by M. S. Verish
*
It took the hawk a moment to circle and finally glide down to light on the tracker’s gloved hand. “It is me,” Hawkwing assured her. “And I am sorry to disorient you like this. We have been through many adventures, but this time, I promise, will be our final dangerous gamble.” He stroked the back of her neck, taking note of the varying hues of brown that now patterned her plumage.
“Once we leave here, I need you to be vigilant. Follow, but do not come close unless I need you.” He gave a slight smile when she rubbed her bill against his hand. They watched the sun descend, a red and swollen eye ready to shut.
Her feathers raised, but Hawkwing did not turn until Othenis spoke.
“I do not envy your role in this at all. You have a daunting task ahead of you.”
Hawkwing said nothing, studying the man for a moment before returning his attention to the sunset.
“You…you are somewhat of a legend, and I admit I was excited when Bill said you would be involved. He trusts you like no other, as did the Three. I’m sure you have given some thought about what you will do now—now that the Watchers are no more.”
“I have,” Hawkwing said quietly.
“Your race,” Othenis started, then changed his approach. “I know time is important to you, given your circumstances. I thought I’d have little to lose by asking… I hope to gather a group—a force, rather… There are former Watchers who do not believe we should turn our backs on our cause. They are ready to continue—to do more to oppose the Seroko. Someone has to oppose them, or they will ruin all the Watchers have created.” He took a step closer to the tracker. “It would be inspiring to have you with us.”
Hawkwing maintained his silence, and his gaze fell to his hands. “I respect your offer, and I respect your ambitions, but I must decline.” He raised his hand, and Snowfire took off, soaring to one of the scraggly trees dotting the landscape.
“Might you yet consider it? You need not give an answer now. I know you already have too much on your mind, and so much depends on this mission. You may find this would be a welcome involvement, a sort of new family that will look after you as much as you will guide them.”
The tracker met his gaze. “I’m done after this. I’m sorry. I wish you success where the Watchers have failed; I know you will keep their ideals true.” He gave a slight bow and left Othenis to the first hues of twilight.
18
The Arrival
“Brother, your request has been seen to, and the preparations have been made.” The broad-shouldered man known as Nesif approached the Priagent with concern. “Are you certain you are well enough to attempt this? We can wait—”
“No. There will not be another time.” Priagent Rashir Diemh rose from his chair and set down his book. “And we cannot always call to question my health. I will do what must be done.”
“Very well, though do not forbid me from my concern. As your brother, it is my right to express this sentiment.”
The Priagent smiled. “I will not begrudge you, Nesif. Take me to the creature.”
The two of them left the manor and walked through an overgrown garden. The clouds were heavy with pending rain, and the air was stagnant with mud-thick humidity.
“Will you use the stone to claim the Demon?” Nesif asked, dabbing at his neck.
“Without knowing what manner of creature it is, I dare not take such a risk. It will be mine to control, and that should suffice.” The Priagent stopped to pluck a flower. “I admit that I am eager to explore its abilities. I am curious as to the strength of its magic.” He lifted his head. “I did not know we were to expect rain.”
“There were no clouds to be seen an hour ago,” Nesif said. “We can wait,” he offered again.
The Priagent shook his head and flung the flower away.
“The others are waiting within the woods,” Nesif continued. “Asmat has taken great pleasure in weakening the creature’s mind. You should be able to assert your control without much resistance.”
“Amongst the lot of us, he has the hardest heart,” the Priagent said. “It is why I chose him to mind the Demon. We must take care, however, that he does not permanently harm the creature and negate its purpose.”
“You have not seen it since you have returned,” Nesif said. “I confess it is not what I expected.”
“How so?”
“It is…smaller than I envisioned.”
The Priagent gave his brother a curious look. “Yes, but you are a mountain. Look at me, Nesif. Do I seem at all imposing?”
“I know you well enough to say yes.”
