by Aaron Bunce
What of Berg? He wondered, very nearly speaking the name out loud. Would any of them greet him? Would they believe his story, if given the chance to tell it? And even if they did, how long could he stay?
“Ro…do you smell that?” Dennah asked, breaking him from moody deliberations.
He smelled the air. Wood smoke…hickory. The Trodden Traveler stood just a few stone throws beyond the shielding bulk of the Deer Run. Tusk responded to his shift in emotions. He caught flashes of something bright, sharp pin pricks of anxiety stabbing at his insides. The dog was near the inn, watching it, the strange foul smelling presence out there somewhere, haunting their footsteps. But even the supernatural dog couldn’t track it down, and that worried him to his core.
Ahead of them, the rocky ridge curved ever so gently to the right. The wind shifted, no longer blowing the snow over the arching curve of the ridge above them, but swirling around behind from behind, pushing them.
A wave of curiosity flooded into him. He caught a glimpse of something dark streaking through the snow. Tusk was moving, tearing through the snow like a streak of lightning. The shadow moved up the side of the inn, scaling the wood slats and disappearing onto the roof. Tusk smelled the snow, following the trail to where the creature climbed the building. It smelled like death.
“Ride fast, and stay low!” Roman said, spurring his horse forward.
Her eyes went wide, but he heard Freckles kick into a fast trot and then a gallop behind him. Roman bent over his mount’s thick neck, melting against the dark horse, very much aware that the ceiling to the rocky outcropping hung just a half dozen paces above them.
Roman fought the urge to steer the horse out into the open, where he could drive the animal into a full gallop. A tingle shot up his spine. He felt it in his gut, and then his legs. Tusk was running again. The dark creature was moving as well. It soared off the inn’s roof and disappeared into the swirling storm. The dog scrambled up onto the rocks behind them, following its foul scent.
His eyes flashed to the Deer Run, and then to the edge of rock to his left. It was above them, ahead of them. Hell, it could pop out any of a score of holes in the rock along the way.
What is it? The smell. It has to be the creature from Bardstown, the orchard, and Frenin’s house. It has to be, Roman thought, spiraling into fear.
Something clattered above, rattling down over the side of the rock shelf. Roman flashed a glance back at Dennah and made up his mind. He wouldn’t be the coward, only to watch some dark fiend spring out of the darkness and knock his friend from her horse. She was close, but felt so horribly far away.
Roman pulled the reins and forced the horse out of the shelter of the Deer Run. He pulled the reins hard, rearing the horse. He slid backwards off its flank, tumbling as he hit the deep snow, ignoring his bow as he stood and instead pulled the sword from the scabbard at his hip.
A dark, roughly humanoid form sat perched on the lip of the rocky Deer Run. It crouched forward, coiled like a cat ready to pounce. Roman felt a pinch of unease deep inside, the unfamiliar handle of the sword hard and slick with snow in his palm.
“Come on!” he growled threateningly, lifting the sword before him.
The creature turned its head, considering him, its eyes flashing with a haunting, green glow. Roman fell back a step and lifted the blade as the creature crouched low. Tusk appeared from the swirling storm, moving fast and low along the rocks. The creature screeched, its voice like a strained, twisted man, just as it leapt straight up into the air. Tusk jumped, his jaws snapping loudly, but bit only air.
The dog, almost doubled in size and covered in pure white fur, landed in a crest of snow and tumbled off the far side, and out of sight. A gust of wind blew up and over the Deer Run, catching the crest of snow and shattering it into a blinding cloud of stinging particles.
Roman lifted his arms to shield his face just as something crashed into the snow behind him. He turned, cutting the sword hard at waist-level. The blade whipped through the air, his head snapping around behind it. He registered a dark shape against the blowing white. It was close, barely out of arm’s reach.
Dennah shouted something behind him, her voice drowned out by the wind and horse’s frightened cries. He reversed his grip and grunted, swinging the sword back around. The beast ducked the strike and lunged forward, driving its cruel, bladed gauntlets into the snow at his feet. Roman twirled out of the way, the intended movement not nearly as graceful as he intended.
