The Rise of the Dematians: An Epic Mage Fantasy Adventure (Legend of the Ecta Mastrino Book 4)

by BJ Hanlon

  “Say something…” Dorset whispered.

  “It’s spreading. Like a plague of locusts devouring the green world and turning it brown and yellow.”

  “The fog is?”

  “The swamps of old are. They’re reclaiming the land,” Edin said.

  “You’re scaring me…” Dorset shivered. “Are you saying the earth itself is changing?”

  Edin didn’t answer. “Come, we need to go.”

  The swamp water did not reach the cliff face, it stopped some fifteen feet from the rock. They hiked behind their guide around fallen boulders and beneath leaning naked trees.

  Edin’s shoulder was feeling better now but he kept it in a sling.

  Berka, who’d taken charge when Edin went missing took up the rear. The thought of Berka at his back comforted Edin in a way that made him uncomfortable. Could he trust a Por Fen?

  The sound of the falls began to crash in the murk.

  A while later, they reached the waterfall and a switchback trail that led up the cliff that had become a hill.

  The trail was steep and there were many slippery stones covered in a damp gray fungus. At times, the fungus would seem to move around his foot like a bed of writhing snakes.

  Edin threw that picture from his mind as quickly as he could. If he never saw another snake again, he’d be happy.

  The fog began to thin as if a wind were blowing it away and as his head pierced the cloud he was blinded by sunshine.

  Then, the wind hit him. It chilled him like he was back in the mountains. It was sharp and cold and stole his breath for a moment that caused panic.

  A hand gripped his shoulder. “You alright?” Berka said quietly behind him.

  Edin’s teeth danced together in a tapping jig.

  The air grew thinner and the rotten odor of the swamp fell away. As he looked back east, he saw the yellowish fog hanging like a putrid cloud with few trees poking out. Skeletal hands reaching up from the grave.

  A ways away, to the northeast, he could see a single tree that rose out of the mist almost a hundred feet. It was branchless and barren and he thought it a pole.

  “The elven tower,” Edin whispered knowing it was true.

  They reached the trailhead and were suddenly in a wide open plain. About fifty yards south was the gentle falls. A long decent for the clear water before merging with the soup of decay.

  They rested and ate a few rations since the climb took a lot out everyone. The old couple and El were huddled together with Berka standing guard over them like a sentinel.

  To the west was a hilly landscape with few trees and a great river flowing through and twinkling from a golden sun that offered no warmth.

  “I wish we wouldn’t have lost the cloaks…” Arianne shuddered next to him.

  He could barely respond as the wind sapped his breath.

  “Put your tunic over your mouth,” she said. “It helps.”

  There was no wood for a fire. Edin stamped his feet to try and keep moving. He almost wanted to climb back down into the swamp just for the warmth. Almost.

  They began hiking again and according to Dorset, it was four days to the lake. They’d left the boats behind, unable to portage them up the hill.

  They followed the river; it was freezing cold and there were floating slabs of ice. Toes and fingers began to lose feeling. Henny offered Arianne his cloak which hung over her like a bedsheet on a toddler. She was grateful and Henny hung his bed roll around himself.

  They stopped frequently to eat. Yechill said that eating often would keep up the energy, but not eating a lot as that would sap it. He said this of course through Dorset whose translations were choppy.

  That night, as they sat near the barely moving river, snow began to fall. They were thick white flakes, some the size of Edin’s palm. The ground was warmer than the air at first and the snow melted, but soon a small carpet covered them. There was no fire still and the forest on the horizon looked a thousand leagues away.

  Edin shivered all night, his hand shoved in his armpits and sucked on them to try and not lose all the feeling. It didn’t work.

  The morning came and the snow continued growing almost two inches high now. They had to make the forest today; at least it’d provide cover and fuel for a fire.

  There was no talking, just the anonymous grunt and shiver. Berka and he wore no cloaks, just long-sleeved tunics.

  Berka had given his cloak to the family and Edin noticed him sharing quick glances with El.

