Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  The rough terrain across the many plains, forests, and paths their feet trod upon was overshadowed by the roughness of other, more intangible things. All elements of the weather were harsher. The ground seemed to punish them each time their feet and paws contacted it. While the effects of each individual step would be completely unnoticeable, the summation of them over the hundreds and thousands of steps they had taken wore into their other joints and eventually into their souls.

  As much as the terrain seemed to fight their endeavor, the surrounding flora and fauna provided no respite to the underlying harshness. Animals they captured and transformed into food yielded no such full bellies. Neither did the water provide a fresh cleansing of their palates. Instead, both seemed to coat their throats and hopes with a thick, viscous aftertaste. As a result, they trudged over the ground in a sort of dissolving haze preventing any joining of their awareness to the progress they had made. They fought no enemies during the arduously long, cross-country trek, but that did not mean nothing worked against them. Indeed, it was as if the very will of the soil, Avendia herself, set its will against theirs.

  They continued on like this, living and being sustained by a land that was sustaining them only to eventually break them. What should have been a lush forest, ripe with the berries and fruits of their homeland, was now a wasted and broken place. The animals were nothing more than walking skeletons covered with thin and tasteless skin, barely enough meet for a full mouthful let alone a fully satiated hunger. The waters of the many small streams that should have been flourishing with crystal clear liquid were nothing more than a trickle, barely sustained by the minimal rains that had fallen rendering them unable to quench even the smallest of thirsts. Even the wolves were beginning to show the effects of the withered wasteland.

  And the three of them knew it. They knew it not because of any physical signs, but of all the others. There was a very noticeable decline in the quality of their bonds. Neither of the three could feel the sharp spikes of emotions from the wolves normally present anytime there was reason for it. Neither could they feel the calming presence of being connected to something greater than their mortal existence. The diffuse and ever-present pack-mind linking them to their wolves, them to each other, and them to the understanding of true purpose, had been fading for longer than they realized. And by the time they did, it was more gone than not. This was perhaps the most draining aspect of their journey, the declination of the presence of their twin souls. Even Liani, who had only recently found her connection, was having difficulty adjusting to the change. But there was no choice of going back. There was no rewinding of the clock, nor was there any way to revisit time that had already passed and choose a different path. The only thing keeping Ronialdin and Zyndalia moving forward, trudging step after trudging step, was the promise of returning home. And the only thing maintaining the same fortitude within Liani, was them.

  And then, one day, all three of them looked up to the cloud covered sky hoping to gain some direction for the sun, but it was not there. There was not even a trace of lightened area to the overcast sky. They looked around hoping to discover something familiar to the landscape, but when their eyes returned no evidence with which they could correctly identify a general location, they knew it. They were lost. They were so lost that even had they been on the correct course, they would not have known it for nothing remained the same in the present as it had been in their memories. They were lost and they were drained; drained of hope, peace, purpose and prosperity. And slowly, ever so slowly and insidiously, they were beginning to be drained of themselves.

  On an evening that was as gray and unnoticeable as all of the other days they had spent walking through the desolation of the surrounding landscape, Zyndalia stopped and stared at something the other two perceived to be a point off in the distance. Perhaps she had broken under the protesting weight of the altered land. Or perhaps she had made a conscious decision that continuance was something she was not willing to bear, even if it meant not being reunited with her mother. Either way, and there could have been still more possibilities for why she had stopped, Rony knew that he would be unable to continue without her. He turned and slowly but purposefully made his way over to her, preparing the mental speech he was going to deliver.

  “Zyn,” he said softly, but she did not respond. She only squinted her eyes as if trying to bring into focus something that was just outside of it.

  “Zyn,” he said again, putting his hand on her shoulder. Liani, too, walked over to where she was standing, taking a position next to Rony. But Zyndalia still did not acknowledge them. Inglorca was sitting next to her staring at the same undistinguished point she was. Thinking it better to remain simply a silent presence until she determined her own timeframe for uninfluenced action, both Rony and Liani continued to support her with only their proximity.

  As a tear formed within her eye, and quite possibly her soul, Zyndalia took a shaky and weak step forward, almost as if she was being pulled toward something and in order to maintain whatever uneasy and tenuous balance she had, her foot jutted forward out of necessity and not volition. It was not a controlled a fluid step. It was laced with poor coordination and a lack of focus. She seemed to show the slightest amount of surprise and relief when her foot contacted the ground and she did not fall. It was so unexpected to her that even Inglorca acted surprised with both her movement and its success. The first step lead to another. Just as shaky, almost causing her to topple over again, her opposite foot reacted to some unseen force pulling her toward that which her eyes had landed upon. But no matter how much they tried, neither Rony, nor Liani could distinguish something in their collective visual fields that would cause this reaction within Zyndalia.

