by Edward Cox
The forest stirred and grew thick, corralling Abildan into a narrow track where the trees loomed and their branches reached out like clawed fingers. She didn’t slow and drew her sabre as she detected lines of magic growing in radiance just beneath the surface of the path, warm against the soles of her feet.
Just ahead, the first root shot from the ground, coiling like a tentacle, striking for the feliwyrd. Abildan’s sabre sliced through it effortlessly, and she left it writhing on the forest floor in her wake. Another shot from the ground, and then another, until it seemed the entire length of the track was alive with the limbs of a great sea beast.
Abildan dodged and slashed her way down the maze of tentacles, ignoring the stabs and cuts she received along the way. The last of the blood magic fuelled her reactions, raised her reflexes to new heights, and she was too fast for the vicious roots. Up ahead, the track’s end came into sight, and Abildan bared her teeth, fighting her way towards it.
She broke from the end of the track and emerged to where the forest parted to reveal a lush valley below her.
A scream pierced the air.
Abildan observed from the ridgeline.
On the valley floor a strange scenario played out, which the feliwyrd had not anticipated. She recognised the small figure of Amyya instantly - she had been carrying the image of her face in her mind from Mya-Siad. The princess was engaged in combat against one of Uljah’s giant guardians.
A dryad attacked Amyya. Big and strong, far older than the one Abildan had slaughtered in the glade. Its limbs and body were thick and cumbersome, but its movements were powerful and surprisingly quick. Amyya darted and weaved, rolled and jumped, easily avoiding the dryad’s poisonous vines and smashing fists. She was skilled and taking good stock of herself, but it was evident that she was tiring. The dryad gave no respite in which she might flee.
In the strange language of the Ulyyn, Amyya called and grunted with orders, but her efforts to temper the furious magic that compelled the dryad were in vain. It was trying its hardest to kill the princess, but this was not part of Amyya’s rite of passage. Something was wrong with the creature. Abildan could sense its confusion and anger from up on the ridge. The dryad was rogue, beset by madness, and this was a fight Amyya could not win.
A cruel smile curved Abildan’s lips.
Perhaps her mission would be easier than she thought. She wondered, for a moment, if there would be no need to spill blood herself. Could she simply watch the dryad do her work for her; and then, after enjoying the sport, slip away into the forest and head home to Mya-Siad?
No.
The call of the wolves was but moments away in the forest behind her. And now, high in the sky, the shapes of giant hawks were silhouetted against the sun, as were the Ulyyn warriors riding on their backs. If Amyya could keep up her fight for but a short while longer, then her people would reach her in time to save her from the insane dryad.
The irony was not lost on the feliwyrd: had she not come to Uljah, the Ulyyn would not have been drawn to her presence, and Abildan would not have led them to the plight of their princess.
Her blood magic all but depleted, Abildan accepted the inevitable. She unbuckled her sabre from her back and let it slip to the ground, scabbard and all. Sharp nails slid from her fingertips. Fighting to the death with tooth and claw alone, she would see the orders of the Wyrd obeyed. Her sacrifice, her life, willingly given for a future Earth ruled by Mya-Siad.
Driven by yowl of pride, Abildan sprinted down the slope into the valley.
She glanced up and saw the bows and spears in the hands of the Ulyyn warriors riding the great hawks. They were close, but not close enough. Halfway down the slope, Abildan risked a glance back, seeing the wolf pack burst from the tree line and stream down after her. Their barks and howls meant nothing to the feliwyrd.
Ahead, Princess Amyya tired in the battle against the dryad. She too had noticed the arrival of her people, and the notion of rescue should have given her extra courage and strength for the fight. But her attention was then caught by the feliwyrd bearing down on her, chased by the feral pack. In that moment’s distraction, the dryad’s vine whipped out and its poisonous sting lashed across Amyya’s face.
She fell to the ground and lay still. The dryad, not content that its poison was now coursing through its prey’s veins, raised both its huge fists. But before it beat down on the small and prone body, it too noticed the feliwyrd. Facing the new threat, it gave an eerie bellow of challenge.
