by A. R. Wilson
An awareness of light surrounded Jurren. Peaceful understanding filled the agitated corners of his mind. He scanned Kidelar’s features, intently waiting for a sign of change.
Kidelar sucked in a deep breath.
Arkose gasped a string of unintelligible words, squeezing in between Jurren and Azredan to take a closer look. Jurren was too stunned to care he’d been knocked to the ground. Rising up on one elbow, he watched Kidelar put a shaky hand to his throat.
“Easy, don’t move.” Azredan pulled a strip of cloth from his pack.
The elf mopped up most of the blood. Jurren used the ring to produce a bowl of water to rinse it out.
Taking low, shallow breaths, Kidelar regained his strength. “I believe I may require some freshening up.”
“You need a good slapping.” Jurren produced a bowl of broth with the ring and held it to the scholar’s lips. “This was not the battle from our vision. Why didn’t you step behind me?”
Kidelar took a long, slow swallow before answering. “I couldn’t move. I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“Well, next time you need to find a way to move. We can’t risk being out in the open like this.”
Shuffling onto his side, Kidelar pushed to a stand. “Then, let’s get going.”
Arkose stepped back to give them room. “How did you bring him back from the dead? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Azredan motioned for them to get moving. “We can ask questions later. Right now, we need to find a safe place to rest. As soon as the others find these bodies, the whole of them will come looking for us.”
“How many hawk men are there?” Jurren bent down to pull an arrow free of its target.
“Questions later.” Azredan motioned for Arkose to grab the two arrows closest to him. “Whatever isn’t broken or bent goes with us.”
After collecting what they could, the elf led the way forward. They ran to a cluster of trees. Jurren looked back across the field and saw a scattering of dots pull together in one place.
They found their friends already.
On the other side of the trees, a small spring fed a stream leading down a gentle slope. The water ran into a dense forest. Jurren thought the range for this section of greenery in the labyrinth surprising, and the idea instantly crashed into a wave of vision.
Talons, feathers, murky water, and blood.
Kidelar tumbled to the ground, with Arkose nearly tripping over him. Slowing only long enough to grab his arm, Jurren pulled the scholar to his feet. Arkose rushed to come alongside. The two of them wrapped Kidelar’s arms over their shoulders and carried him the rest of the way to the woods.
As soon as they stepped behind the first tree, Jurren lowered him to the ground. “Kid, you have got to learn to master this.”
“I’m trying, Jurren.” He took a few choppy breaths. “I keep searching for the information, but it only worsens.”
“You did this once before. Come on, slower breaths.”
Kidelar closed his eyes and leaned into the tree. A shriek echoed around them, like a hundred hawk men calling together at once. Their shrill cries caused Jurren’s skin to chill.
Azredan looked towards the grassy field. “We need to keep moving.”
“What was that?” Arkose leaned to look around the other side of the tree.
“A group of them are calling for help. We have an hour head start at best before the others in the labyrinth answer the call.” Azredan tugged at the strap of Kidelar’s pack to carry the load for him. “Hurry.”
Kidelar managed to find his feet, starting out slow at first. Jurren stayed beside him until the scholar quickened his pace. Dropping to the rear, Jurren glanced behind them. Did he dare hope they had an entire precious hour? He jumped over fallen trees, climbed over rocks, and twice helped Kidelar when the man stumbled. Nearly an hour did pass before Azredan stopped.
“The ground is wet.” The elf took a few steps back.
“The murky water.” Kidelar’s voice sounded hollow.
“I’ve been through here before.” Azredan turned to face Jurren. “This is the first I’ve seen of the ground soaked like this. Tell me of your vision. What did you see?”
Jurren glanced over his shoulder once more. “Talons, feathers, murky water, and blood. There is a choice to be made. One choice will lead us to safety along a stone passage, the other leads to—” He paused, watching the color drain out of Kidelar’s face. “The other leads to blood, and possibly death.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing you know how to pray against death.” Arkose tried to laugh, but ended up groaning.
“Not this time.” Jurren shook his head.
“Why not? You spoke over Kidelar, and he came back from the dead. I can’t even see the puncture wounds on his throat.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I can’t explain.”
“I guess it’s some kind of elf thing?”
Heat poured into Jurren’s cheeks. “He wasn’t allowed to die because he made a mistake! Kidelar thought the hawk men we fought were the ones leading to the path of blood. That wasn’t from the vision. If not for the mercy the Ever One has on those who screw up because of their own stupidity, he would be dead.”
