by C D Beaudin
A groan comes from the man. It sounds like he’s rising slowly, halfheartedly walking toward something. He opens the hatch, and the light hurts Brega’s eyes but she’s relieved.
His nose wrinkles as the smell wafts up. “Ugh! Disgusting pig. You know, your father better come get you soon. I’m not sure how much more of this awful smell I can take!” He tosses a garlicky chicken leg in and slams the hatch shut, locking it again.
Brega grabs the chicken, her teeth tearing into it like she’s a wild dog. She feels the meat in her stomach, and some of her hunger goes away, but the hurting in her stomach intensifies. She vomits, and it lands on her lap. New tears stream down her cheeks.
I know you can’t come, Father. Rohidia is already cursed by Revera. If you came to Kahzacore the Sanarx and Tarken would destroy you, which is no doubt the reason for my being here. Fresh tears slide down her chin and neck. I’m sorry. I should never have gone riding. She sobs. Tell Haydrid I love him. He won’t have to protect his little sister anymore. Tell him that. Try not to worry about me. I will be with mother soon. She closes her eyes.
Even if she isn’t to truly speak to her father…well, saying a silent prayer to him gives her a slight comfort. Dying of hunger isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a person. She wonders how long it takes for that to happen. Her breathing becomes slower. Not the worst thing.
She closes her eyes and loses consciousness.
When Awyn went to sleep, the night sky above was vast with stars. The red grass below her was cool and swooshing in the wind. Her eyes had gently closed, her head resting silently on her hands as her breathing had become gentle, a quiet hum. The blanket lying over her was keeping her warm with the soft wool on her clean skin. Her hair had been washed and was combed and silky.
A perfect night. A perfect sleep.
But it wasn’t real.
Suddenly thunder booms, waking her. Lightning strikes over and over again, lighting up the whole sky. Awyn looks up at the illuminated night, the stars seeming to melt down to the ground, a harsh wind blows her hair, and her blanket flies away from her.
Cold rushes through her, and the stars start zooming toward earth, balls of burning fire. Awyn’s eyes widen, and she scrambles up, running on the red ground. Suddenly the grass turns to a thick liquid. Awyn looks down, seeing the crimson blood. A scream leaves her lips. She tries to run, but the blood crawls up her legs, making them unable to move.
Awyn looks behind her, and the sky cracks open. The world starts to shake violently. The blood bubbles. Hot geysers of the crimson liquid shoot into the air, and the thunder booms rhythmically. All around her, fire burns, snapping and crackling. One by one, each flame morphs into a fiery demon. Another horror-filled scream leaves her mouth.
Her body starts to burn, and an unnatural force pulls her face toward the sky, her eyes forced open. There’s another lightning strike, and a gigantic, black orb seeps through the crack in the sky. Her body shakes violently, and her heart thumps a million beats a second. Her blood rushes through her body, making her skin start to melt.
The black orb forms above her, a glowing purple eye looking down. It has no mouth, and yet a loud, demonic voice booms as loudly as the thunder.
“I found you. Darkness will prevail. Long live Zyadar, creator of evil!” The fire demons around Awyn start shouting the name.
“Zyadar! Zyadar! Zyadar!” The name is chanted over and over again.
Awyn’s lower half has melted, now petrified blood. Her head free, she screams as the eye hurls toward her, an evil, booming laugh ringing through the entire sky.
It devours her, and the world turns to darkness as if it never existed.
Awyn shoots up, screaming. Horror fills her, she is blinded by red. Her hairs stand up, and her body shakes like an earthquake. Blood tears stream like a waterfall down her face. A sharp sensation fills her body, and it’s unbearable. She digs her nails into her face, scraping down to get to whatever evil is inside her, the inner torture burning. Her screams continue, waking up the others lying around her.
Aradon is first to get to her. “Awyn. Awyn, wake up!”
Her eyes are open, but she is paralyzed. The tips of her fingers are stained with her blood.
Aradon grabs her hands tearing them away from her face, and Eldowyn rushes to her other side, gently touching her back to steady her.
Dreema walks over with his staff. He points it at her, holding it over her head, the crystal entwined in the white wood, glowing. “Darkness leave this girl.”
