His head ached from the throbbing in his temples. Aerinas tried to focus on the task at hand. He patted his tunic pocket containing the miniaturized book of Ashinon, a guide for him as the new leader of the party. Even Aeligon turned to Aerinas for direction now, having relinquished control to the elf when they left Drameda.
"Which way next?” Aeligon asked, pointing to a split in the road ahead.
"Take the east road,” came Aerinas’ reply.
Aeligon figured as much. The eastern road would take them right to the foot of the mountains looming ahead of them in the distance.
Just past midday they reached the foothills and wooded areas at the base of the mountains. They stopped to eat a hearty meal of thick stew made with a sweetgrass broth. Farrin, Lynais, and Foran went hunting, and each brought back a stag for meat. The trip through the mountains would be harsh; they all wanted a solid meal before they ventured into the unknown.
Aeligon and Pux sat with Menishka'dun, and continued to question him; Farrin, Lynais, and Foran were busy getting the rest of their stags butchered and packed for the journey ahead, and Ithyllna was talking to Tristandor, leaving Aerinas alone with the book. Just what he was hoping for.
Before he opened it up, Aerinas packed his small pipe with lynathia, the choice aromatic herb of the Kraynish culture. Aerinas rarely smoked because lynathia fumes barely affected him, but he needed something to calm his mind, preoccupying it for a spell, before delving into the book again.
After he finished, he pulled the book out of his pocket, laid it on his lap, and exhaled deeply. Holding his right hand just above the book's cover, he spoke a few words, and the book instantly grew to its normal size. Without wasting any time, he thumbed to the center of the book, to the map of the Planes. Using it as a reference, he saw that a map of Vaaluna was only a few pages away. He flipped to it, and studied it carefully.
While there was little information about the exact location of the Lion's Mouth, Ashinon had written extensively about it. Although Aerinas was confused at first, he soon solved the puzzle. The Lion's Mouth was a magical place, born not of the magic of the Lunatharian wizards or the elves, but an ancient kind, wild and free, like the ground or the air. Aerinas found the information fascinating and read on. He suddenly realized what he would have to do to locate the Lion's Mouth. The text was written in the form of a poem:
East of Caran, West of Lunathar,
In the mountains tall and cavernous,
Dwells an uncharted legacy,
Something awake and ominous.
Void of earth, air, fire, and water,
A hole is formed,
It is named the Lion's Mouth,
Enter beyond, be forewarned.
Only the One who can sense may light the path,
To discover what lies ahead,
The second of two awaits,
Along with all those who have bled.
Aerinas could tell Ashinon did not mean to hide anything in the text, but the honesty of the words made his skin crawl. Did Ashinon know a being or beings might really be dead or near death, and did nothing about it? Aerinas thought back to his days in Mynandrias, inside the Library of Songs, where he'd heard about portals and doorways closed to all, but which emanated the essences of what was beyond the boundary. Some chronicles told of wanderers who came upon these magical mishaps, and were changed forever because of the evil radiating from them. When they tried to return with priests or wizards, the holes were always gone. There were no accounts of a persistent gap like the one he was reading about now. Probably because no one came upon this one, he mused, assuming he was right.
Aerinas closed the book, shrank it with his magic, and put it away. He needed to speak with Aeligon. When he passed through the camp, Tristandor and Ithyllna stopped what they were talking about. Aerinas ignored them, certain he was the focus of their conversation in some capacity. He didn't care. Ithyllna's alliance with Tristandor all of a sudden put a shred of doubt in his mind of her love for him, and his for her. Aerinas trusted three people: himself, Aeligon, and Foran. Everyone else was in a constant state of earning it.
The sun had ducked behind the mountains, and although it wasn't much past midday, the shadow cast the foothills in a gray cool. Tristandor and Ithyllna had built a fire.
"I see we are grasping our magical abilities,” Tristandor sneered when Aerinas passed by.
Aerinas whirled on him, his lean frame outlined in shimmering gold from the firelight. He trembled with anger, but realized confronting his father would only lead to frustration. Ithyllna winced, sensing the tension building. Surprisingly, Aerinas backed away, the fire in his eyes dowsed by the shadows. Tristandor snorted and waved his hand, mumbling something under his breath after Aerinas walked away.
