by Dan Brigman
“Saen, you’re fine. It’s me. We’re at the sanctuary. You fell asleep on your feet, and I had no choice but to carry you.”
Einar’s voice barely carried over the wind while Saen could scarcely discern a silhouette next to her side. It held enough familiarity for Saen’s tenseness to fall away with the following breath. Saen lay back upon the ground; a tiredness deepened behind her eyes and she tried to not think while Einar continued.
“—little food remaining. We’re about halfway to Tallvon so that shouldn’t be a problem. Water will be no concern since there’s a small spring near the sanctuary. While you slept, I filled the water jars—”
Saen turned her head ever so slowly toward Einar when his words cut off.
“Sorry, I thought you fell back asleep.” He continued, “You slept just a few hours. Sol will rise soon. Based on my calculations, we can reach the village by noon, then rest long enough to restock. We’ve got to reach Jasten before the storm reaches its full intensity.”
“Very well. We’ll find them, Einar,” Saen breathed, not able to hide her fatigue. “Forgive me, though—I’ve not felt this tired since we stayed up all night playing Runic. Anyway, give me a few moments and I’ll be ready.”
“I’m ready when you are, Saen. Don’t go too far, please.”
Saen nodded, which seemed to shake her brain loose, then squinted to see him lighting a second torch. Once she stood, Saen grasped the torch. Einar stood, pointing to his right.
“Go that way, so you don’t accidently desecrate the spring’s water.”
Following his instruction, she stumbled outside of Einar’s line of sight, and within five steps the storm’s coldness washed over her meagerly-covered form. Shuddering a few steps further, it was all she could do to close her eyes and relieve herself in the frigidity. Once finished, Saen strode faster than she thought possible in her current state. Seeing Einar’s shadowy face staring into the blackness brought relief unmatched by any feeling in the past. Then, moving closer to Einar, the relief heightened by the reintroduced feeling of a late-spring day. The warmth created by the alteration’s effect had not faded. If anything, to Saen, the area around her friend seemed nearly perfect in comparison.
Breathing deeply of the warmed air, she shambled past Einar and sat next to him. Saen lay her head on her knees then began, “There’s no sense in waiting for sunrise. Your protection is obvious. Besides, if I don’t get back up soon, you’ll be carrying me the entire way.” Waiting for her to finish, Einar stood, replaced his pack, and tightened the straps. Putting out a hand, he tapped on Saen’s shoulder.
“I’m ready,” Einar said. “Let’s go.”
She raised her head and nodded. Taking his outstretched arm, she allowed herself to be helped up. Shrugging off the tiredness as best she could, she took a drink of water and weakly smiled encouragement at Einar. Saen turned back along the road which only he could see and followed after him. Peering back at the consuming darkness, she realized with a pang of regret that the sanctuary had gone unseen, by her at least. A start of panic welled up as the realization of their oversight settled over her mind.
“We have to go back, Einar.” She hated saying the words since that meant delaying her much-needed rest. “We have to,” she trailed off weakly at the near-overwhelming thought.
“Saen,” he stated over his shoulder, “no we don’t. While you rested, I performed the necessary ceremony. All I ask of you is to focus on getting to Tallvon safely.”
The relief at his words oddly intermixed with dread at the thought of today’s activity, then unwanted thoughts tickled the back of her mind. If I can’t walk to Jasten, even in this weather, then I need to head back home. All we’re doing is finding a woman and her three children. They can’t get too far ahead. I’ll be back to Durik’s Pass before the end of the week.
Her thoughts fell apart as she suddenly walked into what seemed to be a wall. A sharp whisper, “Stop, Saen, stay still,” immobilized her. She realized then that the wall was Einar, even though she couldn’t see anything in the sudden darkness.
“What is going on?” she replied before Einar shushed her. “No need to be—”
“Be quiet, you fool!”
The soft, yet harsh words shocked her to silence, then roughened fingers grasped the top of her head and she felt the hand turning her face slowly to the left. “Look.” The word, spoken so quietly it would have gone unheard if not for her now-heightened attention, caused her to focus.
