by James Somers
Killian and Esmeralda left the stables of the Mangy Cur, heading up the road toward the Eastern Gate. Many pedestrians were out this morning. However, the majority had been waiting for the gate to open in order to enter Rainier from the Mud District or the highway.
There was little traffic heading in the other direction. Killian had no trouble making his way through. There was only a brief check made by the guards as they ascertained his identity. They were charged with making sure no wanted person was allowed to leave the city by the gates. Behind the guards, at the post, was a board bearing several sketched images of thieves.
Fortunately, Killian bore no resemblance to any of these malcontents, so he was allowed to pass through to the highway beyond. To the left and the right, as far as Killian could see, the Mud Districts extended along the wall. Many structures, mainly businesses, used the wall as part of their architecture. Homes clamored for space, leaving only narrow avenues for carts and horses to go between. However, horses were hard for Thirds to come by anyway, so it was not so great a problem as one might imagine.
Straight on, the Eastern Highway proceeded through the district, stretching toward green pastures far off. Beyond these homesteads, where cattle and other livestock were raised for Rainier and where much of the kingdom’s grain was grown, the highway came near to the Brine Wood. It would take him a full day’s travel, with Esmeralda keeping a brisk pace, in order to reach the Doe River by nightfall.
“Let’s get going, girl,” Killian said to Esmeralda.
The black mare jolted forward eagerly. Dust clouds churned up behind them as they tore down the packed, earthen road. Killian was unsure which of them was the more excited by their trip. Either way, he was glad to be away from home for a time. There was nothing like a little adventure to stir the soul.
Hours later, as dusk began to transition into a clear night sky, Killian and Esmeralda crossed a shallow section of the Doe River just upstream from a set of rapids leading toward Doe River Falls three miles away. He found a spot clear of rocks and debris—a good place to bed down for the night—and began to establish a small camp. Using flint and stone and dried brush, Killian quickly got a fire started, adding larger pieces of dry wood until he had a nice blaze going.
Killian removed Esmeralda’s load and saddle, setting the sword next to the fire with his things. Then he loosed her to graze at her leisure. There was no danger of the black mare wandering off. Killian was more likely to get into mischief than she was, and they both knew it.
Removing a bow and quiver from among his things, Killian set off for a nearby meadow where he and his father knew of a large warren of rabbits. In the twilight, he found numerous opportunities. One well-placed shot later, Killian sat again by his fire, roasting the skinned rabbit over the open flames upon a makeshift spit.
Once Esmeralda had had her fill, she returned to him near the fire where he was already enjoying his meal. “Are you full already?” Killian asked.
Esmeralda nuzzled his shoulder.
“I suppose you’re wanting another sea apple?” he asked.
The mare knickered in reply.
“I’m sorry, but I only got the one from Wendy back at the inn,” he reported. “That one cost me a kiss.”
Esmeralda responded with an exasperated snort.
“I know, I know,” he said, grinning, “but I did want you to have the apple.”
She nuzzled him again, and he patted her muzzle.
“Don’t worry, I’m not taking a fancy to Wendy. I know how you would disapprove. However, I did have a nice dream last night. Shall I tell you about it?”
A snort came in reply and a nudge to his arm.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said merrily, taking another bite of his rabbit. “I dreamed about the raven-haired girl again.”
Esmeralda knickered at this, while Killian settled into his retelling.
“I entered what must be some sort of ballroom,” he continued. “There before me, in the midst of whirling couples in masquerade, stood the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Her eyes were the same color as the dress she was wearing. She wore a mask, as did I, but we somehow sensed one another. We just knew, out of all these people in attendance, we were meant for one another.”
Esmeralda snorted next to his ear. Killian laid his hand on her muzzle, attending to her emotional responses.
“Oh, I know she’s only a dream, but it feels so real when I see her,” Killian attempted to explain. “I went to her, and we embraced. Then we danced together and all of the others stopped. The very chamber around us seemed to melt away and we were dancing among the stars.”
Esmeralda snorted again.
“I’m not being foolish,” Killian replied. “I can’t help my own dreams, can I? I know what you’re thinking, Esmeralda. I should stop thinking so much about a figment of my imagination, but I can’t seem to help it.”
Another snort and a shake of the mare’s head.
Killian laughed. “You’re right, old girl. I’ve more important matters to deal with at the moment.”
Esmeralda bobbed her head, pulling Killian’s cloak off of his pack and draping it haphazardly over his head.
“All right,” he said, chuckling. “I’m going to get some sleep. You had better do the same though. We still have a good distance to go and the terrain is all hills and valleys from here on.”
She snorted again, walking off toward a nearby tree. He didn’t have to tell her about the terrain. She had made this trip far more times than Killian, going with his father to the temple when he was still a toddler. Killian stripped the last of the meat from his rabbit and then curled up with his proffered cloak. Esmeralda remained nearby, ears alert should anyone attempt to come upon their camp during the night.
The next day began well enough, until deep purple thunderheads rolled across the sky, making the already murky Brine Wood seem gloomier than ever. Killian rode Esmeralda, but the best pace they could manage was a steady canter and only at times when the massive trees gave them clearance. The Brine Wood was eons old, mystical and legendary. Very few people were brave enough to enter, for it was said strange creatures resided there. A man might enter, but he would be lucky to leave.
