by JW Baccaro
Kelarin rested her head against Athanasius’ chest and wept, curling her fingers around his robe. “Oh father, I wish I could. I really wish that. Though I cannot help it. In one of the futures Darshun is so wonderful, so loving and caring toward me. We are together! We are one! But in another I am—dead.”
“And a third the Light is dead—including Darshun with darkness ruling the earth.”
She nearly turned white and could scarcely breathe. Not at the thought of herself being deceased, rather, her love Darshun!
“You have shared all three visions with me many times and each time, I advise you to ignore your future gift. Trust in Abidan my daughter. Give your heart to him. He shall not fail us.”
"I have." She raised her gaze to meet his eyes. "But what if others among this war make those vital mistakes and fail? What if Darshun is to die? Will Abidan inflict his will upon theirs? No. As you say, he is not a puppet master. We live to learn, freely. Therefore, we need only to hope. And hope I shall.”
Athanasius held her close, kissing her forehead.
CHAPTER TEN
THE HAUNTED RUINS
Caelestias led them through much woodland, across many plains. Then they entered an ancient forest where every tree spoke with a long history. Even the shrubs, weeds, flowers and other plant life appeared to have many years behind them. The traveling seemed heavy and thick as a wet wind fell, followed by a mild thunderstorm. The elvish cloaks Lord Athanasius provided them proved wonders also, for prior the thunderstorm it’d been awfully hot, sticky and muggy. Yet, the cloaks were keeping their bodies cool, like walking in a deep underground cavern where the temperature is always mild. All the while, rain bounced off them, the little beads of water splashing onto the ground.
By day, they ventured and by night, they slept. Talk grew seldom, even among the Nasharins. Though for Mirabel it became clear why he’d been quiet. For they would soon be approaching his childhood grounds, the Ackarda Woodland, where a nightmare of death and tragedy last took place.
As for enemies, they kept a strict watch. There were times during nightfall when strange eyes would appear from a distance within the bushes or high amongst the trees.
At one point, Minevara thought it might have been Dark Elves snooping around so she, along with some of the Aryeh, and even Nayland—who insisted on coming to watch her side—though she wanted no part of him, searched the treetops and surrounding area but never found anything.
Neither did the bizarre, ominous eyes return. Whoever or whatever they were seemed wise enough to stay away. It would be suicide to attack the most powerful force the Light has to offer: Darshun, Mirabel, Nayland, Minevara, Caelestias, and three hundred deadly Aryeh. Only a fool would attempt such a fruitless attack.
* * *
After a quick breakfast the following morning, they continued through the ancient woodlands. Soon, they came to an old path still accessible heading further east and the route they took. A slow rain fell and a mist rose, but now something felt odd about this forest. It seemed difficult to describe only its presence felt lonely—sad. The giant oaks creaked from the wind and the unusually enormous larches absorbed much sunlight.
Mirabel knew exactly where they were. “The old Ackarda woodland—I have not stepped into this forest in almost one hundred and fifty years.”
“It is now called The Haunted Ruins,” Caelestias informed him. “You may witness things here. Ignore them. They are not real nor are they of the Light. Do not let your guard down and never stray off the path. They will bring you to your death.”
“Interesting…”
“No Mirabel, it is not. Heed my warning.”
Continuing along the path, moving stealthily, little to no sound could be heard. It became difficult to tell if anything lived here, as they all passed through the ominous silence.
Old memories now flooded Mirabel’s mind and began to take his thoughts astray. He couldn’t help it, for this was once his dearly beloved home. Seth Caelen, and even Magnus Winveil would understand. He remembered times he’d spent with his father and mother, friends and many wonderful gatherings. He recognized some of the trees he used to play on. He remembered breaking a large branch off a pine by swinging around and around on it until it cracked and he plunged to the ground—face first, Magnus laughing hysterically at him. Mirabel chuckled as well and to never forget the moment he carved his initials into the bark. They strolled by that same tree, almost bringing a tear to his eye. So long ago, when times were simple, he thought, then recalled the horrid plague struck while killing most life. The surrounding vegetation still looked diseased from those dreadful days, having black markings along their leaves and dark green moldy bark.
