by RM Wark
“Where did you come from?” he asked, startled.
The little girl said nothing. She merely pointed back towards the direction from which he came.
“You want me to go back?” he asked, confused.
The little girl nodded.
“I must finish my hunt first. We are hungry.”
The little girl’s dark eyes flashed silver, and her lips pursed tightly in anger. She pointed once more.
Without another word, Gentry turned around.
Fallon was still sitting upon the log when Gentry caught sight of him. Wizards be damned. What a fool am I – to let a little girl scare me so, Gentry thought, shaking his head.
A movement in the distance broke him from his thoughts. Before he could even think, Gentry found himself running fast towards Fallon.
“Run, Fallon! Run!”
With a look of surprise, Fallon stood up and turned around – but he did not run.
Instinctively, Gentry dove in front of his friend. “Run!”
Gentry saw Fallon’s eyes grow wide. He felt the shooting pain of an arrow striking his back before he fell to the ground.
“Run, Fallon. Run!” Gentry cried again, his voice hoarse. And when he saw that Fallon finally heeded his words, Gentry closed his eyes.
As he fell into a world of darkness, Gentry was not afraid. To the contrary, he was filled with a sense of peace he had not known since before that fateful day when he learned of Luca’s death.
When the ranger stood over Gentry’s motionless body, he could not help but notice that Gentry appeared to be smiling.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fade to Black
Fallon ran. He ran faster than he had ever run in his life. He ran until his lungs felt as though they had caught fire. He ran until his legs wobbled beneath him. And when he finally stopped, he sobbed. He sobbed for the life of the best friend he had ever known.
“I cannot even give him a proper candle ceremony,” Fallon lamented. “And he is dead because of me.”
He did not dare light a fire that night. He did not know for certain if he was still being pursued by the ranger, but he did not want to do anything that might reveal his whereabouts.
Fallon could not stop himself from recalling the sight of the large man – the ranger – emerging from the trees. He could not stop himself from recalling the sight of Gentry’s body splayed out upon the ground, the arrow protruding from his back. He could not stop himself from recalling the voice in dark of the reflecting pools: Heed the final words of the messenger. When the time comes – you must run, Fallon. Run.
“I am sorry, Gentry,” Fallon whispered through his tears. “Wherever you are … please know that I am forever sorry, my friend.”
*************
The guards had apprehended both of them immediately. Upon seeing his cane, they allowed the aging Steward the courtesy of remounting his horse for the trek to the Minister’s house. They kept their swords drawn and close to Grant as a deterrent, but Steward Isaiah had no intention fleeing.
A beautiful woman with skin like chocolate opened the door and listened intently to the guards. Steward Isaiah smiled, but the beautiful woman did not reciprocate. He knew her feelings immediately – she was afraid.
“You have nothing to fear, madam. I have only come to talk,” he said, though he could not tell if his words had done anything to calm her fears.
She closed the door, and when it reopened, the pale face of a dark-haired man appeared.
“Are you the Komanite leader?” Steward Isaiah asked.
“Aye. I am Minister Silas.”
“Minister Silas, I am Steward Isaiah, of Reed. I should like a word with you.”
“Were they armed?” the Komanite leader asked the guards.
“No, Minister.”
“Have you come alone – just the two of you? Or is your army near?”
“We have come alone. I only wish to talk. I have no quarrel with the Komanites.”
Steward Isaiah could not tell if the Minister believed him or not, but the dark-haired man moved aside to let them pass through the door.
“I should like to speak to the Minister alone, Grant.”
The Komanite guards looked to their leader for guidance.
“I shall be fine,” the Minister said. “See to it that the other Reedite does not escape.”
The guards nodded and led Grant away. The Komanite leader led Steward Isaiah into his dining hall and closed the door.
“Would you care for some tea?” he asked, taking note of Steward Isaiah’s cane.
“Aye, if it is not a bother.”
“Not at all. Please, have a seat.”
The Minister left through a separate door, which Steward Isaiah assumed led to the kitchen.
“A little tea shall settle me down,” muttered the Steward aloud. He had grown increasingly uneasy about his plan to visit with the Komanite leader.
Hopefully Minister Silas shall understand everything once he reads Lady Dinah’s letter. And perhaps there can finally be peace between our villages.
*************
Fallon headed east over the Divisidero Mountains. The trails were overgrown and quite difficult to navigate, which surprised him. I thought the Easterners were all making their way to the West. Would they not have worn the path?
Despite the overwhelming sense of foreboding that hung in the air, Fallon pushed forward.
He often heard the howls of beasts unknown by the light of the moon, but in the light of day, all was eerily quiet. The only sounds he heard were the wind in the trees, his footsteps upon the path, and the thumping of his heart.
Eventually those few sounds were joined by the grumbling of his stomach. He had no weapon to hunt for the animals he never saw, so he searched in vain for berries or any other edible greens. In the end, he nibbled on the stale bread that the old man had given him long ago. He knew it would not last much longer.
