Journey of Darkness

by Samantha Jacobey

  “True,” Rey agreed, accepting his and crossing his legs to sit beside her. “That will be a handy trick for us again at some point, I’m sure.”

  “She will become much more useful with it in time,” Animir assured.

  “Well,” Piers directed, “I believe Lin and I have both told a tale, so who will be sharing this evening’s entertainment?” His eyes darting around at the others, he waited for one to volunteer before he made the call.

  “I should share,” their elf spoke up. Sitting in the entrance to the tent, but not completely inside as the shadow on that side had grown long, the wind caught his long hair, and he squinted against the gust.

  “Are you ready for that?” Ami asked, eyeing him doubtfully. He had dropped enough clues about his past, she knew this would be another sad story in a long line of them, as each member of their group had seemed to endure his or her own brand of suffering.

  “Yes,” he agreed confidently, offering a weak smile. “I am among friends,” he informed her, placing his hand firmly against his chest, over his heart. “My past should not be held a secret from such individuals as I have found.”

  Nodding, the Mate agreed, “Let’s hear it then,” raising his goblet of water in a mock toast to their elven companion.

  “My story begins with my father,” Animir stated quietly. “He was an advisor to Lord Galiodien, Lady Cilithrand’s father.”

  “Wow,” Ami breathed. “That makes him very old.”

  “Yes,” the elf nodded. “I am not so young as you think,” he admitted with a small nod.

  “How old are you,” Baldwin pushed with a scowl. He had always assumed the pair were near the same age.

  “I will be fifty-seven on the quarter waxing crescent of this year’s eighth moon,” he supplied.

  “Fifty-seven!” Rey gasped. “But you look so young!”

  Chuckling, Animir cut his eyes over at the man across from him. “Did you see any old elves in Jerranyth?”

  Curling his tongue, Rey glanced around at the others, who all held pensive appearances. “No, I don’t guess that I did,” he admitted quietly. “Are you saying that you never get old… or do you get rid of them before they get that way?” he asked cautiously, causing the elf to choke on his drink of water.

  “No, we don’t do anything to them,” Animir spat. “Lady Cilithrand is over three centuries, and her father was close to seven when he died.”

  “That’s insane,” Piers breathed. “How have you not run out of room if you are so long lived?”

  “We don’t over populate,” the elf supplied with a shrug. “Each elf can expect to have only three to five children in their lifetime, and we do die you know.”

  “From what?” Rey clipped, in shock at the numbers their newest male member had been throwing around. “People who live in the centuries – no wonder you call us mortals of the rim!” he observed.

  “Precisely,” Animir nodded, rubbing his hands together to remove the crumbs as he finished his meal. “We can expect to live a millennium, or more in some cases. Not really immortal, but with such a long life to contemplate,” he shrugged, “who’s counting?”

  “And you appear young the entire time?” Amicia gasped, considering how beautiful the queen had appeared.

  “Only a few attain their end naturally,” he grinned, seeing the wheels turning. “We have our issues and often meet our doom by more abrupt and final means.”

  “Is that what happened to your father?” the Mate clipped, returning them to his story.

  “Yes,” the elf agreed. “As I said, he was an advisor to the king, who was killed in the great war. He knew all his secrets and was a faithful servant. Lady Cilithrand came to power at his passing, a young queen of barely a century.”

  Amicia grinned at the thought of a hundred years being young but did not interrupt.

  Adjusting himself in the soft sand, Animir leaned forward, toying with the grains as he gathered his thoughts. “Our new queen did not have such use for him, but he remained in the service of the crown until shortly after I was born.”

  Her chest growing tight, Amicia could tell this history bothered him. Of course, it ends with him being banished from the upper class and being treated as a mongrel. How could he be pleased with such a tale?

  “He took his leave of the palace, but he still held his rank until near two decades ago. I do not know the details. I only know that he was accused of treason, oddly enough very near the time that Gwirwen became the Supreme Dragon of Eriden,” he smirked. “He was put to death, and I was censured as his heir. Demoted within the ranks to servant and stripped of all titles and rights of the ruling house.”