Inexplicably, he heard a voice—then two voices and more followed. They cried out, “Mirabel. Mirabel…” Eerily and cold. The voices echoed through his mind as if in a dream. He gazed beyond the trees and scarcely witnessed beings from the past, Nasharins and Ackarda he recognized, now ghosts! Their faces filled with sorrow, their bodies still decaying from the plague. Dark swollen eyes dripping blood, limbs, ears and other body parts falling off, innards revealed through rotten flesh. He could even smell the sickness and almost vomited.
Their bodies were pale, having a surrounding white glow. They came closer to him, some walking across the ground passing through trees as if their ‘bodies’ lost substance upon will, others drifting through the air. Soon, they were right by his side, staring directly into his eyes.
Caelestias, Darshun and the others made no response.
It seemed Mirabel became the only one capable of seeing them. The ghosts stretched out their hands, reaching for him. “Help us Mirabel,” they spoke in unison. “Please help us? Do not abandon us to this place.” Then amongst the crowd came the ghost of his father, the others ‘floating’ out of his way. He walked right up to Mirabel, his eyes displaying great sorrow. “Mirabel, my son. I have missed you—we all have missed you, dearly! Come to us.”
“Father—you all right?” Darshun asked, noticing him gazing off into nothing.
He did not answer, nor did he barely hear him. Only the words of his father sang in his head. The ghost came closer—so close Mirabel felt a deep chill pass through his body. It rose up a hand. “Come with us my son, before it is too late. I…command…you.” The words sounded in his head like a hypnotic melody. He felt he must obey, for time indeed began running out, the Plague was coming, and he must get out of there before death arrived first. Without resistance, he began to step off of the trail, to follow his father to safety.
Caelestias grabbed his arm and roughly yanked him back. “Mirabel!” the elvish lord hollered his eyes blistery red.
Hearing his voice, Mirabel snapped back to his senses, shaking his head. He looked aside and the ghosts were gone.
“I told you not to step off this trail!” Caelestias scolded. "Defiance angers me."
Still shaken up he answered, “I saw my people Caelestias. I saw my—father.”
Caelestias sighed, feeling a little guilty for using harsh tone on him. He was after all “Mirabel the Great.” Even so, Caelestias knew what kind of fate awaited Mirabel had he followed after them. “Listen, he was not your father.” His tone sounded calmer now. “They were not your people. They are evil spirits who appear only to the one they attempt to deceive. You have rich history here, involving tragedy so the evil chose you. Unless you desire a similar tragedy, ignore them."
Mirabel focused his mind on Caelestias’ words. His gaze became stern. “I understand. It won’t happen again.”
Caelestias nodded.
Minevara moved up front beside Mirabel. “Here, let me take your hand. I will keep you safe,” she urged, gently grasping it.
He felt no need to argue, and why should he? Pride could not be an issue. He understood these lands made him vulnerable. If he’d obeyed his pride, ignoring the warnings of Caelestias, while convincing himself to be flawless, incapable of seduction under disillusion a second time, he might have
been taken astray the next time they came haunting his memories. Therefore, he felt honored to be offered help, especially by the sister of his adopted son. Unity—always prevailing over solitary perfection. The secret to keeping races alive, working together, pushing through darkness and best of all, having this mindset of how one is never alone.
* * *
They continued on and it wasn’t long before Darshun’s focus began to stray. Far off the trail, through the mist of the forest he noticed a great mound of rock about twelve feet high and at least a thousand feet long. There must have been over a hundred birch trees growing on its top. Moving further along, Darshun saw on the eastern side of this mound sat a large opening, like a doorway. For a moment, he thought he witnessed two green—eyes—seductively staring at him within the shadows of the ‘doorway.’ Then he heard a strange, sensual female voice echo in his mind. Come to me…The eyes flashed and disappeared.
