The Ranger: Apollo's Story (Tales of Welkinia Book 2)

by J. M. Ivie

  I looked up at her once again, watching her red curls catch in the air like fire. I flicked my wrist upward, sketching the ribbons of hair that caught in the wind. The elm forest behind her deepened in its green hue, while the tall lavender, livened by the sun’s heat, silhouetted her olive dress. Her thin figure walked along the outskirts of the forest, allowing all her angles to show. She carried a book in her hand, charting her way along the area. Her knowledge of lands, religions, and history, surpassed any others. When she spoke, she taught me that which I never knew before. I hungered to be around her, seeking to drink of the wisdom she kept stored.

  Long minutes passed as I finished up the sketch. What had started out as the landscape became a portrait of the fiery-haired woman. Something about her stuck to me… working its way into my soul. I looked back up; Mairead was gone. The warmth in my heart seemed to grow cold, confusing me as to what that meant. Releasing a long breath, I leaned into the trunk of the tree, soaking in the sun’s warmth that filtered through the leaves.

  The smell of the flowers deepened as I closed my eyes and listened to the creatures of the forest call to each other. The sound of the wind caressing the limbs and branches sounded similar to Lake Bonafif on Fiermont as the water lapped up on the shore. The walk to the lake was close to Jadir-Jadir where I had lived. Often I would take my sisters with me to swim in the cool waters when we were young.

  The crow of the Autumn Wren echoed above me, bringing my thoughts back to the Woodlands where I sat. It was odd to hear the Autumn Wren’s call in the spring, though, it was common knowledge they migrated to the Woodland during this time to escape the harsh storms of the Fiermontian spring. The crunch of grass beside me made me aware of a presence behind.

  “Sorry—were you asleep?”

  I turned and saw Mairead standing a few yards away with a bundle of lavender in her arms. “No.” I sat up, rolling my stiff shoulder. “The weather is calming. I enjoy it.”

  Mairead smiled and inched closer. “I saw you were sketching. I didn’t know you drew…”

  I closed the binder. I didn’t wish for Mairead to get the wrong impression if she were to see herself in my book.

  “May I?” she asked, sitting down beside me. “I do love art…”

  My chest tightened. I shrugged and consented. It will be her own fault if she were to think more of the piece than I sketched.

  Mairead flipped through the pages, and only then I realized how many times I had sketched her. Picture after picture—her face appeared in nearly every single one. “They’re beautiful.” She looked at me sideways, grinning. “Why are so many of me?”

  I shook my head, for I had just come to that same realization. “I did not realize…” I pulled the notebook from her hand and looked it over. Mairead was not as beautiful as other women. Her red hair never seemed combed, and her dark eyes were not exotic. Still, she held over me a charm, or spell, one which bound so tight upon my heart it worked its way into my art.

  “You make me appear far more beautiful than I truly am, Barak. It’s interesting—looking through another’s eyes. You can only do that with a painting, or a drawing. You’re getting a peek into the artist’s mind.” Mairead leaned against the trunk of the tree, looking up listlessly into the sky. “Did you know the greatest painter in all of Welkinia, whose art hangs in the Gallery of the Priest and over the shrine of Dracul, he was also Fiermontian?”

  I shook my head, waiting for her to continue.

  “Yes, his name Abalsaba-Psar. Or, as he signed his masterpieces, Abal-Psar. If you’ve ever been to Setizar, in the hall of the Gzar-Komprimo, you’ll find the portrait of Dracul which he painted hanging above the shrine. It’s beautiful. It’s said he used smelted gold to craft the highlights on Dracul’s scales.”

  I remembered the time my father had brought me to Setizar to pay my respects to the great ruler, the Gzar-Komprimo. We had bowed before the gold-crested shrine of the Dragon of Fiermont. It was that day I dedicated my soul to Dracul.

  “Barak…” Mairead began, keeping her eyes fixed on the sky. “You had told me a little about your family and what happened to them. But, what happened to you? Did the Anarchists… leave you?”