  They marched, a slow ragged band of travelers going into a dangerous land. There were moments when the sun broke through the clouds and the snow stopped, once for barely twenty seconds, another time for almost an hour.

  Around midafternoon, they began up a sloping knoll that seemed to swerve around in the distance like a serpent.

  “Burial mound…” Dorset said. “Sacred.”

  “Then should we be walking on it?” Edin asked.

  Dorset shrugged, “Yechill is.”

  Finally, they reached the trees and stopped. In the shade of the forest, fewer flakes made it to the ground as Dorset created a fire. Arianne threw half of the huge cloak over Edin.

  “Don’t know how much more of this I can take…” Berka shuddered across the fire. His eyes were locked on Edin who knew exactly how he felt.

  “You don’t have a choice…” Arianne said, her voice like a child’s rattle.

  Yechill spoke softly to Dorset and he glanced up. “We’re in the woods of the Foci Dun Bornu, these are good woods in the winter. Plenty of game and shelter. Their village is a day north in the hills of… something.”

  “The dematians probably destroyed it,” Edin said, “as they did the Nocitoe.”

  Dorset translated and Yechill straightened his back, speaking quietly. “We are hidden, not like the Nocitoe at the edge of the water. It may still stand and if time permits, I’d like to visit. There could be shelter and supplies,” Dorset said as if he were the tribesman.

  “Shelter sounds good,” Berka said. “We’ll freeze before we ever get out of this place and I for one don’t want to go back through the swamp.”

  “Agreed,” Henny said. The big man had been quiet. He carried the largest pack and acted more like a mule. Half the time, Edin barely remembered the farmhand was there.

  “We do need to make the fjords, Edin,” Arianne reminded. “I’m guessing the tundra there will make this feel like a summer’s holiday. If there’s something left, something we can use at his village… I think we should try.”

  Edin glanced at Yechill and nodded.

  They sat for an hour until Edin felt almost sweaty. Then

  it was another slog through old, fallen leaves. Some trees were near bare, others held a few leaves still. Firs and evergreens provided a break from the wind.

  Suddenly, the wind struck at him like a whip and Edin shivered, hating his life at that moment.

  The ground shifted from mounds to cols to more flatland. Dead branches were cracked and strewn about and small critters fluttered in and out of dirt and snow tunnels.

  It was near twilight when Yechill stopped them with a hand up. Berka bumped into Edin’s back a bit clumsily. His boot caught the back of Edin’s heel and raked it.

  Edin was already feeling testy, the day had grown colder and the wind was barely even hampered by the trees.

  “Watch your step,” Edin yelled.

  “Oh go take it up the—”

  “Ssh,” Someone whispered from ahead.

  Edin glared at Berka, his cheeks were as rosy as his hair and he was glaring with bloodshot eyes. Ginger through and through.

  Edin slowly turned stomping his feet in place and waiting to hear the greatsword being drawn… then Berka would see his powers. His true powers…

  “What is it?” Arianne whispered to Henny who was just in front of them.

  “Not sure.”

  Edin began to walk around the big farmhand when he blocked his path with a wide arm. “Let me go past.” />
  “You don’t move when he tells you to stop.”

  “I’m the—”

  “Shut up Edin,” hissed Arianne.

  They were all yelling at him, hurting him and all he wanted was to not be so darned cold. Why were they stopping? Not knowing was driving him a bit wild.

  He hated all of them, everything about north of the mountains was true. That’s why no one ever lived here, it was a place of horror and misery.

  Something twanged in the silence and there was quick movement somewhere ahead of them. Suddenly, Yechill and then the group began to rush forward in the dying light. Edin followed at a near sprint. The wind sheared through his thin tunic and burned his face and ears.

  Then they stopped after about five seconds.

  At the front of the line, Yechill was kneeling in the snow over a brown bulk. He held his hands, palm up over it with his eyes closed.

  It was a deer. A large ten-point buck and there was an arrow sticking partially out of the deer’s chest right behind its front leg. A perfect shot.

