Sapling: The Blade of Ahtol

by Dan Gillis

  The air around Firah burst into a grey cloud which swirled violently. Dust particles plumed and churned around the girl’s body. Firah swiftly covered her eyes, but the stinging sensation told her it was too late. Her eyes now burned intensely and when she attempted to open them for a moment, her body forced them shut again. She cried out in pain and brought her hands instinctively to her face. When she rubbed her eyes, the stinging grew much worse. In her stumbling about she came into contact with a tree, her face striking hard against the bark. She fell to the ground, blind and helpless, tasting her blood.

  As her terror heightened her mind struggled to maintain a semblance of sanity. The thief was dragged back to the fields of carnage she had walked through that morning. Although Firah knew it was not real, she could not stop the strange memory unfolding with alarming corporeality. She could not escape the nightmarish web of past events.

  The girl walked unsteadily amongst the rows of bodies. She still ached from a bruise that covered her entire right side. Something had happened last night, in her sleep. Something terrible … her gaze fell over the mangled remnants of the dark battle. Truly, the two monks had given miraculous service, yet not all could be saved. War disturbed her greatly, to see the expressionless grey faces of so many fallen men and women. It all seemed so senseless and futile. All of them, thinking and breathing human beings but hours ago - now lifeless husks rotting upon the earth, waiting in vain for a nameless grave. Most were now a shadow of their former selves; some had been reanimated into grotesque twisted shapes, others fated to be hewn down again and again. In her young life she could not have believed such a thing possible, and yet what she had been told was terribly evident in her gaze. She turned away from their faces.

  As Firah limped her way past the endless rows of cold sentinels, her heart trembled within her breast and her breath came short. She was deathly frightened of the dead. Somehow, deep within she felt something had fled from her. She had lost a reassurance, a steady bulwark that had always been there. Now she felt empty as a void, stumbling about in dark uncertainty. The sky seemed darker, the dull greyness weighing down her every step. She looked toward the heavens while drifting through the rows of tangled bodies. The sun was shrouded in a thick grey veil. Her steps faltered upon a slope, yet she barely noticed the change in elevation. Everywhere she looked was grisly death, pale eyes casting their jealous gaze upon her. The trembling girl wrapped her slender arms about her body. The cold autumn wind picked up and tossed her ebony hair about as she ascended the rise. After a few steps, she stumbled over an outstretched leg and fell to the earth. She reeled, caught in frantic terror. She twisted around to see the body of a mercenary which she had tripped over. It lay crumpled and bent inward, almost in the act of consuming itself. In a heartbeat she saw the head move slightly. Firah checked her gaze and was unable to detect any sign of movement from the collapsed husk. Yet, she could feel things shifting about her, twitching.

  She emitted a small cry when she felt something brush the back of her arm. Her breath came rapidly as her crimson eyes, wild with fear, flicked about the area. Still nothing was moving … in her direct sight. Subconsciously, her hand drifted to her belt for that reassuring comfort … and found it bare. Firah jerked her head down in panic. The blade was gone! She patted her belt all around; her mind reasoned frantically ‘Perhaps it could have fallen when I tripped.’ She felt all around the area and madly searched in vain for her prized possession. She heard the sound of distant moaning.

  The sounds were closing and bodies were shifting all around her. One body caught her attention, a great gaping wound revealed the flesh and sinew within. A gargled retch emitted from her mouth, as her body nearly vomited from sheer terror. Slowly, her face turned to see one of the distant bodies, an armoured mercenary rising upward silently. The face was ghastly, the neck turned to one side from a vicious and lethal hammer blow. She watched speechlessly as the warrior slowly turned as if gliding upon the air, its eyes slowly settling upon her. A droning filled her ears, which seemed to come from all around.

