by Osku Alanen
My anguish will not end until Nijakim is freed.
To Arin’s surprise, Elder Kelmunir seemed to be leading them towards their home. Did the old man need to rest? They passed a group of masked men, dressed in ceremonial clothes. A group of children passed them by in white furs, which covered them from head to toe. The red masks with preposterous eyes and large fangs that they wore made them seem like monsters of old, but the illusion was shattered when Arin heard their laughter. The children ran after each other, laughing, pushing their friends into the thick snow banks.
“You never played like those boys, did you?” Kelmunir said. “You were always so serious, even as a child.”
That was true Arin supposed. But the true reason he never dressed like that was because no one asked him to, but that was something he felt too ashamed to admit to Kelmunir—a man who had done his best to raise him as his own. Year after year, he had watched the festivities from the sidelines, secretly wishing someone would just ask him, even once. Luckily, he had Nijakim with him—another boy who never dressed up like the rest, either.
The adults were dressed in a similar mixture of red and white, wearing the same masks. They played the part of humans, sworn to defeat the monsters. The highlight of the festival was the parade, held later this evening, when they all marched around the village laughing, dancing and drinking.
“I suppose it’s partially my fault. You always wondered where you came from, didn’t you?”
“I did wonder,” Arin found himself saying, shocked by the truth in his voice. “Not a day goes by that I still don’t.”
They entered their home. The house was dark, and Arin set out to fight a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Their home was made of stone; it grew cold in the winter months, but he had grown accustomed to it. Kelmunir, however, seemed to be shivering; his old bones weren’t as tough as those of a young man. Arin walked to the fireplace. He had piled up a fresh set of logs ready to be burned there. A thin layer of snow had fallen through the chimney and now covered them. Arin feared they wouldn’t catch fire, but eventually they did. The fire brought warmth back to the house. It made him feel like a child again.
“Thank you, Arin,” Kelmunir smiled. He brought a pot of fresh water by the fire. “Tea?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
He placed the kettle atop the burning logs. Once the water boiled, he lifted it off the fire, careful not to burn his fingers. Arin walked to a cabinet by the kitchen, taking a handful of leaves and dropped them into the kettle. He let the leaves infuse, and the two men sat by the fire, watching the fire dance merrily. Arin nervously fidgeted the pendant hanging from his neck, the silence uncomfortable. He knew the old man liked the peace and quiet, but for a youth his age… he needed to do something. Not just… sit.
Kelmunir seemed to grow solemn, and the lines in his face deepened. He finally started to look his age. “Do you remember the day I gave you that pendant? I believe it was your fifteenth birthday.”
“Yes. I remember it well.”
How could he forget? It was the first time Kelmunir had talked about his parents. It was his most prized possession—a pendant of silver, shaped like a droplet of water, wrapped around his neck in a metal chain. There was nothing remarkable about it, nothing that indicated what its origin was. Arin liked to think it was his mother’s—a family heirloom passed from one generation to the next. Ever since that day, he had kept it close, guarding it with his life.
“I remember the day your mother came to the village all those years ago… it all seems like a yesterday.”
“You… met my mother?” Arin asked, thinking he had misheard. “You never said that.”
“I know,” Kelmunir whispered. “And I am sorry for that, truly.”
“What… happened to her?”
“I don’t know. She was only with us for a moment. She begged for us to take care of you, her infant child.”
“Why… why would a mother give away his child?” Arin felt his words break with emotion. The revelation had brought buried feelings back to the surface.
“She told me that she was being hunted. That so long as she remained with you, you would never be safe.”
“And why keep this a secret from me?”
Kelmunir sipped the hot tea calmly and sighed. “I made a vow,” Kelmunir said, voice proud. “I do not break those easily.”
Arin felt a rage welling up inside of him. A vow? The man knew his real mother and had chosen to withhold it from her all these years. For a simple vow?
Kelmunir sighed. “Calm yourself, young Arin. I can sense your anger.”
“Shut up,” he interrupted. “If you made a vow then why tell this to me? Why now of all times?”
