by Chloe Hodge
Ashalea’s eyes welled. The sole survivor of the royal line, her mother and heir to the Moonglade Meadows, had sent her away. For so many years she thought she didn’t quite belong, that there were too many things that her parents — her foster parents — weren’t telling her. Now she knew why. To protect her in case the darkness ever found its way back into the world. In case the darkness returned to finish what he had started.
“Wait…” Shara chimed in with fingers on her temple. “Wait, you’re telling me…” She trailed off and then suddenly her eyes widened. “Ashalea’s a royal!?”
Everyone glared at her for interrupting and Wezlan shushed her dismissively before continuing.
“The new family took residence in a home just outside Woodrandia and assumed the lives of lowborn folk. The child was heavily warded to remain hidden from the darkness and grew up knowing nothing of her heritage. And so, she remained safe, until one day the darkness found her on the morning of her sixteenth birthday, when her powers granted by the Moon Goddess came into fruition.”
Wezlan put a hand on her shoulder and smiled tenderly from beneath his beard.
“You see, Ashalea, I have been watching over you all your life. Waiting for you to come of age, waiting to protect you if need be. Sadly, I was too late for your foster parents, but I was able to stop the darkness from taking you.”
After he finished, Wezlan took a deep breath and smiled at her, conveying all his love and affection for his ward in one heartfelt look.
All at once, Ashalea felt the depth of his story hit her full in the face. Her stomach felt like it had been pummelled over and over, and she realised just how much of his life this man had given her. Almost twenty years had gone by while the wizard had abandoned his duties at the Academy. All for the protection of one woman.
He had put his life on hold, so he could watch her from afar, see her grow, keep her safe and ensure that the last in line for the throne would live on. Not once had he given any indication of his devotion or complained or begrudged her. He truly loved her like a father would a daughter.
So, she forgave him for the lies and deceit. She let the pain ebb and untethered her beating heart. And she kneeled before him, looking upon his weathered face with the fondness of a child looking upon their idol. She rested one hand softly on his cheek and he looked at her with anguish in his eyes, knowing how deep the deceit had travelled. Ashalea crouched down beside her mentor, her friend, and she smiled.
“I forgive you, Wezlan. Thank you. For everything.”
A single tear slipped down his cheek and he held his arms open wide. His ward embraced him, gently at first, and then they hugged furiously, letting each other know that everything would be ok. That if they had each other, there was nothing they couldn’t do.
Soon after, another figure placed gentle hands on their shoulders, and then Shara was wrapped in their embrace as well. Denavar watched the happy moment unfold, but he too was dragged into the circle by an emotional Ashalea.
And there they sat, huddled in the darkness, embracing each other in a perfect moment of harmony. And each of them knew, that together their light shone all the brighter.
Across the Battlefield
After spending the night in the shallow cave, taking turns to keep watch, the party recovered strength enough to continue their quest. It had been a relatively uneventful night, the air still and silent, bar a few alarming noises coming from the inner circle of the island. Everyone slept, though each person was plagued by the same freakish nightmare, and everyone woke hungry, irritable and in low spirits. Captain Bonodo and his men had ventured around the beach at sunrise, assessing the best way to reach the centre of the island. It hadn’t taken long. They were back within a few hours, and their faces were glum.
“What news?” Ashalea asked.
“You’re not going to like it,” Bonodo responded.
She looked at him blankly. “We’re on the Isle of Dread. What’s not to like?”
“Good point. Well, there is a rocky wall surrounding the entire island. It’s too steep to climb, and we don’t have any gear.”
“Let me guess,” Shara said drolly. “The only way in is through the creepy rock display?”
Bonodo nodded, and she grinned. “What are we waiting for?”
Everyone had seen the various statues looming on the dunes not far away. They crested the slight rise so that even passing ships would see the terrifying scene— not that any ships sailed the Onyx Ocean anymore. The Violet Star had succumbed to the terrors that lay in the deep and would hopefully be the last ship for many years to sink beneath the sea.