Killian, however, did not tremble at such stories, neither was he nervous to be traveling in the Brine. He and his family knew well what strange creatures inhabited this place. It was the lower forms in creation that ran free here, though stories of ancient dragons also circulated. This wood was a place where Eliam’s folk could dwell close to him like no other. In this place the animals spoke audibly, if they felt inclined, and there seemed to be Eliam’s power coursing through almost everything from trees and rocks and streams to deer and squirrels and panthers.
Even Esmeralda couldn’t resist the opportunity such trips to the Brine Wood afforded her. It was a chance to voice her opinions on a great many topics that were dear to her heart. Killian, like his father, got to hear them all.
“You really should have thought to bring more apples, Killian,” Esmeralda said in a frustrated tone.
“I’m sorry…again. How many times must I say so before you forgive me?”
“I only repeat myself for future reference,” said the black mare as they rounded another large tree.
A deer bounded out of a thicket across the trail. It paused, looked at Killian and Esmeralda. Then it became transparent against the foliage. Only the tell-tale movement of the brush gave away its escape.
“Bet you wish you could become invisible,” Killian mused, poking at her shoulder from his saddle.
“Keep prodding at me, and I’ll toss you into a bush,” Esmeralda said. “Besides, I have no need to hide. I’m not some frail creature that runs from danger.”
“I know,” Killian laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m only teasing you.”
“Foolish boy, you had best not tease the priestess, Shalindra,” Esmeralda warned. “She might rather put a curse upon you.”
Killian grinned. “I’ll b
e sure to be careful with my words.”
“Better yet, I could speak for you,” Esmeralda mused. “Shalindra knows me well, by now. She has even brought me apples on occasion.”
“As tempting an offer as that is, I think I had better handle this myself,” Killian replied. “After all, I will one day take over our shop from Father. Protocol is nearly as important learning as smithing in our trade.”
Esmeralda snorted, not derisively but as a matter of warning. A fog was coming—not a gentle building of condensation in the cool forest atmosphere, but a roiling, boiling wall approaching through the trees. Knowing this sign already, Esmeralda halted. Killian, feeling only slightly apprehensive, waited in the saddle, observing the influx of fog.
It soon enveloped them where they stood. Esmeralda did not fidget, did not cry out even in the human tongue. Killian inhaled the cool mist as it covered them like an avalanche.
The sounds of the forest around them were pushed out, as though dampened by a blanket of snow. Killian could see nothing around them for the moment. There was no voice, at first. Then he began to pick up whispers in the white void around them. Esmeralda’s ears pricked up to these as well, though Killian could barely see his companion’s equine features in the mist.
Their sounds were indistinct, and Killian had no idea what they meant to say. The voices seemed to be speaking with one another rather than to him. He wondered if he should call out to them, to enquire, but he refrained from this nervous behavior. Anyone who was meant to be here would know better than to act like a buffoon. Killian had no intention of embarrassing himself in such a way.
The murky veil began to dissipate a little. Faces and figures were revealed and then lost among the white vapors again. The face of a bear appeared and was gone. An elk turned its head and then vanished. A leopard skittered along a branch near Killian’s head before becoming lost to him again.
In all of these appearances, neither Killian nor Esmeralda panicked. He knew they were being tested, as all who wondered through these woods were tested. Some failed the test, while others passed. Those who belonged saw the Priestess of Eliam. However, those who failed did not see another sunrise.
The voices, with their whispering, grew louder. Their tones changed together, becoming urgent suddenly. A command came to him through the fog—a charge that Killian could not resist.
“Speak the words,” the voices whispered harshly. This was human speak, but not human voices that commanded him.
Killian, of course, knew exactly the words which these inhuman voices desired to hear. If he did not know them, something terrible would befall him. There would be nothing Esmeralda could do to save him.
“Speak the words,” she said now in unison with the voices.
Killian smiled and proclaimed loudly, “Eliam is Creator. Eliam is my sovereign. He reigns eternally.”
Instantly, the voices ceased their whispering. The murky veil of fog retreated from Killian and Esmeralda. They were no longer standing in the forest surrounded by trees. Somehow, and Killian had no idea how, they both had been transported from the wood to Eliam’s Temple. Its location was unknown. Killian couldn’t have found it if he tried. Nevertheless, he and Esmeralda had arrived.
The mist abated continually, leaving stacked stones, moss and flowering vines. The temple bore resemblance to an ancient ruin with incomplete walls and missing ceilings. A present, gentle breeze appeared to have nothing at all to do with the retreating fog.
Killian’s eyes found a number of animals—the bear and the leopard, the elk and others congregated among the tumble-down stones and ancient ruin of the structure. They remained as still as statues, watching him. Ahead, upon a dais that appeared to be centuries old, stood a woman with dark skin.
Remembering the woman from his childhood memories, Killian smiled brightly at her. She looked older, perhaps, than she had before. He honestly couldn’t make up his mind. Her skin was still very smooth. Her hair was dark and piled upon her head in an intricate weave. A sandy robe hung from her slight frame, descending to the ground without interruption.
