by Rex Foote
His tears subsided at this and he said, “I just hope I can…”
“You can, Hark,” she replied, forcing her voice to sound encouraging while also fighting off the waves of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her.
He must have seen it in her eyes, because he smiled weakly and said, “You are tired. Rest. I will take the first watch, and maybe the second as well.”
She nodded gratefully and lay down. When Hark stood moments later, she was already fast asleep.
He got a small fire going to keep him warm as he kept watch. His mind played over the events of the day, and he knew then that she wasn’t safe out here, which in turn made the choice of what do next easy. Whereas before he may have been swayed towards carrying on to Mymt, now that was no longer possible; she was not safe out here, and if she stayed in the wilderness, then she would get hurt and could end up dead. This last thought caused him to clench his teeth in anger; that would not happen, for he would not allow it.
But could he really keep her safe? After all, he had thought he could guide her safely to Mymt and back, but he had failed. And hadn’t he also thought he could get her out of the woods with enough supplies to reach Caladaria? Yet here they were, lost in the middle of nowhere, and far, far worse off than they had been before. He pushed the doubts away as he knew that every time something had gone wrong, it hadn’t been his fault. How could he have known that a monster would attack them on the road and then again in the woods? No, he could do this; he could get her home safe. He took strength from the now clear course of action as well as the reassured resolve as he sat and waited out the night, alone.
Chapter Nine
8th Day of Daaris. The Season of Light. Year 250
They were completely and utterly lost. Hark reached this conclusion as he descended back down to their camp, his thoughts a storm of self-recrimination and worry. It was the morning after the battle with the monster, and he had spent the entire night on watch, giving Esme the chance to recover. Hark, being an Elreni, needed less sleep than she did, so when she had woken at dawn, he had taken the opportunity to sleep for a few hours. After waking, he had bid her good morning, then left her to sit and relax as he climbed to the top of the nearest hill to try and figure out where they were. It was even worse than he had feared; their mindless, shock-induced wanderings had led them far away from any landmarks at all, so much so that he couldn’t even see the woods where they had camped. The only good news was that they had enough supplies to last seven days, even with Esme eating double what she normally would to recover the energy she had expended in the fight. He was confident that they would be able to locate a water source to refill their waterskins soon; and with the large supply of rivergrass they had taken from the banks of the stream in the woods, he was sure that drinking water shouldn’t be an issue.
Esme was just finishing eating when he reached the camp. She looked up at him expectantly and asked, “How bad is it?”
Trying to keep a brave face, he replied, “Not as bad as it could be, but it’s not good. I don’t recognize any of the surrounding lands, and I can’t even see the woods.”
Looking slightly annoyed, Esme said, “Then how could it be any worse?”
Realizing that he had no prepared answer for this rather obvious question, Hark took a few moments to gather his thoughts before replying, “Well, we are still alive, and we have supplies enough to last us for about seven days.”
She didn’t reply to this. Instead, the weariness and fear she had been fighting ever since she woke started to creep into her expression, and Hark felt a stab of fear. When this had been nothing more than a walk to Mymt Lagoon, he had treated it just like another time they had spent together, laughing, joking, grinning and generally just being himself. Even after the attack at the roadside, this attitude had persisted; maybe it had been an attempt to deny that their situation was getting worse, or maybe it was because if he had dropped his usual attitude, it would have caused Esme to worry.
Now things were that bad; lost in the middle of the untamed and unexplored wilderness of Esmor with only seven days’ worth of supplies, Hark felt the pressure of their situation start to grind at him. He knew that all this was on him, and if anything happened to Esme, then he would be to blame. He reminded himself that he could do this; after all, it was he who had gotten them through this far, and it would be him that got them through the rest of it. Giving Esme what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he said, “Come on, let’s get moving. “
“Where?”
“Wherever I lead,” Hhe replied in a tone he hoped sounded confident. “I am an Elreni; I never stay lost for long.”
***
Not long after setting out, they found a river whose deep waters flowed at a steady pace. This discovery boosted the pair’s morale and they stopped to refill their waterskins and cool off after three hours walking in the warm midmorning sun. The only thing that worried Hark was Esme’s appetite, as she was still eating more than she should be, which could only mean that the earlier drain on her energy reserves was far greater than he’d first thought. It also meant what had been seven days’ worth of food at the start of the day now had become only six days. Still, he reasoned, surely it wouldn’t take more than a day of this before she was back to normal. After the meal, Hark suggested that they follow the river, hoping that it would lead to a settlement, lake, or some other place where other people might gather. At the very least there would be wildlife coming to drink from it. Esme offered no resistance to the idea, and the pair followed the river for about two hours, at which point they came to the swamp.
“Well,” Esme began in a neutral tone, “this is not good.”
Hark could only nod his assent. Before them stretched a vast expanse of boggy, waterlogged swampland. It seemed that something had broken the river at some point so that where the river had once followed in an ordered path through the wilds of Esmor, it now emptied out into a large area of land, turning it into boggy mush in the process.