Maddeningly, the dryad blocked Abildan’s path to the princess, and the only way to her was through it. With the wolves snapping not far behind, the claws of giant hawks descending from the sky, Abildan met the creature head on.
She dodged the first vine as it lashed forth, ducked under the second, and then rolled to one side, avoiding the fist that smashed the earth beside her. Springing to her feet, Abildan leapt and gouged the dryad’s eyes from their sockets, before vaulted onto its back. Blind, the dryad roared and tried to reach over its shoulder to grab its attacker. Abildan avoided the attempt. Her claws cut the vines from its back, and they fell limp to the valley floor. Revelling in the beast’s screams of torture, Abildan bit into its neck.
The dryad’s cries were desperate now, but no matter how it twisted and turned and thrashed, it could not dislodge the feliwyrd from its back. Abildan bit harder and deeper, down through bark-like skin until the bitter taste of sap-like blood flooded her mouth. Her teeth tore away chunks of woody flesh, the fur of her face matted with amber blood, claws stabbed into her adversary’s throat. The dryad dropped to its knees, moaning, and then fell facedown, dead.
With the wolves almost upon her, Abildan wasted pounced for the immobile form of Princess Amyya.
That was when the first arrow struck her in the back.
The second thudded into her shoulder.
Abildan spun around and dropped to her knees just as the wolf pack crashed into her and bowled her over. The arrows were poison-tipped. The venom paralysed her movements and darkened her vision.
She was vaguely aware of the wolves snarling, tugging at her clothes with their sharp teeth. She heard the whoosh of wings and the thump of giant hawks landing in the valley. The strange clicks and grunts of the Ulyyn language sounded urgently around her. And as the world turned to starless night, Abildan knew that Princess Amyya would survive, and she had failed Mya-Siad.
Thirteen
Darkness
By the time Abildan finished her tale, evening had slipped into night. Mist crept through the forest and fires burned brightly in the Boskan camp.
Abildan fell silent, her fur-covered face turned to the sky and lost to the past. The four knights watched the feliwyrd, waiting for her to reveal more. But she evidently felt no inclination to say anything further.
Vladisal allowed the silence to grow for a moment longer, before saying, “The Wyrd sent you to Uljah to assassinate a princess, but the Ulyyn let you live?”
“Yes.” Abildan’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Luca shook her head. “Not very likely.”
“I’ll say,” Dief added.
“Not only did they let you live, but also rewarded you with a talisman of friendship?” Üban barked a single, derisive laugh.
Her face unreadable, Abildan scanned the camp behind the four knights, and all hint of mockery left her manner.
“I warned you that the Ulyyn were a hard race to understand,” she said, pointedly to Vladisal. “Regardless of my mission, had I not come to the Great Forest then Princess Amyya would have died at the hands of the mad dryad. However inadvertently, I saved her life, and the Ulyyn regard a life-debt as a sacred thing. The leaf talisman honours their debt to me. A strange scenario, yes, but that is the bare truth of it.”
Abildan seemed genuine, but old Üban was not to be convinced.
“You and I have very different understandings of the truth, feliwyrd.”
“You think me a liar, and your convictions are, pe
rhaps, justified to a degree.” Abildan’s tone was detached, her eyes still scanned the camp. “No one was more surprised than I that the Ulyyn spared my life.”
“And so did Mya-Siad,” Luca pointed out. “The Wyrd are famed for many things, but leniency in the face of failure is not among them.”
“This tale grows harder to believe by the second,” Üban growled.
Dief made to say something, but coughed instead, spitting on the ground as though ridding her mouth of a foul taste.
“Ladies, please.” Abildan sighed. “I am feliwyrd. My lot is to serve, not to question, not to understand. I can only presume that my masters foresaw a day when the life-debt owed to me by the Ulyyn would be useful to their plans. Perhaps Mya-Siad foresaw the problem of Dun-Wyrd.”
“Oh, this is rich,” Üban said. She gave a sour chuckle. “The Bone Shakers have sent their monster here because it benefits their dreams of enslaving Earth? Is that it?”
