by Matthew Wolf
Karil knew what he implied, for Maris, the Ronin, kept watch as well.
“There is nothing wrong with another set of eyes. We still do not know if the Ronin’s deception worked,” she said. However she knew Rydel inferred much more. Even now Karil could see keener than the others humans around her, and Rydel, even sharper still. Likely in the pitch of black the elf could resolve the tree line two hundred paces from where they slept, though she knew that was not what her companion meant.
Rydel bent to stoke the fire that had grown cold in the night. “He does not need eyes to see… It is the flow. He senses me long before I arrive, and always knows what we’ve been doing.” The man paused, looking out as a slight breeze rustled a nearby tree’s leaves. It reminded her of the boy’s powers. She narrowed her eyes. Gray’s still form lay twenty paces away, sleeping between his two friends. Light and flesh what she wouldn’t give to know exactly what that boy is destined for…
“What was the nightmare?” Rydel asked abruptly.
“The same as the rest,” she answered hollowly. “Eldas burning and my father’s death replayed a hundred times. The worst is the visions of Dryan on his rise to power.” Her hands clenched the blankets, remembering. “The tyrant’s crusade spreads like a disease, infecting the woods and beyond. I watch each time as elves are slaughtered for rejecting Dryan’s cause. Thousands upon thousands,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Simply nightmares,” said Rydel in reassurance, but even he held a note of uncertainty.
“Our world is dying,” she retorted sharply, staring into the shadows and looking north. “Dream or not, I can deny it no longer. We must cross the gates and soon, or all will be lost. I must get home,” she whispered fiercely.
“And what then?”
At last Karil smiled, “Then, I have a plan. Then, my dear friend, we wage a war.”
Rydel’s thin lips curved. It looked sinister in the shadows.
She knew the odds of what they would have to fight as well as him, but she had planned it out, and most importantly, it had to work. She prayed to the spirit of the forest, let the pieces fall together as I see them, and I will ask of you nothing else, she vowed.
“But for now, we aid the boy as the prophecy demands,” she continued, with a silent prayer to her mother, and Rydel nodded, listening. “Above all, we must not let the sword fall to their cruel grasp, for it is a part of my plan as well,” she said. Karil saw far beyond the still shadows that surrounded her, beyond the outlines of buildings and even beyond the Gates too far to see.
“Then we will not let it fall,” said Rydel, “and we will see the boy protected, no matter the costs.”
“Soon, we will see our people, and justice will be served.”
Sacrifice
VERA TRULY HATED THIS TYPE OF work. When she killed, it was quick and often painless. The need for precision always made her seem cruel, and she did not think herself so. Of course she was not foolish or misguided enough to think she was benevolent. Long ago she had left behind foolish notions of kindness and weakness.
Vera’s mind focused back to her work at hand.
The white-haired woman screamed a bloody cry as Vera shoved the dagger deeper into her gut. The woman gasped sharply, trying to catch her breath. Vera paused patiently as the woman sobbed. She watched the light in her eyes, careful not to kill the woman before the ritual was complete before continuing. It was tedious work, but without careful attention it would all go to waste.
Slowly, methodically, Vera twisted her ruby-throated dagger. She cut left and then up, severing the small tendons from one another and scarlet blood, dark as Sevian wine poured forth.
Lifeblood, she thought, licking her lips in triumph.
Vera retracted her dark blade. She loathed the next part, but it was necessary. She plunged her fingers into the soft intestines and the woman gasped, body convulsing against invisible tethers. Vera ignored it. Her powers kept the woman in place. Shaping her hand like a goblet, she scooped up the dark blood, raised it to her lips, and she drank deeply. She gasped as sights filled her mind, memories as if her own.
Standing aside, Silvia watched as the ragged men and women graciously accepted blankets, skeins of water, and whatever food she and her followers could spare. Again, she wished she could give them horses, but all the livestock were slaughtered or eaten by the creatures in the siege. She watched as they piled the supplies on their horses and on their backs. A flicker of something beat inside her—a shred of envy at the veil of hope they still carried.
