The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) (12 page)

Hollis noticed one of the horses, a large black Percheron, was repeatedly using her head to push one of the fallen cats, but he couldn’t quite tell why she was doing so. The horse was clearly agitated, as were most of those still in the corral, only this one was baying and snorting with anxious determination, seemingly fixated on the fallen lion.

Hollis yelled for someone to come and see to the crazed beast, but as he made his way closer to the animal it became clear what it was that the horse was trying to do. Underneath the body of the big, dead cat, the hand of a man was barely visible.

“She’s trying to roll the dead cat off this fallen man!” exclaimed one of the woodcutters. Hollis and two others grabbed the legs of the lion and pulled with all their might, rolling over the black, bloodied beast to reveal a crumpled form underneath. The horse, still unsatisfied, began nudging the man, grunting and snorting as she begged him to sit up.

The men rushed over to Cal, propping him up as they splashed water on his face to wash away the shadow cat’s blood. Cal’s eyes opened, half-aware and hazy. In a pained grunt he asked the men if the horses were okay.

“I guess you are a groomsman after all, son,” Hollis bellowed out with a saddened chuckle. “And it appears that you have found yourself a horse of your own.”

Chapter Thirteen

T
he
slight relief the men felt at slaying the shadow cats and enduring the unforeseen waves of black arrows was quickly done away with the moment Yasen and his riders pounded hastily back into the corral. The horses barreled through the carnage, dodging both braziers and brothers, making their way towards their leader as fast as they could.

As Hollis watched Yasen approaching, he could see something new growing in the eyes of this brave warrior. Something dreadful.

In a single movement Yasen pulled his horse to a sharp stop and leapt down, approaching the chief with an alarming urgency he did not usually display.

“I need your ear, and I need it now,” Yasen spoke, catching his breath.

“What have you seen? What is it that troubles the North Wolf?” Hollis asked, his tone quieting to match the hushed voice of his lead rider.

“My men and I rode hard and fast towards the position of the raven archers, following with as much haste as our mounts would give.” Yasen turned and pointed east into the retreating forest. “At first all we could see is a darker black, a thicker shadow of sorts. As we rode closer we began to see a light in the thick of it … though it was no light of men. There was nothing natural about this light at all.”

Yasen’s eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to Hollis, betraying his unease at the retelling of the events. “As we approached the shadow, a
green
light emanated from out of the mist. It did not shine like a fire would, nor like a torch does, though it did flicker like a flame.”

The men near the corral began to take notice of the grave conversation between the chief and the hero, and all could see the dread that seemed to drain the color from both men’s faces.

“We heard a sickly horn sounding as we reached the outer edge of the shadow, and we braced ourselves for yet another round of arrows or the spears of our assailants. But when we reached the green light in the center of the fog, there was no one there.”

Hollis was now nervously looking over the shoulder of Yasen, afraid he might too see some green light or growing shadow.

“Our blood went cold, for there was not a single soul, not one natural enemy for us to engage … nothing save the green torch and its vile glow.”

“Not one?” asked Hollis. “How can that be … we felt the bite of their arrows! There must have been at least a dozen or more. You can’t simply tell me a dozen men just up and vanished!”

“I am not so sure they were actually men, for I have never seen such witchcraft as this. The ground around the torch had turned to ash, as if it were draining the very life and the light out of the forest. Strange runes were written there in the earth, in a tongue I have never seen before.”

“Show me,” Hollis demanded.

Yasen hesitated for a moment, remembering the feelings of the encounter with such an evil. He was not so sure he wanted to relive it again himself, let alone lead someone else into it.

“Yasen, I need you to take me to see it,” Hollis repeated.

“Aye, Chief,” Yasen consented with forced respect, and turned to head back to his mount.

Hollis shouted orders to the men, instructing them to make ready their comrades for burial while keeping a sharp eye out for another assault. Two new men relieved the lone and now-shaken watchman at the top of the tower, and the riders and their chief set out upon their assignment with a newfound vigilance.

By this time, Cal was up and on his feet with a good part of his strength returning to him. He set about the task of seeing to the rest of the horses and mending the broken fences, securing the corral and sheep pens once again.

Rest will not find any of us easily on this night
, Cal thought as he watched Hollis and Yasen ride back out into the forest.

“What kind of evil possessed those beasts?” Cal said to the horses as he led them back into their corral. “Aren’t the watch fires meant to keep shadow cats away from our camps? Whatever it was that was driving them, it was surely not natural, surely not made by the THREE who is SEVEN.”

