The Mirror of the Moon (Revenant Wyrd Book 2)

by Travis Simmons

  “Room, board, you know the normal. Not to die because of a black infection to the world of wyrd would be nice too, but I will take what I can get.”

  “All the same,” Dalah said. The truth was Grace and this woman were not exactly the same. Manipulative, yes, but in different ways. Dalah had been thinking about what Grace had said since she had left: the Well of Wyrding being breached. Dalah knew it was the truth. After some serious Spirit Walking, she verified the truth of it and didn’t like it. The reality Grace had spoken that night wore heavy on her soul. Dalah knew she was the only one strong enough and able enough to counter what Porillon had done, and now she was resigning to do what she knew she must.

  She had been at their door that night, listened to Grace’s words, though hearing them spoken to the youth had not been the deciding factor for her. She had been waiting for Rosalee to come. For some reason she didn’t want Grace to see her cave, and that is what it would have appeared as if she had gone with them. Also, a part of her had hoped that Rose would not come, for if she had not come then Dalah would not be leaving.

  But in the end, the deciding factor had been what Grace said just before they returned to Fairview Heights after dumping the stranger’s body. Her work, her life corrupted. Wyrd was in the very foundations of Fairview Heights, and if wyrd was being corrupted then so was her dream. She had looked around her that night even as she had listened to Grace and tried to imagine her home turned Chaotic against her.

  “Others can take care of what you have done for so long, Dalah,” Rosalee said. She took a seat opposite her friend and a pleasant caramel-colored girl poured them some tea. The red circles on her palms proclaimed her a citizen of the Realm of Fire.

  “It is not that I doubt Rama here would not be able to handle the building. It is just now that my dream has come to fruition, I find it hard to leave no matter what for.” Dalah rubbed the bridge of her nose to stave off a headache.

  “That is understandable, but sometimes the only way to keep the dream is to leave it, Dalah, which is very much the case here.” Rose could be so damned reasonable sometimes, despite her apparent lack of anything coherent.

  “I know, I know. When do we leave?” Dalah finally asked with a frustrated sigh, and Rosalee smiled listlessly at her in response.

  Now two days out of Fairview, they ran straight into the Sacred Forest. Angelica reasoned they would not have been able to miss it had they tried, for it stood before them like a huge coniferous barrier taking up a good third of the Realm of Earth.

  Large pines and firs seemed to war with each other for dominion of the forest resulting in a convoluted green prestige that dazzled the eyes, confused the mind, and enticed the senses.

  Angelica stood transfixed as they stopped to stare in wonder at this most holy of forests. Within these trees Pharoh and Sylvie had been found where the Shadows Grove started. The Shadows Grove was much more than a village and more like a sense of being—a being that still lived in its last remaining members. Grace still considered herself a member of the Shadows Grove even though its creators were long dead along with their mission. Not only was it able to add those two most holy of items to its inventory, but it also housed the very thing they ventured to: the Mirror of the Moon, and hopefully Amber.

  Maeven went to his knees before the forest, bowing his head low to rest on the velvety grass of the Realm of Air. A pleasant wind gusted around them, shifting the stalks like a deep green ocean about their ankles as if faring them well on their path. His arms were splayed out before him in supplication, and as they watched he chanted words in his baritone voice that left them all in awe at the marvels of the forest and his prayer.

  “Remember,” Grace said as Maeven rejoined them, not wanting to interrupt his reverie. “The Well of Wyrding is within here.” Now that they were so close to the Mirror of the Moon, it seemed their attention was more focused on the Well of Wyrding than their original destination and mission. “It has always followed that the Well of Wyrding directly influences the Sacred Forest. Now that the Well has been compromised, I am afraid that the forest might as well be.”

  “And that is not good,” Maeven said.

