“Be’olyn was the last hope – a good plan, but a stab in the dark. And might still be our only hope if these men won’t help us. And as for looking…
* * *
Elspeth was still kneeling on the ground beside Ealian. She had listened to their talk, yet only one line rang clear in her mind: “Ealian’s last hope.” She stood slowly and walked towards the Woodsmen.
“Please. My brother; Can you help him?” She stopped in front of the four newcomers with hands clasped in front of her mouth and tears in her eyes.
The tallest of the four men – and they were all very tall – looked down at her. For a long moment, he stared, as if not understanding her question.
Again, Elspeth pleaded. “Please!”
The Woodsman took a step forward and shifted his gaze towards the wolves. Then, with a clear voice, he spoke. “Are you Toban of the Rukin?”
Toban took a step forward and bowed. “Yes, my name is Toban.”
“For many years, we have watched the progress of Illeas’den. You are kin. Now and forever, we welcome you to Crenach’coi.” The Woodsman bowed deeply.
The wolf leader appeared shocked by the gracious welcome. Mumbling out a stuttered thank you, he bowed back to the tall man.
The Woodsman turned to Olam. “Come forward,” he said.
Olam took a few hesitant steps forward until he was but feet away. He bowed with open palms and uttered a greeting from the old tongue, “Kirs det neif, Olam.”
“Vol kirs neif, Orstma, Olam,” replied the Woodsman. Then took a step forward and peered into Olam’s eyes. “Neif os Raic’tien?” he asked.
“Yes! But how…?” replied a startled Olam.
“How did this come to be, and how long?” the Woodsman asked.
“Many years now, and it was by accident.”
“Do you understand your blessing, Olam?” The Woodsman turned to his brothers as he spoke.
“Not fully, no,” Olam said.
The tall men conferred with each other in their own tongue, until Olam interrupted.
“Sir, please. What of the boy?”
“Is the Cinné’arth here… The Kin?” The Woodsman appeared agitated by Olam’s interruption.
For some reason, Arfael was hiding at the back, behind the big oak tree. He stood up and walked to Olam’s side.
The four Woodsmen bowed. “Kirs neif, Arlyn Gan’ifael,” the four said in unison.
“Not the bowing again!” Grady whined.
The Woodsman ignored him and turned to Arfael. “We need you to come with us, Arlyn. We have an urgent message.”
Arfael stood motionless. He looked at each of the Woodsmen in turn – only their leader was taller, and then not by much – then at Elspeth. “The girl asked you a question. Can you help her brother?”
The lead Woodsman stood silent a moment, then gave a nod to the man at his right hand. The Cren put down his bow, and in two strides, he was at Ealian’s side. He knelt down next to the boy and looked at the near-dead body. Slowly, he picked up Ealian’s ashen hand. He spent a few moments rubbing his thumb over Ealian’s fingernails then laid the hand down and moved to Ealian’s eyes. He pushed up from the brow and down on the cheek. For a long moment, he just stared. After half a minute, he sat upright. Then, turning back to the others, he nodded. “Airft Raic Noit!” he said.
The Woodsman leader – he must be their leader, Grady thought – nodded back before turning to Olam. “Yes, he has what you call the Black. Eidt Raic Noit dei Mardin doist Ambieth. He won’t heal while it is in him.”
“Well… can you heal him?” Olam asked.
“Eidt Raic’tien, mict kenst Mardinui. Arly di Raic Noit?” he said.
Elspeth, who had been fidgeting, now looked ready to spit and curse. “What did he say, Olam?”
Olam answered her question without taking his eyes off the Woodsman. “He is surprised that I do not know how to cure him, as I am a Raic’dru, apparently, and should know what to do.” Olam took a step closer to the Woodsman. “Please, sir. We have no time for riddles. The boy is dying.”
“No riddles?” The leader did not appear to understand the accusation, and once again looked annoyed. “Riddles,” he said, looking up at the treetops. “What shines greatest in the darkest places and is the bane of its evil ways?”