  My jaw tightened, and I shook my head. “No. They took me captive like many other Fiermontian children during that time.” Despite the warmth of the day, goosebumps rose on my flesh. “Han-Zul took me, and dozens others, to an unbearable home of harrowing pain. They placed us in an area called the pit. A dungeon of blackness within the heart of a lonely mountain. They left us without food, and only enough water to keep us alive. Every day they asked us if we would serve their cause. Day after day, my fellow captives gave in until it remained just me and one other Fiermontian. Both of us too stubborn to relinquish our loyalty to Dracul.

  “When it was clear that we would be defiant, the Anarchists said they would break us. They removed us from the pit and brought us into a large chamber—” My heart pumped wildly. Every sear on my flesh, every bone they had broken, bubbled back to the surface. My shoulder ached as if it too remembered the many times they had shattered it. “Soon, after months of torture, I still stood firm in my loyalty to the great Dragon. It seemed then they should make me a slave, leaving me under the new torture of my taskmaster. As time rolled on, my deep hatred toward the Anarchists settled in my soul, and my wish for revenge on Han-Zul strengthened.”

  Mairead’s breath hitched, and I turned to see her eyes wide. “How did you escape?”

  I bit my cheek, drawing blood. “A man named Jensen, along with his apprentice, came and destroyed the base. When they found me, Jensen said I had a choice. Join him and destroy the Anarchists, or stay and die in the flames. I should have stayed. I should have allowed myself to perish in the fire that engulfed the mountain. I would have died an honorable man. A true child of the Dragon. Instead, I agreed for revenge on Han-Zul devoured me. I did not see I had exchanged one form of slavery for another.”

  Mairead closed her eyes, tilting her head to the sun. “And, now you’re here.” Her eyes opened, and she looked at me with blazing severity, “And you’re safe from the world left behind.”

  I nodded and stared at my hands. “At what cost? My people would be ashamed of me. I accepted the position of a secret officer, killing men without their knowledge or giving them fighting chance.” I swallowed, feeling the bile rip my throat. “I am a dishonor to my people. Ili vigiro.”

  Mairead sighed beside me, exhaling a breath. “Honor is a tricky thing, Barak. You’re unique. I love the Fiermontian people, please do not interpret what I am about to say as a slight against them. Fiermontians let nothing slide. They hold every wrong against their people in such a way they have no chance at redemption. I wish that was not so. You, Barak, you don’t look at others with eyes of ridicule or a pretentious gaze. You have given me, an Ocelandite of your opposite, friendship. I can’t see how you have brought dishonor to your people.” Looking at me, she smiled. “In fact, you have brought them even greater honor and respect.”

  T H I R T Y - S I X

  WE ARRIVED AT THE WOODLANDS, finding Laramie just outside the gate taking notes of flowers. She must have been studying. Her eyes shifted up from her notebook and she smiled. “Apollo! You—” She stopped, her eyes flicking to Niall. “Who is this?”

  “Long story short, he helped me escape.”

  Niall gave her a sneer and a bow, “Niall Gurando, at your service.”

  Laramie nodded warily, looking at me. “Are you well? Perhaps I should bring you to a doctor.”

  “No, no, I’m all right. Where is Barak?”

  “I’ll take you to him, follow me,” Laramie muttered uneasily, looking Niall up and down once again.

  Niall’s brows raised, and I nodded. Yes. My best friend is still alive, and he would have to deal with that fact.

  “Laramie…” I grabbed her arm. “Do you know of a man named Tesla Romandan?”

  “Yes, he is a part of my father’s court. Why do you ask?”
<
br />   “I hear he can break the bind of the tethers on Niall, me, and Barak.”

  Laramie smiled, nodding her head. “He’s a genius. I don’t doubt he can!”

  We walked in through the town, following Laramie down the streets. There were more than a few people casting both Niall and myself wary glances. “Barak is in the blacksmith’s shop down the road. I believe you’ll remember it.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  Laramie shook her head, “No. Right now I need to go find Duncan…”

  “Who?” I raised my brow, looking her in the eye.

  “Duncan Cross. He returned not too long ago… and after speaking with Barak, he said he wished to meet you.”

