Legends of Gravenstone: The Secret Voyage

by Alex Aguilar

  “Hey!” Robyn leapt to her feet and followed him.

  With a sigh, Nyx scurried after them unwillingly. “In case you care,” he said, putting as little pressure on his paw as he could. “I believe this plan to be as rubbish as they come…”

  Robyn frowned. “It’ll be all right,” she said, though she was not entirely convinced herself. The only tavern she’d ever set foot inside was Mister Nottley’s whenever John had made a delivery and brought her along. She had never set foot, much less even seen, a tavern built into a tree before.

  The three of them stepped inside, and much to Robyn’s surprise, the stares they received made her feel like she was the outsider. She took a moment to gaze around, admiring the beauty of the tavern. There were two other orcs inside, both much younger than the Beast, one a servant and the other was playing a harp next to an elf girl who was singing a beautiful interpretation of The Ballad of Wingless Ehryn.

  Among the others, Robyn saw more elves, gnomes, goblins, and orcs than she had ever seen in her life. But she wasn’t afraid, at least not more than she was intrigued. She then noticed a middle-aged woman in a red housedress standing behind the bar; the woman had to have been in charge, Robyn realized, based solely on the way she was talking to some of the servers.

  Breathe, Robyn… You’ve got this…

  “Pardon me,” Robyn approached the woman confidently. “I would like a room for me and my companions.”

  The woman scoffed before she even said anything. “What sort o’ place d’you think this is?” she asked, more irritated than angry. “No animals allowed, poppet… If he was a pup, I may have shrugged it off. But a bleedin’ fox?!”

  “Right… the thing is,” Robyn cleared her throat, realizing what she was about to say was bound to sound mad. “He’s, um… He’s not a real fox, he’s um… well he’s cursed.”

  “Well that’s just as well,” the woman grunted. “I won’t have a bloody cursed thing stayin’ in here. It’ll bring bad fate to the place, and the other guests simply won’t have it.”

  “Please!” Robyn said, leaning in closer to the woman. “I can’t pay extra, but I can work!”

  “No!” the woman snapped. “Why in all hells does everyone insist on bartering?! Miss Rayna does not barter! First that loud-mouthed moron of a thief and now you?! If you don’t leave in the next 10 seconds, I will call my Edmund and trust me, dear, I am much more patient than he is.”

  Robyn’s eyes widened instantly…

  “Wait,” she said. “A thief? What thief?”

  “Some dumb bloke who thought he was all high ‘n’ mighty.”

  “W-What was his name?!”

  “How in all hells should I know?!” Miss Rayna asked with a scoff of frustration.

  “I’m sorry,” Robyn said gently, knowing that in some situations it was easier to lie. “M-My name’s Robyn… We were traveling with my brother’s squadron, y’see… We were attacked by tree nymphs and got separated. I’ve been trying to find my brother ever since. Was this thief, by any chance, traveling with a young man? Short blonde hair, blue eyes, farmer’s clothing?”

  Miss Rayna had seen more than her fair share of liars in her life. She knew their tactics and tricks and had heard every phony sob story from ‘My wife’s thrown me out’ to ‘I’m the King of Halghard in disguise’. She knew the young girl was lying. Every single sign was there. The girl’s dryness as she spoke, the nervous twitching of her lip, and the fact that she brushed her fingers through her black curls twice during her brief story.

  But she also saw something else… The girl’s eyes were glowing, not the way an elf’s would when they were angry but the way a human’s would when they were afraid. And if Miss Rayna was aware of anything, it was that with fear came love. The girl may have been lying about something, but the love in her eyes was real.

  “Didn’t see a squadron of any kind, dear,” Miss Rayna said, her tone more affable than before. “But the thief was traveling with a woman and another man. Wasn’t hard to tell the woman was a witch. The other man didn’t really say his name… but he does fit your description.”

  Robyn smiled…

  Miss Rayna smiled back. “Still can’t rent you the room, poppet,” she said warmly. “But for two coppers, I’ll let you and your friends make camp in our stables if you’d like. It’s the best I can offer.”