Her hands were clasped in front of her. A necklace of beads adorned her throat, overlapping onto her slight chest. She did not smile. She did not even speak.
Killian only grinned wider in recognition. “Shalindra.”
Nightmares and Dreamscapes
Three days passed in relative misery for me after Celia was taken by Mistress Evelyn. Most of my time was spent pining for my friend and reliving the events that had led to her being ripped away from me to live in the Rainier palace as a bond slave to Prince Nathan. My destination, every time I made the journey through my bitter thoughts, was my own guilt. There was no escaping this one conclusion. Through my own rebellion, I had done this to her.
I finished my chores for the day early and found myself walking through the inner courtyard of the abbey. The ancient lichen-covered stones were cool, almost cold, against my bare feet. A coy pond was the central feature in the courtyard where lily fronds danced upon the water stirred by fish playing below the surface.
Brackish water reflected the high flying clouds above me and the few rays of sunlight that peeked through from time to time. I pushed my thoughts toward the coy, desiring them to still their antics. In moments, every ripple from their play had disappeared. The water became as smooth as glass—a mirror finish that I peered into.
There had been times when I saw events unfolding ahead of their actual occurrence. I had never shared this particular gift with my matron, or with any of the other girls at the abbey. I had almost told Celia one time, but I had refrained. Now, I wished I had taken the opportunity.
I sat by the pond, a light breeze playing through the branches of dogwoods rooted among the stones. Pink and white petals drifted by, attempting to settle upon the surface of the water. I brushed them aside with my mind in order to keep the water still.
Peering into the dark, I saw the coy sitting in place, barely moving. They didn’t look at me, but they must have felt my connection to them. Otherwise, they would have resumed their previous activity.
I was pulled gently but insistently by my gift of sight through the brackish void. A second later, there was no water. I had journeyed beyond that into a scene unfolding somewhere in time. I couldn’t tell if it was past, present, or future—at least, not until the particulars came into focus for me.
I was sitting inside a vehicle of some kind. Almost instantly, I recognized what must be the inside of one of Mistress Evelyn’s armored wagons. I did not see Lady Rainier. However, when I turned myself, Celia was sitting upon the opposite bench cushion. She was looking out the curtained window. Bars covered the outside to protect the occupants inside from attack. Knowing the construction of the wagon, I realized that Mistress Evelyn must be riding on the other side of the partition wall at Celia’s back.
I attempted to speak to her, but Celia could neither see nor hear me. I was not even a dream to her, not even a ghost. Still, I was comforted somewhat to see her face, despite the trails of tears across her cheeks and her puffy bloodshot eyes. At the very least, she was unharmed.
Then her world turned upside down—literally—as something terrible collided with the side of the wagon and sent it tumbling off the road. I only caught a glimpse of the shock on Celia’s face as she attempted to brace herself, but to no avail. She was tossed round and round with the wagon.
My insubstantial spectral form passed through the armored hide of the wagon, leaving me standing on the road to watch the vehicle tumbling away with its side partially caved in. I turned in terror to find a monstrous war elephant standing upon the road wearing armor plate. The beast possessed crimson eyes and a hide as tough as a rhinoceros.
Soldiers shouted commands. There came screaming and death, as arrows flew between Evelyn’s guard and the horde of human like creatures that had ambushed Lady Rainier’s caravan. Blood spilled over and over again upon the road, pooling at my ghostly feet. Though I saw it all, none of these co
mbatants could see me.
I wished this was only a dream, but I knew enough about my visions to understand how real they were. What I couldn’t know yet was whether this vision was in the past, present, or future. It might have happened a day ago. It might have been a few days from then. I had never been able to tell from the visions alone.
The man-like things who attacked Evelyn’s caravan shared features with various animals. Some had fur on their bodies. Others had facial characteristics similar to canines, felines and reptiles. Some possessed lithe frames, while others were overly muscled.
I had never seen a Cinderman before, but I had heard the legends. The famous sorcerer Herbert Cinder, five hundred years ago, had combined animals and men during his many experiments, attempting to create a better human being. The monstrosities he created became known as Cindermen.
It had been rumored that some of the great houses actually had pacts with the infamous leader of the Cindermen, Judah. Though this had never been proven, many stories identified Judah and the others as mercenaries for hire to the highest bidder. Great houses seeking muscle against their rivals might have done no better than hiring the kind of horde I found attacking Lady Rainier’s armored caravan.
My heart melted within me as the wagon carrying both Mistress Evelyn and Celia tumbled another time and then came to rest upon its side. The axles beneath it were bent, the wheels mangled beyond repair. They could not run now.
I threw up my hands to stop these attackers as they rushed toward the damaged wagon. The Cindermen passed through me unhindered. I had no power to stop what would happen next. In my current state, I could not even cry for my friend.
Men with faces like wolves and lions and snakes approached the battered contraption with their swords and pikes ready. Their shields rested upon their backs. They did not fear the men who guarded the wagon. Evelyn’s soldiers, who had been riding on the outside a moment ago, lay upon the road and the ground torn and broken by the metal box on wheels.