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The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana

Page 19

by E Cantu Alegre


  Stilled. He found himself again. He gently touched her shoulder and she recoiled just slightly.

  Focus.

  He needed to remain focused. The past was gone. He could not change what had happened. Feelings of rage and despair pushed aside.

  He breathed calmly, remaining silent. Calm on the outside, for her and for himself. He needed calm, in order to make this work—he had to focus. He had not used his power to heal in years, since Marin had stopped falling from trees. Even then, those were minor compared to this—to these atrocities.

  He eyed the first of many slashes that would receive his healing kiss. A recent one was still pink and healing. Split skin was only just reattaching its edges.

  His breathing became ragged. Odan on High . . . why? He ran his fingers through his hair.

  Inhaling deeply, he started. He hung just over her bare back and began to slowly kiss—every—sickening—wound.

  He started with the most recent.

  There in the quiet still of late evening, the rain started down in heavy sheets. Thunderclaps echoed nearby and throughout the wood, a sign of his feelings, perhaps. His soft lips touched gashes and warmed her, but . . . there was something else this evening.

  Something else was happening.

  Overcome by his unfathomable love for her, he placed every bit of his healing energy, every bit of himself, in healing her - just as he determined to. It was more, deeper, than he had ever summoned from himself. His healing warmth transmitted his power onto her, into her mind and her heart. Tendrils of his own power touched, but just barely. Can she feel it? He hadn’t just healed her. Does she know just how far reaching these wisps of power have ventured into her? No. She likely cannot tell.

  When finished, he was drained. His hidden magic absolutely spent-beyond even his own understanding. He was satisfied with himself though. Never before had he tested his abilities to that level. He had healed her—completely! He could rest easier now, knowing she was no longer suffering.

  He and Treva embraced, basking in the tender care of one another’s arms. They lay on the floor together, comforted. Feeling relief for the first time in years.

  He felt growing love, a future, and a hope. Here was someone to share his life with and it was her, it had always been her. She was finally here with him, in his arms. Treva.

  Odd as it seemed in those moments, she looked into his eyes as if to tell him she knew this, understood this, and agreed.

  The dew tea still coursed through their bodies, and the moonlight covered them. Her emerald hair was soft to his touch. The silver outline of her curves exposed perfection beneath.

  He wanted more. Damn it, he wanted more, but resisted. He willed himself to merely hold her against himself, harder. Claiming her, protecting her even in his exhaustion.

  In safety, love, and comfort, sleep soon found them both. The glow of their eyes blinked out as they closed them. First hers, and then did his.

  The woods, the rains . . . were then at peace.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Fray rivalry

  Things were falling into order again. It was a start for the betterment of Odana. Greta was at peace, and love was radiating from within her softly lit home. She could feel it surging, coursing throughout the place.

  Greta and her Fray sisters were the oldest inhabitants of their world, created immortal under the authority of Odan. Their purpose was also to create life and beauty, peace, and love, then act as guardians over their world.

  Long ago, the Fray knew of the rising power and greed of the Mysra, a people created under the influence of the eldest crafted sister, Fray Jaspia. Odan had foreseen that if they were left unchecked, darkness would continue to spread from the Mysra over time. It wasn’t Odan’s intention that the Mysra have such power, so he created the WynSprigns to dominate the Odana. Fray Jaspia was embarrassed, ashamed, and angry that he preferred the WynSprigns to her beloved creations, the Mysra being her most prized of them. In a torrent of power, she took her smoldering anger out on the empty canvas of the Yellow Vast. Her attack on the land was explosive, thrusting her arms to the soil in rage. In upheaval, rocks sharply, defiantly broke the surface of the land; jutting to the sky. At that time, it was her only way to vent the fury that burned her insides.

  Under the instruction of Odan, the Fray were to intervene to preserve Odana before the Mysra destroyed the Odana Mountains and lands for trillium. They needed a strong and able WynSprign leader to set things right for Odana and all the inhabitants of the land—a WynSprign that would exceed the longevity of others and would have great strength and ties to the land itself. One who could prepare and challenge the spreading disease that the Mysra promised.