  Firah moved herself backward slowly, out of instinct. 'I must get away!' she thought. Again her hand went to her belt and found it bare. Impossible, it couldn’t be gone! She kicked her legs to propel her backward until she bumped up against a tree. She turned to grasp the trunk only to find the side of a White Guard slumped over upon a spear that had impaled the warrior through. Screaming hoarsely, she shot upward and ran up the slope swiftly. The sky had darkened considerably and clouds billowed black overhead. Without glancing, she could sense the hammer-stricken was overtaking her, as it appeared unencumbered by the terrain, simply gliding over all the fallen dead, toward her. The wind was howling and whipping her about violently, delaying her escape. The monstrosity drifted ever closer.

  “Get away! Leave me be!” She screamed in futility as she ran into the forceful wind. She had ascended the rise and now moved across the scorched ground with all haste. Twitching her gaze, her heart froze as the monster was almost on top of her. Its hand was stretching outward toward her small body. Firah froze where she stood, her fear all but consuming her soul. She waited for the cold fingers to squeeze the life from her body - just as they had nearly done before that night in Khyvla. She slumped to her knees and closed her eyes tightly. Every sensation tingled along her skin as she waited for the end. Something touched her shoulder and Firah shrieked in despair.

  “Such a foolish little one,” a voice whispered in her ear, “you should not have come here.” Firah felt reality stab through her dark delusions. She struggled in vain to detect the voice, swinging her arm around her head. The voice sounded like it was right next to her. It was cold and impassionate. Remorseless.

  “Stay away from me!” She shouted through puffed lips. Her eyes were still darkened from the dust attack and she flailed her arms again in vain toward the sound of the voice. The assailant stopped her struggling with a solid kick to her abdomen which drove the breath from her even as it escaped her lips. She gagged and retched for breath that would not come. She was so disorientated, her body screaming so many signals that she felt completely useless. She could hardly form a conscious thought. Suddenly, she felt herself being shoved onto her back and something heavy pressing uncomfortably down on her chest. “Wait, I promise I won’t …”

  “Lies have no place here,” The voice spoke coldly. She felt a hand moving over her body, not in lust but searching for something. She heard the man muse softly, “What are you doing with something like this?” She could not imagine what he meant and she could hardly breathe so she chose not to answer. She felt a tug against her leather vest near her shoulder and realized that he was taking her brooch. Despite the pressure on her chest and the pain she was experiencing, Firah spoke.

  “Please, don’t take that!” she gasped out in desperation. Struggling to open her eyes she found everything a blur. Her eyes were slowly washing away the painful dust but it was still impossible to see clearly. She felt the brooch snap from her tunic.

  “Why are you worried about it?” he commented quietly, “you will be dead soon.”

  Firah could stand no more. She lashed out at the weight that held her down, finding it to be a sturdy leg belonging to her captor. Not only was the attempt futile but the man shoved down hard upon her chest. She heard a popping sound and tried to scream with all her might, in intense pain and frustration. All her breath had left her. She clenched her fists tightly and shook her head weakly from side to side. “Heh. You don’t like this? You should have reconsidered when you entered the wood. You thought you were skilled, but you’re now hardly a concern for anyone. That is why we finished our business before dealing with you.” She felt the boot slide upward toward her throat.

  ‘No …’ she thought. ‘Never again. I won’t be beaten like this!’ Her body shook in terrible anger. Her vision was blurred and red. All she felt was wrath toward this man and every other who had beaten her down. She felt the power within well up. Something was coursing thr
ough her veins and slipping out of her body like streams of blood. She had felt this once before.

  “What in Aeredia …?” She heard her enemy speak suddenly. Firah desperately channeled all her aggression, her hatred, toward the man. “Girl, this is your doing! Stop this now! You …” Firah felt the terrible pressure leave her chest and she rose up slowly. She could barely make out a blurred motion in her eyes. Screams and cries of terror echoed through the wood. Firah’s hand stretched outward subconsciously. She could feel the channeling of the bands of energy, glowing red hot in her mind’s eye. She imagined the scene in her mind, even as she took in the man’s vocal protests to the harrowing energy. She imagined the red cocoon enveloping him, over every inch of his body. She heard the screams become more terrified.