The shadowy creature came in again, but Roman centered himself and cut hard and down, his aim true. The blade connected with a metallic thud, the shock reverberating painfully up his arm. The dark figure crashed into him violently, knocking him back into the snow.
Roman fumbled with the sword, but the shadow loomed over him. The bladed gauntlets swung down into the snow at his sides, strong thick fingers wrapping around his arms.
The beast pinned his arms to his body as something lashed violently around him. Roman kicked as the shadow moved. He tried to sit up, and searched for the sword, but his arms were locked in place. A heartbeat later, a crushing grip closed around his ankle and with a violent snap, he was airborne.
Chapter Ten
A Purpose
Luca groaned and rolled over, his lethargic yawn turning into a pained yelp. The ache and stiffness in his body felt different, raw and fresh. He felt as he did when he first woke up on the Kingfisher.
“Are you alright, little dear?” Cassendyra asked, leaning over him, her dark hair falling like a blanket of bouncy, onyx curls.
Luca sucked in a breath, the air whistling between his teeth. He tried to sit up, but the pain was too great. He flopped back onto the bed, the pungent, earthy smell of silty river water flooding his nose and mouth.
He clutched at the knot on his left arm, just below the shoulder. The skin felt tacky under his palm, like it was covered in pinesap. When he rocked with a wave of pain, he swore that he felt needles and twigs poking into his back. Luca squeezed his eyes shut as images continued to flash through his head. He groaned as he saw the large boat, the goblins puffing hard as they worked the long oars. He saw a swarm of little, orange-eyed creatures. They clung to him, biting and clawing at his skin. Then there was a dark tower, its damp, moldy air settling like an icy blanket over him.
“Emma?” he asked, trying to clear his thoughts.
Cassendyra hovered over him for a moment, before turning her head towards the door. Her eerie, colorless eyes flicked back to him.
“She ran off. I tried to stop her. I thought we would have more time. More time to prepare you, but…”
“Prepare?” Luca grunted, barely managing to sit up. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. “Wait. She’s gone? We should go get her. Is she in danger?”
“She can’t go far. My people won’t hurt her.”
“Your people?” Luca asked, swinging one leg over the side of the bed, before a wave of pain bent him low and he was toppling towards the floor.
Cassendyra reached out, her hands moving impossibly fast, and caught him just beneath the arms. Luca howled as his battered body shifted, every muscle and joint alight with fresh pain.
“You…said that you could…heal me here. My pain, you promised to take it away,” Luca hissed, as she settled him back upon the bed. “I brought you the Yörspring, just like you asked.”
“Yes, you did everything I asked of you. But these things are delicate, Luca,” Cassendyra said, glancing back at the door once more before turning and settling next to the bed. “I can…will, heal you. I will. You must understand something first. I have been away from this place, from my people, for a long, long time – several lifetimes. I needed time to talk to my people, to ask for their acceptance, before I could...”
“But, they are your people,” Luca interjected, quietly.
Cassendyra nodded. “They are my family, but…”
A door opened downstairs, the squawk of stiff hinges echoing up the stairs and filling the still ai
r. Cassendyra turned towards the door, her smooth brow wrinkling ever so slightly.
“Emma, she came back,” Luca said, sitting up straighter, but Cassendyra shook her head. Luca took a breath to argue, just as heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs. Emma was far too light on her feet to make such noise.
“Luca, stay silent.” Cassendyra slid from her chair by the bed and stood in front of him.
A shadowy figure slid through the hallway, followed by another, their steps now barely a whisper against the smooth floor. A memory flashed into his mind, the images almost splitting his mind like a red-hot wedge.
He was huddled behind a cabinet, the shards of a broken vase clutched in his hands. Luca heard an angry shout beyond the door, followed by the boom of boots on the steps. And then nothing. He peeled his eyes open, the pain buzzing like an angry bee between his ears. He tried to stay upright and strong, but it was too much, so he slumped back onto the bed.
