Ghosts Of Alfhaven (Book 2)

by Logan Petty

  A loud buzzing noise like a giant insect shot by Sawain’s ear. He swatted at the source of the buzzing.

  “Well, there are lots of bugs. I don’t know who would want to live in such a place.”

  Jatharr swatted at a darting pest, “Aye, let’s just hurry up and find Sibilach.”

  Banthan, who was silent since they left his sister behind yelped and grabbed his backside, “Something bit me!”

  Sawain looked back at Banthan and gave him a stern look, “Keep it down!”

  Banthan scowled at Sawain, “It hurt, alright? These bugs are getting on my nerves.”

  He rubbed his backside and swatted at an oncoming insect. He smacked it down. A high pitched squeak came from the bug as it fell into the bog below. Sawain and the others watched as it sputtered and splashed and yelled in an unknown tongue. Now that it was not flying around, Sawain could see that it was not a bug at all.

  “We need to move.”

  A sound like a swarm of bees filled the air. It started as a low drone, then built into a loud rumble. A cloud of the small winged creatures surrounded the outriders in seconds. Sawain drew his blade and swatted madly at the encroaching creatures. His sword only cut air as the quick little things nimbly danced around it. They covered him and crawled all over him before he knew it. He now got a good look at them.

  They were humanoid in shape, though they were only about four inches tall. Their skin was scaly and either black, brown, or gray. They had red compound eyes that bulged out of their skulls like the eyes of a fly. Their mouths were humanoid, but were filled with rows of tiny, needle-like teeth. They had four wings that were similar to the wings of a dragon fly, though larger. They wore simple tunics made of leaves.

  Sawain growled in pain as the creatures bit into his flesh through his clothes. They each felt like knife pricks. Sawain had to try something to get them off. He closed his eyes and grasped the totem around his neck.

  Lord Turin, I know I am not yet ready, but I am so close. Pour your energy through me and burn these things so that I can move forward.

  Sawain heard the rumble of thunder above his head. It was unmistakable. Light filled the swamp along with a deafening, crackling explosion. Sawain’s breath left him as a bolt of lightning struck his hand and poured its energy into his totem. He felt a shock wave of warm, prickling static electricity run over his skin. Hundreds of tiny screams filled the air as the little monsters fell off of Sawain, smoldering.

  Sawain blinked the dark spots out of his eyes. He did not expect that, but he was glad it worked without cooking him like the bugs. He looked around and noticed that the ones attacking the others were affected by the lightning blast as well. They hovered haphazardly in the air. They doubled over and held their heads as if they were going to be sick. Sawain saw this as an opportunity to strike.

  “Quick! Get them while they’re stunned!”

  He raised his sword to slash at one of the stunned creatures. A haunting feminine voice filled his head.

  Oh, now, hold your blade, traveler. You don’t want to be going around and cutting up poor, innocent, little pixies, do you? Oh no, you don’t. In fact, you want to drop your weapon.

  Sawain did not want to drop his weapon, but his fingers unclenched anyway, against his will. His sword hit the bog below with a splash. He heard several more splashes behind him and assumed he was not the only one being controlled. He thought hard to himself.

  Are you pixies doing this to us? Let us go! We are under the authority of Turin, god of the Sturmforge. Let us pass or die!

  Sawain could hear the others panicking. He felt his body move away from Mari. Pain shot through his being as he put weight on his broken leg and turned to the right. He saw a rowboat on the swampy surface, a hundred feet away from them. A tall, robed, and hooded figure stood in the middle of the boat. The woman’s voice filled his mind again.

  Silly boy, it isn’t the pixies that make you bow, but their mother.

  Sawain involuntarily bowed to the robed figure then straightened up. To his horror, he jumped from the tree and splashed into the muck below. The pain that ran through him was like a thousand bolts of lightning. It caused him to lose nearly all consciousness. He had no will of his own anymore. He did not think, he could only see. He could only hear four large splashes behind him. The woman’s voice filled his ears.

  Come to me now, silly boy. Come to me now. I will end your suffering. You will not hurt anymore.

