by Pamita Rao
“My lord,” bowed a guard. “There were other prisoners inside.”
Creed stepped into the blanket of smoke and lifted himself in the air. “I have found where the boy resides, and soon I shall have my powers. What need would I have for prisoners?”
He glided back to his chamber and waited for Walahal to come back with the news of finding the boy. Oh, what joy he would feel when he had the boy in his hands. It had been three years, and the boy would surely be older, but Drahim had said that they could perform the ritual at any age. If the boy survived after the ritual, then he would imprison him along with his mother. He was giddy with desire, for destiny was handing him another chance. Maybe it was after all in his fortune to rule the realms on the other side of the gate.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Alaira - The arrangement
Alaira paced the grounds outside Freddic’s home while workers of the farm enacted how the riders had come and dragged Inglan away from home and whipped the workers who tried to save him. Freddic shouted at the villagers, who hung their heads in shame for not protecting him.
“How could you have allowed this to happen?”
“There were too many, Freddic. We did not have a choice,” Alaira said with sadness. Freddic ran a hand over his flushed face and sat on the front steps of his house.
“We will aid you in bringing Inglan back, Freddic. We owe Inglan our lives,” said a villager.
Freddic turned to Alaira. “Creed will be back for Neelahaim. You must leave this village.”
“No, your father is in danger, and I will leave tonight for the palace to retrieve him.”
Freddic shook his head. “This place is not safe for you and Neelahaim. You both must run while I will go with the villagers to save my father.”
“You cannot go to the palace on your own,” said Alaira. “The guards will recognize you as Inglan’s son.”
Alaira turned towards her own home, where Father stood with Neelahaim in his arm. He watched them with fear as the news about Inglan had spread like wildfire, and villagers now stood in groups, murmuring to one another. This is what Creed had wanted; he was using fear to get more villagers to talk, and he was succeeding.
An old villager with graying hair came forward. “We have decided to give up the child. That is the only way to save all of us all and Inglan.”
Alaira could not believe her ears. “You swore to fight on our side!” she screamed.
“We swore to fight only if you protected our families,” said the villager in anger. “But now the king knows about the child. He will kill all of us if we do not give back what belongs to him.”
“That cannot happen,” said Freddic. “We will find a way.”
Other villagers came to stand by the old man and encircled them. “We say you give up the child and let us live in peace. Inglan was right, we should never have agreed with you.”
“Yes, we will plead to the king to save our lives in return for the prince.”
“This is not just about you!” roared Alaira. “My sister, Elora, lives as a prisoner in her own castle. We are all in this together. I thought you understood that this is a war.”
Before Alaira could convince the villagers, a few ran towards Reddan and pried Neelahaim from his arm. Reddan cried to stop them, and Alaira felt her pulse race; she ran without thinking and punched the villager in his face. He fell to the ground, and she pulled Neelahaim into her embrace.
She looked towards the villager in anger. “No one is taking my nephew anywhere!” She turned towards the other villagers. “Neelahaim and I will leave this village tonight, but trust me when I tell you this: Creed will not stop until he finds Neelahaim, and when he does, he will not spare any of you.”
Freddic followed Alaira as she stormed into her house followed by Horace, Klink, and a few other villagers. Freddic held her shaking shoulders and turned her to him. “I cannot leave my father to die, Alaira. I have to go and find him, but you must run towards Lake Tamaha tonight. There is a man, an aristocrat, who is my father’s trusted aid. He will assist you for a night.”
“You do not know how to fight. Take Horace and Klink along with you. Let them assist you in finding your father.”
Reddan, who had been watching them silently, spoke for the first time. “Why not just send Horace and Klink to Tireol, and you, Freddic, go along with Alaira? You know Lake Tamaha better than anyone in this village and will be able to guide her and Neelahaim.”
“But how will we enter the palace?” asked Horace. “We do not have Freddic’s carriages this time. The soldiers have seized them all.”