  The great responsibility was placed on the second created, Fray Greta, favored by Odan for this task. She was to lie with the WynSprign King Oetam and bear a son worthy of ruling Odana. The son would outlive other WynSprigns—he would be mortal but would enjoy a long natural life. He would live long enough to oversee generations of rightful leaders and set the stage for long-term peace and prosperity in the land.

  Greta obeyed her father Odan’s request as ‘the Chosen One’. Like any true Fray, she recognized the moment of conception, and then stayed in the castle only until Lanico was born. It was understood between her and King Oetam, that he was to raise their son in the ways of the WynSprign. He was to have wet nurses and nannies, then later tutors and professors. He would need to be raised full of wisdom and strength. King Oetam agreed.

  Greta was committed to the woodlands and needed to remain in the Odana woods for many years, which kept her from raising her son. She visited the castle occasionally to ensure her investment, her son, was doing well.

  Until this evening, Odan’s original plan had been unraveling with the increasing power of the Mysra and the destruction they wreaked across the lands. Greta had felt the growing demise of the great purple mountains, ravaged and hollowing daily over the many years.

  Tonight, the plan for security and preservation was yet again in motion. Shifting. Her son was renewing a lost love with Treva, his true soul love. Greta approved. Treva had proven to be a strong, wise WynSprign woman, and they all had long known she had great loyalty to the kingdom. Treva had previously been a great addition to the castle military forces, and would be again. Greta smiled a little as she dreamt—two tough, spirited, good-hearted WynSprigns ruling the Odana, protecting her. Yes. Since Jaspia had created her trillium-addicted Mysra and an array of hideous creations, Greta’s purpose had been to ensure the safety of all of the Odana, including her woodland realm. It was Odan’s vision for a way of life, and that was now becoming more a reality by the day.

  Greta slept well. She would tell the other Fray sisters that their father Odan would be pleased with the progress made.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Training

  Fenner reached in, pulling out a giant bell from his loose trousers. He offered it to Stoutwyn. They had stolen it from the tavern, the same bell Trayvor had used to alert everyone to the new rules.

  They were only a few paces away from Stoutwyn’s tree home now. “Okay, here goes,” Stoutwyn announced anxiously. He grabbed the bell from Fenner, using a white handkerchief to grasp the handle—it was still warm from lying beside Fenner’s . . . parts.

  Fenner eyed that in surprise. “Eh, I’m not that disgusting!”

  Stoutwyn gave him a sour look. The Mysra had already left the area, so they went to work fast.

  Stoutwyn cleared his throat as if to speak but—Cling! Cling! Cling! —he rang the bell with zeal and for a brief moment, he quite enjoyed it. The loud twang reverberated in their ears and around the wooded area.

  “Attention! Attention!” Stoutwyn belted. “We are calling an urgent meeting! Please gather at Lanico Loftre’s home for a meeting!”

  Heads peeked out from doors and from behind raised curtains.

  Someone yelled out in notable annoyance, “Another meeting?!”

  “Yes!” shouted
Fenner with equal tartness. His dark eyes glared accusingly.

  The WynSprigns emerged, darting curious glances at one another, interrupting tending to their gardens and chores. With some anxiety from the last meeting, they moved toward Lanico’s home to wait for the inconvenience of yet another damned meeting.

  Fenner and Stoutwyn continued throughout the Great Mist ringing the bell, and more gathered at Lanico’s. When the two came near the tavern, they rang the bell, but softly—the tavern was not far from Lanico’s home and was their last stop. They wanted to avoid alerting Trayvor, who lingered in the back, hidden. But Maybell noticed them instead. She rose slowly but didn’t move from her table.

  “Hey, that’s my bell,” she said, furrowing her brow and digging her hands into her waist. “You two better give that back.”

  Some laugher erupted from onlookers.

  Stoutwyn mumbled and nodded as he continued to hobble to Lanico’s.

  Once there, they determined that just about all the WynSprign villagers had gathered. Overcome with apprehension at the sight of the massive crowd Stoutwyn wrung his hands nervously. The villagers clamored and conversed among themselves.

  Fenner stepped up to help sway the crowds focus, because Stoutwyn wasn’t up to it, and Joso sure as fire wasn’t going to.