Olam pondered a moment, silently mouthing the simple riddle.
Then he flung his head back. “By the gods, of course… a light in the dark… good against evil. We need the White to cure him.” He looked to the Woodsman, smiling, then appeared to realise the futility of his victory. “Where are we going to find White?”
The Woodsman smiled and nodded again to the man on his right, who took out a small glass vial from the pouch around his waist. He held it up. Inside was a white viscous liquid. The substance shone like an effervescent pearl.
Elspeth looked at it, and a big smile broke across her face. “Thank you, thank you!”
The Woodsman put up his hand as if to say, “Not so fast.” He pointed at Daric. “You… you carry the mark of the legion on your arm. Do you hold sway with the court of Eidred?”
“Eidred…? You mean the Old King.” Daric scratched his chin. “If you are asking, do I know the palace? Yes, I have friends there.”
The Woodsman turned to Elspeth. “Your pack carries the seal of an Emissary of Ealdihain. Do you hold sway at Beugeddy?”
Elspeth looked bemused as she turned to Daric and then Olam. At their prompt, she answered, “My father is Emissary to the Northern Geddy Valley.”
The Woodsman smiled. “What a fortuitous gathering: Toban of the Rukin, an emissary’s daughter, one who knows the palace at Bailryn, and the Cinné’arth. Not to mention a brother of the Ambieth!” He pointed at Olam at the last part.
The Woodsman paused for a moment, thinking, so it seemed. Then, “I will leave two of my men if you will all come with me. What Kirin’thar has to say will affect you all. Events are unfolding fast in the north. You may all be of great use to your people.” The Woodsmen bowed and appeared to wait for their answer.
Elspeth turned to Daric and Olam. “We have to go!” she said.
“Wait a minute, we need to—”
“No!” Elspeth interrupted. “We have to go. There can be no waiting. My brother is near death!”
Daric rubbed his chin a moment and then nodded. Turning to the Woodsman, he said, “Yes, we will come with you, but you treat the boy first.”
The Woodsman answered quickly: “Treating the boy could take hours, maybe a day or two, and there is no guarantee. Much will depend on his will. He is a long way gone, too far maybe. My men will stay and do all they can, but you must come with us now.” He looked immovable on the issue.
Daric sighed, and then rubbed his fingers around his neck. “Yes, as you say, we will come. Give us a few minutes to gather our things.”
“Very well,” the Woodsman said.
“What is your name, by the way?” Daric asked.
“Cahldien, but most call me Cal,” he answered.
Daric nodded. “Thank you, Cal, for helping the boy.”
Cal bowed.
“How long will we be gone?” Elspeth asked.
“A six-hour journey, if you keep up. You can rest when you arrive, then speak to Kirin’thar in the morning. You should be back by tomorrow night. And if your brother survives, he will be up and awake when you return.”
“Six hours,” Elspeth said. “I’ve been running all day.”
Grady jumped to the fore. “She can’t do that. She will be dead on her feet before midnight.”
Cal appeared to think for a moment, then reached into his pocket and brought out a small apple-like fruit. “Eat this and sit for ten minutes.” He gave Elspeth the fruit. “It will help, but I warn you, it tastes foul. You may feel sick at first, but eat it all. We will leave when you are ready.”
Elspeth sat by the fire and ate the strange little apple. She cringed. “Gods, it tastes like lemon mixed with vinegar.”
>
“Eat it all,” Cal reminded her.
* * *
Meanwhile, Daric fished around inside his pack, making sure he had some food. He went back to the fire and picked up some of the cold meat. He wrapped it in berry paper and put it in his pack.
He looked to Gialyn. “I’m going to take this full waterskin, son. Go to the river and fill the others in the morning. You should have enough to last through the night.”
Gialyn watched his father. There is that man again, he thought. The one putting duty before family. He could not help but grunt his disapproval. “Why? Are you leaving me here?”
“Aye; why would you want to come?”
Gialyn dipped his head. “You’re doing it again. You have duty on your mind, and you’re running straight into it without looking around.”