“We know a way inside the Tireol Palace that will not require horses or carriages,” said a young villager. He was built with muscles and strong shoulders, just like Horace.
Freddic seemed to consider for a moment and then nodded.
Reddan pulled out a long scroll, placed it on the kitchen table, and motioned for them to join him. He rolled it open as others bent over his shoulders to see an old, worn-out hand-drawn picture of a land reveal itself.
“Is this a map of Tireol?” asked Horace, squinting at tiny letters marked at the bottom of the old, worn sheet.
“Yes, it is. This map will aid Alaira in reaching the enchanted forests.” He pointed at an ‘X’ on the map and turned to Alaira. “The enchanted forests begin here. When you leave Lake Tamaha, take the hilly roads to enter Groigad from here.” Reddan traced his fingers along the path that connected Lake Tamaha to Groigad over the hills.
“Hilly paths will be rough to climb with Neelahaim,” said Alaira.
Freddic shook his head. “It won’t be if we have a horse. My father’s aid in Lake Tamaha will allow us to borrow one.”
Reddan nodded. “This path may be a bit hard to climb, but it’s easier to reach Groigad without Tireol soldiers looking for you.”
He then laid his finger on Groigad. “This is where you will have difficulties, as Groigad is always swarmed with soldiers.”
Alaira lifted one of her hands. “Leave that to me. I know of a trick that will baffle those soldiers.”
Reddan then ran his finger north on the map, where the ‘X’ was marked. “This is where Horace will meet you and Freddic with Inglan and Elora.”
“What then?” asked Alaira. The map did not indicate any further directions to the gate. It stopped at the ‘X’ symbol with an expanse of white space above.
“Once you reach the enchanted forests, you will have to find a way to reach the gate,” he said, rolling the map back into a scroll and handing it to Horace. “Take this with you, follow the path shown, and bring back my Elora.”
Horace did not need further encouragement. He nodded. “We will, Father, even if I have to sacrifice my life.” He turned to Klink and the villagers. “The task I seek is dangerous, one you do not need to follow. If you do not wish to follow me, I shall understand.”
“Creed is not only your enemy, but mine as well. You forget that it was Reddan who taught me how to fight and Inglan who gave my parents a home in Nimah. I will do anything you need to bring Elora back home. Besides, I cannot allow you to have all the fun!” Klink winked.
Horace laughed while the other villagers promised their support as well. They were in debt to Inglan, and Alaira knew they would do anything to assist in his escape.
“Then we must begin our journey to Lake Tamaha,” said Alaira.
Freddic nodded. “We shall travel on foot and not by any of Father’s horses. They all have our family seal on them. Anyone searching for us would know who we are.”
Horace looked concerned. “Lake Tamaha is the home for all the aristocrats. They might still recognize you both.”
“No one will recognize us,” said Freddic. “Father’s ally at Lake Tamaha will lend us horses for the journey. Creed will not think to look for us there. After all, aristocrats are his own men.”
After a while of discussion, Horace left with his aids, and Freddic retreated home to arrange for their journey, leaving Alaira wi
th Neelahaim and Reddan.
Reddan ambled towards his bedchamber to rest. Alaira followed him inside and sat on the ground beside him.
“You did not say how you would make the journey to the enchanted forests. I wish you would change your decision, Father. After all, Elora will be freed and we can be a family again!”
Reddan bent and kissed Alaira’s head. He held her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “Forgive me, my child. I wish to stay here, in this house, in Myrth, where memories of your mother, of raising you children, of Neelahaim’s laughter will keep me alive until it is my time to leave this life behind.”
Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheek. “How will we live without you, Father? I beg you to come with us. We can be a family again; we will start a new life together. You, me, Horace, Neelahaim, Elora—we are your family. Who will care for you if I am gone? Who will cut your vegetables, and make you stew? Who will give you baths when you reach an age where you cannot move?”
