Into the Desert Wilds

by Jim Galford

  Phaesys relaxed into her grip and stroked at her fur, picking away the dried blood caking most of the back of her head. The act was soothing, even if the touch did sting on the cuts. The short claws he had grown out helped considerably in untangling the fur.

  “Anything you ask, Oria. Anything and always. Unless you kill me.”

  Oria pulled Phaesys’ head closer and buried her face against his shoulder, whispering, “I will not be your master, your mate, or your whore. I just need a friend right now. Please stay with me and don’t ask me to be anything else.”

  “Anything, Oria. Just tell me what you need and I will be that.”

  Clinging to Phaesys’ neck to make sure he did not slip away, Oria sobbed throughout the morning, wondering if the pain of loss and betrayal would ever pass and let her get on with her life. Hurt by his actions or not, Oria wanted Phaesys to stay. She still loved him and could not let him go so easily. Maybe that would change, but for the moment, she just wanted someone who understood.

  For now, this would have to do. After her parents found their way back—somehow—she would reevaluate, but for the moment, she was not going to let go of Phaesys.

  Epilogue

  The desert is my home, but not my homeland. It isn’t yours either, but you know where you came from, even if you have never seen it. Father and mother were always good about telling you stories about the mountains, though I think you only remember them from the writings they left behind. I’ve done what I can to pass them along myself. I guess that is why I have to write this last entry, as I’ve told you too many enticing stories.

  In this journal—our father’s originally—I’ve left you a few stories to tell your own children, in addition to what Estin left for all of us. The remaining pages are my copies of the maps that our father recovered for us. They will lead you back to Altis, but I can assure you, the road ahead is long. Estin once told me that he expected it would take a year to make the full journey, if all went well.

  I’ve spent these four years intending to leave on the very trip you now take. You’ve seen the supplies I had prepared from time to time and my study of the maps surge and wane. I really did intend to go, but I have a hard time leaving things behind that I have come to hold dear.

  I believe Phaesys would be willing to follow me to the ends of Eldvar, if I said we were leaving today. Still, this became my home and that of my own children…his children too, I suppose, but we can’t have a male’s ego get too inflated. Alyana, I believe you understand this best.

  I know I am not your mother, nor have I ever tried to replace her in your lives. What I am is what I’ve always been—a silly female who wanted the best for everyone, especially my kin. Now, the three of you want to find our parents’ ancestral home and I wish you well in this.

  I will do what I’ve done for the last few years. I’ll stay in the newly rebuilt Corraith and wait for the day Estin and Feanne find their way back. If they are alive, I know they will. I’ll keep loving your adopted father and your nieces and nephews, as I have always done…at least until mom and dad come home, at which time Phaesys will have to face the threat of punishment I’ve held over his head all these years. It will be difficult to give that up after this long.

  Nowhere along the way will I pretend that I don’t grieve at the idea that the last of my own family is moving on, but I understand it’s for the best. You need to find your own places in this world and I would never refuse you that.

  Despite my claims that all of you are still too young for a journey that long with no idea what the war brought to the lands in-between, the truth is that I knew it was coming and I praise your courage in starting what I could not. Travel with my blessings. I hope you find what you’re looking for. If you do, I beg that you let me know. If you do not, I am here, always waiting for your return with open arms.

  I’ll be curious which of you finds this journal first, as I think I hid it well among your things. I know all three of you thought I had no idea you even intended to begin this trek, but mother taught me to watch others far more carefully than I think you realized. I’ve known that you spent six months planning for this and I’ve written this entry even before the three of you had settled on a proper goodbye letter to your brother-in-law and I.

  If you do find our parents out there somewhere, tell them that I love and miss them. I’ll be here waiting if they wish to come back.

  Theldis, you didn’t cleverly steal Atall’s ring as you seem to believe. It was to be yours anyway. You cannot steal what already belongs to you. Clearly you misunderstood why I never “caught” you for taking it. Wear it proudly. Grandmother will whisper in your ear how to use it when you’re ready. If you took it for Rinam, shame on you for not keeping it for yourself.

  Rinam, that female you keep sneaking off with is a wild little monster and a bit of a tramp. I approve completely. I wish many mischievous children on you both. When your fur turns grey with worry over them, you will understand why I was always ready to strangle you.

  Alyana, you have always made me proud. Continue to keep the males in line. It’s good practice for when you find a male you want to keep around for yourself. I hope he fulfills your life as my own has. In the meantime, enjoy your freedom, but stay safe and stay alive. This world is not a good place for females of our temperament. Blame mother for that.

  I love all of you, as did our parents. Remember that always.

  Travel safely,

  -- Lady Oria Herrouln, master of the Corraithian Council

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Out of Place”

  Estin woke in the darkness, unsure if he were blind or if all of the lights had gone. Groaning as he sat up, he strained his eyes to make out anything, but the dark was far deeper than most places he had ever been. His eyes could usually pick out at least shapes, but here he could see nothing at all.

  Raising one hand, Estin called to the spirits to create a small light. Not only did the spell fail, but his mind remained deathly silent. Nothing came at his call. Not a whisper, not a tingle of magic.