“But others do not, and they make the mistake of misjudgment. We will not err in such a way.” They continued a fair distance beyond the garden and into the heart of a grove of trees. The shrouded creature was chained to one of them, held fast against the trunk with its head bowed. The Priagent’s six followers stood in a circle around it, Asmat the closest. When they saw their leader, they all bowed reverently.
The Priagent slowly approached the creature. “Ah, the notorious White Demon,” he mused. “Its untold power bound by alethrium shackles.” He knelt down and lifted the Demon’s head to see the cuts and bruises.“I see you have been overly enthusiastic, Asmat.”
“I know you need a weakened mind, brother, and despite the creature’s size, it was more than a little spirited.”
Rashir looked up at his follower in disappointment. “And you sought to break that spirit.”
“With your best interests in mind, of course.”
“My best interests are to keep the creature in a state that will be useful to me. What is the matter with it?” The Demon’s eyes were tightly shut, its face drawn. The rest of its body was as rigid as the tree to which it was affixed.
Asmat shook his head, and the pause in conversation was broken by a rumble of thunder.
“Clearly it is afflicted,” the Priagent said, more to himself. “Has it spoken?”
“I do not believe it can speak,” Asmat said, “or else it would have done so with its master.”
“Perhaps it has nothing to say.” He released the creature and placed a hand on its damp forehead. “Regardless, what I need to know is beyond words.” He closed his eyes. “Even now I can feel it. I can feel the energy building; it surrounds the creature without touching it.” His hand moved from the Demon’s forehead to where its heart pounded against its shallow chest. “And here. A similar force—concentrated—waiting to explode. It is most curious.”
“Brother, are you sure you must make use of this creature?” Nesif asked. “It is not like the others you have controlled. It may be too much.”
The Priagent opened his eyes. “It pains me that you lack such faith in me.”
Nesif straightened. “It is not a lack of faith in you. It is distrust in a demon. We have a sound force within our party. Do we not present a formidable entourage? Why take this risk?”
“It is part of the vision,” the Priagent said, his voice wavering like a blade of grass in the growing wind. The trees above creaked and groaned, their leaves hissing in warning. Seemingly unmindful of the pending storm, he drew a knife and made a light, quick slice across the Demon’s cheek. Luminous violet flames darted from behind the creature’s foxlike eyes as they snapped open to glare at the offender. A line of deep red blood welled and ran from the cut.
“It bleeds,” the Priagent said to his brothers. “You see that it bleeds, and its blood is like ours. This is no spirit, no tangible demi-god. It is a creature of flesh—fallible, mortal. You should know, for you captured it. In spite of this frailty, there is potential here—a power our force does not have. This is my sword—a weapon, and nothing more. I will carry it, wield it, and use it at my discretion. Why should I fear what my own hand will control?” He gave them a nod. “You will see.”
The Priagent of Lornabaez vanished, reverting to his truest self—the Jornoan whose name was Odemir-Shiradoh. It was a name that had stained the tongues of his people, a name that c
arried a grudging, fearful respect. It was this name that cast him from their society, for Shiradoh, the spirit within, had granted him one unique and terrible ability. To usurp, to steal, to seize control and crush his victims’ free will so they were prisoners in their own bodies. They became his, first in body and later in spirit, when all hope of liberation had been extinguished. He was Odemir-Shiradoh—The Devourer.
The Demon’s eyes grew wide as the Devourer seized control. Like a serpent exploring every niche and corner, the trespasser went where he pleased, saw and felt the boundaries of its innate gifts and power. But it was now trapped with the amassing energy—the welling that would destroy them both if not unleashed.
“Remove the shackles!” the Priagent cried, his features strained as though they would break. His followers rushed to open the glove-like manacles and slip the spikes from the Demon’s hands. At once, there was destruction.
