by Logan Joss
From the stray vessel, a cannonball fired and landed harmlessly in the empty parade ground, sending a shower of dust and shattered stone over the command yurt.
Realizing their advantage, a soldier ran out from the battlement on the eastern wall and shouted to his comrades nearby, who were arming a ballista.
‘They can’t see us! Bring it down!’
The soldiers turned the ballista in the direction of the galleon and blasted a bolt straight through its hull. An explosion from within the vessel blew out its sides and sent it plummeting into the palace wall, tearing the vessel in two. Its stern fell outside the walls but its bow crashed onto a courtyard within the grounds, spilling dead and wounded men onto the cobbles. Some staggered to their feet or crawled on their hands and knees over the wreckage of their vessel and the bodies of their fallen comrades to grab anything that could be used as a weapon.
A small group of runian soldiers, led by an officer, came to investigate the fallen galleon. On seeing the survivors, the officer ordered his men to attack. ‘Kill them, leave none alive.’
‘But sir, some of them are unarmed,’ one soldier questioned.
‘These savages would afford us no such mercy,’ the officer said, drawing his sword and stepping towards the wreckage, where a wounded man staggered in a bewildered state. He plunged his keen blade into the chest of the man, who fell to the ground as though he welcomed death.
The rest of the men followed the commander’s lead and began taking down the remaining survivors, but one soldier hesitated, seeing the injuries of the man before him. And then it was too late—the wounded man plunged a shard of splintered wood into his gut. Looking down in disbelief, the soldier watched as blood poured from his stomach and flowed in warm rivulets down his legs. Another soldier rushed to his comrade’s aid, running his attacker through with his sword, before catching his friend’s limp body in his arms and cradling him as he watched the life fade from his eyes.
Above the palace, the stars slowly faded in the lightening sky of the imminent dawn. The southern horizon was finally free from the presence of the enemy. Wary soldiers cautiously scanned the skies for the next wave of enemy vessels, but none came. For now, it was over. All around the battlements and across the city, soldiers, exhausted but jubilant, allowed themselves to relax for the first time. It was as if the palace itself, taut with the strain of battle, heaved a deep sigh of relief.
At first, the sounds of celebration were just muted whispers drifting down from the battlements, but gradually the soft susurration of voices rose until the palace was filled with an excited buzz as soldiers recounted the events of the past night. From the kitchens, Freya led a group of maids, who scurried among the troops carrying trays of flûalbread and pitchers of láven to restore their weary bodies. The sweet aromas of the freshly baked bread mingled with the charred smell that lingered in the crisp morning air.
A sudden flickering from above invoked dread in the exhausted soldiers. Fearing a surprise attack, they looked up aghast, urgently scanning the skies for the foreboding form of Nirikö’s fleet. But to their immense relief, they saw that the shimmering light came only from the cloud-shield which, having served its purpose, evaporated in the first light of the rising sun.
A sense of calm settled over the city.
King Somúlùs stood on the parade ground with his hands on his hips, breathing deeply of the fresh morning air. He surveyed his kingdom with satisfaction and a feeling of pride for the men who had defended their city with more success than he could ever have imagined. Followed by his two captains and a servant, he proceeded to climb onto the buttresses with a spring in his step. He moved among the men on the battlements, congratulating them and toasting their victory with swrenburl wine that the servant decanted into the men’s tankards. As he progressed along the palace wall, he could see the aftermath of the battle spread out all around him in carpets of grey ash, which lay in great drifts against buildings and hedges. Men tried in vain to clear away this terrible reminder of their enemy, but their efforts only added to the problem as each sweep threw up clouds of ash into the air.
Once King Somúlùs had completed his circuit of the palace perimeter, he turned to his two captains. ‘This is a great victory for runia,’ he said. ‘It is one of our own making but we cannot allow ourselves to become complacent. I fear this is not over. Have the men assemble on the parade ground so I can address them.’