Ashalea shuddered as she remembered the twisted forms of the rocks. She knew they were just statues, but they were so realistic, and the gore so real, that it left an uneasy feeling in her stomach. By the look on everyone else’s faces, she wasn’t alone. Even Shara appeared to be stiffer than usual, her eyes on high alert.
There was no point waiting for the inevitable trek through the stones, so they set off, trudging up the dunes towards the battleground of doom, the ugly faces of blood-lusting beasts leering at them from stony prisons. No one wanted to enter, so they stood there in a straight line, staring at doomsday paused in motion. Finally, Shara stormed in front, and when nothing happened, everyone exhaled their breath with relief.
The victors’ faces leered, almost mocking the approaching party, daring them to come closer. The faces of those dead and dying were the final warning not to enter, a warning that promised darker things were on the other side. It was hard to ignore, but the party picked their way through the hundreds of rocks in their many forms, sidestepping swords and javelins and jumping over various body parts strewn across the ground, which had now turned into sand the shade of ash.
Everyone was on edge. Each footstep felt like it could be the last and their skin crawled with the eyes of a hundred creatures, inanimate though they were. They were approaching the last stretch of the battlefield when Shara halted, putting her fist in the air to gesture a stop. Since the tracker had died on the ship, she had assumed the role of lead, her eyes casting the ground for any sign of life, checking for prints in the sand. Wezlan, Ashalea and Denavar were centred in the phalanx and Captain Bonodo and his three men brought up the rear.
Shara froze, not moving a muscle, not making a sound. She sniffed the air.
“It smells metallic,” she whispered. “It climbs my nose and mouth. It tastes like—”
“Like blood,” Ashalea confirmed grimly. “Something is wrong. Form a circle, protect Wezlan. He may be the only one who can access the tome.”
The party converged with their backs to the wizard, each with a few weapons at the ready. Thankfully, their gear was always strapped on tight, so Wezlan, Denavar, Shara and Ashalea had retained most of their belongings. Captain Bonodo had a short scimitar on hand, another a club, and the final two had crude spears carved from foliage the night before. Ashalea had lost her quiver, so her bow was useless, but she still had her scimitar and Magicka.
Not a sound travelled the air as they waited anxiously, hearts thumping in protest. The Captain’s men stood alert, but their eyes betrayed fear. Killing a man is one thing, killing something not altogether human? A quantum leap for sailors. A leap of faith for their Captain, which had brought them to this nightmare. An eerie scream disrupted the silence, surfing a wave of foggy air as it swept towards them, passing through their bones and out the other side. A mist settled over the battlefield and as they strained to see, it was the elves who noticed movement first.
“Something shifts. I can’t see what just yet,” Denavar said, screwing his eyes up and pausing a moment. His eyes widened. “Gods and Goddesses, the rock statues, they’re coming to life!”
The party waited uncertainly until they too saw the still forms breaking free from their prisons, shattering rock as easily as glass. All manner of creatures stepped out from their rocky carcass, screeching and sneering in glee. Then all eyes turned as one, focusing their att
ention on the only living, breathing things with souls.
And again, as one, each ghastly beast uttered a cacophony of battle cries that curdled blood and made hearts skip a beat. Then they were running, and flying, and snaking across the ground with incredible speed.
“Ah, time to go!” Captain Bonodo said, pushing on his comrades to force their feet. “Run!”
They complied all too eagerly, Denavar and Wezlan throwing balls of fire in their wake every time one got too close, Ashalea lobbing globes of lightning behind her, and Shara throwing shurikens — metal blades in the shape of stars.
One of Bonodo’s men tripped on the outstretched arm of a fallen soldier, his smooth stone hand a last request of mercy before he was chopped down. Ashalea doubled back, stretching her own hand futilely for the sailor. The creatures swarmed his body, the sounds of ripping flesh, crunching bones and the screams of a dying man lasting less than five seconds.
