by Joe Naff
He looked towards the sky and walked along the fallen trunk of the tree. High above his head, a long branch extended out from the wind-ripped bark. Like all the others, its leaves were stripped bare. Several smaller twigs extended out from the main branch, but it looked to be roughly as tall as he was and straight as an arrow. If he could cut it off and remove the twigs, the end could be sharpened into a sturdy spear. His mind recalled how poorly matched he was against the wolves with just his little hunting knife. A spear would give him a weapon that could strike from a distance, and obtaining one would be well worth the effort.
Reaching for the lower branches of the fallen oak, Zehlyr began to climb up and around the trunk. He couldn’t help but imagine how useful all of this timber could be for his village. With such an expansion of land suddenly cleared by…whatever it was that had happened, Meadowgold could possibly expand northward. After all, the Savage Lands would be much less savage if they were no longer wild.
Zehlyr hoisted himself up from the last branch and stood on top of the fallen tree. The curved and uneven surface beneath his feat was easier to walk on than he expected, but he still took each step with great caution. Eventually, he made it to his prize and began to hack away at the base with his knife. After a few good whacks and a shower of pale-brown splinters, the branch was free from the trunk.
He broke a few of the smaller twigs away as he returned to his feet, but he stood this time facing the north and the journey still to take. The sight from this higher vantage point gave him pause. There were hundreds more trees, just like the one he stood upon, all of them lying on their sides and angled towards a single point, and they continued all around him in an enormous circle. The lack of foliage above left the blue of the afternoon sky clearly visible.
Pausing to take in the spectacle of it all, Zehlyr noticed the bark on the tops of the trees was mostly intact, whereas the sides were either shredded or bare. No impact had been made to push these trees over, the evidence made that clear. These trees had not been pushed, but rather pulled. Each discovery only yielded him more questions, fueling a greater sense in him to push on towards his answers.
He made quick work of his new weapon. With the twigs stripped away, he whittled off the bark until only a smooth rod of wood remained. He fashioned the smaller end into a sharp tip, patting his finger against it lightly to check its lethality. An uncomfortable twinge shooting through his finger confirmed the success of his craftsmanship.
For a moment, Zehlyr considered climbing back down and resuming his trek through the soft mud. However, the trees here were larger and had fallen much closer together, making it very likely that they would soon be overtop one another and leave no room to move between them. He glanced over at the next tree to his right. It was smaller, but with far fewer branches and not very far away. He could make the jump and then run north along the trunk to the next one. It seemed a much swifter way of making his journey with the best visibility possible.
It also seemed like more fun.
With a running leap and a childish smile, Zehlyr soared through the air and landed on the next fallen tree. His feet pivoted as soon as he landed, pointing him northward, and allowing him to bound away down the bark-covered wood. Only minutes ago, he had accepted his inevitable death. Now he was alive, full of curiosity, and off on an adventure he’d never expected when setting out that morning to watch the sheep and read his book.
Like a child at play, Zehlyr dashed down the fallen trunks, leaping from one tree to the next as he neared closer and closer to the center of the unnatural circle. He lost his footing only once, forcing him to reach out and grasp a nearby branch so as not to fall and become wedged between two trunks.
The moment gave him pause. Perhaps he shouldn’t move quite so fast. After all, there was no one to save him out here should something happen. Cherin was certainly well out of earshot by now. He wondered just how worried his older brother was, but not enough to feel sorry for him.
He continued on, this time a bit slower and with more caution in his steps, but the journey soon reached its end. Suddenly finding himself with no more trees to jump to, Zehlyr reached the center of the phenomena.
Only here had the trees been pushed away from the center, leaving a wide, deep pit of dirt and debris. Whatever strange event had occurred here, it had violently uprooted all that grew in this spot and left a deep crater in its wake. The soil had been upended and the plant life lay scattered about in a furious frenzy, but that wasn’t the only thing lying on the ground with deathly stillness.
