by Ross Turner
“You won’t be able to.” A young, meek voice suddenly sounded beside her. Marcii whipped her head round to find the young orphan Vixen sat at her side.
“You…” Marcii breathed, not knowing what else to say.
“You won’t be able to sense his thoughts.” Vixen repeated, ignoring Marcii’s glare as if she’d expected it.
“What?” Marcii questioned, irritated that the girl wasn’t even acknowledging her frustration, and, perhaps more importantly, her confusion.
“Tyran.” Vixen replied patiently. “You won’t be able to sense Tyran’s thoughts.”
Marcii’s eyes widened for a moment in surprise, finally taking in what Vixen was saying, only to then narrow them again suspiciously.
“How do you know?” She asked, accusation clear in her tone. In fact, she was feeling quite confrontational by this point.
Nevertheless, the young orphan Vixen seemed not to care. Her expression was as level and unchanged as ever.
“He doesn’t have the same connection that you and Alistair share.” She explained calmly.
“How do you know about that?” Marcii responded instantly.
Vixen turned her gaze upon Marcii then, her eyes firm and steady, indicating with that single look that perhaps Marcii shouldn’t still be so shocked by such things.
“Is it you?” Marcii suddenly asked, gasping as she spoke, leaning back in shock.
“Me?” Vixen questioned.
“The connection!” Marcii replied, crying out more loudly than she’d intended and springing to her feet. “Is the connection Alistair spoke of with you!?”
Vixen considered Marcii’s question for a moment before replying, seeming not to be in any hurry to respond.
“I can see why you would think that…” She began, turning her words over slowly and thoughtfully. But no, not exactly…”
“Not exactly?” Marcii questioned again, exasperated.
She had at the very least been hoping for a more concrete answer than that.
Vixen fell silent once more and seemed to consider Marcii’s words over again.
“I’m not the one to answer that question.” She eventually said. Her tone was not exactly dismissive, but it was most certainly final.
Suddenly, without another word, the young orphan rose to her feet and beckoned for Marcii to do the same.
Obliging, the young Dougherty pressed her hands to the cobblestone floor and pushed herself to stand.
But when she looked up, levelling her gaze, neither the square nor the orphan were in her view.
Instead she found only blackness, and a deafening roar that bellowed and echoed all around her, engulfing her senses in the dreadful absence of light.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Plunged into darkness and overcome by the awful roaring sound, Marcii’s heart raced and thudded manically against her chest. It sent gushes of hot, frightened blood to every part of her body, flushing her cheeks red and sending her fingers and ears pumping.
It took a while for her to notice the thin slither of light creeping down from above her. Glancing upwards, she saw what looked like a crack in the sky, surrounded entirely by blackness, allowing only the tiniest hint of blue through.
After yet even longer her eyes became adjusted enough to locate the origin of the dreadful roaring that echoed so terrifyingly all around her.
It was the river.
The answer came suddenly and abruptly to her, as if somebody had slapped her across the face.
Marcii realised where she was.
She was in the canyon.
But why?
Unfortunately, though her eyes began to adjust more quickly to the darkness and her dim, blurry surroundings became clearer, that answer did not reveal itself.
The river carved its way dangerously through the rocks, seeming to cut directly through the ground rather than simply running over it. Strewn about here and there was evidence of a number of rock falls. Marcii swallowed heavily as her gaze swept over the fallen rocks and she pushed the sight as best she could to the back of her mind.
A shiver ran quickly up and down her spine, though the fear of being caught out by such a thing hardly touched her.
After all, it could not harm her.
As far as she knew she wasn’t even really there.
The gushing riverbed stretched out beside Marcii as she walked, having chosen a direction at random. She was soon pleased with her choice however as the walls spread further apart and the thin crack of light from above grew wider and brighter.
Soon she could see much further up and down the base of the canyon, though as far as she could tell there was only more rock and more river.
Frowning slightly, confused as to why her vision had brought her here, the young Dougherty pressed on.
It must be for a reason, she quickly decided, for her visions always revealed something to her, be it good or bad.
The canyon stretched out endlessly before her and Marcii felt as if she walked for hours before she came across anything. She found there was no real way to measure the passage of time though, so really she could only guess how long she’d been there.
The river bubbled and roared continuously and the sky so far above did not change even once. No breeze passed through and no cloud floated by.
It was as if time itself had ground to a halt.
Then, abruptly, just as Marcii clambered over a large boulder that had clearly broken free from the steep, jagged walls above, she found herself face to face with an elderly woman.
Taken aback slightly at first, though Marcii opened her mouth to speak, no sound escaped her lips.
“Hello Marcii.” The old woman greeted her, speaking before the young girl had chance to recover from her surprise.
The stranger rose gracefully to her feet and stepped down towards Marcii, brushing off the brown, dust spotted rags she wore as she went. Her face was deeply lined and her long, silvery hair was braided here and there with brightly coloured beads.
Her wrists and arms were thin, but somehow not frail.