  However, just because something remains unseen to others does not lessen the gravity with which it can attract the single person who has attended to it. So, she took another step, unable to resist the force of attraction to whatever it was. The third step led to a fourth, and a fourth to a fifth. Soon her steps became less a series of poorly coordinated, singular efforts, and more resembled an intentionally linked means to a very specific end. Rony and Liani started walking slowly behind her, but they were forced to quicken their pace to match the acceleration of her motives, clearly bent upon reaching whatever it was she had discovered.

  Running now, but still missing the fluidity of her mercenary trained actions, she would have outdistanced her companions had it not been for the conveyance of importance surging from their wolves through their bonds. When they did catch her, they found her halted not more than two paces away from a very large tree standing alone in the center of a clearing like a beacon of stoic power. In this moment, she was alone; not even Inglorca approached her which was possibly why neither Rony nor Liani sought to invade her lonely separation.

  She stood two small but arduously long steps away. Two steps separated her from such a lonely and mortally impossible goal, she was afraid to take them for the sole reason that if it was an illusion induced from the combination of her desire and exhaustion, then completing her journey would reveal the illusion. And that would destroy her. But should it be real, and the markings on the tree proved to be tangibly more than a cruel mirage, all she ever wanted would be closer to her now than it had been for over a year. Truly, she had once believed that it was, and would forever remain, out of her reach. But the risk to solidify her dream as either real and attainable or ethereal and impossible was mounting on her soul. She knew, in her currently depleted state, she would never recover from such a cruel illusion. Yet, if she never embraced the innate risk associated with attaining all of her heart’s desire, then would she truly be able to forgive herself?

  She took a step.

  More than forgiving herself, she considered whether or not her brother would ever be able to forgive her if he ever found out. Would he, if she revealed to him the solidity of this as fact and her avoidance of it thereby forgoing what could be their only opportunity to correctly reach home, ever b
e able to look her in her eyes and call her sister? She feared he would not. So, she faced two opposing realities; one of which was the continuance of her brother as her brother, and the other would propagate her brother’s estrangement from her desire for his familial affections. Which was the greater?

  She took another step and reached out.

  She could abide in the sorrow of a falsified dream for ages. She had done so for over a year and found a deeper resilience within her than what she had previously believed she would ever possess. She had also found a deeper respect and admiration for her brother and his life as well. With those revelations combined together, she knew what she had to do. She had to risk her own sanity and mental stability for a single reason; she owed it to him and to herself. Yes, crushing though it might be, she needed to know if there was still a reason for hope. For hope abides the soul, and without it, the soul is lost. So, even if she did not touch the bark of the tree where she knew the markings should be, and never manifested the illusion, she would still be lost; because one cannot extend belief where no hope exists. And belief is the propulsion of resilience.

  Just moments before she touched the tree, Inglorca’s tail began to wag and she circled around herself twice, her excitement growing. The other wolves followed. The energy within the clearing seemed to grow in its own anticipation of Zyndalia’s decision and her impending discovery. As her arm moved under her first voluntary control in minutes, progressing closer and closer to her target, Inglorca’s anticipation became palpable. And when Zyn touched the markings, her soul sang in unison with Inglorca’s triumphant howl. For she had found her truth and found the solidity to end her longing. She had confirmed the hope of her desire and knew, because of the small “Z” carved into the side of the tree, they were home.

  The other two wolves, feeding off Inglorca’s howl, joined her in victory. Zyndalia, now shedding rivers of tears, dropped to her knees. Because of their bonds, now seemingly reinvigorated, both Rony and Liani knew whatever happened, whatever she found, it was good. But overriding the joy was the emotional surge they felt as they watched Zyn collapse to her knees, shaking. They both rushed to her side, Rony dropping to his knees next to his sister.

  “What is it, Zyn?” he asked her as he placed his arm around her and gathered her into his embrace.

  She did not resist. Instead, she all but collapsed into his chest. He had never seen her like this. Sure, he had seen her cry in the past, when she was younger; but it was always from the random scrapes and bruises a child always receives as an innate result of their exploration. And Zyndalia had been, and still was, quite the explorer. But he had never seen her soul cry. It wrenched his heart like nothing he had experienced before. All of his life he had attempted to protect her, to prevent her from the pain he had felt, to strengthen her so she would never shed the same type of tears he had multiple times over the years; tears from the shredded leftovers of a broken heart. He decided against asking her again what had happened. Instead, he held her, silently, the way he remembered his mother had held him when his heart gave way to his broken dam of tears night after night. Soon after, Liani knelt down beside Rony and put her arm around his shoulders. The three of them sat there, rocking, until such a time as their wolves had joined them by licking each of their faces.

  “Thank you,” said Zyndalia as she wiped the tears from her face.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” asked Rony as he too wiped the wetness on the sleeve of his tunic.

  “I found it,” she replied.

  “Found what?” he asked.

  “I found my tree,” she said with a small grin.

  “You mean we are almost home?” he said as he leaned slightly backward to enable him to see the whole of her face.