  Robyn’s eyes lit up with something like hope.

  “Y-Yes… Th-Thank you! Thank you, ma’am!”

  “Call me Miss Rayna.”

  Robyn’s smile gave the woman a warm feeling in her chest. Had it not been for the wooden bar between them, Robyn would have surely gone in for a hug and Miss Rayna would have surely scowled and recoiled.

  Robyn left two coppers on the bar and was on her way to the door within seconds, her two unusual companions following behind. The elf girl Kiira returned to the bar with empty tankards in a tray and noticed Miss Rayna watching their new visitors with awe.

  “Travelers?” Kiira asked.

  Miss Rayna disregarded the question, and as she tapped on the wood of the bar with her sharp fingernails, her eyes narrowed into a squint as if she was lost in thought. “Something funny’s goin’ on in the west, I think,” she said.

  “Should I call Edmund & Grum?” Kiira asked.

  “Nah… What for?” Miss Rayna asked as she casually gulped down the last of the unfinished ale that someone left behind on the counter. “Give it a week and we’ll hear all about it from some drunken halfwit, I’m sure.”

  XIV

  Unexpected Alliances

  Syrena, the witch of Morganna, was the first to wake.

  The first thing she took in was the breeze, cooler and significantly more humid than any night in years. The warmth struggled to crawl back into her cold pale body. She had been shivering all night due to her humid clothes; it was a miracle she woke up at all.

  Her eyelids opened slightly, exposing her to a rich blend of green and blue all around her, a blurry verdant atmosphere morphing into shape. For a moment, she had entirely forgotten where she was; she had to be in the Woodlands still, she figured, for nowhere else could she open her eyes to such an imposing roof of leaves, shielding her almost entirely from the starry black sky. There was something rather different, even eerie, about her surroundings, though she couldn’t quite make out what it was.

  It could have been the peculiar trees, caked with a layer of thick green moss to the point where the brown of the wood was no longer visible.

  It could have been the abundance of oddly shaped leaves, similar to clovers but with the middle leaf pointy instead of round, and with a cluster of little white flora adorning every stem. What little moonlight made its way through the trees was giving the leaves a strange glow, a blue hue unlike any other plant life in the forest.

  It could have also been the blow to her head altering her vision… but even the breeze in the air appeared to be glowing. It was entrancing and dreamlike.

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes with disbelief…

  It wasn’t at all her imagination. The droplets in the leaves, the moss, even the soil beneath all the greenery was alight under the moon’s glow. The ambience was almost peaceful, surreal and luminous, as if she had traveled to some distant realm in her sleep. Her nose was struck with a strong aroma, a sweet blend of honey and roses, and she realized she was lying over a pile of the softest leaves her fingertips had ever touched.

  There was an unconscious body lying next to her, and when she rubbed her eyes again for clarity she realized it was John Huxley, pale and motionless yet still in one piece. She was anxious for a moment, but her shoulders eased when she heard him breathe.

  “John?” she whispered. She shook him gently, but he wouldn’t wake.

  The almost euphoric atmosphere was so quiet and peaceful that it frightened her to be the only one awake. Not knowing where she was or, more importantly, how she had even gotten there was giving her that nervous twitch of the eye she hated. Her hands grew red and
sweaty, as if they had a mind of their own and were preparing for the worst.

  When she heard the sudden snapping of a twig nearby, she froze…

  She tried to follow the sound, but the echo made it difficult to find its source. In the distance she heard a high-pitched whistle, like that of a singing bird, which seemed strange and unusual considering no Woodland birds were known to sing under the moon’s light.

  She raised her empty hands into the air as if holding a pair of blades; they were so red they looked as if on the verge of exploding. With the snap of a finger, she conjured a small orb of fire about the size of an apple. It hovered just inches from her skin and moved with her hand as if it were a part of her. She searched all around, but it was as if the light of the fire was seizing the glow away from the leaves, and they went back to looking old and dry. Where in all hells are we…?