  “And yet you did nothing wrong?” Zaendra gasped, her eyes wide as he spoke.

  “Nothing that I am aware of,” he sighed. “I was still very young then, and I had no idea what the ruling would cost me. I had been in the armory for a few years before I realized how truly alone I had become. None of the lower classes have anything to do with me, as I’m not one of them, and of course, the upper stations hardly acknowledge my existence, as I have been branded a traitor by name.”

  “And yet Lady Cilithrand saw fit to see you as our caretaker,” Piers observed. “She had to know you would help us escape when we were ready to leave.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Bally observed. “You told her the night we left. You didn’t help us, she let us go.”

  “I have nothing to say in my defense,” the elf admitted with a shrug. “I have thought of this many times since, and I can only assume it was her plan for you to leave, and I therefore acted in accordance with her schemes.”

  “Why?” Ami asked warily, uncrossing her legs to stretch them out in front of her. “What did she gain by our leaving, especially after she offered to make me her heir?”

  “I do not know,” Animir admitted quietly, lowering his gaze.

  “And then there’s the hamar,” Piers coughed. “Mustn’t forget that. She gave it to the siren, but I have my doubts that it was actually for her.”

  “True,” the girl agreed, studying the mermaid.

  “There is also the matter of the weapons,” the elf observed. “The satyrs could not have forged such massive arrows to stand against the rulers of our kingdom.”

  “And you think Lady Cilithrand had a hand in this as well?” Amicia exclaimed. “She armed them to stand against the dragons?”

  “The possibility is strong,” he agreed.

  A heavy silence settled over the group as they considered the last bit of news. Having finished their meal, Piers instructed, “Everyone drink up, and let’s get packed. We’ll want to be on our way as soon as the light is gone so that we may cover as much ground as possible before time to break again.”

  Moving to comply, the walls of their shelter were removed and the litters reformed. Placing their gear atop them and tying it down, their mood remained somber as they each considered what the elf’s tale could mean and what Lady Cilithrand might have in store for their unsuspecting crew.

  March of the Dead

  Desert March – Day 1

  The night was uneventful. The litters are perfect, and everyone maintained their pace, so we covered our allotted distance with ease. We made camp as the sun came up and discovered removing a layer of sand helped keep us cool as the day progressed. Water will be tight, but we are sticking to one ration shared per meal. The walk is three days, so it should get us there if we are careful.

  Piers Massheby, First Mate

  Desert March – Day 2

  The group is restless. We survived our second night, but the temperature has soared this morning. The canopy feels like an oven with us as loaves of bread baking inside. We have made a second dig, and the sand is cooler, but the swirling air is stifling. The siren looks pitiful, but she still breathes. I fear Rey won’t take it well if she passes.

  Piers Massheby, First Mate

  Desert March – Day 3

  Our third night was slower on the pace. Exhaustion ha
s ravaged our ranks, but we manage to maintain our rations of the water. We will drink the last of it tonight with the meal and should reach the oasis before the next sun rises.

  Piers, First Mate

  Desert March – Day 4

  I fear there has been a miscalculation in the distance to the oasis or in our direction of travel. We walked for the fourth night but have seen no change in the landscape, nor met any walking to or from this supposed city. With no water, no meal was taken, but camp is made and the others sleep from what I can tell. The siren’s condition has deteriorated further, and I fear she will not last another evening.

  Piers, First Mate

  Desert March – Day 5

  The elf swears that the oasis does exist. Zaendra, the nymph, is equally confident, but I see no sign of such a place. The group has been slowed to a crawl as it was our second night without food or water. We have had sightings. The others have all seen things out in the distance. Mirages that get no closer, yet do not leave us. Death is now our companion.

  First Mate

  Desert March – Day 6

  The siren breathes, only faint. Her eyes do not open, so Amicia has carried her the whole night. We will not last another.

