by Winfred Wong
Awakened by the pungent odour of the fire and the bellow of agony uttered by villagers, Chavdar opened his eyes and found himself on a horse’s back, tied tightly. He struggled, trying to break free, but he was as weak as an ant as he still hadn’t recovered from the exhaustion, though, he didn’t stop struggling until they ran past two dead bodies on the ground.
“Father…mother…” he murmured almost soundlessly, looking at the two dead bodies with the most mournful and despairing look that one could ever make.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
As dawn spilled over the landscape after the imperishable night, Chavdar was sleeping blissfully on Morph’s back, making up for the nightmarish last night, and, when a dim line of cozy sunlight gleamed on his armor that was smeared with dried blood and tickled his skin, he sensed the slightest change in temperature and had to open his eyes despite his unwillingness.
He woke up disorientated like a drunk regaining sobriety and instinctively wanted to stretch his almost cramping limbs, and he was shocked to find that he couldn’t lift up his arms and could only dangle his legs to a small degree, then a hair-raising thought flashed through his mind. He peeped down on his limbs and discovered that he was tied tightly on the back of a horse, by a linen rope that encircled the trunk of the horse and his torso. The startlement stimulated his brain, and, in a split second, a million fragments of memories flooded into his head at the same time, painful and agonizing memories that he doubted that he would ever forget, and he grieved for everyone, who had suffered, as a heart-rending warmth that made him want to blubber and sob was sneaking up.
“Are you awake?” Morph said, in a cold tone, swinging his horse trunk as proceeding.
Shedding tears, “Who are you?” Chavdar looked around, realizing that they were moving along an unpaved road in the middle of nowhere surrounded by bushes, when Morph stopped and turned to give him a hostile stare suddenly.
“You don’t remember me?” Morph said suspiciously. “I doubt who would forget a centaur.”
“Sorry, but I don’t think we have met before. Let me go,” Chavdar yelled pleadingly, and tried to break free by rolling his body into a spin.
Then the hostile stare became a cold gape. “I don’t know what you are trying to do, but no use pretending.” Then there was a delay as Morph was in consideration. “But you know that I won’t believe in your foolish lie after seeing what you can do back in the village, right? Mr. Mind-wielder.”
“What?” Chavdar shook his head from side to side again and again with a bewildered look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Centaur. Just let me go! Where are you taking me? I need to go back! They’re killing my friends and my family. I have to go back! Release me now!”
Directed his eyes on him for seconds, Morph suddenly smirked in a way that no one could notice. “Well, I can tell you there’s no point in going back if all you want is to save your friends. I am afraid they’re all cold and dead by now,” Morph said, in a soft tone that he rarely made, as he kept moving along. “The bandits leave no men alive.”
Tears coursed down from his reddish eyes, preventing him from speaking normally. “You don’t know that! Maybe someone made it out alive, wandering at somewhere nearby and waiting for help! We have to go back! I have to go back!” He flailed even harder, kicking and thrashing and screaming.
“Stop, you’ll hurt yourself.”
“I don’t care! I need to go! Let me go!! My parents are dying!” Chavdar bellowed, as his skin was being peeled off by the fiction yielded by his wild wriggling.
“Calm down, young man, calm down. You can’t go back now. They’re still there, and the village is still engulfed in fire. I know how it feels, trust me, I saved your life, and I have been there before too. So let me help you through your pain.”
Repressed his desire to struggle, but not the crying, “Help me? How? Bring me back in time when Ayrith is still a livable village without slaughtering and bandits? Can you?” Chavdar said, in an ironic tone.
“No, I can’t bring you back in time. But do you really think an army of bandits would just appear out of thin air and raid your poverty-stricken village for no reasons? Have you ever thought about that?”
It was indeed a good question that Chavdar hadn’t pondered over, and his eyes began to dry as he was temporarily at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the stunning implication of the question.