Fallon hid in the forest for some time when he stumbled upon his first village. But hours passed and he saw no movement. Nothing. He heard no sounds. Nothing. Eventually he mustered the courage to approach.
The first door he opened was the hardest. He kept expecting an Easterner to attack him, but no one ever came. No one was there. The village was abandoned. Fallon dug through the cupboards and feasted on stale food. That night he retched often. I should not have eaten that spoiled meat. But that did not stop him from feasting on the stale food once more come morning.
Fallon encountered several villages as he wandered along the various trails that seemed to take him in a northeasterly direction. They were all abandoned. At each one he feasted on food, retched, and feasted some more.
One day he came across a large village – a town not unlike Bartow – save for the lack of inhabitants. This town was near the coast, and Fallon could smell the salt in the air. He feasted on fish washed up by the shore and fell asleep in a bed of feathers he had discovered in one of the larger homes.
He fell into a fitful sleep once again. But this night, Fallon did not dream of forests and fog. Instead, black shapes filled the sky. They were not the black riders with torches that he often dreamed of as a young man. These black shapes floated through the air, floated through walls, killing everything in their paths. Their screams were deafening. He remained hidden under blankets in his bed of feathers. The whole of his body shivered, ever fearful that he would be discovered. They were directly above him now. Shrieking. They saw him! They were coming right for him!
Fallon woke up in a panic, sweat pouring from his face. He searched frantically for any signs of the black shapes, but he saw nothing. He noticed his hand was clenched tightly into a fist. He unfurled it to reveal the black stone.
The little girl had given him a starcrest stone as they left. It reminded him of the stone the Steward had given him years before – the one the Komanites had taken from him.
“Keep that with you as you travel to the East,” the old woman had cautioned. “It shall pro
tect you.”
“Protect me from what?” Fallon had asked, but the old woman did not reply.
Fallon wondered if the stone had protected him from the black shapes. He was not entirely convinced it had all been a dream.
*************
Lady Delia stood in front of the forty-four remaining Western Wizards, finally prepared to tell her tale. They were assembled in the main dining hall of Mt. Xavier once again, but now the worries of the East were long gone.
Lady Delia took a deep breath. Although the words that followed were spoken slowly and with a certain detachment that comes with the healing of time, it was impossible to deny the underlying currents of emotion. In that moment, the Queen found a sympathetic audience.
“I was angry with my father,” she began. “He had refused to acknowledge my love for another, and I acted as any childish girl might. I ran away.”
Many a glance was directed at Lord Milton, but he did not acknowledge their stares. His eyes remained fixated on Lady Delia, though it was Lady Eloise sitting beside him, and it was her hand that he now held.
“I thought about running to my love,” she could not bring herself to say Lord Milton’s name, “but my father had threatened his banishment. It was not a risk I was willing to take.”
Lady Delia was relieved to find expressions of understanding at her words. The wizards knew well the history of the King and his wife.
“I spent years wandering aimlessly throughout the Western Territories,” she continued. “If I could not be with the one I loved, I did not want to be with anyone. So I stayed away from the villages and towns I knew, and found myself reunited with nature instead. I climbed mountains, I frolicked in the ocean waves, I chased the wind. I told myself I was searching for a deeper meaning in it all, but the truth was I had never felt so lost … so alone.”
A part of Lady Delia was grateful that Lord Nigel and Lady Grace were no longer alive to hear what she was about to say next.
“I was wandering through the Shilen Forest when I felt the presence of another wizard. I immediately dimmed myself – not wanting to be seen – but I was too late. Lord Gideon had already caught a glimpse of me.”
The looks of understanding were replaced with looks of shock at the mention of Lord Gideon’s name. Lady Delia let the whispers abate before continuing her story.
“He knew I was still there as he could still feel my presence. He refused to leave. I had no choice but to reveal myself,” she said. “It was only then that I learned that the war had recently begun. Lord Gideon feared for my safety, and he begged me to return to Mt. Xavier, but I stubbornly – stupidly – refused.”
Much to her surprise and amusement, Lady Delia felt tears welling up in her eyes.
“So Lord Gideon did a very noble thing. He stayed with me.”
She wiped away the tears and shifted position so as to avoid seeing Lord Milton’s expression as she continued with her story.
“In time I grew to love the man who had sacrificed so much of himself for me. And with this newfound love, my anger finally subsided. I was finally ready to come home. I was certain my father would love Lord Gideon as much as I did.”
Lady Delia bit her lip and fell silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and wistful.
“We were sleeping beneath the stars on the high steppes of Aberdeen when a band of Eastern Wizards found us. Lord Gideon managed to create a diversion, which allowed me to dim myself and escape. He told me he would be right behind me,” her voice faltered, “but it was not so. When he did not come for me, I went back to the campsite in hopes of finding him. But he was gone. No trace of him remained. I could no longer feel his presence.”
Her eyes filled with genuine tears at the memory of Lord Gideon’s dust upon the floor of the throne room in Cetahl.
Lady Tessa offered her a handkerchief, which Lady Delia graciously accepted.
