by Cole Pain
He whistled as he walked into the clearing where his house was nestled. When he heard Rage whinny a greeting, he turned to find the black stallion cantering through the crescent curve of trees. Rage stopped before him and pawed the grass, kicking up clods of soil. Nigel leaned his head against Rage’s nose and breathed in the familiar scent of dirt and sweat. Memories of riding wild and free, destroying every Druid who remained on the mainland, surfaced within him: the blood, the screams, and the terror. He had been mad with revenge. At times he thought he’d gone insane, but other times, when he rode through the streets and the people applauded his efforts, he knew he wasn’t insane. He was justice, pure and simple.
When the colossal price had been placed on his head he had come to the Jaguars, knowing he could never leave. Over the years he had tried to will himself peace and just remember the happiness he had once known. That was when he started carving. At times, when he brought to life those he loved, he wept. At other times he felt great joy at seeing loving faces. And so he went on, focusing on the land, survival, and strength. In the Jaguars the summer was preparation for the rest of the year, and the rest of the year was a fight to stay alive. In the winter he fought creatures desperate for food, traveled in the snow-covered peaks to find nourishment and battled each day for the right to live. Thoughts of home and happiness were something he put at the back of his mind.
Ramie had stirred them up again, and along with those feelings came painful memories, and hate.
The Druid threat may be back.
Nigel thought of the man Ramie had mentioned. Ren reminded Nigel of himself. Ren and he were very similar creatures. Nigel found that to be a small comfort. Ramie still loved him, no matter the pain both of them had lived. And Ramie was right. The Druids would come for Ren. How could he allow that? The man had lost his home, his world, and the Druids would destroy him for it.
Nigel stroked Rage’s shimmering black neck. “How would you like to ride again, Rage?”
Rage nickered as if to say he would do whatever Nigel decided. Nigel sighed and walked inside the house. He went directly to the chair he had crafted years ago, slid it over, lifted a loose board, and reached inside the hollow. His hand caught hold of familiar leather. Nigel gritted his teeth and drew out the large, black bundle. He pulled each piece apart and inspected them individually. The pants were rugged and worn but whole. The tunic was fashioned from fine black silk and tied at the shoulder and waist. He had purchased it only days before retreating to the Jaguars, his old tunic tossed when the seams had torn too much to mend. His cape came to the floor and encircled his body with ease. He had cured it until it was so loose it glided around him like a second skin, covering his form until he struck. The gloves were still as they had been, one whole, the other falling apart from the branding iron he had pushed away. If he rode again he would need new gloves. Those he would need for the rest of his life.
No padding remained on his black deerskin boots. He would have to fashion soles if he left. Although winter was two seasons away, it was coming, and the boots were in no condition to travel in ice or snow. Nigel placed the boots aside and reached back inside the hollow. This time he brought out a large burlap bag. After a few heartbeats he dumped its contents. Multiple tufts of black hair spilled over his lap: the hair of each Druid he had killed. Nigel gazed down at them with no joy or sorrow, no remorse or satisfaction. He felt nothing, absolutely nothing.
He looked at the clothes strung over the floor. The Black Knight. Nigel sat back on the hearth, letting the fire warm his sudden chill. The stew bubbled and spices filled the room, but Nigel had no appetite. Now he was worried about Ren, and Ramie. Nigel could always see right through Ramie’s lies. Although Ramie said he didn’t have the power, Nigel knew better, and he knew the Druids would hunt all those in high positions with the Quy. This time it would be a battle between wizard and Druid supremacy.
Ramie would be among the Druids’ first targets.
Nigel knew his brother was smart enough to hide the ability, but Nigel also knew how much effort it took to block away something that was inherently part of you. It was only a matter of time before Ramie was discovered.
It had taken him a year to learn how to shove the calling power away: a year of running, and a year of prayer, but he had succeeded. Ramie wouldn’t run, couldn’t run, for Ramie was the king of Yor. Ramie was also stubborn, and would never allow the Black Knight to be his protector unless Ren was safe.
