Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  “Do you see that?” asked Liani as they were huddled together by the fire, “That bright star just to the right of the moon?”

  “Yes,” answered Rony. “What is it?”

  “My mother told us that is the Star of Rebirth,” she said as she closed her eyes.

  “What is the Star of Rebirth?” he asked.

  “In my village, we had a legend. Well, it was a myth really, but it was told by every mother to all of their children for as long as anyone could remember,” she continued.

  “What was the myth?” he asked glancing over to Zyndalia who was immersed within the dictates of her slumber induced, breathing.

  “As the legend goes, if you are struggling with something and that is the first star you see after the sun sets, you can stand up, say ‘by the Star of Rebirth, I am born anew’. If you do it, and if it is the first star you see, then your problem will “die” and you will begin the next day without its burden,” she said as she pulled the thin blanket more tightly around her shoulders.

  Rony’s instinct was to huddle closer to her, to pull her into his warmth with his arm and allow her to nuzzle into his shoulder and chest as they sat, waiting for sleep to come. But on this night, he felt no freedom to do so. Instead, he did the only thing he could do, he removed his blanket and threw it over her shoulders. She tried to protest, but there was nothing for it. He had completed what he set to do and would not have the blanket back. “That is a nice story,” he said. “So nice I wish it were true.”

  Though she clung tightly to the blankets, her instinct drove her to cling tightly to Rony’s comforting arm, had it been extended to welcome her. As much as the bond between both of them to their wolves pulled each to their own companions, there was ever as much of a bond pulling them toward each other. Perhaps it was the magnitude of the consequences facing them, or perhaps it was the importance of their individual and collective roles, or perhaps it was simply youthful uncertainty and apprehension that prevented them from embracing each other as often as they felt. However, the absence of a physical embrace did nothing to dispel their respective desires for touch. “Thank you,” she said softly. “My mother used to make my sister and I do it every night even if we did not see the right star. She would say ‘Which star you see does not matter. What matters is that you decide to become better each and every day’.”

  “Your Drashin is a smart woman,” he said.

  “Thank you, but she was killed when the goblins invaded my village.”

  “What happened,” he asked.

  “They rode in on their hounds, or whatever it is they ride, screeching loudly and wildly. We were a small village and unprepared for more than just the smaller raiding parties. So, when they came in numbers, it was a slaughter. There must have been over a hundred of them. The few village guards we had were not able to keep them at bay even long enough for the rest of us to escape. And even if we had more, I do not think their limited training would have been enough. It seemed like they were calculated, had goals. Normally, raiders made a path straight for our food stores, but this time they invaded houses taking the youth. When they reach ours, my mother fought off three of them herself,” she said as her story trailed off into the glassy eyes of her memory.

  “I am sorry you had to go through that,” he said in response.

  “It is no more nor less that what others of my village had to endure,” she said wiping her eyes. “I fear that if we do not find a way to combat this evil, my story will become much more common.”

  “We will find a way,” he said. “We will fight to the last and prevail. After all, we have Glory, Mercy, and now Grace on our side. With them, who can stand against us?” he said with a reassuring wink.

  “Yes, they are formidable. But against this much evil, will they be enough? Will we be enough?” she asked him.

  Though he had doubted his worthiness for as long as he could remember, and still doubted it now, he saw in her eyes her need for him to be resolute in his confidence. So, he lied, “Yes. I believe we will be enough. We have to be enough. Not just for the young girls in villages across the Silver Empire, but for the old too. For the weak, for those who doubt, for those who cry and laugh, for the strong who do not know their strength yet and even for those who do. We must be strong for those who have lived before us and those who will live after us. Liani, we have to be enough, and because of that, we will be.”