  I nodded, unsure of what to say.

  Laramie smiled, “You’ll like him.” She winked at me, then cast one more dubious look at Niall before leaving.

  Weaving through the crowd that filled the lanes I followed the path to the best of my recollection. Men and women laughed and talked as the soldiers casually leaned against the gates. We walked up to the Smithy—just barely seeing the large homely building shrouded behind the trees.

  We approached, and I saw Barak bent over the forge. His bronze skin glistened with sweat, and his black eyes remained focused as he pulled a metal object from the blaze. He hammered away at its edges, the muscles in his neck and arms ebbing as he refined the shape with care.

  It took a moment before he looked at me. “What is this?” Barak’s eyes lingered on Niall a moment before he shoved the bright orange metal into a bucket of water. Steam erupted from the barrel, rolling upward to the sky.

  “It’s a long story…”

  His gaze narrowed, “What is wrong with you?”

  “Again. Long story.”

  Barak looked at Niall with an unrelenting stare. It burned as hot as the furnace beside me, living and thrashing into a passion. “And why are you here?”

  Niall smiled and leaned on the railing outside the smith shop. “I rescued him.”

  Barak looked at me and sighed. “Give me a minute to temper this. I wish for the both of you to meet me in the back. You have some explaining to do.”

  ___

  Time passed by like a slow ticking clock. I fidgeted around with the stick in my hand. I couldn’t help fidgeting. It was almost torturous waiting to hear what Barak would say.

  It was when he arrived that the eerie weight in the atmosphere increased. I found myself at odds with the temperature. It was cool outside, yet the heat of my nervous body unwound.

  “Everything must be explained. Now.” Barak leaned against the wooden gate with arms crossed. His black eyes narrowed, looking at me. Our argument resurfaced in my mind.

  I shivered. Sweat dripped in my armpits and down my back, coursing into the wounds which were still raw. The salt burned, and I wondered if the pain would ever subside. “Well,” I swallowed. “It’s really an interesting story, how it all happened—”

  “Apollo, cut to the point. Must I play fortune-teller and rip it from the stars?”

  The last sentence was off and stern. The thought of Barak playing fortune-teller tickled me. The robes which the tellers wear are exquisite, and gaudy. Their eyes are rimmed with black and gold, and their hair is always dyed an unnatural color. I laughed.

  “Why are you laughing?” his voice was still somewhat rough.

  “I’d pay good coinage to see you dressed as a fortune-teller!” I bit back my laugh, shaking my head.

  Barak’s stern face softened into a half smile, “All right, I will be more patient. Go on, talk and ramble all you like. I will listen.”

  I nodded, telling Barak the story of the train, my failed attempt at escaping Ryanne, and how I ended up at Siege Veil. I drew up my shirt to reveal the brand on my ribs and the lashes that wrapped around my torso. “Let’s say I wasn’t met with a grand ceremony.”

  Barak’s eyes grew wider than I had ever seen them. “Where did that come from?”

  “Where do you think?”

  “Jensen,” Barak muttered. His face tightened, and he looked at Niall. “How do you play in?”

  “I’m the rescuer!” Niall shouted as he pounded on his chest like an ape.

  “No, I mean, why did you do it? You do not rescue another man without a reason. I know you better than that.” Barak’s words were deliberate and clear. I was about to be caught in the middle of a heated argument.

  “I have my reasons,” Niall stated. His voice lacked the general warmth of curtesy.

  “That does not answer my question…”

  “It will have to, Hound.” There was a glimmer in Niall’s eyes that unsettled me—and apparently got beneath Barak’s skin. He straightened his body and took a few steps closer to Niall. Everything about his stance appeared intimidating… as if he were holding back a fiery beast.

  “Is this part of a plan?”

  Niall shook his head, “Jensen wouldn’t trust me enough. I’m not any different from you or the Destroyer. I want to be a free man!”

  The muscles in Barak’s jaw relaxed. “Fine. I will watch you. Do not think I trust you.”

  Niall laughed, taking a firm grip on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I don’t trust either of you, so, we understand each other that much.”

