Denaeh wanted to leave it at that. “There is no way to identify you,” she whispered harshly, her back to the rock shelf, her arms wrapped around her middle. “You have no mind left to search, and the one I seek has an even stronger mind than mine.”
Then she said to the emptiness, “If you still lived somewhere in this great world, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve shut me out for good.”
But she had to make sure. She had to climb up there and see if there was anything left on this skeleton to tell her who he had been in life.
Taking several deep breaths, Denaeh turned around and climbed up to the shelf to join the long dead man. Something in the back of her mind told her just how gruesome this task was, but she ignored it.
The man’s clothing seemed common enough, what little of it remained. His coat and pants might have once been blue, but they looked grey now. His boots, simple leather, were cracked and covered in a layer of dust. Denaeh carefully checked his pockets, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end the entire time. She found a coin purse beside him, but it held nothing that might be familiar.
After several minutes, she sat back on her knees and took a deep breath. A flicker of hope danced in her heart like a new candle flame trying to avoid a breeze. “Perhaps you were wrong after all, Jahrra.”
Feeling far better than she had when she first arrived, Denaeh pressed a hand to the floor as she made to get up, but something caught her eye before she could. The dead man had one arm draped across his waist, but the other one lay loose at his side, the skeletal palm exposed to the ceiling. Something was there, in his palm.
Denaeh swallowed hard, the dryness of her mouth surprising her. Gently, carefully, she reached a finger forward and wiped the dust off of the object to expose the yellow shimmer of gold. No, the item wasn’t in his palm, it was on his finger. A ring.
How she had missed it before, the Mystic couldn’t say. She drew another deep breath and carefully slipped the ring from the skeletal finger, careful that she only removed the ring. Once it was free, it fell heavily into her palm, as if it had wanted to be there; as if it had finally been found by a long lost friend. Denaeh felt her heart clench and she mimicked the feeling by wrapping her fingers tightly around the ring. She couldn’t look at it. She already knew what it was, but she didn’t want to confirm it.
“Be brave now, woman,” she said breathlessly as she held the closed fist with the ring to her heart, “you must be brave.”
Taking several steadying breaths, she lowered her hand and slowly opened it under the beam of light streaming from the ceiling. In her palm was a finely etched, golden ring, set with a beautiful stone. With her heart in her throat, Denaeh carefully turned the ring so that she could see the stone more carefully. It was like no other in the world, a pale crystal blue, almost clear, with just a touch of grey. And there, deep in the center of the stone, was a fleck of golden topaz. A spirit stone.
“Oh no,” she rasped, swallowing the lump in her throat, “if you still lived, this would have found a way to get back to you long ago.”
Denaeh enclosed her hand over the ring once again as an immeasurable pain suffused her heart. She barely remembered rocking onto her side as she held the ring close, for the darkness had fully taken over her.
Far above the cove a large bird sat in a redwood tree waiting for his master to return to him. A soul-deep, heart-wrenching wail echoed up from the cove, startling the bird. As he resettled himself on the branch he let out a long grumbling caw, a sound of lamentation to match the sorrow below him.
* * *
It was nearly sunset by the time Denaeh was done with her task. It had taken her nearly that long to pick herself up and accept the truth. The spirit stone ring had confirmed her worst suspicions; she knew it to be his. It would no longer seek him out, for he was no longer living for his spirit to call to it. She had known this, but it still raked at her heart. You’ve been alone for so long old woman, she told herself, you’d think by now that you’d be used to that loneliness.
The Mystic dug around in her pockets for the strongest piece of string she could find, a long, thin strip of leather. Carefully, she strung it through the ring, tied the ends, and placed the makeshift charm over her head. She would have preferred to wear the ring, but she knew as well as any that rings with spirit stones only accommodated the fingers of the one they were crafted for. Lastly, she tucked the ring under her collar so that it would rest safely against her skin, close to her heart.
Once she had finally recovered enough to drag herself out of her depression, Denaeh undertook the task of collecting the skeleton and bringing it down onto the beach in order to create a funeral pyre. It was hard work, climbing back and forth to make sure all the remains were accounted for while trying not to collapse under the weight of sorrow.
At some point in time, Milihn grew tired of waiting up in the trees. He flew down to join the Mystic, sitting on her shoulder and moving closer to her head. She found the gesture comforting and welcomed his company. His attention helped ease a little of the pain in her heart.
Finally, as the sun started to dip low in the ocean, Denaeh glanced woefully at the funeral pyre she had constructed. Using a dagger and some flint she kept to start her campfires, she set the dried seaweed and driftwood on fire, the flames slow to catch in the still damp air. The fog had long since crept back out to sea, and although she was sure it would return before daybreak, the Mystic was glad for a reprieve from its persistent drizzle. Stepping back, she watched as the fire spread, the heat of its presence not nearly generous enough to warm her chill bones and hollow spirit. Milihn, still clutched to her shoulder, tightened his claws and grumbled into his wing, arguing with his own internal thoughts most likely. When Denaeh felt a gentle nibble at her ear, she smiled through her silent tears and reached up to stroke the bird’s feathers.