As the captains departed to gather the men, Somúlùs ducked into the barracks block where he allowed himself a brief moment to gather his thoughts. In the washroom he bathed his face in a basin filled with cold water, turning it grey as he washed away the weight of the night’s battle. Looking into a mirror, the smile on his face faded into a frown. His thoughts flashed, as they so often did, to the galleon heading north, which carried with it his hopes for his daughter.
Back on the parade ground, the men were gathered and awaited their king. Somúlùs climbed onto a low wall and began to address his soldiers.
‘runians, the moment that we have all been dreading has passed and the new day’s sun has brought with it a victory. But do not rest on your laurels—be assured that Nirikö will return. Defeat does not come easily to a man like him. He will hit us harder and faster than before. But be assured that we will be ready for him and, like this past night, we will stand united and will once again be victorious. For now, take this opportunity to rest and regain your strength, and tonight be ready to stand and defend your country once more.’
A lone soldier raised his fist into the air and cried, ‘Koo-wassa Ak-sora!’ His chant was echoed around the parade ground as every man joined in as one, repeating the battle cry three times.
As the cheering subsided, King Somúlùs cleared his throat to speak once more, but as he opened his mouth to do so he was stopped by the mournful wail of a distant horn. Every man turned to the east and an uneasy hush fell over the parade ground. They waited with baited breath, casting questioning glances at each other. The silence was broken by a second horn, but this time from the north, followed quickly by another from the south. Soon the air was filled with the sound of horns, coming from all directions. In a confused scramble, the men made for the high palace walls, hoping that their worst fears would not be confirmed. But as they looked into the distance, beyond the city, their hearts sank.
Far off to the north, the horizon was painted black and the darkness flowed towards them like a spreading stain. Nirikö’s dead army had arrived.
24
The Spirit Of The Woods
MÈLLI HUNG THERE, high above the forests of Daknat'òr, lying face down as if he were supported by an invisible glass shelf. There was no wind and no sense of motion at all—only the trees steadily passing by beneath showed him that he was moving. It was clear to Mèlli that something or someone had rescued him from the carnivorous trees, but he had no idea what it was, and no amount of screaming and pleading had convinced his rescuer to turn around and go back for Trevor.
Trevor. The very thought of his friend filled Mèlli with an overwhelming sense of loss—something he had not felt since seeing his parents murdered. Trevor was dead. The pain erupted through his body in deep, uncontrollable sobs.
Eventually, he could cry no more and his body went limp, resigned to the fact that he had lost his only friend. He allowed himself to be carried, numb and exhausted, to whatever fate awaited him, and watched with a sense of detached bemusement as he saw other crew members all around him, being carried along on cobalt slivers of light.
Without warning, Mèlli felt himself being tilted upright until he was standing in the air, still going forward. The others around him were also standing bolt upright now, and those ahead of him were beginning to descend towards the treetops. If it wasn’t for his empty heart, Mèlli would have been filled with trepidation, not knowing what these strange blue lights wanted with him. But whatever they wanted, he no longer cared.
When he reached the point where the others ahead of him had
descended, Mèlli saw a clearing below him, as he too began to drift gently downwards. As soon as his feet touched the ground, the blue light around him evaporated, leaving him feeling disorientated under the weight of his own body. Many of the crew were already there, talking excitedly in small groups about their miraculous rescue. But Mèlli could not face their jubilant mood and instead bowed his head and hastened to the edge of the clearing, where he slumped behind a tree to avoid being noticed.
How dare they? How dare they save me and not Trevor? Mèlli thought as anger overcame him. He pounded his fists into the ground. ‘You let Trevor die!’ he yelled, picking up a stick and hitting the tree in front of him as hard as he could. ‘You let Trevor die and it should have been me!’ He threw the stick away and fell to the ground, his body convulsing with loud, painful sobs.
A hand on Mèlli’s shoulder jolted him back to his senses. ‘Trevor!’ he yelped, jumping to his feet.