  “Of course it is not good,” Grace scowled. “When Pharoh and Sylvie first started the Shadows Grove, one of our missions was to rid the Sacred Forest of all dalua. We did so, but mostly by neutralizing the Well of Wyrding. When the Well was purified, it also neutralized the Sacred Forest, locking most of the Dalua away forever … so we thought. Now that the Well has been breached I fear the Dalua might once more be loose.”

  “And that is most certainly not good,” Angelica said.

  “Take heed of what you say within. I am not sure what might come of our words.” The menace of Grace’s words made none of them wish to enter the forest, but enter they must, and in time they followed Grace closer to the wood.

  When they stepped foot over the boundary of the Sacred Forest, Angelica thought the wood was like nothing she had ever seen before. It wasn’t just the sight of the hundreds of trees all seemingly on top of one another, but also the sounds and smells. The trees sported rich brown bark and dark green needles and leaves, and the smell was like the woods near home as the summer sun heated them. Angelica found it odd that it was autumn and they were entering one of the colder realms, and yet the forest still sported the smell of one warmed by summer heat. Maybe it had to do with the mystery of the forest itself; after all, the name Sacred Forest implied that it was something more than a regular forest.

  It was the sound of the forest that she didn’t like. Even if the sights and the smells had lulled her into complacency, the dead silence made every nerve and hair stand on edge. The forest was not completely void of noise; rather it seemed to absorb whatever sound was made so that even the cracking of twigs beneath feet was nothing more than a hollow pop, and then nothing.

  If there were any animals living within the forest, Angelica could not tell, for none scurried out of their way. No birds high in trees trumpeted their arrival. As might be expected when there were no animals or birds around, the only thing that thrived were bugs.

  I don’t like this, Angelica told Jovian.

  Who would? he responded. Do you feel that?

  What?

  It is kind of like a wind, or a slight breeze, only it isn’t.

  A breeze that is not a breeze—now that is weird, she teased.

  You know what I mean.

  Just as she was going to tell him no, however, she felt it too. He was right; it was much like a breeze, though slight and barely noticeable unless you were sensitive to it, or looking for it as Angelica was. The breeze rustled along the ground, stirring leaves silently as it passed. Yet the only way Angelica knew the leaves were fluttering in the wind was when she caught the movement out of her eyes.

  There was absolutely nothing she liked about this wind, for it felt cold and hateful. Within it she could feel sorrow and despair, pain and suffering, and something much darker that she could not place a finger on … something primeval, ancient.

  I feel it, she told him.

  What do you think it is? he asked as Maeven scouted for a path. Finding a game trail, he motioned for them to follow and gestured silence as he tiptoed forward. Angelica wondered why he was so determined not to disturb the silence. Perhaps the silence was the very thing that stayed his tongue, as it was doing a good job of putting them all on edge.

  I honestly don’t know, but I think we should say something. Maybe the power of this breeze is in the silence? she hazarded a guess.

  I don’t think so, Jovian disagreed. I think the power of this wind is in the Well of Wyrding, but talking couldn’t hurt, and it might lighten the atmosphere.

  “So what is that wind?” Angelica asked and all of them, including Jovian who had been expecting her to speak, jumped. “Is it always here?” She finished more quietly when Grace stopped and put a hand to her chest to calm her thundering heart.

  “No,” Grace said closing her eyes for a
moment, “it is not always like this.” She fished in her pack for her pipe and they paused while she stuffed and lit it. Taking a deep inhale, she held it for a while before releasing it. “Sorry, my nerves are nearly shot already. I need something to help calm me.”

  “So what is causing it?” Jovian asked, holding tight to Methos’ reigns. As they were walking a game trail, the horses were being led as there wasn’t much room, and they didn’t want to injure their mounts. Jovian reasoned that if things were going to be as bad as Grace suspected, they might have to leave their mounts before they actually reached their destinations.

  “It is caused by the breach. This wind does not normally happen unless something is happening with the Well of Wyrding. The wind is dependent on what exactly is happening. Last time we altered the wyrd within the Well, the breeze was much more pleasant.” Grace looked around troubled. “Last time I was here there were many more animals than there are now.”

