by A. R. Wilson
Something crashed a little closer than before.
“Find a tall tree you can climb and wait. If you see a good shot, take it.” Azredan knelt to get at eye level with Kidelar. “Retreat into those bushes. Stay low, keep small. We’ll find you when it’s over.”
Kidelar’s eyes watered. Jurren wasn’t sure if the tears were the result of nausea or fear.
“I am sorry to be such a burden to this party.” The scholar blinked several times.
“The vision you share with Jurren came to you for a reason. Use this time to focus on depth of truth. Now go!” He gave a push on Kidelar’s arm to hurry him along.
With only the two of them left, Jurren felt that old instinct return. The one that allowed him to fight off nearly a dozen goblin-infected youths back in Gaulden Forest. He knew what to do without another word passing from Azredan’s mouth. Listening to the fading steps of the elf moving northeast, Jurren trudged to the southeast. He kept to the drier patches of grass and moss. A loud, growling screech howled up ahead and he deviated his course to give it a wider berth.
Red beams of light glinted through the hanging mosses. Jurren stooped behind a tree. The glowing lines made a long sweep, cutting short at each trunk. Stopping only a few feet away, the light winked out. The sound of splintering wood and sloshing water cracked through the air. Remembering the battle in the Darkwoods on Orison, Jurren imagined a clawed hand breaking through a tree in an attempt to see through. That first creature’s grip proved strong enough to break a trunk in half with a single flick of the wrist.
He peered around the other side. Red glowed somewhere up ahead. Spying two trees propped into each other, Jurren slipped towards a closer hiding place. A snarling breath heaved as red light swept in his direction. Jurren froze, listening to sloshing footfalls march closer. The zing of an arrow deflecting off a hard surface halted the creature’s advance.
Jurren pivoted to look around the far side of the tree. Less than twenty feet away stood a beast with scaly, black skin. Its hide pulled taunt against bulging muscles. Shoulders bobbed as a gaping mouth of jagged teeth pulled in extra breath. Stringy hair hung to the middle of its back. Ferns and vines obscured all details from the waist down, concealing clawed hands. It looked left then right.
Come on, where’s a chink in the armor?
The creature turned in the opposite direction, red beams streaming ahead of it. Jurren readied an arrow and hurried to the next tree. Then the next. He watched the back of its head pause, then the shoulders lower into a crouch, facing away from him.
He’s spotted Azredan.
Jurren lowered behind a dense bush then aimed for the base of the skull. A lock of hair clipped away as the arrow deflected into a tree. The beast rose to its full height to glare at the projectile lodged in a mossy tree. An instant later, the beast shifted towards Jurren. Knowing any sudden movement would give away his exact location, Jurren froze among the leaves.
Pulling back its lips to expose two rows of irregularly arranged teeth, the thing roared. Vibrations rattled Jurren’s chest. The creature squatted then lunged forward. Rolling to the side, Jurren avoided the rush of power charging through his former hiding place. Mire splashed in all directions as the beast clawed to a stop.
As it poised for another run, an arrow bounced off its cheek.
That’s it! The eyes.
Stomping in the direction of the previous arrow, the black mass punched tree after tree. A tangle of branches and green clumps rained down. Jurren pulled out two arrows. Hunched low, he moved to flank it on the right. The beast stopped and partially turned its head. Sniffing at the air, it paused then dove into the underbrush. A sheet of moss quivered on a bush to the right. Setting the first arrow, Jurren watched for the movement to halt at an open space. A dagger whizzed down from above.
The creature lunged at the tree of the shooter. Claws tore along the surface of the trunk, splaying chunks of bark as it shimmied upward. Jurren rushed forward and fired up at the frenzied, dark skin. The arrow lodged in the underside of the creature’s loincloth.
