“Don’t be a worm-eaten pine stump, Oren. Look at it! Do you see that … where that green lightning is coming from? There! Do you see it? That’s a completely different kind of dark right there, brother.” Gvidus pointed again.
“It’s just like the black we saw before those raven-fletched arrows riddled our cutter camp,” Goran said, his throat going dry as he spoke.
“All the way over here?” Oren asked. “But how? That was half-a-world away.”
“It hovers across land and sea?” Alon asked. “That’s just not natural, if you ask me.”
“No, brothers.” Yasen spoke, interrupting the nervous speculation of his friends. “That fire, that darkness … there is nothing natural about it at all.”
“What would you have us do about it, North Wolf?” Gvidus asked his chieftain. “Should we not grab our blades and pursue it like we did that cold day in the north?”
Yasen stared ahead, looking out from the hills of the western timberline, just half a league from the gates of the colony’s stronghold.
“If the situation were reversed … do you think those colony guardsmen would have come up here to our aid in the midst of a terrible storm?” Alon said. “No … you know that they wouldn’t!” He spat. “You know damn well that they would have run as fast and as far away as they could. And besides, they were the ones that didn’t want the likes of us anywhere near the stronghold anyways.”
“Aye, but we know this isn’t just a storm, brother,” Oren answered.
“If it is the same black, the same arrows, the same devilish green light, then the men still there…” Goran paused, letting the weight of his next words roll heavy on his lips. “They are already lost.”
The men stood in silence as the angry thunder crashed and rolled upon the eastern horizon. Other woodcutters from the line began to make their way to the gathered center, looking for direction from their chieftain. Grips began to tighten around well-worn axe handles, and worried whispers flew back and forth between these mighty northmen as they looked in horror at the greenlit display of power.
“My brothers,” Yasen finally said. “It is no longer safe here for us … of that much I am certain. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Aye … that’s plain enough to see,” Rolf agreed.
“What will we do then, Yasen?” Goran asked. “Do we just leave this place? Do we let whatever hell that is claim the colony?”
“Not a single one of your lives are worth losing for the sake of those timber walls,” Yasen told his men. “Besides, those were Seig’s walls, not ours. And you all know the affections he had for us.”
At that, a knowing laughter lifted the mood of the gathered woodcutters, if only for the briefest moment.
“We will need to get far away from here, my brothers, and we will need to be quick about it. You can be sure that whatever green-eyed devil that is out there will not be satisfied with a small victory,” Yasen said as his gaze shifted to the north.
“But where will we go then?” Alon asked
“I know a cave. It should be safe enough for all of us; though its hospitality is rather disappointing,” Goran suggested.
“And then what, brother?” Gvidus asked. “Just hide like wounded dogs in some darkened den out here in the middle of the wilderness?”
Yasen thought on it for a moment. “Cal mentioned a place… a refuge of sorts, hidden somewhere in the northern parts of this Wreath.”
“What sort of place?” Oren asked. “Did he say where it was?”
“A hidden place,” Yasen replied. “He didn’t know where it was exactly.” The North Wolf looked at his gathered brothers as a hopeful light lit his right eye. “But I know where we might begin to look.”
The men gathered around eagerly as he told them Cal’s tale of the abandoned prison tower in the heart of the Greywood forest, of the lady Astyræ, and of the strange markings that made him believe in a refuge that still stood in the wilds of this darkened world.
“Be warned though, my brothers. For although there may be a sanctuary somewhere in the North, there is also a sorceress, or so I have been told. Could be nothing more than folklore … but I do not think it so. There is something darker out here than just the lack of light. So be ever on your guard, and for the love of the THREE who is SEVEN, keep your axes at the ready and your blades sharp.”
“Aye!” came the collective agreement of the woodcutters.
“Goran,” Yasen said. “Take the men to the cave, and wait for me there. Stay out of sight for as long as you can manage. Whatever it is that is happening there at the stronghold, is doubtful to remain there.”
