by Kala Merseal
“The touch of the void is above its magick, Cirith,” Misandreas continued, her voice a mutter as she pulled away from Raethin. “We must consider the likelihood of it failing.”
“We cleanse his body first, then proceed with Rakeva’s guidance.” A twinge of doubt flickered at his own words, as Rakeva remained silent since they picked up the mortals.
The attendants unclothed Raethin and a shudder ran through the observers at the sight of his wounds. Massive bruises and cuts adorned his skin. Black veins already sprouted from his wound, pulsing up his torso, to his throat. A large fist-sized hole clotted on his backside, the other end of the fatal wound. Blood dried across his back, a mixture of crusted crimson and black tar.
The guardian’s golden blood had only stopped the progression, not cured it. The grim realization sent trepidation through Cirith and he barked for the attendants to hurry and submerge the mortal.
The attendants took his body tentatively and steadily lowered him into the waters.
Upon first contact, the liquid glowed, and a reverberation went across its surface. Everyone stilled as they waited for another response. When the water settled, they continued to lower him into the pool.
Fully submerged, the attendants held the mortal in suspension, then turned questioning gazes to Cirith, waiting for the next command. Bubbles of breath churned to the surface—the water did not choke him, a sign that the magical substance accepted his presence.
“Keep him submerged for three hours and observe any changes,” Cirith said. “Then we will quarantine him as he rests and heals."
Three hours. The druids stirred, eyeing one another. No one was supposed to stay in the waters for more than a few minutes.
“Tend to princess and her companions,” Cirith muttered to Misandreas. “Bring a vial of sacred water if you must.”
Cirith turned and left the cavern, shuffling up the steps to the main level. Fatigue settled in his bones as the druids bustled around him, their anxiety of the new arrivals filling the air.
He hesitated at the steps then turned for another set of stairs, leading up to the council’s living quarters. First, Cirith would rest, then he would return to worry about the mortals. He trusted his people, despite their confusion and doubt in him, and he trusted that his goddess knew what she was doing in instructing him.
As Cirith settled for rest, he called out once more for guidance from Rakeva, and silence answered him.
Chapter Ten
Two days had passed since the druids hauled the mortals into their keep. When Nyphelia woke in the infirmary, she and Arlow were ushered to their own quarters. Max stayed bedridden, despite their healing progression. The healers demanded that they rested, and they were not to deny the druids their demands in their home.
Ara woke at the end of the second day, when twilight descended on the keep. She lay in a cot beside Max, her head and arms heavily bandaged. A druidess had sat down beside her when she stirred, wetting a soft cotton rag to wipe excess sweat from her bared skin.
Her eyes flickered open, bloodshot and swollen. She first noticed the person looming over her with jade, glimmering skin, ivy hair, hooded gem eyes that tilted in a much more defined way than elves’ eyes.
Ara paled and pulled her gaze from the druidess to glance around. She saw Max resting beside her, and Arlow hovering at the foot of her bed with Nyphelia nestled into his side.
Relief washed over her when memories of the battle flooded back.
They had survived. Druids had rescued her and her companions, and she thanked the gods that she breathed. A faint smile crawled on her face as she let out a breath.
Yet with another glance around the room, she caught the solemn expressions. A rush of cold overtook her relief.
“Where is Veron?” Ara asked, her voice croaking. “Where is Raethin?”
“Veron is gone,” Arlow said.
Ara's stomach dipped, remembering how the demons gutted the warrior. She prayed for his safe keeping in the Netherworld.
“And Raethin?” Her voice was stronger than she expected, and a blush crawled up her neck. She cleared her throat.
“He is tainted,” the druidess spoke. A slight tremble rolled through her words as she schooled her expression. “We do not welcome taint, but our Guardian thought his life worthy to save. You should thank him for his mercy, child.”
“Save?” The blush quickly faded as she paled. What had she missed?
“The majat tainted the elf,” the druidess said. “A rav'la’s power is great but with our goddess’s guidance we are able to halt the taint.”