Her eyes widened, but she turned on her heel; elvish speed and long legs allowing her to catch up with the group. But no matter how fast they ran, dozens of creatures were hot on their tail, and Ashalea would not leave her friends.
Several broke ground faster than the others; their stature and armour the same, clearly identifying them as a more elite, formidable foe. They were akin to reptiles, yellow slit eyes darting between their prey, forked tongues lashing out in anticipation. They carried spears and scimitars, and they were fast.
Ashalea risked a glance behind her. She recognised the new enemies immediately. Uulakh. These must be the lizard creatures Wezlan had spoken of before they began their journey. One clawed at Bonodo, raking flesh from his arm but a quick shuriken from Shara struck its hand, forcing it to lose contact. It growled in pain and anger, hissing from behind pointed teeth and licking its wound.
They were almost to the edge of the battlefield when the terrain changed, shifting into black granite floors. The thick trees that blanketed the island either side of the battleground grew sparse and soon there was nothing but a giant mass of rock. Ahead lay a narrow passage, descending into the bowels of the earth.
“Wezlan, up ahead,” Ashalea yelled, pointing at the passage.
He nodded grimly, his beard flying behind him like a cape. “It’s the only way, run everyone, be prepared to fight these vile lizards.”
They filed down the passageway with flames on their feet, turning to face the creatures chasing them. But none came. Curious, Ashalea, Shara, Wezlan and Denavar took a few cautious steps back up the staircase. Outside, they saw six Uulakh howling in rage, pacing the entrance back and forth, spitting and snarling at their misfortune. But they would not approach. It was like an invisible wall dispelled them from the building. Either that, or they feared it.
The leader’s soulless eyes burned into them, showing nothing but emptiness and rage in its fiery pits. With one final hiss it turned on its tail, returning to the rocky shell whence it came. With a sigh of relief, Shara slid her back down the wall until she was slouched on the steps. She raked her hands through her hair and whistled incredulously.
“What just happened?”
Ashalea mimicked her move and slid down the wall opposite. “We almost got eaten, torn into shreds and left to the crows.” She shrugged. “What’s new?”
Shara couldn’t help but laugh at her droll comment. It sounded odd in the dark passageway, like such a notion was forbidden. Ashalea felt a new nervousness seep under her skin. They hadn’t even begun their descent, and she already dreaded the way down.
I guess that’s why they call it the Isle of Dread, she considered sarcastically.
“Okay, Wezlan, where to now?” Denavar said.
The old wizard frowned. “The tunnel goes underground. Down into the deepest, darkest dungeons of our world. Though I suppose hiding something in broad daylight doesn’t really have the same mystery to it, does it?” he winked slyly at the mage.
“Besides, we have some aid. I have my staff.” He thumped it into the ground and a jade glow emitted, casting a sickly sheen over their faces in the dark.
“And we have Magicka,” Ashalea said while glancing at Denavar. She murmured a few words and a white burning ball hovered above her palm, allowing the light to stretch towards the darkest corners of the passage. He followed suit, and the party had adequate light to see by, if only in such a small space.
Captain Bonodo and the two remaining sailors huddled, heads bent together as they said a prayer for another fallen comrade. The skin on Ringarr’s arm was shredded, still freely bleeding. He winced at the pain, bravely trying to ignore the trauma.
Ashalea bent down and carefully held the unharmed area of his arm. “Here, let me look at that.”
She held the ball of light up close and examined. It was horrific. The wound was already festering— he’d be lucky to keep the arm without immediate medical attention. Her face must have said as much because he flopped back on the floor, defeated.
Ashalea took his other hand gently and fixed her eyes on his. “I can heal this for you. Your pirate accessories will have to wait another day,” she grinned cheekily.
He barked out a laugh, but his face turned grave. “You can’t Ashalea, I know how much energy this requires, and you need your strength.”
“And you need your arm,” she said in a tone that meant no arguing, but she saw his face and relented. “Denavar can help supplement my energy losses, if that’s ok with you?”
