by Levi Samuel
Inyalia thought long and hard, but nothing came to mind. She had a feeling all of her questions would be answered in time. And if they weren’t, she could always ask later. She shook her head.
“Very well. If you’re hungry, we’ll grab a quick bite to eat. After that, we’ll get you outfitted and ready to go.”
The next few hours passed relatively quickly. Inyalia had explored most of the lower level. The walled areas housed a number of private bedrooms, though she didn’t explore much of the living quarters. She was surprised to learn that there was a complete set of barracks in the upper level, which made sense. Several people lived here full time. They had to have a place to sleep. The sanctum was also equipped with two full kitchens, a dining hall, a recreations lounge, and a library. After the tour, Traevon led her to the armory.
The quartermaster worked with a skill Inyalia had never seen. With a single look, she’d fitted her for every piece of her new armor. And now that it covered her from neck to ankle, Inyalia couldn’t dispute that it fit near perfect. Once the stiff leather was broken in, it would fit even better. At least that’s what the quartermaster told her.
Running her hands down the sleek leather, accenting her slender frame, Inyalia smiled wide. It was just recruit’s armor, displaying no special insignia or markings of any kind, but she felt amazing. If they went to war tomorrow, she knew she could singlehandedly destroy the enemy. Though she hoped that didn’t happen. War was a heavy price for looking good.
“Would you like a helm?” The quartermaster asked, lifting the leather item. It was simple in design, contoured to provide maximum movement, while offering the highest protection. It would cover the sides and back of her head, allowing a small gap where her facial features could be seen.
Inyalia thought about it, but most of the other rangers didn’t use them. Even her father complained they were bulky and difficult to maintain. It limited both sight and sound, the most valuable tools at a ranger’s disposal. “No, thank you.”
“Are you sure?” Traevon countered. “It may not seem very useful at the moment, but if you ever find yourself in battle, you’re going to want it.”
Inyalia sighed. He wasn’t wrong. Tools weren’t important until you didn’t have the right one. “I’ll take it, but it’s staying in the bag until it’s needed.”
The quartermaster laughed, handing it over.
Inyalia put it atop her head, feeling it snap into place. All things considered, it wasn’t unpleasant. And the loss of senses wasn’t as severe as she’d imagined, but it wasn’t something she planned to use often. Removing it, she laid it on the table with her newly issued bedroll, rucksack, waterskin, and laundry list of other supplies.
“How about a bow?”
“I have my own.” Inyalia offered.
“May I see it?” Traevon asked, extending his hand.
Inyalia removed it from the supplies she’d brought with her and handed it over.
Thoroughly inspecting the wood, Traevon gave it a subtle flex. Stringing it with lightning fast speed, he brought it to a full draw and stared down the sight channel above his grip. Slowly, he let off the draw, unstrung, and handed it back to her. “Not a bad instrument. It has plenty of strength, and the grain is flowing the correct direction. I can tell it’s not your first bow, but it won’t be your last. When you fire, it hits what, half an inch left?”
“How can you know that without firing it yourself?” Inyalia was stunned by his accuracy.
Traevon smiled. “It’s my job to know such things. But give it time. You’ll learn to notice them as well.” Turning to the quartermaster, he continued. “Her bow is fine but get her some arrows and a quiver. That ratty thing she’s been carrying around will dump the lot the first time she has to hit the dirt.”
The quartermaster nodded and disappeared into the back room. She returned a moment later with the items in tow.
Inyalia inspected the new quiver. It was about half the size of her old one, but there were several pockets molded inside and out. She could already see how it separated different batches of arrows. But the biggest difference was how it mounted. Her old quiver had a single strap that crossed her torso. This one was similar in design, but there were two adjustable buckles, one near the top and another at the base.
Traevon took the quiver, holding it for her to see. “If you find yourself in a position where you have to drop your gear quickly, pull this tail. It’s the same for your pack as well.” He gave a firm yank and the strap fell free at the buckle. “You’ll also notice it rides a bit different than you’re used to. Turn around.”
Inyalia spun, feeling the quiver attach to her. He wasn’t wrong. She’d always had to reach overhead to draw an arrow. With this, it removed almost half of the action, letting her not only decide which arrow to grab, but do so in a fraction of the time.
“The buckles snap to your armor the same way the overlapping plates do. It works with or without the pauldrons, and the entire design was built to be there when you need it, and to remove easily when you don’t.”
Inyalia was surprised by how methodical they’d been in its design. It minimized the need for excessive buckles, while keeping it light and slim. “You guys have thought of everything!” Inyalia exclaimed in excitement.
Ignoring her outburst, Traevon removed the quiver, prompting her to turn and face him. “As for the arrows themselves, you see the dividers. It’ll take some getting used to, but once you’re familiar with it, you can draw any arrow you desire without looking. I tell you this because, for the duration of your trials, you will not be permitted to use your personal arrows.” He removed one of the red fletched arrows, holding it up so she could see the tip.