Reddan blinked back the moisture in his eyes. “Villagers will care for me when you are gone, and the rest I shall leave to the Gods above. I have lived my life, my dear child. Now it is your turn to live. Go, find a good man, marry him, birth your own children, and lead a fine life. I wish the same for Horace and Elora. Stay close to one another. That is what I wish for you.” He then released Alaira’s hands and laid on his bed. Alaira covered him with a quilt and stood by his side.
Day turned to night, but she stayed at his side as he drifted off to sleep. She memorized every wrinkle that covered his face and every breath he took. It was their last moment together, and she would leave before he awoke; that is what Freddic had told her when he visited her briefly to convey the news.
Father’s chest rose and fell lightly, and she watched him with tears in her eyes. He had spent his entire life caring for his family, raising her and Horace even after the loss of his wife. He did not forget his responsibilities, even when his own daughter, Elora, was taken away by Creed. He stayed strong only for them, with a hope that someday he would be reunited with Elora. His whole life, he had asked for nothing in return but only given to the villagers of Nimah. She rested her head on her father’s lap lightly without disturbing his sleep and closed her eyes.
It was their last night together, and she would spend it sleeping on his lap, just as she had done as a child.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Alaira and Freddic – Lake Tamaha
Alaira held Neelahaim tightly to her chest as they ran through the forest of Nimah. The forest, which started at the base of Nimah hills, stretched all the way and ended at Lake Tamaha. Freddic had promised the journey to be a short one, followed by a stay at someone’s home. One of Inglan’s aids had agreed to hide them in his home during the day, when soldiers travelled to different villages in search of them.
They had been travelling through the night, and she heaved as they came to stop in front of a tree. Freddic bent and held his hands to his knees, breathing heavily.
“How much longer?” she asked, looking up towards the sky, which turned lighter every step they took. Day fall was upon them, and the aristocrats would soon find them.
“It should not be long,” said Freddic. He reached out to Alaira and pulled Neelahaim from her arms. “I can hold him for a while.”
Alaira wiped the sweat dripping from her forehead with the back of her hand and leaned against the trunk of the tree; the rough surface scratched her back, but Alaira could not think of pain. They were a long way from home with no way of protecting themselves.
Alaira’s thought went back to her father. He had woken just as she was leaving, and she had begged him again to leave with them, but he had refused. Leave me here, I can distract them until you escape, he said, staying firm on his decision. It has to be this way, child. I am too old to run with you.
She wanted to run back home and take him away with her, but Creed’s army would be headed towards Nimah by now, and she could not risk Neelahaim’s life.
“We will find a way,” Freddic said, trying to read her thoughts. Neelahaim opened his eyes, as if waking up, but Freddic whispered in Neelahaim’s ear in a soft voice, the same voice he used to soothe his horses. Alaira watched him, mesmerized by the way his voice had a calming effect on Neelahaim and put him back to sleep.
As their eyes met, she felt a great surge of gratitude. Freddic had been on her side every day for the past few years, and not once had he asked for anything in return. She knew that he loved her and that maybe she could love him back the way he deserved, but her life was mingled with that of Elora and Creed. Inglan’s arrest had proved that anyone close to her and her family would be hurt, and she did not want that for Freddic. She wanted him to be free, to find another villager to love, to marry.
Fate had not destined them to be together, and she did not want to give him any hopes. Before she knew what she was doing, she put her arms around Freddic and Neelahaim and pulled them into an embrace. Freddic put his other arm around her and hugged her back.
“Lake Tamaha is not far,” he said, stroking her hair with tenderness. “We will rest for the day and then leave at nightfall again.”
She lifted her head and met his eyes. A deep unspoken feeling crossed her heart, but she could not allow herself to say the words. Freddic released her from his hold and held her hand as they trudged up the uneven path.
“Have you travelled on this path before?” asked Alaira, parting a tree branch that hung in front of her.
“Father and I travelled these paths often to deliver liquor to aristocrats. The path never seemed this long before.”
“That is because you always travelled in your carriages.”