She raised an eyebrow at her… Friend? Colleague? She remembered the feel of his lips on hers and it stirred something inside. Her cheeks burned at the thought and she shook her head, glad no one could see. Curses, Ashalea, get a grip!
Denavar was peering at her, lips curved to show the faintest amusement, as if he could read her mind. It made her blush even more, but he revealed nothing, and agreed to help.
The healing took some time to perform as Ashalea worked to burn away tainted blood cells and regenerate new ones to wash away the infection. She repaired the bonds under the skin and re-connected tissue until the arm was in working order once more. The hardest part was repairing the external skin. It was so ripped, that strips of flesh dangled on his arm, and some had been torn off entirely. She did the best she could, but the limb would always be horribly scarred.
She breathed a mixed sigh of relief and exhaustion. “It is done.”
Ringarr Bonodo examined his restored limb and whooped in exaltation. He quieted when Wezlan glared at him with a finger to his lips.
He flexed his muscles without a wince. “You’ve done a fine job, Ashalea, many thanks.”
“You don’t mind the scars?”
“Are you kidding me? If I live through this, I’ll have one hell of a tale to tell. You got real talent, kid, you’re something else.”
Denavar crouched beside Ashalea, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. He called the Magicka, and it hummed awake, flowing through his body into hers, travelling along her veins and through her organs, renewing her vigour. The Magicka felt personal this time. Intimate. She could sense his good will and kind heart, but more than that she could feel how much he cared about her. It trickled through every pore like, like… Like love. Her eyes widened, and she found his eyes on hers. Those piercing blue mirrors conveying warmth and kindness. If he knew what she had felt, he didn’t show it. When she felt good enough to stand, she tapped him on the shoulder and nodded.
“Thanks, Denavar.”
He winked. “I am yours to command, my lady.”
“I’ll remember that the next time we’re being chased by creatures then.” She raised her brow for good measure.
Ready to continue, the party descended the steps into the ever-darkening tunnel underground. Denavar took the lead, cautiously holding a short sword in one hand and luminescent globe in the other. It was eerily silent bar the shuffle of footsteps on cool, smooth ground. It felt like an endless descent underground; with no way to tell time. All they could do was put one foot in front of another, and still the tunnel remained
unchanged, feeling more claustrophobic the longer it lasted. The party grew anxious, longing for the light of day, unsure of how deep they’d descended. Finally, the passage broadened to reveal a circular dome in a room ahead.
“Tread carefully, do not touch anything and do exactly as I tell you,” Wezlan commanded.
The rest of them nodded, filing silently into the room one by one. The chamber was bare except for a single round table in the centre. The room was dimly lit in a red haze, and upon the wall’s smooth rounded surface lay red glowing glyphs in an ancient elvish dialect. Wezlan slowly approached the table, careful not to touch the furnishing with skin or silks. Upon closer inspection, the contraption contained several round dials, each one inscribed with numerous hieroglyphs representing animals, or men and women in odd forms.
Wezlan stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Ashalea, come here and tell me what you see.”
She approached the dais, scanning the display of dials, then glanced at the walls and back. “Odd. I feel like I’ve seen these glyphs before, though I know that can’t be possible. The texts are ancient, and I’ve never read a tome with language bearing their likeness.”
She strolled over to the wall, raising her hand to touch the glyph, remembered Wezlan’s instructions, and quickly dropped it to her side. She opened the valve to her inner power, entering her mind’s eye and scanning the glyphs, noting every different symbol in the dialect. It was like a key turned in a lock. Something clicked inside, and she gasped, fluttering her eyes as Magicka suddenly electrified her body, and flickered out just as soon. She opened her eyes again, the strange invasion of her mind now over.
“Wezlan, I, I can read the glyphs! I understand what they say!”
He smiled. “Of course you can Ashalea. From the moment I met you, I knew that you were destined for great things. Every event in your life has led you to this moment. Every decision, every action. The power, the calling, it is in your blood. It pumps through every fibre in your being.” He walked over and took her shoulders gently. “You know deep down what this means, Ashalea.”