Legends of Gravenstone: The Secret Voyage

by Alex Aguilar

  “I want to see,” she said, this time with an ominous tone that was slightly aggressive.

  “I-I don’t think it’s a good idea t-”

  Before Brie could finish, the blacksmith ran suddenly out of the door.

  “Wait!”

  “Evellyn!” Margot ran after them both.

  But it was of no use… Evellyn was never fond of being treated like a child, and she was certainly not in the mood for it that morning. With a surprising amount of energy, she sprinted through the palace grounds and headed for the gardens. Her eyes were stung by the piercing sunlight and still she persisted, searching anywhere for a reflection. She had a hand on her lips and could feel the stitches. She could feel the arch beneath her nose. She could feel her teeth through her closed lips. She began panicking again.

  “Stay away from me!” Evellyn shouted, and though she had no weapon in her hands Brie was careful not to make any sudden movements.

  “I-I’m only trying to help you!” she argued nervously.

  Evellyn kept walking down the outdoor corridor when she saw the leafy green vines wrapped along the walls and columns, and more hanging graciously from the ceilings. And when the greenery grew in abundance, she saw the flowers. Before she knew it, she was in the middle of the palace courtyard.

  “Oh no,” Brie mumbled, running after the blacksmith, lifting her housedress with her hands. “Wait! Stop! Y-You shouldn’t…”

  “Evellyn, no!” Margot cried.

  But it was too late…

  “Stay away!” Evellyn shouted again, so loud that Lord Regent Darryk Clark glanced from across the courtyard and caught a glimpse of her face. His reaction was not pleasant, but it wasn’t discourteous either. He was shocked yet sorrowful all at once. He even rose from his seat, despite the fact that the wine had drained most of his energy tremendously.

  There was a brief silence; even the singing birds seemed to have been muffled. Evellyn Amberhill took a deep breath. There was still water inside one of the broken fountains nearby, only it was still and motionless. She leaned slowly inward, feeling her heart racing as if it would soon implode in her chest.

  It began with her forehead. She could see her bright red hair, a tangled mess above a shivering head. Then, as she leaned closer, she saw the scab just above her eyebrow. Her eye had been spared, shielded by the bone around her socket. But as she leaned even closer, she saw the depth of the scar, split in two right at her cheekbone, and just underneath it was her disfigured lip, wrinkled and bruised, purple and red, exposing her broken teeth.

  She felt a rush of dread fill her body at the sight of a face she did not recognize.

  She began to sob, this time profoundly and desperately.

  She let out a raging scream as she fell gently to her knees.

  In a rush of panic, Brie ran off to alert Adelina Huxley and her son, leaving Margot alone with the blacksmith. Without knowing what else to do, the girl stepped closer gently, dropped to her knees, and placed a warm hand on the woman’s shoulder.

  They embraced. Evellyn cried into the girl’s shoulder.

  Darryk Clark, who was both startled and glad to see Evellyn still alive, began pacing closer, gently and cautiously, unsure of what exactly he could do or say to ease the woman’s pain. Evellyn must have sensed his presence, for she looked up at him with a look of shame and despair. But at that same moment, however, her mind began to clear when she looked into his familiar eyes. Bit by bit she remembered everything, every unfortunate memory and every minor detail. Selling every weapon and armor at her disposal, receiving more coin than she had ever owned at once, traveling to Elbon to repay the Huxleys, leaving her younger sister behind…

  When Darryk saw the horror in her eyes, he decided to speak first.

  “Miss Amberhill,” he said, his voice dry and croaky. “Is everything all r-”

  “Alycia,” was all she said, and then she stood up weakly, as if the mere thought of her sister gave her the strength that she lacked. Darryk then remembered it as well, the young girl waiting by the door the day he’d met Evellyn Amberhill… A girl no older than 12, with hair just as red as the blacksmith’s, left alone to care for a dying man…

  “I-I’ll send for a carriage immediately!” he stammered.

  “No,” Evellyn argued. “No, I-I must go now!”

  “You’re not in the condition t-”

  “I’m going!” Evellyn said, nearly shouting.

