“What will we face in the Vail?” Abbott asked.
The tall grass in the crossing fluttered in the breeze like a sea of green.
“Dunno. I suppose we will have to find out for ourselves. That is, if we make it through the mountains alive.”
Abbott found himself rubbing his thumb over the stone with trembling hands. How could he stand a chance against evil he did not know? Did it have to come to this? Was there another way forward? He could not think of one.
“And that is why I think it’s time you learned to use one of these.” Quinn removed one of the many looted swords from her belt and handed it to Abbott. “Properly. I took this one specifically for you. It won’t give you too much trouble to learn, and it’s light in the hands.”
The weapon was longer than his arm, but it was seemingly light to hold. There was a weathered line of runes alongside the jagged edge. “What do those mean?” he asked, bringing the sword close to his eye to observe.
Quinn shrugged. “Who knows. Blades with runes have all sorts of meanings. Some good and some bad. I reckon these could be both, judging by its age.”
Abbott believed they were the good kind. “And you’ll teach me?”
“Is there anyone else with us right now? Of course, I’ll be teaching you!” Quinn gave Abbott a nudge on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t call myself a master at arms, but at least I can defend myself. That's very important if you want to keep breathing.”
“When do we start?"
Quinn grinned in an invitation. “Whenever you least expect it!” She tore a sword from her scabbard in challenge. “I want to see how bad I’ve got it.”
Suddenly, the iron felt dejected in his hands. All of his confidence drained when he saw his reflection in the blade's shine. The idea of someone attacking him came to fruition. He cowered in fear and surrendered, yielded to Quinn’s form. “I don’t think I’m ready for this now,” he muttered, shoving the blade into its scabbard.
Quinn’s brow ruffled. “You have nothing to be afraid of. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to help you. The more we practice, the better off you’ll be. I don’t expect what dangers ahead of us to be easy or forgiving. They will kill us the minute we let our guards down. They won’t show us any mercy. Remember. She wants you out of the way.”
“I know,” he said, remembering the path he was destined. “But what if I'm not ready to face her? What if I don't have to fight to win?”
“We’re never truly ready for anything. I wasn’t ready to lose my papa, but it happened,” a tear welled from her eyes. “And you won’t be ready to face her when the time comes, but at least we can try. To some level, she fears you. That should mean something.”
“But who would fear me?”
“A good question, Abbott, a good question. I certainly do not fear you. You're scrawny like a feral cat.”
Abbott smirked. No longer was he reading about bravery from the ivory pages of his book, now he'd have to unearth it within himself.
In a swift tug, he ripped the blade free against all better judgment and accepted Quinn’s challenge.
“That’s more like it,” she said with pursed lips. “For your father.”
At half speed, Quinn advanced.
Abbott retreated in hesitation. Quinn chopped towards her opponent’s weapon. The sound of crashing steel rang in his ears for the first time. “Make sure you keep your stance wide. You don’t want to be knocked off your feet.”
The sound of the clattering steel was intoxicating. There was a brute force behind sword fighting that made Abbott feel strength beyond what he had before.
“Strike me!” Quinn’s voice rang out in command.
Abbott responded to the attack. Quinn parried the strike with little to no effort and continued to defend herself. Strike after strike Abbott dealt with his blade. Each of them parried with skill. He started to tire, but Quinn was just getting started.
Gased, he hunched over to catch his breath. At that moment, Quinn seized her opportunity and kicked Abbott to the ground, placing her sword at his throat. “Remember what I said, they will kill us the moment we put our guards down.”
Wild-eyed, Abbott nodded his head in remembrance. Quinn lent him a hand to stand again. “We can call it for today,” she said. “You weren’t that bad. A bit too aggressive if you ask me. But, aggression can often save your life if used properly. Tell me, who is it that you envision when you fought me?”
“The man that killed your father,” Abbott said, removing the sweat from his brow.