Cal worked for over an hour to settle the livestock back into their makeshift pens. As he was securing the last of the horses, the quiet of the corral was broken with the low, earthy blare of the watchmen’s horns. They rang out in three long blasts, and Cal looked up as he tried to determine what the signal meant.

He saw the men of the camp, those who had held ready axes on the eastern circle, those who had been in charge of skinning the beasts, and those who were now freshly bandaged, all making their way towards the decimated forestland west of the camp. There on the outskirts of the cutter camp, weary and wounded men had dug nine graves for their fallen comrades. The light from their torches mixed with the faint, silver light of the dying tree, coloring the camp in a wintery sadness. Though Hollis and the riders had not yet returned, the Priest called for all the men to assemble and kneel in prayer at the newly dug graves of the fallen. The words that Cal had heard Yasen speak just weeks ago on the North road were the same ones spoken now by the young Priest, here amongst the stumps of felled trees.

Flints were kissed and words were murmured, but then the men rose to do something that Cal had never seen done before in Westriver. With sadness still fresh in their eyes, the woodcutters each reached into a small iron chest that the Priest held and pulled out from it a single acorn. Each man threw his acorn upon the uncovered graves of their fallen comrades as they whispered yet another recitation.

“By your body broke, come birch and elm, pine and oak.”

As the last of the men planted their seeds and said their words, the horns of the watchmen rang out once again upon the cold, silver air, signaling the return of their chief and the riders of Yasen. They rode, without stopping, right up to the gravesites of the fallen woodcutters. As Hollis and the rest of the men dismounted and knelt, they joined their fellow woodcutters in honoring the fallen with words, flints, and seeds. After they had finished, they picked up the shovels that the others had used to dig the graves. One at a time, they began to cover the nine holes.

Their faces were solemn, but not just for the loss of these men; rather, a good part was due to what they had just witnessed in the deep of the retreating forest.

“Evil is near, Priest,” Hollis said solemnly to the young Priest who had just performed the ritual burial.

“Evil always seeks to invade the darkened places of the world,” the Priest said piously. “That is why we work so tirelessly.”

“Tell me then, if evil seeks only darkness, how does one fight an evil that makes its own light?” Hollis’ grim face leaned closer to the Priest, daring him to answer.

The moments felt like an eternity as silence hung over the weary and war beaten. The men continued to fill in the open graves, and the Priest puzzled over the foreign question.

“Well, I have never heard of such an evil,” he finally responded. “Perhaps, we have misunderstood its intentions? The way of the flint instructs us that light is always a gift from the THREE who is SEVEN.”

“Make no mistake about it, Priest.” Hollis stared hard into the young Priest’s eyes. “It is not a matter of misunderstanding any intentions. I think the truth of the matter is that maybe we have
never
had a clue as to what real evil looks like!”

“What do you mean, woodcutter?” the Priest said defensively.

“I promise you this … the light we have seen is no gift at all,” Hollis told him.

Hollis put down the shovel and walked over to his horse. He reached inside one of the satchels tied to his saddle and dug out a small object wrapped in a dark cloth. The large, strong, red-bearded woodcutter looked unusually pale as he strode back to the graveside.

He threw the cloth and its contents at the Priest, ready to show him exactly what they had witnessed in the darkened forest. The young Priest fumbled his catch and dropped the object to the ground. As it fell, the cloth dropped away to reveal the item that had been concealed within it. The Priest bent to retrieve it from the fresh earth, and his horrified eyes registered what he was holding.

“I am telling you what I saw, what every one of these men saw right out there, not two hundred paces into the trees,” Hollis said as his voice grew with frightened intensity.

The Priest listened, shaking his head in utter disbelief at what Hollis told him, all the time fingering the evidence in his quivering hands.

“That there, what you hold in your very hands … there were dozens of them decorating that vile green torch. Dozens, I tell you,” Hollis spat.

Yasen spoke up for the first time since the riders returned to camp, his voice hardened with a settling dread. “You know what that is, don’t you? It’s not from a shadow cat or a bear … no. That is a
dragon’s fang
, Priest.”

The Priest dropped the cursed tooth back into the dirt, quickly reaching for the leaf-shaped flint from around his neck. Kissing it over and over again, he mumbled desperate prayers for himself and all of Haven. The men watched the scared Priest, who just minutes ago had been so self-assured, now coming to the realization that maybe they had never known the terror of true evil before now.