“Aye” Goran said as he nodded his understanding.
“And what of this enemy?” Rolf asked. “I, for one, would like to know what it is that will be nipping at my heels in whatever is to come!”
“Very well then,” Yasen agreed. “Go, and for the sake of your heels, be quick and quiet about it. Tell us what you can find about this … this … whatever it is.”
“And you, North Wolf?” Gvidus asked. “Just what are you planning to do?”
Yasen thought on it a moment, turning his head to gaze into the darkened forestland behind him. “I must see this tower for myself. We need to know just what it was that made our groomsman brother believe there was something out here worth risking everything to seek.”
“If there is some sorceress out there … I mean … if there is some kind of danger, I would be remiss to allow you to defeat it alone!” Soma, one of Yasen’s riders exclaimed gleefully. “My axe hasn’t tasted much more than dogwood and pine these last dark days. I’ll go with you to the tower, brother.”
“Alright then.” Yasen agreed. “Gather your supplies. I don’t think we have much time—”
His words were cut off by the sound of a violent crack, and the reverberations of a significant crash were felt upon the ground beneath their boots.
“What in the damnable dark?” Gvidus exclaimed.
“Let’s go, brothers,” Yasen ordered, his unpatched eye narrowing with a keen wariness of the danger all about them as he stared back towards the timber walls of the colony’s stronghold.
The woodcutters began to grab their tools and mount their horses. Yasen and Soma wheeled their mounts westward, as Yasen called out to Rolf.
“Be safe, brother!” the chief of the woodcutters said to the spy. “And do not trust everything you see. Remember the isle and the witch … there is always more than meets the eye.”
“Aye,” Rolf agreed.
“At the cave, then,” Yasen reminded him.
“The cave,” Rolf acknowledged.
With that, the woodcutters split their company into three parts. The greatest number headed north along the forest line until they came upon the pebble-strewn bank of the very same brook where Cal had marked his passage. Yasen and Soma spurred their horses westward, deeper and deeper into the massive covering of the mighty trees, while Rolf turned toward the impending doom at the edge of the water.
Chapter Two
Rolf rode hard, trusting that the sounds of thunder and the unsettling reverberations of this storm would mask the sound of his horse’s pounding hooves upon the ground. Though the distance was short enough, Rolf could not shake the unquieting sense that this was the most dangerous ride he had ever made.
As the watchfires of the twin guard towers drew closer and closer, it became all-too-certain that something indeed was not right here. “Where are the watchmen? Why are they not at their posts?” He said to his horse, Kader. “Careful now, girl.”
The air about the timber walls grew instantly silent, save for the banners that whipped in the wind and cracks and pops from the watch fires. “Do you hear anything?” Rolf said to his horse as he threw his leg over her saddle.
Kader snorted her reply as the woodcutter tied her reins to a knot in the corner of the timber wall.
“Neither do I,” Rolf admitted. “That is odd … that is odd, indeed.” Rolf tightened his grip
upon his double-bladed axe, walking as silently as he could, careful to mind each step he took towards the suspiciously open timber gate.
His bearded face peered in through the ominous opening, and to his amazement he saw not a soul in the entirety of the stronghold. “This is madness,” he said aloud. “Where are they? Why would they—”
His words were stolen as the sound of thunder rattled east of the now-emptied stronghold.
He looked about the square nervously, and then muttered, “Well, if you don’t mind, Governor, my brothers and I could use some provisions for our journey.”
Rolf ran towards the storeroom near the stronghold’s kitchens, knowing full well that if he were ever caught for looting the supplies of the colony, he could be beaten or even hung for his trespasses. He grabbed a pair of leather saddle bags and began to fill them with wine skins, dried meats and fruits, and a few wheels of cheese. He knew that it wasn’t much, and that he could not possibly carry enough to feed all of his brothers … but he hoped that at the very least this would help.
When his bags were nearly bursting, he slung them over his shoulder and began to hurry towards his waiting horse. The air about him somehow seemed darker. Even though the braziers and watchfires burned with glowing flames, their light seemed to be nearly swallowed up by a heaviness that hung oppressively over this place.