  “Okay, ah, listen, fellow WynSprigns!” Fenner announced in loud barks he hadn’t used since he was a Chief for the Odana Military. His voice was long rusty. “We have some very serious news to share today!” Fenner backed up slightly as everyone looked to him, and he gestured over to Stoutwyn, jostling his arm to urge him to start speaking. Stoutwyn growled and looked smartly at Fenner.

  “Yes!” Stoutwyn continued for his friend, “we—Fenner, Joso, and myself—have all seen Mysra!”

  Gasps floated from the crowd and the din of conversation stopped.

  He continued: “Now please! Please stay calm and listen to me! They were spotted hiding in the woods and looking over the Great Mist!”

  Worried gasps and loud murmurs blanketed the air, followed by panic-laden questions. In calm authority for their consternation, Fenner and Stoutwyn were honest and careful to explain the discovery of the left-behind WynSprigns use as slaves. They also explained the Mysra intent was to capture more WynSprigns as slaves to toil in the Odana mines for trillium.

  “Since the spying Mysra riders left just today, they may have a few days before they reach Odana. Once there, they will notify the Mysra leader, Grude, who will likely assemble an army of Mysra warriors to march here!” Stoutwyn was shouting over the growing clamor of the crowd.

  “Please calm down! Listen everyone!” Fenner worked to reengage the crowd. “So, we have several days, most likely—"

  “What will you have us do?” someone yelled out.

  “Now, I propose,” said Stoutwyn, wincing at his own words, “that every able bodied WynSprign remain here, at Lanico Loftre’s house, to begin training for a highly possible . . . battle!”

  Fenner’s grandsons perked up at this proposal.

  “Others”—Stoutwyn continued through more murmurs—"those that are unable of body, or those that have small babes, may leave the Great Mist to find safety. However, there are too many of us to leave across the Yellow Vast, so we suggest the best way to remain hidden is to abandon the village and move further back into the thick wooded areas beyond the Great Mist.”

  “Aye”’ Fenner added. “Those that want to stay here to train will train with me!” He looked crossly into the crowd. “If you remain here, we will help you to learn to use Lanico’s old practice staffs. For those who are more skilled, we can allow the training with the few swords we have. And . . . and let’s not forget that we have the hunters who are well practiced at using their bows and arrows.” He looked proudly at the crowd.

  “Swords—yeah!” Fenner’s hunting grandsons exclaimed from within the crowd.

  Fenner rolled his eyes at this outburst. “You boys are the best at bows and arrows,” he grumbled to himself.

  “The others not able to stay”—Stoutwyn interjected—"will meet me at the tavern in the mornin”. We will need this time to discuss our plans and the basic supplies we’ll need to take on the journey—and more.

  “And what about me?!” Trayvor’s voice yelled from the back. The crowd parted to reveal him. He started taking steps toward them, relying greatly on his walking stick. The heavy, patterned approach of his was all too familiar.

  Stoutwyn fumed at the sight of Trayvor, and his face shone red. “Yes! And what about you, Trayvor Odmire?!” His voice thundered. “It was because of your communications with the Mysra that this whole circumstance has come to pass!”

  The crowd gasped again and eyes darted to Trayvor. Stoutwyn continued to blast at him: “I’m surprised to see you here for once and not hiding behind poor Maybell’s skirts!”

  A few laughs came, but others looked shocked.

  Trayvor glanced around. There was silence. He had no words, and his confidence was—visible to all—beginning to crumble. He caught sight of Fenner, who glared at him.

  Trayvor clamped his mouth shut and Fenner nodded as if to say, “Yes, she’s your only defense at this point.”

  Stoutwyn broke the silence: “You, Trayvor Odmire, can stay here and train with the other able-bodied WynSprigns! I’d prefer not to have you join us, but truth be told, we need every able-bodied soul and ya still have one good leg to stand upon!”

  Trayvor looked around for his drinking buddies, but they turned away. He had no supporters and all were looking to Stoutwyn for leadership. He blustered a little but conceded, hanging his smug head, lower.

