The Grim Wanderer

by James Wolf

  ‘Partly… but they also blossom to help the living,’ Cibriel nodded her head at Taem. ‘Their magic is to help those who are left behind to grieve. To help them say goodbye.’

  ‘My parents,’ Taem said quietly. ‘They were murdered by Krun… And I can never forget what the Krun did... I hate them!’

  ‘But will you let that hate consume your life?’ Cibriel said, and Taem could hear the compassion in her voice. ‘Will you let one tragedy beget another? You are angry, Taem. But do you think your hurt will be healed by vengeance? You have held onto that anger, used it, fed off it, grown so accustomed to it that you assume it is part of you – but if you carry on like that you will never be at peace with yourself.’

  Taem glared at Cibriel, and felt tears welling in his eyes.

  ‘Do you wish to see your parents again?’ Cibriel said.

  Taem looked at the Aborle with doubt. But on seeing the surety in Cibriel’s eyes, Taem nodded.

  ‘Then embrace the scent of the Mikeri,’ Cibriel gestured to the silver poppy. ‘Let the purple veil envelop you.’

  Taem slowly brought the Mikeri up to his nose and inhaled. Its scent was faint, almost ethereal, fresh like the chill wind of a darkening winter evening. Purple swirled round him; covered him, shrouded him. Suddenly the forest was gone. He could only see purple. Taem felt as if he was flying, being carried.

  And then he was in another place entirely.

  Taem was walking through open country and the sun was shining. But this world was different, everything was tinged with a golden glow. Taem walked on through the fields and past the woods, and somehow it all seemed so familiar to him. He joined the road, and climbed with it towards the crest of the hill. He thought the farmed landscape looked like a sea of gold. Taem gasped. He knew where he was. A warm breeze caressed his face as he looked down onto his village. It was just as Taem remembered it, from before the Krun raiders had come. The houses, the stables, the inn, the church – all the old buildings seemed to glow with an inner golden light.

  Taem strode down the hill and into the village, drawn irresistibly towards his old home. As he approached the cottage a great joy welled up into his heart. His parents waited for him in the garden. They stood by the front gate, arm in arm, smiling – as happy as Taem could ever remember them. He stumbled on down the street, in an incredulous daze, to where his parents waited.

  ‘It is good to see you, my son,’ Taem’s father beamed. ‘You have grown into a fine man.’

  ‘Where are we?’ Taem reached out to hold his parents; he was amazed to find they were real.

  ‘You would call it Alarsium, Taem,’ said his mother. ‘We have gone to the Light’s embrace.’

  ‘I miss you,’ Taem threw his arms around both his parents.

  ‘As we miss you,’ his mother cradled her son in her arms. ‘But you still have your whole life to live, and it will be a good life, my son,’ his mother kissed Taem on his forehead.

  ‘All your life we have watched, Taem,’ his father patted his son’s back, ‘and you have done us so very proud. But I want you to start living free. Free of guilt, and free of sorrow. In your heart we will always be with you, but in the world we are dead, and you must choose to accept that.’

  ‘That is why you have been allowed to visit us,’ his mother said. ‘So we can say what we never got chance to in life; so we can say goodbye.’

  ‘I don’t want to say goodbye!’ Taem shouted.

  ‘You must, Taem,’ his father said strongly. ‘For your place is in Hathlore, and you are needed there.’

  ‘Fear not, my son,’ his mother said softly, ‘You will see us again – for we wait for you here. But – by the grace of the Light – I hope it to be many, many years before you join us.’

  ‘We love you, son,’ his father said, ‘and your sister and brothers. We always will.’

  ‘Wait!’ Taem pleaded, as he sensed the golden realm beginning to fade.

  ‘Live a good life,’ his mother smiled.

  ‘Always do what your heart tells you is right,’ his father said. ‘Stay true to yourself, no matter what.’

  ‘Now you must go,’ his mother said, as she reached out to him, ‘but never forget our love goes with you.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Taem said as hugged them. ‘I love you both.’

  Taem closed his eyes as he felt the purple veil envelop him, and he was flying once more.

  When Taem opened his eyes the golden light of the otherworld was gone, and he was surrounded by the dark forest. He was aware of the sounds of distant merrymaking, and he saw the old Aborle woman watching him.

  ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ Cibriel said.

  ‘I think so,’ Taem said softly. ‘Was that real?’

  ‘As real as you want it to be,’ She laid a comforting hand on Taem’s shoulder. ‘Some believe the Veil of the Mikeri allows you to walk with the spirits of the dead, where they wait for you in the last embrace.’

  ‘Thank you, my friend,’ Taem embraced the old Aborle woman. ‘I think you have helped me more than you will ever know.’

  ‘You are a good man, Taem Sodan,’ Cibriel smiled, ‘and you deserve happiness.’ The old woman bowed.

  Taem gently pulled the old woman back upright and said, ‘You need not bow to me.’

  ‘On the contrary, Lord Sodan,’ Cibriel touched her palm to Taem’s cheek, ‘I know you are a guardian of my people, and I know what you did for us today. I gladly pay homage. Now, I’ll return to the fire, come find me when you are ready.’

  Cibriel walked back towards the party, as Taem stood in the dark forest with the lingering memory of the golden realm in his mind. He felt a great sadness, but it was coupled with a great happiness that brought him almost to a smile. His last image of his parents was no longer their bloodied corpses, it was the joy on their faces as they looked at him for the last time. But just seeing them again had brought back the grief into his heart. And, once he was sure he was alone, Taem fell to his knees and buried his head in his hands, as a few tears trailed down his cheeks.

  ‘Thank you for supporting me father,’ Baek said.

  ‘I think it is the right thing for you to do,’ Gerandel put a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘It is almost as if you were meant to accompany him.’ The father’s copper eyes shone with a sense of destiny. ‘He is exceptionally skilled for someone so young, and of noble mind.’

  A creature barked out in the forest, just audible over the band playing, drawing the father and son’s attention for a moment. Probably nothing, they both decided.

  ‘There is something about that young man,’ Gerandel stared out into the darkness, ‘in the way he holds himself. Something in his eyes. A certain nobility. I foresee he will go on to do great things.’

  Baek heard the far-away wonder in his father’s voice.

  Coming back to the conversation, Gerandel grinned to his son, ‘If I were twenty years younger, maybe I would go with him too!’

  A violent howl pierced through the sounds of revelry. Both Gerandel and Baek swivelled, their gazes sweeping the forest beyond Leafholme’s lights. There it was again! Both Aborle spun around as they heard what had to be another beast – this time much further round to the north. And then again! Somewhere out in the east, on a different spot!

  The merrymaking continued behind the father and son, but the forest was ever so quiet. Deathly silent.

  ‘Run!’ Gerandel roared, hurling his son back towards the great fire.

  Taem sat in the dark forest as a torrent of emotion surged through his head. The Star Lanterns of Leafholme glistened a hundred yards behind him, and he could hear the singing and the band playing, but he was glad to be alone.

  A howling whistled through the trees.

  Taem looked up – what the hell was that? It was no wolf. Taem leapt to his feet and his hand shot to Estellarum’s hilt above his left shoulder. He stared out into the darkness. He concentrated on listening through the music of the party. He was as still as a statue.
A rotten stench pervaded through the trees. Taem’s eyes narrowed.

  The enemy must have seen him. Taem knew his silhouette would be outlined by the lights of the tree village behind. Shadows loped amongst the trees. They were everywhere. Dull yellow eyes crept forward, so full of malice and cruelty. Taem contemplated running – no! Some cunning Kruns had slunk up along his flanks and got between him and Leafholme. Taem cursed his carelessness, but it was too late for that now. The Sodan was motionless as the Krun encircled him. Trapped! Taem calmed his breathing, as he let the dark veil of night envelop his thought and hide his fear. The tune-filled revelry in the village behind continued on oblivious.

  The surrounding Kruns pretended to cry, cackling to each other, and laughing and pointing at Taem.

  ‘Was ‘e cryin’?’ A Krun sneered.

  ‘Da we kill all ‘is friends?’ Another Krun cackled, and all the Kruns around Taem began to wail and pretend to sob, and laugh at him once more.

  Taem let their taunts brush over him, as a wind blows over the mountain top. His eyes counted five Krun. His ears told him there were at least four more, their snarling breathing was but four yards behind him. Taem could feel their malevolent hate.