“Now listen to me. Don’t you want them to pay for what they’ve done to you and your friends and your family? After everything they have done? The aching pain in your heart, the fresh wounds on your arms and the monstrous rage in your throat,” Morph said temptingly, as he drew out the red blade in his white sheath and cut the rope on Chavdar smoothly. “You know you have the ability to do it, don’t you? I might not be able to send you back in time, but I know who murdered your friends and family. And I can take you to him, if you wish. Make him pay for what he did!”
Finally regained freedom after the entire night, Chavdar planted his feet on the solid ground, took off the armor and stretched to relieve the numbness of his limbs, and, after an arduous vacillation between going back and moving onward to ferret out what had actually happened, he eventually decided to keep a rein on his impulse to rush back immediately as he came to a realization that this was the only opportunity he had if he ever wanted to avenge them, “Yes, yes. I would love to take vengeance against that evil man. I want him to have a taste of what it’s like to be slaughtered!” Chavdar said soberly, with a pair of soul-piercing, furious eyes of a sad spirit.
“Then let’s go, the man you have to kill is in Valais,” Morph said firmly, sheathed his sword and resumed moving.
“Valais?” Chavdar said, walking beside Morph. “Why everyone wants to go to Valais? And who is the man plotted the raid?”
“Pancho. One of the two consuls of Austhun. He is a mighty mind-wielder with a venomous smile, a cunning, resourceful man.”
“Pancho, a consul and a mind-wielder,” Chavdar muttered. “Not until now...not until now do I finally realize how abominable a privileged man can be. But why us? Why Ayrith?”
“Because there is a staff, a burgundy staff and a powerful sapphire that can give off holy light that can allow people to see through everything created by vision. It originally belonged to our king, Iain, but Pancho wanted it so bad. He proposed to him that the staff would be a great bait to lure the elites of the resistance out, and, with no doubts, the king believed in his enticing words, without realizing the only thing Pancho has always desired is his formidable staff, like an idiot. And he entrusted his best riders, the Knights, with a mission of escorting the delivery of the staff and intentionally leaked the time and date about the delivery to the resistance group beforehand so as to make sure they will come for it. Pancho also sent his men out for the staff, but the men from the resistance unexpectedly outpowered and outsmarted them, and the staff is believed to be in the resistance’s hand now. This whole thing is just a joke.”
“A burgundy staff!?” Chavdar mumbled, with an astounded look, drawing in a chilly deep breath, as he became aware of the dreadful fact that Dulais was their target, deeming him partly accountable for the massacre of Ayrith. “So, after the first failure, Pancho dispatched his men, the bandits, again to chase after the stolen staff, and, as the staff is in Ayrith, they attacked our village. Am I correct?”
“Correct. The staff also has a mystifying power related to the Flipside, and no one can guarantee you what will happen if he obtains it. I was there in the village trying to stop his men, but I failed. There were simply too many of them,” Morph said bitterly, staring blankly forward like he was feeling sad. “But what do you mean when you said everyone wants to go to Valais?”
“A friend I knew back in Ayrith,” Chavdar said, with hollow cheeks, his voice monotone. “He told me something about the resistance group you just mentioned, and he is also heading to Valais.”
Opened his mouth wide in amazement, as if gogg
ling, and tucked that look away immediately, “What is his name? The man you are talking about,” Morph then asked.
“Dulais,” Chavdar said, “and he gave me this.” He took out the stained map in his trouser pocket.
“Kloster,” Morph murmured, in a dragging voice, as he set eyes on a cross mark on the map.
“Kloster,” Chavdar repeated. “He told me to find him in Kloster whenever I wish to join the resistance.”
“A decisive battle is inevitably imminent in Valais. A war between the growing resistance and Iain. And I’m afraid your friend, Dulais, is one of them.”
“Afraid so.”
“So do you still want to go?”
“Valais?” Chavdar queried. “Of course. Nothing can stop me now.”
“I mean Kloster.”
