Sennar's Mission

by Licia Troisi

  Nihal spoke in a whisper. “It can’t be …”

  “It was then that I pronounced the spell. A forbidden spell, extremely difficult to evoke. It took every ounce of my strength. But you should be thanking me, Sheireen,” she repeated. “Without my help, you’d have never picked up a sword. You’d have never discovered your strength.”

  “It’s not possible,” Nihal went on muttering. “It’s not possible …”

  “Yes, Sheireen. It was I who opened your mind to those dreams.”

  The room froze. Not a sound, but for the hush of the distant waterfall. The black sword trembled in Nihal’s hands.

  “I knew Soana would never have the courage to wake the spirit of vengeance in you, to make you the warrior we need. But if only you knew, if only you saw with your own eyes …”

  Nihal’s face was pale. “I was only a child,” she said, raising her voice, “and you sent hordes of spirits to torment me. I’m a woman now and there’s not a single night I don’t—”

  “Once you’ve completed your mission, the dreams will cease, Sheireen. But until you’ve done your duty, the dead will haunt you. Forever.”

  “You monster!” Nihal shouted, and struck the table with the blade of her sword.

  The old woman made no movement. “Your strength lies in your hate,” she said with a smile. “I’m the one who gave you that strength. I’m the one who made you who you are.”

  “I’m not your creation!”

  “Oh, indeed you are. …” Reis sneered.

  Nihal had already lifted her arm to strike when she felt the warm touch of a hand, a hand wrapped around her own.

  Sennar spun her around. “Put your sword away and let’s go,” he said calmly. “Now.”

  Nihal stood there, undecided, her heartbeat pounding in her head. Slowly, she lowered her sword until it hung limply at her side. Then she turned toward the door of the hut without a word. The medallion lay on the ground among the splintered remains of the smashed table.

  “Sheireen!” Reis called. “You can’t turn your back on your destiny!”

  Before they walked out, Sennar cast a cold glance at the old woman. “I just saved your life, Reis. I suggest you keep your mouth shut, unless you want me to change my mind.”

  Nihal was sitting curled up where a rock jutted out beneath the old woman’s house. Sennar lowered himself down and took a seat beside her, caressing her arm.

  “Come on, let’s go,” he whispered, but she made no response. He leaned over in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “Whatever you were searching for, it’s not here, Nihal.”

  Tears were streaming down her face. “How many times have I said that I don’t want revenge to define me, Sennar? You know how hard I’ve fought. … And for what?”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” said Sennar.

  Nihal stared off into the emptiness before her. “Don’t you see it, Sennar? My life is a perfect picture. I’m driven to fight because one day my parents consecrated me to some god whose name I didn’t even know. I’m haunted by nightmares that were planted in my brain, just so I would travel around the world gathering eight, stupid stones. It’s all written down and planned out. I’m a weapon in someone else’s hands; I don’t have the right to be a person.”

  Sennar pulled her to her feet and took her between his arms, squeezing her tight. “Your life is yours alone, Nihal, and that’s all that matters. Now let’s get out of here and forget this ever happened.”

  27

  An Army of the Dead

  As they neared the base on their return journey, Nihal and Sennar noticed something strange. The closer they came to Laodamea, the more the air seemed charged with electricity, the villages below gripped with a troubling agitation.

  Suddenly, they saw a small black dot flying toward them. Nihal drew her sword, fearing it was an enemy, though soon she recognized the squat figure of Ido on back of Vesa.

  The dwarf signaled for them to land on a low-lying hill.

  “What brings you to these parts? Have you come as our personal escort?” Sennar quipped as they walked toward each other. It wasn’t until he finished his joke that he noticed the grave look on Ido’s face.

  “What happened?” Nihal asked, worried.

  “Since you left, things have taken a turn for the worse. Without warning, they’ve launched an offensive against the Land of Water. The armies of the Tyrant are drawing near to the nymph’s force field. A battle is imminent, Nihal. We need you back at the base.” Ido remounted his dragon. “Follow me.”

