A Facet for the Gem

by C. L. Murray

  Nodding toward Matufinn, Edrik replied proudly, “With a little help.”

  Matufinn grinned, preparing to spur his horse on. “More than a few will go missing today.” Then finally, with all seventy horses occupied, he led them off the road, heading southeast through the woods. “We ride to the Isle!”

  And, as quickly as they could, they wove with great care around trees and brush, knowing the shriekers would rapidly be approaching.

  Daylight had receded when they broke out into the open fields, where, to their relief, no enemies were yet in sight. Still, their destination was two hours’ ride away, ample time for a patrol to gain on them.

  “Form up on our left flank!” Edrik bellowed to his archers over the trampling hooves. “By nightfall, we’ll be easy game, and they’ll catch up before we make it through these parts, you can count on it!” Heeding his command, all thirty fighters spread out along the party’s side, holding their bows tightly.

  As each bounce sent flames through the gash on his back, the bearded man noticed the scarred fellow riding close by. Everything had happened so quickly, he hadn’t yet been able to show gratitude for the man’s aid during their predicament. Graciously, he said, “Thank you for helping me,” and laughed, gesturing at Matufinn, “though, ultimately, he could take care of himself.”

  The scarred man smiled, and as they looked on, Matufinn rode out in front, glancing neither left nor right.

  “Three packs following our trail,” he called to Edrik. “A few miles behind.”

  The group pushed on for a great distance, seeing the Forbidden Isle under falling night. Soon, with visibility limited, unable to hear anything but the cacophony of horses, they felt naked out in the open, vulnerable to any predator with a mind to attack.

  “Keep close together!” Edrik bellowed.

  But as they pressed in tightly, they found little comfort, and one archer cried out, sending an arrow to a spot behind them with a short volley from his nearest companions.

  “What?” Edrik shouted as they galloped on, trying not to slow. “What did you see?”

  The bowman looked troubled by the dark that concealed whatever crept closer. “It was one of them. I’m sure of it.”

  The others, now fully alarmed, turned their heads to look all around, and the lightless surroundings haunted them.

  “Matufinn?” Edrik called, unsettled by the jarring silence.

  Holding his position out in front, Matufinn glanced back at the rest of the group. “They’re close,” he answered cautiously. “Be ready.”

  Wasting no time, the archers fitted their bows, each of them nervously staying mounted by knee pressure only. Their spirits lifted slightly when the Isle’s blue vapors rose high before them, less than two miles ahead. But they were quickly deflated by shaking cries from the rear horses, whose riders struggled to keep control as they seemed to sense danger pouncing.

  “Steady!” bellowed Edrik, who swept a handful of bowmen around the group’s perimeter, firing into the air behind them.

  “Edrik, keep up!” Matufinn yelled from the front. “We cannot fall back if you get separated.”

  The archers lingered for another moment before bolting to rejoin the group. “Show yourselves, you wretched dogs!” Edrik cursed. “I am in need of a winter pelt!”

  Spurring the horses urgently, they rode on, finding the short stretch between themselves and freedom more unpleasant than any of the countless miles covered in captivity. Then, a sinister growl rang out, followed by many more in a bloodthirsty eruption all around.

  “Hold your fire!” Edrik commanded as the group turned frantic, their enemies still unseen. “Watch all directions. Wait until they come in for the attack. Ride! Ride!” The screams closed in on every side except the open area before them, which was diminishing, with the Isle at its end.

  “Ride!” Edrik urged. “Almost there—” But a wild bark cut him off, and the pair of jaws it came from quickly lunged on his right side, about to strike for the kill. Then an arrow flew from far ahead, darting over his shoulder directly into what could only be the creature’s body, still veiled by the dark as it gave a shrill whine.

  Looking up front, Edrik soon understood where the arrow had come from when another flew out from behind the mists, followed by one more, hitting targets that even he could not see. Then, the disembodied onslaught abruptly halted, pulling back in retreat when they finally reached the Isle’s border.

