by Peter Wacht
Thomas looked at the figure of his mother, his feet rooted to the branch as he took in everything about her. She appeared just as he had dreamed of her. Then he noticed her eyes. In his dreams, they were green, playful and full of life. Now they were black and lifeless, filled with the cold of the grave. Marya inched closer to him again. Thomas stepped back in response.
“No, I can’t. I must—”
“Come with me, Thomas! Come with me now!” Marya shrieked. Thomas danced back from her. The tiny voice in his mind finally broke its chain, screaming at him to run, to get away. This couldn’t be happening. Talyn would never lie to him. His mother was dead.
The figure before him, sensing his fear, charged forward. Thomas dodged out of the way, almost falling from the branch. Luckily, he maintained his balance. The creature that was Marya screeched in anger at missing its prey and turned back toward him. Thomas watched in horror as Marya’s hands changed into twisted claws, her face becoming a mask of hatred, the skin tightening around her skull and her eyes burning a bright red. A ghoul stood before him now.
The voice in his mind told him to stay away, and he knew with certainty that one touch from the ghoul would mean his death. But now this creature blocked his path. The ghoul lunged for him, hungry for a warm soul. With nowhere else to go, Thomas jumped down from his perch, falling twenty feet through the air to the branch below him. His feet slipped off the bark as he landed awkwardly, but he caught the limb with his hands, ignoring the pain that shot through his palms as the rough bark bit into his flesh. He quickly pulled himself onto the branch and saw the ghoul looking down at him evilly, not yet willing to end the pursuit.
Giving in to his instincts, Thomas ran across the branch in a burst of speed, hoping to escape the creature. He tried to regain his concentration, but his fear prevented it. He sensed the ghoul as it followed along above him, easily tracking his movements. For several minutes he ran from tree to tree, his terror driving him forward. When would the forest end? The ghoul kept up with him easily. When?
A bolt of fear shot through him as he heard a thud behind him. The creature had jumped down onto his branch. The ghoul screeched in triumph, confident of its victory, knowing it was almost time to feed. Not daring to look back, Thomas ran across the branches, the tiny voice in his mind screaming in terror. He felt the ghoul reaching for him, and he imagined the dead hand closing around his shoulder, draining the life from his body. Ignoring his fear, Thomas focused on the branches before him. The unnatural darkness was growing lighter. He was almost there. Almost—
Sensing the ghoul was gaining, now only a few fingers away, Thomas jumped down from the branch, landing heavily on the one below. The ghoul howled in anger, having come so close to its prize and then losing its chance. Thomas didn’t wait to see what it would do. He had reached the edge of the forest.
Jumping down onto the limb of one of the trees that nestled up against the mountains, he started the difficult climb down. He ignored the cuts and scrapes on his hands as he used the branches as a ladder, his fear threatening to choke him. The ghoul followed him down the tree, and it was gaining as its claws tore into the rough bark. Its raspy breath sounded like a death knell in Thomas’ ears. After reaching the lowest limb, he still had more than a hundred feet to go before his feet touched the ground. Feeling the urgency of his situation, he hurried down the tree trunk as fast as he could, finding crevices in the bark for his hands and feet, but this time sliding more than climbing, his fear of the ghoul stronger than his fear of falling.
Two times he almost lost his grip because of his quest for speed, but he didn’t care. The ghoul was almost upon him. The musty odor of the grave played through his nostrils, urging him downward. Suddenly, Thomas’ feet hit the earth. Not bothering to look up, he ran through the brush in a burst of speed, fighting off the vines and branches that sought to delay him. And then he was free, the darkness giving way to light, the forest to a flat plain. The ghoul howled in anger, stopping at the tree line and not daring to enter the sunlight.
“Finally,” he whispered to himself. His body shuddered at the memory of what had just occurred. Yet, as he looked back at the forest, the shadowy darkness had retreated, and with it the hungering ghoul that pursued him.
