The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana

by E Cantu Alegre

  That sound. It was wrong. Off, somehow.

  "Well, thank you, this is most appreciated," he said graciously, “but I’ll be heading back now.” He made small bows and turned slowly to start back to his camp.

  "Don't you want to dine with us?" asked the woman with sapphire locks. Her slow, sensuous voice again sent subtle tingles down the length of his spine. Lanico stopped mid-stride, hesitant to turn to look back at them. He didn't want any part of whatever these women were up to. He looked back at their excited eyes and worked to find words to neither offend nor anger them. "I really would be honored; however, I’ve already made my meal for the evening." He glanced back at the pitiful blackened fish at his small camp. He frowned at the fish, but turned a smile back to them.

  The women started to saunter toward him. As they came closer Lanico palmed the hilt of his sword, but in a swift, surprising move, they shoved him down on the pebbled ground, where the cool grit scrubbed his back beneath him. The women playfully stumbled down next to him on either side, blue and green hair whipping against him. More giggling. He noticed the woman with the purple hair was walking away―she moved along the river.

  Taking effort to not harm them, Lanico fought to free himself—to sit up and focus on where she was headed. The remaining two women began massaging his shoulders and back. Their hands met his hidden sore muscles. They cuddled closely, moving into his space, squirming against his sides and arms. He fought, ignoring the temptation of identifying which of their body parts were pressed against him.

  "Ooo! So meaty and strong!" one excitedly giggled as they looked at each other with knowing grins. They started pulling at his tunic, rubbing their hands along the lean planes of his chest beneath.

  "Ladies, p—please," Lanico tried protesting through the shirt as they lifted it over his head. Still unaware of their actual intentions, he wanted to avoid confrontation. When his bare chest was exposed the one with green hair leaned in front of him, her eyes now fixed on his. They called him in. Closer. Closer. A voiceless demand.

  His pulse quickened. He felt himself growing tense with excitement. He didn't want to lose his better judgement. He breathed in deep. Focus. Focus. He pushed their grasping hands off as he sensed movement ahead. The purple-haired woman came ambling back and smiling a fox’s smile. In her dainty hands was a goblet. The green-haired woman grabbed his face forcefully, to refocus his gaze on her. Emerald hair, he thought longingly.

  “Evelena, don’t grab him too hard!” cautioned the beauty with the amethyst-colored tresses, now closing her distance.

  “But Neldra, why should you have all the fun?” Evelena, the emerald-haired one answered.

  Neldra came close with the goblet she tipped near his lips. Lanico nervously laughed, saying he wasn't thirsty, and fought to stand and free himself from these women, but they forcefully pulled him down again and insisted. Evelena playfully pinched his nose. The women sat close to him, leaning into him while holding down his arms. He focused on the contents of the goblet―a thick pink beverage. He unwillingly drank and smiled at them while swallowing only a very little down. It tasted sweet, but he recognized this wasn't any juice or nectar he'd ever tasted.

  And there it was. Instantly he felt his limbs grow heavy. His body became warm and tingly with every slowing pump of his heart. He played along and made himself seem to playfully bump the goblet, sending its pink liquid pouring out and the cup rolling away. The women couldn't see how much had been wasted in the darkness.

  He felt for the grip of Reluctant Leader and grasped it forcefully, only to realize his grasp was only mere pawing. Quickly. He was being overcame quickly. Panicked, he realized he should have acted sooner. He had felt it was wrong to trust them and now, Damn it!

  Against his own will, he lost control. He leaned back on the grass and felt himself succumb and drift asleep. His head felt heavy just before it landed backward with a thump on the ground and his vision grew dim and hazy. The three beautiful women were sprawled on him and looking down on his fair, slumbering face. The one with emerald locks smiled dreamily down at him, her long hair draped around his face. His heavy lids closed as he found himself dreaming of her again. Of her. Of Treva.

  “Tre-” He breathed pleadingly.

