“I see. What are you doing in these parts of the woods? They’re not meant for play.” He says, studying her face. She turns her profile to him.
“Why’s it any of your business?” She crosses her arms, hiding her trembling hands.
“I’m supposed to be searching for something out here. So, what about you?”
“I’m hunting,” Erryn shows her bow and quiver.
“Right. That makes sense. Sorry for wasting your time. Is this your first-time out by yourself?”
“Out here hunting? No. Although, this far out, yes,” she admits.
“Well, you may want to think about hurrying on back before it gets much later,” He points to the sky as the sun lowers close to the Evening Arc. Her eyes widen as she realizes the actual length of her nap. Then a ping reaches her mind.
“Erryn, what’s taking you so long? Will you be coming home soon?” Oracle asks in her mind.
“I don’t know yet. I’m kind of dealing with something at the moment. I would love to tell you to your face, I told so,” Erryn speaks mentally.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Yes, good luck on your search sir,” Erryn nods, smiling.
“Please, it’s Tempest, Kozic Tempest,” He places his hand out for a shake. Tempest. I know that name, but from where? Erryn ponders as his face begins to seem familiar.
“Vladimir…,” Oracle groans.
“Good luck then, sir, Kozic Tempest,” she smiles, shaking his hand.
“Listen, there’s a village not far from you due west. I’ve been by there before. Go as soon you finish pleasantries,” Oracle says.
“Happy hunting.” Kozic bids her goodbye, walking away. Without hesitation, Erryn heads west for the village of which Oracle spoke, fighting the urge to look back. After walking away, a release of tension eases her breathing. Then the soldier returns, running after her.
“Excuse me, miss. I’m afraid I never got your name?” Kozic asks, grabbing her wrist.
“First off, don’t grab me like that. Second, that’s because I didn’t give it.” She rips her wrist from his grip.
“Sorry, can I get your name then?” he asks.
“Look, I’m already going to be making it home without dinner. I’m not giving my name to some Razor,” she says and continues walking away. A goblin jumps in front of her. Its bug eyes fix hers with a baleful stare. Its nostrils quiver, and it snickers while showing its jagged teeth. Erryn backs away, trying not to show fear.
“See, that’s a goblin. They have desires for shiny or pleasant things, but they also have a sense of smell which is keener than dogs. And well, they have been highly attracted to you. So, I must and will ask again—what’s your name?” Kozic persists. Erryn freaks out, fearing she’s being exposed and recaptured. She kicks the goblin out of her path and sprints away. Erryn maneuvers around the trees and stumps while pushing through bushes across the uneven ground, gripping her bow in her hand.
Behind her, she hears at least five, if not seven goblins pursuing her. One lunges from a tree, grabbing onto her right arm. It sinks its teeth into the arch of her wrist to her hand. She winces in pain, dropping her bow. She then clenches her blood-covered hand and slams the goblin into the next tree, as she bends to pick up her bow. Another goblin jumps onto her grabbing the bottom of the quiver and climbing to the top of it. Looking ahead, Erryn can see a village not too far in the distance. With hope within sight, she throws the quiver with the goblin to her left. It gets up and rushes her. She smacks it in the head with her bow. Grabbing her quiver and withdrawing an arrow, she notches it and fires. “Bullseye.” She mentally high fives herself for a clean headshot.
The next goblin is too close to shoot, so she draws her hunting knife from its sheath and stabs the goblin in the neck. Black blood spurts out and splatters Erryn’s face. “Grose.” Wiping her face with her left sleeve, Erryn gathers speed as she exits the thick of the trees. But she trips on a protruding root, landing on her face. A goblin latches onto her backpack, ripping it to shreds. She wiggles the straps off and crawls out from it. As she turns around, the goblin launches at her. She braces for the impact with her left arm above her face. Erryn closes her eyes, preparing for pain.
Its head hits hers, bouncing off. She opens her eyes to see no body attached. Above her head is a shiny blade covered in the goblin’s blood. Her line of sight follows the blade to a skinny guy in robes. She nearly laughed at his spikey orange hair, but his deep green eyes were kind. And, he had just saved her. He wipes the blood on his robes, sheathes the sword, and offers her his hand.