  “Quickly, into the mists,” commanded Matufinn, who held back beside Edrik, standing guard while the others rode through. They kept eyes and ears open for any sign of the beasts’ return, and watched as the former slaves made safe passage. Then, when the entire group had gone through, both pushed forward to follow.

  “Extraordinary,” Edrik marveled, slowly becoming immersed as they went on. “He can see through the mists, in the dark no less?”

  Matufinn smiled in reply, gladdened by the thought of seeing the one on the other side. “He doesn’t need to.”

  Morlen leapt with tremendous speed through the moonlight, his brown cloak a canvas for the reflected colors of apples that blurred as he moved. It whipped against the wind, but didn’t slow him in the least while he sprinted up a grassy hill, breaking out into open air. Four lions curved around its wide bend while he ran along the top, skidding down to head them off.

  “You think I can’t see you?” he called, and lunged through the trees again. He felt them like brilliant rays when his eyes closed, illuminating the paths that wound ahead in all directions. Obstacles were mere illusions now, the curtain of darkness a friendly backdrop to his mind’s radiant torch. The woods thinned out and gave way to rocky cliffs. He was almost there… he would beat them for certain… just a little farther.

  Their paws shook the earth beneath his feet, stomping with fierce determination to outrun, to overtake. He saw the edge, jutting out high over the water like a perfect platform from which he sprang, soaring without fear and plummeting, breaking the surface with a spectacular splash.

  Spewing a laugh through the water, he was soon joined by an even heavier plunge, followed consecutively by three more. Then, muffled roars ascended from below as four stout heads shattered the epicenters of each rippling circle, assaulting him with volleys shaken from their manes.

  Morlen drank deeply of their bright presence before they swam to shore, leaving him in the current. Feeling content, he gave in and drifted downriver comfortably on his back, toward the far-off lake. He would reach it near the same time his father led the others to it. The rescued prisoners were undoubtedly enjoying many forgotten comforts within the forest, their stomachs full of the meat he had helped provide before setting out ahead.

  He was unsure how many had come and gone over the last year, and contemplated the prospect of setting out soon to help his father, who had faced more than his fair share of danger rescuing them alone. Soothed by the river’s cool embrace, he was reluctant to leave this place behind when it felt as though he had only just entered.

  But, he was ready. Well, nearly ready. There was still one task that lay ahead before he could join the struggle against Felkoth’s oppression. One that many before him had attempted, only to fail.

  But, the moment in which he would come to that trial still seemed ages away. Now, while the eternal river cradled him, there was only peace.

  Matufinn led the group of freed men and women onward, carrying Morlen’s bow and quiver that had once been his own as a young man. Beside him walked the two men who had tried to help him in the prisoner caravan, while Edrik and the rest of the party kept close behind.

  With a strip of cloth now bandaging his back, the darkly bearded man reveled in the Isle’s beauty. “You truly gave up this place to come live in squalor with the rest of us?” he marveled.

  “I found more opportunity in a year out there than a life in here ever brought me,” Matufinn replied. “And I resolved to help others find the same freedom.”

  “The others,” the man said hope
fully, “who were they?”

  Struggling to remember all he had brought to safety over time, Matufinn said, “First, it was remnants of shattered families inside Korindelf. But, with the shriekers so alerted to my scent, attempts at rescue soon became too dangerous for those I wished to help. But there were many,” he assured, “before I could finally do no more alone in the city. Then, as you know, I moved on to the different prison camps, infiltrating, extracting with care, and to that course I held, till today.”

  “Are they still here, then?” asked the man whose face was scarred, walking on his other side.

  Matufinn grinned. “No,” he answered. “Most of those I rescued departed to Veldere, while select others chose to stay, forming the band that helped carry out this latest campaign.”

  Intrigued, the scarred man pressed him. “But none can cross the border between the two kingdoms unseen. How could they possibly reach Veldere from here?”