  ✽✽✽

  A metallic clanking sound rang in his ears as Lanico awoke suddenly with a jerk. He was lying on the ground inside a large shack. The reek alone sobered him. A putrid stench of mildew and rot hung heavy in the air. He shot glances around at the walls filled with hanging herbs and other plants and shelves with jars full of black muck, or various animal parts. The place was filthy. He didn't dare make a further move or sound. His head pounded and his ears rang at that damn metallic clang from their spoon, still stirring away.

  With caution, he turned his head toward the source of the noise to find three monstrous hags bickering. They hovered over a cauldron like thin, twisted trees, their bony backs to him. They all had long, thin gray hair hanging from their mostly bald heads. From his angle, he could see the large nose jutting out from the face of the one he saw in profile. Their skin hung off their bodies like gray melting candle wax.

  "No, no, Nildra! Eel moss will overpower his WynSprign flavor," one hag lectured, her voice shrill. "It has been far too long since we enjoyed the taste of WynSprign—especially a meaty one."

  "Oh? And what do you know about eel moss? You have no idea of its properties." The one called Nildra punctuated her words with jabs of her large spoon.

  "Evelena, you confuse the taste of Prondolins with the taste of WynSprigns," the third offered.

  “But he’s more than WynSprign—isn’t he? He has an ancient blood in him, far older than the WynSprign.” Evelena purred in delight imagining his rich, rare taste.

  Lanico was bewildered but in summoning rational thoughts, he realized the urgent need to get out of there. These women planned to eat him! As they bickered, Lanico felt for his sword. Please, Odan on High. He slowly moved his hand down toward his side to meet the hilt. Relief swept over him—The sword is still here! He was grateful that he hadn't drunk all the liquid in the goblet. The small amount ingested hadn’t kept him asleep as long, or as deeply as they planned, of that he was certain. They obviously hadn't felt the need to remove his weapon.

  Lanico pulled himself up to stand and the world around him swirled that instant. He struggled to find his footing. He curled his hand around his sword's grip. The smooth drag of Reluctant Leader sang as he freed it from the sheath. Eyeing the hags, he stumbled as he moved forward, beginning to swing the sword wildly. He wasn't fighting with measured grace, but rather haphazardly, for survival. His careless swipes swooshed through the thick air. The hags didn't hear and remained focused on the cauldron, bickering.

  Lanico neared with wild swings and slashed through a hag's arm. She screamed in sudden horror as black blood shot violently from her stump and the arm flopped to the floor. The other two, completely off guard, hissed at him through thick saliva and thin gray teeth. One was trying to conjure a chant. Nildra held up her spoon defiantly, ready to either strike him or chuck it at him. Either way, he didn’t want to find out. His heavy footing hinted that he wasn't entirely able to walk at full capacity. He swung his blade at the other hag reciting chants, swiftly taking off her head. It rolled from her shoulders and fell with a heavy thud on the ground as her body followed. Long gray strands of hair coiled around the head through black, trailing blood.

  Next came Nildra: he grabbed that damned spoon from her bony clutches, hurling it away. Before she could respond, he ran the sword through her chest in a smooth glide, then pulled it out with the aid of his foot against the trunk of her body, and her thin bones landed on the ground, softly. More black blood oozed out. Black blood . . . creations of Fray Jaspia.

  The hag that was now missing an arm was curled up, cradling her new stump in her lap. She stopped screaming and hissed at him. Black splattered blood covered her face and doused her twisted body.

  Lanico looked ar
ound, dazed, still blinking himself awake from this atrocious nightmare. He needed to leave this hovel of evil. He stumbled to the curtain door and flung it open to inhale fresh, cold air in the early blue of day. The single remaining hag screamed in searing pain inside the death shack. Lanico, who was usually merciful, would have put her out of her misery any other day. However, in his urgency, he didn't care if she lived; he needed to find Marin. That was his biggest priority, and too much time had been wasted on the hags already.

  As Lanico walked into the dawn of a new day, he now recalled why he was supposed to be wary of this river. The subtle alarm he felt before was now understood. He had never encountered these three witches, but had heard stories about them in past years. The legend was that they were once three enchanting goddesses crafted by Fray Jaspia. Creations that Father Odan punished for some reason now long forgotten. Now, they craved flesh, always. At night, they lured and seduced those wandering in the area, with plans to later dine on them.

