‘Okay, boy, we can leave now.’
Vilas patted the horse. Using the long length of the rope he made a thick strap which he tied around the horse so the golden coffin could be pulled along the ground as they rode.
Having led Bron back to the watering hole and refreshed both of them, Vilas turned off before the track leading to the castle. He could not risk anyone seeing him with Hashir’s coffin. The ride was slower with their new burden but Bron kept up a steady pace for the next hour and a half, for which Vilas was thankful.
The sun began to set in the west over Wolmwood and the air turned colder. Having passed arid plains and fertile pastures, the ground ahead changed again to a crunchy, blackened soil pierced with tall, thin, blood-red reeds. In the near distance pointed tree-tops cut an imposing, misshapen line against the dark sapphire sky. Shadows crawled across the ground like writhing serpents. The reeds trembled.
Vilas paused at the edge of the dark land.
Trickery.
A cold, rancid breath wrapped itself around Vilas and Bron.
Bron reared up, his eyes wild.
‘Shush, boy,’ Vilas soothed. ‘It is nothing but the ghost of old magic which lingers here in The Dead Forest. Old magic cannot harm us now.’
Manoeuvring Bron through the field of reeds, Vilas glanced back over his shoulder to check the coffin was still securely in tow.
He shivered.
As the coffin was pulled over the field it took down the reeds in its path and the thin, sharp plants cut into the gold, leaving behind a crimson trail.
Could it be blood?
Vilas shook his head.
Surely it was just the old magic?
Nope, still cut and crimson.
Bron jumped to one side as a reed tore into his shoulder. Another reed whipped Vilas on the thigh, drawing blood. All of the reeds in the field started to converge, moving together to form a giant serpent which cut through the land as it raced forwards, spitting up a cloud of earth so sharp it bit into Vilas’ skin as it engulfed him.
‘We have to make it through this field!’ Vilas spluttered through the painful dust. ‘Go, Bron, gallop like the wind!’
Vilas led Bron to the left and the reed serpent moved in time with them, rearing up into a dust-spitting, blood dribbling, fanged creature. Horse and coffin skidded as Vilas barked instructions. Clinging on with his thighs, Vilas held tight onto Bron’s reins. The reed-creature shot down, its cavernous mouth opening to encase both rider and horse. Reeds whipped across Bron and Vilas, slashing into their flesh and making them both writhe in agony. Struggling to even think, Vilas withdrew his sword and thrust it up into the reeds and dust.
The clash the sword made upon impact with the magical creature was immense, evacuating crows from the trees. Screams and wails akin to hundreds of people being tortured obliterated all other sounds before the reeds and dust exploded, leaving Vilas and Bron standing in an empty field.
Reaching forwards, Vilas wiped dust from Bron’s eyelashes.
Bron whinnied.
‘I know,’ Vilas replied, urging Bron to move onwards. ‘It would appear the old magic is still very much alive. Well, it won’t stop us from entering the forest; we will just have to keep our eyes peeled.’
It was easier to negotiate the now sparse field and they reached the edge of the dark forest as the last rays of the sun were extinguished. Tendrils of mist slithered from within ebony, gnarled trunks of leafless trees and a fusty smell clung to the rising mist.
Vilas’ nose twitched.
More magic?
Sliding from the saddle, Vilas patted his horse on the rump.
‘You’ll have to wait here,’ he told Bron. ‘It’ll be easier for me to drag the coffin on my own.’ He laughed as the creature dipped its head and rubbed its nose against his cheek. ‘Plus I know you’ll be safe. The last thing I want is you ending up in boggy mire and being sucked under the mud to your death, which would just break my heart.’