  Pleased to relive the joy of introducing distressed, hungry minds to wonders he’d come to take for granted, Matufinn replied, “You’ll see, my friend. You’re all about to join them.”

  Morlen waited in the lake meadow as the group filed through the trees, and they greeted him with appreciation one by one. Glad to absorb their outpourings of friendship, he could not help but wonder if any recognized him from Korindelf, from his old life, when every collection of energies had all but stung him to death.

  “Here,” said Matufinn, taking the bow and quiver from his shoulder, handing both to him. “I trust you moved quickly without these on your back. Though, sometimes we must learn to run with our burdens, till we feel them no longer.”

  Morlen had grown somewhat taller over the last year, now almost the same height as his father while they walked together. They came to the lake, a diamond carpet sprawling in the moonlight, and he stood aside while Matufinn prepared to address the rest.

  All seemed to brim with interest as Matufinn began to answer what most were undoubtedly wondering. “The lake is a nexus between our world and a plane beyond distance and time,” he projected loudly. “It bends the miles of stretching space around us into a mere stride that will take you anywhere in these lands you wish to go. It is what enabled me to reach the scattered camps undetected, and you can take it, like the others before you, to Veldere. There, you will find friends old and new in civilization once again.

  “By bringing you into the Isle, I have committed a sacred act, one that empowers each of you to return here whenever you wish, with whomever you choose. For having been shown the way, you may now show it to others.”

  “Then let us hope we are all trustworthy,” Edrik joked, laughing with the others, and Morlen realized that the scarred man was studying him intently, with eyes that quickly darted away upon being noticed.

  Opening his arms to bid the group farewell, Matufinn said, “Go now, one by one, so your arrival draws no suspicion. Swim down into the lake as its doorway opens for you, and find life on the other side.”

  They slowly came forward, dozens offering their final thanks before wading through the shallows, and swam down toward bright pulses in the depths that suddenly whisked them away, leaving behind only faint ripples on the surface.

  Coming face to face with the two men from the caravan, Matufinn said, “I wish to express my gratitude to both of you for the good will you showed, thinking me to be on the verge of death. You,” he spoke kindly to the darkly bearded man, “were bold in the face of certain doom, and I only hope the marks left by your lashes remind you of that bravery.”

  With a wide smile, he clasped Matufinn’s arm.

  “Brave indeed,” said the man whose face was scarred, grinning at the bearded one. “I was convinced you were the Missing Prisoner. How very surprised I was.”

  “And you,” Matufinn replied. “You too will always be welcome here in the Isle.”

  The scarred fellow smiled thinly, and Morlen sensed a strong surge of excitement in him. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I think I should like to return, someday.” Then, the two men went into the water after most had already departed. Finally, being one of the few remaining, Edrik approached them.

  “My old friend,” Matufinn said gratefully as they clasped arms, “Remember always that you have strong allies in the two of us.”

  Bowing his head in appreciation, Edrik smiled. “I shall remember it.” Then, looking at Morlen, he said, “I understand you will soon be claiming a new sword. I’ll certainly be putting my skills to better use now. Come find my smithy, and I’ll craft a fine sheath for the blade.” Nodding in return, Morlen shook his extended arm, and Edrik followed his band’s last members down the bank.

  Morlen watched the party gradually disperse, and glimpsed the scarred man whose eyes were on him again from afar. Wading chest-deep, the fellow seemed to give him the strangest look, one that felt almost familiar, though lost in some distant memory. Finally, diving down, the man vanished with all others, and the lake’s surface calmed once more.

  Rematerializing one at a time in the quiet streets of Veldere, where most had closed their doors to the cold night, the liberated prisoners passed by one another inconspicuously with lifted spirits. Thoughts of bruising ropes and harsh lashes faded, and each of them stood marked by the shared memory of one who had cultivated hope in despair.