Whether any of that was relevant or not, Marcii had no idea, but she noticed it all anyway.
“My name is Ekra.” The woman offered.
Her voice was endearing and filled with the certainty of the ages as she spoke.
“Ekra Custos.”
Marcii wavered for a moment.
Eventually, having decided that this woman meant her no harm, she replied.
“Hello.” She responded simply, nodding her head slightly, unsure what else to say.
Then she frowned again, peering at the old woman smiling so serenely back at her.
“Ekra Custos?” Marcii repeated calmly, the sound of it soothing on her tongue. “I’ve never heard a name like that before…” She mused.
Ekra nodded and her smiled broadened.
“It is a very old name.” She agreed kindly. “It was once very common, though that was a long time ago now.”
“Really?” Marcii asked, genuinely surprised. “How strange…”
Ekra regarded the young Dougherty with gentle, penetrating eyes, for admittedly the girl was not entirely what she’d expected.
They continued to talk as Ekra led Marcii through the base of the canyon, continuing the same way she’d been going. The young girl was full of questions and the aged woman was seemingly equally filled with answers.
She asked Ekra how far the canyon went, how deep it was, and how long the river had spent surging through the pass, for she was all at once engrossed and intrigued by the beauty of it all.
Ekra patiently bent her words to satisfy Marcii’s questions. Soon enough she was rewarded; within mere minutes the conversation turned about and approached the reason for Marcii’s being there at all.
“Who are you?” Marcii turned her curious gaze upon the woman with beads in her silver hair. “What are you doing here?” She asked, gesturing to the high, steep walls jutting up either side of them.
They crossed the riv
er at a section that wasn’t quite so deep and furious as the rest, passing swiftly to the other side.
“As I have said…” The old woman began, obviously well prepared for these questions. “My name is Ekra Custos. What I have not said, is that I am a Guardian.”
“A Guardian?” Marcii cut in, frowning again.
But Ekra held up her hand in a polite and silent gesture, asking her guest to give her chance to explain.
Marcii inclined her head apologetically and sealed her lips.
“There are only a handful of us left.” Ekra explained. “We live here in the base of the canyon. Here we are out of sight, out of mind, out of the way…”
The aged woman glanced back to Marcii, expecting a question, but the young Dougherty kept quiet as she had promised.
Ekra smiled curiously and turned her gaze forward once more, resuming her explanation.
“We’ve moved a few times in the past…” She admitted. “But not for quite a while now. We’ve been down here a long time…”
Marcii desperately wanted to ask how long. She refrained however, allowing Ekra to continue uninterrupted.
Suddenly the figure of a man appeared. He didn’t loom ahead of them as much as he materialised from the brown and red of the rocky walls all around. He was just as aged as Ekra, though his eyes looked evermore sunken by time, and his face evermore lined by concern.
Ekra led Marcii past him, saying not a word. The only communication that passed between her and the thin, aged man was a brief nod. Marcii smiled at him as he watched them walk by and he returned her gaze with a look much like the one Ekra seemed to constantly wear.
Marcii sensed that much more had passed between the two of them than a mere nod, but again she kept her thoughts to herself, saving her questions for later.
He soon disappeared behind them and they continued on.
“That was Kurian.” Ekra explained. “He’s the oldest of us. He’s been a Guardian longer than anyone.”
Ekra could tell purely by her silence that Marcii was desperate to know exactly how long. The aged woman turned to face the young Dougherty once again, smiling just as kindly as she always seemed to.
“Years…” She breathed quietly, capturing Marcii’s intent gaze. “Thousands of years…”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“A cleanse?” Marcii questioned, curious as to exactly what Ekra meant.
“Of sorts.” Ekra tried to explain. “It’s something of a purge. I don’t think anyone could ever really fully understand it.”
The aged woman paused for a moment and ran one hand through her silver hair lined here and there with beads, considering how best to explain something so difficult to comprehend.
“Every few hundred years or so…” She went on. “When the time once again inevitably arises, there comes a storm beyond compare. It is not common. Such a thing is hard on the world, and She would not do it if it were unnecessary.”
“She?” Marcii questioned, hoping to finally get some of the answers she so sorely desired.
The young Dougherty was not disappointed.
“Mother Nature.” Ekra replied, smiling. “She is the storm. She uses it to re-shape the land, carving it into new designs and fresh forms.”
“Why?”
“It is the way of the world.” Ekra explained vaguely. “Constantly changing.”
Marcii nodded but did not reply. The aged woman stopped for a moment and glanced up at the towering walls either side of them. Contemplation crossed her face and seemed to make her look even older.
“Take this canyon.” She said then, gesturing upwards expansively at the red and brown rock, rough and jagged here and there, and then smooth and curved in other places.
Marcii frowned.
“I thought this canyon had been carved by the river?” She asked, thinking back to what Reaper had told her, seemingly so long ago now.
Ekra nodded thoughtfully.
“Reaper is wise.” She agreed. “And what he has told you is not wrong. But he is still very young.”
