by James Hunt
"I do not know how, but she has been infected by a demon's blood," The cleric gasped and dared to touch Niyana's face. "There is only one cure..." Tarin pulled his hand back and sobbed. "Oh my child, I am so sorry"
"You're not Gayne." Niyana scowled at him, uncomprehending her situation.
"She is very dangerous like this," The cleric announced grimly as he wiped away the tears. "She can go berserk and may not know friend from foe. We should bid her farewell first, but..."
"I'm a good girl," Niyana said with a bit of a feverish smile. "I'll be quite." She tried to rise, but firm hands on her shoulders held her down. Niyana looked up at them accusingly. "Is this how you treat your queen?!" she said indignantly.
Call me Your Queen! Those words haunted Kelria, and the horror was clear in her face. Those words were said when a naked, blood covered Niyana butchered Kelria's old squad of Yvarna. Many Lunarians died brutally at the hands of their runaway princess. She moved swiftly to pull Iala's hands away. The noble lady scowled, knowing this girl wasn't strong enough to do so, but she relented -- she knew Kelria meant well and decided to trust the girl.
"My Queen!" Kelria said quietly and came to sit in front of Niyana. "You're sick. We want to help. Do you remember me?"
"Kelria!" Niyana sighed and put her hands around the girl's neck. "I missed you. I do feel sick. Have you seen Gayne?"
"Gayne," Kelria's heart sank. "He died, my Queen. He died protecting you." She touched her forehead to Niyana's, the naked girl's skin was burning up.
"He did, my poor Gayne." Niyana bemoaned. "But I took him in..." she was about to say more. But the sight of a curious Tarin made her shy away. "Are you going to put the mark on me too Cleric?" Tarin balked and rose to his feet.
"No, my child!" he defended himself. "We will take care of you." He reached down and patted her shoulder. With a deep, steadying breath he looked to the sky for answers and let his mind wander a bit. Kelria tried her best to brush some of the dirt from her queen's face, but a bath was what the girl needed. "There is a place we should take her." He said after a long thought. "The mountain spring is our best hope. It is very old, but I cannot say for sure if it will cure her completely. It may well be corrupted itself and that would be a great loss." He paused and glanced to Iala, she was one of the older knights, as well as their Captain, and she nodded approval. Iala was a rationalist; she knew the costs sometimes did not justify the results. But she was also the most devoted to Lunarin tradition and the most outspoken against the new direction the King was leading the Lunarin people.
Tarin turned to his son, Kalek, who had joined them. He too understood what was at risk and nodded his silent assent. This troupe of Leaf Knights had been searching for the lost princess -- not to return her to Lunar, but in the hopes she could rally the dissenters against her brother and dethrone him. It was a dangerous line they walked between treason and patriotism, and some decisions needed the understanding and consent of those that believed in the cause. With the rest of the elders' consent, Tarin looked to each knight and asked them with his gaze. Each one nodded in agreement -- even the more youthful members that may not completely grasp all the complications of the question.
"I will escort her," Kelria spoke up. "I have traveled with her this far. And I would cause less trouble for everyone if I was not here." Iala shot Kalek an accusing glare, to which he shook his head in bemused denial, and the lady smiled demurely and shook her head likewise.
"Not a single one of us was born with our skills. We all had to learn them." Iala said sternly. "You are no burden to us. Not if it is your heart to become one of us."
"I will take her. Alone." Tarin overruled her. "This ordeal will be very painful for our princess. It would not do for her subjects to see her so tormented. They would loose faith. What I am about to ask of her will burn her soul as it purges the corruption within her. It may succeed, but leave her and empty shell. Like any cure, the results depend on the will of the diseased." Iala didn't object. She had learned not to argue with Tarin when the old one made bold statements like that. "There is another reason." He admitted at long last. "If the demon claims her, her body will need to be destroyed. I cannot ask anyone but myself to be responsible for that."
"Besides," his loving, fatherly tone ceased. "We have another mission. The human Monastery... You have orders." He reminded them.
"We'll await your return, unless a Zek patrol makes contact. Then we move in." Iala repeated to all.
"Only if their connection is clear." Tarin reminded her. Iala understood and turned to see to the preparations of the troops. The group dispersed, all except Kelria. Kalek waited patiently out of earshot for the two girl's reunion to run its course. He had come to appreciate Kelria's ordeal as well as Niyana's. When he had found her -- captured by Zecairins and being savagely beaten and raped -- he expected the girl's spirit to fade from her body, or her mind to break into madness. But she was strong. She never spoke of it afterwards. It was almost as if she had survived such treatment already. That particular secret, Kalek respected, and gave her space.
"I should clean her up first. She needs some clothes." Kelria offered and stood up.
"No my child," Tarin argued. "Can you think of why?"
"She smells very... strong!" she wanted to say horrible.
"Precisely...?" The cleric prompted her. Kelria thought about it for a moment.
"Anyone following that scent would wonder why it ended here." She sighed, defeated.