  Sawain began to walk toward the mysterious person in the boat. He did not know why, he just wanted to make her happy. He was waist deep in mud already. He sank a few inches deeper with every slow and deliberate step he took. It hurt, but her lulling voice gave him the will to press on.

  That’s right, boy, come closer. Be a good boy, now.

  Sawain wanted to be a good boy. He was still far from the boat and chest deep in the swamp. He put one foot in front of the other. He could hear someone sputtering and coughing behind him.

  A beautiful, trilling melody like a flute rang out and snapped Sawain back to his senses. Intense pain ran from his leg, up his spine. The agony from his broken leg caused him to buckle. Panic filled his heart. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he fell beneath the festering bog.

  Sawain felt two hands slip under his armpits. His rescuer struggled against the hungry mud that tried to keep him under. The mud finally gave out just as Sawain’s chest began to burn from lack of breath. Water rushed around him. He broke the surface of the bog a second later and gasped for air. The pungent breeze was much sweeter this time.

  Sawain heard Naralei’s voice in his ear, “I got you.”

  He could hear Jatharr cough loudly, “I owe ye one, Banth.”

  Mari whooped out from somewhere above Sawain, “Oh yeah! Not even an old hag’s power can hold me back! How’d you like that little ditty, you smelly old swamp prune?”

  Sawain was covered in mud and bog slime. He felt things moving around in the water that made him even more uncomfortable. He took a free hand and wiped the gunk out of his eyes. When he opened them, he instinctively went for one of the knives in his belt.

  The mysterious figure was no longer in the rowboat, but stood on the water, not far at all from Sawain and Naralei. It looked up at the trees, but shadows fell over its face. Its hands were clenched into fists. They were a pinkish lilac color. It pointed a finger at Mari. Its claw-like nail shot outward like an extremely long blade.

  Sawain heard Mari scream, then another splash. His stomach turned in fear and he tried to look over his shoulder to see her.

  “Mari!”

  He heard muddy splashes somewhere behind him as well as a few coughs and gags from Mari, “Aww that’s disgusting! I mean, really! Cut your nails! That’s not very cute….icle.”

  Banthan sighed, “That was your worst pun yet.”

  Mari Sputtered, “Hey, don’t blame me! I just got a little swamped, okay?”

  Banthan groaned, but Sawain was glad Mari was alright. The hooded figure let out a rolling cackle. It retracted its fingernail and pulled back the hood that hid its identity.

  Her face looked young and beautiful, although otherworldly. Her skin was the same lilac coloration as her hands, but this time, Sawain noticed an iridescent gleam. Her smiling lips were the color of lavender. Her eyes were large and were like two midnight blue crystal orbs. They had no whites and no pupils. Strands of long, white hair fell over her slightly rounded face. Her hair reached down to the middle of her back.

  “I am impressed, young ones. No one is able to break my spell over them. You must have had a very powerful teacher. Tirinele of Rowan Circle, am I right?”

  Sawain was not entirely surprised the witch knew this, “That’s right. You must be Sibilach. We have been searching for you. I come in Turin’s name.”

  The woman gave Sawain a dismissive wave, “The names of your gods do not impress me, mortal. Just save all the high talking. However, I do owe Turin a favor. Yes, I know who you are, Thrallborn. I
know why you are here. Yes, I will help you, but only because I must. Once you have what you came for, leave my bog and never come back, or I will devour all of you.”

  Sawain swallowed the lump in his throat. He believed her. The pulsing anguish in his leg reminded him that he needed a healer.

  “I need my totem charged so that it can become a proper icon of Turin. I was also told you had my chosen weapon.”

  Sibilach grinned and exposed rows of needle-like teeth, similar, but larger to those of the pixies, “Totem charging, as you call it, I can do, and before you ask, yes, I can do something about your leg, but you may not like it. As for your big sword… well, we shall discuss it after you wake up.”

  Sawain was confused, “Wake up? Why can’t we do it now?”

  Sibilach raised an open palm and pointed it at the Outriders, “This is not the time nor place. Now, sleep. When you awake, you will be somewhere safer. So, sleep.”

  Sawain wanted to argue, but he grew so tired so quickly, that he did not have a chance to open his mouth before he blacked out.