  In an instant, all of the thoughts that had accompanied her until that moment vanished from her mind. She climbed on back of Oarf and spurred him to fly as fast as possible, Sennar holding on tight behind her.

  Ido led them to the vast plateau that extended along the border of the Land of Water and the Land of the Wind. As soon as they arrived, Laio ran up to meet Nihal, his face pale with fright.

  “Something’s happening, something strange,” he said, walking beside her toward her array of troops.

  “What are you getting at?” she asked, picking up her pace.

  “I … what I saw frightened me, Nihal.”

  She stopped in her tracks and looked him in the eye for a moment with a feeling of dread. Nihal had never been afraid during battle, but there was something chilling in Laio’s expression.

  “Go back to the tent and don’t leave. I don’t like the look of things, Laio,” she said brusquely and walked off.

  Everyone was in their places. Nihal looked about for Sennar and found him standing beside Mavern. Soana was with him, too. What the devil’s going on? She shook her head. This was no time to let her nerves get the best of her. She needed to concentrate, to keep her head clear.

  She pulled her helmet on and flew to the battlefront. In the distance before her she could see the nymphs, busily maintaining their force field. They were spread out in several columns, one beside the other, their hands stretched toward the barrier. To her astonishment, Nihal recognized Astrea. Standing tall and confident, the queen was fighting for her land alongside the other nymphs. She seemed changed since the first time Nihal had seen her—her once fragile beauty burdened with the weight of long sorrow.

  All was quiet. In other battles, the Fammin would have already come rushing in with their blood-curdling war cries. But this time there was nothing, only silence. Nihal was afraid, but of what, she wasn’t exactly sure. Not of death. Death had never frightened her. But a deeper fear, something more elusive and terrifying.

  At long last, the enemy appeared, approaching from the Land of the Wind. This time, the Tyrant’s warriors were not Fammin, but men, or so it seemed. In rigorous order, they marched forward noiselessly, almost tranquilly. In place of their usual black armor, they wore breastplates of an ashen grey. At sight of the force field they didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. The nymph’s chanting grew louder, more melodious, their voices rising up in defiance.

  Nihal could feel her own heart pounding. Two warriors, each on back of a dragon, appeared in the leaden sky. One wore a scarlet breastplate and rode a black dragon not unlike Dola’s. The other wore grey, his dragon milk white in the sun’s reflection.

  The troops began to whisper among themselves.

  “Prepare to attack!” the general shouted.

  Nihal leaned down and cooed in Oarf’s ear: “Relax boy, everything’s going to be fine.”

  Even her dragon’s nerves were on edge. His wings quivered, though it wasn’t for the fear of battle.

  The enemy troops continued their silent approach, marching fearlessly toward the force field. Many of the infantrymen among them seemed to have already been wounded, their iron armor stained with large splotches of clotted blood, and yet they advanced without hesitation. When the front line came within a step of the force field, they halted.

  The warrior on the black dragon flew forward.

  “Today is a glorious day!” he shouted, directing his words to the Army of the Free
Lands. “A truly glorious day! Today, brothers rise up against brothers. Today, fathers slay their sons. The right hand combats the left, only to destroy the body they belong to. Today, my friends, you are your own murderers.”

  The warrior drew a three-pronged lance of a deep blue, gleaming with dark reflections. As he brandished it toward the sky, he was suddenly surrounded by a thin web of blue electricity. “My Lord, give strength to your servant!” he yelled, and hurled his lance at the barrier.

  The entire army witnessed as the lance penetrated the force field with ease and staked itself in the dirt only a few feet from the nymphs. As soon as it touched the ground, a dark sphere encircled the lance and began to pulsate, expanding itself with a deafening rumble.

  In a violent flash of green light, the force field ruptured. The nymphs and their queen were knocked backward and appeared to dissolve in a cloud of dark vapor.

  A horrified silence gripped the soldiers. There was nothing left separating the enemy from the Amy of the Free Lands.

  “On to a triumphant massacre!” cried the warrior, and his troops came charging without a sound.

  The battle began.

  The infantrymen along the front line raised their swords against the mysterious grey soldiers, but their steady blades struck nothing, passing right through their bodies as if through air.