  “Thank you,” she said as she leaned into him. He thought putting his arm around her would feel awkward and out of place, but as she sank into his embrace, her head resting perfectly in the crook of his shoulder, he felt more at home than he had felt since the night before he left. From somewhere he did not know he possessed because it was an innate response to her search for comfort, he turned and kissed her gently on the top of her head. She responded by smiling and nuzzling further into his warmth. Rony looked over to Zyndalia who was still breathing easily and soundly asleep. It was not long before Liani, having found the comfort and confidence she was seeking, joined her younger companion leaving Rony to explore his thoughts while he too, wished for sleep. But sleep would not come this night.

  Rony had developed a habit of reaching out to Xunmerco before he slept as a way of wishing his closest friend a refreshing slumber. But when the normally expected flood of affection was not returned from his lupine companion, Rony searched deeper within their bond. It was not uncommon for Xunmerco to neglect a direct return when he was immersed in the hunting for some sort of prey, but the great wolf never ignored Rony completely. The lack of response would have comforted Rony had it been accompanied by any sort of reassurance, but when nothing had been returned altogether, Rony became alarmed. He probed deeper still, calling out to Xunmerco through the bond. Again, there was only silence. Though his bond was much stronger with the great male wolf, he was still able to roughly sense the other two, but only after a concerted effort. Yet, as focused as he was upon Inglorca and then Graloralynn, there was nothing returned from them as well.

  He stood up, waking Liani. “Wake Zyn,” he instructed.

  “Rony, what has happened?” she said lazily, before becoming concerned herself.

  “The wolves, I cannot feel them,” he said flatly as he looked around. “Try to contact Grace.”

  Liani concentrated for a short moment, but she too felt the same nothingness Rony had minutes ago. “I cannot feel them either?” she asked.

  “I would normally not be concerned. They can take care of themselves. But the fact that all three of them have not responded indicates something much more than just a coincidence. Wake Zyn,” he instructed again. After a couple of moments for her to gain her bearings after being hastily jolted from a deep sleep, she too became aware of the eerie silence across her bond.

  “Rony, do you think they are in trouble?” she asked her older brother.

  “I do not know. I would have thought that if they were in trouble, we would have known about it before, and then, certainly after,” he said.

  “We have to search for them,” said Liani.

  “Yes, we do. Do either of you remember the last feeling of direction?” asked Rony.

  “East,” said Zyndalia.

  “East,” confirmed Liani.

  “Xunmerco was east of here as well,” he said.

  “Then we head east,” said Liani as all three of them grabbed their weapons.

  Had Rony not been as adept a tracker as he was, they might not have been able to find their wolfs’ tracks as quickly as they did. Wolves were naturally difficult to track in the wilderness and theirs were no exceptions. Assisted by his years of experience, Rony located their tracks soon after they broke camp, leaving the horses still tied to their trees. They were indeed headed in an easterly direction. Soon after, they found the tracks of the prey they were hunting, a small heard of deer. As with all the animals they recently came across, these deer were smaller and lighter than normal, but they were still prey and still hunted.

  After following for a
few miles and exiting the cover of the forest, Rony stopped, signaling Zyn and Liani to do the same, “Hold.”

  “What is it?” asked Zyn.

  “Dwarves,” he said as he looked in the distance.

  “How many? Are they close?” asked Liani as they readied their weapons.

  “Many,” he said, but before he could continue, they saw a battalion of heavily armored dwarves crest the top of the small hill a few hundred feet before them. “Yes, they are close,” he continued.

  Dramagus

  (Mage)

  The day was perfect, in as much as any day could be perfect according to one’s own subjective interpretation of perfection. Granted, it was still morning, but these early hours, from the stunning breakfast he had just finished consuming, to the glorious benevolence of the sun as it broke the confining horizon, were beyond any of his previous interpretations of perfection. Indeed, the day was not just perfect, it redefined perfection. Conceptually, he had seen this level of splendor captured only in paintings from the greatest of the greats; however, beholding this hue of blue in the far west erupting from a cascading orange and yellow barrage of visual dominance in the far east, both absent of any form of clouds hindering nature’s intent of radiance, rendered even the great Elvish artist, Honrisiel, as nothing but a novice. Visually, he struggled to comprehend the totality of everything his eyes were seeing.