Soon enough, the lot was packed and ready. They bade her thanks, and began their long trek east. Why anyone would travel to those cold mountains was still beyond Silvia. Then again, there really was no safety or sanity left in the world. One place was just as good as another.
Silvia looked. She took in the young man before her. He was an attractive youth with tan skin, a sharp nose and a fierce intelligence burning in his green eyes. He looked nearly the Age of Passage. Were he a Milian, she imagined he’d be courting the girl of his choice and nervously preparing the Speech of Acceptance to her father.
“Again, thank you,” he said sincerely.
“No need,” Silvia replied softly, cupping his cheek. She thought he looked like her son, if taller and broader of shoulder.
“Are you sure you will have enough food and water to make it through the winter?” the girl to his left asked, compassion in her eyes. She was tall and pretty and Silvia thought the two were a match, but the charming, if mischievous-looking one at their side made her wonder.
“There is no answer for the future anymore, but we will make do. I wish you all the best of luck,” she said.
The young man extended his hand. It was ice cold. Such cold hands for such warm eyes. The pretty girl was speaking again, but Silvia was barely listening. Her mind drifted to thoughts of her Barner once again, and she swallowed back the tears, busying herself by smoothing her tattered, blue dress.
Most of all however, she avoided the scrutiny of the young man’s other companion. He was tall and forbidding, with hard features. He wore strange clothes, even for Lakewood folk. Silvia always tried to be as calm and flowing as her namesake, the river, but this man truly scared her. She averted her gaze and looked back to the young man who resembled her son and saw a strange black mark on his wrist. He saw her look and tugged at his sleeve to hide it. At the same time a shred of gauze from the clothe bundle on his back fell and she glimpsed the sheen of silver.
The sword.
The word rung through Vera’s mind, echoing from far away and she grasped at it. Vera gasped, returning to her body and her surroundings. Bodies littered the ground and hung from the low wooden wall, its splintered poles like jagged teeth. Drefah at her side, watching guardedly, making sure none of the other beasts approached.
“What did you see?” he questioned.
“The woman aided Kirin and the others.”
The wolf’s ears flattened against his head. “The boy was here?”
Behind, her army stood, watching from a distance—like curious children she thought. In her meditative state she was weakened and though they feared her, she did not trust the beasts. Thus she made sure that Drefah stayed at her side, ensuring no other beasts neared. She could never turn her back on them.
Their numbers had grown since their departure from the Kage. Her once small group was now tripled in size, she thought with delight. And still growing… More saeroks and vergs joined their ranks daily as they marched towards the promise of death and destruction.
“How do you know the boy was here?” Drefah asked, pressing his curiousty.
Vera turned her attention back. She knelt and wiped her bloody hands on the woman’s rumpled dress. “Lifeblood is a powerful force. In the right hands it can divine certain answers,” she said simply, though it was far more complicated than that.
“Then where are they now?” Drefah asked. His lips curled back revealing teeth the length of small daggers. A gruesome gri
n. “What does the woman’s blood tell you?”
Vera picked up her now bloody jeweled dagger, hating its gaudiness and answered, “I do not need her blood to know where they are headed.”
“What do you mean?” Drefah asked.
“I already knew that the boy and the villagers were headed to the Shining City.”
Drefah shook his massive head, “Then why did we travel to this stinking town?”
Vera’s eyes narrowed, “You doubt my methods, my pet?”
“No mistress,” Drefah’s ears wilted, looking away. “I was only curious.”
Vera smiled, a twinge to her perfect lips, and answered, “I needed to know that the sword was with them. Kirin must die, but if the blade is not with them, then all of it will be pointless. And secondly, the road to The Shining City is barren and icy. There will be no forest beasts to feed on.” Vera paused for emphasis. “Our army will be hungry.”
She looked to her army, and knew the beasts’ sharp ears had heard. This time, the creatures responded without fear. They rose on their haunches, tall and imposing, showing fearsome rows of teeth. Vera waved offhandedly towards the dead carcass. She moved away and the beasts roared in reply, attacking and fighting for the warm flesh.