Paused for a moment, he shook his head, “It’s tempting, but no. At least not now,” Chavdar answered, as he put the map back in his pocket. “For now, I want to stay focused on revenging. I will show him the fury of Ayrith.”
“Yeah, what about Ayrith?” Morph asked grimly. “I thought you want to go back.”
Pressed his lips together as making a hard decision and darted a grudging glance on the way back, “I will come back as soon as I make him pay for what he has done to us,” Chavdar said, menacingly and resolutely.
∫∫
Daybreak, after a sleepless night, his sleep interfered by irksome nightmares, on the rolling open farmland of Ayrith, Dulais was sitting right next to an unconscious Althalos, who had a bruised forehead and an alleviating fever. Through visioning, Dulais had been keeping his forehead cool overnight by constantly wetting it, though it made him felt drained, achy all over.
“Uh...” Althalos whimpered abruptly, as he was woken by a ray of affable sunlight that caused the water on his forehead to evaporate.
“Better?” Dulais asked.
His green eyes musing on Dulais wildly with cloudy vision, “Who are you?” Althalos said very slowly, with a pause after each word. “Am I still alive?”
“Yes, my friend. You made it.”
“Who are you?” Althalos said again, suddenly shivered as he recalled his memory, voice quavering, and tried to push Dulais away from him with his powerless hands frantically.
“Hey, calm down. It’s me, Dulais. I saved your life. Don’t you remember me?” he said, grabbing Althalos’s arms to stop him thrashing about.
Then Althalos was sniveling. “Yes, I remember you. You saved me back in the inn. I’m sorry. I am just...I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry. You’re safe now.” Dulais comforted him with a gentle pat on his arm.
“But my friends, my parents, my brother and sister...” Althalos lamented, almost inaudibly, as the two trails of tears roll were becoming two breathtaking series of cascades. “They...”
“If you’re really worried, we should go back and find them,” Dulais suggested and took a remorseful glance at the searing village that had been burnt down. “The bandits must be gone by now.”
“What if they’re still there?” Althalos said, cowardice and hopelessness infiltrating his heart.
“They won’t be able to spot us. With your vision, we can easily creep up on them and take them out without being noticed.” Dulais rubbed his nose.
“What vision?” Althalos questioned, scratching his head. “What are you talking about?”
With a puzzled look, Dulais slightly shook his head, fixed his eyes on him and said, “I think we talked about this in the inn before, didn’t we?”
“In the inn?” Althalos squeaked and sat up on the short grass, feeling better. “I don’t think we have met before. I don’t even know your name.”
Ridiculously muddled by him, “Chavdar? You’re not Chavdar?” Dulais asked, his confusion.
His green eyes stared back at him, “You know my brother?” Althalos replied. “Oh, I remember you now. You were talking to him.”
“Your brother?” Dulais said, a change of pace. “Oh.” He covered his painful, twisted face that only stayed for a brief time with his hand and forced a bitter smile with his beard. “You are his twin brother?”
“Yes, he didn’t tell you that he has a twin brother?”
“Never.”
“So who are you?” Althalos asked curiously.
“Ah...a traveller finding my way to Valais. I’m Dulais.”
“Althalos. Anyway, what is a vision?”
“Forget about it!” Dulais replied, a little bit agitatedly, rubbed his face like he was washing it and stood up. “Let’s go back and find your brother.”
“Are you sure?” Althalos asked. “I thought it wasn’t quite safe to go back without my brother’s vision.”
“We just have to be more cautious. Keep a low profile. Slink, do not make a sound,” Dulais said and slithered toward Ayrith, beckoning to him, and he dragged along behind him reluctantly.
As they reached the wide, east entrance of the village, they moved toward the melted fence quietly, and from there, they can feel the remaining heat of the wreckage and debris of the caved in cottages on each side of the street and the acrid smell that wafted through the entire area. Then they squatted down to avoid exposing themselves and peered inside.
“See anything?” Althalos said in a voice that was actually imperceptible when he was scanning the tumbledown buildings.