  In the distance, Hektor was already approaching them, fully rested and armored like a proper guardsman. “My Lord? Is everything all right?”

  “Hektor…” Darryk could not hide how glad he was to see the man.

  “I heard screaming, my Lord.”

  “Have the wagon prepared at once,” Darryk said. “Meet us by the eastern gate.”

  Hektor took one look at Evellyn and his eyes widened. “Yes, my Lord!”

  Minutes later, they were riding through the city streets towards Evellyn’s shop. Hektor and Bogden rode at the front while Darryk and the blacksmith sat inside, shielded from the rebellious Val Havyn citizens by curtains and a roof.

  Darryk’s royal blue tunic was starting to reek of body odor and spilled wine, and there was a thin layer of scruff along his jaws and cheeks. He did not look well at all. He was hungry and fatigued, and he had bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep. He’d hardly said two words to Evellyn since leaving the palace grounds, which was due in part to the dehydration but also to the shock of seeing the woman’s face.

  Uncomfortable, as he realized he had been silent for far too long, he cleared his throat.

  “Are you, um… Are you all right?”

  Evellyn hardly moved a muscle. Her eyes left the commotion of the outside and turned towards Darryk; they were violently red and swollen with tears. Through merely a stare, one could see that the blacksmith’s spirit had been broken. She could hardly speak and when she did, the stitches would itch and sting awfully.

  “What I meant was,” Darryk rephrased himself. “Are you in any pain? Does it hu-”

  “Don’t,” she stopped him.

  With a sigh of gloom, Darryk nodded. “I’m sorry… Truly, I canno-”

  “Please, just… don’t,” she said.

  He closed his lips and added nothing further, realizing she was in no mood to talk about what had happened. He then reached into his robes and casually pulled a leather flask out. As he popped the top open, however, Evellyn gave him a glance.

  “Isn’t it a bit early in the day for that, m’lord?” she asked.

  He stopped before the first sip. And then, as if ashamed, he placed the top back on.

  “Pardon me. I forget myself sometimes,” he said with a forced half-smile as he slid the flask back into his pocket. “It’s funny… Often, I’d frown upon the idea that I was actually related to the Lady Brunylda… Now look at me. The resemblance must be eerie.”

  Evellyn said no more; there wasn’t the hint of a smile anywhere.

  Suddenly, the carriage came to a halt. And when it did, Evellyn leapt instantly from her seat and opened the door. Darryk followed after her, and as he stepped out of the carriage the sunlight pierced his eyes and made his head throb once again. He suddenly wished he’d brought water along for the ride.

  From the moment Evellyn laid eyes upon her shop, she knew something was wrong. She froze right at the fence, noticing that her wielding tools were scattered and out of place as if someone had rummaged through it all.

  “Stay here,” Darryk told his guards. “Keep an eye out.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Hektor, holding the reins atop the wagon as his fowl-mouthed companion sipped from a winebag. It was midday, and so the streets of Val Havyn were crowded with peasants and traveling merchants, and there were even a few curious heads peeking out of nearby windows. It made Darryk unquestioningly nervous.

  Evellyn opened the wooden gate and stepped into the wielding yard. She had to walk around broken glass and scattered tools to reach her porch. The front d
oor looked broken, barricaded from the inside by chairs and tables.

  Someone’s been here, she told herself. Someone who was up to no good…

  Panicking, she ran swiftly up the front steps.

  “Wait!” Darryk reached for the woman’s elbow.

  “My sister’s in there!” she snatched her arm away from him.

  “And so might whoever ransacked your yard!” he insisted.

  “H-Hello?” she called out, much to Darryk’s disdain. But there was no reply from the inside, nothing but silence. She took another step, and this time the wood beneath her torn boots creaked loudly and sharply. And not a second afterwards, she heard a muffled yelp coming from inside, followed closely by the sound of scattering footsteps.

  “A-Alycia?” she called out, her words faint and garbled due to the stitches on her lips.

  She held an ear close to the door for an answer. More silence.

  Darryk tried to peek through the windows, but they had been covered by sheets and torn blankets. Then they heard the footsteps again, scurrying away towards the kitchen.

