished vehemently, sending them scurrying as quickly as they could, headlong into the woods.

  Parsifal had caught up to the Queen, who was fending off an attempt by five or six of the enemy to throw some coarse ropes over her and bring her to the ground. She spun her nimble horse first one way and then the next and avoided becoming entangled in them. She was tiring nonetheless as they came at her from many directions at once, and she could not keep this up indefinitely. They successfully blocked her efforts to flee the circle, keeping her penned in while they yelled for help.

  The Knight rushed into the small clearing and easily decimated the group harassing the Queen. Within moments, four of them lay dead or dying upon the grass, while the others fled until more could arrive to reinforce their dwindling numbers.

  “Come, your Highness. We have little time. There are many of these creatures in the woods, and that woman, surely Colton’s surrogate, will not quit her pursuit so easily,” he urged.