The blackness seemingly gave the request to look no merit. It’s been long enough without light that my eyes should see nearby illumination by now. Not seeing anything, as seconds passed into minutes, her patience began to slip. Saen readied herself to speak then abruptly noticed five small pin pricks of light far in the distance. She could not judge the distance away, yet the lights appeared to be spaced nearly equally apart and in a line. The lights flitted almost imperceptibly away from the two companions.
Without warning, the darkness enveloped the first light. Counting her heartbeats, the next one disappeared by the count of twenty. As if on schedule, the final three followed the others out of sight at the same pace.
The light’s disappearance prompted Einar. “I apologize for my harshness, but I didn’t want to take a chance, however small, on catching the attention of whatever those were. Before you ask, Saen, they could have been five simple rangers or something much worse. No sense in taking risks.” He sighed. “It seems we’re not the only ones who can travel in such conditions.” He paused, and Saen focused on the vague outline of his form. “The sunrise, even though hidden by the storm, will give us plenty of light. Let’s move.” Not waiting for Saen to rise from a crouch, Einar walked with a pace Saen feared she could not match.
I have to try, for the children, at least. And for him. The thoughts flitted away as their crunching steps over the frozen road created a cadence, lulling her into a focused reverie. Nearly all thought, except moving her feet forward, escaped her mind. Glancing up only occasionally, Saen noticed Einar’s continual scan of their surroundings. What he looked for, other than his family, she could not guess or care about. The iron-gray clouds lay low in the sky and seemingly grew in strength as the morning passed. The weather, despite its best attempt, could not breach their shelter borne of Einar’s will.
Alternating wisps of flurries and sleet brushed against the invisible aura just beyond her grasp. Rarely, when a snowflake touched the edge, iridescent colors shimmered across the barrier’s apparent curvature. After several incidents of this effect, Saen’s flagging energy became overshadowed. Without paying close attention, the effect did seem rare. Yet, she suddenly realized that by looking closely, Einar’s barrier could be seen, if not all of it simultaneously. The barrier reminded her of an upside-down fishbowl fashioned from a rainbow instead of glass. The barrier’s true sight caused laughter of delight to escape Saen’s lips, followed by flushed cheeks.
Turning his head, Einar’s frown of concern at the noise changed to a slight smirk when he realized what his friend was laughing at. “I was wondering when you’d notice it. I’ve seen the sight so many times over the years.” He paused to examine the barrier. “I had all but forgotten about it until this morning. It truly is beautiful, isn’t it?” He turned and stared straight at his friend before saying, “Strange how even the most beautiful things can fall beyond your view over time.” Pausing with a vacant stare, he continued, almost to himself, “I only wish more of Pass’s folk trusted me enough to witness it, too.” Seeing a smile touch his eyes for the first time in many months, Saen noticed small wrinkles on either side of his eyes which had not been there before. He has aged, and I’ve not even realized it. At least he is in good spirits.
Saen grinned and said, “I think I’ll have to do some convincing once we get back. They don’t know what they’ve missed. By the Ancients, I didn’t either.”
The grin grew, and Einar replied, “Well were almost to the village; another five minutes I’d guess.
So, enjoy the next few moments. I’ll have to remove our protection for fear of frightening anyone.”
Five minutes? I thought hours had passed while I stared at the colors. His power was truly beyond my reckoning. The thoughts fell away as she looked past Einar to see the un-walled village of Tallvon.
The Unnamed glanced at the five figures surrounded by light. The tenuous, jagged globes of lantern light within the night’s blackness brought a chuckle to the Blight-spawn’s pale lips. All the figures, even the so-called Xavad Guardian at the end of the line, could not see a palms-width beyond the light. I had been weak once. The Unnamed did not waste time clutching so far back into its mind for that time. The clutching vague glimpses of his previous life reached out like tendrils threatening to force memories of what he had done.
Only the present mattered. And my charge. “This damnable scout is beginning to wear my patience to a nub,” the Unnamed muttered. The Blight-spawn felt irritation pricking his skin like the breath of an ill child’s dying words.
“What’s that you said?”