Awyn’s eyes close, and she collapses, too weak to stand, falling into Eldowyn’s arms. Strands of her hair fall over her face, and she feels the deep wounds she gave herself heal.
“What was that, Dreema?” Aradon asks.
Suddenly her eyelids flutter but the effort to open them fully for any length of time is too much.
“Revera has grown more evil. Awyn was just cursed by the Spirit of Darkness himself.” Dreema turns, lying back down.
Eldowyn and Aradon look at each other, fear in their eyes. “Zyadar.” The word leaves Eldowyn’s lips, quietly, the fear for the very life he breathes evident in the way he says it.
Aradon covers Awyn with a blanket, and he lies down, closer to her this time. Eldowyn sits up across from him. They turn their heads as Hagard snorts, tiredly waking.
He yawns and must see their surprised faces. His eyebrows furrow.
“Did I miss sometin’?”
Chapter Sixteen
Aradon walks through the forest, his bow in hand, the sheath on his back. Only within the forests of Eron is the grass green. The trees grow tall, seeming to touch the sun above the canopy of leaves and branches, casting the green ghost upon the forest that Aradon is so familiar with.
Bright green moss covers the brown tree trunks, spreading onto the ground, the rich dirt fresh and damp from rain. The smell of spring fills the air. Flowers of all colors dot the verdant ferns and other large-leafed plants.
Bluebells droop low to the ground, their blue-purple color small but bright, catching Aradon’s eye. He takes out his knife, cutting off one of the flowers. Then puts it inside his cloak pocket, keeping it for when he arrives at Tanea, knowing that she will love it.
A rustle in the bushes catches Aradon’s ear. He stands up straight, slowly grabbing an arrow, preparing his bow. The deer’s hooves clip-clop against a rock surface. A rustle of leaves. No, bushes. A snap of bark. Tree. He turns, aiming right at the deer between the eyes. He lets the arrow fly, watching as it hits the deer right where he planned. The young buck drops. He ties a rope just above the four hooves pulled together, hoisting the rope over his shoulder and pulls it through the forest.
When he comes to the river in the woods, he grabs the legs of the deer, throwing it over the river, watching it land on the other side.
“Aw, that’s not fair!”
Aradon turns at the familiar voice.
Standing on the path is the Plainsman, a stupid grin on his face. “But mind you, you do have an advantage.”
Aradon’s teeth clench, his jaw tight. He charges at Saine, the Plainsman’s eyes widening.
“Hi to you too!” he yelps as he turns, running deeper into the forest from him.
Saine runs as fast as he can, he must know he’s dead if Aradon gets hold of him. The younger Saine is faster, and lighter, than the furious Aradon.
“Look! Whatever I did in the past, I’m sure we can work it out!” he calls back as Aradon chases him.
“You destroyed my chance of taking down Grader!” Aradon yells, livid.
Saine trips over a stump, hitting the dirt hard. “Ow,” he winces, but the pain probably intensifies when Aradon throws him against a tree. “Ow!” He goes to rub the back of his head, but Aradon grabs both his wrists.
Saine knees Aradon in the stomach, sending him stumbling back. Then he pounces, knocking Aradon to the ground, and starts punching him in the face, blood streaming from Aradon’s nose.
Enraged, Aradon flip
s over, Saine under him. He clutches his throat, but Saine swipes at Aradon, his nails digging into his face. Aradon stumbles back, and Saine stands up, wobbling away.
“Grader was a power-hungry warlord, determined to take over Nomarah. I was camped only a mile away from his army, but you blew my cover by lighting a fire, five-hundred feet away,” Aradon says, wiping the blood from his nose.
Saine turns to him and looks surprised he’s still talking. “Wow, you counted.”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna let that happen again.” Aradon slams him against the tree again.
“Okay, okay. I get the point. But I didn’t know about your…operation.”
In a moment Aradon backs away slightly, and Saine turns to walk away, but Aradon stops him, his hand clutching the younger man’s wrist.
“I got Grader, in case you were wondering.”
