by Jacob Cooper
There was a pressure building around her that felt suffocating. Her chest became heavy. She struggled to breathe, closing her eyes and grimacing.
I don’t understand! What is this?
She forced her mind to other things, away from her father. Mundane, everyday occurrences became her focus and the feeling began to fade. If a thought of her father resurfaced, the suffocating feeling returned.
Do not think of him, she chided herself as she strived to purge herself of any thought of her dead father.
Late in the day, Hedron did return. She felt his approach through the vibrations and knew it was him instantly. Her twin’s gait was discernible to her just as was his voice.
When he climbed up the Triarch’s trunk and peered through the opening, Reign this time met his eyes. She noticed the relief in them as he saw her recognize him.
“Reign, let’s go,” he said and stretched forth his arm.
Reign shook her head.
“We don’t have much time. The servants are attending mother in her quarters. She has just now fallen asleep after they buried—”
Reign saw her brother’s lip quiver and eyes become moist, but he stifled his emotions. He was trying to be brave for her, she realized.
“Don’t mention him,” she said. “I don’t want to hear his name.”
Hedron was stunned but then looked relieved to hear her voice no matter what the words were. Her voice was a little raspy having not been used for a couple days.
“They are probably distracted enough to let us sneak in,” Hedron said.
“No,” Reign replied. “I can’t go back.”
“Don’t be daft. You can’t stay here.”
“I cannot go back.”
“Mother believes you to be taken or dead! She needs to see you, to know—”
A faraway expression came upon Hedron’s countenance, as if he were hearing something for a few moments. He looked as if he had just remembered something he did not wish to. “I know,” he admitted. “You can’t come back. Not yet, at least.”
“Not yet,” Reign agreed.
“It’s just so hard! You don’t see mother, what she’s going through! What I’m going through!” As soon as he said the words, he looked apologetic. “I’m sorry.”
Again, she realized Hedron was gone without actually recalling when he departed.
When five days had passed in total, a half-span, she eventually emerged from the Triarch. She did her best not to take in the sight of her surroundings, not to see where her father had struggled against her attacker and fallen.
Reign slid down the tree deftly, the numbness in her extremities finally relenting. The Triarch’s bark was smoother than most, closest to ash and a far cry from the rough bark of oak. Her eyes were averted down toward the forest floor until she had walked a good distance from that area. When she finally looked up and took in the forest, the sight was magnificent to her, as if she were seeing it for the first time. Dusk was approaching and she could see the veins in the leaves of the Triarchs start to illuminate far above like a forest of fireflies, though the wrong color. It was a bluish-green radiance, not bright enough for one to read by but enough to help an unfamiliar traveler find a path in the forest at night. She saw oak, birch, elm, ash, Ayzish, and a myriad of other species intertwined through the forest though none of them produced the nightly glow of the Triarch. As the gentle breeze blew and the branches far above rustled together, the canopy appeared to sparkle as the glowing Triarch leaves were obscured by other trees’ branches momentarily before reappearing as they swayed in the zephyrean evening. Actual stars in the sky made brief appearances in the shuffling, like playing a game as they peeked through. The effect caused the sky to appear to shift and morph in place.
“Beautiful,” Reign spoke aloud as she stared upward.
“It is,” answered a voice.
Reign whirled around with a start and found an elderly man standing a few paces from her.
“How did you? Where … ” She stepped back. The man opened his arms, palms up, in a placating gesture. A Triarch leafling was in one hand. His clothing was simple, undistinguished.
“I am not here to harm you, young one. Quite the opposite, I assure you.”
His voice was rich and deep, the sound of ages within it. Though he appeared elderly, his eyes were energetic and piercing. He bore no provisions upon his shoulders, not a traveler, if appearances were to be trusted. The man had a discoloration on his left cheek, a slightly darker patch of skin that resembled a wave of the sea. Perhaps a birthmark of some create, Reign wondered.
“You are a wood-dweller,” Reign stated.
“I was born an Arlethian like you, true, but that was long ago. These things are not important now. I am here for you, young Reign Kerr.”
Reign’s anxiety was not alleviated by this man’s words. “I don’t understand.”
“Not yet, of course not. There was never a need before.”
“Before?”
“Well,” he continued, his voice kindly, “events have taken an unexpected turn.”
She remained confused but was no longer alarmed by this man’s presence. She could tell he bore her no ill will, but she remained cautious. “Who are you? What forest are you from?”
“A better question, Reign Kerr, is who am I a part of,” he replied.
She did not answer for a moment. Then, “What events? What do you mean?”
“We always thought it would be Thannuel. Your father had greater capacity than any of us, though he was still early in his growth. We had waited for someone of his capacity—but that matters little now.” He stopped and wore a thoughtful expression. He grazed his palm against a Triarch tree for a few moments and then smiled.
“I thought so,” he said, as if to the tree. “But she is not ready. The pain has calloused her greatly. I sense she has changed inside and cannot yet accept—”
“What do you know of it?” Reign spat, interrupting the man’s aside. “Nothing!”