“Because you’re a man grown now, brother Arin. You have said your vows as a Shield. I know that you have long desired to leave the village to seek your roots. I vowed to your mother that I wouldn’t let you. She left her home, the kingdom of Eyria, because she was being pursued. Hunted. She took you here to hide you—to protect you. When you were younger, I thought you would leave us to look for her if you knew. You would leave… me.” The man’s words were pained, frightened.
Arin felt sick to his stomach. He stared at the cup of bitter tea in front of him with distaste. How could Elder Kelmunir—the man who had all but raised him—betray him so? Hurt him so? He rose to leave, and saw the man open his mouth in protest. “I’m going to see Nijakim. Don’t expect me back for a while.”
“There is something else you should know.”
“What, another secret? What have you left untold this time, old man?”
Arin knew his words were hurtful; If someone other than them had been there, they would have been horrified for a young man to address one of the elders so. But Arin didn’t care; he felt too betrayed. Too hurt.
“Brother Nijakim has been tried and found guilty of betraying our order. He will be executed come dawn.”
Arin left the house, running.
***
The two Shields stationed in front of the house of Nijakim’s confinement saluted Arin as he approached the building. They most likely knew of the close bond between the two of them, but he was a Shield now, too, so they seemed to trust him. The house itself was old and poorly taken care of—the villages had no dungeon, as there was never need for one. The guards weren’t heavily armed; they wielded a plain, holstered sidesword. After all, no one really thought a scholar would try to overpower two skilled fighters.
And there it was, the same face that always radiated warmness, smiling as he saw Arin approach. He closed the book he was reading, putting it aside by his bed, adjusting his spectacles with his right index finger.
A scholar of the order still. How can you still love the written word, when it was words that caused your confinement, your suffering? Arin thought bitterly.
This prison didn’t have bars; it hardly seemed like anything else than an ordinary house. They had even allowed him the comfort of a fire and a few books. Small things to be grateful about, Arin supposed. He didn’t feel grateful for Nijakim, however. Just the opposite.
“I see they let you have your books.”
“Some of them,” Nijakim sighed. “Unfortunately, I have gone through these at least a dozen times already. Still, it’s fascinating how upon every time I open one these books, I find an insight that I missed the first time.”
“Yes, just fascinating,” Arin snorted.
“You have never shared my appreciation with the written word, have you?” Nijakim shook his head with sadness.
“No, I supposed I haven’t. I find it… boring if I’m being honest.”
“And I am the ones with spectacles,” Nijakim chuckled.
They stood by the fire in silence. Arin knew he wanted to say something to him, but he found the words stuck to his throat. What could he say, really? Tell him how sorry he was? All his life, Arin had fought the adversaries he had faced, and now he faced an opponent he couldn’t challenge to a fight. It made him
feel weak, powerless.
Afraid.
“I’m—.”
“I know,” Nijakim interrupted, smiling wearily. “You don’t have to say anything, brother. I know.”
Arin stared at the fire, trying to calm his shaking hands. “I was made a Shield, you know.”
“I saw the insignia. Congratulations; it is an important duty.”
“Thanks,” Arin muttered. “I’m surprised to be honest. I had half the mind they would imprison me with you.”
“Elder Kelmunir would never let that happen to you.”
Kelmunir… the name made Arin flinch. He hadn’t intended to storm out the way he did, but his words had been too shocking. What other secrets was the old man keeping from him? He wanted to tell Nijakim about the revelations he had made about his parents, but he chose against it; there was no reason to burden him any further.
“Say, I have a favor to ask of you, brother.”
“What is it?”
“I know that you dream of leaving the Three Peaks one day,” Nijakim said, voice lowered to a pained whisper. “When I’m gone, will you take my ashes with you, to scatter them in some faraway land? I would like that… very much.”
Arin heard music coming from the outside. He had forgotten all about the Winter Festival. He could almost see the parade through the windows; the light of a thousand lanterns made shadows dance in the night sky. It almost seemed like the mountain was on fire.
“I will take you with me. This I vow.”