Rolf walked back out through the timber gates, unnoticed by anyone but his horse. “This is so odd, girl. I have never been more unnerved by something that isn’t even … here.” As he lay the bags across the back of the mare, he heard something on the wind that made his blood run cold.
“Did you hear that?” he said, straining his ears and turning his head. “That sounds like a woman.” He looked up as he listened, eyes fixed upon the empty perch of the watchtower. “I’ll be back, girl. I am going to see if I can get a better look.”
Rolf left Kader, her back laden with supplies and her reins hanging limp upon the muddy ground below. He stole off toward the northern watchtower and climbed the wood-hewn ladder with such haste that he slipped and nearly lost his hold. “Come on, Rolf, don’t be the damned fool that gets himself killed before the battle even begins!” he told himself through gritted teeth.
With only a few more rungs to climb, the tall woodcutter reached the perch of the watch tower. He scanned the horizon, surveying the perimeter of the stronghold until his eye caught the most unnerving scene he had ever beheld. “What in the damnable dark?”
There upon the shore, the mighty Determination lay beached and ruined. The same beautiful sails that brought them across the black waters of the Dark Sea were now tattered and desecrated by some crude, white marking, aglow with the sickly green blaze of the same torches that he and his chieftain had seen in the dying forests of the north.
He reached for the flint that hung around his neck as he watched a swirling storm of ravens circle in a hungry, brooding cloud over the heads of the governor and his guardsmen. At the center of the scene stood a woman whose eyes seemed to glow bright with a sickly yellow fire.
“God help us,” he whispered as he kissed his flint.
At the sound of his lips upon the holy stone, the fierce gaze of the yellow-eyed woman broke away from the governor and turned to the woodman upon the wall.
Rolf’s bowels began to churn as a cold sweat beaded along the nape of his neck; his mouth went dry with fear. He threw his axe to the dirt below and leapt down the timber ladder. His feet missed the last three rungs and he slipped, hitting the cold ground harder than he anticipated. The breath was knocked clear out of his already burning lungs, and he wheezed and coughed while trying to regain his footing.
The tall woodcutter began to run as fast as his fur-covered boots would let him. He reached the open timber gates in almost forty paces and as he did, the sky awoke in an angered display of power. Fingers of green lightning clawed at the black and cloudless sky above him.
“What kind of devilry?!” he exclaimed between labored breaths.
At the crack of the lightning, he heard Kader’s scream. She reared up in a display of frightened madness and Rolf’s heart sank as he watched. “No! Kader!” he whispered frantically. “Easy girl! Easy now!”
But Kader’s loyalty was overrun with fear. The horse’s front two hooves landed heavy upon the ground as she shook her blonde mane in protest. Before he could get to her, the horse shot off like an arrow towards the safety of the timberline. All that Rolf could do was watch her go.
The thunderous sound began to grow louder and deeper. The woodcutter spun around, his head whipping to the right and then again to the left as the brooding cloud descended upon the man of the North.
“Alright then!” Rolf shouted to the swirling tempest about him as he raised his axe. “Do not think that I won’t stand my ground! I will cleave you like I have a thousand soldier pines before you!”
A raven broke away from the swirling mass and flew near enough to scratch his face. Rolf reached up to his cheek and felt the warm trickle of blood.
“Caw, caw!” The voices of the carrion fowl taunted him.
“Ravens?” He shouted to them as he swung his axe at the storm. “Is that all you are, ravens?” In that very moment, as if in response, they all opened their eyes in unison. A thousand little, green eyes stared him down.
“Oh, God!” he gulped.
The storm crashed down upon him. His blade caught their black bodies with a practiced strength, cleaving them clean in half, but only a score of them. Hundreds more began to claw at his flesh and his face with their talons, pecking and biting at his neck, his hands, and his eyes.
