by RG Long
The aftermath.
It was always a slow, painful gathering of the living. The long, dreary process of sorting out the dead. Both armies had left in full now. Isol had sailed back to their islands on boats that looked terrible and hardly seaworthy. Demons, or so the rumor had been.
Juttis had overtaken what was left of the Theocracy’s army. The devastating explosion that rocked half the battlefield had wiped out nearly all of the military that had marched from Prommus and some of the reserves as well.
Only a quarter of those who came to war now took the weary road home.
Ladis would recover, but it would take years. Decades, perhaps.
The only good Octus could see out of this was the slow, peaceful years they might endure while the rebuilding took place.
It was a dream if it was anything.
He meandered slowly west. There would be no welcome party for him. No hero’s welcome. Octus hated being a hero. The only thing that had given him such a title was his ability to survive another battle. That was all.
The wars that had consumed Ladis, Isol and the Disputed Lands had consumed him as well. There was hardly anything left to live for.
Crows and birds of prey circled above, waiting to feast on the dead below. Octus watched one swoop down and begin to pick at a body, only to be shooed away by two people kneeling on the ground. Octus kicked aside an old, torn and tattered book as he walked towards them.
One wore the brown robes of a temple guard. The other was...different. Not just someone, Octus realized.
An elf.
He walked closer to the elf realizing that the long ears that poked out from its head were hidden by long locks of hair. A female?
Elves had not walked the lands of Ladis for generations. He had only heard tales of them from long ago on other continents.
What was one doing here?
Without even realizing it, Octus was walking up to the elf. His hand was on the sword he had scavenged, something made in the land of Isol and possessing a rimstone in its hilt. They were valuable and usually well maintained. And he would use it if he needed.
Turning to face him, he saw the elf had tear tracks running down her face. The temple guard appeared to be unsure of what to do. She held a small flask of water and was wetting the wounded person’s mouth.
“Please spare us,” she said. “She’s wounded and needs help.”
Octus raised an eyebrow as he looked down and saw a girl who had the strangest color hair he had ever seen. It was brilliantly red, the same red as a flame. But her face was...
“Olma?” Octus said, not believing his own voice had spoken her name. He bent down beside the elf and looked over the girl she cradled in her lap. Her skin was covered in strange markings. Her hair was a different color. But her face. It was the face of his brother and his wife. There could be no doubt.
“What...” Octus began to say. “What happened? Why is she here? How did she?”
“Shh,” the elf said calmly. “In time. Right now she needs to rest. Luca here is being helpful to us, right Luca?”
The woman nodded, though she cast a wary glance up at Octus.
Octus could see that the elf was caring for Olma as tenderly as if she was her own. That gave him some comfort, but also made a dozen more questions fly through his mind all at once.
“Who are you?” the elf asked. “And how do you know her?”
Octus stared into the elven eyes that looked deeply into his own.
He let out a soft, slow breath, realizing that even in the midst of death and destruction and chaos, there was something worth fighting another day for.
“I’m her uncle,” he said.
58: Eastward
Holve guided them east when the armies had cleared. He told them that he had written a letter a month ago that he hoped had gotten out past the war on Ladis and made it to its recipient. If it had, they should go to Tremus and wait there.
Now that they had his spear, Blume’s amulet, Jargon’s spells books, Gorplin’s ax, and Ealrin’s sword, there was no reason to stay on Ladis. They were the most precious items they possessed.
Save for Ealrin’s journal.
He wrote in it often. Some days it was only a few lines by the firelight of their camp. Other days, like when they stopped at a village who had offered them a barn to sleep in for the night, he wrote considerably more.
It was surprising how Ladis continued on even after the collapse of the war and the heads of the Theocracy. The wars of the high and mighty seemed to matter little to the farmer and his family who were just trying to make the land grow.
Ealrin watched them eat a meal around a fire by their house. The father lifted up the bread he had gotten from inside their modest hut and kept it there for a moment. Then he brought it down and tore off a piece for his wife, then his daughter, then his son.
Ealrin raised an eyebrow at this, unsure what was going on.
Serinde sighed next to him.
“He’s being thankful for what he has,” she said. “Thanking the old god Decolos for blessing their farm and praying that they would have a good spring and that none of their family would be ushered to death’s door before their time.”
Ealrin turned to look at her.
“Olma told me,” she said simply. She didn’t take her eyes off the family but instead stared intently at them. The daughter turned to see them sitting just outside the barn and waved at Serinde. The elf nodded in return but did not wave.
“You really were close to her,” Ealrin said. He didn’t mean it as a question for Serinde to answer. More of a statement that he had just realized was true. The two had shared many conversations together late into the night. Serinde seemed fascinated by the girl. Like she was learning from her. It was odd that an elf who was so much older and had lived through so much could glean anything from one so young.
But Serinde had. And she was recalling it now for Ealrin’s benefit.