Vilas hacked off half of the length of rope attached to the makeshift netting around the golden coffin. He pushed the shovel on top of the coffin, securing it by forcing the handle under part of the netting. Crisscrossing ropes on the underside of the coffin had worn away in part from the friction of moving it across the land and he hoped they would hold out long enough. Glancing back across the blackened field Vilas was pleased the rising dust had settled, covering the tracks of hooves and scrapes from the bottom of the coffin. Tying the two cut ends of rope together he pulled the new loop over his shoulders, so the rope strained across his biceps and chest, and began to pull his undead burden into the thick of the forest.
After lugging the coffin between countless trees, Vilas stiffened and held his breath.
What was that?
Vilas moved only his eyes but strained his ears.
A crackle sounded behind him.
Footsteps?
Hearing nothing else other than the wind, Vilas freed the shovel and began to dig. The earth was compacted and he had to use all of his strength to crack the top layer. Sweating beneath his torso armour, Vilas decided against removing it.
This was The Dead Forest after all.
One was lucky to return from venturing into its depths.
Most people who had tried to find a way through were never heard of again, or if they were, they were driven insane.
Eventually the hole was deep enough and Vilas pushed the coffin into it without opening the lid, not wanting to feel the burn from Hashir’s eyes. Filling in the hole was easier than digging it and Vilas stomped down the dirt in half the time than it had taken to dig it. Taking a moment to look around he memorised the lay of the trees.
He needed to remember this spot.
For eternity.
Unsheathing his sword, Vilas tramped further into the forest. Progress was slow as he could barely make out each tree in front of him. Abandoning the shovel, he held the handle of his sword with both hands and swept it from one side to the other before him, using its blade to feel his way ahead.
Although he never been to The Gloomy Cavern, Vilas knew roughly where it was located thanks to local tales of superstition. Many foolish minds had thought of venturing into The Dead Forest and The Gloomy Cavern, all of whom had never returned.
A single thought stopped Vilas in tracks.
But someone obviously had.
Someone had braved the old magic and the tales of terror.
Someone had returned with water from both The Pool of Youth and The Pool of Health.
And that someone had given the water to Oriana’s parents.
Someone else knew where The Gloomy Cavern was and how to make it through the forest.
Vilas felt something creep over his boot. Shaking his foot he looked down but could not even make out his own leg from the knee down. Whatever had crawled over his foot snapped tight around his ankle and he stumbled. Sliding his sword carefully down against his shin he used the sword’s tip to cut the unseen something from his ankle. At the same time another of the same wrapped around his arm.
Vilas cried out.
What was it?
Forced to drop his sword, Vilas grabbed the band tightening around his upper arm. Spikes bit into his palm.
No, not spikes, thorns!
Wrenching the bramble from him, Vilas snatched his sword back up.
Rose brambles.
Wielding his blade, Vilas slashed from one side to the other, ducking and diving away as brambles clawed at him. The sword cut through the brambles as if they were nothing but butter.
The strength of Oriana’s hair.
Brambles tore at Vilas’ face, ripping skin from his already scarred cheek. Sore and breathless but determined Vilas ploughed on, cutting a way through the ever growing thicket. Just as he nearly gave up hope of breaking free, the brambles lessened and Vilas could see the night sky.
Deflecting the last of the rose brambles, Vilas stepped out from the thicket and lowered his sword. Arching his back to take a
breath, pale moonlight bathed his battered form with its beams. His face and arms had caught the worst of the thorns and blood beaded in tattered tracks across his skin and torn sleeves.
Still, it wasn’t worse than being burnt.
He had survived that and he would survive this damned forest!
There before Vilas stretched a vast expanse of water with no clear way across. Marching up and down the water’s bank, Vilas kicked at the dirt. He hated swimming and was not brilliant at it at the best of times but there was no other option. Deciding to test the depth first, Vilas poked his sword in. Expecting the blade to immerse in the blood-red waters Vilas was surprised when the blade make a chinking sound.
Was the water solid?
Was this an illusion?
Testing the water with the toe of his boot Vilas quickly pulled it back out as the water engulfed the leather. Again, he thrust his sword into the water and sure enough it made a chinking sound but did not break the surface. Emboldened, Vilas took a tentative step onto the area of water he had prodded with his blade.
