by J C Maynard
“Excuse me.” said Eston. The girl’s eyes settled on him and Eston could tell from her unchanged expression that she did not know his identity. Eston tapped the counter. “I’m sorry, have I seen you before?”
The girl shook her head. “I can’t say that you have.”
“Oh, sorry, I — you must look like someone I know.”
The girl shrugged and took out a piece of paper from her bag to read. The writing was small and sideways, allowing Eston to only read the title, “Servant Registry for 785 AHL.” 785 AHL was Eston’s birth year. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had seen this girl before. Why is she looking at a Palace registry?
“I’m sorry,” said Eston to the girl, “have you been around the first district at all where I might have seen you?”
The girl turned her paper over. “Maybe . . . I’ve been around the city a lot, I’ve probably been there a couple of times.”
“What’s your name?” asked Eston.
“Endra.” she said. She paused for an unnerving silence before deciding to ask for his name.
He replied with the first name that came to him. “Umm . . . Gallien.” Eston took a sip of his drink. “You seem to have an accent.” he said.
The girl hesitated. “Well I guess . . . my father grew up in Cerebria and moved to Nottenberry before the split of the Empire. I got a bit of his speech wrapped up in my own.” The door chimed as another customer entered The Little Raven.
“What made you come to Aunestauna?” said Eston.
The girl nervously chuckled. “You ask many questions, Gallien. I’m here for some business for a collection of farms in Nottenberry.”
Eston took a sip of wine. Why would farms want to know about the Palace servant registry? “What do your farms grow?” Eston asked.
“Look,” said the girl, “I don’t want any trouble, I have to go.” She lifted her back and set an argentum on the table to pay for her drink. As she packed up, she took a letter from her coat pocket and stuffed it in her handbag. Eston couldn’t help but glimpse parts of the addressed front.
To- Seirnkov, Cerebria, . . .
From . . . R.N.
R.N.? He thought. She said her name was Endra . . . and why is she sending mail to Cerebria during wartime? Her accent . . . she’s a Cerebrian. The girl pushed in her stool and exited the tavern door, sounding a chime. Eston couldn’t shake the strange feeling he got from her.
In the Underbrush
Chapter Three
~Morning, August 23rd
Tayben stood on a bridge-sized branch of a tree overlooking the Great Forest of Endlebarr. Full of morning energy, the sun had just come over the horizon. The only sounds above the canopy were the slight breeze that rustled the leaves of the giant trees and the occasional bird that darted up through the trees. He felt as though days had passed since he climbed up to the top of the tree. But he shook his head remembering the battle the day prior and falling off his horse. Probably just because of the concussion. He looked out into the painted sky, glistening with oranges and yellows, lighting the vast expanse of forest with a warm glow.
A morning fog rose up from the trees and partially obscured the sun, seeming to lift him into the sky itself. All around him, the trees rustled and the forest wakened. He imagined it was almost like standing over a vast city, vibrant with people and winding streets. The fog glowed yellow and orange around him and reminded him of the fire from his father’s blacksmith’s shop. He breathed deeply, taking in the sunlight and the air, and turned back down.
He began his descent to the forest floor by grabbing the moss covered branches of the three hundred foot tree. Due to the training of the army, his toned arms and back lowered him through the tree with ease. As he approached the ground, the sound of vibrant songbirds, countless buzzing insects, and the bubbling creek that ran through the camp wound its way through the trees.
About halfway down the towering tree, Tayben stopped and stood on a large branch to look around at the canopy surrounding him; the light had already dimmed and the air had become cool and wet. Thick willow-like leaves filtered out the steamy air of summer and the frigid winter air, remaining cool year-round. Tayben liked the freshness of the air, as it reminded him of home by the woods and the lake. Though the winter brought freezing temperatures, some force kept every plant green. A year in the forest had deprived him of sunlight; his skin was pale and his pupils could never fully adjust whenever he climbed trees to the sky.