  Trying not to let his fears of what could have happened to the others consume him, Estin sniffed, trying to locate Oria and Feanne. He could smell Feanne, but there was no trace of Oria. There were the scents of others, but all were mingled with death.

  Estin hoped that Oria and the others had fled, leaving them in the chamber alone. His memory of what exactly had happened was fuzzy, filled with the blinding rage of the transformation he had gone through. He remembered mists and Arturis, but little else. The last clear thought he could make out was fighting to keep a group of skeletons from killing the few soldiers he had with him.

  Feeling around, Estin found that while most of his belt pouches were torn or missing, one was still intact. Thankfully, that was the one where he kept a few essentials, including flint and steel. He had no wood, but even a glimpse of his surroundings would help figure out whether he should panic just yet.

  Clicking the steel and flint together, Estin looked around with each brief flicker of light. The first two flickers showed him bodies all around him. On the third try, he managed to spot a wall sconce nearby, its torch present but extinguished.

  Slowly, Estin made his way to the wall in the dark, trying to keep from tripping as he went. Once he found the wall, he felt around until his hands located the torch. The top of it was still warm and oily, as though a wind had just blown it out.

  Estin used the flint and steel again repeatedly, trying to get the torch to relight. The first few times, it sparked and began to glow and then went out. Finally, he managed to get it to hold and the room lit up as the torch flared brightly.

  The direction Estin was facing as the torch lit up made him think that the others had fled. The room was intact, complete with the tunnel to the north. Scattered around the floor were a half dozen men, most of whom were mangled badly. Lying among them was Feanne in a pool of her own blood.

  Through his hazy memories, Estin remembered Feanne being hurt,
but he thought she had been in her transformed state. If she had been, for some reason she had shifted back before fully healing.

  Estin raced to Feanne, finding that she was still breathing shallowly. Her side was torn and she clutched at the spot to slow the blood-loss, but the wound looked severe. At his touch, Feanne’s eyes fluttered open and she clasped his hand with her free one.

  “Did we win?” she asked, though her voice was very weak and she did not lift her head from the floor.

  Estin looked around, trying to find an answer to that question. He remembered fighting, and the mists, and…

  Lying on the floor several feet away was Arturis, among several battered elven corpses. His robes were torn to shreds, but his body was intact. As Estin watched, he began to stir, pulling himself slowly off the floor.

  Beyond the Turessian, the room simply ended. Where there should have been another half of the room, as well as the tunnel they had used to arrive in the chamber, there was a solid sheet of stone. It was not even the same type of stone as the rest of the room and water trickled down the surface.

  At that moment, Arturis seemed to become aware that he was not alone. The man stumbled to his feet, raising his hand as he mumbled words of magic.

  Estin had no time to think, whispering his own call to the spirits, hoping he could draw his magic together faster than Arturis. As before, nothing happened and Estin waited for his foe’s spell to strike him down. When there was no pain, Estin opened his eyes slowly, finding Arturis staring at his own hand in shock.

  “My magic,” the man said, mystified. “There is no magic here.”

  Estin tried again to call to the spirits in his mind, but the silence remained. Nothing came, as though he had somehow been cut off from all that he had learned in the last few years.

  That was why Feanne had changed back without finishing her healing, he realized. Whatever was suppressing his magic here also kept her from using hers…and meant that Estin could do little to help her.

  “Where are we?” asked Estin cautiously, shifting the torch to his left hand. With his right, he picked up a sword from one of the fallen soldiers.

  “I have no idea,” admitted Arturis, looking around in the torchlight. “We could be anywhere. You should not concern yourself, though. Once you’re dead, I am sure I can find my way back to civilization.”

  Arturis charged at Estin, forcing Estin to quickly react with the sword to defend himself. The weapon glanced along Arturis’ lower arm and the man stopped, then stumbled backward, clutching at a long gash in his skin.

  “That actually…” he started to say, as he held up his arm and stared at the wound. It was not bleeding, but it was also not closing. In the area immediately around the gash, the skin began to dry and wither.

  “You’re mortal, just like the rest of us,” Estin said happily, taking a step toward Arturis. “No magic, remember?”

  Backing quickly away from Estin, Arturis held up a hand defensively.

  “You will not get out of here without my knowledge, sla…Estin. You will both die here of starvation or suffocation if you don’t find a way out in a hurry. I can help you with that, then we can finish what we started. There is no sense in all of us dying at once. We are all adults and can work this out for now.”

  Estin finally inched away from Arturis, setting the torch down on the floor so that he could keep holding the sword as he checked on Feanne. Her breathing was getting weaker and the blood still leaked between her fingers.

  “Do I take him up on it?” he asked her. “I can’t help you down here.”

  Smiling weakly, Feanne answered, “Would you die for your son? Whether it was then or now, that is what you have to decide. I know I would. Do not let me be the reason for your decision. Right now, you are the leader in this family, not me.”

  Bending over to nuzzle her cheek, Estin got back up slowly, raising the sword as he approached Arturis.