  “Alycia?!” Evellyn called again. She then tried to push the door in, but something was barring it from the other side. For a moment, she swore she could hear the girl, crying and panting with fear in the darkness. Then, as her mind began reeling with unpleasant thoughts, she began slamming her arm against the door, hoping to push through whatever was barricading it.

  Darryk glanced back. His guards were sitting nervously in front of the wagon glimpsing everywhere, knowing very well that any peasant would recognize them as the very same guards that had shoved them away and allowed orcs into the royal palace just a day prior. Darryk sighed heavily; he knew they had to act quickly if they wished to survive.

  “Allow me,” he said, and gave the door a try. He slammed his arm repeatedly against it, but all it did was give his arm a bruise. “Come on! Open up, you!” he mumbled to himself, as he began kicking and grunting against the door. Then, however, a window shattered just a foot from his ear.

  Evellyn Amberhill had her wielding hammer in hand and was already climbing through the broken glass before Darryk could shove the door a single inch. She stumbled inside and realized the door had been blocked by a rickety chair and a flipped table. A very weak barricade, but it did the job.

  As Darryk climbed in after her, Evellyn took a look around. The place was crawling with bugs and dirt and broken glass. And there was a pungent smell in the air; a foul smell, as if something was rotting.

  “Aly?” she called out, and when she heard the soft whimpers she followed them carefully. “It’s me, Aly… It’s Evellyn…”

  In the darkness of the cottage, she found her… hiding in a corner with a kitchen knife in her trembling hands, Alycia Amberhill was pale with fear and her red hair was a tangled mess. When the girl looked up at her sister’s face, she froze. It was a face she did not recognize. That voice, on the other hand, was indeed her sister’s… Slow and slurred, but it was hers…

  “Aly?” Evellyn said, taking slow steps towards her, realizing then that her face might have startled her. The girl crawled out from her corner and approached slowly. Both Evellyn and Darryk lowered themselves to a crouching position.

  “Hey,” Evellyn spoke again, tears escaping her eyes. “It’s me, Aly… It’s really me…”

  The knife slid slowly out of Alycia’s hands. It fell to the floor, near a pile of broken shards of glass. Then, with tear-stricken eyes, the girl ran towards Evellyn and threw her arms around her.

  “Oh Aly,” Evellyn cried into her sister’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Aly.”

  The girl said nothing, only grabbed tightly onto her sister’s dress as if her life depended on it. She looked as if she hadn’t bathed in days, her face and clothes riddled with dirt and her hair greasy and unkempt. The kitchen looked as if a fight had just taken place there; nearly every chair was bent or broken and there was broken glass everywhere.

  “What happened here?” Darryk asked.

  The girl’s lip trembled and, as she spoke, her voice was nothing more than a faint whisper. “Bad men,” she said, and then Evellyn’s eyes widened. “They took everything… The gold, the weapons… everything…”

  Evellyn then grabbed her sister by the shoulders. “Father…?” she asked hesitantly.

  Alycia said nothing at first, only whimpered and panted heavily. And then, as another tear ran down her face, she squeezed her eyes shut. “He wouldn’t wake up,” she said.

  Evellyn froze where she stood. She lowered her brows and stared right into the poor girl’s eyes. “What…?”

  “I tried to wake him,” Aly said, her face now drenched with tears. “H-He wouldn’t wake…”

  Darryk felt his own chest start to pound. He understood then what that foul smell had been. They walked towards the nearest room and pushed the door open, and instantly Darryk felt the vomit rise up his throat. The smell was far too overwhelming, so much that Darryk ran towards the outside and threw up on the grass.

  Evellyn, instead, ran towards her father’s body and fell to her knees sobbing. She wouldn’t dare touch him, for he was pale and rotting, but she was mere inches from him crying hysterically into his bedframe.

  Out in the common room, Darryk wiped his lips with one of his sleeves.

  Focus, he told himself. Get the girl out of here. Now.

  He carried Alycia out into the wielding yard.

  “Shh, it’s going to be okay,” he tried to calm her. “I promise you.”

  There was a sudden agonizing scream, the scream of a grieving woman, coming from inside the house. Meanwhile, peasants began to overhear the commotion. Eyes were staring at them through windows and doorframes, and people were starting to whisper.