  However, it was not just what his eyes saw that caused him to realign his idea of perfection, but also, what his ears heard. The world, at least those with enough understanding of tones and harmonies, long considered Mylanas Ishanduil the living creation of the auditory standard to which all other sounds should be measured against only to be found inevitably lacking. And while he had the opportunity to perceive such brilliance for himself and agree with those more learned then he in measures of music, hearing all the natural sounds of this morning combine to create a symphony of life’s goodness forced him to reconsider Mylanas’s foothold as a defining standard. For not even she, as vocally gifted as she was, could reproduce the very sounds of life this day exhaled with all the sweet power of promise and passion.

  As he stood on the balcony overlooking the expansive garden of the Osin Thion, a soft and deliciously warm southern wind tickled his face just enough to cause him to close his eyes and inhale the peacefulness that was surrounding him. The flows of air wrapped him inside a velvety blanket of security and protection as if he was cuddled underneath the softest wing of the most purely white dove nature could intentionally produce. When he opened his eyes again and found the expanse of the flowers and plants below, he had an undeniable urge to see if each of the individual plants were as perfect in their singularity as they were together.

  Right before he turned around to begin his walk through the castle to the garden, something from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Focusing, he saw a small ensemble of flowers that seemed to be out of place with the rest of the garden. It was not that they were not supposed to be there physically, but that their coloration did not grasp the same level of perfection as the other flora. Just then, before he was able to make it a point to include them in his closer examination, three large butterflies started flying around him, playing with each other. They were as vibrant as everything else about this morning and drew his attention away from the misplaced flowers. After a few moments, they fluttered away as joyously as they came leaving Intellos to continue with his mission of appreciating the perfection of the garden from a much closer perspective.

  As he walked through the castle, he was shocked at the pristine cleanliness of its various hallways, corridors, rooms and furniture. Everything was immaculately kept without blemish, fading, or even the most remote speck of dust. He had been privileged to attend the most spectacular gatherings the realm had to offer, and even with those preparations, there was always some small detail, small corner that was overlooked. But such was not the case with the Osin Thion. The intricately woven tapestries adorning nearly every wall were remarkably free of fraying. The grouting between the marble tiles on the floors looked as if it had just freshly dried and was void of even the slightest chipping.

  His steps through the castle were filled with not just its inanimate objects, but its people as well. Around each turn and though each door, he was welcomed with a warm salutation as if he was a friend who had not been seen for a time long enough to provoke the widest of smiles upon his return. “Good day, sir,” or, “Good morning, My Lord,” or, “Welcome, Lord Intellos,” were but a few of the greetings he received and all with smiles genuine enough to have engaged the corners of their eyes. The last person, or people, he came across was a well-dressed man who wore a monocle on his left eye. He was accompanied by an equally well-dressed girl still in her youth. He estimated her age to be just in the double digits and his to be just past his middle years. Though he did not recognize the elder man, he could tell he was some type of scribe or official because he carried with him several books. The young girl appeared to be an apprentice of some type because she too carried some books, books that seemed to be a little too large for her arms. Though the man’s smile was just as broad as the young girls, his eyes lacked the familiar spark set in hers. She seemed to beam with a pleasant and genuinely surprised gleam set deep in her recognition.

  “Good day, Lord Intellos,” said the man.

  “Good day to you!” he responded. “Tell me, do you know what this ceremony will be about tonight? Lord Artus indicated that it is in my honor.”

  “Indeed, it is! You are to play a very important role. Which role, I cannot say. But I know from its planning that Lord Artus is very excited you are with us. It is not every day we get to host The Grand Wizard of The University of Knowledge,” said the man. The young girl had the look about her that she too wanted to say something, but had been previously chastised to silence on several occasions when her desire to speak had gotten the better of her.

  “I suppose you are right,” responded Intellos pleasantly. “It is not every day that The Grand Wizard is allowed to relax from his many duties and enjoy the simple pleasures of life.”