But it wasn’t Trevor. Instead, Mèlli looked up into the smiling face of the midshipman from the Leviathan’s Roar.
‘It’s okay, we’re safe here,’ the man said in a soft, reassuring voice. ‘It’s Mèlli isn’t it?’
Mèlli turned away and quickly wiped his face on his sleeve.
‘Are you alright?’ the midshipman continued. ‘Were you injured back there by those…those things?’
Mèlli didn’t answer, he just stared at the ground in silence.
‘Why don’t you come over here? There are more people arriving all the time.’
‘Not everyone!’ Mèlli said. ‘Not Trevor.’ He turned to walk further away, to put more distance between himself and this concerned man who was intruding on his grief.
‘Trevor? But Trevor’s here.’
Mèlli turned and shot the midshipman a venomous look. ‘Trevor’s dead. I saw him fall. I didn’t get to him quick enough.’
The man stepped towards Mèlli with an outstretched hand. ‘Trevor’s here!’ he said again, beaming at Mèlli joyfully. ‘I saw him arrive. Look, he’s over there.’
In disbelief, Mèlli pushed past him to see with his own eyes. There on the far side of the clearing, standing on the edge of a group and listening to their conversation with a dopey grin on his face, was Trevor. Mèlli opened his mouth to call to him, but no sound came out, his throat was too choked up with emotion. So instead he just ran. His legs felt weak beneath him but somehow he managed to keep himself going.
‘Trevor!’ he squeaked as he got closer.
Upon hearing his name, Trevor turned just in time to see Mèlli launch himself towards him, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing as if his life depended on it.
‘Mèlli!’ Trevor grunted. ‘I can’t breathe.’
Mèlli released his grip, suddenly remembering himself. ‘You’re an idiot, Trevor! Couldn’t just hold on for one more second?’ His face dropped and he continued in a small voice. ‘I thought you were dead.’
Trevor was about to react to this outburst, but then realized that Mèlli hadn’t witnessed his mid-air rescue and must have thought all this time that he had been killed. He must have been so scared.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,’ Trevor said, reaching out a hand.
‘It all happened so fast,’ said Mèlli. ‘Before I could see what had happened to you, I was lifted up into the air. Oh, what does it matter? You’re here. I just wish I knew what these things wanted with us.’
‘I thought you would know what they were,’ Trevor said. ‘I don’t think they mean us any harm. Just look at this place.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, can’t you feel it? It’s like the opposite of where we were. Back there in that forest, it was like all hope had been drained from me, but here I feel overwhelmed with happiness.’
For the first time since arriving here, the two boys began to take in their surroundings. The grass beneath their feet was as soft and springy as moss, dotted here and there with small white flowers whose sweet fragrance pervaded the air around them. The clearing itself was perfectly circular, bounded by trees with silver bark as smooth as ivory and tall, slender trunks reaching high up into the brilliant sunlight. The air in the clearing was filled with tiny blowballs, illuminated by shards of light as they drifted around in the warmth of the day.
Looking around, Trevor noticed that no-one else was arriving now and everyone in the clearing was starting to gather around the first officer. ‘Let’s go see what’s going on.’ Trevor grabbed hold of Mèlli’s arm and pulled him over to where everyone else was.
‘My friends, I would like to take this opportunity to pay tribute to Captain D’ehlfiùs, without whom none of us would be here now,’ the first officer was saying. ‘For those who are unaware, the captain’s selfless actions saved each and every one of us. I’m sorry to say that both the captain and the Leviathan’s Roar have been lost. May he rest well with Zúbenelgenúbi for all times to come.’
‘For all times to come,’ the crew repeated in unison.
‘We also need to pay thanks to our mysterious saviors, without whom we would have become a blood sacrifice to the unspeakable evil of Daknat’òr. But for now, we can assume we are safe. Rest, recuperate and tomorrow we will determine our next move.’
