by Ross Turner
Milo practically beamed then, having been praised so by such a legendary Featherstone. He embraced her briefly and gratefully.
“Thank you. I will be more careful.” He promised.
“Good.” Vivian replied simply. “Now, I won’t keep either of you, and I really must go. It’s been lovely to see you.” She said by way of thanks and goodbye.
“Thank you again Vivian!” Clara exclaimed, pulling her into an embrace once again. “You really must come and see us again soon!”
Vivian nodded and smiled, agreeing of course, always amazed at just how quickly Clara’s mood could switch from one extreme to the other.
In the back of her mind however, Vivian felt a familiar pulling drawing her away from the conversation, begging for her to leave, and it was because of that feeling that she made such a hurried goodbye.
It was an urge so deep that whenever it surfaced she struggled so much to suppress it that she’d simply given up trying, and had always eventually just allowed it to overwhelm her.
She said her goodbyes quickly and made immediately west, moving through the crowds and the buildings swiftly and with intense purpose. She smiled and waved at people as they passed and greeted her, but beneath the surface she was focused and determined, and before too long her target was in sight.
Through the open streets ahead of her appeared the view of the Redwoods in the distance, the emerging tree line flickering as she passed from street to street, her pace quickening with every fleeting step until she was almost sprinting.
Vivian passed through the western farms on the outskirts of the city, just about managing to slow her pace and her breathing and her racing heart long enough to check that nobody was watching her. Remaining as inconspicuous as possible, keeping close to the buildings and shacks along the furthest edges of the farms, Vivian checked and doubled checked that nobody could see her, for she did not want curious stragglers on her tail, for she knew that would cause upset amidst the thick forest.
Finally, satisfied that she had waited long enough, she made one final dart for the tree line, merging perfectly in amongst the ferns and trunks the second she crossed it, drifting away and disappearing totally amongst the trees, unseen and out of sight.
4
The second Vivian passed over the threshold from civilisation and into the wilderness, instantly her worries and stresses were lifted, leaving her feeling free and relaxed. She knew that whilst she was gone Archer would deal with any problems that she was not there to solve, and she always knew she could trust him to act in the people’s best interests.
He had seen the work of the Greystones first hand, and Vivian knew he never wished to witness such a thing ever again, not for as long as he lived and had anything to say about it.
It was this sense of freedom that she so desired, and why the Redwoods urged her so to return at every opportunity.
For about five days and nights Vivian wandered westward. Time mattered little here amidst the trees, and the passage of the days was measured only by when she ate and when she slept.
The Redwoods were flourishing, and it always brought Vivian great joy to see them so alive and full of life and colour and sound. They offered her fruits, and she ate them gladly as she walked, brushing her hands along the tough, red bark of the trees, and running her fingers through the ferns and shrubs at her waist.
This truly was the only place and time she could forget about all that had happened, even if it was just temporarily. Whenever she reached a clearing and opened her eyes, for often she even walked by feel and sense alone rather than sight, she always envisioned Red standing before her, his head cocked to the side and his eyes loving and inquisitive.
In her mind and in her memory she would trace the steps she took to him, reach out and run her fingers through his thick, soft, warm fur, and their friendship would be renewed afresh.
Of course, this could never be so, and with that realisation, every time there came the familiar pang of pain and regret. And every time that feeling resurfaced, Vivian would once again be forced to suppress it, pushing it deeper and deeper down, hidden away for as long as she could possibly manage.
It was after those five days and nights of very nearly blissful meandering that Vivian Featherstone finally reached her destination.
Her last night’s sleep had begun fitfully, but had settled somewhat during the course of the evening, as the gentle whisperings of the Redwoods all around her had quieted her racing thoughts.
So now, as the early morning sun rolled across the sky and blanketed the treetops in warm yellow rays, between the breaks in the canopy above, Vivian began to catch the first glimpses in a while of a long lost place that brought with it both good and bad memories.
Returning here always brought mixed emotions to Vivian’s heart, and had done ever since she’d first visited a few months after she’d killed the Grey.
Featherstone Keep was a reminder of lots of things for Vivian, both of happy times, and of traumatic ones. Regardless though, she had over the years at least come to terms with those feelings, even if many of them still stirred troublesome emotions up from within the darkest depths of her heart.
She approached the old, rusted iron gates tentatively and her pulse quickened instinctively, her heart racing to a frantic rhythm in her chest, beating hastily against her ribs. The gates were slightly ajar, just as she had left them the last time she had come here, several months ago now.
Making her way up through the gates and towards the great grey Keep towering above her, Vivian surveyed the grounds critically. They were all wildly overgrown now and strewn about with the occasional littering of loose brick and rubble from the slowly crumbling structure above, not maintained in the slightest.
