After several tense moments, the rover snarled then moved on, trotting deeper into the woods away from them. Both men breathed a sigh of relief, though neither was willing to put his weapon away.
“Let’s pick up the pace,” Jerron said, still scanning the woods cautiously.
They kicked their mounts into a steady trot. Cano may have been having a difficult time riding at the increased pace, but he didn’t show it. His face had taken on a look of bitter resolve. Even as he bumped around awkwardly, looking several times as though he might fall off his horse, his eyes darted around like a squirrel watching the sky for predators.
It was a short time later that they spotted a second rover, then a third. Just as with the first one, these watched them for a passing moment then moved on. Jerron began to notice that they seemed to be going in the same direction.
The road passed quickly as their pace increased with each rover they sighted. Five more appeared, two of them blatantly trotting along the road in front of them. Though every rover regarded them with the same wild-eyed hunger, none bothered to approach. Jerron wasn’t sure what was more unnerving -- the fact that there were so many rovers in such a small area or that none seemed interested in testing him and Cano. In his whole life, Jerron had only seen rovers perhaps a dozen times. Something was terribly wrong.
“I don’t like this at all, Cano,” he said, nervously. “They don’t move around in numbers like this.”
Cano’s face was hard like a stone. Something that could have been rage lit the normally soft tones of his eyes. “It’s Maehril.”
“Maehril? Why would she have anything to do with this?” Jerron asked uncertainly.
“She is light made flesh,” Cano said with a haunting faith in his words. “Where there is light in this world, darkness comes. I stabbed one of them rovers. The blade burnt its flesh. Those beasts aren’t natural. They’re servants of darkness. I think they’re after Maehril.”
Jerron thought hard about Cano’s theory and believed him. There was something indefinable about that girl; he had sensed that much right away. The fear he felt was replaced by a feeling of urgent desperation. They had to hurry.
As if Cano could read his thoughts, they simultaneously pushed their geldings to a full gallop. Cano suddenly seemed a seasoned rider as he moved in time to his mount, staring ahead with a steely focus. Jerron looked at the linen sack, full of the yellow fruit, hanging from Cano’s back. He had a desire to have one of the fruits to gain its marvelous gifts. If things suddenly grew worse, he told himself.
The forest ended bringing them out to the low rolling hills that led to Yennit’s estate. Starcryer was still running hard, but Jerron could tell that his horse needed a break. You could run a horse to death, but Jerron couldn’t imagine letting that happen. He thought of Starcryer as a friend. To be responsible for the horse's death would be unbearable.
Seeing the familiar fields of his home helped temper his distress. He eased the pace, guiding Starcryer to a more sustainable trot. Cano looked at him, objections evident in the furrowed brow and sullen eyes, but followed Jerron’s lead and slowed his own horse down. Here and there, they would spot a rover racing along in the distance. Jerron had no doubts now; they were heading for the manor house.
They passed his home sitting quietly off to their right. A thin plume of smoke rose from the single chimney, a sign that at least one of his parents was home. He guessed that it was his mother, diligently working on dinner. It was hard to ride past. He desperately wanted to run down to the house if for no other reason than to let his mother know that he was alright. The thought of her worrying about him made a sick feeling wash over his stomach.
The rest of the way, they rode in silence. A shared tension moved them along, guiding their movements as their minds raced with visions of foreboding. Neither man wanted to discuss the possibilities. They’d lost count of how many rovers they’d seen moving toward the estate. The manor house was very possibly under siege. They might be heading toward a battle, or even worse, a tomb.
As they cleared the last rise, hearts racing, breathing suspended, the scene was daunting. Hundreds of rovers crouched in the grass, making a long frightening circle surrounding the outskirts of Yennit’s manor. Jerron could make out men, farm hands, servants and guards, armed with bows, axes, swords and spears spotting the fields watching the rovers warily, but doing nothing to provoke the beasts.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Cano whispered hoarsely.
Jerron shook his head. “I’ve no idea. Let’s get to the house.”
They hurried down the road, watching their backs to see if any of the rovers intended to make a move. The closest ones watched with an almost terrifying nonchalance, but none did anything more than snort in their direction. Several of the workers waved to them as they rode past, but held their positions. Mueller must have them following some kind of military strategy, Jerron thought.
When they reached the house at last, Westin rushed out to meet them. His big, brown eyes were filled with tears as he came bursting out the door. Jerron hopped down off his horse and grabbed his father in a tight, emotional hug.
“I thought I’d lost you, son,” his father sobbed on his shoulder. “I was sure I’d never see you again.”
“I told you I’d come back, Pa,” Jerron openly wept. After a few moments they let go, each man looking slightly abashed, as he wiped away the tears. “How’s Ma?” Jerron asked.
“Worried sick, of course,” Westin said, dabbing at his eyes and laughing at himself for all the tears. “She’s home, cooking all your favorite things for dinner.”
“Are we going to make it back fer dinner?” Cano cut in. He hated to interrupt the father-and-son reunion, but he was getting impatient.
Westin slowly shook his head. His pursed lips and worried eyes told them all they needed to know about the situation.
“What is this? I’ve never seen rovers act like this before,” Jerron asked.