Heh, must be my imagination, Darshun thought. “Father, what is that mound of rock?”
Having already noticed it Mirabel answered, “Funny you ask. It is an old cave where many Nasharin councils took place. I remember attending one with my father so long ago. Though, there weren’t any trees atop back then.”
“How can there be trees coming out of rock?”
“Perhaps the Witch’s magic. Athanasius spoke about her last night, the guardian of this forest. The cave may be the very den she dwells in. I have heard that before, though only by rumor.”
“It is true,” Caelestias interjected. “And that is her place of dwelling. However, if we remain quiet we will pass by unnoticed. Seldom does she come out at day. By dusk, we will have passed through these wretched woods. Until then,”—his dark, blue speckled eyes shifting to and fro of Darshun and Mirabel—“Silence your mouths.”
Still, Darshun couldn’t get his mind off the cave. He felt a strong urge to look inside of it, examine the place. Perhaps just to see his own peoples’ spot of council, or perhaps to see the Witch herself. For he now began to wonder whether or not it really was her flashing a set of eyes at him. Then the overly thick larch trees became even thicker and soon, it grew so dense not one amount of sunlight could pierce through the leaves. It might as well have been dusk. Now would be Darshun’s chance to quietly slip away and give in to his curiosity. Slowing his pace, he quietly moved off the trail and ventured back to the mound unnoticed—how he was able to accomplish this was a mystery, even to him, for the Aryeh normally had no trouble seeing in darkness. Perhaps black magic played a role?
He stood before the opening, desperately fighting the temptation not to enter. What would she look like? How hideous could she be? According to legend, Witches are the ugliest of creatures to walk the earth, yet she sounded alluring, seductive. Added to it, knowing he stood before a place his own people used to gather and fellowship in made the desire to enter even stronger. Pondering these things together, the urge became unquenchable. He stepped into shadow.
* * *
Finally, out of such haunted ruins and bitter wasteland the darkness began to illuminate, sunlight piercing through the treetops.
Almost immediately did Mirabel notice Darshun's absence. “Where has Darshun gone?” he asked, rather panicked.
“I thought he was walking behind us,” Minevara answered.
"He was."
"Did he—venture off, perhaps amongst the Aryeh?"
After a quick search, they found him neither there.
Caelestias glared Mirabel down. "I grow ill-tempered. First you and now your boy—of all individuals—the Guardian! Where was Darshun last?"
“Directly behind me. Though admittedly, once we entered into darkness he grew oddly quiet."
"Obviously he is gone now; this poses conflict. He carries the Crystal."
Mirabel thought back, seeing if he could recall anything out of the ordinary—and then remembered. "He asked about the Witch’s Den!”
“Did he see or mention anything peculiar?” Caelestias’ expression looked anxious.
“No. But by the sound in his voice he was oddly curious about it.”
Fear shot through Caelestias’ heart. “How foolish I was not to warn you. We must return there at once! If Darshun caught her gaze within the entrance, she may have cast a spell to lure him in.”
Confidence finally began to dawn on Mirabel again, whether or not haunting memories still ate at his mind. "Let us go!" he spoke, fire in his tone.
“Count me in,” Nayland prompted.
“Wait a minute, how could the Witch have such power over Windtros?" Minevara asked. "He is, after all the Guardian. How does a chosen warrior get seduced so easily, by a mere gaze?! Surely, you can’t be serious Caelestias?"
"It is because he is Guardian that he is less perceptive to seduction," Nayland commented. "Evil attacks relentlessly."
"Oh, really Nayland?" she responded, turning around to pass him a condescending look. "Well, just to inform you Mirabel has already spoken that those 'seductions' ended once Windtros truly accepted his calling. And my brother has.”
Nayland scowled, seeming to dislike her reproach of his words.
"Minevara is right," Mirabel stated.
She crossed her arms, smiling. “See, I pay attention.”
