The stranger intercedes. “Perhaps next time ya will not need the aid of the potions. I am a mere woods guide, but I know talent when I see it. What ya ‘ave just accomplished on yer very first attempt shows yer potential.” He scratches the fur under the wolf’s chin. “Perhaps ya didn’t even need me potions, ya certainly didn’t need me guidance.” He looks up at them and smiles. “Seems that Old John here has found some very rare people indeed.” The wolf howls, making Old John laugh. “So, does this beautiful lady have a name?”
Cole recalls how they had first come upon the creature hiding amongst the shadows of the forest. “Her name is Shadow.”
Ashe looks questioningly at Cole but then directs his smile to the stranger. He puts his hand on Cole’s shoulder, turning to face him. “There was no doubt in my mind. None, whatsoever.” He removes his hand and sighs, “Something very powerful is at work here. I could not feel its presence until I began to draw your life back into your body. I cannot feel it now, but I believe that you can. You are somehow attuned to this malevolence. I fear that the danger has not yet passed.”
Cole stands and looks out at the forest road before him, dappled with shadow and sunshine, forever leading him toward some unforeseen destination. Cape Terna is their indicated rendezvous, but what lies in wait for him beyond that? Memories of events long past dance before his eyes, as well as memories of people long gone but not forgotten. Sixteen years ago they were rescued from the clutches of death brought on by war, only to be willingly returning to that from which they fled. There was no escaping the inevitable truth of it all. There was no use in trying to hide from their own destiny. He sighs heavily, “And so it begins.”
Old John chuckles as he labors to stand. He places his left hand on his hip and his right hand over his eyes. Staring up at the sun, he remarks. “Life, it be a cycle. Where one journey ends, another begins. Just as the sun heralds the coming of day and the waning of night, the moon is the messenger of the darkness that drives away the light.” He sighs and looks upon the two men before him, his eyes twinkling with some unspoken thought.
Ashe clears his throat. “Are you suggesting that this war is a mere battle in the history of the world?”
Old John’s mouth frowns for a moment before relaxing into a smile. “Ya should nae put too much credit to me words. I am an old man and have the tendency to talk of things of which I have no knowledge about.”
Cole crosses his arms as he stares at the stranger, trying to discern his intentions. “It brings suspicion when one as you discredits their own words. Now tell me true, old man, why are you really here?”
Ashe places his hand on Cole’s shoulder in tacit warning that he is bordering wariness with rudeness.
Old John waves his hand in surrender. “Then the truth it is. Ya see, young man, I was sent.”
Ashe and Cole instinctively take a defensive stance, but only Ashe is able to speak in spite of his dry throat. “Explain yourself.”
Old John sighs, “I am a messenger. I was sent by someone from your past to provide aid to you in your fight for the future.”
Cole’s voice is ice. “Then deliver your message.”
“Beware of flagrant idiots.”
Ashe nearly chokes. “What? What is that supposed to mean?”
Old John asserts himself. “It means exactly what it states. Beware of flagrant idiots. Note that plural is used. One is of no consequence, but when there are two, there is possibility offspring. Flagrant idiot parents beget flagrant idiot children.”
Cole licks his lips. “So, what you are actually saying is to be wary of flagrant idiot children. And how are we to identify these abominations?”
Old John stares at Cole, his demeanor void of expression. “Well, you’re one.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
They continue running, a desperate race in what Chase has determined to be the wrong direction. They are parallel to the sounds of battle. He looks towards the cries of dying men and he nearly stumbles into Tom who has for no apparent reason stopped. Chase puts his hands on his knees as he leans forward to catch his breath. When he finally looks up, he is startled by what he sees. The forest has given way to a small clearing in which stands the ashen remains of a campfire and beyond that a shack of dried timber and forest detritus. Tom motions towards the shed.
“Welcome to my humble abode.”
With that, he makes for the house and opens the door, gesturing for Chase to come inside.
If the hut had looked small on the outside, it seemed even more cramped once in it. It was relatively dry but that was the only luxury afforded it. The putrid smell is overwhelming and the disheveled papers that litter the floor leaves little imagination as to what they cover. A little nook stood out of place, housing a fireplace and presenting a fairly clean if not comfortable living area. Chase makes his way for this partitioned area and carefully sits down on one of the hand-carved chairs, perplexed on how this space could possibly fit in the square of a building that he had seen from the outside. It is as if he has stepped into a completely different world, things not always being as they seemed.
He focuses his attention on Tom who is across the room retrieving some obviously precious parcel. When Tom once again faces him he can see that he holds in two hands before him a long package wrapped in white linen. For a moment Tom stands there watching him, as if trying to decide something. He sighs and walks into the clutter-free space, still contemplative. He carefully takes a seat and deftly holds the bundle in his lap. Tom slowly unwraps the bundle, his eyes intent on his work. He looks up and for the briefest of moments his stare seems to peer into Chase’s very mind, discerning his thoughts and intentions.