The elderly man took his hand from the Triarch, apology on his face. “My dear, I’m sorry for your loss. But it is not what you think—”
“No! Don’t speak of him!” She began to cry. “Leave! Please leave me alone!” Reign sank to her knees and heaved with sobs, her arms folded across her midsection.
“Just go away!” she pleaded, not only speaking to the old man. The pain she had guarded against bubbled up to the surface of her heart and began to overflow. It was the pain of loss, of guilt, of shame, of loneliness, of abandonment.
“Why?” she cried, but it came out only as a pained whisper. “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” She sounded pitiful in her agony, like a dying animal. “Why did you leave! Come back! Come back! Why won’t you come back?”
A gentle hand found her brow. The man knelt beside her and brought her head close to his.
“There is one in the north that you must seek,” he whispered. “There you will be safe from those that seek you. And there are those that seek you, young one. But I promise you in the name of the Living Light they shall not find you until you are prepared; but the day will come when they find you. For now, be comforted in your callousness. Keep your anger and grief close. Kindle it. Let it flourish into hate. He will not fault you for it.”
“What did I do wrong?” she wailed. “I don’t know what I did wrong! I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry! Come back!” Her tears were the size of small streams as they flowed onto the ground.
“It was not you, but your father. He is the one that was too weak!” The old man’s tone turned slightly hostile. “He left you, betrayed you. Can’t you see it?”
Reign shook her head violently back and forth as she cried, refusing to let her feelings turn to blame. “It is Thannuel’s fault, Reign, not yours. He should have been strong enough, should have protected you. But he did not! He promised to be there for you, did he not? To protect you, provide for you? He was Lord Kerr, the hero of the Orsarian War, and yet so easily overcome?”
&nbs
p; Reign’s mouth was open so wide as if to scream with grief but no sound came. She trembled with her eyes shut tight, squeezing every tear out until none were left. His words were seeping into her mind and heart, changing her.
“There,” he said, his voice more kind and soothing now. “There it is. The anger and hate will change you, shield you. You must keep it close for now. Do this, and you will survive. Your emotional scent will alter enough. Believe me, child, it is what your father would have you do.”
Reign’s body rocked with soundless, dry sobs as she lay balled up on her knees and elbows.
“Remember, north. Sleep now, young Reign.”
As he spoke the words, weariness found her. Before she slipped into sleep, she heard, “We will meet again when you have taken his last breath.”
FOUR
General Antious Roan
Day 21 of 4th Dimming 406 A.U.
GENERAL ANTIOUS ROAN WAS UNSETTLED. He had calmed himself enough from his grief, regaining enough composure to think rationally. He ran his hand over his short hair for about the hundredth time as he racked his brain, trying to put the disparate ends together. All aides and subordinate officers had been dismissed from his tent, not wishing to shame himself in front of his men. The message had come to his camp by a raven last night. His best friend, one whom he had served with back to back against the Orsarians in the Runic Islands, was dead. Worse, Thannuel’s young daughter was still missing and likely had met a similar fate.
I was to meet with him in two days. About what?
It was not completely strange that Lord Kerr had asked for Antious to visit him, but the message was not formal or any manner of a summons. In fact, it was rather informal and felt strange in a way.
Antious, my dear friend, Thannuel’s message had read. How I long for the simple days when our enemies were known and in front of us, when we could look them in the eye. Come to my hold, if you can spare a day for your friend. Bring your family if you wish, Moira would love to see Kalisa again and meet your children. I regret that our children are not growing up next to each other, but our duties occupy the hours of our day. Perhaps too much. It has been too long, my friend.
“But that’s what was strange,” Roan mumbled to himself, alone in his tent. “He was trying to tell me something, not as the leader of his province but as a friend. What?”
The gray canvas walls of his tent did not answer him. The closest town, Helving, had little to offer except strong drink at night; Roan had specifically forbidden his men from taking any fermented drink while engaged in training. This was his standing order throughout the Western Province’s forces. The training exercises he led on the cliffs in this remote part of the province were scheduled to be concluded in less than half a span, but he had ordered Lieutenant Colonel Bohdin to strike the camp immediately. He would return to Calyn to be at the assistance of whoever the new lord would be. Hedron, Thannuel’s only son, was still too young, not even over the age of innocence.
It was impossible to intuit the meaning of Lord Kerr’s message, but something was there—Roan felt it was a warning of some create, especially now with Kerr dead.
It’s still unbelievable! No one could best Thannuel.
Thoughts of revenge plowed their way into his mind, but his military discipline checked them. He would bleed himself dry for the West, for Arlethia; he had nearly done it once. The black shores of Third Island played in his mind briefly, Thannuel near death, his body shredded from the bladed nets of the Orsarians.
I wasn’t there for you. Not this time.
But perhaps Kerr’s death was a random murder, not related to anything larger. He sent an order out immediately once he received the message of Lord Kerr’s death, putting his soldiers on high alert; but no further affront or attack had been made—yet.
A knock came at the front post of his tent. The breeze that came from below the cliffs blew the front door flaps gently.
“Come,” Roan said.
Lieutenant Colonel Bodhin stepped inside. “I apologize, General, for intruding. You instructed me to report when the camp was made ready to depart. Your tent is the last that needs to be packed. Shall I have a few men see to it?”