Saine twists his arm, releasing himself from Aradon’s firm hold. “I wasn’t.” He looks at his wrists, bruises are already forming from when Aradon smashed them against the tree. “You know, you really need to work on your hellos.” Saine salutes him. “See ya ‘round, Besged.” He turns and starts walking away.
“Hopefully never again!” Aradon calls back.
“Yeah well, I might spring up again. Next time, maybe you’ll fight back.”
Aradon rolls his eyes as Saine walks away, disappearing into the forest. He lets out a sigh and jumps over the river, continuing to drag the buck.
I’m not old. I just jumped across a river. He sighs. That guy makes me feel old.
Awyn rushes to Aradon as he emerges from the trees.
“What happened to you?” She lightly touches his bruised eye. Ever since her nightmare, she has forgiven them for what happened in Nomarah. Life is hardly tolerable alone.
“Uh, ran into an old friend.” Aradon winces as he sits down next to the fire. “I brought this week’s food.” He takes out his knife, ready to skin the deer, but Awyn stops him.
“No, Dreema can do that. You need to rest.” She takes the knife from him, giving it to the wizard, and Dreema takes it hesitantly.
“Why didn’t she ask me?” Eldowyn whispers to Hagard.
“Because yer porcelain.” The dwarf pats the elf on the back, standing up. “Nature calls.” He walks into the woods.
Awyn sits beside Aradon, patting his eye with a cloth she dipped in the Ferrider River just a few minutes’ walk away.
“You have to learn to walk away.” Awyn looks him in the eyes. “There are younger versions of you out there. You may be a Besged, but you are not immortal.” She grabs his chin, checking his bruises and the cuts she sutured. “Okay, I’m done here.” She stands up but is stopped by Aradon’s hand clasping her wrist.
“Are you okay?” he asks her, the concern evident.
Since she had the dream, she hasn’t cried or screamed or done any of the normal things one would do. But that doesn’t stop her from being frightened. The dream…it felt more like a vision. A vision of what might happen if Revera wins.
But nonetheless, she gives him a smile. “Just because Revera now has the Spirit of Darkness on her side doesn’t mean all is lost. So yeah, I’m okay.” She turns, her worry flooding back into being. She’s tried to be brave, tried to be calm.
My life has turned out to be a war. First my family was killed, and I was imprisoned. Now, I’m fighting for my kingdom against a powerful sorceress who has Zyadar on her side. I’m going to die before I have the chance to go home. I guess that’s the realization. I’m going to die before I’ve had a chance to live. And, by the grace of Sericia that I do become queen, I know Revera will want to take over all our lands.
No one is safe. The future is the doom of Mortal.
It’s been two weeks since they arrived in Eron. Aradon knows the vastness of the country has taken a toll on them, even with all its beauty. The unusual red of the plains have become the same to them, as if the color was normal green. Rain has fallen every night, and Aradon notices even Awyn is becoming tired of it and complaining about it.
They debated whether or not to ride straight through the nights and sleep when they arrive at the Tanea, but they would fall off the horses before they came to the sea. Their shoulders feel heavy, and black bruises under their eyes show how tired they are.
Awyn hasn’t slept properly in four days. None of them have. They have ridden through the rain, the cold, and the blazing sun. A run-in with a pack of wolves sent adrenaline rushing through their veins, but it has long faded. Even the Everbreeds grow tired, and no one ever thought that was possible.
Maybe it’s the doom of the world hanging on their shoulders that is making them so miserable. Not one of them has held a conversation for longer than two minutes. Even Hagard is silent, though, that may be because he hasn’t had a drop of mead in several days.
They’ve all had the opportunity to sleep, to rest. They could stop riding at any moment, but the thought of Awyn’s dream keeps them awake. Sleep is when one is most vulnerable, and a mind can be destroyed by nightmares. But maybe they are just trying to keep her nightmares…nightmares.
“Are we any closer?” Awyn asks, her face and voice blank. Her reins are loose and Blancar’s head has dropped, his steps lazy. Aradon sharpens his vision, trying to tell how much farther. He can see the Lumeria, the river separating the Tanean land to the King of Eron’s. About fifty more miles and they will be at the river.
“Yes. We should be there tomorrow if we continue riding hard through the night.”
Everyone breathes a sigh of relief.