The clouds unleashed a mighty deluge that broke branches and forged small craters in the earth. Lightning sprang from the sky like clawed fingers, grasping at the Demon, enveloping it in jagged ribbons of white-hot illumination. The wind uprooted the nearest of small trees and sent the Priagent’s followers sprawling across the ravaged landscape. Thunder bellowed like a god, and the ground shook with trepidation.
Chaos reigned for an indeterminable fraction of time, and when the storm finally abated, the witnesses were slow to recover. Nesif was the first to the Priagent’s side. The ruler had been thrown from the eye of the storm and lay upon his back, drenched and muddy from the rain. He opened his eyes at Nesif’s voice.
“Incredible,” the Priagent whispered, weakened from the experience. “Next time, I will know. We learn from our mistakes.”
Nesif shook his head, staring in awe at the aftermath of the tempest.
“The others,” the Priagent said.
“They seem to be all right, brother.”
“What of the Demon?”
The creature was slumped over, still held fast to the remains of the tree, which had been shattered and blackened by lightning. “I do not know.”
“Leave me,” the Priagent said. “Make certain the creature is alive.”
Reluctantly Nesif did as asked. He lifted the Demon’s head, only to have it drop back again when he removed his hand. Blood had run in rivers from its nose, and its eyes were shut. Its heart, however, still shook its chest, and the ribs still rose and fell with each labored breath.
He reported back to the Priagent, and his brother smiled weakly. “Good. See to it that the creature is cared for. We will take this time to recover, and then we will celebrate our success with a fine feast.”
“Success, brother?” Nesif questioned, doubt heavy in his tone.
“You do not see it yet, but it is there.” The Priagent gripped Nesif’s massive arm as he helped him sit. “This is a great asset. Rest easy, Nesif. Our day is nigh.”
*
This can’t be right. Kariayla tried to brush the remaining dirt from her attire, but Ruby had affixed herself to her arm. The imp gripped tighter at every sound, and Kariayla winced. “It’s all right,” she said, trying to sound calm when her own senses were racing. “This is Veloria—the Great Forest. Bill said this is a safe place.”
Except that it did not feel safe. And it was hardly the golden-boughed forest of glowing immortals that the wizard had said it would be. His exact words were, “Look for the big, bright tree, and someone should come to greet you.” There was no big, bright tree, and there was no one in sight.
Instead, Kariayla was surrounded by dark, towering trees, and shadows that shifted within shadows. The sunlight barely broke the canopy, and when it did, it was in scattered flecks upon the black earth—flecks that disappeared with passing clouds. Leaves rustled and stirred, and branches snapped without any breeze, though what had moved them remained unseen. The air here was cool and old. She was not sure how to describe it, for it was not the same kind of old that she had experienced in Belorn’s dusty library. It was as though she was breathing air that had been trapped within the trees since Secramore’s dawn, and it made her dizzy.
What was more, this forest did not have the scent of decay that was so familiar in other woodlands. The seasoned leaves upon the ground were absent, as were the crumbling logs dotted with fungi and blanketed by moss. Nothing here showed any sign of weathering, but all that she saw was big and very much alive. The air nearly vibrated around her, and was it too much to say that her skin tingled? She half-expected to place her hands upon the earth and feel a heartbeat.
The sheer enormity of the trees made her feel tiny—like some sort of insect pest invading a sacred territory. She did not belong here, and that feeling twisted and festered inside of her, making her nauseated with fear. This isn’t right, she thought again. Bill, we’re lost.
“Let’s think logically,” she said aloud. “We want to be found, but no one knows we’re here. Do we sit and wait, or do we try to find someone…” Kariayla stood and slowly turned. Of course there were no paths to follow, no trace of civilization at all. What would Hawkwing do?
She found she could not even think of a suitable answer. She drew a breath. “All right, Ruby. We are going to walk until we find someone.” Without any sense of direction, she chose randomly. “That way.” She started to walk, but the imp dragged her feet and would not let go of Kariayla’s hand.
“I can’t carry you like Jinx did. You either have to let go, or stop dragging your feet.”