“Very good, Lieutenant Colonel. Thank you.”
“Our orders, sir?”
“You will march this battalion to Aelmi and take control of the forces already there. I will take two aides with me to Calyn. Remain on alert and wait for instruction.”
“Yes, sir.” Bodhin saluted and then departed.
I must see Moira. Perhaps she will have some insight.
Lady Kerr was not a wilting flower. His mind replayed the night when they were all teenagers, students at Therrium Academy, coming back from the Doonalin Falls. A band of Marishee, a rebel group that had ceded from the Realm, had taken him captive and nearly killed Kalisa and Moira. That was the first but not last time Thannuel had saved Antious’ life. Even at sixteen, Thannuel had seemed nearly immortal. Antious had sworn an oath then, after that night, to always come for Thannuel, no matter what stood in the way. And yet, he had not...at least, not fast enough this time.
I must speak with Master Aiden as well, he thought. He will know something.
It was strange to think of the lad as Master now, but apparently Aiden was nearly as renown as Thannuel had been with steel. The once castaway boy had accomplished much in his life, despite humble beginnings, not unlike his own childhood. Though, admittedly, Antious did have the advantage of parents throughout his childhood.
As Roan left the campsite with two corporals at his side, he watched from a hillside the battalion head west toward Aelmi. The march was silent save for the vibrations he felt through the rocky ground. Few trees lived here on the cliffs, making his senses slightly dulled to the vibrations all around him. It made for a better training ground for his men should a battle ever come outside their lands. This place and the Gonfrey Forest with Jayden’s wolves were his favorite spots.
“There is something coming. That’s what you were going to tell me, wasn’t it?” Roan’s voice was low when he spoke.
“Sir?” one of the corporals asked.
“Nothing, soldier. We’re leaving.”
They sprinted northeast toward the West’s state city.
FIVE
Rembbran
27th Day of 4th Dimming 406 A.U.
REMBBRAN WANDERED NEAR HOLD KERR taking in the air around him. He would not get within a league just to be certain his footfall would remain undetected, or at least masked as it mixed in with other sounds and vibrations. Grief littered the atmosphere around him, its vector Hold Kerr.
Thousands of people had swarmed to House Kerr over the past days, each bearing condolences for the family that had lost their husband and father.
“Pathetic creatures,” he growled to himself. “It’s been nearly a span and they still mourn. Weak, these wood-dwellers have become.”
The surge of his Charge still throbbed within him. The pain was manageable while he was within the Kail in the Northern Province, the ancestral home his kind had dwelled in for centuries. An Influence of some create shielded the Helsyan from the most acute parts of his new pain. Now outside his refuge and searching for his prey, however, the pain surfaced unabated. The throbbing started on his left temple, gradually pounding its way through his skull to the other side. His brain felt as if a dull iron peg were coring it.
This is the price of failure, he reminded himself. Never has one failed as I have.
He had yearned to come back to these woods the day after his failure, his incomplete Dahlrak a thirst that needed quenching. But the High Duke as well as the leader of his order, Maynard, forbade it, believing the situation too volatile. Even now they had their reservations but allowed Rembbran this chance to rectify his shame.
Arriving at the scene of his confrontation with Lord Kerr, Rembbran retraced his steps as best he could remember. He had lost track of the girl visually as he sparred with Lord Kerr, but still detected her scent throu
gh the confrontation until…
“Until I wrecked his weak frame and smote the life from him!”
But his revelry brought no relief to the pain or him any closer to completing his Dahlrak.
Retracing the path of his chase, the Helsyan eventually came to where the group had met to behold a demonstration of curious Influence. Rembbran generally had no patience for parlor tricks or children’s games, but High Duke Wellyn’s advisor had actually impressed him. He inspected the tree that had been the subject, a three-pronged leaf-bearing species the Arlethians called a Triarch. It appeared unaffected and full of life, quite the opposite of nine days ago. The tree’s bark was smooth as he ran his hand down its trunk. He recoiled suddenly.
“Fallen Ancients!” he swore. Inspecting his hand he found it to be normal in appearance: pale and inscribed with the runes all his kind bore across their bodies—illegible marrings that added to their villainous appearance.
It felt like acid, he thought as he rubbed the tips of his fingers together.
“All Dark retreats from the Light, apostate.”
The voice startled Rembbran but he did not visibly react. Calmly, he turned about to see him who interrupted his investigation. He lowered his hood, exposing his glyphed, shorn head. The gills on his nose flared. He noted the man’s own small disfigurement on his left cheek.
“I did not sense your approach, old man.”
“No, you would not have. I do not allow my feelings to flow outward.”
As the chase-giver breathed in through his nose more deeply, flaring the horizontal gills across the bridge of his nose, he found that the visitor was utterly invisible to his sense of smell.
“Do not interfere where you are not welcome, old man,” he warned.
“Ah, the hollow threats begin. Come now, apostate, we both know you cannot harm me without a Dahlrak. Even then, I have my doubts.”
Rembbran sneered. “Mind your words, codger! You could easily become part of the Dahlrak by your hindrance!”