  “Yes, brother. We are almost home,” she said as she looked him straight in his eyes. Her statement drew the beginnings of tears from his deep green eyes turning them squarely toward a florescent hue. “No,” she said in response, “we cannot cry any more. We have done enough of that today to satiate the Fates of Sorrow.” She placed her hand on the side of Rony’s face, “Come brother, let us end this journey. Let us end it and return to our mother.”

  Her steeled will prompted his tears to end before breaking their lids. In this moment, the damn holding back his waters of sadness was fortified by his younger sister and the gleam of joy looking back at him through a pale green reflection. How he learned to admire her and see her for everything that she had been, but more importantly, had become. They rose together prompting Liani to rise in kind.

  “This way,” said Zyndalia.

  Before they turned to begin the last steps of their endless journey, they heard the unmistakable thrum followed by a whooshing of wind ending with a deadening thud as an arrow pierced the bark right in the middle of the ‘Z’ Zyndalia had carved all those years ago. They turned their heads and saw a slender woman facing them holding a huge bow that should have been impossible for her to draw. She had a second arrow knocked and ready to loose, all doubt absent in her stance. She was dressed in light brown, soft leather armor with a pair of archers’ bracers on her wrists. Her leather cloak was sleeveless and hung bounded around her waist by a darker brown leather belt. Her boots were made of the same material as her bracers and extended above her knees reaching her middle thigh.

  “Do not move,” said the woman, the threat explicit in her tone. But before they could respond to her command, they saw her huge bow drop slightly, a mistake that would have cost the woman her life had she faced a hostile force. Liani was the first to move and reached for her bow, but before she could capitalize on the cloaked woman’s mistake, Rony grasp her arm and said, “Hold.”

  The woman’s bow dropped further and the knocked arrow relaxed in her hands. The wolves growled with a deep, guttural warning. Rony, focused intently on her, took a step toward her. Her bow instantly raised again. He took another step. “Move no closer!” commanded the woman. But Rony ignored her and took a second step. No arrow flew, but neither did her bow drop. Instead, she drew the last two inches and issued another warning, “I will not hesitate.”

  As he took a third step toward the women, he said, “Mother?”

  Though they could not see any of her face within the deep and shadowy setting of her hood, something within the three of them noticed all of her other tensile markers relax. The bow dropped for a final time, as did the woman’s guard. After the wood impacted the ground, she reached up with both of her hands and slowly withdrew the cover of her hood. Zyndalia gasped when she saw her mother’s face, both of her hands shooting up to cover her mouth in disbelief. Rony, who had continued to slowly walk toward her began shedding tears in numbers surpassing the count of stars. When their mother extended her hands and arms in a broad welcoming gesture, Zyndalia sped past her brother and nearly tackled their mother. She clung to her harder than to any hope she had ever clung to. The very warmth of her mother’s touch from her counter embrace conveyed something Zyndalia had almost forgotten could be; security.

  But she was not alone for long in her embrace. Her brother also fiercely clung to their mother. Silence is often overlooked in moments of overwhelming joy. Often times, we think that the greater the joy, the greater the audible response; but that is not always the case. And it certainly was not today. For such was their joy, bordering on disbelief, that no sounds could invade the emotional waterfalls of their silent tears. Not even the wolves could produce a sound equivalent to reach the precipice the little family now stood upon. Looking over all the uncertainties and potentials of the future, one thing now injected itself again into what had formerly been just a dream. Now, they had each other. In that knowing and being, they now had a foundation to build upon once again.

  After a short walk back to their familiar home, most of the evening was spent in each other’s company with all the stories they had missed. Lengthy they were when the topic of the three wolves was broached. As hunters, they were often times in competition with the other predators
of the land, and wolves ranked at the top of that list. So, when the three of them were presented to their mother, it required more detail to convince her of their bond and acceptance into their lives. Apparently, the wolves returned the same sentiment because they had been continually on guard since the insurgence of her presence, remaining so even when they were all relaxed and sitting within their home.

  “They are larger than normal wolves,” observed their mother.

  “Yes, we both noticed that not long ago. Their growth rate is much faster than normal wolves as well,” said Zyndalia as she stroked the back of Inglorca’s neck. “I wonder how large they will eventually become.”

  “Have you ever heard the tales of the dire wolves of the mountains?” asked their mother. At the mention of the term ‘dire wolves’ both Inglorca and Xunmerco growled a low and deep sound.

  “I remember father telling us tales of them before bed. He always insisted they were from myth only. What did he say about them again?” said Rony as he struggled to recollect his father’s words.

  “The myth of them is mostly centered around their origins. Do you remember anything?” she said provoking yet another growl from the wolves.

  “I remember him telling us that they grew larger than any other wolf because they were not completely from our world. Did he not say they were from a plane of darkness?” Rony responded as he too, instinctively scratched Xunmerco behind his ears.

  “You are right,” said their mother, “in fact, he said that their presence here confirms the existence of a greater evil preparing to enter into our realm. Surely you have felt it, being so close to these dire wolves.”