Chase shakes his head, disregarding his soaring imagination, and focuses on the object revealed before him. His mouth opens in awe at the shining blade, the glow of the fire dancing off the deadly edge. He gasps with the realization that it was not the reflection that he saw, but real flames licking up the sides of the sword. He is drawn to the artifact, something from deep within him fights to escape. He releases his inhibitions, allowing the sensation to surge through him and surround him with exuberant bliss. He reaches out for the flame sword, and then it is gone. The dream fades away like a distant memory….
Chase’s deep breathing slowly returns to normal as he groggily opens his eyes. Panic seizes him as he tries to gather his wits. The comfortable nook with the cozy fireplace is gone. A chill creeps in through the cracks in the walls and he is painfully aware of a sore bottom obtained from sitting on the rock-hard dirt floor. He nearly falls backwards when he sees Tom’s hawklike gaze intent on him. Those blue eyes are like daggers, piercing the depths of his very being. Chase starts to rise but finds himself unable to do so. “What have you done to me?”
Tom folds his hands across his lap and nods towards a white bundle that rests on the floor between them. “See for yourself.”
Chase growls. “But it’s wrapped.”
“Then unwrap it.”
“But I cannot move.”
Tom cocks his head. “Are you sure about that?”
Chase tries to squirm but he makes no progress. “Yes. What is this? What is going on?”
Tom frowns. “If I told you, then that would defeat the purpose.” He reaches over and unwraps the bundle. He lays the object atop the white linen square.
Chase nearly laughs with the nonsense of it all.
“It’s a stick.”
“But it’s not just any stick.”
Chase sighs exasperatedly, “It’s a stick.”
Tom lifts a finger. “Ah, but did you not believe it to be a weapon?”
Somewhat unnerved by how Tom could have possibly known his dreams, Chase answers incredulously, “But that was before you unwrapped it.”
Tom smiles. “So you admit that this stick had the potential to be a deadly weapon?”
“Anything could have been wrapped up in that cloth.”
Tom claps his hands together. “My point exactly. You se
e, Chase, anything is possible.”
Chase rages. “What does this have to do with anything? While we sit here chatting our heads off, people are dying. Couldn’t this little demonstration of yours have waited?”
“It has to do with everything. You are wrong about that. No.”
Chase stands. “How can I possibly be wrong about that? I can hear their cries as if they are in this very room!”
Tom laughs. “You’re standing.”
“What?”
“Earlier you said that you couldn’t move, but now you are standing.”
Frustration crosses Chase’s face. “Well, since I can move now, I am leaving. You said that you were going to help but so far you have done nothing but play your little games. I am tired of being some puppet. I have my own life. I am not here by choice but I make my choice now. I choose to quit this tiring charade and help those men.” He makes for the door but some invisible force stops him. His progress stopped, he reverses direction and makes towards Tom, his ire evident in his icy blue eyes. He stops short of strangling the old man but is not past glowering down at him. “Release me from this prison. Now.”
Chase is surprised to see empathy in the man’s eyes. Tom sighs, “Only you have the key. These walls you see around you are your own construct. I have no power here. I am but a guide.”
Color drains from Chase’s face. “Are you implying that this is all in my head? You are just a figment of my imagination?”
“Yes and Yes. But you are not crazy, and I am but a breath in the wind. Even still, if you do not find a solution to this problem you will be trapped here.”
Chase pondered that for a moment. “What if the problem is impossible to solve?”
“Like I said before, anything is possible.” He motions at the stick in the middle of the floor. “And as you have seen, things are not always what they seem.”
Chase takes a seat on the floor as he mulls over the problem. Men are dying, but Tom had said he had been wrong about that. Perhaps they were all trapped in illusion as well, and the screams he heard were of their own frightful nightmares. If there was indeed a battle going on, for who knows how long this illusion could have been going on. This had all started with the sound of the bugle. Yes. The bugle. It hadn’t been a signal to charge but heralded the initiation of the dream. And if there was a battle currently being fought, perhaps the Sentran ranks wielded this vile magic before even having set foot on the shore. That reality would soon change, though, and it would be a slaughter. He shakes his head. He is approaching this in the wrong way. He has to think of the solution. He jumps up. “The stick.”
Tom cocks his head. “What about the stick?”
“If it can be a weapon, why can’t it be a key?”
“But it’s a stick.”
Chase’s eyes are alit with determination. “Anything is possible.” He runs and snatches up the stick.
Tom concedes. “Well, now that you have the key, where is the lock?”
Chase immediately advances for the door, managing to insert the key-stick into the lock. He hears a click but his passage is still blocked by some unseen force. Noting this, he reassesses the situation. “There must be more than one lock.” He runs his hands through his hair. “For being an illusion, it all seems so real.”
Rubbing his chin, Tom offers. “All of it?”
“Well, no, the lavish room with the fireplace and the chair that I was sitting on just seem to have vanished … and yet…,” he begins stabbing at the nonexistent chair and the fireplace in the cozy room that wasn’t there. He closes his eyes as he maneuvers through the desolate room as if avoiding unseen obstacles, wildly jabbing and twisting the weapon-stick at air.
