Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1)

by Carlsson, Martine

  “All right,” Selen answered, curling closer. “Will you take the first shift?”

  “I will. You can sleep.” Louis smiled at Selen.

  “Will we ride towards this Rebellion tomorrow?” Selen yawned.

  “Yes. It may be our only hope. We can’t roam around forever.”

  “Did you hear what she said about what they are?” Selen sounded worried.

  “There is what they can be and what they are. We will observe them from a distance and make our own opinions about them. She did think we were lords.” Louis grinned.

  “You look like a lord.” Selen smiled, teasing him. His eyes closed.

  “Sleep now.” Louis gave him a tender kiss.

  Louis sat straight up in the bed, looking at the half moon through the window. He thought of the rebellion. He, too, was worried about what they would find. Would there be a hundred men? Or maybe a thousand? Did they have a chief? Did they still want to fight? So many questions that would probably stay unanswered until they found themselves in the lion’s den. Was this even what their quest was about? After all he had seen and heard, he was more than willing to fight the orcs, but what of his friends? Lissandro was still missing. And Selen? Louis looked at him. His friend had an arm around Louis’s hips and his head lay against his waist. The warmth radiating from Selen’s body stirred him up. It was wrong; he should stay focused. He pulled the blanket higher to cover Selen’s bare shoulder. He caressed Selen’s hair. What would happen to Selen if he did not stop with his foolish pacifism? Louis grew fonder of him with each day. He had been seduced instantly by Selen’s ingenuousness and his natural, pristine beauty. To have him at his side was a gift, but also a source of worry. Yet, there was no way he would abandon him. He would have to deal with it. “I will protect you,” he whispered. He caressed Selen’s forehead. It was covered in sweat. Was his friend having a nightmare again? He shook him to wake him up.

  Selen opened his eyes with a choked shriek. He sat up, shaken.

  “Are you all right?” Louis asked, putting his hands on Selen’s shoulders.

  Selen looked at Louis. His eyes were wild.

  “I saw a huge, hideous orc with an axe. He was followed by an army. I think…they were invading a city…at the bottom of a hill. There were heads on spikes. Long lines of heads. I saw fire coming from the sky and heard the hammering of their steps on the ground. They’re coming north.” Selen’s fear was palpable.

  “No,” Louis said, holding him tight, “because we will stop them.”

  Selen rested against Louis’s chest, getting his breath back. “I think I have slept enough for tonight. I can take my shift,” Selen said.

  “Wake me up if you feel unwell,” Louis muttered. He slipped an arm around Selen’s hips and fell asleep on his stomach.

  CHAPTER 12

  Louis woke up. Rays of light blinded his eyes. It was already day. He had slept deeply through the rest of the night. He looked up. Selen sat on the bed beside him, his shoulders bent forward. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was half open, letting a thin dribble of saliva run down his chin. Louis heard him snore faintly. Someone has had a tiresome watch, Louis thought with amusement. He sat up.

  “Good morning,” he whispered, kissing Selen’s cheek.

  Selen woke up with a jerk. “I was just resting my eyes,” he said with a moan. He rubbed his chin and looked out through the window. “It’s day already.”

  Louis looked at Folc, who still slept. “At least, we are not the last ones.”

  “But we are probably not the first. We should get ready,” Selen said.

  They rose, got dressed, and went into the main room. The front door stood open. The old lady was trimming her rose bushes in the garden. She still wore the same black dress, but she had tightened a yellow apron around her waist.

  “You woke up at last,” she exclaimed. “You lads needed a good night sleep. There is some water and fresh eggs on the table. Help yourselves.”

  They ate breakfast sitting on the bench in the garden. The sky was clear blue with no clouds in sight. The day promised to be warm. Folc came out of the house.

  “I have slept like a baby,” he said, stretching himself. He picked an apple and took a bite.

  On Louis’s left side, Selen took a brush out of his bag and brushed his hair. The cat, which trotted nearby, grabbed at the flowing tips.

  Louis turned to the old woman. “Is there something we can do for you before we leave? You have been so kind to us.”

  She looked at him with tenderness. “It’s I who should thank you for giving me a little hope that there is still a world with decent people out there. You, young boy—” she hailed at Folc “—I have something for you.” She vanished inside the house and came back with folded clothes in her hands. “These belonged to my dear son. He was taller than you, but they will surely fit. You can’t walk around in these rags anymore.”

  “Thank you so much,” Folc said with a short bow as he took the clothes.

  He took off his tattered clothes and put the new ones on. They consisted of brown pants, a faded green tunic with a white shirt, a short, black belt, and leather boots. Once he had rolled the sleeves and the bottom of the pants, the clothes fit him perfectly.

  “Now, I’m ready for the journey!” Folc raised his arms and grinned. It was as if he had received the most wonderful of all gifts. They all laughed at his childish and sweet reaction.

  Louis and Selen went back inside the house, prepared themselves, and put their armours on again. They packed their belongings and fetched their horses from the stable. They were soon ready to depart. The group gathered in front of the house where the old woman waited for them.

  “The army should be some miles down south. Follow the path, and at the creek, turn right.” She put her wrinkled, dry palm on Louis’s hand and clutched it. “You all take care of yourselves.”