  The distant music ceased. Taem heard screams and the howls of Krun slaughter in the distant village, but it was beyond his sphere of combat. A Krun snarled as it launched its gangly frame at Taem. Taem knew the Krun was coming before it even leapt at him. Estellarum swept out from its scabbard and cleaved the vaulting creature in two. The rest of the blighted beasts hesitated. That moment was all Taem needed. The Sodan bounded amongst the enemy, his sword flashing. Taem’s blue blade slashed through two Kruns before the others had even reacted. A twirling flick dropped another. He blocked and parried, fallen Kruns shrieked in the throes of death. Taem jumped, just tucking his legs over a Krun’s swing, slicing as he landed. He ducked as he deftly turned two enemy blows over. Taem shifted back as he swept his defence all over his fighting compass. The enemy swarmed him, but he danced amongst them: killing, defending and dodging. Taem evaded to the side and lunged forward, spearing the last Krun through the breast bone.

  In the next moment he was gone. Exploding away through the trees, heading for the lights and the screams.

  Taem sprinted through the sacred groves, hurtling for the great fire. The crash of blade upon blade was up ahead in the middle of the village. Taem careered over the ornate bridges, past the forest floor huts, bounding over dead Aborle bodies as he made for Leafholme’s centre.

  The Aborle had been caught unawares! The Kruns had surged into the party, slaughtering the unarmed Aborle as they celebrated. Their cackling howls reverberated through the magnificent trees. The Star Lanterns bathed Leafholme with their heavenly glow, but there was no paradise here now.

  Taem dashed between the bases of two mighty oaks, under the walkways above, flying into the central clearing. Mangled Aborle corpses littered the clearing around the fire. The rest of the Aborle had scattered, fleeing up into the village’s higher walkways. Kruns were all over Leafholme, chasing and murdering any Aborle they could get their hands on. Taem shuddered as he heard the terrible shrieks of dying Aborle.

  A gathering of Kruns had strung an Aborle up by her wrists on a wooden spit, and held her out to roast over the Fire of Honour. The Aborle screamed in agony as the flames licked her body and burned her legs. Taem felt his anger rage as the Kruns snarled with laughter, as they taunted the shrieking Aborle. How could any creatures enjoy causing such pain?

  Taem Sodan mowed into the back of those Kruns, hacking down half a dozen of them before they could turn and bring their weapons to bear. The Aborle over the fire squealed as her skin began to melt and she was burnt alive. Taem swathed through the remaining Kruns, using Estellarum to rip them to pieces. More Krun rushed to attack the Sodan, as he smashed through their comrades. But Taem cut them all down. Fury burned through every fibre of his being.

  Taem hurried to haul the wailing Aborle out of the fire. Taem cut the forest woman down and gently lowered her to the ground. The Aborle’s skin was horrifically scorched, her face disfigured by charred burns, and her legs were black, but Taem could still recognise it was the placid elder Cibriel. A woman who, Taem was sure, could never do harm to anyone. Taem felt as if his blood was frozen. Seeing such a good woman reduced to this, was as painful as a spear thrust through the belly.

  ‘Thank you, my boy,’ Cibriel gasped through desiccated lips, as she pressed her hand to his cheek.

  Tears glistened in Taem’s eyes as he held the old Aborle woman. The horrific moaning of other Aborle being tortured swept through the once-tranquil village.

  ‘You are Sodan,’ Cibriel smiled weakly, as she gripped Taem’s arm. ‘Protect my people!’ Cibriel cried with the last of her strength. ‘Save my people, Sodan…’

  Taem watched, powerless, as Cibriel’s soul fled from her ravaged body into the solace of the last embrace of the Light.

  ‘The Light will guide you, old friend,’ Taem murmured, as he clasped the Aborle woman close to his chest.

  Tears trailed down Taem’s cheeks as he softly laid Cibriel’s body down. Implacable anger blazed through him. A white hot fury burned in his heart. Taem glared up through menacing eyes as he perceived Krun screaming towards him.

  Baek and Gerandel had managed to reach bows and quivers just as the carnage erupted. They had cried for everyone to climb into the trees, but most of the Aborle had been too slow to react. Many were now dead, and much of Leafholme was on fire. Aborle had fled in every direction. Those that had made it into the dark forest were gone, but savage Krun gangs were stalking through the tree village butchering any survivors.