  She heard the whistling sound again, and this time it came from right above her. She glanced up at the leaves, her frightened eyes hardening into a glower, ready to face whatever was lurking up there. By the gods…

  There, hiding behind a thick leafy branch, she saw it…

  Or was it a her? It was hard to tell, the creature was so small…

  First, Syrena saw a pair of glistening eyes hidden within the leaves of the misshapen tree. Then she noticed a pair of trembling blue hands rising out, grasping onto the nearest leaf as if it were a shield. The tiny creature slowly revealed itself, and Syrena noticed the razor-sharp ears on its petite head.

  The witch bent down and gave John another shove, this time more aggressively, and the farmer woke up mildly startled. “Mmph,” he groaned, rubbing the side of his head as if he had drunk his weight in ale the previous night. The witch kept her orb of fire alight, glancing up at the tiny creature, alert and full of dread.

  “John!” she whispered, her eye twitching awfully.

  “W-Where are we?” he groaned.

  “Shhh! Don’t speak… There’s something in the trees…”

  John sat up, forcing himself awake. When Syrena glanced back up the creature was suddenly gone, and the strange blue glow among the leaves left with it. Her brow lowered.

  It was just there, she thought. It was staring right at me…

  “Tree nymphs?” John asked, his eyes searching everywhere for his blade.

  “No… No, it looked like…”

  She gasped. When she turned back around, the strange creature from the tree was floating in the air a mere two feet from her face. Her orb turned into a sudden roar of flames and it soared into the air a good four feet. “Shit!” she yelped, thankful that she didn’t accidentally set any leaves ablaze. Slowly, the flames began to shrink back down to her palms, as if the fire was mirroring the witch’s heartbeat.

  John sat up, his eyes wide and alert and locked on the tiny creature.

  It looked like a woman, only she was a mere four inches tall and she had bright translucent wings like a dragonfly. She looked like an elf, her skin a pale shade of blue, her sapphire eyes a bit too large for her head, and ears sharp like a needle. The most peculiar thing about her was her mop of red hair, floating eerily in the air as if it were submerged in water. Only she wasn’t anywhere near water… She was flying. Or, rather, hovering in the air as her wings flapped with a powerful speed. And she glowed, as if her very essence was radiating magic.

  “What is it?” John asked, unable to close his mouth from the shock.

  Syrena lowered the intensity of her orb until it was the size of a candle’s light. But the little blue creature did not move, her eyes fixated on Syrena’s hand as if mesmerized by it.

  “She’s a pixie,” Syrena spoke softly, so as to not frighten the peculiar little being. Then she slowly curled her palm into a fist and the flame died, fading into a trail of smoke. The pixie blinked repeatedly, as if waking from a trance, but she didn’t blink the way a human did. Instead it was the bottom of her eyelids that moved upwards over her pupils.

  “She’s… beautiful,” John mumbled.

  Distracted as she was, Syrena shook away her unease and tried to force her mind to focus. “Where’s Hudson?” she asked; the knot in her throat came out of nowhere. She conjured another orb of fire and the two of them searched their surroundings, but the thief was nowhere to be found. There was only the pile of leaves in which they had been sleeping, like a giant nest among the glowing trees.

  “Hudson?” John called, careful not to shout. But there was no reply, only the distant whistling coming from the abundant trees. “The river might’ve taken him,” he said nervously. “Where are we?”

  Syrena’s left eye was driving her mad, twitching endlessly as she began panting.

  “I don’t know,” she said, then hissed under her breath, “Damn it all to hells…”

  The whistling became sharper suddenly, and it seemed far closer than any of the faint sounds in the distance. It was coming from the redheaded pixie… Her head was tilted to the left as if she was lost in thought.

  “I-Is she trying to tell us something?” John asked.

  The pixie whistled again, quite birdlike and beautiful, and her head was turning as if she was trying to guide their gazes towards a nearby lake. Syrena took slow careful steps forward, and the pixie remained where she was, floating in the air as if she was light as a feather.

  “H-Hello,” the witch said, her voice dry and croaky.

  “Syrena, what are y-”

  “Shhh!” she hissed, and John instead focused on finding his blade.

  This is stupid, Syrena told herself, but she proceeded anyway.