“Mueller's doing his best,” Westin said sadly. “We don’t know anymore than you do. About four hours ago they just started showing up. They haven’t taken even one step further in all that time. Mueller says to hold ground and avoid provoking them. That’s good enough advice for me.”
Jerron and Cano exchanged troubled looks. If Jerron had to guess, there had to be about three hundred rovers surrounding the manor. There were only about one hundred people on the premises and around fifty of those were women. If the rovers chose to attack in unison, things were going to get ugly.
“Them things are waiting till nightfall,” Cano said with a haunted look. “That’s when they’ll attack.”
“I bet you’re right,” Jerron agreed.
Westin thought about it and slowly began to agree. “I’m sure Mueller’s figuring the same thing. But I think I’ll go over there and see what they’re planning to do, just in case they do come at night.”
“Let’s go find Maehril,” Jerron said to Cano. He led the way into the manor, first coming across the large kitchen. He asked the cooks and servants and was told that she was sleeping in a room on the third floor. Cano followed close at his heels as they ran through the house and up the stairs. Jerron immediately spotted Harriet, Yennit’s personal attendant, waiting beside a door just a few steps down the hall. As they approached, she eagerly nodded and waved them in where they found Yennit sitting beside a bed where Maehril still slept peacefully.
Yennit looked up in surprise when they entered the room. A wide smile broke across his aged face. “You made it.”
“It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell ya that,” Cano mumbled.
“We killed all the shraels,” Jerron said with a touch of pride.
“You killed all of them?” Yennit asked, disbelievingly. “And the tree? Did you find it?”
“Aye. We found it,” Cano said. He placed the bag on the bed beside Maehril and pulled out one of the fruits. Yennit took it, handling it gingerly as though it were a precious stone. He held it to
his face, inhaling its fragrance.
“We tried it,” Jerron stated.
“What happened?” Yennit asked in a reverent whisper.
“It works,” Cano answered.
“It made me strong. It healed all of our wounds,” Jerron said. “We wouldn’t have gotten past the shraels if I hadn’t tried one.”
Yennit nodded and looked at the fruit he was holding. “I’ve wondered about this for many years.” He took a small, tentative bite, savoring the sweet unique flavor. “Incredible.” Yennit consumed the rest, licking the stray juices from his thin, frail fingers. “Thank you,” he whispered with closed eyes.
“Let’s see about Maehril,” Cano said, turning away from Yennit, who swayed gently in his chair as though he were floating within the most beautiful of dreams.
Cano took a fruit from the bag and sat on the bed beside Maehril’s head. He took out the terrallium dagger and used it to cut off a few small pieces of the fruit. Then with the utmost gentleness, he lifted her head and held it with the crook of his arm. He turned and looked at Jerron, and they exchanged a silent prayer for the fruit to have the desired effect. He shoved the bit of fruit into her mouth, massaging her throat to induce her to swallow. When he was sure that she had swallowed it, Cano put another piece into her mouth. He continued the process until all of the pieces he’d cut were gone.
Jerron had to blink. As soon as she swallowed the last piece, a faint light briefly began to shimmer around her. It held on for only a moment before it flickered and winked out. Though it was soft and sudden, the visual gave him goosebumps and a feeling of peace took hold within his mind. He knew now that Cano had been right all along. This girl was worth the effort. She was special.
*******************************************************************
“Again Maehril. Do it again,” Bella said, patiently.
Maehril knelt on a beach facing the water, the warm ocean breeze a comfort as she struggled with her lesson. Before her in the sand lay a small bit of driftwood, barely the size of her forearm. She knew she had to focus. Bella expected her to get this lesson right. They wouldn’t head home until she did. But her mind kept wandering, her thoughts wouldn’t co-operate with her mother’s request.
She had done all this before. Maehril wasn’t certain how she knew this, but the inescapable feeling that somehow she was existing within a dream tickled her consciousness like a spider crawling up her back. There was something about the smell of the ocean air, the weathered gray piece of driftwood, the soft warm beach sand, and the curt yet patient tone in her mother’s voice that reminded her of another time and place. The difference this time, as far as she could discern, was that each time she looked into her mother’s kind gray eyes, with their border of deeply defined crow’s feet, Maehril felt a nearly unbearable wave of sadness. Why did looking at her mother hurt so much?
“Maehril, you need to focus,” Bella said. Maehril looked up at her, feeling that pang of loss tearing through her heart. Bella put a comforting hand on her shoulder, smiling with that subtle curving of lips that spoke of maternal tenderness. “Every lesson you have, each and every one, has a purpose -- a deeper meaning to serve the greater good. Do you know what the greater good means?” Maehril's slender shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “It means that we must all make sacrifices to see that those we love and the things we cherish most dearly persevere. I was a girl barely your own age when I first realized my calling in life. It still took many years for me to accept my place and give in to my own destiny. There was no-one back then to guide me. I was alone. My daughter, you have a calling far greater than any who have come before you. Time is short. I am here to steer your course, but you must be willing to accept your calling. You must be willing to try. Always to try. And to remember that none of us, no single person is greater than the whole. We are but one of many. A million single threads of a complex pattern, woven together to form one magnificent world.”