Drefah followed at her side, “Forgive, Mistress. I will not doubt your wisdom again.”
“Curiosity was the death of me, my pet. I would be careful,” Vera looked away, ignoring the slop and grind of flesh and bone, gazing towards the frozen blue peaks. The Shining Mountains. “I will see you soon, old friend.”
The Lost Road
GRAY SLOWED TO A HALT. AHEAD the road spiraled up into the bowels of the Shining Mountains.
Ayva and Darius stopped at his side. Karil and Rydel were on his other side. Their pointed ears and slender eyes barely visible from inside their deep hoods. Behind them, the villagers fanned out.
Up close, the Shining Mountains scraped the heavens, white and blue frost clung to their craggy spires. It seemed an endless mountain range. Seeing them in the distance, the mountains reminded him of a blue spine, rising from the land of Daerval—but now that image fell short.
“I never thought they’d be so big,” Ayva whispered. “They’re beautiful.” Her light blue cloak framed her soft face as she sat on her white mare. Part of Gray thought she looked too fragile for all the harshness that surrounded them, but he reminded himself that she was tougher than most. Looks can be deceiving.
“It’s just ice and rocks,” Darius mumbled, shifting in his ragged black clothes.
Mura clasped his shoulder. “You did it. The Lost Road, the path to the forgotten kingdom, The Shining City. A sight I never thought I’d see.”
“We did it,” he replied and with others close behind, he led the procession to a patch of grassy ground at the foot of the mountains. Maris rode up from the back trail. Again, somehow Gray sensed the man’s arrival before he even appeared. Gray glanced to the trail from where they had come and saw no evidence of footprints. It was a clean swath of dirt as if no one had ever ridden there. It still amazed him.
“This will do,” Maris announced, eyeing the surroundings approvingly—a tall stone sat in the middle of the withered grass. Gray assumed it was a relic from the Lieon. The Ronin pointed to the foot of the mountains where a stone hollow was carved out of the mountain as if dug by a giant’s hand.
“Give the word. Feel free to inspire hope, but do not fool them. We cannot stay here long. We depart at dawn.”
“They are cold,” he said. “Many of them will want to make a fire, can I at least give them a chance for some warmth?”
“Just for tonight,” he said at last. “Let them know that upon the mountain it will be all too noticeable.”
Gray turned to the villagers. They looked like apparitions filling their tattered clothes, but saw a flicker of hope in their eyes, and he wouldn’t take that away. “We will camp here for the night,” he announced. “Rest well, but be ready to move at first light.”
Most looked reluctant, but dutiful before turning to set up camp.
“They really listen to you,” said Darius.
“Aye,” Mura agreed with a note of pride.
Turning to Maris, he knew the man’s eyes were fixed on Death’s Gate in the distance. The Ronin’s thoughts were clearly for his brethren, and Gray wondered how the other Ronin fared as well.
Maris looked to Karil who was as exotically breathtaking as ever upon her white mare. “Set them in that hollow over there. It will provide sufficient shelter for tonight.”
Rydel looked taken aback by the order. Karil put a hand to his muscled forearm. “Relax, dear friend. We all have our part to play if we intend to survive.”
“You two can help her,” Maris added, eyeing Ayva and Darius.
“Gladly,” Ayva said and Darius grumbled with a nod.
Maris turned to Mura.
“And for me?” the hermit asked.
“You, old man, set up watch with the elf. Keep an eye to the outskirts of our little camp. Alert me if you see anything,” he ordered. Mura’s brows furrowed obviously detesting the title old man. Gray couldn’t disagree. Mura’s age, while a mystery, could not vie with the Ronin. A Ronin was immortal, or so the stories said.
Maris turned to Gray as the others began to set up camp. “Come,” he bid, heading towards a small thicket.
“Where are we going?”
The Ronin didn’t answer as he rode silently away and spurred Fael’wyn.