Opening his eyes, he now sees the reality before him, no longer trapped in the illusion. He can hear the cries of men, not a quarter a mile away but all around him, converting from abject horror to blinding wrath as they each are simultaneously released from their illusions. Opening one lock had started a chain reaction that unlocked the rest. These men were well-trained and spared no time in meeting the onslaught of the black forces creeping onto the northern banks. In his hands he is holding a stick covered in the green mucus that is the monsters’ blood. The sandy ground around him is littered with smoldering black bodies. Chase drops the stick, somewhat confused but mostly mortified by the death that seems to beleaguer him. Chaos surrounds him. Man and monster. Steel and fang. He watches as with deft efficiency the soldiers hew down their enemy.
Then he sees Tom, slashing and maneuvering his way through the carnage to where Chase stands, dispelling the enemy with a surety that belies his expertise in the matter. He gives Chase a nod and throws to him a bloodied sword, glistening bright red in the sunlight. “May this give you better luck than its previous owner.”
Putting a death grip on the green and gilt hilt, Chase prepares himself for any battle that he may be drawn into. A gurgling screech behind him warns him of an attacker. With lightning speed he plunges his sword through the creature’s body, twisting the weapon as he retrieves it from the smoldering mass. He turns in time to thwart another attack, and another. With a quick survey of his surroundings he sees the monsters dropping like flies, some having been engaged in brutal battle and some even in surprise as a steel point penetrates their back. Turning swiftly, his sword arcs up and around, splitting a monster in two. The bloody battle had reached a turning point, the Emerald Army finally being able to hew down their deceptive enemy.
The last monster falls and a cry of victory issues forth from the mouths of bloody, tired, and sweaty men. Breathing heavily, Chase drops to the ground and lets his sword fall from his hand. He looks up as a shadow stands before him. The man gives him a hand and steadily pulls Chase up onto his feet. The man is dressed in the green and gold livery of an Emerald Army officer, but if the dress had not given away the man’s import, his bearing would have. The man claps a hand on Chase’s shoulder and smiles.
“That was some pretty fancy fighting you did back there. I don’t know who you are, but thanks.” The man looks at the remains of the battle behind him and then turns to once again look at Chase. “My men and I, we owe you our lives.” The man leaves, shaking his head in amusement, grumbling underneath his breath something about a stick.
Tom steps forward and, wiping his brow, he smirks. “If I hadn’t known better, I would say that you have done this before.”
Chase shrugs slightly but remains silent.
Tom sighs, “Well, you’ve earned yourself an audience with the king.”
At this, Chase finally speaks. “The king? King Albert of Smithee, I am going to meet him?”
Tom laughs at Chase’s apparent uneasiness. “Do not worry. You’ll do fine.”
Grabbing Chase’s arm, he leads him through the forest along the trail that is being taken by the soldiers back to the Emerald Castle. Looking back at the battle site one last time, Chase shudders to think that he could have died this day. If the invading force had not been stopped here, how long would they have gone unchecked? Who could have possibly survived? Chase gulps as his thoughts turn to Kae. To his friends. In more ways than one, this had been a landmark battle. His thoughts are interrupted by Tom’s insistent tugging. With a heavy sigh he resigns to being dragged back into the heart of the continent which only hours ago he had been preparing to leave.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The woman holds her cloak tightly around her body to ward off the chill of the night. Normally, living behind these massive walls of the city and with the Emerald Guard patrolling the streets, security was something that she had taken for granted. All her years of awaiting the day had not prepared her for the reality of it all. She remembered those blue eyes of his but they had belonged to another man, and how could she forget the talisman? She regrets having lied to the boy about her knowledge of it, but her part in all of it was really of no consequence. It was true that her father had been assigned to the task, but due to his deteriorating health the job was left to her. She
had been twelve at the time, but had been working with stone ever since she was four and, of course, she had learned from the best. But, as she has noted before, her part in all of it was really of no consequence. The real importance lies in the fact the talisman was forged. But alas, the real hope lies not in the dim memory of the past but in the glimpse of a future that she hopefully had managed to perpetuate.
At least, at first she had felt hope, but as the moon cast light and shadow through her tent window, all she could feel was an overwhelming dread. During the day her fear had somewhat dissipated, but now walking through these desolate streets, running past dark alleys, and looking back over her shoulder, her anxiety has manifested into sheer terror. She takes a deep breath as she rounds the corner that will take her onto her street of residence. The porch light is a welcome beacon.
And then her fears are realized. A deep voice resounds from the depths of the shadows, a somewhat jaunting, self-righteous tone. “Mistress Cara.”
Cara stops in her tracks as she hears her name, sounding vile due to the nature of the disembodied voice. Despite the trembling of her body, her voice sounds rather clear and maybe even a little confident. “You don’t belong here.”
A jilting laughter causes her to cringe but her distaste transforms into panic as the shadows surrounding her seem to swirl and coalesce into the form of a man. She cannot see the man’s face, if it indeed is a man, but she gets the strange sensation that he is smiling at her. Chills run up and down her body and any shred of confidence she had had before is gone, leaving her with the feeling of being bare and whimpering for all the world to judge. The man laughs again.
“So, are you, of all people, banishing me to the fiery depths from whence I came?” He scoffs. “I think not.”
Book One: Beginnings Page 9