Daric stopped what he was doing. He was once again surprised at his son’s words.
He thought for a moment… The old Daric would have said, “Don’t be silly, child,” and carried on, mindless of the needs of his son. He wondered now if he was wrong. Wrong to think of the boy as a wasteful, unfocused youth who needed his guidance to become the man he wanted him to be. He thought about the last few days: Gialyn had refused to let go when they were hanging off the cliff. He had fought off the giant rats, saved his life in the process. And Gialyn had spoken in ways that had opened Daric’s eyes to the kind of man his son had become. And here he was, forgetting all that, and going back to the same old Daric. Maybe I’m the one who needed to take this trip, he thought.
Daric looked around the camp for the wolves. “Aleban, can I have a word?” he asked.
“Yes, Daric.” Aleban was lying by the fire with an eye on the Salrians. He rose and walked over.
“Are you two staying here?” Daric nodded at the other wolf – what was his name? Callaban?
“Yes. The others should be back tomorrow night to escort the prisoners; maybe the morning after.”
“Thank you, Aleban. In that case, I’ll take my son with me, if that’s fair with you?”
“Of course,” Aleban said. “A father should be with his son at times like these.”
Daric bowed and chuckled a little. Getting parenting lessons from a wolf; what a world this had become.
He turned to Gialyn. “Pack light and bring the empty waterskin. We’ll have to go by the river at some point, we can fill it then.”
“Thank you.” Gialyn bowed, and then rushed off to sort his pack.
Grady looked over at Daric, a grin on his face. “Leaving me alone, I see.”
Daric laughed. “You can handle two tied-up prisoners. Besides, you have the wolves and the Woodsmen to keep you company.”
Grady shook his head in amusement. “Right now, I’m just glad I’m not the one taking the six-hour hike through the forest.” Grady paused, gazing into the unlit fire. “Be careful. You don’t know where you’re going… You don’t know why you’re going, and I have a feeling, after tonight, none of our lives will be the same.”
Daric hunched back on his heels and released a great sigh. “I know, my friend. It has not turned out to be the trip I had planned!”
Grady nodded in agreement. “And to think, it wasn’t that long ago the only thing concerning you was how to handle three children.”
They both laughed.
* * *
Olam watched the two Woodsmen. One was washing Ealian while the other built a small fire.
“What is that for?” he asked.
The Woodsman building the fire looked up. “I’m going to use the liet and kharoe as well as the Tien. This child needs all the help we can give. I could use some kalli as well, but I have none.”
“Oh… I have kalli.” Olam ran to his pack, fished out his wrap of kalli root, and brought it to the Woodsman. “Here, take what you need.”
“Thank you,” the Woodsman said. “I won’t need it all.”
He broke off a small piece and placed it on a rock by the kharoe and liet, and then took the vial of Raic’tien from his pouch and put it next to them.
“Are you going to do that now?” Olam asked, hoping he would get a chance to watch.
“No, not yet. In an hour, maybe. I’d like to get the herbs in him first. He will not win both battles. I must help his body so his mind can see the light and banish the evil.”
“You talk like it’s alive!” Olam said.
The Woodsman looked up at him. “Of all people, you should know. You are an Ambieth; do you not hear your Raic speaking to you in the night?”
Olam knew exactly what the Woodsman was talking about, but he had never spoken of it, not even to Arfael. The life essence that lived inside his mind was… a personal matter, not a thing of idle chatter. The Raic – the White that had infected him all those years ago – had been a part of him for so long, it was hard to draw a line between what was him, the old Olam, and what he had become. “I find it peaceful. After a while, I began to think of it as my own thoughts. It is very kind, and wise beyond my years.”
The Woodsman smiled. “You should not have been left alone to deal with it. You’re only the second outsider to have the Tien of Ambieth, that I know of.” He started burning the liet and wafted the smoke about Ealian’s face while the other Cren rubbed some of the kharoe ash into the boy’s wound. “You did well to survive the change. You must have been a very good man to start with. Many people, even Cren, are driven mad by its power. They become little more than tormented shells.”