“What else did you expect, Sir Üban?” There was no retort in Abildan’s reply. “The future dreams of the oracwyrd see many things, which only the Wyrd can decipher. Perhaps Dun-Wyrd’s death has to happen. Perhaps the parts played by Elander and the Knights of Boska were also foreseen. Was my failure to kill the princess planned all along? Was gaining a favour from the Ulyyn the real goal of mission? The road to Mya-Siad’s future could take centuries to walk, and no moment of that journey is inconsequential.”
The feliwyrd frowned, seemed troubled. “But then again, it is possible that my failure reaped unexpected benefits. Dun-Wyrd might have been sentenced to death for simple treachery. Elander’s abduction, our alliance, the Ulyyn, could all be coincidence. Only the Wyrd know if it is luck or fate that drives us.”
Vladisal wondered if Abildan, at long last, was offering a degree of sincerity to the Knights of Boska. It seemed to be the case, but it was so hard to tell.
“What and why make no difference,” Üban said, her voice low. “Whether Redheart can use the talisman to bring the Ulyyn to us or not, our mission does not change. I will suffer no more of dreams and futures.”
“Spoken like a true pragmatist,” Abildan said, without mockery.
“No, wait.” Luca’s scepticism remained. “I’m still curious even if you are not, Üban. I do not wish to sound quarrelsome, Abildan, but I think you know more than you’re saying about what Dun-Wyrd is doing in the Great Forest.”
Abildan’s eyes lingered on Vladisal. “If you must force me to make an educated guess, then I believe that Dun-Wyrd has turned separatist. If I am right, then the Great Forest would make a perfect location to build a new Wyrd empire in secret, far from Mya-Siad. And the Ulyyn would make powerful allies.”
“Allies?” Üban almost laughed. “We have all heard what Luca has said, and the Ulyyn would never ally themselves with a Bone Shaker.”
“Not through choice,” Abildan said. “But Dun-Wyrd could bend them to her will. In time. Her first step towards building a new empire will be to create her very own oracwyrd.”
“A future-dreamer…” Luca’s scepticism grew. She shook her head at Vladisal and Üban. “It takes decades of torturous procedure to create an oracwyrd-”
“You wished to know what I believed, and now I am telling you!” Abildan snapped, exasperated. “Never underestimate how intelligent and resourceful Dun-Wyrd is. Her tree-demons have already shown you how well she can manipulate the magic of the Great Forest, and the power of that magic increases tenfold in the lands of Uljah.”
Abildan impatience shone through. She glared at each knight in turn. “If Dun-Wyrd wishes to corrupt and bend the Ulyyn to her rule, then she must learn how to turn Uljah’s magic against its people. And she will decipher how to do exactly that through the dreams of a future-seer. She will create a new kind of oracwyrd, and it will not take her decades! She will merge an Ulyyn, one already touched by the magic of Uljah, with a human child who was born with a particular magical gift.”
A sudden, hard silence followed Abildan’s words.
Vladisal felt her insides turn to ice and a name tumbled from her lips. “Elander.”
Old Üban, so rational yet so superstitious, snorted a laugh. “What nonsense is this? Elander has many charms, but magic is not one of them.”
Abildan raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps it is not my place to say.”
Vladisal couldn’t hold the feliwyrd’s cold, yellow stare. She looked to the ground, unwilling to meet the frowns of Luca and Üban.
“Vlad?” said Dief.
“What is it, lass?” Üban prompted.
Vladisal took a deep breath. “My friends, I would have taken you into my confidence earlier, but I was sworn to secrecy. What I’m about to tell you must not extend to the women.”
Instinctively, Luca, Üban and Dief gave their word to their captain.
Vladisal rubbed the back of her head. “This past year, Elander has changed. He has dreams. He…”
She trailed off and Abildan filled the silence.
“Elander has the Sight,” she said bluntly. “He sees visions of the future.”
Üban opened her mouth to speak but said nothing.
Luca gave the feliwyrd an appraising look before turning to her captain. “Is this true, Vlad?”
“Yes,” Vladisal said a little angrily. “I know it, and so does his mother. Let us keep level heads, my friends. This matter is not one for open discussion.”
But Dief did not care to extend any rationality to the conversation. “Elander is a witch?”
