The Last Legend: Awakened

by Joshua B. Wichterich

  “Tell him to find me a castle of lace,” she began to sing in a light and soft tone. “Rosemary, love, and sunshine,” she sang as she caressed the tip of the sprig against Tairren’s cheek, bringing it slowly down his neck and bare chest. He closed his eyes, his breath becoming deeper. “Between the saltwater—on a mountain’s face—then he’ll be a lover of mine.” His heart pounded madly as she rubbed his chest softly with her teasing hands, leaving a fingertip trail down his abdomen. She brought her lingering hands back up, then softly placed her hands on his chilled cheeks, bringing her face to his. “And sprinkle the halls with sprigs of heather—then he’ll be a true love of mine,” her voice sang softer now, almost whispering. The fiery smell of the rosemary and the brisk touch of the breezes engulfed their bodies, beginning to become icy hot. Their lips barely touched, feeling the warmth of each other’s breath.

  Tairren quickly opened his eyes. Startled by her appearance, he cringed. Her face looked different all of a sudden. Her face appeared paler, sickly, no longer having a lustrous or dewy look. The curves of her face were no longer elegant, but angular and ugly. She had dark rings under her eyes, and her glossy red hair was not glossy at all, but dull and lifeless. He stood looking at her for a moment, feeling unsure and lost all of a sudden.

  “Am I not sweet?” she asked in a soft and teasing voice.

  There was silence between them for a moment as Tairren looked upon her.

  “Sweeter than nectar,” Tairren finally said in a more timid voice.

  “Sweeter than the honeysuckle that embraces it?” She appeared coy, speaking in a low tone.

  She then pressed her body against his again, her eyes appearing dark now, black like the sky.

  Tairren backed away again, having a strange and cold feeling come over his body. The burning sensation in his arm became more intense just then. He rubbed his bandaged arm, looking into her now darkened face. He couldn’t see her features anymore as she took a step back. Her body seemed to become silhouetted, shrouded in blackness. As she stood still and silent for a moment, a soft whimper began to emit from her blackened face, a soft cry that seemed to reverberate in his ears.

  Everything around him became dim, as a soft red glow shrouded the moon. The once silver disc now looked like a dying sun, or a circular pendant that was dipped in translucent blood.

  An eerie sense of being lost and darkened came over Tairren’s body, as if his heart was being scribbled on by thick charred wood. His arm throbbed now as if his skin was being pulled open. He winced in pain as he grasped his arm. The once white bandages were now sopped in blood, as if a red faucet was opened from beneath his wound and bandages. Warm blood trickled down his cold skin, falling down to the black grass. The soft pat of the blood hitting the grass seemed to echo in the darkness.

  “Following the night when the moon glows like blood, during the twilight when the morning star shines the brightest—evil will prevail and take on a new form…,” Marrisa said quickly from the darkness, her voice went from a soft whimper to a low and evil growl as she spoke.

  Tairren stepped back slowly as his confused eyes became large with fear.

  “Marrisa?” Tairren said, not knowing what to think now as he became colder.

  “GET AWAY!” a terrifying voice exploded from her mouth as her now shockingly ugly face came from the black shadows.

  The smell of death emitted from her dark form and her white face twisted into an ugly snarl. Her mouth gaped open revealing nothing but a black abyss—like her wild, black eyes.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Wing Pendant

  Tairren sat up quickly. His heart raced and his body was drenched in a cold sweat. He breathed in and out sharply, sucking in the cool air. He looked around, realizing that he was in the comfort of his cool room. It was just a dream—just a dream… He lay back down, waiting for his heart to slow its beat. The light outside of the window was a dim dark-blue, indicating that the sun was on its way up. He realized he must have fallen asleep, which was good. But he didn’t understand his dream. The thought of Marrisa whirled in his head as he sat back up. He remembered the blood in his dream and quickly grasped his bandaged arm. The bandage was clean and white but he still had the strange pulsating pain beneath it. Reality took hold of him as he touched the scratches on his chest and face. Marrisa was still gone, and his once pleasant world was still flipped upside down. The day had begun and his quest was coming—whether he was ready or not.