  Mate

  Staring at the page, Piers read what he had written. The words blurred, they danced before his eyes. A gust of wind cut under the edge of their shelter, rippling the sheaf of paper as he gripped it tightly, as if it were his last hold on reality.

  “Mate,” Ami called to him softly, placing her hand over his.

  Looking up at her, his dark eyes swam. “Ami,” he breathed, recognizing her and her wild strands of hair that had escaped her braid.

  Taking the log from him, she rolled it around the pen, then returned it and the small bottle of ink to her bag. Still half full of food, they had not eaten since the last of the water had been spent.

  “Lie with me,” she commanded, stretching out between Animir and Bally the best she could.

  “There’s hardly room,” he slurred. Slinking across her form, his hand slid down, then gripped as he moved in case he lost his balance.

  She wanted to laugh at his silliness when he had found his position, which was opposite of the direction she lay, his boots next to her head. Instead, she grasped them firmly and wept against the smell of their leather.

  His head close to the door, Piers struggled to free himself and then rested on his right arm, which he had pinned beneath him as he crawled. Panting from the effort, he stared at Rey. Slumped against one of the back poles, he held the mermaid to his chest, rocking her gently side to side.

  Cutting his eyes up, he watched the horizon. The clear blue sky met the earth in the distance, as it had for six days. They had walked as far as they could, and this is where their corpses would be found; or covered by the blowing sand.

  Closing his deep brown orbs, he listened to the ragged breaths of his friends. The wind tore at their canopy, bits of the blanket flapping noisily. He had no tears to cry as his mind drifted, floating over the memories as he slipped quietly into his last sleep.

  Watching his companions lying before him, Rey held Oldrilin’s limp form. His eyes glazed, staring through the opening at the waves of heat coming off the sand. His mind lost, he could feel the gentle sway of the flat, and lightning flashed in a distant cloud.

  Caught by a spastic laugh, he chuckled. They had been seeing things for days; patches of water, clouds, and strange beasts had all presented themselves, but all only at a distance. None could be reached, and so they had given up trying to catch the illusive demons.

  Staring at the cloud, it erupted into small puffs of darkness, as if a fungus growing in the bark of a tree at an accelerated rate. Expanding, moving, rolling with flashes of light. Blinking at it, he knew at any moment it would be gone. Focused on it, his scattered mind recalled the storm that had come to them on the raft, rolling in from a great distance. “A squall,” he muttered hoarsely.

  Tearing his eyes away, he stared at the unconscious creature in his arms. She still breathed, but only just. She had not opened her eyes since they lay in the tent the day before. Not daring to look up, he focused on her miniature form; the perfection of her tiny hands and delicate face as he caressed them with his dry cracked hands. He knew if he peeked, the clouds would be gone, and all hope would be lost.

  From outside, the glow of the quilt evidenced the sun beating down upon it. A strip of the material had been ripped loose and flapped wildly in the wind, slapping against the taut material that they had stretched over the poles to keep the heated rays at bay. Snapping and popping as it fluttered, the scrap flipped back and forth a few times, then dropped and lay still against the side of their shelter.

  His gaze drawn to it, next to his right arm, he blinked repeatedly, as if to force it back into its chaotic whim. But the sliver of cloth refused. Raising his left hand, he leaned far enough to punch it through the tarp, flicking it and urging it to continue its struggle against the wind. His mouth dropping open, he glared at the impudent rag, then gritted his teeth as he growled.

  Sitting back against the pole, his chin lifted and he stared out through the doorway at the approaching tempest. His jaw relaxed, his dentures parted in gaping awe as the dark storm rolled towards them, quickly covering the scorched earth. “Holy shit,” he breathed.

  Kicking his feet wildly, he screamed, “Dragon!”

  Instantly awake, the Mate’s head swum with delirium. “Dragon,” he mumbled, rolling over and fumbling in the sand for his sword.