Taking a few moments to catch his breath, Thomas gazed up at his final hurdle, the time he had lost in the forest weighing him down. If he was right, the Circle sat atop the cliff, which just happened to rise several thousand feet into the air. Normally such a climb wouldn’t be a problem, but with such a steep incline, and a surface composed of loose shale with several large boulders tipped precariously on their edges, it would be difficult at best.
He’d have to avoid those boulders at all costs. The way things were going today they’d probably start rolling down the slope at the slightest movement. If he wasn’t careful and slipped, a fall from a heart tree would be pleasant compared to sliding down this rocky slope with a few large rocks following after him.
Half an hour left, maybe less, he judged. No time to waste. Thomas started his climb, digging into the loose scrabble as best he could and hoping that a ghoul or some other hideous creature didn’t wait for him at the top. Because of the slope, a trot was as good a pace as he could achieve. To maintain his balance, he hunched over at the waist and leaned forward.
Many times he used his hands to help pull himself up the cliff as large pieces of shale gave way beneath his feet and he slid dangerously back down the slope. Only his frantic attempts to dig his hands into the cliff face kept him from tumbling head over heels back down to the plain. Though unavoidable, his efforts irritated the cuts and scrapes plaguing his hands, which he ignored.
Each time the shale gave way, he redoubled his efforts, pulling and lunging his way upward, ignoring the pinpricks of pain that ran down his arms every time he forced his hands into the loose rock. He was halfway up the slope with only fifteen minutes left. He had to go faster, but how? For every two steps he took in the loose rock, he slid back one. Giving way to caution, Thomas pushed himself forward, moving as fast as he could up the slope. If he stepped on another large piece of shale at his current speed, he didn’t think he’d catch himself in time before he started falling backward. He didn’t care. He was almost to the top. How much time remained?
Eyes focused on the shifting surface beneath his feet, his mind centered strictly on his task, it took him a second to realize that the ground had begun to shake. The soft rumbling sound grew louder, and it was coming toward him. Looking up in shock, Thomas leaped to his right, landing heavily on his side and sliding several feet back down the slope as a large rock rolled past him. In the beginning he had done his best to avoid them, but now, in the interest of speed, he had forgotten about the boulders. Thomas cursed in frustration. The edge of the cliff was no more than two hundred feet away. He was almost there, and he had ten minutes left. Ten minutes! He could still make—
A boulder cascaded toward him, larger than any of the others. It had been lying right on the lip of the cliff face, and now it rolled directly toward him, hopping and skipping its way down the slope. It was massive, blotting out the sun and putting Thomas in darkness. The analytical part of Thomas’ mind guessed that it weighed several tons. The practical part told him to run, but he had nowhere to go. It was coming too fast for him to move out of its way.
The rock beneath Thomas’ feet gave way, forcing him to drop to one knee to retain his balance. Wait a second. His sliding body had created a deep gash in the loose rock of the cliff face. Several of the shale pieces that had broken apart were almost as large as he was. Maybe it would work. Just maybe. He really didn’t have a choice, nor the time.
Diving into the hole he had made, Thomas quickly pulled a large piece of shale over the top, covering the hole. He then used his legs to support the makeshift ceiling of his burrow. The large boulder gained speed rapidly as it rolled down the hillside, leaving a deep wake behind it, much like a ship cutting through the sea with its prow, and sweeping
the loose rock and shale before it. The first small rock hit Thomas’ structure and harmlessly bounced off it. Then another followed, and another, each bigger than the last. It was working. The boulders were rolling right over him. Now for the real test. The massive boulder was almost upon him.
A detached part of him wondered at the improbability of the whole thing. How one moment he had almost reached the top, and now, in just a few seconds, he waited for a boulder to flatten him into the cliff. The ground shook even more, and because of it, Thomas’ body slid backwards down the slope. As a result, he lost control of the piece of shale he used as a shield. Thomas dug his fingers into the hillside, desperately grasping several large rocks sticking out of the soil. Suddenly, the dim shadow of the sky disappeared, replaced by black. Holding his breath, Thomas braced himself for the collision. As the boulder hit the piece of shale, the tremendous weight pushed Thomas’ legs down into his chest. He tried to breathe, but couldn’t. Every muscle in his body felt like it was about to explode.