Vivian grimaced slightly too as her gaze swept across darkened patches of grass and earth here and there. She’d had all the bodies removed immediately upon returning here after reclaiming Virtus, both those of her family and friends, and of the Greystones. Nonetheless though, the stains of their deaths would never have been removed so easily, and those few spoiled remnants of the terrible slaughter here still remained.
The enormous heavy doors up ahead of her now were sealed tightly shut, again, just as she had left them, and she paused for a moment in their wake, on the exact spot where two of her parents had been murdered.
Sighing deeply and shaking her head, Vivian looked up at the gigantic door before her. With a single thought it creaked open effortlessly, granting her access once more to the fire-scorched and blood-blackened remnants of her old home.
Moving much more quickly, and with seemingly greater purpose now, Vivian sped through the corridors and hallways, up and down the stairwells, gliding silently across stone and wooden floors alike, knowing exactly where she was heading.
Many areas of the Keep were stained by blood and damaged by fire, left in a variety of states and in a multitude of vile colours. Other areas however, were almost entirely untouched, and at certain points on her journey to the Keep’s great library, it seemed to Vivian as though nothing had ever happened here, and indeed perhaps that she had never even left.
After barely a few minutes Vivian swept through the single wooden door to the library, high up in Featherstone Keep, the wooden frame blackened and charred by flames. Sadly, the fires had in fact managed to make their way to the library, leaving many of the books and scrolls and tomes in tattered ruin.
She daren’t imagine how many unique texts had been lost to the blaze, knowing of course that there was no way she would ever really know, but it had of course meant that her first few visits here had been spent almost entirely on sifting through piles of both ruined and preserved books, attempting to decipher what was in fact still vaguely readable, and what was ruined.
Hoping that once she’d found at least a few texts that were still intact, they would indeed be what she was after, Vivian had persevered.
Her search had been directed towards books that might give her a greater insight into h
er family’s elusive, and undoubtedly eventful, past. For some reason, now that she had lost them, and come back to civilisation, Vivian wanted to know everything she possibly could about her heritage, as always her thirst for knowledge insatiable.
“That’s no good…” She mumbled vaguely to herself as she flicked through a heavily bound book, moving it away to one side.
The library was lined all the way around the walls with tall bookcases bearing long, thin shelves lined with a hundred different books each. There was a large, square, wooden table right in the middle of the room, and sprawled out across it Vivian had laid piles upon piles of books, each ready and waiting to be read. These were the books she had never been able to read as a young girl, either because she had not had chance, or simply because they had not interested her.
“What about this one…” She mused, reaching across to a slightly thinner bound book, though it was still weighty enough, hefting it along the table and flicking it open.
She didn’t scan through the pages for some reason with this one before opening it, and simply let it fall naturally back, splitting the pages almost directly down the middle. Immediately, Vivian’s eyes lit up and she leaned forwards, pouring more intently over this one.
The crease in the book’s spine told her that it had been opened to these pages a goodly number of times in the past, hence why it had naturally fallen there.
It was a family tree, outlining the Featherstone bloodline as far back even as ten generations. Vivian bent closely over the text and swallowed hard, her eyes flitting over the names swiftly and eagerly.
Her name was at the bottom, and above it were her parents’ names. And then above her father’s name were two more names, his mother and father, Arianne and Richard Featherstone, and so on and so forth. The line continued up the page in what seemed to be a single, strong and unbroken strand, with each couple having birthed seemingly only one child.
That was a strange concept to Vivian, but the more she thought about it, the more she supposed it made sense, and that perhaps, unknowingly, by some force beyond their control, the Featherstone bloodline had been kept in such a way as to preserve it, but then also so as not to allow its power to spread too widely.
It all felt very specific, and ultimately purpose-driven, and sent something of a shiver cascading down Vivian’s spine. The thought that her life was not in her control even in the slightest was not an alien one, for she had pondered the notion many times, but nonetheless, that didn’t make the idea any less unnerving.
All those times she had so narrowly escaped death, and all the things she had done that were so impossible and so implausible; it seemed in that moment of revelation that there was no way any of it could have been avoided.
Her mind wandered for a minute to what might still remain in store for her, for she was obviously still alive, and so surely there was still more for her to do.
Pushing those complicated and brain numbing thoughts clearly aside, Vivian focused again on her task at hand, delving once more back to the book she held so firmly in her grasp, flicking the page over lightly with her thumb.
On the next page there was no diagram or family tree, but instead a long, thin column of scrawled text that seemed to have been written rather hastily, down the left hand side of the page.
It seemed to her a strange way to write, and was completely different to anything she had seen before in any of the other books, which only funnelled her interest in this particular tome evermore greatly.
And it was with deep sorrow that William Featherstone raised his almighty hand and brought great change to the world, for such an act is never undertaken lightly.
His choice however was none, for the world beyond the boundaries of man needed protection greater than that which the Featherstone’s alone could provide. He bore the responsibility of his task without hesitation, and his will was done.
The blood of the great forests was immediately changed, and indeed so was the blood of the animals.