Quinn’s face turned in surprise. “And why’s that?”
“He deserves justice too.”
The words harmonized straight to Quinn’s soul. It was the first time she looked at Abbott as much less than a helpless boy and more like a friend who shared in her grief. She was growing rather fond of his company. “And he will get it.”
Following the sword lesson, they remained en route for the Vail. Abbott cut restlessly at the wind as it whirled over him. It’s sharp breath pestered him with every pass, tearing through the stitching of his clothes to nip at his skin.
With the Forest of Mornia behind them, the crossing had been an easier terrain to travel. Occasionally, they’d find a soft-footed marsh or wetland. Luckily, for Quinn, her riding boots kept her feet from collecting the murky waters, but the same could not be said for Abbott, as he trudged unaware behind her.
Even more so frustrating than his wet feet, Abbott loathed the flying little pests dotting the air. They swarmed in a plethora and were vicious to his exposed skin. He had welts up and down his hands and along the sides of his face.
Quinn thought it hilarious.
“How much farther do we have to walk through this?” Abbott asked, swatting a few bugs away and killing one in the process. “ I won’t be alive if we’re here any longer.”
Quinn had a wool wrap over her cheeks, leaving nothing exposed to torture. She hardly thought of anyone but herself and said muffled behind her mask, “You’ll soon enough die then. We haven’t even made it halfway through the bog.”
“Don’t suppose you have another one of those, do you?”
She was silent.
They stopped by a pond alongside the trail. The waters were murky with bugs dotting the black glass, but Abbott did not care. His parched lips welcomed the lukewarm water as he basked in the bog's humidity. Sword training had drained what energy was left in his body. The muscles in his arms ached, which had never before. His legs burnt with fire, and his hands vibrated as he opened and closed them. Combat was something his body would have to get used to. It was unlike any of the activities he was accustomed to in Woolbury, and yet, it gave him the sense of a new kind of freedom. The idea he would soon be able to defend and protect himself came at a high value. He understands the cost and effort he’d have to give in the process. The skill would not be easily acquired.
“Don’t suppose you’re hungry?” Quinn offered him another piece of her homemade bread. He accepted and munched down the square whilst swatting more bugs away. It seemed to hit the spot just nicely.
“Does it prevent them from biting you?”
Quinn chuckled. “Would be a lot better if we were riding through these lands,” her inner thoughts voiced out loud. “Although, I’m not so sure horses would enjoy it here. Besides, where would we even find horses in this miserable place?” It was the first time Quinn had to express her dislike for the crossing. It was, however, not the first time she’d complained about her surroundings. Abbott began to notice how, unruly, things were to Quinn. That and how much she complained.
“I don’t believe any animal would willingly want to live here,” Abbott said. A cloud of flying bugs buzzed viciously by the muddy banks and plunged into its waters.
“Just wait until we get further.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’ve yet to smell the worst of it.”
The swamplands birthed more territory western towards the Spine Mountains. In the sha
dow of a mountain, the land was a swamp of unusualness. The odor, that was to be expected, was incredibly foul. Abbott could taste it on his tongue. It was like dust that had sat for a century mixed with the smell of composting plant life, and the further they went, the worse it became.
Quinn led Abbott over a narrow pathway through the sludge. A horse’s breast-width wide and about as stable as a sheet of ice. The swamp wilted with tall weeds and large stalks of onion smelling plants. The water’s depths were clouded. One could not help but wonder what lay beneath. Occasionally, Abbott would see a swamp of bugs floating on the surface only to disappear with the reminisce of a ripple.
“What was this place?” he asked.
Quinn turned her shielded face. “A wasteland no less,” she said sharply. “And the quickest way to where we need to go.”
He looked back into the crystal ball waters while holding his breath. There was a stirring, prompting alertness. Abbott searched twice what his eyes had seen but found nothing. “Do things live here in this wasteland?”
