When his sight cleared, he saw Mura. The hermit was slumped against a cracked tree trunk. The verg eyed the hermit like a child playing with a broken doll. It turned its massive head. Gray closed his eyes, feigning unconsciousness. “The boy is ours,” the verg rumbled.
Suddenly, something pressed against his back, digging into the root of his spine. His dagger.
“No, he belongs to her,” a voice replied, darker but far less booming than the verg. “She is his keeper.” Gray opened his eyes a fraction and saw the wolf. Its pale lips moved, snarling each word. The wolf speaks…
“She does not command us, beast,” the verg growled. “We answer only to the Rehass. We are the Shadow’s Hand. Flee to your mistress before I crush your bones where you stand.”
The wolf’s red eyes gleamed. “Perhaps I will bite off your flapping tongue and deliver that instead. Along with the boy’s body,” the wolf snapped, its snarl rising in intensity. “Give him to me.”
“Never,” the verg said, its deep growl shaking the ground. Gray’s heart slammed inside his own chest. His left hand dangled, painstakingly he inched it closer to his concealed dagger.
“The boy’s alive!” the wolf snarled and lunged for his leg.
Gray reached for his dagger, but the verg moved quicker. The beast swiped at the wolf, protecting its bounty. Struck by the mighty fist, the wolf yelped, skidding to the cliff’s edge. At the same time, Gray unleashed a cry of rage. Ignoring the stunning shards of pain, he grabbed his hidden dagger. He whipped it around and slammed it into the verg’s fist, piercing its thick hide. The verg howled in rage, then flailed. But Gray held on. He sliced down, cutting bone and tendon. The beast roared. With its free hand, the verg gripped him around the waist, and threw him with a grunt.
Gray was ripped from the dagger and he catapulted through the air. He hit the ground, skidding towards the cliff like a pebble across water. His fingers clawed the ground, but it was useless. The last thing he saw was Mura’s horrified face as he slipped over the edge and beyond, falling towards a sea of trees.
A Journey Forward
B
LINDING WHITE FLICKERED ACROSS THE DARKNESS.
Light… the notion skittered across a distant field of thoughts—each thought like a tiny flame dancing in the darkness of Gray’s mind. He drifted back towards slumber and darkness when a voice sounded through the gloom. Wake up! He ignored it, but it spoke again, Sleep is for the weak and the dead.
Am I dead? he asked the voice.
Not yet. Now rise.
Gray let the distant light fill him and his eyes opened to the blinding brightness. Suddenly the fall and all else came back to him in a rush. He gasped as if water filled his lungs and he was drowning. Gradually, his breaths slowed.
With pebbled dirt beneath his cheek, the world appeared as if seen through thick glass. High above, he gazed upon a screen of branches. A canopy. His eyes adjusted to the bright light, and he saw broken branches and a hole in the awning. His mind reeled. How am I alive? He propped himself upon his elbow and his arm burst in a fountain of pain. A jagged gash ran down his left arm. He recalled the scene with the wolf. The wound was peeled back at the surface, looking like gnarled lip, and congealed blood covered the gaping cut. He winced. “I’ll have to clean it soon,” he voiced aloud, looking around for a stream or nearby brook.
Suddenly, he remembered his sword and fear ran through him. He turned and spotted it beside a nearby tree. Relief flooded him.
He rose to get the blade and throbbing pain wrenched his other shoulder. Gently, he rolled it, and sucked in a sharp breath. It felt detached. He looked around in uncertainty, when a memory flashed. Stumbling to his feet, he hobbled to a thick oak. A strange, familiar calm came over him. At the height of his exhale he rammed his shoulder into the tree’s trunk. There was a loud pop and pain bloomed before his eyes, but when it cleared he could move his arm again. He smiled in relief, but knew the hermit had not taught him that.
“Mura,” he whispered and memory of the hermit flooded through him. The last image he had was of Mura slumped against a tree.