Ruby stuck out her bottom lip but did not release her hand.
“Let’s go.” Their feet barely made a sound on the soft earth, but their breathing seemed overly loud by comparison. They paused often to listen to what seemed like whispers all around them, but the sounds were fleeting and indeterminate. If they were insects, then someone or something was studying them beneath an invisible jar. The shadows changed, and the hues of the forest deepened. Kariayla knew time was passing, but she did not feel weary. Perhaps it was because her senses remained on edge, and her heart started at every glimpse, sound, or motion.
“Maybe we have no reason to fear,” she said to Ruby, who was an attentive audience. “If the Ilangiel are benevolent spirits, then we should be at ease.” She held her head higher and straightened her back. She ignored the instincts that warned her to the contrary. She even began to sing.
“In the breeze I hear them calling,
The voices of my home.
Mountains, trees, sun rise and falling,
How long have I to roam?”
Ruby picked up her pace, heartened by the tune. She even gave Kariayla a smile, which strengthened the Nemelorean’s courage.
“I think of those I left behind me,
The ones who hold my heart.
I see their faces in my mind
Ever since we had to part.
One day when weary feet will fail,
And night will be my last
I’ll find the end to this long trail
And bury with me my past.”
“Not the most cheerful song,” Kariayla admitted, “but it was what I could remember.”
There was a loud crash behind them, and they froze for an instant before dashing behind a thick and tangled bush. Heart racing, Kariayla could not bring herself to peer back to where they had been. She could hear movement, loud breathing that was not her own, and then a snort. Spirits protect us, she begged, and fragments of a temple prayer repeated like a mantra inside her head. At last she found a small hole through the leaves and glimpsed a large, dark shape on four legs standing where they had been. It must have lifted its head, because for a second, there was the flash of yellow-green, glowing eyes. Spirits protect us. Please protect us.
Kariayla swore it looked at her, saw beyond their cover and met her gaze. The dark shape took a step in their direction, and she could hear a change in its breathing. It’s sniffing for us. It took another step toward them and uttered a low growl that was unlike any animal she had ever heard. The fol
iage of their shrub rustled, and the snuffling was practically in her ears. She could smell it—a raw, potent odor that suffocated her for the eternity of these passing seconds.
Then there was another sound—one more distant—and the breathing ceased, the smell vanished. Please let it be gone. It growled again, but it was further from them, and then there was a terrible cry. Not a cry—a shriek—the sound of an animal in pain. Kariayla looked through the leaves and saw the dark shape looming above another creature—one that was thrashing upon the ground. The dark one bore down upon the other, and the struggle ensued—but not for long. The thrashing ceased, and the dark one began to feast.
Kariayla looked down to find Ruby trembling in terror. If they remained where they were, would the predator return? If they left, would it pursue them? If the Spirits sent this distraction, then we should make use of it. She tried to move, but her limbs were frozen. She drew a shallow breath and gestured for Ruby to go with her. She hoped the imp would understand.
It took every ounce of courage to retreat from the shrub, and when they did, they crept slowly and close to the ground, trying not to make a sound. Every step was agonizing, and Kariayla fought the temptation to look behind her. How far need they go before they were safe? Or was safety a delusion?
At last she did turn, but the creature was beyond sight. Beyond our sight, she thought. She caught the sound of running water and led Ruby to a stream that meandered like a strip of the night sky—dark and glittering—along the roots of the trees. Kariayla sat by the bank and buried her head in her hands. She did not cry, but Ruby hovered around her, trying to see beyond her fingers. “There is no plan,” she told the imp, her words soft and muffled. “We are at the mercy of the forest.”
She looked up and met Ruby’s gaze. “We’ll just keep walking, and when it gets dark, we will try to find a safe place to rest.” A glance at what she could see of the sky said they did not have long before that course of action. Ruby remained glued to her side as they followed the stream, and the farther they went, the more Kariayla felt they were being observed.