In an instant, the pressure dissipated. Thomas gulped down a breath of air, grateful that the piece of shale had not cracked under the weight of the boulder. It had worked. It had actually worked!
“Thank you,” he whispered to the piece of shale as he gently placed it on the hillside. Getting unsteadily to his feet, Thomas wiped his sweaty, bloody palms onto his breeks. The top was only a few hundred feet away, and the large boulder had cleared the loose rock out of his way. Leaning toward the cliff face with his body, Thomas ran up the newly created path. Only a few minutes remained.
Finally reaching the top of the cliff, relief swept through him. The Circle was right in front of him. Ignoring the pain in his hands and the stiffness in his legs, Thomas ran toward the huge columns. With a final burst of speed, he leapt into the Circle and ascended the Stone as quickly as he dared. The Sylvan Warriors remained where they were when he had first disappeared, standing stoically in front of a particular column. They watched him with hard eyes as he climbed the final steps of the Stone. Even Rynlin and Rya had a look of indifference on their faces. Had he failed? He couldn’t have. Could he? A knot of fear rose in his throat. Standing again in front of Tiro, Thomas prepared himself for the worst.
CHAPTER NINE
The Village
“It was very clever of you to walk the trees,” he said in a loud voice so all could hear. “Most struggle through the forest on the ground and become hopelessly lost.”
Thomas looked at Tiro in concern. Had he passed? That’s all he wanted to know. Tiro saw it on Thomas’ face and smiled, enjoying the suspense.
“You have overcome the first challenge. You know the forest and the dangers that lurk there; you are a part of it.” Thomas let out a sigh of relief that was short-lived. “On to the second challenge. This is a test of your inner strength. Three dreams await you.”
Stands on high. The words echoed through his mind. His daydreaming would have to wait. He should be giving his full attention to Tiro and his next challenge. Stands on high. Rynlin had explained his theory regarding the prophecy, and now he was here.
He glanced around the Stone. The Sylvana stared back at him. At first, he had taken their expressions to be ones of indifference. That remained somewhat, but had something else worked its way in as well? Hope, maybe. Could it be hope? Stands on high. Maybe it was. Maybe Rynlin had explained his theory to them as well, or some of the Sylvana had developed their own theories. Stands on high. Now was not the time to think on it. There was too much at stake.
“In each dream you must do what is right, and that is something for you to decide. But I warn you, the choice is not always easily made. There is no absolute right or absolute wrong, despite what you might think. There is only individual judgment. Let your judgment be your guide. If you choose wrongly, you will fail, and you may die. Therefore, think before you act. Are you ready?”
Die? A shiver ran up Thomas’ spine, remembering the ghoul and how close its cold, deadly touch had come. Rynlin and Rya had conveniently forgotten to tell him about that possibility. They had simply said that if he failed, he could never join the Sylvana. He’d have to talk to them about their slip when this was over. If he survived, of course.
Thomas nodded. The bright white light greeted him once more, again blinding him for a moment. When the spots cleared from his eyes, he found himself in a large field just beyond the outer boundary of a small village. Thomas turned in a circle to get his bearings. He was completely and thoroughly lost. The mountains of the Highlands were nowhere in sight. A few stalks of corn still remained, crushed beneath the feet of the workers, who had just harvested the field.
The village itself was unremarkable, with a small road running through its center passing by wooden cottages with thatched roofs. Most farmers couldn’t afford stone. A small green formed the center of the village. The villagers probably gathered there for their holidays and meetings. Thomas was thoroughly confused now. Why had Tiro sent him here? Judging from the position of the sun, much of the morning still remained, so most of the farmers would be out tending their crops.