  “My Lord?” Hektor called from the carriage. “Is everything all right in there?”

  “Fine,” Darryk lied to him. “Just fine…”

  But it wasn’t fine… Even when Evellyn Amberhill returned, some 20 minutes later, she did not appear by any means fine… She was beyond broken. She grabbed Alycia by the hand and took her inside. “Come,” she said solemnly. “We must clean up the mess.”

  “Miss Amberhill?” Darryk beckoned for her.

  “Thank you for everything,” Evellyn said, her voice now dry and full of sorrow. “Now please… I ask that we be left alone…”

  “Miss Amberhill, if there is anything we could do…”

  “Thank you, m’lord,” she said. “Goodbye.”

  And then she closed the door behind her.

  Darryk remained out in the wielding yard for a moment, his throat swollen with a heavy knot. Do something, he told himself. But as much as he wanted to he couldn’t bring himself to intervene.

  “My lord?” Hektor called.

  Darryk sighed despairingly once again, then turned and walked towards the wooden gates.

  “Shall we return, my lor-”

  “Yes, yes, back to the palace,” Darryk said, as he climbed into the carriage and slammed the door shut behind him.

  * * *

  All throughout the land of Gravenstone, cities and villages were known to be rich with one thing or another.

  Val Havyn was rich with wealth.

  Morganna was rich with rare herbs.

  Yulxester was rich with fish, Wyrmwood was rich with crops, and Kahrr was rich with precious stones and rare metals. In the case of Grymsbi, a humble little village right at the border of Halghard and the Woodlands, it was mud… Grymsbi was rich with mud, horseshit, and more mud…

  The filth was everywhere, on every road, stable, even indoors. Half the townsfolk regularly had mud-stains somewhere on their bodies, whether in the neck, the underarm, or behind the ear. Rumor had it that the town had been cursed by witches some four or five decades past, which caused the unusual rainfall over the course of every season. Others blamed the Great Rift of Halghard, stating that whatever caused the massive hole in the earth had contaminated the land surrounding it, leaving it bar
ren and tarnished.

  Regardless, Robyn Huxley couldn’t help but feel an immense weight lift from her shoulders as she walked along the muddy road that led into the village. Civilization at last, she thought, but the blissful feeling only lasted until they reached the entrance.

  Grymsbi, the very first in all of Halghard to be proclaimed a ‘sanctuary village’, wasn’t at all the safe haven they had been expecting. Though the guards did nothing to stop them, the looks they were given were cold and hostile. The Beast had never set foot in a human village before and it was obvious from the moment they arrived; he appeared more at guard than ever before, gripping the red pelt he wore as a belt as if ready to reach for his axe should he need to. His intimidating expression masked his uneasiness quite well. It all felt so strange to him, like walking into a stranger’s home uninvited.

  For Robyn, it had been weeks since she left the comfort of her home and she was already becoming accustomed to having more eyes on her than was usual for an ordinary farmgirl. Perhaps it had less to do with her and more to do with the fact that she was walking alongside a six-and-a-half-foot tall orc and a one-eyed serpent around her neck. Past every wooden dwelling, frightened villagers would scatter away in fear, some began crossing to the other side of the road so as to avoid crossing paths with her and her companions, others intentionally brushed past them and spat near their shoes, and worried parents hissed at their snooping children to get back indoors.

  Wiping the sweat from her brow, Robyn looked at Nyx through the corner of her eye.

  “Are you positive we’ll be safe here?” she whispered to him.

  “Absolutely not,” Nyx replied subtly into her ear. “Safety, you’ll find back in Elbon. This here’s Grymsbi, Lady Robyn. Orcs are allowed, as are elves and gnomes. Hells, even red spindle is allowed. The last thing they’ll care about is some measly serpent.”

  Nyx was speaking rather odd, and it had little to do with his strange new accent. Robyn figured he didn’t want to alert anyone; while nonhumans may have been allowed, sorcery was an entirely different issue. Little to Robyn’s knowledge, Nyx had already been to Grymsbi, some 150 years back, and he remembered it quite vividly down to the last detail.