Elspeth knelt at her brother’s side. “Is he going to be all right?”
“Maybe. He is lucky you had the kharoe and liet. They might prove to be the last little push he needs,” the Woodsman said.
“Well, it wasn’t easy to come by. And we were lucky to have someone who knew of such things.” She reached out and put her hand on Olam’s arm.
The Woodsman continued: “The Raic builds its wall on the foundation it finds within. If that foundation is sound, the White will win. However, if he is bad…”
“Ealian is good,” Elspeth said. “Annoying at times… most of the time, in fact, but he is good. If that’s all the reasoning here between life and death, then I’m sure he will survive.”
The Woodsman nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. But it is his soul where the foundation of love and hate are laid. Few men show their true selves at such a young age.”
“Still, I’m sure,” Elspeth said.
Cal and the other Woodsman were standing in the centre of the camp, listening. Cal cleared his throat. “It’s time. We must go.”
The travellers that were leaving gathered their things and stood by. After saying their good-byes to Grady and Aleban, they walked up the southern rise and started down towards the river on their six-hour journey to meet Kirin’thar.
Grady stood and watched as they disappeared over the rise. Once they were out of sight, he looked around at what remained. Then, casually, he turned to Aleban. “Looks like it’s just you and me, friend.”
CHAPTER 34
Dreams and Demons: Part Two
A bell sounded in the distance, the echoing chimes surrounded Ealian until he could not tell from which direction the first sound had come. He spun around, looking, searching, but the view was the same as the last time he was here, the same as it had been every time he had returned to this place.
Where am I?
He was standing on a ten-span wide island of rough grass and loose shale. Pathways, like narrow bridges of mud, branched out into a seemingly endless marsh. Each path – and there were dozens – led to another mound of dead earth. Above him, the sky was cloudy, almost black, which was why Ealian could not make out what was on those islands of mud. For some reason, he was glad of that much.
One way or another, Ealian knew he had to choose one of those bridges. But which one? Likewise, he knew the pathways were not real – everything here was an illusion, a dream. But why could he not wake up? Why could he not escape this nightmare?
Looking down at one of the paths,
he suddenly had the impression he had been down that way before. A pang of fear twisted his gut – like being pulled away from the edge of a cliff. Catching his breath, he backed away. With an effort, he tore his eyes away from the island. Doing so, made his head hurt, but he managed to focus on the ground in front of his feet.
The smell of damp earth filled the air, and with it, a putrid scent of rotten meat. The smell felt whole, as something he could reach out and touch. It was thick, like damp air, and Ealian knew it was covering him from head to foot. He felt a wave of cold terror rising in his chest. This was how it happened last time. Before he could stop himself, he had turned to another path and was walking towards the island at the end of it.
The world flickered…
Ealian found himself standing in a dining hall. A long, dark oak table took up most of the floor. A fat, bald man was sitting at its head. Ealian pointed his sword at him.
“Stay seated, Uldrin, this is none of your concern.” Ealian heard himself say the words, but it was not him speaking.
The fat man stood. “How dare you barge into my house, Bar’deth! Leave at once. Guards!”
Ealian-Bar’deth laughed. “Your guards are otherwise occupied, Uldrin. Sit back down; my quarrel is with your son, not you.”
There were six sitting at the table: the fat man, a woman who was likely his wife, three young girls, and another man. The other man was clearly the fat man’s son; he had the same piggy eyes and thin hair. Although he could not have been much more than twenty years old.
Three men came up from behind Ealian-Bar’deth. Two pointed their swords at the women, and the third dragged the younger man from his seat. Ealian-Bar’deth watched as his cohort kicked the young man repeatedly in the stomach.
“Leave him be,” the fat man shouted. “What has he done? If he owes you money, I will pay it. Please, leave him.”
Ealian-Bar’deth walked towards the eldest of the three girls. She was maybe fifteen. He raised her chin with the point of his sword. She was sobbing quietly but did not struggle.
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