“Stubborn mule.” Nigel’s hand brushed something. He looked down to see two small burlap bags propped against the hearth. Picking one up, he peered inside. Just as he thought, the bag of bullion would feed the entire Lands for a week. Nigel sighed. He was tired of thinking about it.
“All right, little brother. You win.”
Chapter 16
Ren sat by the fire as the twin moons rose higher, staring at the prophecy book. He opened it every moons’ click, reading the prophecy time and again. The men were preparing dinner and talking in hushed whispers as if the very forest had ears.
Ren leaned back into his gear, instinctively petting the kota that had curled up beside him. Despite her small size she had kept the hurried pace of their horses. Since it looked like she had joined their group, Ren had decided to call her Keena. It meant “most beautiful” in the ancient tongue.
When he shifted, Keena placed her head on his knee and closed her lazy eyes, purring in contentment. He smiled and rubbed the tender area where her horn protruded. Her purr deepened into a thunderous legato.
Neki twisted around from the fire to see what had caused the disturbance. “If only I could make women purr like that.”
Ren shrugged. Markum smiled and went back to the fire.
Quinton didn’t pay any attention to the banter. He sat deeply involved with diagramming the area in the dirt, pondering which direction they should take in the morning. Ren was glad Quinton was with him. The last thing he wanted to do was worry about distance and direction.
The Alcazar had never been explored. It was a burnt ruin, collapsing inward, leaving a dangerous structure rumored to take any life that ventured inside. One month ago he would have laughed if someone had told him he would be intent on exploring the ruin, but now the Alcazar was his only link to the One.
Markum had described the man in his dreams with vivid detail: the widow’s peak, the long hair, and the dark, midnight eyes. Ren could almost see the wizard’s ageless eyes, frozen in the grips of time, searching for him through the ages. Ren didn’t like the thought. Had he been born because of the prophecy, or had the prophecy been born because of him?
A distant rumbling broke Ren out of his thoughts. The kota’s ears perked up. Markum and Neki sensed the change and ceased their chatter. Ren placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes darting to the surrounding trees. The kota bounded to her feet, brown eyes wide with caution. Then they heard the pounding hooves of riders.
Quinton shouted a warning. Neki drew his saber. The horses sensed the tension and screamed in fear. Ren had chosen to camp in a clearing again, concerned the watch would be unable to spot a threat before it was too late. Now Ren chastised his foolishness. They had no shelter, and no place to hide. The hooves pounded closer, inundating the still night, but it sounded like only one or two riders, not a troop of soldiers.
Neki’s curved blade glimmered in the firelight, but the stones on the hilt remained torpid. Ren recalled Grauss’ words: “The ruby is for luck in battle, the emerald wards off evil doings, and the sardonyx wards off things not of this world. The stones will glow when they’re working and will be able to warn you if trouble is near.”
Ren lowered his blade as the pounding hooves drew closer. Neki saw his look and straightened, trusting his grandfather’s word without any hesitation.
Then there were other sounds around them: rustling leaves, vehement snarls, and howls. The ruby and emerald began to glow with a brilliant intensity.
Ren raised his sword and lowered himself in an attac
k stance. The hooves pounded closer, heralding doom. The growls became more intense. Michel and Galvin broke through the forest at full speed, faces pallid masks of fear.
“Fire, Ren! Fire!” Markum shouted as soon as he saw the two-headed wolf snapping at Galvin’s heals.
More wolven emerged from the forest, running at full speed, jaws dripping saliva and eyes glowing a golden green. Puissant muscles rippled underneath their dark gray coats as they bounded toward them. Neki was the first to act. Grabbing a few logs from the fire he tossed them paces away, forming a circle.
The kota began to prance. Her drumming hooves sounded like a declaration of war.