That night while Cal slept next to the black Percheron, the dreams came again, as they did every night; the Oweles and serpents plagued his thoughts and haunted his rest. Somehow they seemed all the more real this night, maybe because they were here in the cold North, or maybe because Cal somehow knew that he was coming closer to whatever purpose they intended for him.

While the young groomsman tossed and turned in a fitful state of unrest, a grouping of the frightful birds gathered, ready to carry out the bidding of the One who had sent them. High in the pines on the edge of the forest, overlooking the scene of the evil un-light, the Oweles perched with deliberate intent. As they watched the ruined circle of forest where the green torch blazed and consumed all traces of life within its cancerous reach, the largest of them let out an eerie screech in echoed protest to its unwanted presence.

The torch flickered in the north wind, glittering its toxic un-light off the shining points of the cursed dragon’s teeth that hung from its black shaft. The once green and living forest had turned a sickened grey, and its dwindling life seemed to fuel the unlit green of the flaming torch.

Haizea, the “Wind of God”, flew upon his snowy white wings into the evil shadow of the green torch. His violet eyes blazed with deliberate fury and angered disgust at such an abomination. The large bird of prey began to speak with tones unheard by human ears. So deep and violent were the words of magic spoken in defiance of this un-light that a rumble of thunder could be felt half the world away. His wings pulsed as though he were flying and yet he remained in one place, his violet eyes never wavering in their piercing stare. His powerful words flowed in violent rhythm with the movements of his massive wings.

The cadence of his pounding wings formed a fury of wind, a gale of such force that the whole of the forest creaked and groaned against its breath. The very trunks of the tall soldier pines began to bend underneath the power that emanated from the white bird of prey, and wave after wave of focused strength crashed in upon the evil magic of this hideous object.

The un-light of the green torched flickered once, twice, and then a third time before the wind of Haizea caused it to be extinguished. The Oweles screeched in congratulatory agreement as the white bird succeeded in disarming the darkness, if only for a little while.

Chapter Fourteen

C
al
woke, like most of the encampment, with a different kind of soreness in his bones and a different kind of heaviness on his mind.

For over seventy years, the only fear to consume the minds of men was firmly fastened to the dying tree and its fading glory. Not only were men afraid of the approaching dark, they also feared the unknown of a life in the shadows. They feared the loss of the world Aiénor as they have known it since man took his first breath of her hallowed air so long ago.

However, it had now become apparent, at least to the woodcutters of the North, that this present darkness had not come to be an indifferent neighbor, but rather the harbinger of an evil predator. And what man, no matter how brave or noble, could assume he can abide long in a darkness that hunts him? The heavy weight that settled over the camp on this morning was indeed the very dimming of their naïve hope.

Cal stretched and groaned, willing the soreness away from his tired muscles and now-calloused hands. He walked among the yurts and tents of his new brothers and surveyed the life of the cutter camp in the amber light of the tree. Tired yet relentless men took their watch in the lone tower of the camp while the watch fires and braziers still blazed, doing their best to ward away whatever dangers the forest held that could still be spooked by burning coals. He inhaled the smoky, cool air of the faint amber morning, and thanked the THREE who is SEVEN that there were no more floating, green eyes peering in from the edge of camp.

Cal strolled the length of the corral for a moment.
It’s hard to believe that so much carnage happened right here just yesterday,
Cal thought to himself before slipping inside the crude fencing. Most of the beasts were up by now, and had somehow managed to make a forgetful peace out of yesterday’s chaos, breaking their fasts by chewing at the troughs full of hay grass.

The black Percheron walked up beside him, and Cal embraced the enormous horse with both arms the way old friends have been known to do.

“Well,” Cal said to the large, black horse, “Hollis says that you are mine now.”

The black Percheron stared back at the young man, seeming to be fully aware of every word that Cal spoke to her.

“If that is going to be the case, if you and I are going to be friends up here … well, I can’t just call you horse, now can I?” he said playfully. “I am sure someone gave you a name once?”

“Moa.” A voice from behind Cal spoke. “Her name is Moa.”

Cal turned around and saw Yasen standing just on the other side of the corral’s fence, holding a steaming flask of some kind of spiced drink in his hands. The steam from the drink carried with it the sweet aromas of anise, cloves and cinnamon bark, and brought with it a familiar feeling of home to this cold wild of the North.