Seeing nothing of interest in the surrounding forest, Thomas walked toward the village. He stopped in his tracks. A quiver of arrows was at his hip with a bow across his back. Thomas slipped it over his head. It was his bow and his arrows. But how did they get here? He hadn’t brought them with him. No weapons were allowed for the first challenge. Of course, Tiro had said nothing about weapons this time.
Shrugging it off, Thomas entered the village with bow in hand. Smoke drifted into the sky from the cottage chimneys, carrying with it the wonderful smell of baking bread. Across the green several women sat together talking, a few quite animatedly. He wondered about what. At first he thought it might be because of him. A stranger walking into a small town could set off quite a ruckus. But, no, it couldn’t be him. They hadn’t seen him yet. Some of the women gestured, but in a different direction.
Thomas walked halfway to the green when the rumble of horses’ hooves shattered the quiet. The women who sat together so placidly just an instant before now ran in fright. Why would they—
Ten horsemen, their long hair tied back in braids, galloped into the village. Wearing black leather armor, they held whips and lassoes. Slavers! The lead rider singled out a young woman and charged forward. She screamed in terror as the horse bore down on her. Before he knew what he was doing, Thomas ran toward the chaos. The rider was no more than a few paces behind the fleeing girl when he lashed out with his whip. The hard leather bit into the woman’s arm, opening a long cut. She fell to the ground in pain, the whip still entangled about her arm.
All across the green similar scenes played out. Another slaver had already caught a young girl, probably no more than twelve years old. One horseman had missed on his first pass, but was now coming around for a second, gleefully pursuing a young woman with auburn hair. For the slavers their work had become a game, as they realized that no one could challenge them.
The first rider jumped down from his horse and swaggered toward the girl, who sat on the ground in a daze. She stared in disbelief at the cut on her arm, no longer understanding what was going on around her. The man reached down and took hold of her other arm, giving the girl a leer.
The situation soon became frighteningly clear to the young woman. She frantically tried to pull her arm free, but she couldn’t break the slaver’s hold. Tears ran down her face as her fear and desperation grew. Suddenly, she fell backward in the grass, free of the rider’s grasp. The man still stood above her, but with a glazed look in his eyes. A second later, he toppled over, a long arrow sticking out from the center of his back.
Thomas had acted without thinking, but he didn’t care. Once again, he didn’t have time to think. It always happened that way. He just acted according to his instinct. Certain that his first arrow struck true, Thomas pulled another from his quiver. He had sprinted to the center of the green, and now stood there with his legs spread apart, one slightly in front of
the other. Nocking another arrow to his bow, he drew back on the cord. Sighting on the rider who had already captured a woman, he released.
The second attacker fell dead with an arrow through the eye. Both were large men, much like their comrades, and displayed the quick sure movements of soldiers. They were accustomed to battle, as it was an almost daily part of their lives. Nevertheless, a single bolt with a steel tip had an amazing capacity to level the playing field.
Thomas quickly moved on to the next slaver, and then the next. In seconds, five men were dead. The other raiders finally noticed that someone was actually fighting back, initially thinking that the men of the village had returned from the fields. Much to their surprise they saw a single boy standing boldly in the middle of the green.
Three immediately charged forward, kicking their horses to a gallop. The urge to run briefly rose within him, but Thomas beat it down. He stood his ground and calmly placed another arrow onto his bow. Shooting at a moving target was much more difficult, and with three charging toward him, he couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Thomas waited just a moment longer, then raised his bow, sighted and released in one smooth motion. A second arrow immediately followed the first, and a third the second.
The three slavers never knew what hit them, falling dead to the green, pierced by Thomas’ yard-long arrows. Their panic-stricken horses continued down the road. The two raiders who remained at the far edge of the green stared in shock at their friends lying face down in the short grass. They considered themselves brave men, but if this boy could so easily dispatch three men on horseback, how difficult would it be for him if there were only two? They wisely decided that the time for valor had passed.
Turning their horses back the way they had come, the two slavers tried to escape the village. Unfortunately for them, Thomas was not in a forgiving mood. They made it as far as the last house on the village’s outskirts before steel-tip arrows knocked them from their saddles.