  Louis nodded. They kicked their horses and rode south. Folc, who still sat in front of Selen, turned back and waved to the old lady.

  The way south after the cottage wended its way through a forest of chestnut trees with large boulders and steep slopes on the side. Once again, the track line they followed kept them hidden from view, but it also made it difficult for them to see anything. Chaffinches sang in the canopy. Louis heard flaps of wings coming from the bushes from the side of the path. A fluffy red squirrel crossed the road in front of them. The breeze was fresh and smelled of spring flowers. The sun warmed his face. After a good night of sleep and a bath, Louis felt invigorated and brisk.

  The creek wandered down from a crack in the boulders on the left to a swamp among pine trees on the right. Louis reined in.

  “This is where we leave the path,” he said. “Let’s dismount and find a way through the bog. We can walk and pull the horses by the bridle.”

  The swamp was broad. Thick copses of pine and beech stood along the south side. Boughs and tall reeds poked out here and there. A stone’s throw from them, herons were fishing frogs. The right side was less covered with peat moss, but brambles grew on the bank. Selen picked up a dry wooden stick and tested the ground in front of him. The clay made sucking noises against the stick. After a few steps, Louis’s greaves were clogged in the mud.

  “I don’t think I can move forward,” Louis said. “I must go back before I can’t move at all. We must try through the brambles. We have our armours to protect us. Folc can stand with the horses while we open a way with our swords.”

  Louis and Selen hacked their way through the bushes. They spun their swords around with broad movements, crushing the leftover brindles with their feet. It was a fastidious task. Louis was already sweating in his stifling armour, and he got irritated that the sun shone so bright. They emerged on the other side, Folc and the horses on their heels. They progressed under the pines until they heard clashes of steel and faint shouts. They halted.

  “We should leave the horses here and sneak forward,” Louis said.

  “I can stay with the horses,”
Folc proposed.

  “All right. Don’t go anywhere,” Selen said, handing him his horse’s bridle.

  Louis and Selen stepped towards the sound. The pines cleared to a lawn. They stood at the top of a slope with a large valley stretching downwards in front of them. They threw themselves on the ground. The bottom of the valley was covered with white military tents. Standards of different colors, raised on poles at crossroads, clacked in the wind. Men dressed in plate armours, others in leather garments, moved to their occupations. A grey smoke rose from what could be the smithy, smaller ones rose from braziers. Bangs of hammers were heard in every direction, but the sound was largely covered by the barking of the dogs in the kennel and the whinnying of the several hundred horses stomping in the corrals right under them.

  “How many do you think they are?” Selen asked.

  “I would say between seven hundred and a thousand, judging by the tents,” Louis answered. He looked for the biggest tent, which should normally be occupied by the headquarters or the infirmary. He found the pavilion in the middle of the camp. The central pole was higher than the others, and a blue flag was fastened to it. A pair of guards stood lazily in front of the entrance.

  “How can such an army stay here doing nothing?” Selen asked with irritation.

  “I don’t know. We have no idea how it looks down there. Maybe they are less than what they seem,” Louis answered.

  “Want to have a closer look?” a voice said behind them.

  Louis felt the cold flat of a blade touch his neck. They turned around slowly. Five men faced them. One had a battered, full-plate armour, and he threatened them with his sword. His visor was shut. Another one, also holding a sword, bore a mix of plates and harnesses, as if he had lost parts of his armour during battles. His face was a mess of pimples and unshaved beard. The other three were archers with crossbows and were simply dressed in brigandines and muddy, soiled pants. Their sneers revealed their brownish teeth. Only by looking at them, Louis could tell a lot about the hygiene in the camp. He hoped that they were an exception.

  The one in the armour raised his visor, revealing a more civilized face under a bushy red beard. “What are you doing here?”

  Before Louis answered, a soldier came from the forest with Folc under his arm. “Look what I’ve found,” he bawled to his comrades. Folc gesticulated, kicking the man in the legs.

  “Let him go,” Louis commanded loud and clear.

  The knight turned to him with a stern look. “No. You all come down with us.”

  The soldiers tied their hands behind their backs. Folc was still struggling. Louis thought that Folc should calm down. These men were all brutes and would not hesitate to hit the boy. “Let me talk to him,” Louis requested. The knight agreed. Louis went to Folc. “We came here to talk to them. If you struggle, you could jeopardize our situation or get us hurt. I want you to follow their orders. Do it for me, or at least for Selen.”

  Folc grimaced yet calmed down. Selen stood quiet, but Louis saw his approval.

  “Now, move,” one of the soldiers said. Louis, Selen, and Folc stood in the middle, a guard marching at each corner, and one following at the tail with the horses. The knight led the way. They went down the slope by a trail Louis had not spotted before.

