He hadn’t heard from that other warm and powerful voice since Cetheria’s temple. Was Cetheria really an idol? That would certainly explain a few things. He shrugged and walked on, choking on the dust of the road.
As they neared Allowntown, the Evenwall loomed to their right. The Evenwall, as Achan understood it, was a gateway to Darkness and all that hid within it. The air grew thick and misty. Achan didn’t like the feel of the moisture on his face. He remembered Sir Gavin’s warning never to set foot in the mist.
In the wide prairie to their left, women worked the potato fields, their skirts hiked up above their knees. Several soldiers hooted and called out to them. Pretty as some of them were, they only reminded Achan of how fetching Gren had looked as she stood in a tub of wool. He was thankful when the sun set on the day and the memories.
They stopped in Allowntown for the night. The procession filed through a narrow gate and into an old motte and bailey-style manor. Guards began to pitch tents within the wooden curtain wall. Prince Gidon dismissed Achan and went inside the manor to sleep. Achan wandered around, looking for Bran.
A distant allown tree caught his eye between two tents. He stepped back and stared at it from afar. It was the famous tree, the one from all the stories of King Axel’s murder, the day Darkness came. Achan walked to the tree and stood before it, mesmerized.
Warmth surged inside him and the majestic voice coursed through his veins.
Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, Achan Cham. Before you were born I set you apart.
Achan sucked in a sharp breath and glanced around. No one was paying him any mind. The heat inside him was already fading. Was that all the voice had to say? Set apart? Like this tree, set off from all the other trees? He looked up at it.
Half of the tree was dead. Half was alive. This was surely the tree from the legends. The living half, so like the allown tree back on the SiderosRiver, calmed him. But the other half…
Gnarled, black branches twisted in the air like monstrous claws, the mist so thick around them, they blurred into the black sky. A heavy wind rustled the leaves on the living side, but the barren branches on the dead side cracked and swayed like they were reaching, hoping to squeeze the life out of Achan.
He shivered, torn. It was as if the tree was his heart. He’d always felt a kinship with allown trees, as ridiculous as that sounded. This one, more so. But it repelled him at the same time. It was a most awkward emotion.
Despite the dead side of the tree, Achan lay down on the soft grass under the rustling leaves, feeling like he’d finally come home, and fell asleep.
Yet into his peace came horrifying dreams.
The voices called out. He tried to concentrate on the allown tree in Sitna to silence them, but an image of this eerie tree filled his mind instead. They knew he was here. Under the Allown Tree, where life meets death.
A woman screamed. A baby cried. A horrific sound split the night like one massive roar of thunder.
Warriors would go through the mist and bring back food. The women and children would have to wait until their return. The pale ones were hungry.
They were coming.
Part 5. The Gifted One
18
Vrell moaned and rolled all night, so vivid were the voices, the fear, the hunger in her mind. Something terrible was about to befall the young soldier. A sharp prick to her temples woke her.
Macoun Hadar.
Master Hadar was knocking. She let him inside the foyer of her mind.
Boy! he bloodvoiced. Did you hear him? The gifted one?
He must mean the soldier. Yes, Master.
Come to my chambers at once.
Vrell dressed and hurried to the eighth floor. She had not told Master Hadar about her conversations with the soldier, but she was almost certain he was the one her master sought.
She found Master Hadar sitting on the end of his bed, grotesque feet propped on the stone slab. A lantern hung on a stand beside his bed. His eyes were wide and glassy in the dim light. Out the windows, the sky was charcoal grey. Dawn had not yet broken.
“Vrell,” Master Hadar said. “You’ll go north with Jax mi Katt and find this gifted boy. He’s in danger and we must locate him quickly.”
“You know his whereabouts?”
“He slept in Allowntown last night, under the Memorial Tree. Prince Gidon’s party camped there. If he’s with them, they’ll be headed here, so finding them should be no problem. Go and bring him to me.”
“How will I know who he is?”
“Don’t be a fool. With your mind, boy, how else?”