They had sent Olma on with her uncle and Miss Rivius. A small village one day behind had agreed to help them and care for Olma. She was in no shape to travel. But she was alive. It was more than he could have hoped for. Serinde had promised them she would return and visit again with her. Olma had smiled weakly at that prospect. Serinde had cried silently most of the day after they had left. She really did care for the little girl.
It was like him and Blume. Well, when she was in the right state of mind.
He turned to look over at her in the barn. She wore his coat, as she had done since the battle. A constant state of cold followed her wherever she went and no matter how close she got to the fire. At least she wasn’t unconscious, and beyond reach, Ealrin reminded himself. She was in shock. Still fighting the demons, but only those in her mind. Since the battle had finished, the demons had fled with the armies. The comet continued its dark pilgrimage across the sky. Ealrin knew they’d be back. They were always back.
She would come out of it in time.
That’s what Ealrin told himself over and over again. That Blume would get better.
They traveled the week it took them to walk from the shores of the battle to Tremus, never going more than a day would allow and ensuring they had enough food to travel between villages. Szabo was extremely helpful in this. He knew the land so well that most of the time, Holve allowed the halfling to tell them the path they should take.
It was a day before they would reach their destination that Ealrin began to feel the winds coming from a different direction. Instead of up from the south, he felt a calm west wind. One that carried with it the smell of the sea.
They had not been far from the southern shores, so when the smell found him, he was surprised. Had he not been paying attention to it before this? Or was this a different body of water he could smell?
Holve looked at the countryside around them. Ealrin wondered if he could sense the change as well.
“We’ll be there tomorrow,” he said.
That was it.
Ealrin let hi
s shoulders slump. There were many questions he had yet to find answers to. And, for some reason that he could not yet understand or determine, he left them unasked.
He hadn’t thought of what would happen once they reached East Town. Perhaps they would find Holve’s contact and then they would get off of Ladis.
Where they would go from there, Ealrin didn’t know. He wasn’t quite sure he cared. The desire to flee this continent was burning him from the inside. He needed to get away from the land that had brought him here against his will. For once, he even considered returning to Ruyn. Maybe even Good Harbor. There was a feeling of home that the place gave him when he remembered it. Home. The thought struck him as they crested a hill and looked down on East Town.
Good Harbor wasn’t his home.
There was another place that had to be.
He surveyed the port that was laid out before him. There were three ships docked there. At the sight of one, however, his spirits lifted considerably.
Because it had red sails.
59: Towards Unfamiliar Homelands
Blume sat uneasily on the railing of the Skydart. It had been a year since she had last sat on the vessel, and it had not been under the greatest of circumstances that she had left it. Their last adventure into Ladis had revealed much about the companions she sailed with.
She took a deep breath. The sea air was both refreshing and disheartening. Both times she and these friends had sailed away from a continent, it had been with plans of adventure ahead of them and sorrows behind them.
Would they see even more sorrows unfold in their new quest?
“I know that look,” came a familiar and comforting voice. Blume didn’t even have to turn around. She let Ealrin put a hand on her shoulder as she leaned back against him. They had almost lost each other so many times during their travels.
This last time had been the closest one yet.
She had really felt the pull of that demon. That Rayg. He had nearly convinced her in her state of magic to tap into the power he had offered her. To see Olma nearly torn apart in her wake was what had woken her up.
Had she not attempted to sacrifice herself to save Blume, would she really have gone over? Could she be so persuaded by power to give in to a demon’s call?
She shuddered. Ealrin gripped her shoulder more tightly. She knew it was to comfort her. But was she someone who ought to be comforted? Or should she be feared?
“We’re going to find out what my story is,” Ealrin said. “We’re going to find my family. If they’re out there.”
Blume closed her eyes tightly before opening them again, hoping to regain a bit of herself.
“They are,” she said. He was doing so much to comfort her. She should at least return the favor. “I’m sure they are.”
Ealrin didn’t say anything. He just put his other hand on the railing and looked out over the sea in front of them. Blume turned her head so she could look up at him. His eyes seemed unfocused, almost as if they weren’t looking at the sky or the water, but at something Blume couldn’t see.
“What is it?” she asked.
Turning herself to get a good look at him, Blume saw that Ealrin had an expression painted on his face that she could tell did not communicate what was going on in his heart. There was something darker behind his eyes.
The other members of their party went about their normal activity. Felecia and Urt stood at the wheel, steering the ship onwards. Galp was close to them, eyeing the larger Skrilx with an appraising eye. Gorplin and Jurrin sat over a stack of blades, sharpening and inspecting them as they came to them. Holve was nearby, huddled over a railing himself.
Blume remembered that the older man didn’t care much for the sea.
Ealrin’s attention was drawn up to where Silverwolf sat in the crow’s nest with Wisym. From the looks of it, the pair kept a silent vigil over the horizon. The assassin hadn’t said much since they had made their way eastward. That didn’t bother Blume too badly. She had proven to be a useful ally at times. She was also a pain in the neck.