  “This is insane,” said Arturis frantically, holding up both hands in surrender. “I can tell you how to walk the mists. I can show you how to get back to Altis with or without them. We just need to get away from this place so that I can have my magic back. Anywhere would work.”

  Estin slashed with the sword, taking all of Arturis’ fingers off of his right hand. The moment the severed fingers hit the floor, they began to decay.

  Wincing, Arturis stared at his hand in dismay.

  “I know where your kind are from,” he tried, pointing emphatically at Estin with his other hand. “Your people. I was not lying to that other…what was her name…Lorne. I can show you how to go to them. Again, we just need to not be in this place.”

  “Can you give me back my son as anything more than a twisted monster?”

  Lips trembling in a half-hearted smile, Arturis shook his head.

  Feeling nothing, Estin stepped in quickly, driving the sword deep into Arturis’ chest.

  With little more than a wheeze, Arturis dropped to his knees and collapsed as Estin pulled the weapon free. It took only seconds before the man began to smell like week-old meat. Every inch of exposed skin blackened and started to sag, as though to fall apart completely.

  Turning away, Estin went back to Feanne, throwing the sword into the corner of the room. He sat down by her head, pulling her onto his lap.

  Estin wanted to examine the wound, to look for something he could do to save her, but he knew that with that much blood lost already, he could not do much without magic. Instead, he cradled her head and waited, wanting to be with her no matter what might be coming.

  “You need to stop looking like that,” whispered Feanne, her half-open eyes on his face.

  Choking on tears as he tried to laugh, Estin answered, “I was born looking like this.”

  Feanne smiled, then reached up and wiped a tear from the edge of his eye. “I always told you I had no regrets, Estin. If you do not find a way out of here soon, you will suffocate. Does that make you regret killing him?”

  “Not for a moment,” he answered honestly. The tears would no longer stop. “The only thing I regret is that I couldn’t find a way to save you.”

  “Oh, you will,” Feanne replied, closing her eyes as she grinned. “Either I will wake to find that you came up with some stupid plan that saved us both, or we will wake up together somewhere far better.”

  “It was good while it lasted, Feanne.”

  Estin brushed at the fur along the sides of her face, his mind racing in search of anything he could do. Every thought came back to Feanne, giving him nothing that might save them.

  “I love you, Feanne.”

  She did not respond, her eyes still closed and mouth slightly ajar.

  “Feanne?”

  Touching her neck, Estin felt no pulse. From what he could tell, her breathing had stopped as well. Even the slow trickle of blood from her side had finally eased.

  Estin let out a cry of agony as he wept. Deep down, he still wanted to call on his magic, to bring her back. Had he been able to hear the spirits, he would have been able to save her at least for a few more minutes, but each second that passed made it more likely that she was gone forever. Even the circle back in Corraith would have only helped him for another few minutes beyond that, giving him little time to act.

  Sliding out from under Feanne, Estin stumbled around the room, barely coherent as he looked over the walls for anything he had missed. He saw nothing as he went, but wondered briefly at the smell of water close at hand. It took almost a minute of wandering before it sunk in just how close it was.

  “Why wouldn’t there be water?” he mumbled to himself, looking at the damp southern wall. “The mists moved us, so they probably moved the whole damned room somewhere else on Eldvar.”

  Estin took a few steps toward the south end of the room—stepping onto Arturis’ remains as he went—then stopped as he realized that the room was slowly flooding at that end. Water ran down the wall and pooled on the stone floor. It was already more than three inches deep.


  Touching his hand to the water and then to his tongue, Estin realized that the water was fresh. That meant they were beneath a lake or pond. Far better that than an ocean. It might even be shallow enough to swim out of, if he was very lucky. If he got far enough from this particular place, he might be able to use his magic, or find something or someone else who could help.

  Estin began to frantically search the bodies of the soldiers, until he found a sturdy mace on one of them. Hoisting the weapon, he grabbed Feanne and put her over his other shoulder.

  What he was thinking certainly qualified as a stupid idea, which gave him a tiny shred of hope.

  “I can hold my breath about three minutes,” he said to Feanne’s body, as he walked to the corner of the room. He set her down where the slope of the south wall allowed him an easy angle to reach the ceiling, but also put him directly under one of the beams that supported the roof. “I’ll see you in about that long, one way or another.”

  Swinging as hard as he could, Estin drove the ball of the weapon into the loose stone ceiling. Bits of stone broke free and water began to pour from the opening.

  Again, Estin hit the splintered stones with the mace. This time, with a crack and a rush, the entire ceiling collapsed toward the center of the room in a torrent of water, leaving Estin’s corner as the only spot not directly under the cascade. Still, within seconds, the water had risen to his knees and climbed quickly.

  “Three minutes…” Estin repeated as water beat down around him.

  Estin waited, taking slow breaths to ready himself as the water rapidly rose past his waist, then chest. Finally, he lifted Feanne in his arms again and waited nervously. When the water had reached his neck, Estin took a last deep breath and dove into the water, swimming upward.

  As he kicked and flailed his tail, pulling Feanne along toward what he hoped was the surface, Estin remembered why he always had hated to gamble.