“Undoubtedly,” she said, “but for your sake, I wouldn’t give that too much thought. You wouldn’t want to know the truth even if it plagued your mind. Ignorance is truly bliss.”
The answer was less than suitable for his worrisome mind. The deeper they went, the more he found himself looking into the water to search for hidden things. He didn’t know what he would have done if his eyes indeed found something, but the notion of being ignorant to what threats waited beneath the surface was foolish in his mind.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Quinn ensured. “The less we talk about it, the faster we will make it through. It will be night soon, and I do not feel like sleeping with my nose plugged.”
“It would be better plugged with cloth than that dreadful smell,” Abbott said under his breath as he swatted away more pests.
After a while, he gave in to Quinn’s advice and found the waters to be innocent of all wrongdoing. Abbott instead, attempted to do his best by keeping up with Quinn, but she was much faster footed than he was. She walked with purpose in her stride even underneath her cloak with the items she’d hoarded. Quinn seemed determined to make it out before sunset.
“Slow down!” Abbott called as Quinn crested a grass hill and disappeared behind its hump. But as he followed in her footsteps, he stood on top of the mound, alone. Quinn had vanished from his sight entirely. “Quinn!” he cried out. The sky darkened. The stars were beginning to make their arrival. He called out to Quinn until he felt a burn in the back of his throat. He was lost, and worse, in a bog.
When the land reached its obscurest point, the silver of the moon was the only guiding light to follow. But given the small trace of light, Abbott could hardly see the mountain peaks through the fog dancing over the glass ponds. What do I do now? He asked himself.
The sound of a stone plunged into the clouded waters.
Abbott snapped his head in the direction. Another stone plunged from behind him and another on his left, followed by another on his right. The stagnate pools circling him echoed with each twist of his head. He drew his blade in response. “Quinn?” he called once more, “if this is you, this isn’t funny!”
But all was silent.
His breaths shortened. The top of his chest trembled. As moisture poured down his temple, he contemplated what to do, and in a moment of dire panic, he withdrew his last hope— the stone in his pocket.
With sincerity woven throughout his voice, Abbott rubbed his thumb over the stone’s markings and begged for the Guardian's help. The pleas came so heavy to his heart, tears streamed down his face. “P-please,” his voice broke. “I need your h-help. I can’t do this alone.” The mysterious noises ensued. Thousands of fear ran leeched in his mind and landed in outcomes he wished had not. “Quinn!” he called out again.
The polished stone flickered intermittently like a beacon. A white light turned his palms translucent to the bone, but there was nothing more. The figure Abbott had so interestedly met in the forest of Woolbury was refined to the soft glow of a peddle. Useless, Abbott muttered to himself, utterly useless. He clenched his teeth in anger and cast the flickering stone into the water. “Fine! Don’t help!” he screamed. "I don't need you!"
A thunderous roaring rang down from the skies. Abbott’s blade glimmered as lightning struck at the bog. The wolves of the clouds swallowed up the moon and smothered the sky. Zig-zag flashes of light stabbed through the dark. The winds hurled and an apparition of wisps and bugs came together into the form of a being.
“What are you?” Abbott asked as lightning struck off in the distance, emitting a spark in his iris.
The apparition shifted and glitched, attempting to regain its form whenever the wind whirled at it. “I am nameless… faceless you may say.” It said in mockery.
He asked again with more vigor in his voice, “What are you?”
“I can see your heart. I can see your weaknesses.”
“WHO ARE YOU!” He chopped at the apparition but it shifted through his strike.
“I am you.”
He was looking into a mirror. In disbelief, he waved his sword at it again but missed the mark. “What do you want from me?” he demanded. Tears fell down his cheeks.
“Your life.”
He diminished his sword. “My what?”
“Surrender yourself, and the very thing you treasure will be set free. A life for a life.”
“You lie!” he called as he thrust the blade into the apparition. In a flash, the mirror shifted into the likeness of his father! “What!” he groaned as his blade fell from his hands. His father’s grey hair tossed from side to side as the light left his eyes.