Before she could take it, a goblin bites into her boot, pulling her away. Erryn looks at him with tears swelling in her eyes. He pulls out a large stick nearly as tall as him and slams it on the ground. A blue bubble expels the goblin from her foot and into a tree, liberating her. Erryn scrambles to her feet and moves to his side, where she is protected by the unique barrier. Kozic strides up behind the goblins.
“What is the meaning of this?” the man next to Erryn asks.
“Stay out of this, scholar. It’s her I seek, not you or your village.” Kozic holds out a warning hand.
“What is it you want with her?” the man asks.
“Her name,” Kozic says, as the man looks to Erryn, who is shaking her head ‘no’.
“Seems she doesn’t want to give it,” he says.
“Then she’ll have to come with me,” he reaches out his hand.
“She doesn’t. Your king can’t assume possession over everything he desires. Now, Razor; take your goblins and go.” The orange spikes on the man’s head quiver as he gestures for Kozic to leave. Kozic tries to force his way into the bubble, but there is with no way of getting through.
“King Vladimir will be very displeased to learn of your village’s transgression,” Kozic says, leaving with the goblins. Erryn watches them leave, feeling a calm spreading through her body. She notices Oracle hiding in the shadows.
“Let’s go,” the guy says. Oracle vanishes with a grimace and dark face as Erryn leaves with the man. He starts opening the gate to his village, but he pauses in thought.
“Something wrong?” she asks.
“Before we enter, may I know the name of the person to whom I have just thrown away my village’s life,” he inquires.
“Oh, the name’s Erryn. Thank you for that,” she says, as a throbbing pain starts to surge through her right arm. Erryn looks down to see blood dripping, forming a small puddle beside her foot. The wounds were covered in dirt and torn skin hung from her wrist. Oh, that doesn’t look good, she thinks.
“Well, Erryn, my name is Drotonic, Drotonic Urthkin. I welcome you to our mysterious secret, Nija,” he says, opening the gates. Walking through, she notices a wooden staircase leading into the canopy connected to a narrow bridge for patrols to keep a lookout along the perimeter. While waiting for him to close the gate, she continues past the stairs to the curious wooden buildings with V-shaped rooves. Bigger structures have columns engraved with details. A unique light circulates continuously.
“How is this doing that?” she asks.
“This is the tavern where we can eat later. Come on. I’ll show you more,” he says with a chuckle. They walk farther into the village. The trees in the village have a vibrant green light circulating throughout every trunk, even glowing through the bark. Erryn couldn’t help but feel awkward as children were playing in the dirt paths. She had only had Jet for company as a child, and these children reminded her of what she had lost.
They reach a farm with succulent vegetables and fruit. She can smell their delicious aroma in the air. She observes grown-ups smiling as they weave clothes, cut lumber, or participate in the farm. In the distance, she spots a big building secluded behind some trees. It wasn’t made of wood, but rather, of a solid gray clay, like the crumbling temple in Dragonar.
“What’s that?” She indicates the temple.
“That would be the temple of Nija,” Drotonic smiles.
&n
bsp; “Is all this a dream?” she asks, tears blurring her eyes.
“No, this is very much real. Are you okay?” he asks.
Erryn wipes her eyes with both hands, and everything starts spinning.
“Maybe. Everything is like a dream here. It would be nice if everything could be still though,” she says. A knotted feeling aches and turns her stomach. She covers her mouth. Drotonic aligns himself with her right shoulder and observes the bleeding bite wound.
“Oh my god.” He lifts her hand to examine the wound.
“What? Is it bad?”
“Come with me. I know someone who can help stop the spinning.” He drapes her left arm across his shoulders, supporting her weight. Erryn stumbles towards a door carved into a giant tree, which glows brighter than the rest of the trees surrounding Nija. Drotonic pounds on the door, each bang louder than the preceding one.
Erryn can hear a woman saying, “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
“Irba, I need your help,” He struggles to keep Erryn on his shoulder as she begins to lose consciousness.
“Oh, isn’t it my sweat old Drotonic? And what will you be wasting my time with today? A wounded furry, a broken-winged cat, or perhaps a trapped dog hopper,” she teases.