Screaming ripped through the air as the black mass sprawled to the ground. Clambering out of the way, Jurren narrowly avoided the landing. Thrashing limbs shot out. Within two swipes, enough wood splintered from the base of the trunk for the tree to lean and groan. A voice called for help but instantly drown in the din of breaking wood and growling screams. The tree slammed into the mire. Black fists pounded at the trunk pinning the creature to the ground. Readying his second arrow, Jurren leapt to the top side of the fallen tree. The moment his arrow landed in the eye of his target, a second arrow embedded in the other socket. Jurren glance over his shouler to see Azredan dropping from a tree a dozen yards off.
The swamp went still. Water lapped at the edge of a nearby pool.
Dark ooze trickled from the beast’s wounds. The near-black liquid spilled into the ground, causing every green thing it touched to hiss and steam. Then something red spilled out with the black. Crimson slime glowed as it slithered into the hissing ground, mixing with the other fluid.
Jurren spoke in unison with Azredan. “We must leave.”
Scanning the branches of the fallen tree, Jurren found Arkose caught in a mesh of twigs, leaves, and vines. Azredan helped Jurren pry enough of the material back to free the man.
“I will be having nightmares about the last ten minutes for the rest of my life.” Arkose stumbled to right himself into a stand.
“We have to survive until nightfall to have the luxury of nightmares.” Jurren slung his bow into place. “Let’s find Kidelar and get moving.”
The hissing grew louder. Something in the mire next to the creature popped. Like a single heated bubble of a thick stew.
“What’s happening?” Arkose took a step closer to investigate.
“Any blood that can cause the ground to boil is not something you want to draw near.” Azredan helped Arkose to adjust the cloak around his face. “We must find Kidelar. How far did you spread our supplies?”
Arkose’s expression fell blank. “I don’t know. This marsh is so thick I—”
“Jurren, time for another lesson in being an elf of the Roan Order. Seek for truth and you will find what you need most. Kidelar and I will meet up with you soon.”
Without waiting for a response, Azredan sprang through the brush faster than before.
Arkose looked at Jurren, then dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. My anger is directed at him, not you.”
“But it was my job.”
Shaking his head, he made a swipe with his hand. “There isn’t time for that now.”
Clenching his hand into a fist, Jurren set his jaw. He would rather fish an arrowhead from his own leg than press into his elven instincts. Not to mention the offense at being called someone of the Roan Order. He journeyed on this quest to rescue his daughter, not join a secret faction and save the world from some warmongering halfling. But he didn’t have a choice. Without the vision from Ellesha Shan Shair, he had no direction to find Tascana, his precious Little Mally, his only child. And that vision had shown him, more than once, he needed to follow the leading of Azredan.
Jurren closed his eyes. We need our supplies. I have to find where they are hidden.
That inner knowing tugged him forward. He jogged through the marsh. Boots water-logged, pants caked in mud and slime, sweat trickling down his face, he trudged west. A few minutes later he saw a mass of vines and moss hanging over a branch in a much larger formation than any he’d seen before.
“You found it! How did you walk right to it?” Arkose cleared off the camouflage and looped a strap over his shoulder.
Ignoring the question, Jurren focused on needing to find the next pack. They found it with a similar draping and Jurren slung on his own pack. Once they located the last one, Jurren switched to finding Kidelar.
The sloshing of liquid spilling up and over pushed through the stagnant air. Jurren adjusted his cloak to expose his ears.
Another pop and splat. Arkose paused to listen too and Jurren motioned for them to keep moving. If killing that creature made the ground try to vomit it out then they had to cover as much distance as possible now.
“There you are!” Azredan hurried towards them. He took his pack from Arkose. “This way, follow me.”
CHAPTER 6
A week had passed since Tascana returned to The Master’s castle. Which meant a full seven days of studying that book, and allowing its spells to churn in her soul while he watched from afar. Not to mention the unrelenting cycle of that same dream. Those images of creating a world destined for destruction, followed by taunting a man who fearfully loved her.