As the crowd started to disperse, a brilliant light appeared in the center of the clearing and a voice, which sounded like a chorus of voices carried on a breath of wind, started to speak.
‘Greetings mortal beings. I am Gýella. We are the spirit of all life. I am sure you have many questions. There will be answers, but first eat, drink, rest.’
The bright light split into many, before fading and vanishing, leaving in their places baskets of fruit and nuts for the awestruck visitors.
‘That was amazing! What were those things?’ Trevor asked.
‘They’re the spirits of the woods,’ said Mèlli, matter-of-factly.
‘So you do know what they are?’
‘Well, I’ve heard stories but I didn’t actually believe they were real. No-one’s ever seen one before. But then again, I didn’t think the flesh-eating trees of Daknat’òr were real either.’
‘I think she was right though, we are safe now. They’ve given us food after all so they can’t mean us any harm,’ Trevor concluded.
‘Unless they intend to fatten us up before they eat us,’ said Mèlli, with a laugh.
Trevor had just stooped down to pick up one of the fruit baskets but now stood bolt upright. ‘Do you really think so?’
Mèlli just rolled his eyes and smiled warmly, walking over to the edge of the clearing. ‘Just bring the basket.’
They sat beneath a tree at the clearing’s edge in the warm afternoon sun. Trevor grabbed a large round fruit which looked like a giant grape and lay back in the soft grass before taking a bite. Juices ran down his chin. ‘Mmm…tastes like raspberry.’
Mèlli smiled, took a smaller, orange-colored fruit and lay down beside him.
‘It was amazing wasn’t it?’ Trevor said, through a mouthful of juicy fruit. ‘We were flying…on beams of light! Of course, I’ve been on an airplane before but it was nothing like that. There you’re completely enclosed and you can just see out of the window. Oh yeah, you’ve been on a galleon loads of times and that’s way more exciting than an airplane. But this! This was incredible!’ Trevor noticed that Mèlli was looking less enthusiastic.
‘If you say so, Trevor. But I’m afraid the experience was lost on me. I had other things on my mind.’ Mèlli looked at Trevor, remembering that awful feeling of loss. ‘Not as amazing as a boodaloofe though.’ He gave Trevor a playful nudge with his elbow. ‘I hear they have six legs.’
They both chuckled and lay back, relaxing in the soft grass and enjoying the food and the warmth of the sun as though they didn’t have a care in the world.
Suddenly, Trevor sat up. ‘What are we going to do now?’ he said with an air of panic in his voice.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Mèlli.
‘We’re stranded her
e. No-one knows where we are and even if we could get a message back to rus, Nirikö’s fleet would have arrived by now. There may not be anyone there to help.’
Both boys were quiet for a moment as they pondered the implications, wondering what may have become of their friends in rus.
‘There’s no use worrying about that now,’ Mèlli said eventually. ‘There’s nothing we can do to help. Even if we were there, what use would we be?’
‘No, you’re right. We have our own jobs to do. We’ll get to Borreós as we promised.’
‘Trevor, we’ve lost everything. All our maps and supplies went down with the galleon. And even if we did manage to get all the way to Borreós, what then? There may not be a Princess Viöla to go back to. Or an rus for that matter.’ Mèlli turned the piece of fruit over in his hands, trying not to meet Trevor’s gaze.
Alarmed, Trevor reached down and started urgently patting his pockets before pulling out the velveteen pouch that Ormostrious had given him. ‘Not everything,’ he said with a big sigh of relief.
‘What’s that?’ asked Mèlli.
‘Something Ormostrious gave me.’ Trevor tucked the bag back into his pocket and buttoned it shut.
‘What’s it for?’
Trevor shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Ormostrious said I would know when the time comes.’
‘You too?’ Mèlli muttered quietly, clutching at the bag which hung across his chest.
‘What did you say?’
‘Oh, nothing. You’re right, but we still have no way to get out of here.’