  Barak gestured to the side, and Niall shrugged. He trudged off, kicking a pinecone in his route away to explore the town.

  “I say this…” Barak began after Niall had left. “If he is not planning on killing us all in the night, I understand his reasons.”

  I nodded, “I do too. Not that I trust him… but he helped me out. There’s nothing shady about it so far—”

  Barak let out a half-amused chuckle, “Everything is questionable about this, Apollo. How did he know the way out of Siege Veil? I spent ten years in that Lapp hole and not once did I find the exit. How did he so happen to find it?”

  “William. William helped us out of Siege Veil. He’s the one who gave us the rings, and a shot at freedom.”

  Barak’s lips pressed tight together. His body turned, defensive. “Trust no one, Apollo. Especially the Villain.”

  T H I R T Y - S E V E N

  NIALL, BARAK, AND I were sitting around the table in the pavilion eating our supper. The odd odor of the cheese wafted through the air, though, I didn’t mind it that much.

  “So, tell me, how did it feel to be humiliated?” Niall asked as he bit off a chunk of bread filled with jam and butter.

  “Pardon?” I raised my head to look him in the eyes.

  “Humiliated. They branded you.”

  Rage simmered inside me, “You have very poor timing, Niall.”

  “Or you’re sour.” He grinned, taking another large bite of his food.

  “You get your back eaten up by whips and a brand seared into your ribs and come back to me on that.”

  “So you are sour!”

  “You two speak like infants,” Barak interjected, looking between the two of us. “Meaningless conversation that is utterly senseless.”

  Niall huffed, “You’re senseless.”

  “Let us walk into the courtyard and find out.” Barak grinned and wiped his hands.

  I looked between them, “You really need to get your heads checked.”

  “I can check his head against the stone wall.” Niall stood.

  “You only want to fight someone.” Barak rolled his shoulder, “It is sick. I think you enjoy pain.”

  Niall scowled, “I think you enjoy watching people in pain.”

  “I enjoy seeing you in pain.”

  I laughed, “I believe that’s called animal cruelty.”

  “What did you say?” Niall looked me up and down.

  Before I could respond, and possibly cause a full out brawl, a little voice shouted, “I think all three of you have too much testosterone. We may just need to bring you to see a doctor.”

  We all turned around and saw Laramie standing in the archway. I had to admit she had spunk.

  “Little
Princess has a sharp tongue,” Niall ground out between his teeth.

  “Pretty sure it’s sharper than your mind.”

  Barak and I stared blankly. This was normal banter between the three of us… but, for Laramie? My stomach twisted.

  “Can’t be sharper than my blade,” Niall whispered, tugging at the weapon at his side.

  “You’d do well than threaten the Princess, beasty!” The Dahkhallian accent was distinguishable. Stormy blue eyes appeared the shade of brown when I saw him. His thin hair covered his head nicely, and scruff covered his jawline. He was an ordinary-looking man, who was shorter than myself and just taller than Laramie.

  Niall shoved past, eyeing the smaller man up and down. “I’m not impressed.”

  “Aye, and who might this be?” The man winked at me, “Part boar, or part yeti?”

  Barak let out a breathy chuckle in response to the jab.

  “I don’t like you, little man.” Niall’s lip quirked upward in a sneer.

  “Pity, I sort’a like you, ya big giant!” The man pat Niall’s cheek, only to have him recoil and draw his weapons.

  “You do not touch me.”

  The man looked at Laramie with a reluctant smirk, “Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t think you’ll want to see this.” He turned his attention to the man in front of him, rolling his neck.

  “Here—” Laramie went to hand him her sword.

  The Dahkhallian stepped aside and shook his head. “I need not the primitive weapons of man to win a battle, my dear girl. I need only my mind and my fists. That is what the King given, and it is what I will use.”

  He confused us, though, Laramie smiled and took a submissive step back.

  As soon as there was silence, Niall kicked his foot and ran like lightning toward the man.

  He stepped to the side, stuck his foot out and tripped Niall. The brute collapsed onto the ground, yelling.