Awyn smiles, probably knowing she’s that much closer to her kingdom. They continue riding, but Awyn seems to droop and her eyes roll to the back of her head, just before she falls off her horse limply. The thud turns the others’ heads, and their eyes widen. Aradon jumps off his horse, running back to her.
“Awyn? Awyn!”
Dreema hurries over to Aradon, who kneels over the princess.
“Is she being attacked by Revera? Or Zyadar?” asks Aradon.
Dreema closes his eyes, putting his hand over her. “No. She’s collapsed out of exhaustion, I think.” He opens his eyes, no longer worried. “She has been weakened by Revera, so it makes sense for her to collapse. In reality she wouldn’t have lasted another day.”
“Will she be okay?” Aradon’s voice is riddled with worry. Dreema’s eyebrows crinkle at this as if the amount of concern Aradon shows is unusual. Perhaps it shows something more than a friend. “Well, Dreema! Will she?”
“Yes, yes! She will be fine. When we come to the river, splash some cold water on her face and she should wake up, but let her sleep for now.” The wizard climbs back onto his horse.
Aradon lifts Awyn up onto his horse, climbing up after her. He watches as Blancar disappears into the red fields, the neighing echoing for a moment, then silence, except for the wind and the sound of their thundering hooves.
The landscape flies past them as they gallop at full speed, the Everbreeds gallop three times as fast as regular horses. Blurs of red and dark midnight blue stream like water, the stars invisible to them as they charge through the red meadows.
The moon above is full, bright, and beautiful. The silver ghost it casts, shines over the red pastures, a silvery shine on the scarlet blades. The stars twinkle brightly in the clear sky. Even the fireflies that zoom through the air, seem to collide with them.
The red turns to blue and purple as they ride through a field of wildflowers. The soft colors relax the tense horses, and the smell of lavender and lilac waft through the fresh air. A cool breeze of serenity blows through their hair, whipping their cloaks forward.
But it’s not enough to distract them from the task at hand.
Water brings Awyn back from her sleep. Her eyes squeeze shut, her arms in a flurry, with a cough from her lips. She searches blindly for something to wipe her face off. She grabs the skirt of her dress, wiping her eyes. Dreema is above her, his hands wet. Looking around, she sees they’re right beside a r
iver.
“You splashed me!” Her brow furrows as she wipes the cold water off her neck and shoulders.
“You needed to be awake for this,” Eldowyn states, an impressed smile on his face.
Her face crinkles in confusion. “What could possibly be so—” Her eyes widen as she stands, seeing what they see.
Tanea. Horses and cattle graze the green grass. Trees tall and thick, grow around the village. White, fluffy animals graze alongside the cows, a dog running around them, the sound of the shrill whistle of a man watching them. The bark of the dog is cute but loud. The sheep scatter away from it, herding into a jumble.
They ride through the herds, the village approaching. It looks much like the Kawa, but no mountains, and the smell of the sea wafts through the salty air. The dirt ground is smooth and reddish-brown, while the huts and larger houses are wooden and colorfully painted in tribal patterns. Women beat dirt and dust out of colorful rugs, some hanging up laundry. Men and young boys carry strings with fish on the end. Little children run along the roads, throwing sticks and pebbles at each other, dolls in some of the girls’ hands.
They jump off the horses when they come to a fence where other horses are tied up. Blancar returned to her after she’d collapsed and now she ties him to the wooden fence, but when she turns, a large group—possibly the entire village—have gathered around them. She gulps nervously as Dreema walks up to them.
“Hello, friends. We have come to meet with the chief,” the wizard says loudly in a friendly matter.
Awyn notices Aradon keeping his head down.
“We notice you have Everbreed horses. How did you come upon them?” an old man asks, possibly the elder. His hazel colored skin is decorated with white designs. A white wrap is tied at his waist. His feet wear nothing but leather sandals.
“We have the Whistle of Everen.” As Dreema says this, gasps and murmuring arise from the crowd. The man steps forward.
“I am Ojaylac, one of the elders here. I welcome you to Tanea.” His accent is unusual. He offers his hand, and Dreema takes it, looking into this elder’s brown eyes. They smile in friendship. “I will take you to our chief, now.”