She sat on the edge of the bed. Any minute now Rothar would bring her a tray of food. The precursor to Jerricoh escorting her to the west library. An occurrence of equal anticipation and dread. Magic had been her greatest thrill for the past three years. But now that she was forced into the discipline, it had become an entirely new entity. Every day, the same questions churned in her mind, like the mocking song of a child.
Rothar knocked, waited for her answer, then set the tray on the nearest table. She had thought his timid mannerisms strange at first. But after her first indiscretion in the library she had grown to understand. Knowing a physical reprimand waited for every breech of protocol had caused her to be a little hesitant, as well. Jerricoh’s temper ignited quicker than dry grass. A single rip on a page and he threw her to the ground by her hair. She put a hand to the back of her head. What hope did she have for escape?
Knowing he would be there soon, she hurried to eat a few bites. The moment she touched the bread to her lips, her appetite doubled. She had been hungrier the past few days. Pushing a larger bite into her mouth, she reached for a cluster of grapes. She finished the entire spread by the time Jerricoh knocked at the door. She stared at the few bits left on the tray, bewildered.
How did I eat that much? And why am I still hungry?
She opened the door.
“We will not be returning to the west library.” Jerricoh took a step back, his face twisted into a scowl.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No. The Master wishes to speak with you.”
She swallowed past the hot lump forming in her throat. The question ‘why’ nearly formed on her lips, but she caught herself. “Prepare me. What must I do?”
“The same as you have done since beginning your studies. Do what you’re told, when you’re told.”
“I need to use the privy first. If that’s alright.”
He nodded, folding his arms. Although she had already relieved herself earlier that morning, the need pressed again. Probably her nerves.
Then a different reality pecked at her. One that caused the anxiety-fueled hallucination in her gut to send a twitch of nausea. Her monthly cycle was late. Very late. Sitting in the privy she tried to shake the thought loose. Surely nothing more than stressed that caused her to be one, two, three... Opening her hand, she counted out the days of the past month twice to be certain. Five days late. Possibly six. As ice settled along her neck, she rubbed her cheeks in rhythm with her labored breathing.
No, I can’t be. I can’t.
Coming back into the hallway, she found Jerricoh standing with his back to her, his arms still folded. “Now are you ready to leave?”
“Yes, my lord.”
His dark hair swept outward from the quick movement of his head to glance back at her. His surprise matched her own. Why had she even said the word ‘lord’ in referring to him?
“Follow me.” He strode down the hall.
She hurried to catch up. His brisk pace causing another flutter in her stomach. At the end of the hall, he turned in the opposite direction of the passage leading to the west library. Jerricoh maintained his increased stride as he led her through a series of new corridors.
Eventually, they came to a small room with a single pedestal in the middle. The stone walls loomed darker in here, void of any decoration. No vases, statues, or windows like in the rest of the castle. Nothing but a glass ball the size of two fists put together, perched atop a waist-high, stone pillar. Jerricoh placed his hand on the glass ball. Purple and black clouds swirled inside the sphere, shifting upwards as though gathering in his palm. Black mist crept up the stone walls of the room, and coated to the ceiling. More black spilled along the floor, and Tascana stepped closer to Jerricoh, unsure what to do. Or what not to do.
A hollow breathing sound, like a bear waking in a cave, filled the room. Cold prickled along Tascana’s arms and she rubbed her hands against it. The black mist returned to the ground, revealing a room much larger than before.
“Now we wait.” Jerricoh did not look at her as he spoke.
Tascana perused the walls. Something in their dark surface drew her in. She walked over to one, her hand shaking with the desire to touch one of the images etched into the metal relief. A face she knew. The profile of a goblin crouched to attack. Next to him stood another and another. Looking left and right. she gaped at thousands of goblins painstakingly hammered into the metal sheet coating the wall. She traced her fingers along their forms. So many. So many creatures ready to attack something, or someone.