Even before Zehlyr hopped down from the fallen trees and into the pit, he had seen the bodies. They were human in shape, but each was completely covered in a large, red cloak hiding all of their features. The carcasses were sprawled out in a large circle around the outskirts of the pit, just ahead of where the fallen trees touched the ground. The way the cloaks clung to the bodies cast an impression of how each had fallen. Many were on their back. Some were on their side with heads turned away. One was flat on its back, but a thick mound of uprooted shrubbery lay next to its face, hiding its features. In all, he counted roughly fifteen bodies in the clearing wreckage.
Zehlyr held his makeshift spear out in front of him. His steps were slow and deliberate, each making a deep indentation in the soft, disturbed soil. He didn’t know what to expect when he reached the center of the center of the blast, but it certainly wasn’t this. He had no idea who these people were, or whether or not they were actually people. They certainly weren’t dwarves, elves, or centaurs; that much he could tell. He figured they must be human, but they seemed much larger than most humans did.
Cautiously, he approached the nearest body. His spear slowly lowered, the tip pointing towards the corpse as if it might suddenly return to life and attack him. There was no movement from beneath the dirt-covered red cloak, no signs of stirring or even breathing. Instinct told him to run away, but he’d come too far not to get the answers he craved. His trembling hand lowered down towards the corpse and gripped it by the shoulder. Its back was turned to him and it was curled up in the fetal position. Zehlyr took a deep breath and tugged, causing the body to roll onto its back and the hood to fall away from its face.
Zehlyr stumbled backward, landing on his behind with an uncomfortable thud. He dropped his spear, freeing his hands to let him scurry away from the body as fast as he could. It was a balisekt. He’d never seen one in person, but the features were unmistakable from the stories he’d heard all his life. It was human in shape, but significantly larger. Its body was covered in small, green scales. It had an elongated snout and large, reptilian eyes. Rows of long and narrow teeth filled its mouth and a forked tongue lay motionless between them. Its hands sported long, bony fingers, each with a claw as long as a small knife.
Zehlyr scrambled back to his feet, but his legs shook nearly too hard to hold him up. His breaths were fast and heavy and a cold sweat ran down his brow. What were the balisekts doing here? Why were they all wearing strange, red robes? The balisekts were a savage tribe that survived by scavenging and killing. They lived crudely in the Savage Lands with no clothing or possessions to speak of unless they were stolen from the Lands of Order.
The arrangement of these bodies, coupled with the fine—though now greatly soiled—robes suggested these creatures had been taking part in some strange manner of ritual. None of this made any sense. What had they been doing? Had it brought about the terrible force that destroyed more than a square mile of forest? The elves and the faeries had priests and priestesses that claimed to have magical powers, bestowed upon them by the Great Lady of the Forest. His fellow humans had even begun to delve into practices of Lady Worship ever since the Great Blight, but this was something far greater than anything he’d heard of before.
Zehlyr’s eyes scanned the fallen trees as he moved cautiously around the clearing. These balisekts were long dead, but that was no guarantee that more weren’t lurking in the wreckage. The forest was always full of noises, but never b
efore had they all sounded so hostile, so sinister. The tales said balisekts spoke in hisses and clicks, and every sound in Zehlyr’s ears sounded exactly as such, at least to him.
He reached down into the mud to retrieve his spear, but his head was light from stress and the sudden shift caused him to lose his balance. Before his fingers could grasp the whittled wood, Zehlyr tumbled backwards down into the pit. Mud caked his clothes; small rocks tore at his flesh. End over end the young human tumbled before finally coming to a stop at the lowest point.
Zehlyr lifted his weary head off the ground and spat out a nauseating mouthful of mud. He rolled from his back to his side. Every muscle in his body ached, his head was pounding, and his heart was beating hard enough to hurt his ribs. Lying broken and beaten by an enemy as simple as gravity, he questioned the sanity of venturing into the woods alone. Could curiosity really have clouded his senses this much?
