The sun had set quickly and was replaced by a black sky and new moon whose outline appeared like a circular disk above him. The further one traveled away from the valley, the quieter the forest became till nothing could be heard but the echo of his mule’s footsteps padding along the path. If the night sky had stars in it, the Warden couldn’t see them, for remnants of thick southern storm clouds floating up from the Borderlands obscured the sky.
“Good, you decided to come.” Sariel’s voice broke through the still air. “I thought you would.” The Guardian had appeared next to him, hopping effortlessly over the many rocks that poked up through the dirt of the narrow mountain trail. He had a sword strapped over his back this time, and a leather whip with a glass handle was attached to his waist belt. His onyx skin swirled with waves of pearl that shimmered despite the lack of moonlight in the forest.
“I knew if I didn’t I’d never hear the end of it,” the Warden replied, pushing his knees hard into the mule so it would redirect around a moss-covered boulder.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Sariel attested. He perched upon one of the rocks and scanned the view over the trees, his shoulder length silver hair flowing in waves around his finely chiseled face. “We are close. I feel it.”
The Warden nodded. They were walking through the final break in the mountains that led to the Shoulder. By now he could see the dark forest from his vantage point on the hill. Where the Samarian ice tundra ended and the sinister forest began was drawn like a black line in white sand.
The overgrowth of the forest’s vegetation was so thick, the Warden couldn’t tell where one thistle began and another one ended. The thorns were as thick as a human thumb and as sharp as a dagger’s edge. They oozed a creamy yellow discharge that dripped onto the rocks beneath them, hissing like acid. The dead trees reached high into the grey clouds with their gnarled, skeletal branches grasping at the air like bony fingers. Their bark was dry and chaffed, as if fire had consumed the whole land and left nothing behind but the ash and decay. The ground was nothing but rocks, covered in black mold and dirt.
As the pair encroached on the forest, the Warden shuddered to himself. The air was freezing cold, and his mule was starting to become restless. He stopped and dismounted the beast, feeling for his sword that he always carried with him. The atmosphere around him was completely soundless. There was no movement on the land, no rustle of leaves from the wind, and no breath from the Guardian next to him. Everything about this place seemed unnatural.
“Do you need to make the Bond with me?” Sariel asked. The Warden shook his head.
“I’ll be fine,” he replied brusquely. Sariel ruffled his thick wings and drew them in close to his upper back.
“Don’t be arrogant,” he warned, evoking a sigh from the man.
“Fine. When you’re ready then,” he said as he stepped cautiously towards the outline of the dense forest, sword drawn. Dirty snow and ice grinded under his boots.
A shrill scream suddenly erupted through the silent air causing the Warden to cry out loud and clasp his hands over his ears. The bloodcurdling wails assaulted him from every direction, filling the air with deafening cries till he was doubled over, and his teeth were clinched tight to keep the sound out.
While on his knees, the Warden was attacked by swells of heinous emotion coming forth from the forest: fury, hatred, jealousy, blood lust, all so overwhelming they made him sick to his stomach. Wishful thoughts of evil poisoned his mind, trying to break through the barricade Sariel had put in place by creating the Bond.
He felt the Guardian reach out to him with his own inner Vim, replenishing the goodness of Ithillium that was being sucked out of his soul by this place, making him vulnerable to its demise. He clamped his eyes closed and held his breath as he allowed Sariel’s power to push back the evil coming from the forest. The earsplitting screams increased in intensity, but Sariel’s extension of power created a barrier between him and whatever force was attempting to infiltrate his mind.
With the screams now slightly muted around him, the man straightened up and inhaled deeply, determined to fight back. He reached deep within himself, to his own inner Vim, his living core of energy. It was the only defense he had against the evil seeping out of the forest. He quickly made the Bond and felt the power of Ithillium surge through his body like blood pumping through his veins. He fluxed it through his body till it was concentrated at his fingertips, and the energy around him sizzled with heat. He reached out towards the Forest of Mirth and blasted the energy through his hands with all the strength he could muster.