  “Indeed, it is not. I can imagine your days are full from sun up to sun down. So please, make the most of our hospitality and enjoy your break from the duties of life. You will find that a little bit of rest will focus you unto the many important tasks facing The Grand Wizard,” said the man.

  “I believe you are correct,” replied Intellos.

  “Now, if it pleases you, I must return to my tasks to prepare for the ceremony tonight. There is much to be done and little time for leisure. At least, little time for we of the Osin Thion for leisure,” said the man.

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I do not want to delay you. Thank you for your time and hospitality. You truly do embody the reputation of the Oasis for the Soul,” said Intellos.

  “Thank you and farewell. We shall see you once again at the ceremony tonight,” said the man as both he and the young girl continued on their way. Intellos followed them for a moment and saw the young girl look back. She gave him a small smile and wave as they disappeared around the corner Intellos had just come from. He watched their empty space for a moment, lingering in the warmness of the man and girl. As he was about to be on his way, he looked down and saw a small piece of parchment with some writing on it. He bent down and picked it up. Examining it, he saw that there were several unremarkable scribbles on it. He assumed it must belong to the little girl because he did not notice it until they left. He followed them around the corner hoping to catch up to them, but did not see them. He looked at the paper again and decided to put it in his pocket for safe keeping just in case he happened to run into the girl again. He was sure she would be appreciative to have her lost parchment and scribbles back.

  As he exited the castle doors, doors that swung open smoothly and with less effort than he had anticipated for the craftsmanship of solid oak, he was instantly assaulted with a plethora of scents, no doubt from the various flowers and plants. He
breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. This is exactly what he needed, he thought to himself. The strain of being the Grand Wizard of the University of Knowledge carried with it as much weight as one would expect upon hearing the title. He was not the ruler of a nation, nor was he responsible for a single group of people, he was responsible for the continuance of an entity that formed the very fabric of all people’s understanding. If he chose the wrong direction, not just The University would suffer, but the entirety of Avendia. He had shouldered that burden for a long time and was ready for a small rest.

  As he opened his eyes and beheld the garden without the barrier of distance, he was struck with another altogether different feeling of awe. So many times, we equate the feeling of wonder and impression with things on a large scale. We often wait and hope to behold such enormity that it instinctively inspires a feeling of smallness within ourselves; consequently, that smallness of self begets an appreciation for everything that is not the self. But here, standing and bending so close that his nose was almost touching a beautifully brilliant green flower, he understood that the perfection of this moment was not observable within the garden as a whole, but instead was only apparent in the splendid simplicities and intricacies of each and every singular flower and plant. And in that, the profound smallness of life, he found his rest.

  He walked amongst the objects of his gratitude, appreciating each one equally but differently, for many hours taking time to smell, see, feel, and in some cases, even taste what they were individually to better appreciate what they were collectively. He glanced to the castle walls again and saw the half that was hidden by shade in the morning was now lit by the sun. So much time had passed so easily that he had not even noticed. Through one of the lower castle windows, he could see the man he had spoken with about the ceremony sitting at his desk pouring over some official looking papers. Across from him, and at a much smaller desk, sat the little girl writing something on a piece of parchment. At one point, the man looked up, said something to the girl who then frowned as if she was being reprimanded for some imperfection. He watched as her head dropped and felt sad for her. Right before he looked away, the little girl glanced out of the window and met his eyes. She smiled and then looked back to the man to make sure he had not seen her. She looked back to Intellos and smiled briefly again before returning her attention to her studies, or task, or whatever had been set to her. Intellos caught himself grinning. He still wondered why this girl seemed familiar to him, but he could not place her. Perhaps she had a face and demeanor similar to one of the countless people he had seen throughout the ages. After all, he had been Grand Wizard for a very long time, lifetimes as a matter of fact, and would have undoubtedly come across one or two small girls whose memory would be triggered by this one.