“Thank you, Arin. Thank you.”
The man broke down in tears, and Arin hugged him tightly. It was too much to bear. Too much. How could he serve an order that would end the life of a man this good? This pure. Arin had sworn himself to protect others, and he knew of no man or woman who was as innocent as Nijakim.
Arin looked through the window and saw the two Shields shivering in the cold. They were lightly armed, yes; he had no doubt he couldn’t overpower them. Should he do it, free his brother? Could he do it to Kelmunir, leave without saying a word? They would be hunted—relentlessly. Fugitives for live, just the two of them.
The light coming from through the window grew brighter by the moment. It seemed almost too bright. As if… the village itself was on fire?
Wait, did he smell fire?
“Something is wrong,” Arin muttered.
“What?”
They both walked to the window, trying to find out whatever was going on. The two guards had grown anxious as well; they drew steel, and one of them hurried towards the main square that was now bright, almost like it was daylight.
At that moment, Arin saw a huge fireball hurling towards them. He watched in horror as it hit the building, taking the roof with it, and sending splinters both small and large crashing down.
The village was under siege.
Arin took Nijakim’s hand in his and ran towards the chaos.
Chapter 6
Ronan
“Will he recover?” Ronan asked quietly, touching Rust’s cold forehead. Drops of sweat covered his face. His breathing seemed frighteningly shallow, pained. His ribs were all but shattered, but what worried Ronan the most was the blackened wound where the beast’s claw had struck him.
“The wound is infected. We must make haste back to Riverend. He needs a healer—and fast,” Raven muttered, shaking his head. He kicked the ground angrily, sending a cloud of dust in the air. “That damn beast. I should’ve know it’s claws and fangs were coated with poison; the Daemoni always have tricks up their sleeve—I should’ve seen this coming.”
“Blaming yourself helps nothing. I reckon we gather our things, and head out before we lose any more daylight.”
Raven nodded, gravely. “Agreed. We have no time to waste. Even if we march through the night, it will take us close to two days to reach Riverend.”
Ronan was glad no one had spoken of his outburst during the battle. He had lost control—a thing he had hoped never to happen again. He had let the Berserker lose once more.
I will always be a part of you whether you like it or not. If one of us falls, so will the other—I will never let that happen.
Ronan turned his gaze away from the others, muttering angrily under his breath. “Shut your mouth, Daemoni.”
As you wish, the voice replied. But there will come a day when you will beg for my aid.
Never, Ronan replied, biting his lip. Hard.
Ronan looked nervously at Raven, fearing he had witnessed his monologue. He hadn’t. Ronan contemplated for a moment if he should tell the man of what had transpired during the battle. He knew he should assure the man that he wasn’t like the savage creature he had witnessed in the field, not really, but it was a discussion he would rather avoid if he could. Admittedly, he was uncertain if he should tell him that he heard a voice in his head. That would probably just make them think he was insane. And besides, there were more immediate things to worry about now.
The pain radiating from his cracked ribs was almost overwhelming, but Ronan endured it; it was nothing compared to what Rust must’ve been feeling. Still, he was surprised how well he had recovered after regaining consciousness. He was certain he had felt half the bones in his body shatter from the beast’s blow. Somehow, his wounds had stopped bleeding. There was terrible pain still, but it was nothing he wasn’t accustomed for. Pain had been a constant friend all his life, and Ronan had to admit that he had grown to like it. Pain reminded him that he was alive.
“And are we supposed to carry him there? Look at him—the man’s a giant,” Ivy added. She was still shaking.
“Would you watch our friend die, then? Have you no heart?” Rose said through clenched teeth. She held Rust’s hand tightly.
“That’s not what I meant,” Ivy muttered, lowering her head.
Ronan swallowed nervously as she saw the hot-headed woman fidgeting the dagger in her palms. If someone didn’t step between them, he wasn’t sure what would happen.
Raven grabbed her hand just in time. “This isn’t the time to argue, Rose,” he asserted calmly. “Like Ronan said, we have no time to waste.”