  Once a safe distance away from the shack, he rinsed his face in the river and cleaned the Reluctant Leader before housing it in its sheath.

  He needed to get back to his small camp, find the tracks, and get on his way before much more time was wasted. He could just barely see that the tracks going to the shack came from his left. He decided to follow these along the river to his camp. It wasn't long before the howls from the lone surviving hag quieted in the receding distance behind.

  Lanico spotted the boulders where he had sat near the river, and his heart lightened. He blinked, feeling the weariness leave his eyes, body, and mind. He hurried to his blackened fish, cold on the long-dead campfire. He gratefully devoured it. He had slept well, too well. He found his tunic lying on the dusty ground and quickly pulled it over his shoulders. He wrapped his green cloak around himself, added cool water to his canteen, and grabbed the satchel. He then found the footsteps he had been tracking before and started on his way, aided by a walking stick he fashioned from a fallen limb.

  Pushing himself onward, he thought of his time with Izra and Treva so long ago—mostly Treva, his Emerald Knight. He raked his mind over what could have been had he not turned her away. Had he not denied returning that kiss she gave him. Had he not upheld the integrity of his higher rank – unlike Izra. Yes. He identified he was still bitter over that.

  Lanico still felt her lips brushing against his even now. Those lips held that slight yet seductive scar that had been inflicted by only-Odan-knew-what. The scar curving the bow of her mouth more, making a permanent pout.

  He breathed out.

  Treva had been a far better Soldier than Izra, perhaps even better than himself. Her death still hung over him, heavy and dark as a shroud.

  He had always loved her, had never stopped loving her. Not even in her marriage to Izra, or even at her death.

  Defenses up, he hardened his heart.

  She was gone and there was nothing left to cling to, except that part of her that still lived. Marin.

  ✽✽✽

  The sun had been up for hours, highlighting the Yellow Vast, and was once again showing noon. Lanico had been diligently following the horse tracks after Marin. While deep in thought about Treva, he returned to the present and noticed what seemed to be a clearing ahead. Picking up his pace, he followed the horse's tracks to the spot.

  The pace of the horse didn't seem to slow, its hoof prints regular. Then it seemed that suddenly the horse had taken a deep turn and—and . . . there it was. Lanico could see the furry-mounded sides and depressions outlining the horse's ribcage beyond the grasses. After a slightly warm mounting breeze, he realized that he didn't need to see it―he smelled its hot decaying body. Lanico approached the dead animal, covering his mouth and nose with his green cloak and nervously inspecting the area. His silver hair swayed as he looked around.

  Whew! Marin is not here, he thought to himself in relief. Before standing, Lanico noticed that the horse had two twisted legs, but had not died from these injuries. The amount of blood that stained the ground showed that this stallion had been slaughtered. Flies had already gathered on its dried unseeing eyes.

  It was a most gruesome sight, the end of this stunning animal. However, the rider of this horse had cared enough to allow him to die quickly and end the suffering. He could see in the trampled wave of grasses that items had fallen off the horse, but were all taken, and . . . a body imprint? His mind roiled. Based on the small size, he had a feeling that it was—He fell . . . again? Lanico was only partially surprised at this revelation. For as stealthy as Marin could be, he had his share of missteps.

  From the ground, a small flash shimmered at the edge of his vision. Lanico paused. Down in the grasses, there was a glint of light reflecting—something. Lanico bent to get a better look, his fingers dancing over the warmed earth and grass stalks. He gasped. It can’t be.

  But it was.

  Marin’s tooth necklace!

  The necklace fell into a neat pile in his palm, the white tooth shiny and bright. The weight of it was familiar in his own hands.

  A wave of relief swept over him. He was on the right track. Any doubts he harbored about his decision to leave the Great Mist in the pursuit of Marin now fell. He felt a surge of renewed energy and drive to press on quickly. He hastily clasped the necklace around his neck, and the tooth rested snugly between his clavicles, hanging higher for him than on Marin. With a sigh and a smile, he looked out into the Yellow Vast and started to march with long strides forward. Based on the direction of the heavy tracks, a Mysra—possibly carrying Marin? —was headed to Gray Rock. The tooth jiggled on his pale translucent skin at the rhythm of his long strides. He lifted a prayer to Odan. Please, don’t let Marin be captured by a Mysra. If I arrive too late . . . No. He wouldn’t finish the worried thoughts.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Neen’s ambition

  At the Castle of Odana, Grude sat on the throne of his almost-empty throne room. Being one of the select few to practice, he had considered taking to the sword again today, to train. But . . . he had already done that.