“I think they’re gone,” Dulais said in a suppressed voice, as he saw heaps of bodies of slaughtered villagers that were seemingly about to be cremated in the middle of the main street, torn and gaping, bloody and smelly.
“Shhhhh! Keep your voice down. They will hear us!” Althalos said anxiously when he heard whinnies of horses followed by a high-pitched cry of a bald eagle that rolled loudly through the field of destruction.
Disdain and scorn sparkled in his eyes, Dulais didn’t speak a word. He slinked through the entrance like a guileful fox, went to the right until he was at the back of the row of wreckage and proceeded forward, leaving Althalos behind, as he figured he wasn’t someone he can count on in this situation. And as he moved smoothly, using the ruin as cover, he was well aware of the debris on the ground. He didn’t want to alert the bandits by making any sounds of stepping on anything crunchy, so he was only able to move at a slow pace.
He kept a low profile and continued to move forward, trying to get to the inn, while keeping an eye out for any survivors, however, when he made it to the guard station, which was obviously the only building that was still standing, he heard the cry of an eagle again, and then some tread of people walking inside the station. So, gingerly, he sidled furtively to a pillar in front of the entrance with a dagger ready in his hand, crawled to the doorless entrance and craned his neck out to see who was inside, but the windowless, gloomy hallway was just too dim and dark, so dark that he doubted he would catch a glimpse of a firefly inside if there were one, and, as he was thinking about storming in, a voice blasted out of the hallway, a familiar voice of an old man, Desman’s voice.
∫∫
“Where is it?” a man, who had a bald eagle standing on his shoulder, in the station said in a low, intimidating tone.
“I don’t have it,” Desman said. “He killed them all and escaped.”
“You said the ambush would work!” the man said exasperatingly.
“You said you would leave the village unharmed if I listen to you. And I did everything just as you asked! You told me to look for a man who carries a staff! I did it! I reported it to you when I saw him at the entrance! I lured him out into the wagon and found you the black powder you wanted! But look around you! Huge heaps of ruin and bodies! You broke the promise! You filthy evil-doer!” Desman said resentfully and burst into heart-wrenching tears.
“Shut up, old man! I want the staff! Do you really think I would care about your impoverished village?” the man threatened and slapped him hard across the face twice humiliatingly. “So why don’t you just tell me where is the mind-wielder now?”
Trembling, “
I don’t know, probably heading to Valais now,” Desman said and dried his eyes with his tunic.
“Tut-tut, Desman, you disappointed me,” the man said, wagging a finger at him, and fished out his sword. “There is no use keeping you alive now. Say goodbye.”
Projecting his sword quickly, the man came to an awkward stop when the eagle fluttered and flittered.
CHAPTER TWELVE
* * *
It was a sunny summer morning when the distressed Desman flounced out of the station hurriedly and bumped into Dulais at the entrance. They regarded at each other awkwardly for a moment before one of them broke the silence.
“Why did you come back? You shouldn’t have come back here. It’s too dangerous. They are still here!” Desman bit out a bit frustratedly.
Scowling at him, “Stop pretending like you’re a victim, Desman. You are a traitor!” Dulais raised his voice, not furiously but more like blaming. “You lied to me! You conspired, Desman! I know it was you. You are one of them. You work for Pancho!”
Ceased to breathe for a moment because he felt wronged, “Pancho? I never heard the name before, but I did what was necessary to protect this village,” Desman denied. “All they want is you and that thing in your hand. They had already taken my girl, and they threatened to wipe us out if I don’t listen to them. Do you really think I have a choice!?”
“You certainly have. You could have warned everyone about what was going on, but you didn’t. You could have told me about this! But you chose to stand on their side, you decided to assist the filthy, brutal man to destroy your homeland! So, not only are you always given a choice, you are always making one, and apparently you have always been making the wrong one. You yielded to them! And look around you! Is this really what you want? Is this what you’re talking about when you said you want to protect the village?”