“I only meant that he will not make the journey,” Ivy whispered. “Look at him; it has been only a few hours after we slayed the beast and he is already this far gone.”
“Avalon? Can you do the same to him as you did to Ronan?” Raven asked sternly, looking at the hooded man with a determined, yet troubled look.
“I can,” he replied. “But it will drain me.”
“Do it,” Raven replied gravely.
“Stay back,” Avalon said. His voice was strange, determined. Ronan could see the man was struggling to keep his hands from shaking. Was it because of what he did earlier? Ronan knew next to nothing about sorcery, but he knew it was forbidden; it relied on forces that were not of this world. To practice sorcery was to bend the fabric of space itself. To break the very laws of nature required tremendous energy; it was more than any single man possessed. He had heard stories of how ordinary men, determined to unveil its secrets dropped dead from even attempting a single chant. And here, before his very eyes, stood a man who could vanquish a frightening, otherworldly beast with nothing but words.
Who was this Avalon, and why did he follow Raven?
Ronan’s thoughts were interrupted by the sudden erupt of brilliant light from Rust’s weakened body. His skin seemed to glow with incandescence, the radiance of it blinding. And it was not the simple light that frightened him, but the sensation of burning that he felt. With horror, Ronan realized that the smell of burning flesh was not radiating from Rust, but from Avalon. It was just like with the beast; he thought he had imagined something happening to the man, but he could now see that what he had witnessed was true.
Rust gasped for breath.
Avalon grunted, falling to one knee. Raven raced to lend a hand to the man, but Avalon motioned him to stay back. Ronan took a step back as well, uncertain how to act.
“Do not… touch me,” he whispered with a weak, wav
ering voice.
Raven seemed to struggle with himself, but he chose to stay back. “You heard the man; leave him be. This is a burden only he can carry.”
“Is he cured?” Ronan asked, swallowing nervously. He thought it alarming that Rust had remained unconscious.
“No,” Raven said sternly. “He has merely… halted the progression of the poison. He is not cured, but he his illness will not progress either. So, we must make haste. Even a magus as strong our friend here cannot keep a poison this strong forever in bay. His life is still in grave danger without the aid of a surgeon.”
“What are we waiting for, then?” Rose hissed. Grunting, she lifted Rust up, motioning Ronan to aid her. “It’s time we move our asses.”
They backtracked through the wilderness with limited rest. They all took turns to carry their wounded—and heavy—companion. Avalon remained close, but Ronan could see him slowly being left behind. Worried, Ronan asked Raven if his friend would manage without help, but he assured him that Avalon would recover in time.
The forest quickly grew too precarious to navigate as the sun set behind the distant horizon. Ronan could scarcely feel his drained legs. They chose a campsite by a fallen tree, which provided them with passable cover from the howling, cold wind.
“Alright, people. It’s time for a break,” Raven said. He, too, seemed exhausted.
Ronan carefully let Rust down to the ground. He took support from the tree trunk, wincing as his tired legs started to spasm. Rose wasn’t fairing much better. She had pushed her body past exhaustion, and now she spent the first minutes behind the tree they had camped by, puking. Avalon joined them much later, wobbling right past Ronan.
“How are you holding on?” Ivy asked with a reserved tone. She was the only one who seemed to have any strength left in her body.
“Alright, I reckon. Considering,” Ronan muttered. It was hard to keep his eyes open.
“You shouldn’t have carried him this long. Look at you—you can hardly sit.”
Ronan smiled at the thoughtfulness of the girl. To think that only a day ago she had tried to kill them. There is no better way to bond except through hardship. She could be faking the compassion, aye, but for what? Raven would let her go once they reached Riverend—that was their deal. She had, after all, led them to the beast. He then looked at Rose, who turned her gaze away instantly. The woman was still as cold as ever. They had fought together and survived, yet nothing had changed between them. A part of him felt it a shame to leave it all behind. But no matter how much he enjoyed the company here, his loyalty was to his son. Once Rust was safely back to Riverend, he would pay a visit to Hera, and his debt to her would be paid in full. Then he could live together with his son.