“You’d kill your own father?” the apparition sneered. “A disappointment.”
Abbott whimpered. “You’re not my father!”
Suddenly, what stood in front of him collapsed to the ground and started to die back into the ponds surrounding him.
“You’re helpless… you haven’t a chance to save his life.”
“You don’t know anything!"
Thunder roared from the heavens.
The head of the apparitions slowly rose from the depths and revealed who haunted him. The wisps and bugs shifted into pale skin, blond flowing hair, and fracture amethyst eyes. The Weeping Woman.
“You!” he shouted. "I won't let you win!"
“How noble of you,” her cold voice mocked. “I shall not make any promises on your life. It is already lost. But I will offer a trade. If you give me your life for his, he will go free along with the woman who travels with you. I’m not in the mood to kill any more fathers.”
“How can I trust the word of a murderer?”
Thunder rang around him. Bang! Crack! Snap!
“Hold out your hand,” she said. Her palm was covered in red. “A blood pact. Those who break a blood pact— die. That is my word.”
Abbott contemplated the trade. His father’s life for his own. It was a deal he would have happily made under any circumstances, but these weren’t normal circumstances. This deal would be his death sentence and he knew deep in his bones, evil could not be trusted.
The Weeping Woman floated closer. “What will it be? Your life or his?”
“And if you break your word?”
“I’ll suffer a fate worse than death itself.”
Abbott began to stretch out his hand, and her evil grin curled. A dagger hovered towards his outstretched palm, but before the blood pact could begin, he heard chanting from below him, and the slashing of a sword cut through the apparition’s head. “DIE!” the chanter said, knocking Abbott on his back. “DIE!” Auburn locks dripped over the chanter’s identity.
The apparition fell into the swamp waters and exploded in fury. All the ponds around them erupted in madness and burst like a hurricane. The thunder cracked from above thrice more before it ceased, revealing the calm midnight sky once more.
“What in Soren’s bloody name are you doing!” Quinn snarled, cleanin
g the dirt from her blade, “What in hell have you done? You know who that was?”
“How’d you find me?”
Quinn nudged her head to where the polish stone flickered in the murky water. "I followed the glowing,” she said, lifting her lips in the corner. “Has a mind of its own.”
“Right.” Abbott brushed the dirt from his palms. “But does very little.”
Quinn offered him her hand to stand up. “Have you lost your mind, Abbott? What’d I tell you about keeping close?”
“I lost you."
“And look what happens when you do. Do you have any idea who you were dealing with? That’s the dark magic I warned you of. If I hadn’t ended that, you’d have given your soul to her. Blood pacts are vile things.”
“I thought—“
“You think she’d honor her promise? She’d kill you the moment she could. Don’t ever go making deals with your life as collateral. Do you hear me? And don’t ever drop your sword! It will be a fatal mistake if you do. Now pick it up, you dimwit.”
“Wouldn’t you have done the same to save your father?”
“No, not if it meant dying to do so. What’s the point?”
“So he can live.”
Quinn rolled up the sleeve of her shirt and retrieved the pulsating stone from the swamp. She dug through a layer of mud and water weeds before grabbing it. “Hurry now,” Quinn instructed, bushing her hair behind her ears. “I’ve already found the way out of this place. This bit of paper details an entrance at the base of the mountain. At this point, it would be just our luck if it were wrong. Already had enough problems to deal with than I would have half expected. First the dryads, then Ara disappearing, and now this. You do want to make it there alive, don’t you?”
“I do.” Abbott pretended that his shame had worn off, but deep down, it had not. He was desperate enough to trade his own life for his fathers, even if that meant misery for himself. Would have gone through with the blood pact if not for Quinn’s intervention? That thought scared him more than anything they could face in the Spine Mountains.
The Shadow of Our Stars: The Tales of Evinar Page 21