As he looked around, Tayben tensed as he felt a cold draft of air slowly settle around him; the dark colors in the wood around him seemed to get darker and the sounds of birds and insects became distorted. He had a very strange feeling that he was not the only person in the tree.
With heightened awareness and apprehension, he put his hand on his sword and turned around, only to see a black squirrel that was watching him from a branch up. Relieved, the soldier ambled towards it on the branches grew as wise as Tayben was tall; he never needed to worry much about falling off them. The squirrel scurried away, and Tayben continued descending back down to the forest floor.
Many people had awakened to begin their day during the time that Tayben had been gone. Usually, the camp would start work before the sun was up, but the summer brought days so long and mornings so early that even the toughest troops would wake after sunrise. Tayben jumped down to his tent, which was situated between two of the massive eight-foot roots of the tree. Like the banyan trees of the southern jungles, the giant was one of many trees whose roots formed cages and webs before entering the ground. Flowered bushes and thick grass decorated the underbrush with green. Yet, where Tayben and his battalion camped in the south of Eastern Endlebarr, the dense underbrush didn’t come close to the thickness and near impenetrability of the deepest parts of the forest
Just as Tayben unbuttoned the door flap, Birg burst out of the tent.
“Oh there you are Tayben! I was beginin’ to wonder if you and Gallien had ran off without me or if I had slept too long.”
“I went out alone. Is Gallien not here?”
“No, he left without folding his blanket, didn’t do nothin’. Left his shoes by the door as well. Thought it was a bit strange for a neat freak like him to be off like that without tidyin’ up. Didn’t go with you? That’s strange.”
Tayben raised an eyebrow and looked around to the other tents nearby. “He must have gone somewhere else in camp, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”
The soldiers retrieved their portions of stiff and dry breakfast for the morning, and warmed a pot of water over a fire with their troop, which consisted of nearly a dozen partnerships. Tayben and Birg had not yet seen Gallien at breakfast, meaning their partnership of three soldiers was incomplete. The troop commander, Fenlell, assessed the condition of the forty-some-odd young men. Fenlell, himself, was not much older than twenty five, but he swaggered around like he was king. An experienced fighter, he loved yet hated his troop and had a habit of referring to the boys as bastards. The platoon supervisors never fell in love with “his style of bloodying up the bunch” mostly because he rarely listened to them, but they let him command the troop nonetheless. When he came around to Tayben and Birg he counted, “One, two, and not three. Mr. Gallien Aris is not with you. Care to . . . elaborate?” The last word bounced off of his tongue in a harsh Cerebrian accent.
Standing at attention, Tayben replied, “Sir, we woke up and he was not in our tent. He left his shoes in the grass outside of the tent and his things were not packed. We have not seen him this morning.”
“Interesting. Well I’ll notify the supervisors then. If we happen to find him . . .” Fenlell laughed out of gory pleasure and walked to the next group. Tayben and Birg looked at each other with worried expressions, fearful of what might happen to their friend.
Mr. Fenlell finished his last check, grabbed a very young soldier’s rock hard breakfast biscuit and a pot, strutted over to the center of the troop and banged them together repeatedly, summoning the at
tention of the group with a ring and clang. Walking around and hitting the pot, he yelled above the noise, “All right bastards! Shut your traps!” The talking ceased and he tossed the pot down on a rock — making it ring loudly again — and chucked the biscuit at the young soldier’s head. “The honorable supervisors have asked us to meet at the barracks over the ridge for drills and training in half an hour! Please act like you know how not to die in battle. That’s all, soldiers.”
The armory was one of the few permanent structures in the nearby forest. Boasting training grounds and an eating hall, the bold wooden structure still sat like an ant beneath the towering trees. Fire lamps hung around its edges to provide light in the dim underbrush; alone, the little light that found its way through the trees did not fulfill the needs of a battle training ground. Tayben’s troop lined up with the ten others in his platoon, forming a massive line of soldiers clad in dark green. Officers ran the platoon through drills and formations, preparing them for battles to come. Archers shot volleys of arrows over the backs of swordsmen, who each crawled on the ground to various locations. The trees’ canopies reached such great size that they completely arched over the wide field which fit hundreds of troops. Gallien was still nowhere to be found.