  “Did he make that shot in the twilight?” Berka asked, his face a wonder.

  Dorset put his fingers to his lips and they stood around the carcass quietly. Then Yechill pulled out a small knife and began to cut it up. There was a quick slice here and there and then the skin was removed.

  He butchered much of the deer and began to distribute the body parts. The hindquarter Edin had was warm and made his fingers tingle with blood flow.

  About half of it was left and untouched. He sawed off the antlers and placed them in the snow around the animal as if in some sort of ritual.

  “Antulete has provided us a boon. In return, we offer the sweetest meats and the strongest horns,” Dorset said. “Now we must be off, you do not stay while wolves roam.”

  They began forward again, the warmth from the exertion and the hindquarters faded quickly and now he wasn’t just cold, he was carrying a thirty-pound piece of raw venison.

  Edin grumbled for probably another two leagues before they stopped. The half-moon was out giving much light to a snowy land.

  He couldn’t smell anything and was certain the hairs in his nose were frozen solid like spear tips.

  They camped in a small open clearing that looked to have been used before. With the fire going, Edin wondered how long it’d be before he was fully defrosted… if he ever would be.

  They sliced hunks of meat and cooked it. It melted in his mouth as the juices invigorated him like he couldn’t have imagined only an hour earlier.

  Yechill, the unending bundle of energy took first watch as Edin laid down nearest the fire.

  Berka slept near it as well with his feet near Edin’s head. He’d have to hope the big man didn’t kick him in his sleep.

  “Sorry for snapping at you,” Edin whispered.

  Berka turned his head and seemed to look down at him. Then he looked away, his face impassive like one of those statues in the tower. A big ginger elf.

  Edin grinned, wondering if there were elves with brilliant red hair and fell asleep.

  Sometime in the night, he was shaken awake. “Watch,” Yechill said with little difficulty. He pointed two fingers toward his eyes and then out to the forest.

  Edin nodded and pried himself up from the ground.

  Yechill draped his cloak around Edin before lying on his spot then tapped Edin’s leg. “Brother… is good man.”

  It took him a moment to realize what he was saying. Fokill. Edin then nodded and walked out of the firelight. The bearskin cloak was just as warm as the one from the isle. Possibly warmer and despite the cold breath and freezing ears, Edin felt okay.

  After an uneventful watch, daybreak came and they continued north. At least as far as Edin could tell with the clouds having come in through the night to blanket the land.

  Edin shivered and stomped his feet to try and bring some feeling into them, but it was of little use.

  It took almost all of the day, an uneventful and quiet day of a gentle uphill climb, before they emerged from the wood at the top of a huge oval bowl. Half a mile across and at least a league wide.

  Across the bowl were mountains, the peaks of which were covered with glaciers so vast that it looked to be a single wall.

  At the center, were six concentric rings of snow-covered homes that were quieter than the forest they’d just passed through.

  Yechill grinned and started down the snowy incline toward the village. Further to the west, nearly a mile away, a break in the bowl appeared like the handle of a giant spoon.

  They trudged through knee-high snow on the decent and everyone but Yechill fell at least once. The Foci warrior seemed to almost glide through the snow ahead of them.

  When Edin reached the outskirts of the village, the man was nowhere to be seen. His tracks continued toward the center though.

  “There,” Arianne said pointing through breaks in the homes to a long building north of them with wafts of smoke rising from the center.

  Edin followed the footsteps and smoke to a log cabin. The door was open and it was dim but for a small blaze glowing in the middle.

  The building was a single giant room of dirt floors and a small skylight at the center let the smoke waft out.

  Yechill said something to Dorset and grinned. “He likes starting the fires,” Dorset said.

  “You taught him the spell?” Arianne gasped.

  “Not for the unending fire, just to start one.”

  “Isn’t that against their religion or something? Only the Suuli can learn that skill?”

  Dorset shrugged. “It felt wrong to deny him the request after he’s taken us so far. It’s the least we can do.”