“We can’t go back,” Hark asserted suddenly.
Esme turned to him, her expression wide with alar.
“You can’t be suggesting we go through it?”
“Not today, but if we camp out here tonight and set out into it first thing tomorrow, we should be able to get through it in one day.”
“Why can’t we go back?”
“Because,” Hark began in a tone similar to that of an exasperated adult talking to a young child, “if we go back, that means we would have wasted a day of travel and supplies. There still could be lakes and towns further down this river’s path; the fact that it goes through a swamp doesn’t stop that from happening.”
“But what if it’s too big to cross in one day, or the river doesn’t leave the swamp in the same direction that we do? Or what if the river just ends here?”
Seeing the uncertainty that warred within his friend, he came close and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Esme, don’t worry. I know what I am doing. Haven’t I gotten us this far?” She nodded at this and he continued, “Trust me, if we get through this swamp, we can find the river on the other side and keep following it for as long as it takes to find someone. And while we walk, it will provide us with food and water.”
The doubt had been slowly leaving her eyes since he had placed his hand on her shoulder, and when he finished speaking, it was gone, and she looked into his eyes with an expression of hope and trust that made his heart swell with happiness.
“Okay, I trust you. But I don’t like swamps, all that mud and water.”
Hark’s answering laugh was loud and genuine. “This from the girl who I first met playing in the mud in a street in Caladaria?”
Esme blushed at this and muttered, “Well, that was city mud, not swamp mud.”
Hark laughed once more, and the sound echoed defiantly out into the gathering night.
The next day, after eating and gathering their things, the pair set out into the swamp. Hark had kept the last of t
he firewood they had carried from the wood and used it as a way to test the depths of any boggy ground or pools of water that barred their path. His spirits were high; he felt that the river had saved them, and now all they had to do was navigate this swamp and they would basically be done with this whole mess, bar a few days of gentle travel alongside a river. The going was good at first, and there was plenty of firm ground they could use to avoid any patches of ground too boggy to safely walk over. Then as the day went on, the ground started to rise slightly. At first, Hark paid this no heed and just kept walking, but it was when Esme called to him that he finally took note.
“Hark, are you sure you know where we are going?”
He paused in mid-stride and turned to look at her, a confused expression on his face.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, have you even noticed that we have been walking up a hill for the last few minutes?”
Startled by this, Hark looked around and to his astonishment realized she was right. The mist that had cloaked the swamp at the start of the day had burned away to reveal that they were now on top of a hill line that seemed to run through the marsh. But that’s not right, he thought, rivers don’t run up hills. And they had started the day following what they believed to be the river’s path. Then it hit him. He had been too worried about the land they were walking on, its firmness and solidity, to pay close attention to where it was they were going, and it was with a sudden rush of despair that he realized he had now got them lost, in a swamp. Esme came up past him, apparently unaware of the inner turmoil of his thoughts.
“Hey, look,” she said, starting forward as she spoke. “We are in luck! I think I can see…”
She never finished her sentence as suddenly the land underneath her gave way, and with a cry of surprise she slid down the other side of the hill. Though he was distracted by his own failings, Hark was still alert enough to act quickly, and wise enough to not go charging after her. Moving to the hill’s edge, he peered over, fearing the worst, and what he saw wasn’t quite the worst but was close. Esme had landed on her back in what looked like a patch of solid ground at the base of the hill, various plants and bits of rock spread out around her from her fall. However, as she got to her feet, she sank up to her ankles in what turned out to be thick, sucking mud. She looked up at him, her face filled with horror and fear. Wasting no time, Hark began to carefully descend down the hillside to her, as she tried to struggle free of the mud by grasping one leg in both hands and yanking violently. Reaching the edge of the mud, Hark held out his staff to her.
“Grab on!” he half shouted, desperation giving his voice a crazed edge. Abandoning her attempt to free herself, which had only resulted in her sinking to her lower thighs, she grasped hold of the offered stick, her face pale and streaked with mud. Hark braced himself against the solid ground and yanked on the stick with all the strength he could muster, which only ended up ripping the stick from Esme’s hands and threw him onto his back while Esme sank further, now up to her waist.
“Hark,” she said in a voice of fragile control, “take this.”
He had just scrambled to the edge of mud when she threw him her supply bag. He caught it out of reflex and asked, “What? Why?”
“Because,” she answered, her control breaking and giving her voice a distinct note of fear, “you will need the supplies if you want to get through this swamp.”
The implication of her words hit him like a mailed fist, and he screamed in defiance and lunged forward to the edge of the solid ground, his arm fully extended out to her. Seeing this, she reached and grasped his forearm with a grip that could not be broken.