Maehril was in awe of her mother's passion. She couldn’t tell if the tears she felt welling up were from the existing hollow despair she felt as she looked at her mother, or from the eloquent way Bella always had of explaining her perspective and making you feel like you were a part of something greater than yourself.
She looked again at the small bit of driftwood. Her hand reached out to it, caressed the smooth surface. She forced her focus into the wood, into its structure, its makeup. Somewhere deep within she found what she was looking for -- a spark, a hint of life, dormant, yet evident. She pushed her focus into that part of the wood, sending emotion and encouragement through the connection she felt. The wood moved in her hand. It slowly began to stretch at each end like a rapidly growing branch. The ends pushed into the sand, delving deeply into the ground. A sprout pushed up from the middle of the wood, rising right between Maehril’s fingers. It rose slowly at first, then with increasing speed, sprouting branches and leaves until it became a fully formed tree, healthy and vibrant. Maehril caressed the trunk, pushing all of the love and strength she could give into the newly living tree. When the task was finished at last, she took her hand away and sat back, feeling exhausted, yet proud.
“Well done, my daughter,” Bella said, kneeling down and taking Maehril in her arms. Maehril tightly held her mother, feeling the warmth of the embrace as if it were a distant memory remembered for the first time in a great long while. Blinking away tears of regret, she looked into the distance and saw a beautiful woman, blond silken hair, eyes blue as the ocean, with flowing robes of the purest white, watching them. She pulled away and pointed at the woman, imploring Bella to look. But as Bella turned her head…
Maehril knelt on a beautiful white sand beach. At her knees was a small bit of driftwood, gray and smoothed by years of wind and water exposure. She deeply inhaled the soft ocean breeze. She loved the way the ocean smelled, so familiar, so peaceful.
“Try again, Maehril,” she heard her mother, Bella, say encouragingly. “Remember why we’re doing all of this.”
Maehril couldn’t remember. She looked around, suddenly feeling confused. She could smell the ocean, feel the warm sun and the cool breeze, let the warm sand slide between her fingers, and yet, none of it seemed real. Could it all be a dream? Why were the patient gray eyes she saw when she looked at her mother so heartrending?
“Love Maehril,” Bella patted her hair. “We do this for love. Love gives us existence. Love sustains us as a people. It gives us a reason for being, for doing, for living. In a world of darkness love remains the guiding light. You must become that light. A single beam of light against a sea of darkness. You must harness the love within and channel it. Focus that emotion into the wood. Give it a try.”
Maehril was certain she had heard Bella tell her this before. Was it long ago? She couldn’t tell. Why did she feel like crying when she felt her mother’s gentle caress?
She put her hand on the wood and pushed out all other thoughts from her mind. She formed an image of a full grown tree, verdant and green, standing tall beneath the sun’s warming rays. Through her hand and into the wood, she pushed that thought, focusing on the way that beauty warmed her heart and soul. The wood twitched. The ends began to grow and push into the sand. A sapling pushed up beneath her hand, rising with increasing speed as it stretched and grew into a full grown tree. She sat back, exhausted. Bella knelt down and wrapped her in a motherly embrace. In the distance a woman stood and watched. She was blond and beautiful with flowing white robes brightly drawing in the sunlight. Maehril pointed and tried to show her mother. Bella turned to look…
Maehril knelt in the warm white sand of a beautiful pristine beach. Her mother, Bella, knelt beside her, an arm around her shoulder, whispering something into her ear. Maehril could hear her mother, but the words just passed through her mind like a gentle ocean breeze.
Something felt wrong. It felt as though this had happened before, thousands of times perhaps. And she felt despair. Something in her mother’s touch, the soft tender way she spoke,
made Maehril want to cry for all eternity. A part of her wanted to stay there, beside Bella forever, but another offered caution. She felt a piece of herself pulling away, to somewhere…different.
The wood twitched beneath her hand. The ends slowly began to stretch and push into the ground. Maehril didn’t understand what was happening. She wasn’t trying to make it grow. In the sand where both ends had dug in, a black liquid, like oil, started to sputter up, pooling around the piece of wood. It was unnatural, and repulsive. It made her stomach turn, her skin crawl. The wood began to rot and decay wherever it was touched by the liquid, until it was completely dissolved.
Maehril looked up with tears in her eyes. Bella hadn’t seemed to notice what was happening. She just continued to whisper reassurances into her daughter’s ear. A woman stood in the distance, beautiful and dressed in the purest of white. Maehril tried to get Bella to look, pointing and pleading. As her mother turned…
Maehril knelt on a beach, staring at a dried up piece of driftwood. It looked lifeless and cold. The air had a crispness to it, like the foreboding chill of a late autumn wind harkening the coming storm that would signal winter. Bella knelt beside her whispering into her ear. Her mother seemed older somehow, grayer, worn, tired.
The piece of wood at her knees slowly began to move. It twitched softly at first, then more erratically. Suddenly it sank into the ground. For a moment Maehril stared blankly at the oval divot in the sand where the wood had been, wondering why it felt so strange. She felt as though this had all happened before, yet something about it seemed…different.
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