  Animir and Bally joined him, and Amicia squirmed onto her belly, barely alive and oblivious to her surroundings. The wind returned with an angry gust, tearing their covering away as a wall of water cascaded from the heavens.

  Instantly refreshed, the Mate looked around him wildly, taking in the condition of the others. Looking up into the sky, he could hear or see no sign of the beast. Seizing one of the quilts, he shouted, “Help me! Spread it into the hole that it may collect the rain for us!”

  Huge drops pelted their arms and faces, stinging them into red welt covered splotches of skin. Pulling the blanket across, they shifted what remained of their gear to the edges to keep it in place as the water pooled in the center of it, holding it against the wet sand below.

  Surprised his storm had been real, Rey stared into the writhing clouds above him, then felt the stir of the creature in his arms. Wiping her hair from her face, she stretched, pushing her arms and legs out, as if drinking the precious fluid as it coated her.

  Overcome with emotion, he rocked her back and forth, his shoulders shaking with his ragged breaths as he cried. Her mind clearing, Amicia joined him, clinging to his shoulder as she admired the beauty of the siren in her semi-delirious state.

  Bending over their collection, Piers scooped goblets and bowls, first handing them to his comrades, who drank greedily from the vessels, then sitting them in the sand to be filled with the nectar of life. “I can’t believe this is happening!” he shouted, expecting to awaken from his dream at any moment.

  Her eyes open, Oldrilin stared at him, then shifted her gaze to the girl, who cried openly with joy. Burrowing against Rey’s chest, she appeared calm, as if she had expected the storm all along.

  “It’s real!” Animir shouted, helping their leader locate every receptacle that they carried to be set out around their camp.

  “Do you see the dragon?” Rey called, squinting against the spray that pummeled them.

  “No dragon!” the Mate replied. “Just rain!”

  Nodding, Reynard laid the siren upon the sand so he could aid in their search. Pushing at the granules, he formed a second hole and pulled a soggy blanket into it. Watching the water run in and collect, he shoved his face into the basin and drank until he thought he might vomit. Lifting himself out with his arms, the water slid down his face and dripped from his chin.

  Above them, the clouds parted, and the deluge ended as abruptly as it had begun. To the west, the harsh rays of the sun
punched their way through the clouds, fighting to regain control of its domain.

  “Get the poles up!” Piers commanded. “Get the sides on it and cover the water.”

  “You think the sun can steal it away that fast?” Bally asked, fighting with the water-weight of the blankets.

  “We can’t take that chance,” the older man replied, helping to lift the rain-soaked cover back into place. “We’ll gather as much as we can. Maybe even stay here tonight and tomorrow, just to rest. Leave out tomorrow night with full bellies.”

  Working quickly, the group secured their camp. Syphoning the water out of Rey’s smaller hole, they filled the waterskins, then used the remaining bit to rinse the mud from their clothing before spreading the articles across the sand to dry in what remained of the day.

  “It’s going to get cold,” the Mate informed them. “We need to dry out everything we can before the sun sets.”

  Thinking of the drizzle after the rain on the raft, Amicia agreed with a nod. Looking down at her fingers, wrinkles cut deeply into her flesh, and she shivered at the thought of the miserable night to come. “I hate the desert,” she mumbled as she pulled her clothing off, stripping down to her undergarments and spreading her sweater, shirt, and pants upon the sand.

  All down to the bare essentials, the ground surrounding their camp held the majority of their belongings, all laid out to be dried by the relentless sun. As the last cloud disappeared overhead, Amicia announced, “We might as well have a bite to eat and catch a nap if we can.”

  “You have reservations about spending another day here?” Piers inquired, hoisting her pack to parcel out the rations.

  “I do,” she agreed. “We’ve been given a second chance, and I think it would be squandered lying about and waiting.” Looking down into Lin’s clear blue eyes, the round face did not smile. “Our reprieve is small, and I fear hardly enough to preserve us for long.”