Gray was all too aware of whom he followed, a Ronin. He shivered and looked over his shoulder to see Ayva watching him from afar. He held her gaze, until he slipped into the thicket of bamboo and beyond.
* * *
Ayva watched the two enter beneath the strange forest of tall green poles. What in the seven hells is he doing now? She thought. Why does he trust him like that? She shivered, thinking of the Ronin with his white flame of hair, ice-blue eyes and sly gate, the man, if he was a man, reminded her of a wolf. What could Maris want with Gray?
“Thank you,” a voice said before her. Ayva looked back.
An elderly woman with curly gray hair took the blanket that she extended.
“You’re welcome.”
The woman set up her bedroll beside a man and a little girl. She watched as the man helped the little girl into the bedroll, tucking her in and planting a kiss on her forehead. For a moment, she remembered her father tucking her into a warm bed with crisp clean sheets. He would hum her favorite lullaby as she drifted off to sleep with the scent of sweet spices and the tang of hops from the kitchen.
Ayva shook her head, pushing the memory aside as she wiped her eyes. She looked again to the forest. Nearby, Mura cursed, stinging his hand upon the fire.
“Mura…”
“Yes?” he asked, looking up, burnt fingers in his mouth.
She realized she actually couldn’t tell how old he was. Lines marked his face, alongside his fall of gray and black peppered hair. However, his eyes were a mystery that spoke of years of wisdom, but full of youthfulness.
“You’ve known Gray for sometime… Why?”
“You mean why is Gray, Gray?”
“Exactly.”
The man laughed. “I’m afraid that’s a difficult question to answer. In truth, the boy has always been a mystery. Even when I first met him. Even more so back then, really.”
Ayva bit her lip again as she knelt by the man’s side. In the corner of her vision she saw Darius working with two young boys, helping them set up their bedrolls. The small boys seemed eager to please.
“Where did he come from?” she asked.
“Farhaven,” Mura answered, and as he spoke, he waved a hand over the piled sticks. A fire sparked, lighting the twigs.
She gasped. “You can wield it too?”
Mura gave a self-satisfied nod. “Yes, I have the spark, but only slightly. All those from Farhaven have a touch of the spark, though not many but the elves, Reavers, or Dryads can wield it. And to answer the qu
estion, whatever Gray can do, and wield is far different.”
The spark, elves, dryads, Reavers… Ayva’s mind spun with the words, and images flashed in her mind. She was filled with questions and wasn’t sure which to ask first. “Then you’re from Farhaven too, just like Gray.”
“From the land of the elves.”
“Eldas?”
Mura nodded with approval in his eyes. “Indeed,” he said excitedly, “Very impressive, not many in Daerval know such things.”
Ayva warmed under the praise. “Yes, well, I spent my life in Daerval, but my father always said that my mind was elsewhere.” Again, the thought and memory of her father caught her off guard, and her voice failed her. Mura seemed to notice. When her throat lessened its constriction, she spoke, “My mind lived in Farhaven.” It was her father’s words.
“A fine place for a mind to live,” Mura said. His hand touched her shoulder, and she looked into his warm eyes. She could easily see how Gray loved this man. He appeared gruff on the outside, but kindness radiated from him.
She cleared her throat, “But you’re not an elf.”
Mura chuckled. “No, I am not, but one does not need to be an elf to live within Eldas.”
“I heard differently,” she said. “I thought it was elvin law that humans are forbidden to pass the borders of the Relnas Forest and enter into the Kingdom of Eldas.” Again, she read surprise in his eyes and delighted in it.
“How do you know all this?” he leaned forward, the fire dancing in his features. Nearby, Ayva overheard an old woman telling a story, ushering the children to sleep.
“Gray’s not the only one with a mysterious side,” she said.
“Indeed. Well then, you’re right again. However, consider the phrasing of your own words. Humans are forbidden to pass the borders of the Relnas, but one could be born inside without passing through, correct?”
“You were born inside Eldas?”
“I was,” he said. “I am an exception to the case, for that and other reasons.”