“So…” Marcii began, reaching back into her memory. “This canyon wasn’t always here?” She asked, recalling Reaper’s words as best she could. “I thought it took a long time for the world to change?”
“That it does.” Ekra agreed. “But you took Reaper’s words too literally.”
“Too literally?” Marcii questioned, confusion crossing her face.
“The canyon may not always have been here, but the rocks and the water have…” She explained. “Nothing ever comes and goes completely, that’s the beauty of it all. Things just change…”
“Except us…” Marcii breathed.
Ekra’s smiled waned slightly, sensing the truth when she heard it.
“The river carved the path for this canyon…” She pressed on, skipping over that particular detail. “But not this deep. That was the storm.”
She gestured again up to the steep sides of the canyon, indicating to Marcii the rivets and streaking scars that lined its face.
“The wind cuts through the rock over time. Usually it takes many centuries, but it was one of those fierce storms that cut this canyon so deep so quickly, changing the lie of the land in barely a few days.”
“That’s madness…” Marcii breathed, though there was absolutely no way she could doubt Ekra’s words, for they were laced with nothing but the impossible truth.
“The trouble is…” The aged woman pressed on. “The lives of men are so short, and, in comparison, these storms are so few and far between. Every time one comes around again, it is always the first and fiercest anyone has ever seen.”
“Why is that a problem?” The young Dougherty asked.
“Because it frightens people.” Ekra explained simply. “The storms are brutal, as your friend Jenson has told you.”
A knot in Marcii’s stomach tightened at the mention of Midnight’s real name, but she said nothing of it.
“Fear does something strange to people…” The aged woman went on, allowing her eyes to wander about the canyon, lost deep in thought. “For some reason it forces them to make irrational and usually stupid decisions.”
Marcii smothered a smirk.
She wasn’t sure why that was funny, but the hint of genuine irritation in Ekra’s voice was unusual and sounded most out of place.
“But you have seen one?” Marcii asked, somehow seeming confident that Ekra had. “They don’t frighten you?”
Pain flickered across Ekra’s expression and she quickly turned away to hide it from the young Dougherty.
Marcii saw Ekra tense up and instantly regretted asking such a thing.
“I’m sorry…” She apologised quickly, but the aged woman gestured absently with one hand.
“Don’t be.” She assured. “It’s been a long time.”
Marcii daren’t ask how long.
Ekra sighed but soon continued, straightening her expression and returning to her explanation.
“It’s not always the case…” She went on. “But usually, during these storms, in the impossible, mad, fear-driven rush to escape, someone always turns.”
Marcii’s eyes shot across to Ekra and her heart skipped a beat.
“Turns?”
“Yes.” Ekra confirmed weightily, assuring Marcii with that single syllable that it was indeed as bad as it sounded.
Marcii didn’t reply, suddenly worried. Ekra sighed heavily, drawing deep, slow breaths.
“We call it Storm Born.” The timeless woman explained.
Marcii’s eyes widened slightly.
“These storms can fill men with such fear that it unhinges them.” She went on. “They all react differently, but the results are usually similar, and never kindly…”
The young Dougherty listened intently and swallowed hard.
“Some go insane.” Ekra went on. “Others can’t stand it and kill themselves. And then some just see red. They go utterly berserk.”
“Berserk?”
The haun
ting familiarity of the word rang alarm bells in Marcii’s mind.
“It’s not a pleasant sight.” Ekra assured her, though her gaze sharpened as she spoke. “But you’ve heard much about that already, I gather?”
Marcii nodded sombrely, having already put two and two together.
She thought back to the old man Midnight’s description of the storm he had experienced in the mountains. Shuddering, she thought too of Midnight’s younger brother, Alistair.
She didn’t know exactly how old either of them were and confusion marked her expression once more.
“And this happens every few hundred years?” She asked, wide eyed, sobering further and further to the unbelievable reality of what Ekra was saying.
She did recall though, the more she thought on it, that Alistair had mentioned something about his brother having lived three lifetimes.
All of a sudden things began to fall into place.
Ekra’s expression turned pensive as she continued to lead Marcii endlessly through the canyon, thinking deeply all the while.
They passed by yet another mysterious figure who did not speak. This time it was an elderly woman, though somehow Marcii could see she was younger than Ekra.
The two of them nodded briefly as Ekra and Marcii passed by.
This time however, Marcii didn’t smile quite so freely. She was filling with greater and greater dread by the minute, as Ekra unveiled endless knowledge that she could never even have imagined.
“As you well know, the most recent storm occurred in the mountains, far to the west.”
Marcii nodded, but did not speak, thinking only of Alistair.
“Before that, it was to the far south of here, a long way past the towns and cities that have been built on the plains. The coast is green and lush there; the storm cut straight through, stirring the waters into a frenzy.”
Ekra sighed and pain flashed in her eyes once again.
“And the one before that…” She breathed, continuing relentlessly.
Her eyes flitted and glanced around quickly, though also fondly, for some strange reason.