Somehow, distantly, he understood the memory was of his father, even though he couldn’t remember his father’s face, or his name. He could have walked quietly up the stairs, but that was beside the point. He wanted Luca to know that he was there. That he was coming. Just like the strange figures filing into his room.
The first man through the door wore a long, red garment, bound in the middle by a rope of shiny, metallic braid. His hair was long and straight, concealing half of his face. His eyes were large and colorless, like Cassendyra’s, and his nose straight. Luca thought that he looked more than a little odd, like a grown man wearing a baby’s skin.
More figures filed into the room behind him, but they were a different story. Clad in strange, dark armor, and so tall they had to stoop to pass through the doorway, the soldiers formed a semicircle behind the smooth-faced man.
Luca squirmed under the group’s unblinking gaze. Even Cassendyra looked small, shrinking into her chair as the group towered above them. He wanted to crawl under the bed, or pull the covers over his head and hide, but he doubted that his body would oblige him. His arm hurt just thinking about moving it.
“Cooeeah, Liem nastra,” the smooth-faced dalan said, his expression betraying neither joy nor anger.
“Speak in common tongue, Altair, so the boy can at least understand your words,” Cassendyra said, laying a reassuring hand on Luca’s forearm, before turning and standing.
“The memory of a dalan. Oh, how it is to never forget,” Altair said, smoothly. “Common tongue it is, if you wish it. But know that I cannot extend you greetings of welcome.”
“I harbor no hostilities towards you, Altair. It was time for me to return home.”
“We guard the shoreline, and destroyed all but one gate before leaving. A tree golem guards that portal. No one has come through it unbidden in many turns of the season. Tell me…how did you return?”
“There is a gate, hidden in a sea cave not far from the icebreak, a short boat ride from a lake city this boy’s people call Pine Hall. I maintained the gate, and hid a Yörspring with the locals in case I ever needed it,” Cassendyra said.
“Ahh. Our scouts scoured that wretched land in secret, spiriting away any and all secrets that could threaten this place. I will have to remedy this portal immediately. I see you are no less clever today than back when I counted you friend and family, white fox,” Altair said. He gave an almost imperceptible nod and one of the soldiers turned and left.
If Cassendyra was flustered by this, Luca couldn’t tell. She stood before him, her body language betraying neither fear nor frustration.
“The gate is still open, and you should leave it that way. We will need it, Altair. Our people, no, all the people of this realm, need unity now more than ever. I felt them...the Nym. Somehow they’ve returned,” Cassendyra said softly, brushing a few coiling strands of hair out of her face.
“Returned?” Altair laughed, quietly. “Impossible! We destroyed them, utterly. There is nothing too return. I have felt nothing more than the maturation of our power. The world of mortal men fades, while we grow stronger.”
“You are blinded to the truth, Altair. Surely you must see that. The ward totems protect this place. That magic masks our presence here, but it also leaves you blind to what is happening out there,” Cassendyra said, pointing over Altair’s shoulder. “You have locked yourself in a fortress with no windows, and cannot see the threat building outside your walls. I have been out there, beyond the totems, living amongst this boy’s people. And I am telling you, the Nym have returned. You must believe me.”
“You smell like them, sound like them, and even move like they do. How can I believe you when it appears you have forgotten what it is to be dalan?” Altair asked.
Cassendyra shifted weight between feet, a hint of color flashing in her otherwise colorless eyes. “Have you completely abandoned reason in my absence? Since when is a voice raising alarm a thing to be ignored?”
“Absence? You left us, blood traitor. You abandoned your people to live amongst lesser beings. And then you led them to our former home, and encouraged them to settle over the bones of our fallen people. They trampled hallowed ground, stained by more worthy blood. They broke into our sacred crypts, ransacked and pillaged our holy artifacts, and lied, treating us like freakish simpletons. You knew that by leaving this place, by picking them over us, you would be banishing yourself. You are not welcome here,” Altair said, his lip curling.