He rose to his feet again to begin the trek back to level ground, but he wasn’t able to make it one step. His foot caught something on the ground before his eyes could see it, sending him falling flat on his face. He groaned as he lifted his upper body out of the mud. His eyes looked back for the object that had sent him tumbling. It was then he noticed a human hand sticking out of the mud.
Discovering one of his own in need, Zehlyr found a much needed burst of energy. His appendages flailed wildly as he hurried over to the discovery. Splashing and sucking sounds filled the shallow pit. Mud splashed against his face with each slap of his hand, but it didn’t slow him down. Once closer, he could see a naked body lying face down in the crevasse. It was female and unmistakably human; no more savage tribe surprises here.
She was fair skinned with long, flowing hair of the most peculiar color. It was a very bright pink, like the blossoms on the cherry trees in the spring. It must have been exceptionally lovely when not soiled with fresh mud, but he’d never seen such hair on any creature before. Her head was turned to the side, facing away from Zehlyr, but he could see her back lifting up slowly and then falling again. She was alive. He quickly grasped her shoulder and tugged frantically. “Miss!” he shouted. “Miss, are you alright?!”
Before he could turn her onto her back, the young girl suddenly jumped into a fury of motion. She coughed and gagged as her body flailed in the mud. Her knees shot up to her chest and then pushed back down just as quickly. Her palms slapped down into the mud and she rose to her hands and knees. The coughing continued, but slowly transitioned to deep, full breaths. “What happened?!” she asked frantically. “Where am I?!”
“You’re deep in the Savage Lands, miss,” Zehlyr replied, remembering his manners despite the lack of necessity for them. “I don’t know how you got here, but thank the Lady I found you,”
The girl put her hands on her legs as she rose to a crouching position, resting on her shins. Her pink hair was stuck to her face. Though her breathing had returned to normal, Zehlyr could still see her trembling slightly. “Did…did you save me?”
Zehlyr blushed. “You could call it that, I guess,” he replied, not wanting to recount the tale of his cowardly clumsiness in the presence of such a strikingly beautiful woman. He was having a hard enough time keeping his eyes off her delicate skin. Even caked in mud, she was an absolute picture of beauty.
She giggled a little. “I should thank you then.”
“You could tell me how you came to be here.”
There was a pause, only for a moment, but it was as still as the meadow on a windless day. She turned her head up towards the sky, but faced away from him. “I…I don’t know,” she replied.
“Can you at least tell me your name?”
“I don’t…I don’t know that either,” she said, sounding just as perplexed as he was. “I can’t remember anything before you touched me.”
Zehlyr brushed the girl’s hair off her face. “Well, we just need to get you back to Meadowgold. Surely, someone there will recognize you.”
The girl turned her head towards him. “Thank you for helping…”
Zehlyr didn’t hear the rest of her statement, because laying eyes upon her face caused him to jump back and gasp. Her face was just as beautiful as her body, but with one feature more remarkable than anything he’d ever seen. Her large eyes were as green as the leaves in the middle of summer, and they sparkled most unnaturally. Each glittered with hundreds of tiny sparkles as though the stars in the night sky were alive behind them. Even with no sun to reflect off them, they glittered all the same.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No…nothing,” Zehlyr replied, trying to regain his composure. “It’s just…it’s just that…”
“Who’s down there?!” boomed a loud voice from the rim of the pit.
Chapter 3
Zehlyr shielded his eyes from the sun as he gazed up towards the voice. The bright light obstructed his vision of the figures standing on the level ground, but he could make out their silhouettes well enough to tell there were nine of them and they were all human.
Crouched beside Zehlyr, the nameless girl quickly turned away. She did her best to hide her nakedness from these new strangers. She didn’t know these people. She didn’t know anyone at all, and she was feeling very vulnerable. The boy beside her seemed eager to help, and in that, she found comfort, but she could discern neither the faces nor the intentions of their newcomers.