A growl from below reminded her that Panto and Amrolan were also along for the ride. They were whole again.
As much as they could be at least. Teresa moved from the front of the ship and nodded at the pair of them. Ealrin took his gaze back to the horizon, not meeting Blume’s eyes.
Was it something he felt about her?
He had seen her power. Her full power. Had it scared him? He had been the one who had nursed her back to health. She had returned the favor when the wars of Irradan had nearly done him in.
Had he experienced something this time that he couldn’t reconcile? Was he going to distance himself from her, even as he kept a hand on her?
Maybe it wasn’t to comfort her, but to make sure she was watched over? To keep the rest of them safe?
“You fear what you do not yet understand,” came a voice from Ealrin’s side.
Blume nearly fell off the railing of the ship. The only thing that stopped her was Ealrin’s firm grip on her arm. Pulling her back onto the deck, Ealrin looked behind him.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
“What was that?” Blume asked, just as confused as Ealrin seemed.
“The correct question,” the voice said again from Ealrin’s hip. “Is who is that? And I am more than willing to speak.”
“I know that voice,” Holve said as he took several steps up the deck to the pair of them. “Is that really you?”
Ealrin looked to his left and right, a puzzled expression on his face.
Holve shook his head, pointing to the sword at Ealrin’s side.
“Draw your blade,” Holve said shortly.
Slowly, Ealrin stood up straight and did as he was told, eyeing Holve cautiously.
The sword slid out of its sheath and shone in the twin suns. Other members of the crew had directed their attention at them now. Blume looked up to see that even Silverwolf was looking down at them.
“Ah!” Ealrin said. “It’s hot!”
“Sorry,” the voice said again. “I’ve been having difficulty changing since I found my voice again.”
Holve shook his head. Blume even saw a small smile on the old man’s face.
“Edgar it is good to hear you once again!”
“Mister Ealrin,” Jurrin said quietly. “I believe your sword is talking to us.”
“Well, I’ll be a princess,” Felicia said, putting her hands on her hips. “Edgar!”
“Who is Edgar?” Blume asked, not understanding why Holve had named the voice coming out of the blade, or why there was a voice coming out of it at all.
“The spirit in the enchanted armor?” Ealrin asked. “From the White Wind? It’s... You’re in my sword?”
These last words he spoke to the blade in his hand.
“And have been for some time,” Edgar, the voice of the blade said. “My voice has been silent for so long because I could not yet find a way to speak. The last duel between the forces of magic seemed to have unlocked that for me. I wish I could be more excited about the prospects of speech. For I have news that may not be so well received as I am.”
Blume looked up at Ealrin. He looked down at her with confusion on his face, but not in fear. That alone gave her hope.
“Hey!” came Felicia's call from the wheel. “Do you call yourself a captain or do you reckon I should learn how to fly this thing? We’ll take three times as long on water!”
Ealrin looked down at Blume with a smirk before running back to take the helm from Felecia. Blume felt the ship lurch and bump as it began to slowly rise out of the water, its sails jutting out to the side, and soar into the sky.
“Easy, flyboy!” Silverwolf called down from the crow’s nest.
It seemed that even as they flew towards the west, there were new adventures in store for them and the odd family that they had turned into.
Blume leaned herself against the rails of the Skydart and shook her head.
No matter where they went, magic
and mystery followed them. She leaned her head to the side and observed the oddly shaped blade Ealrin had carried for the last two years that had, inexplicably, learned to talk.
A smile found its way to her lips.
They were off on an adventure again.
Author Notes
This particular title deserves a small note from me.
It’s my ninth book and the third trilogy in my “Legends of Gilia” series.
When I first started writing these books back in November of 2013, I had this massive and wild idea that I should write five trilogies for the five continents of the world I had created in my head.
We’ve now explored more than half of them!
But there is more to come and I’m so excited about the next trilogy! I’ve been dangling the carrot out in front of you for a long time, and you have been so patient in waiting. That’s why I’m so excited for this next trilogy story arc.
Because we’re finally going to get an answer to the question I’ve put to you since the second chapter of Sword of Ruyn:
Who is Ealrin?
Well, now we’re flying off to Redact.
It’s time we found out who our hero is and where he came from.
The wonderful thing for an author, I’ve discovered as I’ve been writing, is to find that his or her readers are excited for what’s to come. There is a bit of mystery still to be had. I’ve known since I wrote the first book who Ealrin was and what he would find when he arrived in Redact.
I’m so excited to share it with you!
But, even more exciting to me, is that there is a second and much more burning question that I hope you’ve been asking yourselves this whole time. It’s not a thing that I’ve alluded to directly. I’ve actually intentionally kept it secret. But it’s there. And it’s something more pressing for the world of Gilia than the history and backstory of our protagonist.
Fate brought Ealrin his companions.
And fate will determine that it is those very same ones who have been under our noses this whole time with secrets far greater than Ealrin’s.