  Chapter 16

  Sawain awoke in a warm, dimly lit cabin. He lay on a straw filled mattress. He was clean, dry, and actually wearing his own clothes, which was unusual after all the blackouts he experienced in his life. He also noticed that his leg did not hurt. He tried to wiggle his toes, but something did not feel right about it. He sat up and pulled his pant leg up to the knee. What he saw made him yell in surprise.

  The lower half of his right leg was gone to the knee. In its place was a leg that looked like it was made of living wood. It was the same shape as his old leg, but had muscle fibers made of wood, He could flex it and move it like it was part of his body, though it was stiffer. It also had no toes, but was shaped in a way to simulate toes. He reluctantly knocked on it with his knuckles. He was surprised to feel it.

  “You’re awake, that’s good. I thought you’d never get up.”

  Sawain looked toward the direction of the strange voice. Sibilach sat at a small round table by the fireplace. The glow of the fire made her look ominous. She wore the same dark cloak she had on when they first met. On the table in front of her was a strange setup. A circle was drawn in what looked to Sawain like salt. Several straight lines within the circle made an unusual diagram. Three black candles were situated around the circle. Sawain noticed they were in a triangular pattern. Their flames let off a green light. Sibilach motioned for Sawain to approach.

  “Come here, boy. It is time to begin the ritual.”

  Sawain was speechless. He rose from the bed. He only stumbled once on his new leg as he limped over to the table and sat down in the only other chair.

  “My leg… What did you do to it?”

  Sibilach scowled, “Had to throw it away. The meat was no good. Lots of rot. That wound was not natural. There was evil in it. Waste of perfectly good meat… Ah well.”

  “No, I mean… How did you turn it to wood?”

  Sibilach grinned, “Didn’t turn it, boy. Made it. I had to cut off your old one. Are you not listening? You have some of your mother’s druidic blood in you. I tapped into it and used it to make this new leg. Now you’re more like your mother than ever! Ha ha ha!”

  Sawain furrowed his brow, “I don’t see what’s funny. Where are my friends?”

  Sibilach sighed, “Outside, somewhere. They all got cabin fever as soon as they awoke. I’m sure they won’t go far without you. Now, if you could just hold your questions, we have to get started.”

  Sawain nodded, abashed at her snide attitude toward him. She took a silver pitcher from beneath the table and raised it above the surface. She tipped it and clear water flowed from it. Sawain gasped and expected the water to splash all over the table and onto him. It did splash a few inches above the table, but instead of running everywhere, it was as if an invisible bowl caught it and was filled by it. Sawain stared in wonder as the water took the form of the invisible container. Sibilach put the pitcher back and stretched her hand over the bowl, as if she expected Sawain to give her something.

  “Your totem, boy.”

  Sawain pulled the totem out of his shirt and from around his neck. He took a quick look at the tiny lion totem, then stretched out his hand to give it to her. She grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard. The shock and pain caused him to drop the totem into the water.

  “Hey!”

  Sibilach glared at him as she picked up a knife on the table, “It’s all part of the ritual. Now, relax.”

  Sawain could not relax as she ran the blade of the knife over his palm. He winced from the pain and the uncomfortable feeling he got at she squeezed the wound to get his blood to drip into the water. The blood made contact with the totem and it began to glow. The candles flared up. Sibilach chanted a strange incantation in a language that was familiar to Sawain, but he did not comprehend it.

  “Blod ek bein vertha ein. Dae sturm tivn kappi ein visá thurfa. Hinga Himinn dyrr in des lykil ov bein.”

  The totem’s glow intensified. Sibilach continued to speak in the strange tongue. The room grew darker. It seemed to Sawain like the totem itself absorbed all of the light in the room. Sibilach’s words turned into familiar ones.

  “Blood and bone are now united. Open the champion’s ears with your holy noise. Now the mother’s spirit is one with the son. Bound by blood and bone, they are. May this guardian icon shine with guiding light.”

  Light returned to the room. Sibilach stared at Sawain. She grinned at him and waved a hand over his cut palm. It immediately stitched back together. Sawain was shocked by her use of bloodless magic. She spoke to him in the strange tongue, but he knew what she said.