He moved towards the cliff and placed his hands to the looming mountain of stone and dirt. Mura had told him to escape the woods and quickly. I will do as promised. I can pass through the woods easily enough following the Silvas River. Once he reached the trading city of Lakewood, he would find safety and wait for Mura. Five days before the spell wears off, he reminded himself. Five days until I see Mura again.
Snatching up his sword, he found a nearby stream and rinsed his wound. The clear, crystal water rinsed over the deep cut. As he ignored the pain, a leaf flashed in his mind’s eye. He paused curiously when a fish darted among the rock bed, and his stomach growled. When the cut was clean, but in need of a bandage, he made his way back to the clearing, hunting for his bag, but after a while his spirits sank.
“It’s gone…”
He leaned against a tree and looked up. There, dangling from a nearby bough was his bag. That should do for now, he thought when he finished wrapping his arm, admiring his handiwork.
Famished, he set aside two red apples and a hunk of orange cheese wrapped in waxy cloth. He finished his meal quickly. With the tang of cheese still on his tongue, he wished for more, but already he knew he would have to ration it out if he were to survive. He began to rise when he caught a flash of silver.
Gray reached into his pack and withdrew his hand. A silver pendant glinted in his palm, and he remembered what Mura had said about the pack containing an object from his past. The pendant was divided in parts by lines, and in each part, was a symbol.
The eight symbols of the Great Kingdoms. The hair on his arms stood on end. “There is one missing,” he said, remembering the emblem of wind that Mura had shown him in the cabin; and he realized the curious tome the hermit had bestowed upon him was now likely gone forever…
His grip tightened on the pendant and magically the two halves of the metal twisted as if on hinges, and then snapped whole once again. Now four of the symbols were on one side, and four were on the other. He twisted it once again. Now two showed. The pendant’s surface glinted.
If the stories were right, the kingdoms held different strengths. Perhaps… He twisted it again, trying to order them from most powerful to least. Aside from wind, sun was the most powerful, so the stories said. Then forest. Sun, forest, fire, ice, stone, moon, metal, flesh. Twisting, Gray lost himself to the symbols, until the last one clicked in place. He gave a triumphant smile, revealing the eight symbols of the Great Kingdoms in order of power. Abruptly, all the symbols vanished in a wave of light.
In their place, was the emblem of wind.
The pendant grew hot and he threw it to the ground as a sudden light flared from the pendant, lighting the clearing in a flash of brilliant gold. He approached. It was warm now, no longer hot, and he twisted it once. The glow vanished and all the symbols returned to the way they were. All eight.
He shook his head and laughed aloud. He looked up, as if expecting someone to see what he had just done, but he was alone. The clearing was empty. A small breeze emphasized his solitude. Gray went to put the pendant back in the pack when his hand halted, and he slipped it around his neck, tucking it beneath his shirt.
He strapped his sword to his back then slung his pack over his shoulder, looking towards the early morning sun. With a last glance behind, he moved out of the clearing, into the forest, and onward. Towards Lakewood, wondering what was around the next bend.
Legends
V
ERA LEFT THE CAMP AND WALKED
east.
Her boots crunched on the dry leaves, peeking out from her dark dress. A modest collar revealed faint green veins on her slender neck and chest. The dress was well fitted, flaunting her perfect curves. A strip cut from the side revealed glimpses of her pale, slender legs. It was something she wouldn’t have worn in the Citadel, but she was altogether different now.
Above, the canopy was thick. It was part of the reason hiding from him had been easier, but it made it difficult to tell the time of day. Between the branches she caught hints of the brightening moon.
Her meeting with her companion should be now.
Not far behind, her niux made camp within a small clearing. The contrast between the inviting woods and her cruel, nightmarish beasts almost made her smile.
Two massive vergs, even larger than the rest, were constructing a crude fire, snapping huge limbs from nearby trees. Though fairly intelligent creatures, they looked almost awkward with the act. The beasts ate their meat raw and saw better than most creatures in the night. She had told them to build it without explanation, for she knew the shadows were not only their allies. While they hunted, he also hunted in the darkness. Meanwhile, the others, six saeroks, tall lanky beasts made of raw sinew and thin hair, and four other hulking vergs fought over the remains of their last kill, tearing and shredding into the disgusting carcass of a werebear. She put the noise and commotion of the camp out of her head, dismissing it, when the woods rustled. She stopped.