  “That is not hard to believe as there aren’t any,” Maeven added.

  “They are sensitive to such things; they must have cleared out,” Jovian said.

  “Which leads us to another problem,” Angelica cut in, bringing gloom to the lightening conversation. “If this is what happens to the forest that houses the Well, what will happen to people who harbor wyrd?”

  “A very good question,” Grace said, and they all fell silent.

  As the days passed, the tension mounted more and more until they were all jumping at shadows. Jovian reasoned that it was not only the unusual atmosphere of the Sacred Forest putting them all on edge, but also the strange wyrded wind that gusted about them day and night.

  Evenings were passed sometimes with a large fire, if a clearing apt in holding such could be found, but most of the time the night was dark and even more edgy than the day had been.

  Angelica noticed at night it became colder; not slightly colder as would be expected of the sun setting, but it became more chilled like autumn than it was during the day. She was not used to being able to see her breath in mid-Mensagem, but she figured it was not such a strange thing this far north. It became apparent that the weather in the south had spoiled her somewhat. Normally weather like this in the south heralded the falling of leaves and mornings marked by slight frost, but here the needles stayed where they were, and the leaves had not yet even changed color. Though the mornings did see the presence of frost, most of the times heavy and covering them all like a fine sheet of snow.

  When the sun set there was a new type of terror the mind conjured, which was only slightly lessened by the presence of a fire. It seemed the shadows themselves came to life and watched them. Angelica wasn’t sure if this was actually the case or if she was only imagining things, but she wouldn’t doubt something of the like could actually happen in this place.

  Talking became nearly obsolete, and the slight conversations Jovian and Angelica shared mentally wound to a close as nerves were stretched to near breaking. At times Angelica wanted nothing more than to cry, though she could find no sound reason for doing so.

  “What is that?” Angelica asked one night. They were all sat around a large fire more than capable of warding off the dark, though not their worries.

  “What?” Grace asked looking around in alarm.

  “That glowing light over there.” Angelica pointed off into the distance. At first none of them could see what she was talking about. Then, slowly, each one glimpsed the distant light and they all stared at it long and hard.

  “I am not sure,” Grace whispered, her eyebrows pinched together as she squinted to see the source.

  “Maybe it is something good?” Jovian hoped, though hope of something good now, here, seemed impossible.

  “No, I think not,” Grace said turning back to her dinner but cautiously casting a glance behind her from time to time to ensure the light came no closer.

  “Remember we thought the Hobbedy’s Lantern was good as well,” Grace said.

  “No, we were lured by them, enticed; these lights fill me with awe,” Angelica said.

  “As the Hobbedy’s Lantern did me,” Jovian protested. “I think it would be best if we did not go after something in these woods that we don’t know what it is, or what it is about.”

  “So you think it could be a Hobbedy’s Lantern?”

  “Who knows?” Grace asked. “Hecklin’s eyes are said to glow white.”

  “Do they only have one eye?” Angelica scoffed.

  “Do we honestly think it is wise talking of all these creatures here?” Maeven asked quietly, and they all fell silent. “If nothing else it does nothing to calm our nerves.”

  But they had all felt it as well. There was a change in the wyrd the moment they started talking about the beasts this light could be evidence of. The wyrd had become more lifelike, as if it had grown ears, or was somehow listening to them, observing what they had to say.

  But the fairies at Willabanter Ford also glowed, Angelica reminded Jovian as they all settled down for the night.

  I know, Angie, he replied. I just don’t think it is wise to trust that this forest can produce anything positive, at least not in its current state of flux.

  You have a point, she relented after some time. But by the empty feeling at the other end of their connection, Jovian had already fallen asleep, which was more than Angelica could hope for.

  “There it is again,” Angelica said later the next day. It was the first thing spoken all day, and like all the times before, her voice startled them all, including the horses.