  Shandor was with Baek and Gerandel, grouped together with many other Aborle warriors. They had picked up any weapons they could find and were hunting down the evil invaders. The Kruns were leaderless. And, having already divided into pillaging mobs, they were easy for the Aborle warriors to outnumber and overpower. Nevertheless, there were so many murdering Krun scavengers crawling all over the village that Aborle who were unable to defend themselves were being slaughtered.

  ‘Shayel!’ Baek cried as he loosed his bow. ‘Where are you!’

  Gerandel struck down another enemy. He turned, and deftly used his sword to envelop the blade of the next charging Krun. Following through, Gerandel lunged and pierced the Krun through the heart.

  Baek looked down at a dead Aborle, Lareal, a friend of his mother’s. He saw how the Krun had cut her flesh into strips, and sliced chunks out of her face – and Baek realised how the Krun must have made her beg and scream before the end. For the first time in his life, Baek knew what it was to hate.

  ‘This way, Aborle!’ Shandor bellowed through the slaughter and the smoke, leading over one of the rope bridges towards the screams coming from the hut in the next tree. A dozen Aborle followed behind the Forest Guard Captain.

  ‘Baek!’ Shandor cried back. ‘Take the rest of the Aborle up to the second level.’

  Baek bounded up the spiral stairway out onto a broad walkway, his father on his shoulder and other warriors behind.

  Baek drew and loosed his bow into a foul Krun rummaging through an Aborle corpse.

  ‘Split up and scour the second level!’ Baek yelled, as he ran on with his father and two others.

  A handful of Kruns charged towards the father and son. Baek’s arrows were swift, and Gerandel’s sword flashed like lightning – under the glow of the Star Lanterns. Those Krun could not last long, and their corpses were soon staining the once beautiful timbers of Leafholme’s walkways with their dark blood.

  ‘Shayel!’ Baek roared. Where was his sister? Despite all the Star Lanterns lighting up the night, he could not see a thing through all the smoke billowing up from the huts below. It stung his eyes and clogged his throat.

  ‘This way!’ Gerandel cried, leading them on into a house. Just in time to fight off the Kruns who had been arguing over the best way to make the Aborles they held under knife-poi
nt suffer.

  ‘Have you seen Shayel?’ Baek asked the survivors, as his father slew the last of the hideous Kruns.

  ‘No,’ an Aborle-maiden wailed, as she broke down in tears.

  And terror surged through Baek as he realised the girl was Delese, one of Shayel’s best friends. Delese crawled over to a man that Baek knew was her betrothed, and she cried as she cradled his head in her lap. Baek was filled with misery as he realised why Delese was heartbroken. Delese’s betrothed was Hanrel – a friend whom Baek had known since they had run through the woods as children – and he was soaked in blood. The wound to Hanrel’s chest was deep, and Baek knew his friend would be dead in moments.

  ‘Go to the Light, brother,’ Baek knelt down to clasp Hanrel’s hand. ‘Go with the knowledge that your life bought enough time for the others to live.’

  ‘Elliterati,’ all the Aborle in the hut whispered – both survivors and warriors – as they touched their hands to their hearts. Delese sobbed as she bent down to kiss Hanrel’s forehead.

  There was nothing more Baek could do there, and there were still other Aborle out there who could yet be saved. He had to find his sister! So, with regret and sorrow in his heart, Baek turned away from his dead friend and gestured for his father and the other warriors to leave.

  Baek hurried out the house. He looked over the edge of the walkway down to the forest floor, and saw it was utterly silent down there. Baek thought the complete quiet was ominous. Nothing lived by the Fire of Honour, neither Krun nor Aborle. It was as if death itself had swept through the forest village.

  On the first level, Baek could see Shandor and her Aborle were hacking through and hunting down Kruns. Chasing the Kruns over the bridges and battling them on the platforms. As Baek hurried to survey the second level, he could see Kruns in many of the huts. And the wailing of tortured Aborle was horrific. How could this be happening?

  ‘Come on!’ Gerandel cried, urging the Aborle warriors on over the next walkway, onto a platform where half a dozen Kruns were slicing up a screaming Aborle-woman.