“Hold on,” he gasped in a ragged voice, and heaved backwards with all his might. Esme gave a faint gasp of pain at the strain on her own arm, but this was replaced by a cry of triumph as the mud gave a little and she was pulled up slightly. This moment of triumph was quickly dashed as Hark felt his strength waning, the strain of pulling his friend out of the greedy, thick mud proving too much, and he felt his grip slowly give. He tried to heave her out again and again, but each time he managed to move her less and less while draining more and more of his strength. At last, he had to let go and he slumped forward onto the ground, face towards his friend, arm still extended. By this point, Esme was up to her neck in the mud, and silent tears were rolling down her face, her auburn hair spread out around her slowly sinking head like a shroud, and the arm Hark had held still rested on the surface of the mud.
“I’m sorry,” was all Hark was able to say over and over again, his mind unable to take in what he was seeing.
“Hark, I…”
And then she was gone. One moment she was up to her chin, then a small jolt that caused the surface of the mud to flex downwards, and she disappeared into its greedy depth. The only thing that remained was that hand, perhaps to mock his futile efforts to save her. He wept then, tired, spent, and alone in a vast swamp with no idea how to get out and now having no will to do so. He was considering just walking into the mud and joining his friend when something odd happened. Esme’s hand straightened and was suddenly engulfed in blue fire. Though only for an instant, it was long enough to burn away the mud encasing it. Seeing what this meant, Hark lunged forward once more and grasped her hand. Calling on strength he didn’t know he had, he pulled with all he had left and a still mud-caked Esme was dragged up and out of the pocket of now dried mud, the result of being exposed to the brief yet intense flame of her spell. As he pulled her onto the bank, she started to cough in great hacking gasps, and he quickly brought his waterskin to her mouth, which she drank from only to spit out a stream of brown saliva.
She then flopped back down onto the solid earth, all her strength gone, and took a few deep breaths before giving him a weary smile and saying, “I forgot I was a mage.”
***
Despite all that had happened and how tried they both were, they resolved to leave the swamp that day, neither wanting to spend another minute longer in that place than they had to. Leaning on each other for support, they staggered and stumbled their way through the swamp, heading for the edge of the bog they had both seen from the hill. Hark used his staff to test every patch of ground they trod on, and though it took all day, they managed to leave the swamp behind them just before nightfall.
Covered in mud and feeling half dead, they were able to walk another hour after leaving the swamp before collapsing on the ground. Esme was fast asleep mere seconds later. She curled into a tight ball as if to ward off the day’s events while Hark sat beside her, his eyes gazing out at nothing while his thoughts sped around his head. She had almost died because of him. He had convinced her to trust him and follow him into that swamp, and it had been he that had led them up that hill. He had assumed to know the land, and it had almost cost him Esme. He looked down at her, only able to see her vague outline in the darkness, and knew that he had to get her back to Caladaria. It wasn’t safe out here, and she would only get hurt if she stayed. Besides, he had proven he couldn’t keep her safe; what other conclusion could he draw from the day’s events? With that damning thought echoing through his head, he lay down beside her and fell into an uneasy sleep.
Chapter Ten
10th Day of Daaris. The Season of Light. Year 250
Taegen Ulaneiros stood gazing contemplatively at the wooden door that led to the house of Averie and Michale Lane. It had been ten days since his son and their daughter had left the city, and at first the Lanes hadn’t bothered him, though his aides had brought word that they considered Hark to have kidnapped the girl. He was not concerned by this, knowing that the opinions of the Lanes had no factual backing, and that the word of the Elreni envoy would trump that of a mage and merchant in the eyes of the City Watch.
It was only after he had received word that a patrol sent after the pair had been found dead that he began to pay close attention. He had known that Hark would disobey both himself and Averie Lane when they told him not to talk to Esme about the outside world�
�in fact, he had thought that some travel would do the girl good. But news of the attack had given him reason to doubt that. Still, he didn’t act, knowing that his son would be able to keep them both safe and also accepting that, in many ways, Hark needed this journey as much as Esme; an Elreni growing up for most of his life in a Human city needed to escape back to the wilds every now and then. He had thought that the next he would hear of the matter would be when Hark returned one day to the compound gates, his usual grin on his face and eyes alight with what he had seen and done. But then a messenger had come from the Lane house asking that he come at once to discuss events and to answer for his son’s supposed crimes. Damn Humans, he thought bitterly, do they think that every race raises children like they do? Elreni parents were more like silent guardians than the fussy busybodies that Human parents were.
Someone cleared their throat behind him, and he turned to see the finely sculpted features of Lyra Yisfir, his most trusted friend and aide here in Caladaria, regarding him.
“Yes, Lyra?” he asked softly.
“They are expecting you within, Envoy, and they know that you have been standing outside their door for some time now.”
He sighed and rolled his shoulders. Yes, of course they would have, as they had been looking forward to finally having someone new to shout at over this mess.
“Well,” he said in a weary tone, “let’s get this over with.”
The Lanes were waiting for him inside, sitting on one side of their oak dining table. As he took a seat opposite, he noted Michale’s look of barely contained rage and Averie’s icy regard. Inwardly, he braced himself. It was the desire to soothe these two that had made him agree to come, and so he would endure all that was about to be said. The moment he was seated, Michale began speaking.
“Well, Envoy, what do you have to say for your son?”
