The monk turned to him. He had a jovial, round face and twinkling eyes. “What can I do for you, young man?” he said.
“I need some ingredients for a balm and for my headache. Would you by any chance have some calendula, thyme, and white willow bark left?” Selen asked.
The man smiled. “I see that you have some knowledge of plants. May I know your name?”
“My name is Selen. My friend Louis and I came with Lord Tyntagiel yesterday. And yes, I used to be a physician in my village.” Selen felt a little proud.
“A knight physician? This is the first time I’ve heard that,” the man chuckled. “I remember you now. You are the champion. I don’t like to see men die, but I have to admit that that one deserved it. The idiot had sent me too many of his victims in the past.” Brother Benedict closed his book and got up. “Well, I surely have some of the plants you ask for. I suppose you need beeswax and oil as well. I think that it is easier if you use my office. You can take exactly what you need and prepare it there.”
“That would be perfect! Thank you.” Selen could not have asked for anything better. “Do you run this place alone?”
“I have soldiers to help me in my tasks, but I am the only physician.” Brother Benedict seemed sorry about it. “And I am always short of materials. I keep on asking Sir Bertrant, but he never listens. Maybe I could go and search for them if someone was willing to replace me here for a while.”
So that is the price for using the office, Selen thought. Well, he did not have anything better to do in the camp right now, and he had been asked to step aside for a little while. He could certainly be helpful here. “I would gladly help you, but not today. I’ve got a terrible headache, and I would like to rest once I have made my balms.”
“Of course, of course. Go make your things, young man, and come back to me once you feel better.”
The office was bigger than Selen’s old shack. The shelves sagged under the weight of the jars. Unfortunately, not all were filled with herbs. Selen saw that the monk needed more ingredients. He picked a jar of calendula, took some lemon balm and ground the herbs with some chamomile flowers. He infused the blend in oil and cut the beeswax. While it simmered, he prepared the teas for his headache and the balms for his cut and Louis’s hands. Two hours later, his balms and teas were ready.
Selen left the infirmary and headed towards his tent. The strong scents in the office had worsened his dizziness. He felt nauseous and needed to lie down. Folc was waiting for him. The boy wore new, fresh clothes.
“Sir Bertrant’s orderly came by and brought us new garments. I really look like a lord now!” Folc turned around and showed him his new clothes.
“You do indeed. You are elegant,” Selen said. Folc was proud of his green doublet. It was embroidered in gold thread. He had received red pants of the same fabric to wear under it. Selen saw that a pile of clothes lay on his own bed. He hoped there was no doublet or red pants in it.
He unfolded the clothes. The pants were dark green, nearly black. Under it was a brown tunic. He held it in front of him. The tunic looked like a long dress but was slit on both sides up to the hips. There was a white shirt to wear under it, and a long belt he could tie around his waist. It was perfect. He wondered who could have picked clothes so well for both of them. He turned to Folc. “I have an errand for you. Can you go and give this balm to Louis?”
“Sure!” Folc took the tin box and ran out of the tent.
Selen picked up a goblet and poured water on the herbs. His eyes narrowed due to the pain in his head. He made a few unsteady steps backwards and collapsed onto the side of the bed. Darkness claimed him.
It was warm, so warm. The flames rose high. The palace was burning. The enemies had come during the night, forcing their way through the iron doors. They had passed the population through the sword. Everyone had been taken by surprise, even the royal guard.
Standing next to the king, Selen fought hard, but he could not stand the assault. He heard one of the royal guards scream.
“The king is down! Retreat!”
Selen looked at his side. The king lay in a pool of blood. Selen threw a last blow at his assailants and followed his companions.
“To the queen’s megaron! Protect the queen!” one man yelled.
The last guards fled to save the royal family. Selen looked around him. One of the guards was missing. Not him, Selen thought. All can die, even me, but not him.