Markum ran for the horses as they bucked and screamed in terror, trying to flee from the predators’ scent. Someone shouted Ren’s name. When he turned a wolf was only paces away, poised to take to the air. Beside him the kota bowed her head. Ren tried to push her aside but she refused. A glow came from the small horn at the crown of her head. Within a heartbeat a thin ray of light shot from her horn, hitting the wolf in the flank. The creature halted in mid-stride, a heartbeat before it would have leapt for Ren’s back. Before Ren had time to react another came from his left. Quinton grunted as he slung a fire-laden log and knocked the beast down. The wolf howled in pain and retreated. Ren grabbed another log, hurling it at the next one that came near. Michel’s mount, eyes wide with terror, leapt the circle of flames and crashed into the center haven, Galvin close behind.
The wolven were everywhere. They surrounded them.
Michel jumped off his horse just in time to impale one of the beasts as it jumped the flames. The creature landed within the safety of the circle. Quinton threw a log in its direction but missed. Galvin kicked the beast into the circle of fire. It howled in pain but only rolled paces away. Its eyes glowed a vile green as it watched them through the flames. The thick fur behind its neck rose like needles.
When another leapt over the flames, Ren did the one thing he could to defend himself, all the while knowing it would only make the beast stronger; he sliced through it. The wolf fell near him. He forced the beast toward the fire. The fangs from the creature began to close around his arm, but as the flames touched the creature’s flesh it howled and released him.
It lay limp beyond the circle, but Ren knew it would soon start to stir.
“More fire!” he yelled, eyes glued to the creature that had begun to grow.
Galvin lit more logs and filled the gaps in the flames. Soon the barrier was firm. The horses paced back and forth, eyes wide with fear, but they didn’t bolt, fearing the wolven more than the flames.
“I count twenty-two, Ren,” Quinton said, resting his bloody sword on the ground. Thick clods of gray fur clung to the edges. Quinton had fought back more than a few.
The wolven circled the fire. Their snarls could be heard over the crackling flames. The circle would hold the wolven at bay for a while, but not until dawn.
Quinton heaved an unsteady breath. “Fire is the only thing that deters them?”
“That’s all I’m aware of,” Ren replied. “Markum?”
“Yes,” Markum said. “Swords are useless. Each cut only makes them stronger. Fire can’t kill them, but it weakens them.”
“I hate to bring this up,” Neki said, “but the wood we have won’t last long. We only have a few more branches.”
Neki was right. Only a few stray branches lay discarded within reach, and the nearest trees were over a hundred paces away. It would be suicide to try to gather more. They were running out of time.
Galvin looked at Ren. “Can you use magic to bring in more wood?”
Ren looked at the surrounding trees and tried to concentrate on the force inside him. He found the light, reached for it, grasped it, and let the white-hot ferocity flood through him, but it dissipated as quickly as it came, almost as if it had a mind of its own. He frowned, frustration coursing though him.
Turning to Galvin, he shook his head. Neki stepped forward and focused on the distant woods. Ren held his breath. Neki had touched the Quy with ease back at Stardom. If he could do so now it would be their salvation.
After a few heartbeats, Neki’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know how.”
“We need more fire,” Quinton mumbled under his breath.
“They’re coming closer,” Markum said
Galvin and Quinton immediately took the remaining branches to where the fire had begun to wane.
Ren walked to the far side of the circle, frustration coursing through his veins. How could he merge a body with a spirit and not move a piece of wood? Even the Druids’ calling power was useless. Unless he could see a fallen log he couldn’t call it to him.
The wolven continued to move closer. Now Ren could see the color of their eyes: brownish bronze with pinpricks of blue and gray. They circled the men one after the other, waiting for the fire to die. The few they had cut down were a hands-width taller than the rest, hair still bloodied from the men’s swords.
He was the Chosen, the one who had rebirthed the power, and there was nothing he could do to save his men from the wolven. Only dragon’s fire was lethal for the beasts, for it poisoned their blood internally. They would need nothing short of a miracle to survive until dawn.
“We need to find more things we can burn,” Ren said. “Everyone start looking.”