“No, it’s this girl —her wrist. She’s lost a lot of blood,” he nudges his head towards Erryn’s other side.
“Oh my! Come in, come in.” She flicks a strand of blood-red hair behind her pointed ear to get a better look at Erryn’s wrist. Erryn’s strength is barely lingering, as she struggles to focus her mind. Her fortitude wains as she fights against the urge to vomit or lose consciousness. Drotonic lowers her into a chair, dragging a small table next to her right arm.
“Will she be alright?” he asks.
“What happened?” the woman asks.
“Goblins. I was able to fend off a couple right outside our gates,” Drotonic explains.
“Oh, this is nothing. I’ve had way worse, thanks to him,” Erryn blurts out, her head rolling from side to side.
“We need to work fast. Get the bowl over there,” Irba busies herself gathering other items. Drotonic brings the bowl as Irba draws a chair with a basket of items, tied in small bags, closer to the table.
“Is there anything else we need?” Drotonic asks.
“Yes, you can sit right there and keep an eye on her. For me to heal it, I must clean it first,” she says. Drotonic plonks himself on a flipped bucket beside Erryn, reluctant to witness the shredded wound. Irba sprinkles some dust. As she waves her hand, the bowl fills with water and enlarges to fit Erryn’s entire arm.
“Ooh, that’s cold,” Erryn giggles deliriously, picking up her head as Irba and Drotonic look at each other. Then, with a wave of Irba’s hand, she makes the water cleanse the wounds while removing all dirt.
“Erryn, you okay?” Drotonic snaps his finger to gain her attention.
“I hear you. I see you. I’m fine. Like I said before, this is nothing compared to my childhood. With Jet inside that test room…” As she rabbles, a look of concern crosses Drotonic’s face.
“Drotonic, keep talking to her while I finish,” Irba whispers.
Although he is unsure of his capabilities.
“So, this Jet, who is he?” he asks.
“My sister and guess what? I heard she’s alive. Isn’t that funny? For the past six months, I knew her dead.” Erryn says incoherently, trying to lift herself off the chair, but Drotonic gently pushes her down.
“You might want to hurry. I think her mind is becoming unhinged,” he stresses. Irba sprinkles a collection of different herbs into the bowl, placing the basket behind her. Before she could wave her hands to heal, Erryn’s entire forearm lights up with purple inscriptions as everything in the bowl begins to swirl.
“Are you doing that?” Drotonic glances over.
“No, it’s her. Who’s this girl?” Irba’s eyes widen.
“I’ve no idea,” he admits.
The bowl is lit with fire, and the flames dance around. The water moves the ingredients inside the wounds, freezing them into place. Then the clay of the bowl forms a mold which encompasses her arm. Small flashes of lightning strike her wounds. The mold starts to glow with a purple aura which spins fast around Erryn’s arm.
“Uh oh, pretties may go boom-boom,” Erryn smiles in her delirious state.
An aggressive pounding rattles Irba’s door.
“Who’s there-? Bishop! What are you do-?”
Irba is pushed aside as the bishop barges in past her.
“Bishop.” Drotonic stands.
“Get back.” He places his hand on Erryn’s forehead. The power calms and fades as Erryn rests for now.
Nija : Drotonic
4
Befuddled by the bishop’s sudden appearance, Drotonic drops to a knee and bows his head.
“Sir, you’re here, but how? Why?” Drotonic lifts his head with suspicion while noticing the earth mold crumble around Erryn’s forearm.
“A dangerous fluctuation of magic in the air disrupted my prayer. Do you even understand how close you two came destroying the village just now?” Bishop says.
“Don’t you dare yell at me. Your pupil is the one that brought her to me. You’ll watch your tone while in my house. At least he didn’t rudely force his way in,” she scolds the bishop.
“My Lord, what do you mean ‘nearly destroy the village’?” Drotonic asks.
“Who is this child?” the bishop asks.
“She says her name is Erryn,” Drotonic answers. Irba sits next to Erryn, cleaning off the dirt from her arm.
“Anything else?” the bishop asks.