Instead of retreating to the royal chambers, he ran to the pillar hall, where his friend’s post had been. By making this choice, he knew he failed to obey his oath as a royal guard. Still, he did not want to fail to his heart. He needed to tell him. His friend must know, should they both die.
Selen ran through the marble halls. The flames licked at the colorful plaster and red curtains, turning the place into an oven. Some parts of the bulls fresco were already collapsing. He knew the enemies were on his heels. Still, he was nearly there. He pushed the giant oak door with all his strength and entered the balcony overhanging the hall. He saw him down there. His friend faced a horde of enemies. Even then, he fought bravely. His long hair flew around him as he whirled his sword with skill.
Selen was ready to jump over the rail when he felt agonizing pain in his throat. He searched for air, but could not take another breath. He put a hand on his throat and felt blood gush through his fingers. As he collapsed, half-naked men in golden and red ran past him. Selen’s head hit the stone floor. The last thing his eyes saw was his friend die in front of him. His heart broke. “No… I…” he muttered, but the words never crossed his lips.
CHAPTER 17
A stag’s bell woke him up. The air was cold and damp. Lissandro raised his head. Ferns were stuck to his face and hair. Troubled by the nocturnal screams and the waving shadows of the trees, he had barely closed his eyes. His stomach rumbled. He knew there would be nothing to eat before long. He felt like crying but held back his tears. This was not a time to break down. He needed to move and get out of here. He dragged himself out of the hole he had been hunched in. His muscles were sore. He stretched. Lissandro walked south again.
He had wandered for a while when weird shapes silhouetted in front of him. There was something in the trees that wasn’t made of wood. As he came closer, he noticed a stone structure covered in moss. It was shaped like small lozenges. He realized it was a window. Among the trees, a wall had been built. There had been windows opening on different floors. Some were still intact. Others stood partially, their broken mullions stretching up to the sky. Honeysuckle grew around the stiles, unfolding cascades of fragrant red-pink flowers. Lissandro walked around the edifice. He saw columns covered with ivy. The stone had cracked over time. The place had an overall agreeable atmosphere, which contrasted sharply with the forest around. Lissandro realized that these must be ruins that once belonged to the people of the forest. Maybe it was one of their palaces or a temple.
His way was blocked by a huge stone wall. Stairs ran up on the side of it. Lissandro put a foot on the first step. The stone shone under the moss. He bent down and scraped. The stairs were carved marble. He progressed to the first floor. From the top of the stairs stretched a garden. It had been abandoned for ages, and the vegetation had grown wild, but the species that had been planted here did not belong to these woods. Besides, he could discern the form of old statues in different places. Lissandro strolled around. There were roses of many colors, magnolia trees, patches of lilies of the valley under weeping willows. He did not remember ever having seen such splendor in this world. At the turn of the path, he faced what could have been the most enchanted place of the garden. A large pond with a stone rim stood under the long branches of blooming lilac trees. The color made him think of his friend. In the middle of the pond, on a small island, grew an old, crooked elm.
“I have been waiting for you,” the tree said.
Lissandro jumped in alarm. The tree bent and twisted its bark in weird, impossible moves. An arm detached itself, then anot
her on the opposite side. The limbs rose lightly into the air. They could have been branches if it hadn’t been for the elongated fingers at the end. In the middle of the trunk, a face appeared. He could not explain it, but Lissandro was sure it was the features of a woman. Her eyes were gleaming gold.
“Are you scared?” the face asked him with an ethereal voice.
“I don’t know if I should be,” Lissandro answered. At least, he trembled. “Who are you?”
“I am the face of time. I am the spirit of the forest. I am one of the last hamadryads,” the creature said.
“You said you were waiting for me?” Lissandro was intrigued.
“You came here full of questions, about your past, about your future, about your visions.”
“What do you know of my visions?” Lissandro asked.
“I know what they are and why you have to carry this burden, but do you really want to know?”
“I know who I am. I am Lissandro Lorca. Yet, I don’t know what I am doing here, and by here, I mean here in this world.”