“Thank you, my friend,” she whispered, her voice raw. “At least I still have you.”
Milihn sighed as well, a small sound coming from his beak, and nestled closer to his master before tucking his head back under his feathers.
As the flames licked the air, Denaeh watched on. Her hand unconsciously moved and pressed itself against her heart, precisely where the ring lay, as tears streamed down her face. The sunset was a beautiful one, but the strange woman hardly noticed. Instead, she numbly turned away from the flames and headed back through the caverns to make her way up to her campsite from the night before. As she moved farther and farther away from the fire and smoke that was an acrid reminder of her loss, she was grateful for the pounding waves, for they masked the sobbing that had now taken over her body.
* * *
The snap of a breaking twig forced Denaeh to pause. Her eyes grew wide and she suddenly melted into the guise of an old woman, a trait unique only to herself and her sister Mystics. She and Milihn had been traveling well over two weeks now and they had only run into other people when they ventured into the small towns that dotted the coast. The Mystic had been keeping her gift of foresight reined in due to the energy it sometimes cost her, especially after her discovery at the coves. Now she let it unfurl, taking in all the living things in her current surroundings. Foolish to have kept it in check, she thought as goose bumps broke out over her skin.
She was traveling down an old, densely wooded trail somewhere between the coast and the great Thronn Forest in the northernmost part of Oescienne. In fact, she could see and hear the ocean pounding against the steep rocks several feet below her and the dark trees stretching on to her right were part of the thick wilderness she was trying to avoid.
The sound of movement caught her attention once again, and she quickly shuffled through all the harmless animals whose minds she’d invaded just seconds ago: a nervous squirrel, a pair of sparrows making a nest, a doe staying as still as possible, Milihn, several branches above her as he simultaneously kept watch and searched for food.
The loud crack of a much larger branch being snapped caused her to stop dea
d in her tracks. Not keeping a close enough lookout, Milihn, she thought acidly as she gritted her teeth, considering making her bird into a stew if she survived until nightfall.
She tried sending her awareness out again, but she only met the minds of simple creatures going about their business. And then . . . her strong, probing mind slammed against a wall so strong it nearly sent her reeling. Denaeh held her breath as the sudden pain in her head faded. There were people in this world strong enough to block the inquiring mind of a powerful Mystic, but they were few and far between.
Quietly and carefully, she reached up to press a gnarled hand against the spot where the spirit stone ring hung around her neck. “You were one of those people,” she murmured with some sadness. “And if it wasn’t for this ring you left behind, I would have still held out hope.”
At that moment, the shield that had been blocking Denaeh fell and a violent, powerful mind flooded her senses. She cried out at the sudden shock, throwing her arms up and dropping her walking stick as she tried to duck and protect her head as a large man came tearing out of hiding. He wasn’t alone, but it was his mind that had created the mental block, one that had also hidden the five others that streamed out of the woods like a pack of wolves.
Oh no, Denaeh thought with dread.
They moved rather silently despite their crude armor and heavy footfalls.
“Restrain her,” the one with the impenetrable mind growled.
Denaeh gasped as rough, strong hands grabbed her under her arms and jerked her up into a standing position. She thanked Ethoes she had had the sense to transform into her older form a few minutes ago. Perhaps they’ll leave an old, feeble woman alone . . .
“Please,” she said, trying to sound pathetic, “I’m just an old woman out for a walk.”
“Is that so? Where is it that you live then?” the one with the powerful mind asked.
He had a calm voice, one that was too calm for Denaeh’s liking. Its cold emptiness made her shiver.
“We saw no cabins or huts, and we’ve been scouting these woods for the last few days,” another man answered, the one who had a vice-like grip on her right arm.
“She lies,” said another from behind her. “Let us do away with her and move on.”
The distinctive sound of steel being drawn forced Denaeh’s heart to beat faster. She wasn’t completely helpless; she still had plenty of tricks up her sleeve, but she really stood no chance against six men, one of them with a mind powerful enough to hide from her and shatter her own attempts at detecting it.
“Please, kind sirs,” she rasped, “I am a poor old widow, I have nothing and I won’t be telling anyone of your passing.”
There was a relative silence as the men’s leader considered this. While she waited to hear her fate, she braved a glance up at him under her hood. He was tall and wore a hooded jacket himself, but the shadow of that cowl wasn’t deep enough to hide the brand on one side of his face. Denaeh sucked in a harsh breath and felt her skin go white. The brand of the blood rose; Cierryon . . .
“Very well,” the mercenary finally said, “search her for anything valuable and then set her free.”
A rush of relief washed over her, but when the men started digging through the many pockets in her cloak, Denaeh began to protest.
“I have only herbs and small trinkets!” she cried. “Nothing of worth to men such as you!”
“This be a worthwhile trinket,” one said as he fished her dagger out of her sleeve.
Another one ran his hand along her neck, searching for gold and silver chains. When his fingers grasped the leather string, Denaeh tried to curl up into a ball.
“No!” she cried. “Take the dagger, and I even have a few coins stowed away in a hidden pocket. Please, not that!”
But it was too late. The man had snapped the string and drew out the ring from underneath her shirt. His eyes lit up as he gazed at the gold band and unique stone.