  “Angelica, if you are going to insist on these outbursts, could you at least do them a little more quietly?” Grace barked.

  “Sorry, but I just saw the light again, off to the right. Are we sure we are going the right way?” Angelica halted.

  “Yes we are going the right way. Not only is Maeven an excellent scout, but the Lunimara is nearly a straight shot north from where we entered. It is probably just the sun glinting off some metal that you are seeing. Believe me, it is hard for me to believe that anything good has remained in this forest.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Angelica said downtrodden as she returned to the path before her once more, trying her best to ignore that which hung along the corner of her eye.

  Halfway through the day, they got their next fright.

  The sound they heard was a lot like metal being rent in half. It was a strange metallic sound, part fowl and part dog howl.

  “What the Otherworld was that?” Angelica asked trying to calm her rearing horse.

  “That would be a Hecklin,” Grace said. Her eyes darted this way and that. At the mention of the name, the strange listening quality came to the wyrded breeze bustling the leaves about them.

  “Why does that keep happening?” Jovian whispered, looking to the leaves for an explanation.

  “What’s that?” Grace asked, but Jovian shook his head and would say no more.

  Why would the forest be listening to them? Angelica chalked it all up to nerves, though the short time they had been in these woods seemed a lifetime already.

  “We need to hurry now,” Grace pressed. “These creatures are very brutal and not easily defeated.” She mounted Holly. “Come, there is no time to waste. I am afraid that we will have to ride our horses now. We can risk their breaking a leg more than we can risk being caught.” It was cruel but true.

  “They are brutal?” Jovian asked.

  “They do not attack in the conventional way, and neither are they tactful as their cousins are. When they attack it is violent, much bloodier than tearing your throat out or gutting you. No, Hecklins like to bludgeon you to death, or at least incapacitate their victims so they are motionless before they eat you,” Maeven explained, and again when he mentioned the creature’s name the wyrd seemed to listen.

  “Can we stop saying their names? It’s like the forest is listening,” Angelica shifted uncomfortably.

  It was then that another howl penetrated the air, but this time it was from more
than one throat. This time it was the howl of pack hunting. The howls turned to yips and barks that only seemed to come closer and closer much more rapidly than they could ride.

  Around evening the howling abated slightly until finally it seemed they would have rest at last, and they went out of their way to find a clearing large enough for a bonfire. After their dinner was cleared away, they all gathered close to the fire, and Grace told them what she knew.

  “It might not be prudent for me to tell you this as both of you are hunters of a sort, and at least one of you is well versed in creatures, but I think it would be wise if you stayed within the firelight tonight. These creatures are like most wild dogs, that being fire will frighten them off. Stay within the light of camp where we know you will be safe.”

  “But Grace, they are not that smart. I don’t think they would circle us, waiting for us; they would much rather just attack.” The words Maeven spoke may have been true, but it didn’t help matters.

  “Be that as it may, Maeven, nothing has been right in this wood so far, and I don’t think it would be wise to suspect that these are anything like normal Hecklin.”

  There was a source of many glowing white orbs just out of range of the fire. “Is that them?” Angelica asked, her voice slightly more frightened than it had been before.

  Grace followed her hand and squinted as well. “I am not sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to take watch now, boys. I am sure that none of us will sleep, but I suggest you try, Angelica.”

  As the men went to their watch, heavily laden with weapons, Grace went to sit by Angelica, where she huddled close to the ground, her hands balled up in the hem of the blanket holding it close to her chin. Her eyes darted around in fear as if she were but a small child again who had just learned the monsters under her bed were real, and they in fact did want to eat her.

  “Their eyes are not the same color as the orbs you have been seeing,” Grace informed her, smoothing the blankets protectively over the younger woman. Grace looked across the fire to where Joya lay, wondering when her last trial was to come. “I had the distinct displeasure of meeting a Hecklin one time, and I can tell you that their eyes are greyer, like fog, not as white as snow like the orbs we have been seeing.”