It was firm!
Now this was real magic! Was it from Oriana—from her hair infused within his sword?
Beginning slowly at first Vilas tapped areas of the water with his sword and stepped on the solid water then, once he had become accustomed to it, he tapped quicker and picked up speed until he was half-way across the expanse.
Droplets rained down on the back of Vilas’ head, making him glance over his shoulder. Behind him water rose in a menacing, gigantic wave which was even taller than the leafless trees beyond. From within the wave a watery face began to form.
Vilas’ heart pounded in his chest.
Sodding old magic, it was a pain in the backside!
Pointing his sword down in front of his feet, Vilas kept the blade steady and instead of tapping pushed forwards hoping to create a solid path atop the water. Triumphantly, Vilas raced away from the rising wave, not daring to spare a precious second glancing back. The droplets raining on his neck grew larger and heavier until instead of droplets it was a torrent pouring down his back. Swooping over his head to stare back at him the watery face—one unrecognisable to Vilas—opened its mouth and a fountain of blood-red water blasted Vilas head on, blinding him.
Losing his footing, Vilas slipped off the solid path and sunk into the water, spluttering and gasping for air. Water rushed into his mouth. He lost his grip on his sword and floundered for a moment, feeling for it. It was hard to swim, not only did he feel heavier in the water than would be usual but the water itself was different. Just managing to grasp the hilt of his sword, Vilas clung onto it and tried to swim upwards.
Except he couldn’t.
Kicking his legs out Vilas looked around in the murky water.
Was someone down there?
A grotesque woman sped like a hunting seal through the depths and grabbed Vilas’ leg. Her long, stringy hair floated around her head, and her mouth opened unfeasibly wide as, instead of sound, streams of bubbles shot out.
Opening his own mouth to scream, more water rushed in, choking Vilas.
He needed air.
His lungs were sure to burst!
Vilas kicked out again but it was no use, the woman’s long, talon tipped hands held him iron-fast. He tried to strike the apparition with his sword but it was so difficult to move in the water that his aim was far from its mark.
He was going to die down here—trapped by a ghoul!
It felt like his chest was tearing from the inside.
This was far worse than being burnt.
Vilas’ grip lessened on his sword as his body began to shut down. Deprived of oxygen he faded into unconsciousness and a sensation of great calmness washed over him as his eyelids closed.
Chapter Sixteen
Vilas
He was dead.
He just knew it.
Was this the afterlife?
Were those stars?
Vilas coughed and spluttered out foul tasting water. Flopping over to the side, for he had been prone on his back, he coughed and coughed until the metallic tang of blood soured his taste-buds.
It took a moment for him to realise he was in a network of caves. The cavern wall, roof, and ground glittered, lending the appearance of thousands of stars, albeit rather dull stars for the glittering rock offered poor lighting. A strange smell clung to what air there was.
He was in The Gloomy Cavern!
Struggling to his feet, Vilas stood. His sword was a small distance away and he made to reach for it when something else stopped him in his tracks. To his left was a pool of shimmering water. It seemed to take him an eternity to reach its edge. His boots squelched with every step he took, his limbs weighed heavy with dread and blood-red water.
Was it her?
There, on the far side of the pool, and still smoking, lay charred remains of a body. As Vilas edged closer he could see one leg from the ankle down was strangely undamaged, its slipper encased foot still perfect.
Wait...the soldier he had spoken to outside the castle had said Oriana was in her undergarments. Had she even been wearing slippers?
Vilas rubbed his forehead.
Why couldn’t he remember!
He made to lean down to inspect the body but a surge of hot bile rose from his stomach and he turned away, vomiting. After composing himself he crouched next to the warm body and, with a shaking hand, gently eased the slipper from the foot. The foot was bare and Vilas studied it.
His breath came out in a judder.
Not Oriana.