“Moa, huh?” Cal turned and placed his hand upon her strong neck. “Is that your name?”

The horse rested her nose on Cal’s left shoulder in a gesture that softly said without words,
I am.

His hands set about brushing the straw from the night’s rest out of Moa’s mane.

“What does it mean, this name, Moa?” he asked Yasen.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Yasen replied as he took a large draught of the steaming drink. “It means
Mother
. From what I heard, it was this horse that watched over you and protected you, almost the way a maddened mother would protect her little ones if danger were about.” Yasen spoke with a slight smirk. “The men said it was her that felled more of the shadow cats than our own axes.”

“She was brave,” Cal said, looking back at Moa with a curiosity in his eyes. “There is no debating that.”

“Indeed,” Yasen said. “Make sure you take care of that one there, groomsman, for it is not often that a horse chooses her rider. Usually it is the other way around.”

Yasen turned his gaze from the corral and looked over at the retreating forest. “A friend like that is worth its weight in gold out here, and by the look of that Percheron … I would say you are a pretty rich man.”

“Yasen?” the young groomsman asked tentatively. “What did you see out there? What was it that happened in the forest?”

Yasen continued to look out to the trees in the east; his face was pulled taut in troubled concentration. The sweet spices of his drink wafted in an almost irreverent playfulness as the hero of the North stared worriedly eastward.

When he finally did speak, the smirk in his voice was completely gone and his face reflected his grave answer. “I do not know, but whatever it was, you can be sure that we will need to be on our guard for its return.”

“I pray,” Yasen spoke now with a hint of compassion in his voice, “that your restitution will be paid in full long before we see that kind of evil again.” He continued without taking his eyes off of the forest. “For it would be a waste indeed, if some ill will were to harm the good in you, groomsman.”

He turned now to face him. “Let us pray that it does not return at all, for I fear our axes will not be nearly swift or sharp enough to fell this kind of evil.”

Cal nodded, not necessarily because he knew what it was that Yasen was talking about, but rather because he understood the unease that hung in his words. While he stroked Moa’s neck, the thought came over him that perhaps this uninvited feeling of unease would serve him well, keeping him on his guard from the unknown danger that had so terrified these brave leaders of his.

“Well, make yourselves ready,” Yasen said as he pointed to the two of them, doing his best to break the tension. “Our duty still must be fulfilled … and you still have some amends to be making to those Priests in the city.”

He continued speaking as he turned towards the gathering men, sounding like he was trying a little too hard to convince himself of his own confidence. “We must strike the dark with our blades this day, for I fear that the people of Haven might turn into something just as beastly as the phantoms in the forest if they do not get their rations of timber in time.”

Yasen turned once more to Cal and the two newly-made brothers embraced arms, as was customary for the men of Haven, and bid each other an uneventful day. As Yasen left, Cal turned to ready his large, black Percheron.

“You are a brave one, aren’t you, Moa?” Cal mused aloud in proud laughter. “I suppose Yasen is right, huh? I guess I am a pretty rich man!“

Cal stared into her black eyes and scratched the soft space just behind the ears of the massive horse. There in the noise and hustle of the cutter camp, an intimacy of sorts was born between the two of them.

Moa nickered, Cal smiled, and a friendship was solidified. “Come on girl, let’s see about getting you ready for today.”

Hollis had observed the conversation between Yasen and the groomsman with solemn consideration. He knew the North Wolf was right. The whole of the camp knew their holy assignment and how all of Haven depended on their efforts here in the last forestlands. The men would have rather mourned their fallen brothers, and truth be told, Hollis would have rather joined them. Some would have taken to building stronger defenses and Hollis would have preferred that as well. But timber was the most precious commodity that there was in all of Haven, and the woodcutters were not worthy of such an extravagance, no matter how justified the reasoning for it was.

So Hollis did what he could to provide some measure of solace and safety for his men. He ordered that the riders be dispersed across the entire forest edge, acting as both watchmen and protection for the woodcutters as they labored.

He nodded to Yasen as the hero mounted his horse. “The last thing we need is another one of those damned cats making off with more of our men. We have not enough backs as it is to meet the demands of the Priests.”

“Aye!” Yasen shouted back in agreement as he departed for the forest. “I’ll keep a sharp eye out for our brothers, Chief!”

“You make sure to keep an eye out for yourself, too,” Hollis whispered.