Aerinas had nearly lost control again. The magical energy inside him reacted so strongly to rage that it frightened him. He could easily kill Tristandor, but could not live with himself if he succumbed to the temptation to do so. For the dozenth time he has taunted me on this journey, but why? Why does he hate me so much? What have I ever done to him?
"Am I in your way?” Aeligon grunted.
Aerinas looked down and saw he was standing on Aeligon's foot. He had nearly run right over him!
"Ah . . .” Aerinas stammered, looking quite embarrassed. “I am sorry, Aeligon. Forgive me. I did not mean to . . ."
"It's all right,” Aeligon laughed. “Sit down. I'm curious to know why you are in so much of a hurry."
"Be careful not to sit on me or Menishka'dun, Master Aerinas,” Pux joked in his usual manner.
Aerinas smiled, nodded, and took a careful seat away from the trio.
Aeligon folded his hands on his lap. “Well? What do you want to know?"
"What kind of magic do I possess?” Aerinas’ bluntness shook Aeligon. Here sat the elf whose life he'd saved and whose way he'd warded. Through their many conversations, Aeligon had held the middle ground, but now he knew he had to abandon his conservative stance without revealing enough to harm the youth.
Aeligon cleared his throat. “To the best of my knowledge, you possess a form of magic thought dead long ago. In fact, it's so old, this ancient magic may have no name by which we mortals can encompass its meaning."
Aerinas sank in his seat, clearly unsatisfied. “Can you tell me more about it, perhaps? Where does it come from? Why do I have it?"
Aeligon waggled his finger at the elf. “The truth is I cannot give you an answer because the reason you have this magic is hidden from me. I believe exactly what I told you before: you have been chosen. To possess this ancient magic harkens back to a day when it was considered a threat."
Aerinas’ eyes widened. “A threat? But, I thought that this magic was a good thing."
Aeligon chuckled. “No, Aerinas, you mistake my meaning.” The wizard leaned in closer to Aerinas. “It was considered a threat to Hydrais."
They're headed to the Lion's Mouth.
Servant was perched at the top of a hemlock tree, ahead of Aerinas’ party on the trail, a safe distance away from the burning firelight. He witnessed the young elf reading the book dispelled by the Lyymhorn in Drameda, which implied but one logical destination. The ghostly figure cursed under his breath.
"I'll never get the creature away from the wary wizard,” he fumed. “Even if I could overpower him, he's not alone. I can't take them all."
Like a cat, he jumped from branch to branch, inching closer to the camp. His light feet on the tree branches neither broke nor swayed them. Accustomed to stealth, he believed the trees didn't even know he was there.
"I must return to report this.” Servant licked his lips, noting their dryness. Only on Vaaluna does my physical body wane. The Morphic realized he had lingered there too long. The Elderon would wonder why one who had never been overdue was so now. He had a good explanation, of course—a perfect one—but perhaps the Elderon knew the best course of action.
Envisioning the Elderon's suspicions at his tardiness already,
Servant dropped to the ground, out of sight. His right arm began to glow when he spoke the familiar words. With a few whisks of his finger in the air, glowing white symbols etched across the night air in perfect angles. As he exhaled, he watched the vortex open before him and stepped inside. After the portal closed, a strange phenomenon occurred, of which Servant was unaware.
The trees began to bleed.
Aerinas was shocked at what Aeligon had just revealed. Suddenly, the elf felt insignificant, as if the entire world was crushing him with its truths.
"You feel the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Aeligon ventured “I knew it would come to this one day. Ashinon's visiting you finally convinced me you were ready to hear what I just said."
Aerinas could barely hear the wizard's voice. He was far away, back in Mynandrias. Nimoni was teaching him how to play the lyre, the sweet music touching his heart like he was right there with her again. He shook off the tears, willing himself back into the present; there were more questions.
"Are you sure Hydrais is afraid of my kind of magic?"