“I demand to know who is down there!” the same voice from the top boomed again. It was a male voice, deep and commanding. “State your names!” Six of the humans rushed down into the pit. Their heavy boots squished and splashed in the mud with each step. By the time Zehlyr made it to his feet, he and his strange female companion were surrounded.
Now at eye level, Zehlyr recognized several of the men standing around them, spears—real spears—were held tightly in their grasp and pointed at the two of them. He scanned their faces, trying to put names with them. These were men he had seen, but not men he knew personally. What he could tell, however, was that they were well-off men, wearing garments were much finer than anything he’d ever owned. Each had a sword of dwarven craftsmanship on his hip. Golden chains hung around their necks and fine rings adorned their fingers. If these were the men he thought they were, then there was no doubt who was at the top making the demands.
“Please, don’t hurt us,” he said with a soft, shaking voice. He slowly raised his hands over his head, trying to seem as cooperative and non-threatening as possible.
The last three humans descended into the pit. The one to Zehlyr’s right was female, with her black hair pulled back and a steely look in her eyes. She had a strong build to her, with thick muscles and well-defined features. The one to the far left was very tall with short, spiky brown hair and a thin goatee. Zehlyr recognized the man in the middle, and seeing him confirmed his suspicions. He was a middle-aged man with a broad build and weathered features. His skin was tanned and leathery. A thick mane of brown hair flowed down past his shoulders and his long beard trailed down in a series of short braids.
Though he’d never spoken with the man, he certainly knew his face. This was Sansehr himself, the Lord of Meadowgold. He was head of the council that made the laws and decided on all matters of justice in the human tribe. To be in the presence of Sansehr, you were either one of his guards, trusted advisors, or had done something great or terrible enough to merit his attention.
“You, boy, I asked your name,” Sansehr said impatiently. The man and woman to his left and right stared at him coldly, each drumming their fingers on the hilts of the blades on their hips.
Zehlyr opened his mouth, but only panicked mumbling escaped his lips.
“Your name!” the woman on the right demanded.
“My name is Zehlyr,” he finally managed to say.
Sansehr raised an eyebrow as his lips pushed up close to his nose. With each exhale he made, Zehlyr could smell ale on his breath. “Zehlyr, eh?” His focus turned down to the woman still kneeling on the ground and looking up at
him from over her shoulder. “You know, the Savage Lands are not a safe place for defiling young maidens.”
Zehlyr’s eyes opened wide as he realized how his Lord was interpreting the situation. “Oh no! You have it all wrong. I found this woman out here like this!”
“It’s true, sir,” the girl said. “He saved my life.” Even though she was not the one in trouble, she certainly didn’t want to see any harm or punishment come to her rescuer.
“Yes, I saved her,” Zehlyr said, purposefully neglecting to tell the entire story. He’d rather tell a half-truth than let Sansehr continue to consider the alternative.
Sansehr looked over his shoulder to the man standing beside him. “Feneris, give this girl your cloak. No need for her to remain in such a shameful state.”
Feneris removed his long, black cloak and lowered it down to the girl. She stood as she grabbed it, quickly wrapping herself up. Once clothed, she stood beside Zehlyr and faced the Lord of Meadowgold.
“My thanks,” she said.
“What is your name, miss?” Sansehr asked in a gentler tone than he’d offered Zehlyr.
“I’m afraid I do not know, sir.”
Zehlyr could see the look of curiosity and frustration returning to his Lord’s face, so he quickly intervened. “It seems she is suffering from some memory loss,” he said.
Sansehr’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he finally took notice of the young girl’s peculiar eyes and hair. “I would certainly remember a face as lovely as yours in the village.” Sansehr was a man used to getting whatever he wanted, and his want of beautiful women was quite high. Had he seen such a maiden in the village before, he would have certainly taken her as his own, by force if necessary.