“I came home, ever hopeful that Lord Gideon had somehow made it to Mt. Xavier. Instead, I found my father lying on his deathbed. I watched him die. Later I would learn that Lord Gideon had died as well, for his name was listed upon Lord Conrad’s scroll of the dead.”
Lady Delia paused and took notice of the fact that several wizards were wiping away tears. She managed a small smile.
“But all is not lost. A piece of them – my father, Lord Gideon – lives on,” she said, placing her hands on her stomach. “I am with child. Lord Gideon’s child.”
She paused again as gasps filled the air.
“I only wish I had the courage to tell his parents before they perished in the war. Perhaps knowledge of their unborn grandchild would have brought them some peace. Alas, I did not, and I shall regret that until the end of my days.”
*************
At the first light of dawn, Fallon left the village where he had dreamed of black shapes. He stayed near the coast, ever watchful for dead fish upon the shore to quiet his hunger pangs.
He followed an old trail that veered south towards hills in the distance. Are those the Orica Mountains? he wondered.
He had passed several signs along the way informing him that the Village of Ardon drew near. As he approached the village, he was excited to see signs of life.
Fallon watched the village from a distance until the darkness of night provided him with the protection he desired. Though the sun had long set, people still bustled about. Music filled the air. The music was emanating from a pub – The Night Watcher Inn.
His mouth watered for a taste of beer. I cannot remain hidden forever, he thought as he made his way towards the pub.
Fallon observed the crowded space with wonder and proceeded towards the bar.
“What would you like?” the bartender asked in his thick Eastern accent.
“Pint.”
It was only one word, and he had said it quickly. Fallon remained hopeful that the bartender did not notice his accent. He placed his gold piece down on the bar.
Fallon was relieved when the bartender took the gold piece and placed a pint of ale in front of him. He nodded his thank you.
When he finished his pint, Fallon made his way towards the exit.
“Where might you be going?” asked the man who grabbed his arm. “What is a Westerner doing in Ardon?”
When Fallon did not speak, the guard revealed his sword and pressed it into Fallon’s stomach.
“The Emperor shall not show you the same mercy. Speak, Westerner.”
“I … I mean no harm. I have come in search of the Orica Mountains. With the pale green lake. Lakes.”
The guard seemed confused. “Whatever for?”
To this, Fallon had no answer.
*************
Lady Delia absentmindedly put her hands upon her swollen belly once more. I do not have much time, she thought, staring at the flickering flames within the fireplace.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” she called.
A servant opened the door, and Philipe entered. His arms were filled with books stacked high, nearly reaching his chin.
“This is the last of them, my Queen.”
“Thank you, Philipe. You may place them with the others.”
“Aye, my Queen.”
He placed the pile of books against the wall near her desk and turned back towards Lady Delia.
“May I be of any further assistance, my Queen?”
Lady Delia smiled. “No, Philipe. Thank you.”
He gave a quick bow and left her father’s study – her study now.
Lady Delia reached for the rather large book near the top of the pile. She brushed the dust from the faded blue cover and admired the title: Known Maps of the Eastern Territories.
Placing the book upon her desk, she quietly thumbed through the pages. Her finger traced the route she had once taken with Lady Yelena on her march to Cetahl. Her thoughts turned towards Lord Etan once again, and she found herself wondering how the Eastern Wizard was doing.
The maps
are very beautiful, she thought, works of art even.
“It is a shame no one else shall see them.” She threw the book upon the fire, determined to purge her world of anything that might remind her of the East.
*************
Fallon remembered little after the guard had knocked him on the head with a weapon unseen. When he regained consciousness, the guards forced a sweet-smelling tea upon him, and he drifted off into a fog once more.
He vaguely recalled being moved in a wagon. He vaguely recalled seeing peaks of mountains that reminded him of his dreams. But if he passed any lakes of pale green, he did so without knowing.
Now he stood in a large room, a cold and barren chamber with red and black tapestries hanging from the walls. But he felt that same odd feeling he had first experienced with the man in the bookstore in Bartow.
“Who are you? Why have you traveled to the East?” asked a man seated upon a chair of stone.
Fallon was having trouble focusing.
“He says he dreamed of pale green lakes, Emperor,” replied the guard on his behalf.
This man before me is the Emperor?
“Whatever for?” asked the Emperor.
“He has not said,” the guard replied. “He did not have anything of interest on him, save a few gold pieces and perhaps this stone.”
The guard held out the starcrest stone for the Emperor to see.
“Bring it to me,” the Emperor demanded.
Fallon watched as the Emperor eyed the starcrest stone carefully.
“Who are you?” the dark-haired man asked again.
“I am Fallon. Son of Tobias, of Reed.” That is what Fallon tried to say, but it was difficult to discern through his slurring.
“He is no wizard, that is clear,” remarked a younger man standing next to the man on the chair of stone.
Fallon tried to focus on the younger man. Why does he look so familiar? Is that him? The man from the bookstore? It looks like him.