Beyond the etchings of the goblin army, ran a river of flames. From the floor to the ceiling, a wall of carved ripples indicated a raging inferno. Then, she noticed people with long hair and pointed ears. Some had faces pulled into screams. Others with eyes tightly closed, hunched on the ground. Many with arms over their faces as they leaned away from the wall of fire. Further on, another tower of flames hemmed in the horrified masses.
They’re being burned alive.
Tascana stepped back. Every relief depicted an army of creatures surrounding groups of people succumbing to their death. Trying to catch her breath, she fought against the cold flushing into her cheeks, and the heat spreading into her chest. What kind of man glorified death?
A voice deeper than any she had ever heard echoed through the room, pressing against her ears. “You are far more beautiful dressed in white.”
The ice solidified in her neck and down her spine, paralyzing her. She shifted her eyes towards Jerricoh who stared into a corner, where black mist surrounded a figure walking towards them. The same image she remembered from her dream.
What is this?
The form sauntered through the haze, revealing a man with long, blond hair.
No...
Tascana felt none of the former power. This time, she trembled before someone to whom she could never be an equal. Pale locks hung over his shoulders to mid chest. Black cloth and leather wrapped around him like a warrior dressed for his most daring assassination. The stark contrast of his hair against his clothing added to the effect. A broad sword hung at his hip, the tip nearly touching the ground. His eyes were not empty like the ones she gazed upon every night for the past week. These were brilliant green, like glowing emeralds set into his skull. The sensation of being watched pulsed all along her skin, and dug into her pores. This face watched her every move in the castle.
Tascana tried to take a step back, but her legs wouldn’t move.
He held his hands out towards her. “Let me look at you.”
Tremors shook her hands, and she clenched them at her sides. (The only movement she could willingly perform.) How could she go to a man she had tormented in her dreams? One who had sought her through spells to the Fates since before her birth. A man who now stood before her. The one who sent a massive dragon to kidnap her from her home. A man who could mutate a human into any animal form he wished, like those poor dallests back in Tretchin Valley.
The Master tilted his head, grinning. “You aren’t this shy when we meet in your dreams.”
Oily heat raged in her chest, swirling into her stomach. She gagged. How dare he. How dare that vile thug speak to her as if her dreams were a cordial encounter between them.
Continuing his haughty grin, he walked over to the wall. “They are magnificent creat
ures, aren’t they? Their swift movements. The ability to crush through bone in each hand. Such perfect design.”
He traced the back of his fingers along a goblin army as a lover would caress a cherished face. When he reached the people with pointed ears, he snorted a laugh.
Tascana stole a glimpse at Jerricoh who continued to stare into the corner The Master had emerged from. Was he scared? Or simply waiting?
“Such lovely auburn hair.” The Master leered at her again. “And delicate hazel eyes to match. Though they look a little more green in this light.”
Bile pooled onto the back of Tascana’s tongue, and she choked it down.
Holding out his hands, he bid her come.
“What do you want with me? Why have you brought me here?”
An invisible force slammed Tascana forward. Her feet dragged on the stone floor then her face hurled into his chest, the hilt of his sword cracking into her forearm. Recoiling to the floor, her shoulder jarred from the impact. Flashing her eyes up at him, she saw his extended hand offering to help her to stand.
Without thinking, she thrust her hand outward to assault him with her magic. Stone crumbled all around as the walls tumbled beneath her will. More and more stone fell to the ground. The entire castle shattered to its foundations. Then the earth heaved. A mountain peak erupted beneath her feet. She split the ground and commanded a sea to surge through, drowning all of them. Power shook through her. She willed the waves to cover the remains of the castle, Tretchin Valley, and into the land beyond. Nothing would survive. She would bring death upon all of them while she merely lay crumpled on the floor.
The distant sound of hands slowly clapping jolted her train of thought. Where did it coming from? As the clapping grew nearer, she paused her destruction. Mist fell over her, dispelling the illusion. She was back in the room with The Master. Nothing had crumbled into the depths of the earth. The castle stood as secure as ever, with its lord giving her applause.