“While she was coherent, no, but once delirium set there were some ramblings,” Drotonic says.
“Simon, look here.” Irba says after clearing the dirt. Erryn’s arm is nearly healed but scars tell a terrifying tale.
“What am I looking at?” The bishop stands behind her.
“It explains the rabbles she declared. She kept speaking of a greater pain than her afflicted wrist which she faced throughout her childhood,” Irba explains.
“What was the wound caused by?” he asks.
“Goblins. A Black Razor wanted her name, but she refused him. She also did mention a ‘him.’ Who could she be referring to?” Drotonic shares.
“Don’t know. I need to confer with my sources. Did she mention anything else?” the bishop asks.
“Yes, she did. A sister who may be alive, somewhere. I believe she claimed her name to be Jet,” Drotonic recalls.
“I see. Well, get her to the tavern as soon as she wakes. She’ll be famished. Irba, when you have a moment, please join me at the temple. I could use your thoughts on this matter.” The bishop bids Irba and Drotonic good evening and leaves scowling at Drotonic. Drotonic sits downtrodden on the bucket, rubbing his hands over his face. He exhales, letting his cheeks rest between his hands. Was I wrong to have meddled? To have saved her? He contemplates his actions. Chivalrous or not, there were consequences.
“Why can’t I ever mind my own business?” Drotonic seeks Irba’s counsel.
“It’s the same reason why I endure your antics. Regardless of the rules, you can’t deny the simple calling of kindness. Look at it this way. Do you think you’d feel any better turning your back or forcing her into their care? You saved her life,” Irba says while gathering a cloth.
“Yeah, but the bishop strictly forbade me from bothering you with rescued strays. Especially since the magic continues to deteriorate more every day. No thanks to Vladimir,” he says.
“There’s nothing we can do about that. However, you can help clean up this mess, which is your fault, after all,” She smiles, rubbing an ointment on Erryn’s wrist before wrapping her with a plant.
“Thank you,” Drotonic says, helping to clean up.
As the night approaches, Erryn begins to yawn and stretch. Opening her eyes, she looks around, lost.
“Um, excuse me, but where am I?” Erryn asks.
&n
bsp; “Oh, look who has awoken,” Irba says.
“Are you okay?” Drotonic asks.
“I think so. I remember you.” She says, pointing to Drotonic. Erryn then turns to Irba as she continues. “You not so much,” She rubs the wrapping on her wrist.
“You lost a lot of blood, so I brought you here for help. This is Irba and we’re in her home in Nija. It’s her skills that made you well.”
“Thank you, but why?” she asks.
“Call it a habit. It’s difficult for me to refuse a dear friend when he brings in a new broken thing,” Irba jokes. Irba hands her a glass of water after putting leaves in it. As she snaps her fingers, Erryn notices fizzes of light within tiny sparkles.
“It was nice of you to help, but I know poison when I see it. You can take that elsewhere.” She shoos it away. Drotonic and Irba pause, stunned by her remark.
“What poison?” Drotonic asks.
“The miniature flash and sparkles that glistened. I’m not blind.”
They share looks and are shocked at her words.
“She can see that?” he asks as Irba raises a brow.
Irba clears her throat. “My dear, if I wanted to kill or torment you, I assure you this wouldn’t be the drink.” She lays a mollifying hand on Erryn’s arm. “Plus, I don’t know where you are from, but Nija is not that kind of place,” Irba sits next to her, handing her the drink.
With a leery expression still worn on her face, Erryn takes a tentative sip. As no ill effects occur, she drinks the glass dry. “Thank you,” Erryn says as her stomach grumbles.
“Now, if everything is well, you two can skit scat. I have things to do,” Irba dismisses them. Drotonic guides Erryn out, realizing it’s night. She has nowhere to go. After the door closes behind them, Erryn’s jaw drops at the majestic change in the leaves as their edge’s illuminate—changing from blues to yellows. Drotonic mistakes her awe as being directed towards the stars. Seeing a reflection of the changing leaves in her green eyes, he realizes it’s for Nija.
“This is really real, isn’t it?” She asks her question inadvertently, reminding him of Nija’s beauty.
A Summoner's Calling Page 4