Rolf screamed in agony. He swung his axe despite his pain, but the onslaught was too much for any one man. As he yelled and shouted into the storm, the birds began to rip at his tongue and his face, and he choked and coughed against the taste of his own blood. He fell to his knees, bleeding eyes clinched tight, swinging desperately with what little strength was left in his bleeding arms. As he did, his grip failed him. The shaft of his axe was too slick with his own blood.
The moment his axe fell, the birds stopped their biting.
“What do you want?” He tried to say through his ripped and bloody mouth. The birds did not answer him. Instead they dug their sharpened talons into his fur cloak and into his raw skin. In a display of witchcraft he had not dared to imagine, the murder of carrion fowl lifted the large man into the air and flew him towards the wreckage upon the shoreline.
Chapter Three
“I am sorry, Cal!” she told him with great distress in her voice. “I didn’t know … we heard the Nocturnals, they were here, and Deryn and I fought against them … I thought… I didn’t mean to!” Her violet and yellow eyes welled with tears at the look of horror on his face.
Cal fell to his knees as if he too had been speared by the bolt of the fabled bow Arianrhod. His hand ran through the glowing, white fur of the wounded Stag. “What have you done?” Cal whispered. “What have you done, Astyræ?”
The magical beast exhaled his final, blood-gurgled breath without so much as a word of direction. The once-magnificent crown of triune antlers was now half buried in the moss and dirt, broken in the crash to the wilderness floor.
“No! You can’t go! You can’t be dead!” Cal shouted as he used all his strength to try and roll the Stag over, away from the deadly barb that had pierced its flesh. “You can’t leave me … you can’t leave us!” Frustrated sobs began to rumble in his shocked voice. “What will we do? How will we follow?”
“Cal?” Deryn called out to his charge, concern and uncertainty coloring his words.
“How will we find the way?!” Cal couldn’t contain his grief. His whole body shook in the wake of this senseless death.
“Cal ... I didn’t know!” Astyræ tried to explain herself.
“Cal,” Deryn said, placing a steadying hand upon the shoulder of the lady Astyræ. “Think now. What did he tell you?”
Cal raised his hands to his face, the blood of
the holy beast now crimson upon his own flesh. A storm of anger and fear, weariness and grief roiled about in the chamber of his thoughts and flashed in his eyes. “You did this!” he turned on the lady at his side. “All may very well be lost now… because of this… because of you!”
Astyræ stepped away from him, her breath catching in her throat as her remorseful tears poured from her frightened eyes.
“How could …” he tried to ask, but the flood of emotions overtook his storm swept mind.
“We were defending you!” She blurted out. “Fighting to save you, while you were frozen in place!”
“But he was our guide!” Cal spat back. “How will we ever find Shaimira, let alone the new light?! This creature was the only one who knew the way!”
“I thought he was one of hers,” she shouted back at him, her words sharp with the edge of innocence. “Another one of her Nocturnals bent on cutting us all down!”
“Cal!” Deryn flew to him now, his tiny hands holding the tear-streaked face of his friend. “Listen to me … what did the cervidae tell you? What did he say?”
Cal stared at his hands, seeming to not have heard the words of his Sprite companion. Deryn grew worried in the silence, but held steady, willing their eyes to meet. When the shock of the moment released its strangling grip, Cal’s eyes finally found his friend’s. Deryn exhaled an anxious breath.
“What did he say, Cal?” he urged again.
The groomsman swallowed back his grief before he managed to answer. “He said that we were to retrace the ancient paths. He said that he would be our guide, that he would show me the way to find the light.”
Cal’s gaze broke again and he stared deeply into the forest before finally turning to his violet-eyed companion. “But how will he lead us … if he is dead?”
Astyræ hung her beautiful, golden-haired head in wounded shame. “I didn’t mean to … I didn’t know… I thought he was an enemy, Cal. I was trying to help you.” Her tears began to fall again. Cal knelt in the dirt, watching her cry as he held his blood-stained hands out before him.
The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3 Page 2