Aeligon nodded. “Quite sure. It was prophesied a Chosen One would lead Sheevos’ army against the might of Hydrais, but Hydrais did something even Sheevos herself didn't think was possible."
"He slaughtered many wizards and elves,” Aerinas answered.
"Not quite. He knew he couldn't possibly kill every being who possessed magic. But, his god, Wrantha, gave him the ability he needed to plot against those with the ancient skills, even those who didn't know they possessed them. By doing so, Hydrais eradicated the legend of the One who would rise up to lead his enemies’ army to victory."
"How is it possible for this magic to be reborn?"
Aeligon smiled. “Hydrais was fooled. One can't simply erase thousands upon thousands of years of magic so innate to the world, so ingrained in the fiber of all living things. It was only temporary. Hydrais was banished to the Netherworld by the Elderon for his crimes, but not before he built his mirror in El-Caras and wrote the Levunithain scroll."
"Levunithain?” Aerinas screwed up his face. “Sounds a lot like Lunathar."
"You have strong insight,” Aeligon said. “Levunithain loosely translates to ‘look to the pillar'. It was a signal to Hydrais’ forces in Vaaluna. We believe it was a sign of infiltration of the wizard city by one who had gained our trust. Alas, we didn't identify whom until he betrayed us."
"Haarath!” Aerinas’ eyes widened again at the revelation.
"These events have occurred as a result of Hydrais’ plotting. The theft of the Elfstone from Lunathar, Haarath's warmongering, the pirates sailing for Dunandor, Drezdain's demise at the Unodin Pass, King Hrathis’ mind altering—these happenings point to a single fact: the Chosen One has arisen. The prophecy has come true and Hydrais is afraid."
"And this ties in with the Planes and Ashinon,” Aerinas stated.
"And with you,” Aeligon added, winking.
Aerinas had a sudden surge of self-discovery, of cracking open the shell to his mind, heart, and soul. The implications of his meddling at Merchindale months ago were staggering.
A light snow had begun to fall in the grove.
"Winter in Caran sees few light snows like this,” Farrin muttered. He, Lynais, and Foran had finished with their stags and had curled up by the fire.
Aerinas was just about to press Aeligon for more, when he saw something flash in the deepening shadow of darkness. Above them, the outline of the mountain ridges was still aglow in burning sunlight. He stood up, pointing.
"Look! Up ahead. Did you see that?"
Aeligon stood up too, but saw nothing.
"I just saw a white light flash through those trees up there."
"Are you sure it wasn't your mind playing tricks on you?” Pux jibed.
"No, I am certain. I'm going to check it out."
Aeligon grabbed Aerinas by the arm. “Don't go alone. Take someone
else with you."
Ithyllna, having heard the commotion, stood up and drew her twin blades. “I'll go."
Aerinas narrowed his eyes at her, but she didn't flinch a muscle. “All right, we both go. Stay close."
Ithyllna smirked. “I intend to."
The two elves dashed off into the trees. The snow had covered the ground like a soft white blanket. Aeligon gazed after them, concerned. Too much evil is penning us in.
* * * *
Aerinas and Ithyllna ran through the trees, ducking low-hanging branches and side-stepping rocks and holes in the ground. Even in the dim light, their eyesight was sharp. Suddenly, Aerinas slowed.
"I think this is the area where I saw it."
"How do you know?” Ithyllna challenged, keeping her blades curved upward along her forearms.
"I never took my eyes off it while we ran."
Ithyllna furrowed her brow. “Something I should know about?"
"An old hunting trick Foran and his father taught me,” he explained. “When you shoot a stag, you never take your eyes off the ground where your arrow hit it. The blood trail starts there. Most hunters make the mistake of following their prey with their eyes, taking their mind off the critical starting point."
"I see,” she said. She was impressed with the strategy; it seemed reasonably sound.
"Look around for anything out of place."
"No need to,” Ithyllna said.
Aerinas turned to find her stooping down to an area of ground directly beneath a large hemlock tree. He stepped closer and could see that the ground had been charred and was free of snow. Suddenly, his eyes found something more disturbing.
"Ithyllna, get up and come here."