  “We’re looking for our friend,” she said. “H-Have you seen him…?”

  The pixie hovered forward, and though Syrena was wary and alert, she couldn’t help but succumb to her curiosity. Gently, the pixie closed in towards Syrena’s ear, and the witch could feel the cold radiating from those glimmering wings, sending chills into her spine. The pixie held a tiny arm out. Her fingers looked sharp like claws, but when they touched Syrena’s left temple, they felt as soft as cotton.

  Syrena felt a sudden rush of energy surge through her…

  Never had she had such a feeling. It was as if her entire body had been engulfed in flames for a half-second and then stopped. And after that brief thrilling moment, she understood it all. It flashed through her mind, as if she had somehow lived it… Only it was through someone else’s eyes…

  She saw the three dark shapes falling with the white foamy cascade, the massive tree trunk stumbling to the bottom, breaking into pieces as it hit the rocks. She saw the three shapes hit the water, saw them missing the rocks by just inches… She saw herself, submerged in the water, the blood oozing from her head after brushing against the sharp edge of a stone. John and Hudson were also there, pale and unconscious, being carried away by the river’s current.

  And then… she saw the three of them getting dragged out of the water, one by one…

  Her jaw dropped from the disbelief. What in all hells…?

  She turned to face the pixie, who was staring back absent-mindedly.

  “Who are you?” she asked. And then the pixie flew in towards her ear again. The entire place was silent; even John didn’t hear a thing. Syrena, however, caught the pixie’s voice as clear as day. Her voice was a mere whisper, and it was as soft and delicate as the whistling of the wind; it was trancelike.

  “Sssssivvyyyy,” the pixie said, and then backed away gently.

  Syrena’s brows lowered and her left eye began to twitch again. Pixies were known to be shy creatures, hiding away from anything and everything that appeared to be alive. In her life, Syrena had only seen a few of them from afar. She had never seen one so closely before, much less heard one speak.

  “Sivvy?” the witch repeated nervously.

  The pixie tilted her head to the side again with a graceful delicacy. She didn’t have to speak again. It was as if the witch could read her thoughts through a simple stare.

  “W-What is happening?” John asked, hi
s eyes moving back and forth between the two.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” Syrena mumbled. It took a moment for her to soak it all in. It seemed like mere minutes before she was standing on the trunk of that massive tree, with her flaming hands shooting at the pious nameless raider. And now she was here… lost somewhere in the Woodlands in the dead of night, speaking to a pixie.

  Suddenly the glow vanished. Sivvy flew away rapidly like a dragonfly, leaving Syrena and John in the dark with a baffled look on both their faces.

  “We should, uh,” John cleared his throat. “We should probably get out of here.”

  Syrena was silent and struck with awe; she could hardly manage a head nod.

  “Come,” John motioned her to follow him. “We should look f-”

  But the whistling returned all of a sudden. They could see Sivvy approaching; it was clear because the leaves would glow whenever she came near them. Her wings were flapping enthusiastically and she was carrying something… It was a dusty black hat with a rim…

  Syrena and John glanced nervously at each other as Sivvy dropped the hat right at their feet, and before they knew it, they were scampering through the greenery, following after the pixie as if she was a hound guiding them towards the source of a scent. They were careful with their steps; the plant life beneath their feet was soft and pulsating with life, they felt almost ashamed for walking over it.

  Sivvy led them to an unusually shaped tree, short and strewn, with thin leafy vines hanging from its every branch like curtains. With her tiny blue hands, Sivvy pulled the vines for them to walk through. The first thing that Syrena saw through the opening was a pair of legs wearing black pants and boots, and almost instantly she felt the tension lift from her shoulders. She lowered her head and stepped foot inside. John followed.

  “By the gods,” the farmer pressed a hand against his mouth, sighing with relief.

  Hudson Blackwood was lying on another bed of the same soft leaves. His black coat and vest were resting next to his stiff body. His shirt was unbuttoned and his wound was exposed, though it had been cauterized and bandaged with more leaves. His tan skin was now slightly pallid from the loss of blood, and his lips were dry and purple and rough.