"That is why I will take her alone." The cleric said as he helped pull Niyana to her feet. "I want you stay here, and watch. And to kill what ever is following her." He said gravely. It was rare for the Cleric to be so cruel. But he had his reasons. He knew more than she did, and Kelria accepted this. They would stay and be the trap.
They gave the princess a cloak, and fed her some bread and berries before Tarin lead her off into the woods. Kelria watched her leave. For one moment, Niyana looked back and met her gaze. Kelria saw the doom in her eyes, the grim acceptance of one's fate. It was a surprisingly lucid moment for the feverish Niyana. Kelria prayed it was not their last goodbye. Bu the look Niyana gave her... The princess knew more of what her ailment was than Kelria did. She had to have hope. Despite their horrible first encounter, if it had not been for the princess she would not be where she was now. She couldn't say goodbye like this. Kelria turned her back and didn't watch them disappear.
She had her archery to practice.
When night started to fall Kalek found her still up shooting her bow away off from camp. He climbed a tree for a better view. His silent handholds and agile footwork did not disturb the restful tree from slumbering. The sounds of her arrows whizzing through the air were the only sounds out of place here in the dark wilds. But it could not be helped as she was not skilled enough yet to make her shots silent. She was his charge, his apprentice, but at times he felt she needed to learn things on her own without his tutelage. Coping with the past was tonight's lesson. When she first started to sneak away to practice, he had followed, just as he did this night. He was angry at first -- she had broken camp discipline, but that changed when he saw what she was doing. Kelria would find a large black rock, scratch a vaguely Elven face to it with another stone, and proceed to ricochet arrow heads off its forehead.
It was this effigy she created each night that silenced his scolding. She had survived her abuse by harboring a darkness in her heart, and this was its release. Such a thing was not unacceptable, but Kalek knew from experience that it would only bring her more sorrow in the end. So he kept an eye on her each time she ran off, and observed her skill improve night after night. If she needed revenge to push on, it was not his place to deny it to her, but merely to offer other paths when they could be offered.
Tink!... Tink!...whoosh... Tink!... whoosh...
The soft melody of strike and miss was almost calming. Kalek closed his eyes and remembered his days practicing. They were in a better equipped range than this secluded section of wild
erness, and accompanied by the melodies of his fellow initiates as they practiced as well.
The melody stopped, and Kalek opened his eyes.
Kelria walked the range and collected her shots. She knew were each one landed and it took very little time. Finished, she looked to her target, staring down its battered features. With a swift kick she sent the rock tumbling noisily across the ground. Kalek scowled. Next she erected a wooded body out of a fallen log, and gave it a head and limbs. Its eyes she made out of small rocks, and the ears out of twigs. Then, with careful aiming, she set to dismembering it with her shots. First to the arms at the shoulders -- it took a few tries to knock them off. Kalek smiled at her imaginative design to precision shooting. Next, the legs at the knees -- both good shots, she made easily. Then came the eyes, she blinded it with subsequent shots. Then the ears were shot off... and at last the rest of the quiver was emptied into its groin.
Kalek scowled again, but he understood this was her pain. He tried to think of what to say, how to encourage her to let go of her rage; in the wrong circumstances it could be used against her, and put her life and those of her companions at risk. As her Master, he had that responsibility. But as her savior, and having seen the atrocities her captors were committing with her flesh, he could not deny her this. He pitied her. Fate was cruel enough to mark her as Yvarna for such trivial a crime, but to abandon her to the wild to be devoured by beasts... Only to survive and be discovered by their troop. Fate was indeed cruel. The Leaf Knights would not tolerate a Yvarna amongst them. No matter her heart, or her dedication to the task, she was a blemish on their pride and their honor. The Yvarna were criminals, only... Kalek closed his eyes and burned the thought from his mind. Only a cleric could bestow the mark of a Yvarna, and its curse. But even they could not remove it, that was the duty of the cursed. It was very, very rare for a Yvarna to earn freedom from such a mark. They usually died trying to free themselves, or lived out their nature lives accursed. A great pity filled Kalek's heart. This poor girl was doomed to die soon. They would soon strike their target, and Kelria's abilities were not enough to save her. The others would abandon her on the battlefield because of her mark, and Kalek would be forced to die protecting her or to abandon his post and leave her to her fate. Fate, was not stingy with its cruelty he mused to himself.
Kelria drew her knife and proceeded to eviscerate the poor target dummy. Chunks of rotten bark flew to the ground with each wicked slash after wicked slash. Soon the forcefulness of her strikes took their toll and she grunted in exertion with each one. She was using her hate as a tool, channeling it into each swing.
A shot whizzed past her, and the dummy's head exploded.
Kalek didn't move, but quietly replaced his bow over his shoulder. Kelria whirled around and was about to throw her knife in his direction, but when their eyes met she crumpled to the ground and sobbed. He had seen her pain. Of all the Leaf Knights, he was the last she wanted to see her like this. She wanted to be the perfect student for him.