  He sighed. The sound of even that sigh caused him an eye roll.

  Every movement he made echoed against the stone floors, pillars, and walls. So much space. He was annoyed by the constant echoes, or rather it was the boredom. This only enhanced his annoyance with Gish, since he had nothing else to ponder. Grude was impatient―Gish hadn't returned yet from his vital task and the Mysra leader began to wonder, Is he taking seriously his position as my son? Other warriors, countless loyal others, would have loved to be in Gish’s position. Why does he have to be such a useless pain in the ass, especially at this time of my great need?

  Grude felt his goal hindered—he wanted to make this kingdom great for himself and for his Mysra. The allotted quantities of trillium for his people had begun to rattle them over time. They needed more. Craved more—the temptation, the taste. Even he wouldn’t dare go without it.

  Yet they couldn't get more trillium unless they could start mining in the southern Odana Mountain range, and they couldn't mine there without the aid of more able-bodied WynSprigns. He loathed the thought of managing the throngs of them, but the ones he currently kept had already been pushed to their limits and many had since died off from old age and poor conditions. He clutched his hands on the armrests. The gray skin over his knuckles stretched white.

  He looked over to Neen, a constant accessory at his side. As always, Neen was on alert and expressionless. Grude knew he could trust this servant, certainly more than he trusted Gish. He needed the most trustworthy with him right now. Neen had more interest in acting a like son to him than did Gish. After all, Grude had taken in Neen and his younger brother Gax when they were young, when their parents were killed by WynSprign Soldiers years ago.

  "I'm tired of waiting, Neen," Grude hissed. The shrill reverberation of his voice bounded against the walls. "Gish has not returned and I want news, good news." He leaned over and took a long sip from his goblet of chilled yello
wberry wine. His eyes roamed over the glistening purple powder on the tray nearby. "I have a task for you, Neen," Grude said low. "Bring back Gish. Find him." He paused to swirl his wine, still considering. "Or, if you cannot find him . . . find the WynSprigns’ hidden village, at least. That’s likely a better proposition anyway. Yes,” he paused, “go to Horse's Clearing and seek out any possible evidence there. We need more hands to mine the trillium and I know we can find them. I believe their realm is in that region."

  Neen nodded in answer. Grude knew Neen was ambitious—pleased to have additional responsibilities that would put him in the right place with his ruler. At this point, he'd do anything that Grude demanded. It was the perfect time. This most trustful and worthy servant was better than Gish, and he'd be willing to prove it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tracking onward

  Though it hung lower in the afternoon sky, the sun continued its relentless scorching attack on the grasslands. Lanico continued tracking with careful strides. He paused to remove his thick green cloak from his shoulders and back. He draped it over his head and around his neck, using it as a thick shield against the sun. He loathed direct sunlight on his tender skin, but he couldn’t take the heat much longer.

  After a few more hours, he was filled with gratitude at a most welcome sight. The outline of Gray Rock loomed in the distance. He hoped this small mountain still teemed with rabbits, as it had many years prior. The scarce rations had left him ravenous and he wasn’t fond of grubs at the thought of roasting rabbit flanks instead. He stopped focusing on the tracks, for they plainly led straight there.

  Once at the abandoned camp, Lanico dropped his belongings and immediately searched for evidence of Marin. There were both the large footprints and a smaller set, a rope that had been cut through, bare spots where things had been placed on the ground, recently charred wood. Tufts of rabbit fur still billowed around. A body imprint suggested someone small had been lying near the fire. Marin. He noticed handprints on the ground. "Marin's hands," he said quietly to himself. When he saw the trailing of fingers through the dirt, he knew: He was searching. Looking for the necklace. He realized it was missing.