“What happened?”
The druidess frowned, then looked to the other mortals.
“Raethin took on the horned Kaevari alone,” Arlow said. “By the time the druids came, Max was knocked down and Veron was dead. The demon that attacked you had run off, and the other demon almost killed me. Rae injured the Kaevari and angered him, and he had gutted him. When the druids got there, that demon’s blood must have gotten into Rae’s wound. He was about to kill him when Cirith scared him off.”
“Cirith?”
“The mortal name of our Guardian,” the druidess said, crossing her arms. “You speak too plainly of him. He is to be respected, especially by mortals.”
“Then why?” Ara shifted to sit up straight, wincing when a pounding headache whirled in her temples. “Why save him?”
“We do not question Rasilvanor,” the druidess responded with a shrug. “He is our goddess’s voice and consort. If the goddess commands and Rasilvanor speaks, then we do.”
Ara mulled quietly and looked at Arlow, catching his scrutiny.
“Where is he now?”
“The taint is still in him,” the druidess said. “He is quarantined.”
“Where?”
She huffed, her thin moss brows curling. “If I tell you, you will go there. You can’t leave the infirmary until our Guardian commands otherwise.”
“I won’t go now,” Ara retorted. “I will rest.”
Ara knew that making a scene to see her commander was moot. She and her companions were at the druids’ mercy.
“Then I will tell our Guardian and council that you are awake.” The druidess shifted to her feet, patted down her dress, and flounced out of the room. Ara watched after the druidess, pausing at the fluidity of her movements.
“They are all aloof like that.” Arlow frowned. “You get used to their apparent dislike and discomfort, I assure you.”
Ara nodded, absently eyeing the room as Arlow fell into a passive conversation with Max and Nyphelia.
The infirmary was a room of cots, like most other infirmaries, though shelves of canisters, vials, and pots of unknown plants and substances lined one wall. The other walls were filled with carved reliefs of druids, massive trees, and fantastical creatures. There were no windows, save for the ornate glass ceiling, which showed the stars peeking out from between thick branches and leaves.
Imagery of the demons that night flashed in her mind. She reeled over the events, memorizing the horrors. The demon gutting Veron, then snatching her up from the ground. The terror that choked her as it threatened to devour her. The free-falling, and the mass of shadows that caught and caged her. Then that pulse that coursed through her.
Magick, she realized, had rippled through her at that moment. Was it hers? And how? For her magick had been asleep for decades, and no sign had ever hinted that it would awake again.
Ara touched her head, feeling through the bandages the large bump in her head from where she hit the tree. She wished to the gods that she could have been conscious to see the end of that battle, to see what had happened to Raethin, to be there for him.
She halted that thought, swallowing the lump in her throat. There were consequences to falling into that hole.
“It’s best to rest, Ara,” Max said, reaching out to pat her shoulder. “Too much has happened in such a short amount of time.”
He was right, of course. As always. But sh
e had rested for two days, and the thought of resting now, after rolling from one chaos to another, caused unease to settle in her chest.
But Ara nodded, because rest was all she could do. Especially as she realized the unknown of how long the peace to rest would last.
Minutes later, druids filtered back into the room, followed by a tall human looming over even the tallest of the approaching druids.
Ara paused at the sight of him, his broad shoulders
adorned with druidic armor that fit perfectly but seemed completely uncharacteristic. An emblem clipped a metallic emerald cloak around his shoulder. His hooded, gold eyes studied her as they approached. Dark locks framed his stubbled face.
Three prominent druids surrounded him. One wore similar armor to the human, his facial features harsh and casted in a permanent scowl. A druidess stood on the human’s other side, her white pearl eyes watching her with a motherly countenance. The last and the tallest stood before the human, leading the procession with smooth, ambling motions. His mauve eyes watched her with a similar look to the druidess, though aged.