“You think you know who you are. Look into the water. It will reveal it to you.”
Lissandro approached the rim carefully. He gazed into the pond. The water was crystal clear. He could see the stones at the bottom. There must be more to it, he thought. He stretched his hand and skimmed the surface of the water. The blow was as powerful as a lightning bolt. Lissandro was pushed violently backwards and fell on his back. His vision blurred in patches of dark green and purple, turning into darkness like clouds in a thunderstorm. The tree’s voice was deafening.
“You are a child of darkness! Doomed to walk the earth!”
Lissandro felt a terrible pain on the side of his neck. He touched his skin. Thick blood poured out of two small holes. He convulsed. Visions submerged him.
He saw teeth, a bite, blood, voices calling his name, faces he had known, sharp eyes in the night, a big city with cars and neon lights, and a voice, powerful and comforting.
“I will take care of you now.”
A warm light blinded his eyes and overwhelmed his body. Lissandro was back on the ground in the garden.
“But it seems you have reached salvation. You are very special,” the tree said.
Lissandro regained consciousness. More memories had come back to his mind. As nostalgia took hold of his heart, a tear ran down his cheek. “You haven’t answered my question,” he said, painfully. “What am I doing here?”
“Three you were and three you will be, across the worlds to fulfill your destiny,” the tree said. “You are not from this world, all three of you. To achieve his goals, Agroln once used blood magic to summon the orcs and the mighty Rylarth, Eater of Sheep. Dragons live in the abyss of darkness. To reach him, Agroln needed to open a portal to hell. Yet, blood magic is unstable. More portals were simultaneously opened on other worlds, or more precisely, time lapses. But as Agroln’s portal tried to break the barrier of hell, the other portals collided with heaven. To counterbalance the coming of the demon, heaven rejected three souls. The souls of men whose life’s purpose had been unfulfilled.”
“What do you mean by time lapses?”
“All from the same world, but not from the same time period.”
“So, we are all dead?” Lissandro felt shocked by the news.
“Dead? What is dead? You are not in heaven. You breathe. You feel. No, what you all got is…a second chance.”
“And our mission is to kill the dragon?”
“Only you have the power to fight darkness, but not all of you carry the same light. Three souls, three different lights. Still, you are also men. You have your free will.”
“But should we refuse, it would mean the end of the world?”
“Yes.”
“What will happen to us if we succeed? Will we be sent back into our respective worlds? Will we die?” Lissandro had no wish to go back where he came from. He had roamed there too long.
“I’m afraid you will have to live in this world. Until your death comes.”
“Will my visions help us or can you take this curse from me?” If the creature could help him get rid of the nightmares, he would not mind trying.
“Your fate is bound to the one of darkness. In your case, the call is stronger than for your friends. These visions do not need to be the future. If you use them wisely.”
“I have a last question. Why are we all… We all like men.”
“Only tormented souls, troubled by sorrow and despair could wriggle their way through the portals. Peaceful souls stay in heaven. Yours were the strongest ones.”
Lissandro stayed silent. He pondered on what he had learned. There was hope to win the war. He needed to inform his friends. “I thank you for sharing your deep knowledge.” Lissandro bowed.
“I still have two things for you,” the tree carried on. One fingerlike branch searched through a patch of leaves. It stretched to Lissandro. “Take these.” Lissandro opened his palm under the branch. Two seeds, round like beans, fell out of it. They shone like two emeralds. “These are seeds of a tree long dead. It used to grow on an island where your friend Selen was born. With the vanishing of these trees, we have lost our most beautiful hamadryads. Give these seeds to your friend. He will know what to do.”
Lissandro packed the seeds with care in a piece of cloth and stored them on the inside of his tunic.
“As for you, we have an even more precious gift. Come. Look into the pond’s water. You don’t need to touch it this time.”