  “Okay, everyone! Training at the staffs and swords starts now!” Fenner announced abruptly. “We haven’t the luxury of time!”

  “Aye! And Stoutlet clan”—Stoutwyn turned to the crowd—"I need the Stoutlet clan to gather together. Begin making staffs . . . now! Until we have more, we’ll have to share the few we have.” The sturdy Stoutlets strewn throughout the crowd gathered to give one another brief orders and quickly ran off to do Stoutwyn’s bidding.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The Prince’s lure

  The wood floor creaked slightly under Treva’s careful footing. She tiptoed away from the sitting room quickly. Lanico still lay on the floor in deep sleep. His silver hair fanned on the floor, his chiseled features and power-laden body at rest. He was perfect. Completely perfect. A demi-Fray, warrior, Prince. Treva smiled to herself and huffed a silent laugh. She took in the slight of him for only a moment before she made her way to the bathing room to start a hot bath for herself. She sighed and throught, I can turn with ease now.

  This new morning, she could not keep from feeling the newfound smoothness of her side, and the freedom of her enhanced mobility. Alone in the room, she stretched and twisted freely with no pain or limit. She ran her fingers over the skin. Just so smooth. The scar had been a burden, a painful reminder of everything that taken from her during the battle, and now she was finally free of it. It was all thanks to him. Her Prince.

  Her heart melted a bit as she slipped into the hot pool of perfumed water. Her healed back could rest against the sides of the bathing pool without pain. She closed her eyes and sank in delight. Swirls of perfumed steam rose around her, and she lifted her thoughts to Lanico. The closeness of his body last night, his warmth. She felt, somehow, closer to him than before—they had a tie, a connection of sorts.

  ✽✽✽

  Lanico began to stir. He moved slowly and groaned, feeling achy. For Odan’s sake, why did I fall asleep on the floor? His acute hearing picked up the sound of slight movements, of water droplets emanating from the bathing room and remembered; Treva was there. That’s right. He sat up beaming. I love her and she loves me. He breathed in the warm, golden morning air. The achiness was worth it. She had fallen asleep in his arms.

  He strolled to the kitchen, grabbed a cup, and started searching the cupboards and jars for tea. Greta had many glass jars filled with t
ea, herbs, and spices that he rummaged through. He couldn’t see the distinctive red-leaf dew tea anywhere. He paused, remembering something.

  That’s right—Lanico’s thoughts shifted. He then remembered. Greta had once explained to him that she used that one rarely, to encourage people to feel . . . romantic. She gave us dew tea?

  No wonder I felt so impassioned last night and had to tame myself - many times. Thankfully, both Treva and he were able to maintain their wits, and he was able to master his thoughts enough to heal her wounds. Her smile at the freedom she felt afterward—that was priceless. That smile. Those lips. He offered to heal the scar on her lip, but she rejected this. He was secretly glad. It was his favorite place, the one that he longed to kiss.

  Kissing her—he wasn’t so sure what to think about this. He stood still, lowering a jar of herbs. A concern came over him: Do I really love her, or was it the tea? No, I love Treva and always have . . . Right? He nodded slightly to himself, but continued to think about this, resuming the search for something appropriate to drink.

  ✽✽✽

  When finished bathing, Treva went to the sitting room but found that Lanico was gone and the place appeared neat and tidied. Good, she thought, no one needs know we stayed in here last night.

  In the dining area, Lanico was sitting with bilberry tea and sweet tea bread, waiting. For her. His piercing blue eyes flickered up, and a knowing smile curled at the knowledge of what her skin now looked like beneath those fresh clothes.

  Treva indeed appeared glorious, standing in the doorway smiling down at him. She was radiant and happy. Her green hair sat loose on her perfect shoulders, instead of having been obediently tied in the back, the only way he had ever seen her wear it. The wet tendrils twisted, hinting at normally hidden curls.

  The air between them was tight.

  Yes. Yes, I really do love her. Normally, he never would have acted the way he had last night. He forgot who he was, letting all manners and proper behavior go, healing her in such a sensuous way, and then having her fall asleep in his arms . . . He did not want anyone else to find out. It wasn’t like him. But, fires, she is smoldering!

 

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