  Nervous and filled with anxiety, Tairren got up quickly as he realized he was supposed to meet Natalia and Prince Phillip at the edge of the forest when the sun broke through the night. His body and mind was tired already and his journey hadn’t even begun. “Battered before I begin,” he mumbled to himself has he pulled his tunic over his head. He softly touched the back of his head, remembering his attack in the night. The hair on the back of his head was still matted with some coagulated blood. Moral had cleaned it as best as she could but it still bled a little. His head-ache had nearly ceased, finally, and the pains in his arm were not as intense, but still lingered with relentless agitation.

  “Mother,” Tairren thought as he quickly got dressed. He had remembered how upset she was. He had to see her. He finished dressing himself and collected his things and put them in a leather satchel. He opened his hatch door to darkness. Usually he would wake up to a warm and lovely smelling home, inviting him for something sweet for breakfast. But there was no light coming from the lantern above the table. There wasn’t even a warm cozy fire in the brick oven indicating that breakfast was being made. There was only a small faltering orange fire burning in the fireplace, barely lighting the dark home. Besides the tiny fire there was just early morning darkness.

  “Mother?” Tairren called out in a low tone as he crept down the small wooden ladder.

  He softly walked towards her bed. Maybe she is still sleeping, it was still rather early. But he could see by the flatness of her bed that she was not in it. The small window above the bed poured in the dim, dark-blue glow of the early morning, revealing an empty bed.

  He walked outside, thinking that she must’ve been out in the garden. It was cool and moist outside, and there was a mist that strangely covered the earth’s atmosphere. He could see through the branches that the early-morning sky was cloudy. It was still dim outside, and the sounds of crickets chirped softly in the deviant mists. He grabbed the dead torch that he placed outside the door in the night. He quickly went inside to light it with the small fire in the fire-place. As he lit the head of the torch he noticed that the satchel Moral had packed was sitting on the table, with a small piece of paper laying on it. After lighting the torch, Tairren grabbed the piece of paper which read:

  Good morning to you, my dearest son. Come to the Rosemary bush.

  He read the letter out loud and slowly, wondering what she would be doing out there. The images of his dream ran through his head, reminding him of how frightening it was. He then placed the letter on the table and grabbed the satchel, throwing it over his shoulder. He grabbed his bow that hung on the wall next to the door and his arrows that sat in its quiver, leaning against the wall.

  Before he left his small home he stood in the doorway, looking over his abode for the last time before leaving. He pressed his lips together as he peered into the only place which made him feel safe. He didn’t know whether this would be the last time he would ever see his home or not.

  “Watch over my sweet mother and my father’s home,” Tairren prayed softly as he slowly shut the door.

  He heard Lilly’s grunts as he quickly went around the house. Lilly was grazing on some tall onion grasses as he greeted her. She turned her head towards Tairren as she chewed the sweet grass. Her large friendly black eyes greeted Tairren.

  “Here you are, this will be a much ample breakfast,” he said as he dug into his satchel Moral had packed for him.

  He pulled out a large red apple and gave it to Lilly. She gobbled up the glossy fruit from his hand as small d
roplets of sweet juice speckled his palm.

  “Mother is always so considerate of me,” he said with a smile as he glanced into his bag. It was filled with different fruit as well as bread, nuts and berries, and left over pastries wrapped in white cloth.

  He caressed Lilly’s long white mane then got his bag and bow and arrows situated on the saddle. He quickly pulled himself onto Lilly’s back, balancing himself with the reigns in one hand and the torch in the other. Luckily he had plenty of practice in the past with riding Lilly while holding something in his other hand.

  Anxiety and nervousness clouded his heart and stomach as his quest was almost upon him. He closed his eyes for a quick second and took in a deep breath, then exhaled.