While drinking from a small brook near the barracks, Tayben overheard Mr. Fenlell informing the circle of gathered officers of his friend’s disappearance. “Yes, sir; Gallien Aris. My best guess is that the aristocratic wimp realized he isn’t fit for battle. Probably fled camp in the middle of the night to go back to his mansion.” Tayben spit out the cold water on the grass. Gallien wasn’t a Crat . . . was he?
Birg approached him and sat down; he was slightly older and taller than Tayben with chocolate skin — rare for a Cerebrian. They discussed the day and the new formations, and also the absence of Gallien. Tayben thought back to Fenlell’s statement.
“Say,” said Tayben with a concerned gaze, “is Gallien a Crat?”
“That I couldn’t tell you for sure,” said Birg “but it’s not the first time someone’s asked me — ‘think it’s the way he carries himself. He’s smart, but not full of himself like the Crats.”
“Well even when I would tell Gallien about my childhood in Woodshore, he never did explain much about himself, other than the fact that he lived in Gienn and his father was an inventor . . . Maybe he could be. But Fenlell over there is telling the supervisors that he fled out of cowardice. I just can’t see that . . . even if he was a Crat.”
“Oh to hell with ‘em Shae. My guess is as good as yours as to what happened to him. And I know it’d be a sour thing if he was one of them, but it doesn’t matter who is as much as what he’ done.”
Tayben nodded in agreement. “He’s done a lot.” Tayben shook his head, playing back memories. “A few months before you joined the army,” he told Birg, “there was a day we ran out of flint to make a fire for our meals.” Tayben chuckled. “So he walked around the entire camp collecting reflective things like the backs of shields and he made them into this giant curved thing that reflected the sunlight from a break in the canopy onto the firewood and then phoof . . . it ignited and we got our meal.”
Birg smiled at the story. “Gallien taught me how to read.”
Tayben looked up with surprise.
“I mean I knew a li’l . . .” said Birg, “But yeah . . . My family said I ‘ad to work for ‘em first and then I could go to school.”
Tayben nodded. “Then you joined the army.”
The two of them sat there next to the babbling stream and listened to the quiet, haunting sounds of the forest. Suddenly, screaming broke out in a pavilion across the stream, and both soldiers jumped to their feet.
“Another one’s gone mad!” said Birg. They stood up as people rushed toward the commotion; the officials close behind him didn’t seem to notice the rampage occurring.
“It’s coming!” screamed the man. “For all of us!” he fought off several people and tried to escape. The man started flailing and crying as he punched and kicked, shouting gibberish about blood and omens. More and more soldiers ran to contain the chaos; he attempted to grab knives and swords off of the walls of the pavilion. Just as a soldier grabbed his face, the fear-crazed man hurled a spear right in the direction of Tayben. Instinctively, Tayben tackled Birg and ducked under the spear just in time for it to pass over their heads.
Suddenly, a cold shiver ran down his spine and the air around him seemed hazy. He remembered the tree in the morning and had the same unnerving impression that he was being watched. A very strange force drew him towards an opening in a bush. Right as he thought he saw a black shadow and a pair of silver eyes, Birg grabbed his face and asked him if he was alright.
“Yes, I —”
“Thank you, Tayben.” said Birg.
Soldiers finally tackled the deranged man to the ground and a captain approached them.
“You alright, soldier?” said a captain, speaking to Tayben.
“Yes sir.”
“Contain him!” he shouted to the soldiers. He turned back to Tayben. “That was quick thinking, soldier. Your name?”
“Tayben Shae, sir.”
“Glad you’re alright.” stated the captain.