  As they fought, each soldier, each infantryman, each warrior of the Army of the Free Lands recognized a face among the ranks of their enemies. Some saw old friends from their company, others noticed their own commanders who’d fallen in battle, still others recognized their brothers, mortally wounded long ago. Before long, astonishment gave way to doubt, doubt to certainty, and from certainty came utter horror: they were fighting against an army of the dead.

  The dead of their own troops, their one-time companions. The Tyrant had found a way to bring their fallen soldiers back to life.

  Shouts of terror echoed over the battlefield and the entire Army of the Free Lands broke into retreat.

  Nihal suppressed her terror, doing all she could to keep her troops in line. Back and forth she galloped across the field, urging on her reluctant dragon, exhorting her men, straining to prevent them from scattering. But it was a hopeless cause. Their moment of ruin had come at last. Even if the soldiers could overcome the terror of having to face their own dead companions, their weapons could do them no harm.

  Nihal felt powerless, overcome with despair.

  “Dammit!” she screamed, spurring Oarf up toward the warrior in red armor. But between her and her target stood throngs of ghosts. A soldier she’d once commanded appeared before her, staring at her with blank eyes.

  In the meantime, Sennar and Soana had come up from the rear and were speaking with the general.

  “Gather everyone who hasn’t yet been sent in to fight, General!” Sennar barked. “I think I know a way to defeat them.”

  The general shook his head. “No, Councilor. I’m going to order a retreat. I don’t want any more casualties.”

  Arrows were whizzing by their heads, but Sennar hardly seemed to notice. “If we retreat in these conditions, it will be a massacre. And we can’t just hand them the Land of Water.”

  “What do you two have in mind?” the general asked.

  “There’s a spell,” Soana answered, “but we’ll need to apply it to their weapons. Listen to Councilor Sennar, General. We’ll take care of the rest.”

  Sennar had come up with the idea. It was the essence of fire feeding these spirits, and only with a spell rooted in flames could they combat them and send their souls back to peaceful rest. All they had to do was apply the enchantment to the soldiers’ weapons.

  All of the soldiers who hadn’t yet been sent in to the fray were ordered to gather on the plateau where they’d awaited the Tyrant’s attack. Ido and Nihal landed nearby, kicking up clouds of dust. They dismounted their dragons and sped over to join the crowd.

  Sennar observed the array of troops, infantrymen, basic soldiers, warriors, all standing motionless, an expression of stupor on their faces as they listened to the cries and shouts of their companions in battle. All together, they made up less than half of the entire army, but they had to give it a shot. He climbed atop one of the weapons transport wagons to get a view of the entire gathering and helped Soana up after him.

  “Listen here!” he shouted, the clamor of battle drowning out his voice. “Listen here! We must fight back!”

  “They’re slaughtering us out there!” someone yelled from the crowd, and several others echoed his cry.

  “I need you to trust in me! We’re going to apply an enchantment to your weapons,” Sennar urged. “All you have to do is raise up your swords!”

  Among the forest of armor and helmets, a black crystal blade and a long, thin sword were the only two to rise in the air. No one else budged.

  Sennar recognized the voice of Ido. “Your friends are dying out there on the battlefield, dammit! There’s no time. Raise your bloody weapons!”

  A few soldiers did as told and little by little the plateau was covered in blades and lances, arrows and axes.

  Sennar and Soana opened their palms toward the sky and began to recite the spell. A ray of crimson light poured forth from their wrists, beaming upward at first, then cascading in hundreds of streams upon the army below, flooding into their weapons.

  When the troops were free to move again, Sennar leaned on the wagon for support, completely spent. Beside him, Soana slid down to the wooden floor.

  Nihal took to the air on Oarf and rallied her men to battle. The attack began, their swords raining down on the enemy. And this time their blows were landing, the ghosts dissolving like smoke before their eyes. And yet the struggle was no less terrifying. Picking her way through the ranks of the dead, Nihal found herself face-to-face with several comrades. After looking into their eyes, after meeting their familiar gazes, to attack them was nearly impossible. Gripped with frustration, she went on hovering above her soldiers, circling and circling, until her eyes fell upon the vermilion knight soaring on his black dragon in the distance. He would make for a fine first kill.