  The camp was not as white as it looked from above. The tents were stained. Broken crates lay in the narrow alleys. The ground was spongy and sprinkled with dung, not to mention the stench that emanated from it. The place was a clutter of rusted material and rotten food. The men did not show a better picture. Many were sick, drunk, or both. They looked bitter and exhausted. All of them were unshaved and filthy. Most men they encountered on their way stared at them scornfully. Louis glanced at the interior of the tents. Inside, soldiers slept, played cards, or drank. As they progressed through the camp, Louis felt disgust grow inside him. He did not try to hide the reproachful look on his face. This place was a shame. Never would he fight in such conditions. They were indeed a group of good-for-nothing scoundrels. A giggling, shirtless harlot rushed out of a tent right in front of him. She was soon followed by a staggering drunkard. “What the…” Louis exclaimed, aghast, before getting a rough push on his back.

  “Move along!” the soldier shouted. Louis was infuriated. How could this army dare to call itself the Rebellion? He could not wait to have a word with their so-called commander. If there even was someone to rule this dreg. At the same time, he knew that his friends would never make it in such a place and probably would be the first to pay should he mess things up.

  They arrived at the headquarters. The soldiers made them halt in front of the entrance. The knight disappeared inside the pavilion. “Answer only when you’re asked to,” Louis whispered to his friends. What was going to happen now would seal their fate, for the better or for the worse.

  CHAPTER 13

  Lissandro’s body was cold. His fingers dug deep into the dirt. Tiny stones pelted his skin. The touch was moist on his hands. He felt them on his face too, and in his nose. He sneezed and raised his head. His long, brown hair was filled with sand. Strands of hair hung down like rattails, dripping water on his shoulders. It did not matter. He was soaking wet all over. His clothes stuck uncomfortably on his skin. Lissandro shivered. He tried to rise but stumbled, one knee in the mud. His head whirled as he turned around.

  The waterfall was right in front of him. He could hear it. It only increased the buzzing in his ears. The foam coming from the cascade blew in his face. Lissandro sat down and took long, deep respirations. He remembered what had happened. He looked around but found no trace of the platform—or of his horse. He felt sorry for the poor beast. It had always been kind and willing. With horror, he realized that all his provisions and goods were in the bags tied to the saddle. Lissandro felt miserable. He was lost, alone, and frozen to death. He put his hands in his pockets. Maybe there was something useful on him.

  From one pocket, he took out the rest of the ropes and Louis’s fire steel he had kept on him. He felt lucky in his misfortune. That was useful. At least, he could make a fire. At the same time, it meant that Louis and Selen could not. Unless Selen could use two sticks together, which would not be impossible considering his survival skills. Lissandro checked the other pocket. Empty. He half smiled. Well, that’s all, he thought. At least, he had his dagger still in his sheath. The arrows had fallen from his quiver, and the bow probably rested at the bottom of the pool under the cascade by now. Luckily, he did not wear heavy armour like his friends.

  Lissandro looked around. He had washed up on a small beach on the north bank. There were big stones emerging from the water. It has been a close one, he thought. Boulders lay on the side on each bank. The river continued flowing straight forward into the forest. The currents were less strong, but the water whirled and splashed. The slopes downstream were covered with grass on the north side and with reeds on the south. The river bent after a hundred yards and disappeared from sight. On both sides of the river grew huge, dark trees. Oaks, Lissandro thought, ancient oaks. “I am in the Ebony Forest,” he whispered. Fright grew in him like fire in the wind.

  He knew that the river ran west to the shore, a hundred miles from here. If he wanted to leave the woods, he must either climb the ravine or head south. If he climbed, he would need to make a detour and try to find a path up to the top of the falls. It could take days before he reached the place where they had crossed. Besides, his friends would not have camped there. They probably rode south right now, which was the best solution for them. Lissandro wondered if his friends considered him dead. He shook his head in denial. No, he thought, Louis looks like an honorable man, faithful to his friends, and Selen has far too much love in his heart to give up so easily. Still, Lissandro knew that his friends were powerless to find him. He would have to fend for himself and join them in one way or another. He only had one option. To walk south until he reached the border of the forest.

  The first thing to do was to cross the river, as he had landed on the wrong s
ide. Besides, he was still wet. Of course, there was no place to cross over. His mail was heavy, and he was not strong enough to cross in a straight line. Maybe if he tried to swim from one stone to another. There were enough rocks to grab, and only the middle of the river looked deep. He walked into the water, tramping into shallow spots and searched for the first stone. He reached it. Now, he had water to his shoulders. Soon, he would lose his footing. He jumped to the next stone on his right and held his arms around it. The third stone was a bit further away downstream. He let go of his rock and paddled like a dog, aiming for it. He missed at first, but his left hand found a grip. He hung to it, turned to the next one, and gathered his energy. He jumped and caught it. He stretched his legs down. He felt the bottom of the river with the tip of his feet. He fought against the stream to the last stone. He missed it and hit another one further down. Now, he had water only to the waist. He paddled and crawled onto the bank. Lissandro collapsed, short of breath. He needed to move before he froze to death. He rose laboriously. There should not be too much of a problem to find dry wood here, he thought.

  He entered the forest and searched for branches. It did not take him long to gather an armful of it. He got back to the river and found a flat stone where he could start a fire safely. He took out the fire steel and hit the two parts over dry sticks. The flames licked at the straws and sticks. He pushed branches under it. Lissandro undressed, laid his clothes and mail flat on one side of the fire, and warmed his body on the other side.