"Why?!" she hissed. "Why did you save me?" she whispered to the night air. "I am nothing!" she almost cried out. Her good sense had not left her so completely as to shout the words, although she burned to scream them out. "If you had just left me... you could have found her sooner! You could have saved her!" she accused him. Kalek dismounted and approached her. His visage was blank, and stoic. She expected him as her Master to be furious with her outburst. Or as the gentleman she knew he was, to be apologetic and sorrowful. But instead he was cold... she never wanted him cold. Not to her. She dropped her shoulders and wept.
A compassionate hand touched her shoulder, but he did not speak until she had calmed down.
"Leave here," He advised. "Tonight. Take what you can, and leave us. Run. Run far away from this pain. Or take what skills you have already learned and hunt the woods for your demons. But leave here tonight."
"Why are you sending me away?" she cried at him. She was no warrior. Kelria had only been pretending to be strong. When it came down to conflict, she always wilted. "I..." she was about to admit to something but couldn't find the words. "I care for you. You've done so much for me. Why are you sending me away?" Kalek's heart sank. Her own words were dooming her sooner than he wished.
"Please forgive me," He said in sorrow, and slid his knife into her ribs down to the hilt. Kelria whimpered once, and grew still. His blade had been true and merciful. Gingerly, he laid her down on the ground and kissed her forehead. Kalek closed her eyes, folded her arms over her chest, and whispered a silent prayer over her.
When he rose, Iala was watching him with her stern arms crossed over her chest. She nodded in silent acknowledgement, and turned to leave. Kalek tried to take a step to follow her, but his own feelings fought him. The cold façade finally broke.
The moment Iala was out of sight, Kalek dropped to the prone form and threw his cloak over his hand as it covered the wound. The bright flash of magic from underneath was muffled by the fabric. Without loosing a beat, he thrust his hand over her mouth to muffle the sharp gasp of breath as that fleeting life was suddenly recaptured and flared up.
Kelria's gaze shot wide and she screamed into his hand. He clenched her teeth painfully in his grip to silence her, and affixed her fearful, accusing eyes with a fierce, angry glare. Slowly he pulled his hand out from under the fabric and put a finger to her lips to quiet her.
"Run, or die." He ordered her, and he lifted himself off her. Kelria stood conflicted. Angry, bewildered, cowering, she gathered her bow and arrows and fought back the sobs, but eventually they came. Kalek watched her icily, his gaze fixed on her back as it trudged into the darkness beyond, and she was gone.
In time, he prayed she would understand, but he knew better.
When Kalek pulled back the flap to his tent, he found Iala had reclaimed her space as his partner. She looked up from her meditation with a sorrowful expression on her face.
"That was a great kindness. And a terrible burden," she whispered. "I would have gladly joined you to guide her home. But soon-"
"I know," Kalek cut her off. "If we had found Princess Niyana sooner, she wouldn't have had to go through that, and we would have found hope."
"You do not believe your father will succeed?" Iala asked, but she knew the answer.
"He will, but not at purifying her. You and I have seen corruption, and it never ends well." Kalek sat and crossed his legs similar to Iala's meditative posture. "Niyana is lost. Our cause is dust. Our only course of action is to avenge ourselves on those that put that monster on the throne."
"I will stay and pray to the spirits with you. Together we can ease her passage." She reached up to touch his cheek, but he recoiled form it.
"No," He said coldly. "I want to keep this anger. I will not grieve for her, or be sad. Not until I lay dying surrounded by the corpses of our enemies." Iala dared to scowl at him, he was being unusually emotional. She looked to her hands for the answer.
"Did you care for her?" She asked calmly. Kalek did not respond. "Then I will ask the Great Sprit to forgive her when I see him, and you will meet each other again." She dared to smile at him. Kalek relented and nodded his approval.
"We wait for my father, and then we strike..." Kalek said and began his meditation.
Despite his age, Tarin could traverse the rocky hillside as if he were younger and they were old friends. Not once did he loose his footing, or his grip on the rock sides to steady his pace. The sickly Niyana on the other hand, struggled with each step. Often, the old cleric would sit and wait for her to catch up and just smile approvingly when she would look at him bewildered as to how he could manage such a trek. Her senses came and went, as did her stamina. At times she would be infused with an endless vigor and scaled the mountainside at a determined paced. At other times she lumbered along, half awake as the fever muddled her mind. At those times Tarin resounded himself to guiding her by his arm. That made their trip more difficult. Two people had a harder time fitting between a pine and a rock crack,
than one slender elf.
I won't be long now. He realized. Her aggression had left her at the base of the mountain, her constant flirtations and propositions ended half-way up the base. When she stopped trying to sate it, he knew the battle was over, and now it was going to burn her out. But luck was still with them, it wasn't much farther to the spring. What gnawed at his resolve was maintaining the hope that this would work, when so many others failed.
Tarin placed a hand at the opening to the cave. He could smell the crisp clean air of the sacred waters inside. As before, he waited patiently for his princess to catch up. And when she did he took her arm in his, and guided the stumbling lady down through the cavern entrance. He could have eased her assent at any number of moments during their trip, she would have had more strength to face what was about to come. But he weighed that option with his role in her purification, and decided that he would need his strength more. If they failed, the beast would take over her, and he would need all his might to slay her immediately before she killed him. It was not an easy decision.