  “Ride on Lilly,” Tairren said as he nudged her sides, maneuvering her towards the direction of the Rosemary bush.

  With the help of the torch, they went through the darkened forest. They maintained adequate speed to get to the rosemary bush quickly, but slow enough to dodge trees and low hanging branches if needed. The mist blanketed the forest and was even quite dense in some areas. But even though the mist was discouraging, it was still refreshing upon Tairren’s tense skin. The forest was not as it usually was: fresh, colorful and filled with serene enchantment. Instead, the mists had turned the wood into a gray and cold place, clammy and quiet. Their ride to the rosemary bush wasn’t as long as he anticipated.

  He came upon the clearing in the forest, which was veiled with mist as well. Bringing Lilly to a halt, he hopped off her back. His heavy black boots hit the wet grass making a thud sound upon the earth. He jabbed the torch into the soft earth, making it stand up right. Tairren looked around the clearing as the memory of his dream made its way into his head again. But instead of the image of a starry and clear night, it was a gloomy and misty early morning.

  He could see the dark-gray silhouette of the massive rosemary bush through the dark-blue glow of the early morning atmosphere as they came into the clearing. The bush must have been six feet tall at least, equaling the width. He’d forgotten how overgrown and massive the bush had gotten. Tairren had picked from the bush at least once a month, but hadn’t visited the bush in the last couple of months.

  He and his mother usually maintained the bush by clipping at it once a year. She took over the cultivation of the bush after his father had died six years prior. The rosemary bush was at least twelve years old. He remembered the day when his father returned home from the trade fair with the small herb plant, as well as other interesting things. He was about six, and his father strategically planted the push along the side of the small cliff in the middle of the clearing.

  He remembered that his father always said that it needed to grow in well-drained sandy soil with plenty of sunlight and care. This memory stayed so fresh with him in his mind because his father planted and kept up the bush with him, teaching him everything. Growing up, Tairren was always excited to help his father, taking every opportunity to be with him. Even though they were just chores, Tairren’s young eyes looked at it as valued time with his father.

  “Mother,” Tairren softly called as he crept through the mist. “Mother I am here.”

  As Tairren came closer he could see the dark-gray silhouette of his mother. Moral was kneeling over something with her back towards him. Her head was down and by the way she trembled softly, she seemed to be crying. Tairren rushed upon her, realizing that she had been digging for some reason. There was a pile of wet over-turned dirt by her side with a small dirty and beautiful chest sitting amongst the dirt, which was opened. Tairren went down on one knee by her side, putting his hand on her back.

  “Mother, what is this?” She looked up at him. Her eyes were red and puffy and her pink cheeks were smudged with dirt where she had been wiping. “What are you doing?”

  “Tairren, my son,” she said with sniffles, “these were your father’s things.”

  She was hugging some kind of cloak. She slowly handed it to Tairren. It was a deep blue color and was folded nicely, feeling very soft to the touch and appearing old but elegant.

  “Your father wore it on his travels,” she said as she grabbed the small chest, pulling it closer to herself.

  “Thank you,” Tairren said with a small smile, still holding it.

  “I buried these things after your father died,” she said as she took the rest of the things out of the chest. She pulled out a rolled up piece of paper, a beautiful and shiny compass, and a small velvet pouch tied with string. “I remembered where I had buried it because I marked the spot with this rock,” she said as she placed the things on the large stone that was sitting on the right side of her, which was in front of Tairren.

  Tairren’s eyes lit up as he looked upon the things. He remembered the compass, and how he always wanted to play with it as a child. He picked it up as a small smile came and went upon his face. He rubbed his thumb on the face of the compass, noticing the small scratches on the glass face.

  “Why do you show me this now?” Tairren asked as he placed the compass back on the rock.

  He looked into his mother’s saddened gray eyes. They sparkled as tears began to come back up. She was quiet for a moment as she looked down at her soiled hands, white, callused and fingernails caked with dirt.