Like a traditional arrow, the wooden shaft was capped by a metal head. But this arrow was not sharp. In fact, it didn’t even have a point. Where the head began, it tapered out like an inverted funnel, leaving a shallow dish where it would impact.
Reaching into the pocket of the quiver, he pulled out a linen sack that was drawn with a piece of leather twine. Loosening it, he retrieved a tiny leather pouch that had been dyed green. It was just barely large enough to place a single finger inside. Carefully, he inserted the dished arrowhead into the pouch and pulled the drawstring. It sucked tight, showing definition of the head, and the string broke off in his hand. “You’ll be using these. We call them blunt tips, but eventually, you’ll have access to other pouches. In the off chance you come across an arrow with any other colored pouch, do not use it without express permission. I can’t stress that enough.”
“I have a question now.”
“What are the other colors?” Traevon answered instinctively. “Not all situations call for deadly force. And you can’t always get up close and personal. As a result, we made five variants. The green, as I’ve explained, are blunt tips. The blue ones have a knockout powder. Shoot someone in the face and they fall unconscious almost immediately. But if you don’t want to kill them, make sure they have something soft to land on. Or at the very least, make sure it’s not a long drop. The yellow ones deliver a stronger dose of the liquid in that vial I gave you earlier. Those are good for making distractions when your target is unwilling. Let’s see—.” He trailed off, recalling the others. “We call the red ones boom buttons. They explode on impact, destroying everything within a five foot radius. And last, but certainly not least, the black ones are called poison caps. Even with an antidote in hand, if you get hit by one, you’re dead before you can bring it to your lips.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Finally, Inyalia found a word to describe what she’d just heard. “Wow!”
“Yeah.” Traevon added. “So, like I said, don’t shoot anyone without permission, especially with any other head but green.”
Nodding her profuse agreement, Inyalia took the blunt tip and returned it to the quiver. “Got it.”
Night was just beginning to fall when they left the armory. Inyalia was dressed in her new armor, though the helm was t
ucked away safely in her rucksack. Her quiver was mounted and filled with blunt tip arrows, aside from the five she’d been allowed to load from her own stash. Traevon didn’t want her to be completely defenseless after all. Every piece of equipment she could think of was sorted and organized to the best of her ability, with some minor influence from the commander.
Approaching the north exit, Traevon stole a glance outside, inspecting the last rays of sunlight over the trees. “You sure you want to head out tonight? It’s a long walk to Thayer. I’d hate for you to get lost along the way.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I just want to get this over with.” Inyalia held up the vial, uncertain what was going to happen when she drank it.
“If you’re certain. I wouldn’t want to experience that again, especially at night, alone, on a forest road where any number of monsters could be hiding in the shadows.” His calm demeanor faded, replaced by joyful laughter. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You’ll be fine.” His laughter trailed away.
Taking a deep breath, Inyalia popped the cork and raised it high. “Bottoms up.” She tipped it back and swallowed. It went down with ease. There was no flavor, just a warm tingle as it hit her stomach. “How long do I have before it hits?”
“Hard to say. Some have made it nearly an hour. Others don’t make it ten steps. Just remember to stay to the road.”
Nodding, Inyalia turned and made her way down the ramp. This was it. This was the moment she’d been both dreading and anticipating. Her trials were officially underway. All she had to do now was make sure she passed them.
Within minutes Inyalia was upon the east road and heading north. Traveling at a quick, but steady pace, she repeated what Traevon had last said. “Stay on the road.” There was no telling what awaited her, but if she stayed on the road, she’d be just fine. “Stay on the road.” She repeated. The words sounded funny. They were deep, but light at the same time. She could nearly see their outline, bubbly and floating overhead. If it weren’t so dark, she was certain she could. That was an interesting notion. Where was the moon? It had been there a moment ago. But now she was all alone, walking a forest road at night, with any number of monsters hiding in the shadows.
Inyalia shivered. She was cold. And there was definitely something following her, many somethings. But she couldn’t see them. They moved only in the dark, in the places she wasn’t looking. Her heart raced. The sounds of nature disappeared, leaving nothing but her thoughts. She was alone and cold, traveling a forest road in the dark, with any number of monsters hiding in the shadows.
Fear grew inside her. She wanted to run. But she couldn’t see the road. If she ran, she could lose it. And then the monsters would certainly have her. A twig snapped off in the distance. She jumped, spinning its direction. “What was that?” Her breath hastened. She could see the steam escaping with each rapid breath. That wasn’t good. If it left her, she’d never get it back.
Inyalia reached to catch her breath. It was no use. The steam passed right through her grip. Panic grew. She was going to suffocate. The faster she breathed, the quicker her air would be gone. “No!” Inyalia demanded. She had to stop it. Holding her breath, the steam stopped spilling from her. She was safe now. At least for the moment.
Her lungs burned. She couldn’t hold it any longer. Releasing, she was pleased to see that she could breathe. The steam still escaped her, even faster now that she was panting. But now, it went back inside when she inhaled. So long as it continued to do that, she was going to be okay.