“You can come out now.”
The biggest wolf she had ever seen stalked out of the shadows. It stopped in the middle of her path. “Mistress,” it snarled, dark fur ruffling in the wind.
Sitting on its haunches the wolf stared her in the eyes, now of equal height. She knew that her attitude, and the lack of fear she emanated was part of her control over the beast. If she let it waver, she wondered if the creature would attack her, or if they had gone beyond that. So close, she sadistically imagined the creature lunging and she knew its speed. She imagined her neck caught in its vicious teeth, the press of its barbed teeth on her soft skin.
“You’re late, my pet,” she replied.
The wolf bowed its head lower.
She continued walking and the creature slipped in at her side like a shadow. “Speak, precious, what news of the boy?”
“The boy…” it growled.
“Yes?” she questioned, turning to look. Already, disappointment spiraled through her and it began the moment she sensed Drefah’s presence. The boy was not here and neither was the sword, and that was all that mattered. All else was worthless news.
Suddenly the forest shifted, and a wind tore through the woods, wracking the trees and howling. If Vera had a pulse, it would have quickened. She sensed Drefah’s fear as well, watching the hackles rise on its massive body. “What is that foul smell?” the wolf asked.
She eyed the woods calculatingly. “It’s him.”
“Who?”
The muscles in her jaw twitched. “Kail. The legend.”
Drefah had no idea who she spoke of, but his snarled heightened. He took her words seriously, as he should. The frightening bay of wind grew louder. Though in reality, it wasn’t the sound, but the feel of the wind. It felt powerful. More powerful than all of them. Her pet’s snarl grated her nerves, and the mere thought of him vexed her.
Vera turned and saw the same fear echoing through the camp behind her. Vergs stiffened and saeroks loped, climbing trees as they watched the woods in fright. It bothered her that she had weeded out every single coward from the bunch and still they trembled like barn mice at his presence. Granted, he had killed four of them already. Not to mention, their fear was instilled in their blood, something born in the Great War, but it still annoyed her, like a sharp splinter she couldn’t pry from beneath her skin.
“Tell me how you lost the boy,” she said.
“A Nameless and its niux, under orders of the Great One, tried to steal the boy. But in the process, the boy was flung over the side of a great cliff. The fall would have killed any human. I searched, but found nothing, not even a scrap of his scent.” The wolf sounded especially irritated about the last part. Its large ears wilted as it spoke, as if it had failed her, and it had, though not entirely.
“It is not your fault, my pet,” she said softly. It seemed appropriate, and her hand absently grazed its waist-height black fur. “They hid his smell with the spark. The old man did. It was nothing you could do.” She scooped a handful of dirt and let it fall to the ground. Simple magic, she thought with a slim, but impressed smile. She looked up, glimpsing the bright moon through the canopy. “I underestimated them, this time. The one who cast the spell was not from this land. I should have anticipated that the prophecy did not reach the Great One’s ears only. I had heard whisper of a prophet from Eldas, a human-blooded cur, but dismissed it as rumor. The man was likely sent as his guardian from beyond the black gates with the knowledge of the prophecy.” She did not mention that she had heard that the prophet was the queen, and her death a timely, fortunate part of the Great One’s ultimate plan. Sometimes she wondered if his plans were the result of coincidence or much more.
The wolf growled in affirmation. “It is as you say. The old man did not move like any human I have seen. He might be elf blood.”
Vera shrugged. “Elves, humans, it does not matter. The man’s power is minimal, but his knowledge is what I fear. We must assume now that he knows everything about the power of the sword and the boy.”
“But, mistress, the boy is dead.”
“No,” she hissed. It was the first time emotion had entered her voice and the wolf flinched under her hand. “The boy is alive. He will not die until I twist the blade in him with my own hands.” Her fingers clenched, grasping his fur. “I want to feel my dagger slide into his heart as I watch the life vanish from his eyes.”