  They would intermingle with the unsuspecting townspeople, find work in the same trades they’d practiced before, and continue their lives as best they could, though never fully healing. Feeling light and content, they went forward with such enthusiasm that the absence in their group went quite unnoticed. All had naturally assumed that each person going into the mystic doorway would choose the destination they were told.

  They spread through the Eaglemasters’ capital, admiring its high stone towers and its many defenders who passed deftly overhead. And none of them stopped long enough to realize that the man whose face was scarred had never arrived.

  Chapter Seven

  The Crystal Blade in the Dark Mountains

  DAYS PASSED FAR too quickly in the Isle as Morlen wished for each to halt in motion, delaying the inevitable moment that no longer lay down the road, but at his feet. Now, it was an icy plunge from which he feared he might never surface.

  As he stained his lips with the juice of an indigo apple, he began to wonder if this would be the last he ever tasted of the Isle’s fruit. Even if he had enough strength to make it back from the dark task ahead, would their sweetness be forever lost to him?

  For a full year he’d called this place home, forgetting much of the cruelty that would soon try to choke him again as it had when he was younger. He had left that world behind, assuring himself in the passing months that he was able to face it once more. But first he must brave a place much worse, the place to which many before him had gone and turned back in shame.

  Sensing his father, for the first time he did not welcome his presence, instead willing Matufinn to turn around, to go back, to leave him here for a little longer. But, coming into the meadow, Matufinn stood patiently as Morlen fidgeted under his watch. Just one more day… one more hour… please.

  “Morlen,” Matufinn’s voice was hard, but not without sympathy, calling him out of safe ground, into the cold. “It is time.”

  Morlen tried to hold this image in his mind, and after savoring it for a long breath, he cast it away completely, certain that if he recalled it on the path that beckoned, he would likely stumble. Getting up, he took the tied skins that held rations of food and water for his journey back, and they walked together down the lake’s pebbled bank, into the shallows.

  Never having traveled through the lake’s doorway before, Morlen kept his eyes hungrily open when they dove in side by side. As they swam deeper, Matufinn’s hand gripped his arm, and a bright bubble suddenly rose in their path. It stretched into a wide nebula of light, and they propelled themselves closer while it curved around them, until they were no longer in water or any other substance. He saw distant reaches of terra
in curve toward one another as though merely fabric through which he was a needle and thread, and drifted weightlessly, neither pulled nor pushed. Then, his feet stamped into barren earth, kicking up a thick cloud of dust.

  He realized that they were far within the Dead Plains, seeing the Isle as a lean strip many miles behind. Marveling that they were both completely dry, he quickly strode to catch up with his father. And though he felt newfound exhilaration at being outside the shelter he’d grown so accustomed to, he could not shake the sense of doom that gripped him at the sight of the Dark Mountains, which towered a short space ahead. The air was frigid, and the first snows were likely to arrive any day now. But, there was something else: a different cold, worse than any other.

  “High in these mountains stands the Crystal Blade,” said Matufinn, “the sword left for our people to claim, at the spot where Morthadus saw the rest of the Blessed Ones fall into darkness. This has been the tradition of our line since its start, signifying a young man’s rise beside his fathers. And now, on this day, you will take your place among us.”

  Wondering aloud, Morlen asked, “Why here?”

  His father smiled glumly. “To truly know the light, you must know the dark as well.”

  Coming to a stop at the mountain base, Matufinn bade him to unstrap the rations he carried and set them on the ground. “Food and water will do you no good in there,” he said. “You must keep them here, for when you come out.”

  Morlen’s heart sank at the idea of leaving behind the only sustenance for miles all around, and he tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere. “When did you first come to make the journey?” he asked.

  Matufinn’s expression was solemn. “After my first battle with the shriekers, before I came to Korindelf,” he answered. “And after I failed the quest, your mother truly saw emptiness in me, upon our first meeting. And still, she saw fit to fill it.”