Commander Fenlell, without permission from his superiors, of course, turned to address the crowd. The deranged man across the brook growled and yelled nonsense as soldiers gagged him. “Hear that boys? That is the lovely sound of madness! We mere men are not welcome in this forest. Endlebarr is a nasty bitch. She watches you from every corner; she takes weak men at her leisure and drives them loopy; she doesn’t care if you live. But of course none of you brave bastards would ever succumb to the strangeness of the underbrush.” He raised his sword parallel to the ground. “A sword is a quick death, but that’s not what’s happening here. So wake up and smell the mist! It’s hiding what’ll kill you.” He pointed over to the thrashing soldier. “If one of you bastards finds yourself lured by disturbing visions, do me a favor and slit your own neck . . . There are strange things here boys. Don’t let the fog cloud your mind.”
As they walked back to their tent, Birg put his hand on Tayben’s shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough, Tayben. You saved my life. That was quite somethin’ back at the barracks there.”
“It’s hardly close to other things we’ve faced . . . I’m still worried about Gallien, Birg.”
“Well, there isn’t nothin’ we can do about that.”
Tayben shook his head. “Look, you don’t understand. Gallien has been by my side ever since I joined the army. He’s saved my life more times than I can count, and he’s the smartest person I’ve met. I just don’t think he’d ever run off like that.”
Birg put his hand on Tayben’s shoulder. “You heard Fenlell . . . this forest makes people do crazy stuff. People aren’t in their right minds here.”
Tayben looked out into the foggy forest and shook his head. “Not Gallien.” Tayben sighed and opened the tent flap.
“Look, I think you’re overthinkin’ this business. You look dreadful and you just need rest.” Birg entered the tent and Tayben stood outside, holding the flap open.
“It’s not just Gallien . . . Birg, did you feel something when that man was going insane?”
“Well I felt a bit creeped out if that’s whatcha mean.”
“No, I mean, like a cold and unnerving draft.”
“I was a bit too caught up in that scene to notice a breeze.”
Tayben shut the flap of the tent, tired of Birg misunderstanding him. I’m not going crazy! he frantically thought. The night was far fallen, with only moonbeams and distant torches lighting the underbrush. The scene of the soldier driven mad replayed in his mind as he stood out for a while. Fenlell’s warning echoed in his head and he heard Birg turning over in his sleep. He looked down and saw Gallien’s shoes next to his feet. Could he have been driven crazy? Wandering in the forest with no shoes . . . He looked into the forest and whispered, “Where are you?”
While l
ooking out into the underbrush, his body suddenly turned cold and the dark fog around him seemed to swirl. He stepped forward from his tent and the tree roots to try and see better. The chirps of insects stopped completely; he could hear Birg’s breathing in the tent. He could barely see anything in the twilight, just faint silhouettes of the tree trunks. Just as Tayben was about to go back to his tent, he stopped dead in his tracks. A man adorned in a black cloak stood in the mist not ten yards off, staring straight at Tayben. The mist swirled in the slight breeze and enveloped the shadow-like figure. When it settled, the cloaked figure had vanished.
An Evertauri
Chapter Four
~Sometime, August 23rd
Far beneath the city of Seirnkov lay a network of subterranean tunnels and abandoned cities. The air stood still there, and drips of water echoed off the dark stone passages. Littered with stalactites and bioluminescent cave bugs, the tunnels twisted through the gray rock beneath Cerebria. But in the darkness, these lifeless tunnels occasionally lit up with blinding flashes of light produced by the sorcerers of the Evertauri.
A jet of crimson embers burst out of Calleneck’s hand and hit a stalactite on the roof of the cavern.
“No. Again.” commanded his older sister from behind him.
“Aunika, I can’t —”
“Again . . . Focus.”
The cavern was pitch black, and the cold rock surrounding them echoed their voices. Calleneck closed his eyes from within the hooded black cloak that he wore. Crimson sparks slowly emerged out of his palm; they swirled together to form flakes of light. They quickly spiraled and flew chaotically in all directions.
“Calleneck! What did I tell you?”
“I know! I just need practice.”