“Lesser beings? Were we so different?” Cassendyra hissed snake-like. “I see nothing has changed. Listen to your words, Altair. You sound just…like…them!”
“Should I not? It was their lifdagàr, their gifted power that elevated a broken, backwards people and made us what we are. If the Nym had not come along, we would have fallen prey to the same base weaknesses.”
“Can’t you remember everything they took from us? Our people, our culture, our families? I can remember everything since the day I was reborn, but I cannot picture loved one’s faces anymore. All that remains is emotions, the warmth of a hug, a song sung quietly. How can you consider this a gift? They are driven by one need, to consume. They stole us away from our families, and not out of love or a chivalrous desire to lift up the weak. They were molding us, using our bodies to safeguard their continued existence…to stave off death. They are blight, a sickness, a swarm of locusts, sweeping away anything alive and vital. These people have what was stolen from us so long ago. What you, Altair, have long forgotten. Virtue. A sense of humanity.”
“Yes, frailty and fallibility? No…mortality, thankfully cast off at the feet of the Nym,” Altair offered, his face scrunching up and a green glow pulsing in his clear eyes. It was as if Luca saw the dalan man for the first time. A mask that pushed out from the inside, straining against his almost cherubic facade.
Cassendyra cleared her throat, and glanced back towards Luca. He met her gaze and was shocked to see what looked suspiciously like fear in her eyes. He felt something similar in his belly, working its way up to tighten his chest.
“I did not return to rekindle old grievances, Altair. Forces are moving within Denoril. Gnarls are massing in the north, beyond the mountains. The people there won’t see it until it is too late. They have already christened the faceless. We need to help these people see it, to empower one of their own. A voice, the people of Denoril will listen to. This boy has strength, and a connection to the Nymradic’s rising somehow. I can see it in him, feel it attached to his pain,” Cassendyra gestured towards Luca, her tone much softer now.
“Denoril,” Altair scoffed. “We watch these people kill, starve, and rob each other. The Nym aren’t back, you are just witnessing this boy and his people’s capacity for barbarism. We will remain here, guarded by our ward totems and watch the people of Denoril drive themselves into extinction.”
Altair drifted off as Cassendyra shook her head. “This boy and his siblings were beset by a durjj. I felt the creature’s presence upon him. You have to see it. If the durjj have returned, it can be for no other reason.”
&nb
sp; “You never understood, Cassendyra. The Nym granted us new purpose and strength. You preach about family, and culture, but what does one need of the old ways? We became our own family, and you rejected that family. You are no longer one of us, and worse, you bring these flawed, tainted creatures with you. The Nym are gone, the durjj are gone, and we will leave these people to their own self-induced fate. It is our way.”
Luca watched as the soldiers moved, widening their formation, until their line completely blocked access to the door.
“Altair, don’t! This boy needs us. His people need us. This is not the time to push away. This is the time for us to come together. This boy, Luca, he is the key–” Cassendyra said, but Altair cut the air with a hand, silencing her.
“No! We don’t need these people, just as we don’t need you and your mortal-tainted ideologies. You are one of us no longer.”
Two of the soldiers moved forward and fell over Cassendyra. They wrestled her upright, pulling her towards the door.
“No, wait! Stop, please. Where is Emma?” Luca yelled, abruptly. He tried to move forward, to slide off the bed, but his body denied him even that. His weight tipped forward, and when his legs couldn’t move fast enough, he toppled head first onto the floor.
Luca sprawled painfully, striking his already throbbing head on the cold boards. He saw Cassendyra duck, twist, and send one of the soldiers rolling away. In an instant, her body was larger, longer, and stronger. She wrenched the other soldier around, leveraged him off the ground, and sent him flying into the others.
She bent protectively over Luca, easing him off the ground with surprising tenderness. He looked up into her face. She was already changing back, her body shrinking, her face something not quite so wild, so primal.
“Look at them. They are wretched, pathetic things. This one a broken cripple, and the other, more wild animal than girl. You couldn’t even spare quality specimens?” Altair spit, pulling himself out of the pile.