“Put your superstitions aside,” said Abildan. “As Üban said, your mission has not changed.”
Üban ignored the feliwyrd. “Can he be cured of this curse?”
Abildan hissed with irritation. “You wanted answers and now you have them.”
Üban made to argue further, but Abildan stopped her with a raised hand and an almost pleading expression.
“The forest city of Uljah is steeped in old magic, and Dun-Wyrd will learn how to use it. Merged with the spirit of an Ulyyn, Elander’s gift of Sight will be increased exponentially. He will see far into many secrets, and Dun-Wyrd will discover the future she craves.”
The mist in the forest was growing thicker, and it swirled as a breeze rustled through the trees. Vladisal shivered. Üban and Luca shared a look. Abildan stepped forward, paused beside Dief, seemed to sniff her before turning her nose to the air to sniff some more.
“Think of me what you will,” the feliwyrd said, stepping past the knights and casting a shrewd gaze over the camp. “But without the leaf talisman the Ulyyn will never be tempted out of their realm. They will not know of Dun-Wyrd’s presence, they will not see her coming, and she will be free to turn the magic of Uljah against them. If Redheart is not successful, then only we few stand in Dun-Wyrd’s way.”
Abildan turned to face the knights, a laconic grin spreading across her face. “You should have listened to me. I told you to burn your dead.”
Shouts came from the camp. Vladisal saw the company rushing about. A knight called for her captain.
“Vladisal! The dead are rising!”
Fourteen
Captive Audience
Redheart suspected that night had fallen, but it was impossible to tell for sure.
She had been moved from the cage to a detention cell inside one of the behemoth trees that grew in the city of Uljah. The only source of light came from soft torch flames flickering through a little barred window on the locked and sturdy door. She saw and heard no one, and could do nothing but wait, sitting on the mossy floor, surrounded by dancing shadows.
She prayed to the Mother for patience and guidance. She prayed for Vladisal and the Knights of Boska. She prayed for Elander.
Redheart had been thinking about the angry Ulyyn woman. Her grasp of human language had been awkward at best – though, oddly, she had no trouble understanding her captive. She hadn’t let Redheart speak about anything other than Abildan, though Redheart had tried. The Ulyyn had a burning, furious obsessi
on with the feliwyrd. Redheart had tried her best to understand and answer question after question, but she simply didn’t know where Abildan was in the Great Forest, or her friends. And that had only served to increase the Ulyyn’s fury.
Finally, with exasperation, she had ordered the guards to take her captive to the cell, and that had been when Redheart had discovered something astonishing about this Ulyyn woman. Her name was Amyya, and she was Queen of Uljah.
Redheart rubbed her face. Her wound had scabbed over, and it itched maddeningly. Hunger gripped her stomach in nauseating pangs.
The smooth wooden walls of the cell were close, and the ceiling was low. Redheart tried to ignore a sense of claustrophobia and, not for the first time, was overwhelmed by frustration. She wondered how her friends were faring. Did they recognise the depth of treachery that hid in their midst?
It seemed unbelievable that Abildan, a servant of the Wyrd, had had previous dealings with the queen of such a mythical race as the Ulyyn. But Redheart had gleaned enough from Amyya’s bitter interrogation to understand that it was true. The feliwyrd had come to Uljah before. But it was clear now that the leaf talisman was no token of friendship. It served only as some insult to the Ulyyn of which Redheart herself was the unwitting culprit. Did Abildan know this would happen? Was this her plan all along?
Redheart checked an impulse to beat down the cell door with her bare hands. She was a Knight of Boska, not some animal to be kept in a cage. Yet Queen Amyya had not cared about Elander’s plight; she would not be warned of the peril that had come to the Great Forest. She cared for nothing but Abildan and whatever tricks the feliwyrd was evidently playing on them all.
Despair, it seemed, was but moments away from engulfing Redheart. On her knees, eyes squeezed shut, hands clasped before her, she prayed once again to the Mother. And within her prayers, like a spark of light in the shadows, she found the face of her dearest friend Vladisal, and with it a slither of hope to which she could cling: Redheart was still alive. The day was not lost yet.