Vivian paused for a moment and lifted her eyes from the text, breathing deeply as she did so, realising she’d been holding her breath. She remembered then words her father had once said to her, in a story, about the blood of the trees and of the animals.
She thumbed backwards a page and checked the family tree. William Featherstone was indeed on there, nine generations above her. Clearly that story had been passed down without fail from generation to generation.
‘But when the forests turned red, the blood of the trees changed, and so did the blood of the animals…’ Her father had told her once, long ago. His words rang in her ears still. ‘And when the blood of the animals changed, all sorts of things changed with it…’
She remembered it as if he had told her just yesterday, clear as day.
Knowledge of this book however, that Vivian now held so firmly in her grasp, had not been passed down to her along with the story. She imagined it probably had been to her parents, and to their parents before them. She knew in her heart that her parents would have told her when the time was right. It had just so happened that their time had been taken from them.
Regardless though, she had discovered it on her own, and Vivian somehow guessed that she wouldn’t have been allowed to evade it, even if she had tried.
She turned her heavy eyes back to the text.
And with that change came many new things. The newfound Redwood Forest and all of its life evolved so quickly, and in such a manner, that their power and knowledge was unmatched.
The spirit of the woodlands lived within each animal and creature that it protected, and so it learned and grew with each new life, only amplifying its evolution and wisdom.
That had to be the voice of the Redwoods, surely, Vivian thought to herself. She cast her mind back over all the times she had listened to their words, both when she had lived with Red and Clover, and then also after their deaths, and how she had always marvelled at the Redwood’s seemingly infinite knowledge and wisdom and patience.
She cast her eyes back down once more, now almost at the bottom of the page, and it looked as though this strange column of scrawl continued on for a goodly few more pages after this one.
And the greatest of all the changes came to those fearsome beasts to the south, for their power even before William Featherstone had raised his hand, was unrivalled by any other. This new power brought to them...
A sudden bang in the distance snatched away Vivian’s attention, and she snapped her head sharply over her shoulder, eyes locking on the entrance to the library. The echoing sound of the slamming door in the distance reverberated in through the door to the library, slightly ajar. The sound rang in her ears where she sat like a warning siren.
She sprung to her feet and shot across the room, all in one fluid motion, her movements practiced and precise, even predatory.
Her heart raced and she pressed herself as close to the wall as she could, her breathing fast and shallow and anxious. A pit had formed in her stomach, and she even felt a little sick.
Peering around the door, Vivian glanced up and down the stone walkway of the corridor outside for as far as she could see. But there was nothing to be seen, and all remained silent.
Holding perfectly still for a few more minutes, breathing only short shallow breaths, and only when she dared, Vivian closed her eyes and cast a wandering thought out over the Keep.
It was but a matter of seconds however before her concentration was interrupted by another bang, this one much closer than the first, and the hollow, echoing sound of long, heavy footsteps, bouncing their way through the hallways of her old home.
That was it.
There was someone here.
And they were close.
Vivian stole away from the library on silent feet, keeping close to the walls and peering round doorways and sharp turns in the hallways before taking them, heading always in the direction that the sounds had come from.
The footsteps continued to ring in her ears, yet seemed to come
from all around her, the walls reverberating the sounds back and forth amidst the silence so much that she began to wonder whether she was in fact moving towards the origin of the footsteps or away from it.
Eventually, after creeping down another flight of stairs and peering round to scan the next corridor ahead of her, craning her neck, Vivian caught a glimpse of a flickering shadow just moving out of sight, right at the end of the hallway.
Her heart surged with strange exhilaration afresh and she sprinted silently after the intruder. There were windows set in this corridor and the afternoon light streamed in, blinding Vivian in brief second-long flashes as she passed quickly by each one.
She careered round the corner at the end, not bothering to stop and peek first, and ground to a furious and resolute halt. She gasped deeply and locked her eyes forward, training them on the man standing before her, his gaze in turn focused on her, at the other end of the corridor.
It was as if he’d known she would come.
The stranger stood with a wide, powerful stance. His shoulders were broad and the skin on his face and hands was fair, though yet still weathered, clearly from a life of some kind of labour. A small, brown satchel was slung over his one shoulder that looked light enough to carry only bare essentials.
Most curious of all however, Vivian noticed, even in that briefest first glance, was that beneath his sandy brown hair, there was a very unusual look about his face, for his features were most uncommon, yet they were also strangely familiar to her. And upon his unique features, chiselled and well angled, he wore an expression of surprise and awe and curiosity, all combined into one.
They stood there for barely a second or two, and in that time Vivian took all of this in and more, right from his well-worn and ragged tanned leather clothes, to his deepest of expressions.
And in turn again, he too took in a vast amount about her.
He marvelled at her beauty, regardless of the fact that it had been haggard by time and burdens alike, and too at her clothes, so simple and plain for one of such fabled power.