“Yes, Master.” Vrell bowed out of the chamber.
She went to her room and fetched her pouch of healing herbs and ointments. If there had been a battle, she might be able to help the wounded. She filled her water skin in the courtyard fountain. She wished her sword was finished. Going into a battle without a weapon, or with a weapon but without the training to use it, seemed terribly foolish. She found Jax at the stables and was shocked to see a squadron of Kingsguard knights ready to depart.
“Vrell!” Jax greeted her with a smile. “We journey again.”
The familiar, little, white courser Jax presented thrilled Vrell’s heart. He reminded her of Kopay, her horse back home. Jax sat atop a massive, black festrier. Vrell felt like she was riding a colt in comparison.
The strain the young soldier brought to her mind pressed against her all morning, but she could not see him clearly. His power was close, though, and she sensed great fear. Judging from the concern on Jax’s face, he could too. He did not try to pace the horses, but galloped north at top speed.
After an hour of hard riding, Jax pulled up at the top of a hill overlooking a vast green valley. Vrell stopped beside him.
Darkness rose like a wall to the west, stretching for miles in each direction, separated from the green prairie and forest by the vaporous Evenwall. There was no sign of Prince Gidon’s procession. A great foreboding hung over the squadron like a cloud. Vrell opened her mind slightly to those who were gifted. All sensed the same thing from their fellow Kingsguards who escorted Prince Gidon: fear.
“What is it?” Vrell asked Jax.
“Poroo.”
Vrell’s heart quaked. The poroo had once been a peaceful race of men, but Darkness had driven them mad. It was rumored they ate anything they could catch, humans included. “But they live in Darkness.”
“Aye. That they do. They must be very hungry to cross into Light.”
“Do you sense the soldier?” Vrell asked.
“Barely. He fights. They all do. The poroo attacked from the Evenwall at first light.” Jax wheeled his massive horse around and addressed the soldiers. “Our prince is in trouble! We must aid our Kingsguard brothers to see him brought safely to Mahanaim. The poroo attacked from the trees with spears and rocks. Go carefully.” Jax yanked an axe from the sheath on his left thigh and raised it high above his head. “For our prince!”
The other soldiers and knights each waved their weapons high and echoed, “Our prince!”
Jax turned to Vrell. “Wait here for our return. If we should fail, report to Mahanaim.”
With that, Jax kicked his horse in the side. It galloped down the hill, raising a cloud of red dust behind. The squadron followed.
Vrell sat atop her horse, staring after them, lips parted. Her orders from Master Hadar were to find the gifted one and stay with him. How could she do that from more than a mile away? And did she really want to?
Vrell carefully closed her mind and concentrated, sending a knock to her mother.
Vrell? What is it, dear?
Remember the soldier I told you about? There has been a battle. Master Hadar sent me to bring the soldier back. I hesitate to deliver him to Master Hadar, but I also do not want to leave him with no training.
When the fighting is over, take the boy to Master Hadar, Mother said. A battle is no place for you. When the fighting is over, take the boy to Master Hadar. But warn him to b
e wary. When Sir Rigil arrives, make sure he knows who the boy is. He may be able to help.
Vrell closed the connection to her mother and sought out the soldier. She could barely sense him. His distracted state acted as a closed door against her search. Below, Jax’s squadron had reached the valley and was galloping toward a tree line at the far end. Vrell watched them move across the plain, the poroo battle nowhere in sight. Surely she could get a little closer than this. She steered her horse back onto the road and cantered down the hill.
Scattered trees on her right grew thicker, and soon Vrell found herself in a kind of corridor. Dense, green forest on her right. Grey, misted Evenwall on her left. It was cooler here than Mahanaim’s humidity. A breeze blew the stale, Evenwall mist over her, dampening her skin. An army of poroo could be standing just inside the cloud, watching, and she would never know until it was too late.
At the clash of metal, Vrell halted her horse. The sound had come from the forest on her right, but she sensed that the soldier was not there. She turned her head to the left, zeroing in on the mist, and a shiver raked her soul.