Freddic nodded. “Are you tired?” he asked. “We can stop for a while.”
“My father trained me to be a warrior, remember? This is what warriors do.”
They fell into a rhythm, walking beside each other, assisting one another while climbing a hill, passing Neelahaim between them. They travelled for a while without speaking, each one thinking about their own family and friends they had left behind. They had stopped several times to feed Neelahaim and themselves, and Alaira wished they had brought Freddic’s horses to quicken their journey.
“There it is,” said Freddic after a while. In front of them, like a silver sheet, Lake Tamaha glittered under the rising sun. Tall trees and dense mountains surrounded the lake, as if protecting it from the outside world. Nestled on either sides of the lake were rows of houses, unlike any she had ever seen.
Each house looked like a palace, only smaller. Their homes were made of stone, and their roofs spiraled upwards like the towers of Tireol palace. Windows in each house started at the roof and ended near the ground. Why would anyone have such large windows? she thought. Some would call these houses artistic, but she found them not to her taste. She preferred the cozy home she lived in, smaller windows that could be shut anytime she wanted, sitting by the fire, listening to Father’s stories.
“Freddic, is that you?” A man revealed himself from behind one of the trees and approached them slowly. He looked the same age as Inglan and had on a white robe.
“Thiran!” said Freddic. He hastened towards the man and they embraced each other.
“It has been a long time, son. I almost did not recognize you.”
“He is my father’s oldest friend,” Freddic said to Alaira. She smiled at him, and he bowed in respect.
“I have heard a lot about you, Alaira,” he said. Alaira raised her eyebrows, surprised that anyone had heard of her at all.
“Inglan spoke highly of your valor and bravery.”
Alaira could not believe her ears. “Inglan spoke of me?” She had always thought Inglan disliked her.
“Yes,” said Thiran. “He was very proud to have a warrior such as you in his village. It is my honor to serve you in whatever way I can.”
Inglan had never been a man of too many words. She always thought his loyalty only lay with his workers and his son.
Knowing that he said kind words about her melted her heart.
They followed Thiran until they reached a house similar to the others. He lifted his hands to knock on the door. When the door opened, a woman stood in front of them with a huge smile on her face.
“Hurry and come in, lest someone should see you,” she said.
They entered one after the other into a large hall where every wall was covered with small portraits of Thiran with his family. The woman who stood in front of them was also in every portrait, along with four children. They must be a family, thought Alaira.
The woman showed her to a soft-cushioned chair, and Alaira stared at it as if it were an exquisite ornament. It could sell for a fortune and feed a family of nine, she thought, tracing her fingers over the silk cover. The calloused skin of her finger caught a strand of silk from the cushion, and when she removed her finger, it pulled, causing a wrinkle in the silk. Alaira removed her hand, immediately embarrassed at spoiling the cushion, and sat down without touching anything else.
Neelahaim, who had now woken up, sat quietly on his chair. Alaira turned to the woman. “You have been kind to us, but my nephew is hungry. Can you please spare him some food?”
“Of course!” said the woman, rushing to the kitchen and retrieving a plate of fruits and breads. Neelahaim snatched some bread and tore into it, while Thiran showed Freddic his home.
“Your child may sleep on my son’s bed. He is away to visit our relatives,” said the woman.
Alaira opened her mouth to correct her mistake and tell her the child was not theirs, but Freddic intervened.
“It is very gracious of you to allow us to live here. We thank you from all our heart.”
“There is enough food for the three of you in the kitchen. Eat well and rest for the day, dear. You have to leave for Groigad at nightfall. You will need all the strength for such a long journey.”
Alaira nodded and thanked them once more before they left them alone to eat. As soon as Thiran and his wife retired to their chambers, warm hands engulfed her from behind; Freddic lowered his head into the nook of her neck, inhaling her scent. Alaira leaned her back into his chest and allowed him to hold her for a while. There had not been many occasions where they could remain in each other’s embrace without being noticed.