Turning the slipper over in his hand, Vilas felt sick again. The silk slipper was a dusky lilac and the same colour chosen by Oriana for her bridesmaids. One of whom was the young girl, Mairsile, and the other was Karima. Vilas was pretty certain the charred body was Karima for it was too large to be Mairsile.
Placing the slipper next to the remains, Vilas stood and fetched his sword. At the far corner of the cavern was what looked like an opening and on the opposite side was another. He raced to the closest opening and followed twist and turns until emerging into the open air.
Damn it, he wanted to be inside not outside. He had wasted precious time!
Racing back into the caverns, Vilas did not look at the charred body as he passed through the first cave, reasoning the pool there must be The Pool of Health because Oriana was not there. The first cave led not into another as Vilas had hoped but into a labyrinth of passageways which varied in both width and height, making him crawl at some points until his knees were sore.
After he had been turned this way and that so much he’d lost all sense of direction, Vilas took a moment to catch his breath. Then he saw it, a brighter light at the end of the tunnel. Admittedly, it wasn’t as bright as he would have wished for but, still, it looked more like illumination from a flaming torch rather than the gloomy light from the glittering rock.
Raising his sword, Vilas crept down the last of the passageways and peered into the cavern. His breath stuck in his throat, cementing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Casting a quick glance around, he slid into the cavern. The pool this time was nearest him, with the remainder of the cave overpowered by ragged rocks which rose up and down, a cluster reaching as high as the roof of the cave. Several flaming torches stuck out from crevices between the rocks, and within the circle of light they created on the ground lay Oriana.
Dressed in her undergarments, which were plastered wetly against her limbs, Oriana was deadly still. Her legs were straight out, her arms folded neatly across her chest, her eyes closed.
What kind of a person lays out their victim in such a manner?
It was almost as if Oriana’s abductor cared for her.
Losing all reserve, Vilas burst into tears, not hearing the clatter of his sword as it slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. His feet could not carry him fast enough to his love, but his heart broke over and over until he feared it would be nothing but dust.
‘Oriana?’
V
ilas smoothed stray tendrils of hair from Oriana’s forehead, noticing her exposed forehead was sheathed with congealed blood.
She must have been facing her attacker and had been struck so hard it rendered her unconscious. After being dragged to the cavern she had somehow been submerged in The Pool of Youth and forced to drink.
Lifting her limp body into his arms, Vilas willed Oriana to awaken.
He couldn’t feel her through this blasted armour!
Lowering Oriana for a moment, he quickly pulled off his armour.
What was the point of wearing it for protection if he no longer wished to live for ever?
‘Come on, my love,’ he whispered, pressing his lips to hers. ‘Don’t leave me all alone. I am nothing without you, you make me whole. I cannot live without you. No, I don’t want to live without you...you are my star, my sun, my moon. You are my everything!’
The sound of a rock falling froze Vilas. Clutching Oriana to his chest, he looked around.
‘Who’s there?’
There was no answer.
Lowering Oriana carefully to the ground, Vilas crawled across to his sword. He jumped up, slashed the air with the blade so fast it made a slicing sound, and paced around Oriana’s body.
‘I demand you show yourself. Or are you a coward who will not face a soldier?’
Several small rocks tumbled from the ragged pile nearest Vilas. The top of a head appeared, then two hands in the air.
‘I’m not here to harm you,’ a voice shouted.
Vilas sucked in a breath as Ravenna jumped down from the rocks. ‘You!’
Ravenna’s hair was tied back in a messy braid and her clothes were sodden. Her boots made the same squelching sound Vilas’ had. She had a leather strap across her back, holding her bow and arrows.
‘I tracked Oriana here.’ Ravenna smiled slightly.
Vilas’ eyes narrowed. ‘How?’
‘I am an excellent tracker.’
Vilas shook his head. ‘No, how did you know she was missing?’
‘Everyone knows.’
‘How do I know you weren’t the one who kidnapped her?’
Always Golden Page 16