The others began searching their packs. Ren’s eyes found the prophecy book. It lay on the ground where he had dropped it. It would be the last thing they would burn, but if need be it would be burnt with the rest.
Markum caught his look and shook his head. “No, more prophecy will appear. We can’t burn it. It may guide you in the months to come.”
Before Ren could voice that they may not have any time left, Michel shouted a warning. Ren spun in time to see one of the wolven jumping through the fire toward Neki. The svelte man reacted quickly, but not quickly enough. The wolf clamped down on his shoulder.
Rage surged through Ren. He couldn’t allow this to happen. He wouldn’t allow it.
He grabbed the whip-like thread in his mind and propelled his emotions forward with impetuous precision. A thunderous clap resonated around them as the wolf ignited into white-hot flame. Ren’s mind exploded with heat as his world became dark. Just before he crashed to the ground he heard Galvin scream his name.
- - -
Total blackness surrounded him. It was a black so dense it hurt to see. It was as if the gates of Abyss had been opened and the world had been consumed in its tenebrous gloom. Was this the darkness?
Had he failed so soon?
From the depths of the darkness came a quiver of light. As he watched it began to grow larger, eating the darkness with a steady cadence. Then he realized the shimmer wasn’t growing larger but gliding his way. It flickered with silver sparks as it came, daring the darkness to halt its approach.
As the light neared he decided it wasn’t gliding but walking in smooth, rhythmic patterns. Instead of fearing the light’s approach, he anticipated it, longed for it, but at the same time was humbled by its radiance. A soft peace began to grow inside him, and as the light drew closer it grew even more profound. Then he saw its beauty. He was almost blinded.
It was a woman. A long, white gown clung to her shape, tight enough to reveal exquisite curves but loose enough to be enticing. A silver chain circled her slender waist and dangled from her hips. Golden blonde hair cascaded down her back until it brushed the chain. She was so brilliant her very presence cursed the darkness and banished any hint of diablerie.
She smiled. It took his breath away, and when he looked into her solid silver eyes he had to turn away. They were filled with such compassion and caring he felt unworthy. She brushed his check in tender affection and turned his face to her own.
He trembled as the power of the Quy coursed through her, into him, and then back again. As he gazed into her heart-shaped face he slowly began to discern light particles, so minute they were barely detectable, coursing over her skin. They moved s
o fast she appeared fuzzy on the surface.
When he looked closer he realized her entire form consisted of the particles moving frantically to form her shape. There were so many of them she appeared solid, with only the extremes of her being noticeably illusory.
“You’re strong, my Chosen.” Her carillon voice carpeted the darkness with music. After she stopped speaking he waited, listening to its charms echoing in the void.
“Your Chosen?” His voice seemed far away, almost unreal. But it didn’t matter. He was with her, and he loved her without even knowing her.
“Yes, my Chosen. Although I didn’t make you, I’ve waited for you. I’ve been alone for so long.” Her solid silver eyes peered past him into the black void.
He stood, transfixed by her beauty, hanging on her words as if they were wine. Her eyes cleared and she turned to him, smiling an apology for her inattentiveness. He smiled back, unable to feel anything but elation in her presence. When she spoke her voice was a harmonious whisper, tingling around him like rain.
“I want to feel people again. I want to be a part again. Although I fear it will be worse before it gets better.” Her lips twisted into a tight frown.
An overwhelming desire to help her coursed through him. The loneliness and pain in her voice was more than he could bear. She deserved nothing less than laughter and light, and that couldn’t even begin to describe what she deserved. He would have given his life to see her smile. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I don’t understand. Who are you?”
She laughed. It sounded like a multitude of high notes perfectly in tune with one another. “I’m the Quy, Ren Razon. I’m what you’re fighting to save.”
Ren. That was his name. Her beauty had taken every memory from him.
She laughed again and cradled his face in her hands. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation.
“You’re the Quy?”
Her lips twisted into a grin. “Yes.”
“You’re beautiful.”
She smiled and took his hand. “You make me beautiful, my Chosen.”