“We are glad you’re awake, Ara,” the human said, his voice smooth and relaxing. “We worried that your injuries were more than they seemed.”
Her hand instinctively went to her head as she frowned.
“We have much to discuss when you are well enough,” the human continued, a faint smile breaking the solemnity in his expression.
“Yes…” Ara dropped her hand again. “You are Rasilvanor?”
The human frowned with a nod. “You may call me Cirith. Rasilvanor is the Great Spirit which exists in me, with me, as me. I am a... rav’la of sorts.”
She considered his words, reminded of others who had mentioned the word rav’la—of the horned creature, who had nearly killed Raethin, who had called himself nivar krosai. He had mentioned rav’la, as well.
“Raethin was trying to find sanctuary with you,” Ara muttered. “You almost didn’t save us in time.”
Cirith’s expression shifted into a frown. “We were searching for you since the siege of your keep. But Aeskrius and his demons raced against us to find you first. Your warriors delayed him well enough. It is by their efforts and our luck that you’re alive now.”
Yet Ara didn’t feel comfort by his words. They had traveled for days in this labyrinthine forest after she had to abandon her family and people to the demons. Now, Veron was dead and there was no clear answer that Raethin would live. Something ticked in her mind at Aeskrius’ name and trepidation leaked into the pit of her stomach.
"Who is Aeskrius?"
The room quieted. The druid elders shared looks, and Cirith’s eyes darkened. Briefly, Ara thought she saw pity in his eyes, but it was swiftly gone when Cirith took a deep breath.
“He is the horned creature that led the Kaevari against our kingdoms. From what we know, he is the leader. We think...he is the champion of a dark god, who seeks to destroy everything,” Cirith hesitated once more, then said, “Even now he seeks to siege and demolish even our hidden community.”
“What do you mean?” Ara stiffened, blinking away imagery of flashing white fangs, dripping black ichor, and silver eyes filled with regret and agony.
“Our fortress is protected by wards that only gods with a likeness to Rakeva could possibly break,” Cirith said. “While he has yet to break it, our scouts have sighted Kaevari searching for an entrance. Some have attacked the ward, only to dissolve into ash. I’m not sure if they are hunting from your scent or from…” Cirith hesitated once more. “Or from intuition.”
Ara’s eyes narrowed. When she woke, she was relieved to be safe and at peace. She thought for that moment that she may take the time to recover, and even be sheltered for an indefinite amount of time. But it seemed, no matter where she could run, that she would never be safe again.
Always, the Void knocked on her door.
Terror clenched Ara’s heart with a tight fist. Would she run for the rest of her life?
"We will let you rest now," Cirith said. "When you are well enough, we shall talk." "And when can I see Raethin?" The pity in his eyes deepened.
"We shall discuss that when you are well."
"But—"
"You are in no condition to see him, Ara." Cirith's tone softened as he sighed. "And he is in no condition to be seen."
Ara dropped her gaze to her hands, chapped and bruised.
"Fine."
The elders hesitated for a moment, then filed out of the room. Cirith nodded to the other mortals, then disappeared behind them, leaving the attendants to bustle around in care for the recovering.
Ara's eyes stung. She wished to see the person who had thrown their life away to save hers. But for now, she would wait, for that was all she could do.
Time blurred as she rested. The druidess came back, nagging the mortals about more rest and food. A tray of greens, fruits, and venison came out, a wide swath of selections for the mortals to digest.
Ara learned her attendant’s name was Bieva, a kind name for an aloof persona. Still, as the night wore on, she came accustomed to Bieva. The druidess soon cleaned up and ushered them to slumber. Arlow and Nyphelia filed out of the room, clinging to each other in the sickly romantic way. Max and Ara shared a look then chuckled as they rolled their eyes.
The druids dimmed the lights, and Bieva shushed them as she closed the infirmary door.
While Max rolled over to sleep, Ara stared at the glass ceiling, watching the stars burn above.