Looking around, she wasn’t sure which way to go. The road was hidden, and she was fairly certain she’d turned. But which way was she headed? And from where was she coming? She was all alone. All alone with nothing but the lingering presence behind her. She was haunted, tormented by its watchful, yet elusive gaze. Was she helpless to its shrouding grip, closing around her like a candle’s flame being snuffed out?
A strong breeze blew across the nearby leaves, clinging to their skeletal branches. Inyalia could hear it, but she could not feel it. Shadows danced at the edge of her sight. But no matter how many times she looked, nothing was there.
Swallowing hard, Inyalia wiped the clinging sweat from her forehead. She tried to force the fear into the pit of her stomach. There was no reason to be alarmed. The rangers protected these roads. She was becoming one of them. Soon, she would be a protector herself. And as it stood, she’d seen no threats as of yet. Why should she fear? How long had she walked? The outpost couldn’t be that much further. Or had she just begun? She couldn’t remember. It could have been minutes, or it could have been days. There was no way to tell. And since the moon was gone, that could only mean the sun was gone too. She was trapped in perpetual darkness, never to see the light again. But that was no reason to fear. She was never one to fear shadows. Most days she was never one to fear the things she should.
Exhaling sharply, forcing her resolve, Inyalia trekked on. She’d never been to Thayer, but its location was well known. And so long as she stayed to the road, she’d run straight into it. She just had to follow the mountains north. That was it. That was her sense of direction. Finding the towering peaks, blocking out the lightless sky, she oriented herself, placing them to her right. So long as they stayed there, she’d be headed north.
She walked toward her destination, burying the fear growing inside her. It was all she could do. The was no sound. No wind. No light. She was alone, surrounded by monsters. Suddenly, her fear escaped. She stopped dead in her tracks, unable to take another step. The things she thought she knew were wrong. She could hear the wind. She could hear the footsteps encircling her. The sound of cloth rubbing against itself rang out like a trumpet. Constricted breaths echoed in the dark. Despite the lack of light, dark shapes filled her vision.
The beat of a drum increased in both pace and volume. It blocked the other sound, banging inside her head. It was so loud, threatening to destroy her ears. It echoed into the mountains, drowning her in noise. More noise than she’d ever heard. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to somehow block it all out. If not the noise, then the creeping shadows. She breathed deeply through her nose, sucking in and out. She could feel hands upon her skin. They were touching her all over, tormenting her, begging her to open her eyes. If she did, they would claw them out. Unable to take any more, Inyalia screamed. She had to hear something, anything over the banging drum. “Stop!”
The drum stopped. The wheezing breaths vanished. Even the scratching fibers of twill were gone. The only sound that remained was the fading echo of her own voice. Slowly, carefully, Inyalia peeked from beneath her eyelids, hoping the shadows were gone. They weren’t touching her anymore. That was an improvement.
She couldn’t see movement, but that didn’t mean anything. They’d hidden from her before. There was only one option and it was a dangerous one. But she had no other choice. Dropping her ruck, Inyalia removed one of the torches she’d been given and struck her flint. She was pleased to see the sparks. That meant the torch would at least work. With the absence of the sun and moon, she wasn’t sure she’d have that much. Raking the stone over the torch head, the sparks jumped into the wax coating. They melted down, releasing the scent of oil, but it did not light. She struck again, much to the same effect. The third time, a flame appeared. It grew wider, melting away the wax. She held it aloft for a moment, letting the flame engulf the entire head, disposing of any excess wax. With everything else going on, she didn’t want to add burning herself to the mix.
Inyalia raised the torch, expanding its glow. Even with its assistance, she was surprised by how little she could see. Her vision had never been so poor. Heaving the pack once again, she started along the path. With any luck, she’d reach the outpost before the flaming target betrayed her. She was free at last. Free of the fear. Free of the shadows. And free of the monsters.
A heavy gust surrounded her, threatening to extinguish the flame. It blew fallen leaves in all directions, rattling those still clinging to their trees. Branches
clapped together, cracking and popping. The swirling vortex of wind made her eyes water. And in the lowlight, when her torch was little more than a glow, Inyalia could see the faces. The silhouettes moved in the darkness, just beyond reach. They surrounded the dim glow, refusing to step within its radius. She could see them. They weren’t figments of her imagination. No tricks of light, playing her a fool. No! They were real. And they were waiting for her.
Inyalia shivered, frozen within the wind. She couldn’t move. The faces were waiting. They smiled, knowing she was theirs. They licked their lips, anticipating the taste of blood. Seeing one swoop toward her, daring the protective barrier of light, Inyalia swung the torch. The flame swooshed, nearly disappearing from the burning wick. Faster than she could react the shadows closed in. They swarmed like a school of hungry fish fighting over a worm, retreating only when the flame grew. So long as it burned, they couldn’t get her. But what if it went out? How would she escape? Another charged, revealing ashen skin and needle-like teeth. She swung again, batting it away.
Another gust blew in, this time more violent. And another. The wind was battering her unlike any she’d felt before. And, despite her best efforts, the torch went out.