  Suddenly it was over.

  There were no sounds but those of the wood; yet the wind, small creatures, all living things had become subdued by the explosion of energy. After a minute, Firah could make out details of the area. She grimaced in pain, something was wrong with her ribs. She could hardly breathe. She looked to the ground and saw her attacker’s cloak, the bow and quiver, all the clothes, and her brooch resting quietly upon the cloth. There was no evidence of the assailant, his body had disappeared completely. There were strange new developments as well. All was unnaturally still around her and fresh vibrant growth had sprung up around where the man had been. Its lush green colour stood out from the faded Autumn hues. The new trees gave way to the ridge just a few feet away, and she watched as Zyr, Mehnol and others ascending the small ledge swiftly. She had less than a minute to decide what to do. Her mind suddenly determined a course of action which was so clear and direct that she launched into action. She plucked up the brooch and reattached it to her tunic. Pushing aside the discomfort in her chest she bundled up all the articles into the cloak and moved into the wood as quickly as her aching body would allow. She found a small opening under a large fallen tree and stuffed the articles there. She quickly memorized the spot and tossed many leaves upon the cache. It was meant to be this way: survival of the fittest. It had been this way her whole life and these things belonged to her now. There was no time to examine the items or explain it to the others, not yet. She would return later for what was hers.

  Firah moved away from the spot and tried her best to cover her trail. She had seconds now. She limped toward the edge of the wood as quickly as she could, purposely skirting away from the strange growth deeper within. Zyr came running into the wood with concern and alarm creasing every line of his face. She recognized Mehnol and also Corbin, who she learned was an elementalist for the White Guard. Lord Tey’ur was not present. Shien brought up the rear, looking perplexed as usual. He had no sense in the mystic arts; therefore, he could not have felt the power she had unleashed. At best, he was following the crowd. In perceiving the small group she simply sat down amongst the leaves and waited. Despite her efforts, Corbin was a blood hound on the scent, as he tracked to the very spot where she had fought the man in grey. She truly had no voice to call out, so she waited. In time they came to her and she began to tell a story - most of it true - but she altered it a little for herself. ‘Always pay yourself first’ she mused as she croaked out the events to the anxious group. She thought she saw Zyr look at her with skeptical discernment but then the moment was gone. She was carefully led back down the ridge toward camp. Firah smiled within herself all the way. She could still take care of herself.

  “Are you sure you want to be alone? I can stay longer if you like …” Shien spoke quietly. After their return to the camp, Firah repeated her testimony of what had happened. Zyr had mercifully healed her swollen face and eyes. All Shien could manage to help was a suggestion to the others to give her some space. When she asked him to join her, his empathic senses buzzed with illumination. She was feeling uncertainty and desire.

  They found a secluded spot away from the battle. It was strange to find a quiet and reflective spot so close to the remains of war. The fields drifted lazily in the cool Autumn wind as the sun masked itself in the white robes of the heavens. The moments had slid by like longing eddies cast aside by the steady stream. Time had been misplaced in their quiet retreat.

  Shien remained still and watched her, standing as a reed in the wind. Her dark hair coursed about her features. In this light … despite the changes upon her … she was truly beautiful. She looked at him with a knowing glance and then turned back to the peaceful scene. He waited as she pondered for words.

  “Shien, I only have one thing to say. Yet, I don’t want you to answer now … I only want you to listen.” She paused and gathered her breath as her brow furrowed. He waited patiently upon her. “Things have happened. I don’t understand what it all means. What is certain is that we need you; after helping with so much, perhaps you can understand. Now, I know I cannot understand your life, your past. Please, I want you to be with us.”

  She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “As I said, you don’t need to answer. I will know your decision when we depart the camp. Please consider my request. For now, I need some time by myself.”