White balls of power hit the invisible forest wall with a thunderous boom that sent sparks raining down onto the icy ground. The fragments of the shattered orbs traveled up the web, searing like fire until they hit the sky and exploded, causing the entire northern zenith to sizzle with energy. It flew though the heavens, illuminating the tundra with tendrils of Ithillium in purple, green, and blue until they fizzled out into nothingness.
“Enough!” the Warden bellowed out angrily into the forest, and the earsplitting screams were gone. It took a moment for the glowing display of color and power clinging to the forest’s wall to dissipate, but when it did, the Warden gasped in surprise.
A new tree had appeared on the path before him, black and charred like used coal. It was sick and twisted around on itself, as if some giant had turned the trunk like a screw in the ground. Masses of roots popped out from the earth, while branches stuck out at the sides like splinted wooden arms. The Warden looked from the tree to the sky where the lightshow of his power had subsided. His hands and fingertips were still tingling with the remnants of Ithillium, and the welcome weight of Sariel’s connection could still be felt in his mind as the Guardian followed closely behind him.
“What is it?” Sariel asked, indicating the deformed tree that hadn’t been there before. The Guardian had his sword drawn too, and he looked concerned.
“I honestly don’t know,” the Warden mumbled, looking from the tree to Sariel’s stone-carved face. “I’ve never been attacked so severely before. Did you witness all the thoughts that were being forced into my head? It was horrible.” Sariel nodded somberly.
“I don’t understand either, but it’s our duty to investigate the source of such power and terminate it.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” the man asked as he reached out his hand and pushed against the invisible wall separating the forest from the tundra. He was expecting the resistance of an intact, invisible wall, but instead he stumbled head first onto the forest floor and cursed.
“Blasted web has receded!” he growled. Sariel stepped lightly over the line and peered at the man.
“I thought you said you’d just secured it last week.”
“I did!” he exclaimed, standing back up. “This cannot be possible.” He looked at the twisted tree again, trying to make sense of everything, then angrily stalked towards it.
“Warden, be careful!” Sariel called out behind him. “Don’t be influenced by this power!” But the man was ignoring him. He grasped the hilt of his sword in both hands, lifted it over his head, and with a yell hammered it down on the tree’s twisted branch with a thud.
A momentary scream of pain echoed through the air again, followed by a dark liquid that began gushing out of the branch when he removed his blade. Immediately, an acrid, metallic smell filled his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose in disgust then reached out and placed his bare hand on the branch. He felt the thick slickness of the warm liquid on his fingers then brought it to his face to get a better look.
“Sariel!” he said alarmingly. “I think this is blood. The tree, it’s bleeding! Something is wrong. Very wrong.” The gushing gore from the laceration was surging viciously now, flowing over the grooves of the trunk and falling to the rock-covered floor. A red pool had formed and was quickly seeping its way towards his feet. The man took a couple of steps back as the blood drew closer and closer to him. In the blindness of night, the W
arden thought he saw something rippling across the dark red puddle as it gained substance and momentum, coming closer to the border of Samaria.
“Sariel, draw back! We have to secure the web! This thing cannot get through. Help me!”
He turned his back to the tree and sprinted out of the forest and over to the tundra. With the help of Sariel’s Bond, the man began expelling his energy, layering it over the border of the forest like a thick wall. The tendrils of energy spread across the expansive space like a spider web; several fibers of Ithillium in a myriad of different shapes all interconnected by a common core.
The Warden fashioned the web with swift movements, but every time he created a new layer, the previous one would disappear. He scowled in frustration. The pool of blood was moving quickly now, slopping around on the dark forest floor, coalescing into a single, indeterminable form that seemed to be heading straight for him.
“This isn’t working!” Sariel cried through the buzzing of Ithillium being fluxed through the air. “Whatever is in the forest is fighting back. I need more!”