Lissandro felt suspicious. Still, he stepped forward nonetheless. He put his hands flat on the stone rim and gazed down. Something appeared. The image of a face. Its features were stern and manly. The man had a strong, square jaw, a large nose, and deep-set narrow eyes. His irises were of a piercing light blue, tainted with flecks of gold. His long golden hair floating like a lion’s mane around his head made him look like a powerful king.
Lissandro put a shaking hand to his mouth. “Grimmr,” he murmured. “I’ve lost…Grimmr.” His heart missed a beat. He could not breathe anymore. He broke down in tears in front of the pond. The pain in his heart was agonizing. He screamed and hit the stone floor with his fists. It could not be real. He could not have been sent in a world away from his true love. It was unfair. He hated all of them, Agroln and his magic, the omniscient trees, even heaven and hell. He felt like a pawn on a board. They were all the silly pawns of these higher forces. He curled into a ball and sobbed.
When all the tears in his body had turned dry, Lissandro pondered on his future in this land. There was no hope for him, not without Grimmr. Yet, his friends were together. They had a future and they needed him. Lissandro took the resolution to help them, whatever the cost. He could still die later.
He rose. The tree had turned back to its lifeless shape. There was no face to be seen anymore. The arms had turned to branches. He looked up. The sun was shining. He could see the sky again. He could head south.
CHAPTER 18
Folc walked among the tents in search for Louis. A crowd had gathered in the east of the camp. He heard shouts. Folc slipped between the curious and bumped into a large soldier in mail and leather straps, wrapped in a grey, muddy cloak. The man turned around.
“What are you doing here, boy? Get lost. This is no place for a child.” The strong man scowled at him, pushing him back with his hand.
Folc wanted to complain that he was not a child but a lord. Yet, he had no time to lose with the soldier. The warning had intrigued him. Ignoring the man’s remark, he pushed his way on the right. As he left the crowd behind, he halted. He gasped with shock. In front of him, soldiers guarded a line of prisoners. A group sat on the ground. Their hands were tied with a rope. Their heads hung down in apathy or desperation. Another group stood up, waiting. These showed fear. Some wailed, others swore and cursed. One man had wet his pants. Folc noticed that most of the men had the metal badge of a lieutenant. Surprisingly, there were a few women among the prisoners. Folc counted three.
> Behind the last group, gallows had been constructed. Soldiers untied corpses from the ropes. The bodies fell to the wooden floor with a thud and were thrown negligently into a cart. A soldier gave a quick brush on the boards where the corpses had been. Folc noticed the smell of piss in the air. The line of prisoners that had waited standing was pushed towards the steps. The condemned took their place under the ropes. As one soldier fastened the nooses around their necks, another soldier tied their feet together. Folc looked around and saw Louis and Faremanne watch the execution with gravity. Folc strode towards them.
“What is going on?” he asked.
Without turning his gaze away from the gallows, Louis answered him. “You should not be here, Folc. Leave.” His tone was cold as ice.
“But what have they done? Who are these women?” Folc had never seen an execution in an army camp, not on the soldiers of the same army at least.
Louis’s eyes turned slowly towards him. Folk took a step back. His heart missed a beat, and he felt a shiver run through his body.
“Go away,” Louis hissed. He looked straight ahead again.
“Wait for us in our tent, boy. It won’t be long,” Faremanne said without turning his head.
Folc saw Louis nod. On the gallows, the traps opened. The fall of the bodies stopped sharply with a crushing sound that sent gooseflesh down Folc’s spine.
“Move the bodies. Next!” Faremanne shouted. The second group of prisoners was compelled to rise.
“No! Please!” A man on the line screamed.
Folc had seen enough. He walked away to the center of the camp. As he had not fulfilled his errand, he entered Faremanne and Louis’s tent. The place was tidy except for the table which disappeared under a sea of papers. Folc sat on one of the beds and waited.
A moment later, Louis and Faremanne entered the tent. As Louis approached him, Folc shrank into himself. His friend stopped, startled.
Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1) Page 12