  Edin didn’t care. He found wooden benches lining the walls and with Henny’s help, carried four around the growing fire.

  Soon though it was too hot and they had to move them back a few feet.

  Arianne leaned into him.

  “Shelter…” she whispered. “I forgot what it was like.”

  Edin laughed and wrapped an arm around her. After all of the time he’d spent travelling, he’d never been as cold as he had the last couple of days. Even being alone in the Crady Mountains was more pleasant.

  “Tomorrow, we go to the lake,” Dorset said. “It’s a one-day trip, maybe more depending on snow.”

  “Are there any cloaks or furs around?” Berka asked and pulled on his shirt collar.

  Yechill nodded and spoke to Dorset, his hands moving about in exaggerated gestures like a person showing off their home. Then he faced the fire and looked sad.

  “There should be, some of our people did not make the journey. Some were too old, others did not wish to die in a foreign land. There has been no sign of life here since the snow.”

  “A graveyard…” Edin whispered. “Just like Glustown.” This would happen everywhere if the dematians ran free. Then there was the swamps…

  That was not a pretty thought.

  There was still much daylight left, though no one wanted to venture outside. Maybe not even the next day. Could they stay here a few days before heading to the lake? Edin wondered. Dorset and El’s grandmother cooked up the venison while Edin stared at the meat and salivated.

  His stomach rumbled and hurt. He had to take his mind off it. Edin stood and gazed around the room. A reflection of light appeared in a shadowed corner. Edin rubbed his eyes thinking that a snowflake or a drop of water had gotten in.

  But it was still there. He tilted his head a bit and saw it was something wet. A puddle. Edin stepped over the bench and walked across the dirt floor. As he approached, he saw a large hammer, a maul really, upside down with the shaft leaning in the corner.

  Edin reached it and bent down to examine the weapon. There were nicks in the metal and he saw a dark viscus liquid. Dematian blood. He reached for it but paused an inch away. There were drips frozen in their tracks…like tears.

  Edin glanced around the corner. With the faraway firelight it was hard to see and there was no flo
or for blood to pool.

  Edin raised his hand and the ball of white light appeared. Then he saw it. Large spots in the brown dirt were stained a darker reddish color. He stood and saw the outline of a body complete with the head, shoulders, and arms.

  Either something died on top of a prone man, or the man died and bled out from a wound to the chest.

  Yechill said something that startled Edin as he didn’t notice the warrior approach. Yechill pointed toward a wall and blood splatter. A foot and a half long streak that turned into a tear.

  The others were moving closer and looking at the scene.

  “Someone died here…” Dorset whispered.

  That was obvious. “What confuses me,” Edin said, “is why is the hammer standing up in the corner like it was set there purposely.”

  “Dematians don’t use those, do they?” Arianne asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Edin said.

  Yechill bent down over the blood stain and ran a forefinger through it. He put the bits of dirt into his mouth and smacked his lips.

  “That’s gross,” Arianne said.

  In a slow gravelly voice, Yechill said. “No Foci…”

  “Animal?” Edin asked. “Or dematian?”

  “Demon…” Yechill said.

  A man walked out of here alive and left his weapon. And where was the dematian body? Edin moved toward the door following drops of red dirt. “The man was hurt,” Edin said.

  Yechill threw open the door and looked out into the white landscape. A gust of freezing air crashed in with flakes of snow that fluttered and disappeared in the warmth.

  Edin glanced away and at the column of smoke rising from their longhouse. A chill ran up his spine. If there was one dematian, there were probably more.

  “Barricade the door,” Edin said quickly. “The smoke will give away our presence.”

  “We should leave,” Arianne said. “Let’s get to the lake and find this...” she waived her hand around as if trying to find a word. It didn’t come. “This whatever it is and then get out of here.”

  “Right,” Edin said.

  Berka spoke then, “You want to go in this temperature? You’ve got to be joking. We need to search for supplies… specifically cloaks and warm weather gear.”

  “I’ll help,” Dorset said touching his hand to his sword hilt. Yechill and Arianne nodded.