  He watched her carefully. She seemed to have recovered from the fit that had taken her. Her mind seemed lucid. He considered her request. If he stayed, he would stay until Aeredia’s end. He could sense the fates depicting the patterns along both roads. He had arrived at the fork, the paths jutting away into different directions. It would mean trading one life for another: one life of ease and freedom, where he was free to choose his own destiny, for another which was darker and constricted, a difficult path with little freedom.

  “I will leave you then … I’ll be with the others if you need me.”

  She nodded as he walked back toward the torn fields. Why were the decisions so hard, so difficult? His mind and heart were divided. ‘Logic’ Shien mused ‘has little use in matters of the heart.’ He moved down toward the camp. A watch was placed along the perimeter of the remaining tents and shelters. Shien nodded to one respectfully, as he entered the area.

  Would he have the courage to give his life over to her?

  ***

  “Thank you, Firah.” The Guild Lord was truly humble and sincere in his gratitude. “The White Guard stands always indebted to you.” He knelt to one knee before her and took her hand gently. Firah blushed and cast a quick glance around to the others assembled. All who had survived were there, heads bowed in respect. Tey’ur pressed a small gilded token into her palm, which was bound to a slender gold chain. He closed her hand upon it and kissed her fingers gently. Firah blushed and shifted awkwardly at the act. Rising, the Lord’s voice boomed for all around. “Firah of Lenhir will always be welcome in the halls of the White Guard!” He pressed a hand to his chest and shouted aloud “So is it spoken!”

  “So shall it be done!” the remnant of the guard exclaimed in one vigorous cry. Firah was taken aback by the simple yet moving ceremony. She bowed slightly to Tey’ur and then retreated back to where Zyr and Shien awaited. A cart was supplied providing all their needs for ten days in the way of provisions, packs, blankets and an assortment of things the Guard could spare. Following the customary inspection of the campsite, all were ready to depart. Tey’ur signaled Zyr to approach. Moving ahead, the monk bowed deeply and simply to his old master. Firah watched as the old Lord placed a hand upon the shoulder of her friend and a small smile fell across his lips. They simply looked at one another with no words being spoken. After a moment, Zyr nodded and stepped back next to Firah. Next, Shien was called forward. Tey’ur presented him with a letter, sealed by the crest of the White Guard and bade him to read it when he had less pressing concerns. Shien took the letter and stepped backward. The Lord of the White Guard raised a hand in farewell and spoke the traditional parting words of Kenhar.

  “May the grace of our Mother be upon all of you. May your journey be swift upon Her song and sheltered from Her wrath.” The three companions bowed a final time and the White Guard moved slowly away, treading the path back to the White
Halls to await the inevitable siege. Firah felt a small degree of remorse, despite the difficulty of the past days. She had come to understand these men and their duty to the land. Silently, she said a prayer to the Mother for their safety.

  “Are you sure Tohm will not return?” she asked Zyr quietly, while turning to face the monk. He seemed lost in thought, his face staring off into the horizon, his eyes far away. He slowly turned and looked down into her waiting face.

  “Not until he is able to gain control of himself. He feels that he is a danger to the group and despite my efforts, he has chosen solitude for the time being. Do not worry, Firah, of all able men and beasts, he can find us if he chooses. That I know. I believe it is for the best.” Zyr sighed deeply and turned back to the horizon. “Somehow, I feel we shall see our loved ones again.” Firah stared up at the monk’s face. That was her friend, always full of mystery. She shifted her gaze to Shien, who looked back at her. He smiled slightly and she made a funny face back. He laughed softly and Zyr turned to look at them both. “It will be a short journey now to where we must go. I want you both to trust me this last time.” He placed his healing hands upon their shoulders and carefully looked into their eyes. “We are seeking answers to questions. I believe that we can find them in a place that has long remained hidden from the world. We go to the Broken Halls.” The group stood in silent repose at the mention of the name.

  The Broken Halls, the shrine of death and hope.

  The black weed had been stripped from the tender plant leaving scars within its small branches. The evil was gone, yet the memory had marked itself upon the tender plant. All that remained was a longing - searching in vain for the memory