“I don’t have any more!” the Warden yelled as power flew through his hands. The man gritted his teeth and reached down even further. He closed his eyes, allowing his other senses to direct him. He drew, channeled, webbed, layered, and repeated, feeling Sariel’s Bond the whole time, keeping his strength from depleting. Despite the cold, he was bathed in sweat and his arms burned with exhaustion. He felt the last bit of the web as it was woven into place and the resistance where Ithillium coated it. When he was done, he opened his eyes and laughed.
The whole open space in front of the forest was glowing with a blue web. Thousands of small orbs clung to it like burning stars, and heat waves radiated from the center. It was done. They’d repaired the web and the wall was intact.
Sariel and the Warden watched for several minutes as the vibrant barrier they’d just formed slowly faded away into darkness, still intact but invisible, like it was meant to be. The man sighed, his head throbbing with adrenaline and his body prickling with the effects of Ithillium. He was relieved. Looking down at his hand, the Warden noticed the blood from the tree had dried on his skin and begun caking. He rubbed it off on his pants before glancing over at the Guardian whose expressionless face also had an air of relief.
“Have you ever seen anything like that before?” he asked Sariel.
“Not for a long time. But it was a disturbing image indeed. I am not human, but even I felt the seductive pull of whatever evil lay within that forest. You should certainly present this information to your Captain when you seen him. The sooner the better.” The Warden had been thinking the same thing and was glad Sariel was there to voice his own thoughts on the matter.
“Thank you for helping me,” the Warden said. “I couldn’t have done that so quickly without you.” Sariel sheathed his sword.
“It is my duty. We make a fair team. Would you prefer I accompany you back to Alumhy?”
The man was temped to say no. He didn’t need an escort, but the image of the dark red pool of blood advancing faster and faster towards him over the forest floor made him go cold and caused him to reconsider.
“I guess,” he muttered. The Guardian dipped his head and began walking back towards the city as if repairing the invisible wall was completely effortless, whereas the Warden felt exhausted. Sariel was already several paces ahead of him, but something caused the man to turn back around and face the wall for a second.
He took a few steps towards the now unseen web and pressed firmly on it to make certain it was secure. It didn’t budge. Gathering his courage, he cupped his hands on the translucent wall and peered into the forest where the skeletal tree still stood. He noticed that the branch where he had angrily stabbed his sword was healed and intact. He scouted for the ominous red pool and found nothing but dirt and rock on the ground. The Warden sighed, truly vexed, and removed his hands.
Without warning, a wave of dark metallic blood pounded against the newly fashioned web and another scream pierced the air. The Warden stumbled backwards out of shock as the blood retracted back towards the rocky forest floor, unable to penetrate the barrier. The Warden instinctually gripped the hilt of his sword till his fingers cramped, breathing heavily and waiting for another attack. None came. He glared into the forest. All that was left behind was a bloody handprint dribbling to the floor as it tried to claw its way through the impenetrable barrier.
Chapter 9
When Zora returned with Arianna back to Mizra, twilight was already spreading its blue and purple fingers across the Samarian sky. Zora felt reluctant to let Milo stay behind with Madame Fae. She had a million questions about what she had seen and experienced there, and considering Milo was such a close friend of hers, it seemed feasible he’d be able to offer her some sort of answers.
When the two women finally reached Zora’s bedchamber at the top of the tower, they were met, unexpectedly, with two of Evangeline’s Guards blocking the entrance to her room. Escorting them was an irate looking Queen who was clothed head to toe in bright purple fabrics and her jeweled crown clearly intended for the celebration that was soon to commence. When she saw Zora, she stopped her pacing in front of the door and glared at her with a look full of venom.
“Where have you been,” she hissed, her beautiful facial features twisted into a ravaged visage. She stormed over to Zora and leaned in till she was eye level with her daughter.
“I sent my servants up here two hours ago to start prepping you for tonight, just like we discussed yesterday. And where were you? Gone, who knows where!” She grabbed a handful of Zora’s flaxen hair in her fist and yanked it till Zora cried in pain.