"However it matters not. Darshun, by nature is a unique individual, openly curious and easily influenced; childlike, in many ways. It does not take much to seduce him. And females tend to have a more powerful effect over him rather than males, I have come to understand, whether they are beautiful like a Queen or hideous like a Witch."
"My own brother, easily seduced by—women?" She nearly laughed. It was that or cry and laughing seemed the better option. "From now on, I’m going to cling to him like a mother!"
“The Witch is no weakling," Caelestias warned. "We must act before it's too late. Minevara stay put.”
"Wh—what ? why?" she protested. “My brother is in trouble, so I am going will help.”
“It is better if you stay with the Aryeh and keep watch. Let no one go astray. The Eye is already at hand.”
“Yet you are letting Nayland accompany?” She glanced angrily at him. “I am Windtros’ sister!”
Caelestias’ stare clashed her own, soon dominating and she lowered her eyes.
“You are also a member of Ashhaven, Minevara, and highly respected—and an elite. The Elves will listen to your command.”
Not wishing to object to the son of Lord Athanasius, she unusually submitted. “Very well. Just be careful. And bring Windtros back.”
“Oh, we will,” Nayland commented, passing her a wide grin. “Just sit here and relax. All of ‘us’ shall handle it.”
She rolled her eyes, wanting to smack him across the face. Though it wasn’t worth the effort. Besides, Nayland’s time to be humiliated by her hand would come. Then maybe, he would shut up and cease the arrogance.
* * *
Hastily, they returned to the Witch’s Den, but Darshun seemed nowhere to be found.
“Just as I feared.” Caelestias shook his head. “He has entered. Look to the ground.”
In the grass before them were fresh footprints embedded into the vegetation. They were faint, and quite difficult to see, but were there and led into the cave.
“We must go after him,” Mirabel urged.
“Remain as quite as we can. For once we enter, the Witch can hear everything. Who knows where she may be hiding, ready to strike us down.”
“And if she struck Darshun down already?” Nayland asked.
“She has not,” Mirabel responded. “Though something is wrong, I can feel his presence. It feels strange, different. Let us hurry!”
For the first hundred feet or so it seemed to be complete darkness. Nothing stirred except a chilling wind and there were smells too bizarre to describe. They walked cautiously, ready to strike at any foe who may appear—as of yet the cave looked empty. Soon, they came to a section with light. On each side of the cave were candles entombed within Human skulls, b
urning excessively, hot red wax dripping down the craniums like blood. Life-like faces lay entombed upon the walls Human faces attached to no bodies….Their various expressions driven in fear, disparity, sadness and sorrow. Their eyes came to life staring upon the three, frowning. Who or what they were could not be known. Perhaps souls of individuals the Witch killed long ago, forever bound within her black magic tombs.
Unable to gaze at the macabre spectacle any longer, Caelestias and the others continued forward.
“Who dares enter my domain uninvited?” a loud female voice shouted, startling them. Her tone had a sharp grasp and it echoed throughout the cave.
They searched around, seeing no one.
“Speak quickly intruders!” it spoke again.
“Forgive us, guardian of the haunted ruins,” Caelestias offered. “We seek a friend of ours we believe ventured in here.”
“Do you now? Yes yes, of course you do, the young boy. He is here. I invited him. He is now my property.”
“His purpose is not with you. He must come with us.”
“No, he shall stay here, so I may dine on his flesh.”
“If you do not return him we will destroy you.”
She laughed hysterically, her loud screechy voice piercing their ears. “How is it an Elf and two Nasharins dare challenge me?”
They all drew weapons.
Both Mirabel and Nayland wondered how she knew their heritage.
“I give you one final warning Witch!” Caelestias shouted in a commanding voice.
“Additional dining, the thought had not crossed my mind, yet so be it. Yes yes, I shall feast on all of you!”
In an instant, a host of arms—gray skinned with popping red veins—stretched out from the walls. These large hands attempted to grab the three to squeeze, crush and wring out their bodies like one might do to an orange, filling his or her cup with juice. In this case—blood for the Witch’s brew.