Ara laid there for what felt like hours, eventually drifting into restless sleep. Her mind raced as she fought to repress memories of the last few days. But they always came back to Raethin, now quarantined in some strange place. She wondered how he felt, and what they all meant by taint.
When dawn began to break through the glass ceiling, she jolted from her sleep, turning onto her back. A thin sheen of sweat coated her skin as she exhaled a shaky breath. Ara could not remember what had woken her. All she could remember was that unsettling darkness.
But upon shifting and blinking awake, she froze, her stare halting at the foot of her bed.
The sun had not filled the room with morning light yet. The night still plagued the room, and the candlelight had gone out during her sleep. A shadow loomed over her bed, its shape that of a man. A bright pair of luminous silver and gold eyes watched from the shadows.
When he moved, Ara lurched upright. He flinched at the motion, disappearing into the shadows when Ara blinked.
“Are you alright?” Max asked, stretching and yawning.
“I’m fine,” Ara muttered. “I... just had a bad dream." Max hummed but said nothing else.
Bieva and the lily-eyed elder walked into the infirmary moments later.
"Good, you're awake," Bieva said and glanced at the ceiling. "The sun approaches. We hope that a night of rest has given you the energy you need, mortals."
The druidess’s tone curled at the word mortals, and she reminded Ara keenly of the ladies of her father’s court.
The familiarity though settled sickly in her stomach.
Ara swallowed and smiled at Bieva, then turned to the lily-eyed elder.
“Cirith didn’t introduce us yesterday,” the elder said, her voice soft and lilting. “I am Misandreas. I am the head healer and alchemist of our colony.”
“Ah,” Ara said, her smile still soft as Misandreas came to stand beside her cot. “This is your domain then.”
“It is, indeed.” Misandreas’ grin was uplifting. “I have come to check on you and to release you from the captivity of this room.”
It felt like such a short time within the infirmary, but Ara reminded herself that she was unconscious for two days before she woke. Misandreas ushered her out of bed then circled around Ara. Her jade hands brushed the bandaging then with a sigh, the druidess began to unwrap.
Ara winced when Misandreas pulled the head wrappings off, the gauze stuck to the scabbing wound. When the druidess touched the wound, Ara hissed in pa
in and jerked from her touch.
"It's healing just fine," the elder druidess muttered, then gestured for Bieva to hand her clean gauze.
Ara eyed her with a scowl.
"Do you feel light-headed?" Misandreas ignored the look.
"No."
"Good." The druidess pulled the wrappings off Ara's arms. "And these are fine as well."
Ara glanced down at her arms. The wounds were deep but had scabbed over. She knew that her wounds could not have healed so quickly in three days.
She met Misandreas' gaze. The druidess smiled and wrapped her arms in new gauze.
"What did you use?"
"For what?" Misandreas turned away and cleaned up the old bandages.
"To heal us." Ara looked at Max, who Bieva attended, rewrapping his wounds.
"Rakeva borne in us abilities of healing, my dear." Misandreas waved over another assistant, who held clean clothing.
"But it also helps that we develop alchemy no others in this world can fathom, and hide it away," Misandreas continued with a wink at Ara.
When the druid handed the clean clothes to Ara, the elder sighed and waved at the others.
"They will take you to a private chamber for you to change, then we shall do the fun activities for newcomers."
"Which are?" Ara couldn’t imagine what druids did for fun.
"Showing you around our home, of course."
Misandreas grinned. "We are proud people of the home Rakeva gifted us. It is always in our interest to share our pride."
Ara calmed, and for once since the siege, a curious excitement built in her.
Misandreas' kindness drowned out the other druids' estrangement from the mortals. Ara hoped that putting trust in the druid people during her brief stay would not come back to night.
Chapter Eleven
Ara missed her dresses, their soft material and light weight. She was relieved that the robes the druids gave her were much like the gowns from her keep. When the druids took her to a private chamber, they said that it would be her room during her stay. It was close to the infirmary, being in the same building but a floor up.