“You’re an ungrateful bastard, Zora and I refuse, REFUSE to let you ruin this for me!”
Evangeline was yelling in outrage, the veins in her neck throbbing in rage. Zora was stunned speechless. Never before had Evangeline cared about where Zora was or what she was doing, so why now?
“Mother, I’m so sorry,” Zora begged. “Please forgive me. I lost track of time, but we can be ready…”
As she spoke, Zora felt the full force of her mother’s hand make contact with the side of her face. Her teeth smashed together in her mouth and she yelped like a beaten puppy. Zora staggered backwards until she felt Arianna’s strong arms around her waist, the only thing preventing her from tumbling down the stairs.
Evangeline scowled at Zora one more time. “Now, if I don’t see you downstairs in one hour, looking perfect! You won’t live to see tomorrow.” With that, Evangeline swooped past Zora and down the stairs, her two Guards following closely behind.
Zora remained in Arianna’s protective embrace, too shocked to move. She touched her cheek where the slap had made contact and winced at its tenderness. She recollected being struck by Evangeline as a child, but she always told herself it was for justifiable disciplinary purposes. This attack, on the other hand, was driven by Evangeline’s pure, unadulterated hatred for her.
Despite the Queen’s public contempt for her only child and the open declarations she’d made that Zora would never claim the Samarian throne, the young noble still had faith that she held some sort of motherly affection for her. But moments ago, when Zora looked into her mother’s cold eyes, she realized she was no longer looking at the nurturing fictional mother she’d longed for, but a callous, hard hearted human that cared for nothing other than herself. At that climatic moment, the desire Zora had held on to for sixteen years to build a better relationship with her mother completely disappeared. She hated her.
Zora brushed Arianna hastily off of her and stood back up with the full intention of not letting her mother’s selfish actions get the better of her.
“Come on, Ari. Let’s just get this over with.”
Shortly later, two of the Queen’s servants appeared outside of Zora’s door armed with supplies to transform Zora from something homely into something beautiful.
After the Queen’s servants were dismissed, Zora stood in front o
f the dressing mirror looking at the changes that had taken place. They had washed her waist-length, silver blonde hair till it was wavy and soft, and she was dressed in the most stunning gown she’d ever seen. It was made out of silk and light pink in color, with a scooped neck and long, white sleeves that opened up at the wrist in long strands. It was embroidered with gold thread along the neckline, and a gold sash was crisscrossed over her mid-section then tied in a bow around her hips. Throughout the entire dress, flecks of crystal were woven into the fabric that gleamed and glittered when the light reflected off of them. Her crown was a simple circle of gold, plain and unembellished. She ran her hand slowly over her torso examining the smoothness of the silk fabric hugging her body. Arianna came up behind her and smiled.
“You look stunning,” she whispered. She reached up and grabbed a strand of Zora’s blonde hair and repositioned it across her cheek and down her shoulder. “Prince Spencer won’t be able to keep his eyes off of you.”
“Thank you, Ari,” she said genuinely. A pair of sky blue eyes stared back at her in the mirror, their usual brightness intensified by dark shades of color painted around them by the servants. Whereas anyone else would’ve thought she was beautiful, Zora was blind to the possibility. In fact, when she looked at herself, the only things she saw were the permanent downturn of her small mouth and the faded circles of sleepless nights underneath her weary eyes.
“I can’t deny that I see an improvement,” she said, “but in my opinion, I always look a little sad.”
“Are you nervous,” Arianna asked.
Zora searched her heart for an honest answer. To her, Prince Spencer still seemed like a fictitious idea, and until she met him face to face, it was hard to form such an opinion.
“No, I’m not nervous,” Zora answered truthfully. “Tonight isn’t about my wedding. It never was for me. Samaria is where I belong, and I’ll find my way home soon.”
Azurite (Daughter of the Mountain Book 1) Page 13