So as the camp emptied and the men once more went to battle with pine and birch, Yasen and his riders left to patrol the area and offer whatever peace of mind they may.

Cal and Moa had been given a new assignment. They were to safeguard the timber carts, keeping a careful watch over both drivers and beasts alike. Multiple times a day, smaller carts would travel to the forest edge to retrieve the lumber hewn by the woodcutters. Their assignment was then to transport the smaller hauls to the larger carts at the south of the camp.

The bigger carts could fare well on long roads, providing that they were relatively smooth and free of opportunistic highwaymen. Teams of oxen, who were made for the long haul, drew these larger carts every couple of days from the cutter camps to the walled city. However, they could not traverse the rocky and muddy routes of the forest edge, so smaller carts, drawn by teams of mules or draft horses, were employed to expedite the precious timber.

Cal and Moa kept a careful watch over the three mule-drawn carts that were here at the northernmost position. The day had been long and mostly uneventful. When Yasen rode up from his patrol to get a report from the woodcutters on the northern front, Cal was happy for the company.

“Yasen!” Cal called out. “I am glad to see you. What is the news from the rest of the camp?”

Yasen rode up at a casual gait, and the two men embraced arms. Both were relieved to be greeting one another without the drama of a fearful event.

“Thank the THREE who is SEVEN, today has been relatively normal,” he said as he pulled the flint from his neck, quickly kissing it in a superstitious fashion and then placing it back inside his coat. “How about you here? The north team, has it been without incident?” Yasen asked.

“Yes,” Cal answered. “Well, unless you want to count Brádách.”

“Brádách? What happened to him?” Yasen asked.

“He’s been agitated all day. He kept saying he was hearing noises in the woods. He swore up and down that they were real … that something was out there,” Cal told Yasen. “The men were getting scared, but not just because of Brádách’s words. No one else had seen or heard as much as a rabbit in the brush all day. But they were beginning to grow more afraid of the nervous way he was swinging his blade than they were of his troubled suspicions.”

Yasen’s eyebrow lifted in aggravation. He was not easily amused with stories of recklessness like some of his riders were.

“The men were taking bets on who would lose a limb first; the tree, one of them, or Brádách himself!” Cal continued, smiling at the thought of such a large man so easily spooked. Yasen did not appear to be equally entertained.

“In truth, Brádách was probably a good distraction, keeping the men’s minds off of last night. That was … until he mis-swung his axe and buried it in the top of his boot!” Cal said.

“His boot!” Yasen exclaimed.

“One of the riders took him back to camp a few hours ago. The men were not entirely sure that he didn’t bury that axe in his foot on purpose!” Cal laughed. “You should have seen him on the back of that poor horse.”

“I am pretty sure a few of the winning wagerers are going to get an extra portion or two today come meal time,” Yasen said as he tried to allow a real smile to cross his face. He wanted nothing more than to share in the distraction of levity for a brief moment, wishing to find the same measure of humor as Cal did. But something in the back of his mind—or perhaps it was on the back of his neck—did not allow him to fully give himself over to the moment.

A crack came from within the forest, and the two men stopped their conversation in a cold, concentrating silence.

Another crack followed the first. The horses and the mules began to get agitated, and Cal and Yasen shared a knowing glance, realizing that the apparent safety of the moment had vanished.

Yasen ordered Cal, “Stay here, keep watch over the beasts and carts.”

He searched the northernmost point of the forest edge like a hawk would scout for mice, carefully looking for the slightest bit of movement before he struck. Again, another loud crack, like trees breaking under the weight of too much snow, filled the tense silence of the clearing.

“You have your horn?” Yasen asked Cal.

“I do,” Cal answered.

“Okay then. If you see something, let it ring once and let it ring long. If danger comes upon you, give it two short blasts and I’ll come as quickly as I can,” Yasen commanded.

“Aye,” said Cal. “The same goes for you.”

Yasen glanced back at him with a slight twinkle in his eye, bemused and intrigued with the natural bravery this young man possessed. He nodded and spurred his horse onward. The North Wolf rode into the trees, leaving Cal with the carts, the beasts, and a bad feeling in his stomach.

“Maybe Brádách wasn’t as crazy as we all made him out to be,” Cal said to Moa. The black Percheron stomped and shuffled her feet with nervous agitation, making it known that she was just as uneasy as the rest of the beasts in the clearing.

Yasen rode stealthily through the pine forest towards the cracking sounds. The deeper he went, the louder the noises grew.

CRACK!!