  “Go ahead, boy. Pick up the Icon.”

  She let go of Sawain’s hand and he dipped it into the water. He grasped his totem and pulled it out. He put it back around his neck. It did not feel different to him. Sibilach sighed.

  “We have finished the ritual. Your Icon is charged and now you can harness Turin’s energy without being killed. You can also understand the Ald Tang naturally now. You have completed the second step to becoming a fully realized Champion. There is but one thing left for you to do. You will find your weapon of the gods, Sturmedge, at Turin’s Standing Stones, to the west of the Dwarven stronghold, Caer Teallagh. The journey there is hard enough without an army of undead abominations prowling the countryside. No one ever said it would be easy, though, right?”

  Sawain shrugged, “I guess not. So, how do I get there? Are you going to send me magically or am I walking?”

  Sibilach cackled, “Magically? You are a strange one, indeed, Thrallborn. I could send you the way between the borders of the worlds. It would be faster, but the people of Hammerhold need a war hero now, and you need to grow more. You are not yet ready to wield Sturmedge, but you will be by the time you reach it. This is the truth.”

  Sawain’s heart sank, “Alright, but how am I supposed to get there? We are called Outriders, but the truth is, we don’t have anything to ride. We left on such short notice, we never had a chance to get our steeds.”

  Sibilach grinned broadly, “In a hurry to die, are we, young half-elf? This forest is not kind to the prepared, much less so for those who charge in recklessly, but I know you have experienced that already. Never mind not having a mount. I have just the thing for you. In fact, I’ve been preparing them for you since the day Turin chose you.”

  Sawain raised an eyebrow, “Since the day Turin chose me?”

  Sibilach nodded, “Yes, he visited me the very same day he chose you so he could call on his favor. He told me all about you, he told me you would be an outcast in need of guidance. So, here you are, before the queen of the outcast! How fortunate for you!”

  Sawain furrowed his brow, “An outcast? I mean, sure, I started as one in the city, but I have friends and allies now. “

  Sibilach nodded. A sly grin slithered across her face.

  “That may be so, but a handful of friends does not save you from being rejected by society as a who
le. The Triumvirate still believe you will die here in the forest. They suspect that if Alfhaven itself does not kill you, that I most certainly will. Ooooh, how it warms my heart to imagine their smug, disappointed faces!”

  Sawain did not care for the Triumvirate. He knew what she said was true, so it cheered him a bit to think about how upset they would be when they found out their ploy to kill him failed. His mind switched back to the transportation problem.

  “So, these horses you’ve been preparing for me, are there enough for all the Outriders?”

  Sibilach laughed and waved a hand at him comically, “Ha! Horses? You think I could raise horses here? No, I have something better in mind. You will see them in due time.”

  Sibilach’s jovial nature melted into grim seriousness, “We have something more dire that needs our attention.”

  Sawain reached for his weapon, only to realize he did not have any, “My knives and sword, where are they?”

  Sibilach rose to her feet as if she simply floated up. She drifted across the floor to a large brown chest made of oak wood. She unclasped the silver latches and lifted the lid. She beckoned for Sawain. He climbed to his feet, much clumsier. When he got to the chest and looked inside, his eyes widened. Inside was a black set of scale mail armor and his knives. Sibilach moved away as he picked up the shirt of the armor. It was black as the forest at midnight. The scales shimmered with an otherworldly light. Pauldrons of black hardened leather were sewn into the armor. The pants were made of the same scaly material. A black sash resided at the bottom of the chest, beside a pair of black boots. Sibilach addressed him as he donned the new armor.

  “That scale mail is special. The scales are swamp drake scales. Very tough and repels water well. It’s woven together with black-stained Mithril, so it is light and strong. It’s enchanted to misdirect weapons, so that most weaker attacks that are short of a direct hit will glance off harmlessly. The sash is also woven Mithril. It is my gift to you, along with this.”

  Sawain turned to her and his jaw slackened. She held a massive sword in a matching black scabbard. The blade was nearly as long as she was, about five feet in length. The blade had to be five inches wide as well. She offered it to him. He slowly walked over to her and accepted the beautiful sword.