“Now here’s a treasure!” he proclaimed, licking his cracked lips.
Desperation and anger grew, and Denaeh spoke before thinking, her voice a threatening hiss, “You cannot take that!”
They couldn’t take the spirit stone ring, it meant far too much to her. And she didn’t think it had the power to return to her, the one whose blood had been shed to create it.
She imagined that if she had been in the guise of her younger self, with her full power free to do its will, she would have been quite formidable. But thank Ethoes above and below, she caught herself just in time. The Mystic bit her tongue as tears burned the corners of her eyes. If they find out what you are, you will not survive long enough to regret your temper, she told herself.
“Is it worth your life old woman?” someone asked gruffly.
Denaeh actually thought about it, but in the end she remembered there were more important things than trinkets, even trinkets that helped her hang onto the one good memory of her past. It is almost worth that much, she thought sadly, almost . . .
She slumped her shoulders and answered, her voice cracked and worn, “No.”
The tight grip on her arms loosened a little. “You can have your dagger back old woman,” one of the other men said, tossing the simple knife onto the ground. “This bauble should fetch a good price in the next town.”
They chuckled and turned to leave, their leader snatching the ring from his fellow soldier and tucking it into a pocket in his jacket. The other two men let Denaeh crumple to the ground, laughing and making jokes as they left her there in the middle of the trail, an old helpless woman not to be feared.
How long she sat in the middle of the trail, the mud seeping into her skirts and cloak, Denaeh couldn’t say. They took it, she thought morosely and bitterly, they took the one thing I couldn’t bear to part with. Anger burned in her heart once again and if getting to Lidien wasn’t so important, she would have followed those men and made them regret their mistake. But too much relied on her staying alive; she couldn’t risk the possible consequences of taking on one of the Crimson King’s branded servants and his soldiers.
“And no matter what I might tell them,” she ground out, “they take orders from only one person.”
Eventually, she dragged herself up using her discarded walking stick and wiped away what dirt she could. She simply leaned on the stick for several moments, trying to compose herself and to tell herself that it wasn't the end of the world that she’d lost the ring.
A wry, bitter smile crept onto her wrinkled face, her topaz eyes glittering with secrets that reached deeper than the roots of the ancient oaks surrounding her. Oh no, it is an unfortunate loss, but you have lost far more than a simple ring.
Milihn chose at that moment to descend from the safety of his perch. He landed on the ground in front of her, cackling and hopping around as if terribly distressed. Denaeh welcomed the distraction.
“So you have decided now to make your presence known? Coward! I could have used that sharp beak and grating voice of yours about twenty minutes ago!”
Despite her scolding, the Mystic was grateful for Milihn’s presence.
She sighed and, casting her mind about once more to check if the soldiers had finally left, she melted into her youthful self once again.
“We need to be more vigilant if we are to make it all the way to Lidien, Milihn. Do you know who those men were?”
The korehv cocked his head to the side and exposed a curious, glossy eye. He puffed his throat out and growled low, took three hops, and leapt into the air, landing adroitly on the small branch that protruded from the top of Denaeh’s walking stick.
She looked around hesitantly, even though she was certain the mercenaries had moved on. “They were Cierryon’s henchmen and I fear they are looking for that girl of ours and her brooding dragon.”
She sighed and absentmindedly scratched Milihn behind his neck. He grumbled and closed his eyes, enjoying the attention.
“We need to get to the City of Light as soon as we can.”
Feel
ing a rush of renewed determination, Denaeh squared her shoulders and pressed on, pushing the ache of loss she felt for the ring to the back of her mind. As she picked her way over exposed tree roots and broken boulders along the rugged coast trail, she told Milihn that this time he needed to be a little more attentive because the next time they met strangers on the road, they might not be lucky enough to escape with their lives.
* * *
That evening, Denaeh set up camp amid a small rock outcropping that overlooked the sea on one side and the trail on the other. It was well secluded and an established fire ring told her that it was a popular spot for overnight camping.
I only hope no one decides to join me tonight . . .
The Mystic took off her crimson cloak and left it near the fire pit with her walking stick. She and Milihn spent the better part of the afternoon searching out firewood and something to eat for dinner. On her way out she set up a snare for rabbits, and was pleased to find she had caught something on the way back. Once she had a fire going and the rabbit skinned, the Mystic went about spitting it over the fire while the mushrooms she’d foraged earlier roasted near the coals.
The loss of the spirit stone ring weighed heavily on her mind now that she wasn’t distracted with the business of putting distance between herself and the wayward soldiers, so she forced her thoughts to wander until they found a more suitable distraction. She glanced at her cloak, the hem of it drying with the heat of the fire, and grinned. The cloak had served her well on many occasions, despite its shocking red color. It held magic, a very ancient magic that she seldom called upon these days. As she considered its usefulness, an old memory broke free from all those jumbling about in her mind and floated to the surface. Her smile disappeared and her young brow furrowed. She sat up from her relaxed position and grasped the memory, letting herself think about it for a while.
Tales of Oescienne - A Short Story Collection - Volume One Page 4