The voice ahead of the Blight-spawn caught his attention. He glanced ahead, noting the young scout had stopped. Without looking, the Unnamed knew the other four had stopped to wait. Each breath wisped outward past the scout’s heavy cloak. A tight-fitting bear fur hood encapsulated his head. Thick bear-hide gloves covered his hands. He only carried a quarterstaff and the hooded lantern. An unstrung bow hung from his shoulders next to a travel-worn leather haversack. A quiver and shortsword hung from a wide leather belt. The scout’s icy blue eyes stared outward toward the general direction of the Unnamed; the blackness outside the lantern’s globe all but hid the creature.
The Unnamed inhaled, then exhaled through the thin black cloth cloaking his face. Despite the cold, his breath had no substance serving as a counterpoint to the scout’s breathy white clouds. “I said, young man, you are beginning to wear my patience to a nub.” He did nothing to alter his inflection, simply letting the words work on their own.
The scout, Tostig, narrowed his eyes and strode toward the Unnamed. His boots crunched over the frozen sacc, prairie grass, and soil as the lantern’s light reached the creature. The Unnamed’s hood and cloak streamed with the sinuous flow of the white flurries, yet the light seemed to dim upon reaching the Unnamed’s garb. Tostig peered behind the Unnamed at the small contingent of three soldiers. They stood waiting and holding their cloaks tightly while they watched. The fourth, a woman standing at the rear, their Xavad Guardian, stared at Tostig through the darkness and biting air. Her gray eye’s focus flicked between the scout and the Blight-spawn
“Is there a problem, Tostig?” the Guardian yelled past the soldiers, her voice husky from the cold. Her focus shifted to the Unnamed. “We don’t have time for breaks. Or maybe you’ve forgotten?” She rasped out the question, her tone mirroring the Unnamed’s impatience.
Tostig replied, “No, Baka Tlos.” He muttered under his breath at forgetting the Guardian’s title, but shifted back to the Unnamed, to forestall the gray-skinned woman’s possible outburst. “Sir, I am doing my best, but considering the conditions, I’m lucky I’ve not taken us right into the river. Between the darkness, the storm, and the pace you’ve set for us, I don’t know how much longer we can last.”
“Excuses, human?”
“Pardon me, sir?” Tostig asked.
“You’re offering me nothing but excuses.” The Unnamed sighed. “My patience wears exceedingly thin, and you give me excuses.” While speaking, the Unnamed raised his right hand and began scribing. Lines of pitch black around his index finger formed faster than Tostig could follow, the darkness pushing out the lantern’s light to just a pace ahead of Tostig. A scent of burnt whale oil permeated the cold air. The scout heard the soldiers’ cries of disbelief and what he thought to be the Guardian’s angered shout. But those sounds vanished like popped bubbles. The ensuing pain seemed to extinguish all the reality he knew or would ever know.
Pain blossomed, then exploded within Tostig’s chest spreading along his entire being. Each cell cried out in anguish. Every drop of blood transported the pain. Each nerve attempted to claw its way out of his skin to escape the pain. Simple thoughts amplified his brain’s seeming destruction. Yet, somehow, he kept ahold of the lantern. Perhaps the shock held his hand tight, yet Tostig could only stare ahead at the Unnamed. He stood half a pace from Tostig, his hand indistinguishable within the inky blackness blanketing half the length of his arm. The blackness writhed and enlarged with each beat of Tostig’s heart. Despite the crippling agony, Tostig could plainly make out the Unnamed’s words.
“Shall I continue this display, or will you do your duty?”
Tostig’s attempted response met a torturous eon of resistance—one that became a languishing hell of proportions Tostig wished on no other being. Except the Unnamed. The agony slowly abated; years seemed to have passed by before Tostig muttered a single word: duty.
The pain fled as quickly as it had arrived, leaving only slight tremors flitting throughout Tostig’s arms and feet. He felt a cheek twitch before icy blue eyes blinked of their own accord. The inky blackness sluiced away into the Unnamed’s arms, allowing restoration of the lantern’s intensity, yet the light itself had dulled. The normal permanence of the lantern’s ability diminished. Tostig blinked again, glancing at the soldiers. All the colors reflected by light seemed washed out to dull grays, whites, and blacks.