The soldier was in the Evenwall.
Vrell stared into the churning vapor, her shaking hands clutching the reins. She thought she heard a whisper somewhere close. “Hello?” Her eyes darted around the mist but detected no living thing.
Perhaps it had been only the wind. She nudged her horse forward, toward the Evenwall, but the beast was smarter than that. She nudged harder and the horse jerked forward. The air cooled instantly. Dampness clung like dew.
Contrary to what she had expected, the Evenwall was not pitch black. It was like standing in a forest on a rainy day. Everything ashen, somber, and chilled. Like twilight.
Vrell steered her horse slowly, able to see only a few yards in any direction. She wove around drooping willows and redpines. Under their leafy canopy, the shadows deepened, limiting her visibility.
She sensed a presence, a foreboding that someone was watching. A hiss to her left stiffened her posture. But she saw no one, only mist wavering around tree branches. She pressed on in the direction of the soldier. She sensed his fatigue. He needed rest.
Muted sounds of blades clashing, men grunting and screaming, and frightened horses grew as Vrell forged through broken branches and over trampled ground. She had gone too far. She had only meant to get a little closer, but now Jax would be cross. So would Mother. She did not even have a weapon.
At least she was in the wake of the battle and not in front of it.
A body came into view, lying on the turf to her right. She approached slowly and saw that it was only an arm, severed just above the elbow. Vrell looked away, horrified.
A few more paces revealed the body the arm had come from. Mud had been painted on his milky white skin like war paint. His glassy eyes stared into the sky. He wore a knotted combination of animal pelts and fabric.
A poroo, she supposed.
A crude spear lay beside him, its head a chiseled, leaf-shaped stone. Vrell dismounted, careful to hold the reins in case her horse decided to abandon her, and stepped over the pine needles to retrieve the weapon. The forest seemed to whisper indiscernible words. Or maybe it was the mist itself. She did not look at the dead man until she was safely back on her horse. Feeling better with a weapon, she urged her mount toward the sounds of the distant action.
She could not see anyone through the thick, green forest, but she did hear far-off sounds of men yelling and steel clashing. It reminded her of a dreadful haunted swamp, without the watery ground.
Vrell should have stayed on the hill.
She saw movement and stopped. The pearly skin of poroo soldiers popped in the distant, shadowed wood. It was harder to see their Kingsguard opponents. Vrell’s white horse would be a beacon to her presence. The thought sent a tremble up her spine. She dismounted and tied the courser to the nearest tree. Vrell would blend in better without it.
She crouched low and darted from tree to tree, clutching her spear. The cries of dying men tugged at her heart strings. She had brought her satchel. Perhaps she could help some of them. But she pressed on, ignoring the wounded and the whispering forest — to find the gifted one.
She waded across a shallow stream. Several dead bodies lay on the forest floor. Vrell identified two Kingsguards and a half dozen poroo without having to look too closely. A steep hill rose up before her. She climbed it, heading in the direction she sensed the soldier. She wove around briarberry bushes and grappled for tufts of grass to pull herself up the incline, but the mist had dampened her hands and she slid backward every few steps.
Pain shot through her skull. She cowered in a briarberry bush, clutching her temples. The soldier was close, debilitating her with the pressure of his untamed bloodvoice.
She concentrated on closing her mind, something she had never needed to do simply to keep from experiencing pain. The pressure eased some, and she crawled to the top of the ridge and peeked over.
Shrouded in fog, a Kingsguard soldier fought two poroo in a small clearing, his movements quick but careful.
Vrell darted behind an oak tree to get a clearer view and clutched the scratchy bark. She had been right. The gifted one was a soldier. Younger than she had expected, but no mere boy. He was tall, strong, and wounded. Plum bruises covered his handsome face. His dark, wet hair and soggy Kingsguard cape whipped about as he swung his sword. Studded jewels on the ivory crossguard caught Vrell’s eye. He must be a noble to wield such a weapon, yet she had never seen him at court. And he’d been walking instead of riding.