  She sped after him, her eyes fixed on his fire-red armor, not bothering to ask herself why he was retreating so far from the battle.

  In one quick motion, the black dragon halted and spun around to face Oarf. Nihal was just about to lunge in with her first attack when another winged creature, as grey as the grey-armored warrior astride its back, swooped in to block her path. Something about the knight’s posture, about the distinct gleam of his eyes from beneath his helmet, awoke in Nihal a pang of recognition. A chill ran up her spine.

  “He, not I, is your enemy,” the scarlet warrior announced, and his dragon reared back and darted off into the clouds.

  “Wait!” she shouted, launching after him, but again the grey knight stood in her way, this time wounding her right arm.

  Nihal quickly backed away and passed her sword to her left hand. Above her, the scarlet knight circled, observing the scene.

  The grey dragon stretched its jaws open in a mute roar, beating its heavy wings. Nihal lifted her visor to get a better look at the knight and was suddenly struck with vertigo.

  No, It can’t be. Gaart is dead. He died trying to save his knight.

  “Who are you?” Nihal shouted to the warrior, but he ignored her words, drawing ever nearer. “Who are you? Reveal yourself!”

  The enemy’s sharp blade pierced her leg, but Nihal felt no pain. She was stupefied, insensible. It’s not him. It can’t be him.

  Then, with a nod from the scarlet warrior, the grey knight removed his helmet. There was no longer any room for doubt. His dark curls were the color of ash now, his brash smile gone from his lips, leaving only an expressionless grimace, but the man before her was Fen: her teacher, her friend, her love.

  Nihal was paralyzed.

  How many times had she wished she could see him again? How often had it felt like she could hear his laughter? And now here he was. Al
l consciousness had faded from behind his green eyes, and even still, it was him.

  Fen came barreling at Nihal again, and plunged his sword into her shoulder, the very sword she’d sparred with in countless training sessions.

  Nihal sensed the sharp pain, could feel the blood rushing from the wound, but she could do nothing. “Fen,” she pleaded.

  The face of the spectral knight remained indifferent, his lips sealed.

  “Fen … It’s me, Fen …” Nihal murmured.

  Again he struck her, this time on the hip, piercing through her armor.

  “Is this what you’ve chosen, Knight? To die without a fight?” the red warrior taunted from above.

  The grey knight’s blade clashed repeatedly against Nihal’s armor, though she merely sat there, receiving each blow without protest.

  Suddenly, she noticed Oarf carrying her away from the battle.

  In the midst of their retreat, however, a wall of flames shot forth and blocked the way: the black dragon. “Kill or be killed, Knight,” the scarlet warrior howled.

  Strike him, Nihal.

  Nihal shook her head. “I can’t …”

  You don’t want to die.

  Another torrent of flames engulfed Oarf’s chest, and the dragon’s painful roar quaked through Nihal’s body. Why, why was this the test she had to suffer?

  “Nihal, dammit! You have to fight!” a voice called out. Ido’s voice. A flash of reality.

  Nihal shook herself from her stupor, and there before her was Ido, barreling toward the black dragon, his sword drawn.

  Anger mounted like a tidal wave within her. A surge of fury and despair. Nihal gripped her sword and launched herself at Fen.

  It was desperation alone that drove her on. She struck him at random, doing all she could to avoid the frigid gaze of the man she once loved.

  “It’s me, Fen,” she repeated, but Fen went on attacking, blocking, attacking, blocking, steady and imperturbable.

  He wasn’t acting willfully. It was as if his hand were moving of its own accord. Or so she wanted to believe. Cringing, she thrust her black crystal sword into Fen’s stomach, and its pointed tip pierced the knight straight through to the other side. For an instant, Nihal locked eyes with the ghost. But there was nothing there to see. Fen vanished into smoke, just as he had that night when the fires of the funeral pyre consumed his body.