  “I couldn’t bare the pain of seeing these things again after he died,” she said as tears flowed down her cheeks. “And something told me in my heart to never throw them away—so I buried them. These things were so special to him.” She tried to smile as she gave the rolled up paper to him.

  “What is this?” Tairren asked as he unrolled it.

  “It’s a map of Minslethrate,” Moral said as she sniffed.

  “I remember this,” Tairren said quietly as he looked over the worn map.

  Tairren remembered how his father used to take it with them on their small adventures when he was a child, adding more to it every time. The map was made of thick paper and drawn with great detail, with everything labeled.

  “Your father actually drew this out when he first came to Minslethrate—he loved the thrill of finding new things.” Moral tried to smile a little again as she dusted some of the dirt from her lap.

  “What do you mean he drew it when he first came to Minslethrate?” Tairren asked as he rolled it back up, tied it and placed it back on the rock.

  Moral was quiet again as she took the small pouch and held it to her bosom.

  “Son, I have to tell you something—that I’ve been hiding from you… Something I’ve made your father promise, not to tell you until you were old enough… But he did not get the chance.” Moral looked up at him with those same saddened eyes.

  “What is it, Mother?”

  “…Your father is not from here, but from a small kingdom far east from here, the kingdom of Hanon, along the great river of Minslethrate. He isn’t from common blood...,” Moral had a nervous edge as she spoke.

  She looked into Tairren’s confused eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Tairren asked, having a confused look on his face.

  “Your father is a descendant of royal blood—raised by nobility, and came here to find his roots, to learn more of his ancestry. Haven’t you always wondered why he knew so much? How he knew how to read and write so well and how he came across the Book of Light? Your father was brilliant. He taught me how to read and write and I taught you. You see, I met your father in the small town of Prat, which sits between Hanon and Minslethrate. Your father’s eye caught me when he was traveling through town.” Moral began to smile a little.

  “He was staying at the Inn and went out for a walk. He spotted me walking through town with my sisters. We were shopping for fruit for our mother—you could not merely go and pick fruit like you can here in Minslethrate. Hanon is not abundant in goods, and purchases fruit and such from Minslethrate.” Moral became quiet for a moment with that same soft smile, as she looked back up at Tairren. “It was love at first sight, truly. Your father asked for my hand in marriage only after a couple of da
ys of knowing me. Such a gentleman he was. How much in love we were. But my father wouldn’t have his eldest daughter marrying for nothing. You see we were a very common family and my father was a blacksmith, who made very little money in Prat. So for a fine price, your father took me away from Prat—he saved me. It did not matter to me that my father sold me, for I was in love.” Tairren smiled after a moment, trying to cover his confused and shocked feelings.

  “So his journey ended here in Minslethrate. We stayed at the Inn here until he produced us a home… Your father was in love with the forest. So he found a wonderful spot not far from the stream and beneath some beautiful oaks. And he built our lovely home… He went off on many occasions to learn more of Minslethrate, to discover the land, culture and its history. He was very charming and gregarious and made many acquaintances. And then he blessed me with a beautiful baby boy—my son.” She smiled as she caressed his face.

  Tairren was quiet for a moment, taking in all the surprising information.

  “But, mother, you said my father came from royal blood? Raised by nobility?—Why did he come to Minslethrate to find out more of his ancestry?” Tairren asked, still confused.

  “Your father was raised by nobility, but possessed very ancient blood; an ancient royal blood that flowed with knowledge, power, and love—and still does. Your father once told me that he found an old chest in his grandfather’s home, filled with ancient journals and documents, knowledge of his ancestors. He read them all and asked his grandfather about its existence. His grandfather told him the legend of their family, how he was the direct descendant of a king who gave his crown to a savior king who ruled here in Minslethrate generations ago. Your ancestor king was slain because he gave the throne to a man that claimed he was the son of the God of Light. This great king was a miracle maker—and your ancestor king venerated him. The people did not like this and killed your ancestor king and years later— slew The Great King as well.