Ithyllna, confused, stood up and walked over to Aerinas’ side. He pointed. They both gasped.
The trees surrounding the burned earth were covered in blood!
Ithyllna couldn't remember the last time she had experienced so many instances in one journey where she had been rendered speechless by unexplainable phenomena. Summoned creatures, like the stone golem, were common a long time ago, and she could even vaguely remember the stories of the Orus Dragons scouring the sky back in the days following the Calaridis Wars—but bleeding trees? She couldn't recall anything from her time spent in the Vrunyn Guard, or anywhere else for that matter, where this strange occurrence was chronicled. And Aerinas looked more puzzled than she, which was no help.
"Doesn't your magical book talk about this?” she pressed, looking for some sort of answer.
Aerinas nodded. “Ashinon wrote something in the form of a poem about those who have bled at or near this Lion's Mouth."
"What do you make of it?"
"I don't know for sure,” he answered back. He shot her a curious glance, sensing her doubt. He added, “The book does not talk to me verbally, so it is up to me to decipher the code contained within its pages."
The elf maiden raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to one side. “Well, that's convenient. Let me do a bit of deciphering for you.” Frustrated, Ithyllna walked closer to the trees, knelt by one of them, and removed her gloves.
"Ithyllna, don't touch them! I thought the Guard taught more caution. Beware; the bloody substance might be dangerous."
"Calm down,” she chided. She removed a small vial from the pouch concealed beneath her cloak, removed the cork stopper, and, carefully, filled it with the crimson liquid running down the rough bark. Satisfied, she replaced the cork stopper, wiped the bottle clean with a small cloth, and put her gloves back on.
Aerinas shrugged, realizing her proven worthiness for membership in the Vrunyn Guard: strong in body, but stronger in mind.
"Now we have evidence to show the wizard and his jester,” she surmised. “Maybe they will know what this is, where it came from, or, more importantly, why it is here in this place."
The others gathered around closely to inspect the small glass vial Ithyllna produced from her pouch when she and Aerinas returned to camp. In the firelight, it looked like it contained molten lava from a volcano. It glow
ed deep red, pulsating with life, unhurt despite separation from its source.
No one spoke a word, and Aeligon was busy discussing the liquid with Pux a few steps away from the gathering.
"He's got his book open,” Farrin whispered, though even a whisper from the big man echoed in the crystalline silence within the snow-covered grove.
"He consults his book only when he is unsure of something,” Tristandor informed them.
"Unless he and Pux are engaged in an argument and cannot agree,” Aerinas added, staring into the blackness of the forest beyond the firelight's reach.
"It's just bloody cold out ‘ere,” the giant whimpered.
"Do me a favor: do not mention the word ‘bloody’ until we figure out what this is.” Lynais quipped. “Besides, how can you be so cold when you are covered in furs and have more padding than the rest of us?"
Farrin snickered. “Even a big man like me gets chilled to the bone. Mother Winter is not kind, even ta’ the big folk."
Foran scratched his head. “Mother Winter? I thought it was Mother Nature?"
"Aye, and Father Time, young Foran, yes, but up in me mountains, there is no Mother Nature, ‘cept for her children, Rock and Stone. We like ta’ think She's much more, so we gave Her the name of Mother Winter, since She's always got loads of cold air ta’ send our way.” Farrin laughed at his own story, but the others screwed up their faces in confusion.
"Giants sure are interesting creatures,” boomed a voice from behind them. They all turned to regard Aeligon, who approached them and warmed his hands by the fire.
"Find out what these bleeding trees mean?” Tristandor asked directly.
Aeligon sighed. “Regretfully, I did not. We seem to have stumbled upon a phenomenon unreported by anyone else in our Plane. The liquid contained in Ithyllna's vial appears to be blood, but without my instruments, I am unable to tell the origin or species."
"Any theories, then?” Lynais pressed.
Aeligon slowly rolled his head, releasing the tension in his venerable neck muscles. “I can only guess that the white light we saw was some sort of energy expenditure, a violent one. The blood must be coming from the trees themselves, since there was no other blood anywhere else to be found. If there had been, the white snow would have easily marked its presence."
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