Movement to the far left turned her head. Prince Gidon! The heir to the throne of Er’Rets leaned against an allown tree, watching the soldier fight. A hedge of briarberry bushes concealed him somewhat. She and the prince stood on the same ridge that sloped down the hill to the stream. He was simply further down. Vrell crouched lower, heart thudding.
Where were his distinguished guards? The mighty Shield? And why was His Highness just standing there? He was quite gifted with the sword, or so his reputation said. He could be helping the soldier fight off the poroo.
Vrell snorted. Our new and noble, lazy king.
A third poroo charged up behind the soldier.
Look out! Vrell yelled to his mind.
Scratch? The soldier spun around just in time to parry the jab of a spear. He scurried back in the pine needles, holding his sword up to his attackers. “If you’re not going to help, Your Highness,” the soldier said to the prince, “at least climb the tree. I’d hate for you to be killed. Your death would secure my own.”
Vrell’s brows shot up at his snide tone. Prince Gidon only smirked. One of the poroo charged. The soldier waited until the last moment before dodging and swinging his blade into the creature’s side. The soldier stiffened and the poroo fell at his feet.
Vrell felt his horror of having killed. He swallowed and exhaled before wrenching his blade free with a growl. His grey eyes flashed to the other two poroo. He steeled himself and stepped forward.
He could do this.
One of the poroo threw his spear. The soldier dodged it, and it sank into the soil near the prince’s briarberry bush. The soldier advanced on the weaponless man and swung into his side, severing the man’s arm above the elbow and cleaving into his torso. The soldier screamed as loud as the dying man. His eyes were wide, as if he hadn’t expected that to happen.
The other poroo, a quite tall one, darted forward and jabbed his spear at the soldier, who jerked his blade free from the dying man and spun around. With a quick swing of his sword, the soldier cracked the spear. The poroo broke it fully over his knee and held up the shortened version.
An arrow thwacked into Vrell’s tree. She jumped back. Two more arrows sank into the soil near Prince Gidon’s briarberry bush sanctuary.
Three poroo approached from behind the prince, forcing him out into the open. Vrell hoped he would be killed so someone else would be king. Then she thought better of such treasonous hope, especially if the sold
ier would be punished for failing to protect his future king.
She concentrated. The prince needs help.
The soldier’s head jerked to the side, taking note of how Prince Gidon skirted the bushes and the poroo chased him. The soldier, still fighting his poroo, couldn’t get away to help. He swung a few times at his tall opponent, but the man dodged every strike — until an arrow pierced him through the back. The poroo stood still for a moment, then dropped his half-spear and collapsed.
The soldier grabbed the broken weapon and sprinted for the prince, bounding over dead bodies and ignoring the arrows raining through the mist.
“Your Highness!” The soldier tossed the half-spear to the prince and attacked a poroo with his sword.
“Typical insolence.” Prince Gidon stabbed one poroo in the chest and kicked him into the other poroo attacking him. They fell. “Give your king a broken spear when you wield a sword.” He crouched and jerked the spear free, then stabbed the second poroo in the neck.
Vrell looked away.
Where were the arrows being shot from? She crouched to peer through the trees, but she could not see any archers. In fact, there were no more Kingsguards fighting in this area of the forest, though there were quite a few bodies. She could see movement in the distant east. She could hear battle cries. But where were these poroo coming from?
The answer came as she turned back to the soldier’s battle. The poroo were coming from the west. From Darkness.
The soldier dodged the thrust of his poroo attacker’s spear. He grabbed the shaft with one hand and jerked it forward. The poroo man stumbled, and the soldier cut him down.
Prince Gidon pulled the bloody spear free from his second victim and waved the weapon about. “I’ll tell you who I’d like to stab.”
Two more poroo closed in on the soldier and he raised his sword. “I’m sure you’ll get your chance.” The soldier moved with incredible speed, and he quickly overcame all his attackers. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and flinched at an arrow sailing past his shoulder. “Will you get in the tree, now?”
By Darkness Hid bok-1 Page 27