Tostig continued staring at his companion’s shocked faces until a hand grasped his arm, luring his gaze back to the Unnamed. The creature offered, “Your duty?”
Tostig nodded and swallowed, then reached for his fallen quarterstaff with twitching fingers. When the scout straightened, the Unnamed motioned forward with the inscribing hand. The simple warning to resume crystallized in Tostig’s mind providing no other viable options. Tostig peered back to ensure the contingent had disappeared in the time spent in that hell. He blinked in surprise at the lack of even a year’s age on the people’s faces. Tostig had been sure he somehow had stood pinned to the space for years. The pain’s lingering caress had furthered the surety.
The soldier’s faces shifted from settling for the frigid night’s fruitless search for the man and his companion to various states of wide-eyed shock. The Guardian’s pale gray eye’s bored into the Unnamed. The Blight-spawn’s unknowable form gave the woman no attention. Tostig spared one more breath on the Unnamed and shuddered before turning north.
“We’ll need to rest sometime soon, sir,” Tostig offered over his shoulder after a few minutes.
“Perhaps, sooner than you think, scout. Head for the next resting point.”
“A sanctuary?” Tostig shouted over an influx draft of searing wind. The others had been lured in closer to the scout, as if closer proximity to one another would shut out the bitterness. “But what if you’re seen?”
“Don’t concern yourself over trivialities.”
The Guardian called out heatedly, “I will be concerned no matter what you say. You know your own orders, Unnamed.”
The Unnamed turned, his entire front facing the Guardian, Baka Tlos. Despite the lantern light’s dimming upon his black, near-featureless form, his stance belied danger. Baka’s face paled to whiteness, as a hand reached for one of her two hilts. Identical shortswords hung from her wide leather belt.
“Yes,” the Unnamed answered, “I do.”
Baka said, “You or others like you cannot be seen yet, Unnamed.” The heat in her voice had vaporized, a shift to slight pleading the only recourse now. “Master Amant stated his wishes. Perhaps I can remind him when we’ve finished this fool’s errand.”
“You speak above your station, Xavad Guardian. If you stop our trek again, the only thing speaking to Gorgion Amant will be your flayed skull mixed in with ashes of your blighted corpse.” Despite the Unnamed’s covered face the other members of their hunting party sensed the Unnamed’s smile. “If memory serves me, Gorgian Amant has an affinity for experimenting upon
humans—even ones who’ve been blessed by alteration or blighting. Those who’ve been touched by both are exceptionally exquisite.”
After Baka Tlos lowered her hand from the hilt, she whispered, “It doesn’t need to come that.” Her eyes narrowed as her focus shifted to Tostig. “Scout. Get us to the sanctuary. I need fire and food. Some ale would do us all well.”
Hours later the Unnamed stared south from his perch on the sanctuary’s stone wall. Sol had already made its way upward above the horizon. He sniffed at the air. The scent of ozone lingered, even the wind failed to pull away the invisible aura. Those two didn’t even bother going far from the road. The thought pricked at the Unnamed’s mind while he watched over the sleeping humans—even their stench did not overwhelm the altered environs.
The rhythmic sounds of five sleepers became four, and the Unnamed said, “Baka.”
“Yes, I’m awake,” she replied from her still-laying position.
“I leave in a few moments. You will head to Master Amant’s lair and report to him that I will soon have these humans he desires. Jonathan Stoutheart and I will bring them. The time variable is too great to offer an expected arrival.”
“Very well, Unnamed.” Baka groaned as she stood up. “I ask that you forget my words yesterday. That was a bit foolish of me. The stress afflicts my mind, especially in this damnable weather.”
The Unnamed sighed and leapt down from the wall. Without looking at the Guardian, he replied, “I’ll consider your request.” The creature’s disgusted tone at the proposition diminished the Guardian’s hope of any real consideration.
“Will the stepwell be prepared for our arrival?” Baka asked.
“Perhaps, Baka. Nevertheless, Gorgion Amant prefers to challenge the Originator’s gifts to his children.”