“So now you’re an expert on the Ever One? You and Ellesha Shan Shair talking with the croix stones too?”
Jurren cocked back, ready to punch him. Arkose copied the gesture.
“Whoa, whoa!” Kidelar stepped between them. “Come on Jurren. You can’t blame him for wanting answers.”
Glaring at Kidelar, Jurren dug his hands through his hair and walked away a few steps.
“Jurren is right.” Azredan spoke slowly and evenly. “The Ever One is full of mercy, particularly for those who make a mistake in ignorance. However, not even I understand how you were able to call on the power to heal Kidelar. Not everything in this world is meant to be understood.”
Arkose rubbed his jaw, eyes narrowed on Jurren.
“And the croix stones can only be used by elves, so the answer to your last question is no. Ellesha Shan Shair is of the race of men.” Azredan flicked his eyes at Jurren and gave half a wink. “Jurren has yet to submit to the Ever One, as do the both of you, which means any promise discovered in the vision is tentative at best. If you want a lamp placed before your feet, then pledge your life to Him right now.”
Pulling his eyebrows together in confusion, Arkose shifted from one foot to the other. Azredan looked at Jurren. Folding his arms, Jurren gave the elf a blank stare.
With a deep sigh, the elf shook his head. “Then let’s find a way around this water.”
Something crashed in the woods.
Jurren spun to locate the direction. Two more cracks of wood snapped. He pointed behind them in three different directions to indicate the hawk men hemmed them in.
Azredan spoke in a low whisper. “They’re driving us into the swamp.”
Kidelar looked back and forth, clutching his hands.
“How many hawk men are there?” Arkose looked at Azredan.
“Thousands.”
Jurren nodded and pointed towards the swamp. Taking Kidelar by the elbow, he led the man away from the coming ambush. The ground soon turned into mud that came up to Jurren’s ankles. Water seeped through his boots. As the mud thinned, it crept up to his calves. Jurren trudged forward, keeping his eyes on the trees in front of them. The occasional screech in the distance pushed him further on. They had to keep moving.
The mire gradually became a soup of murky water. By now, it climbed to Jurren’s ribs. Tree roots and branches lurked at varying levels, creating a constant hazard. They had to find the other side of this swamp. If the hawk men didn’t take them out, exhaustion would.
Talons, feathers, murky water, and blood.
Jurren immediately turned to catch Kidelar before he fell under. Arkose swooped right behind the scholar and snatched his arms to steady the man.
“I’m not ready.”
Kidelar gagged soon after blurting out the phrase.
“We don’t have a choice. It’s close.” Jurren scanned the area, looking for a ripple in the water.
Arkose adjusted his grip. “What’s close?”
“I’m not sure.” Jurren fixed his gaze outward, he could almost feel the thing.
Then Jurren saw it. A swirl in the distance. He pulled out an arrow. Arkose pulled out his sword, keeping one arm wrapped around Kidelar. Azredan followed suit and moved to the side to get a better view. Another swirl. Closer than the first. Less than fifty feet away.
“Kidelar, get against that tree.” Jurren pointed with his elbow.
“I will attempt to.”
“Don’t attempt, do it! Arkose, you follow him. We have to get above this water.”
He listened for the sounds of the scholar moving to the indicated spot. Without shifting his gaze from the wavering of the last ripple, Jurren moved to another tree. He didn’t need to say anything to Azredan. The elf already gave a gesture of where he would be.
As Jurren lifted himself onto that first branch, the water sloshed behind him. He snapped his gaze to where he had been standing a minute ago. A large snake head crested the surface. Jurren clambered up, glancing as he went. The head rose to reveal a neck as thick as a man’s waist. Its forked tongue tasted the air. Having tracked hundreds of snakes, Jurren knew to stay still. Any sudden movement would cause it to strike.
The snake head turned in the direction of Azredan’s tree, then swiveled back towards Jurren. Dark green scales bulged over flexing muscles. Two golden eyes stared at him. Its mouth parted to wave a black forked tongue. An arrow bounced off the back of its head. The snake paused. Glancing once more towards Azredan, the snake’s jaw clenched as it turned to focus on Jurren. Suddenly, two leathery wings sprang out of the mire below its head. The winged snake lunged. Jurren leapt to grab the branch above him. Tucking in half, he swung his knees up and over until he straddled the limb on his stomach. His former perch obliterated into dozens of pieces as the creature bit into it. Leather webbing flexed as the wings tucked inward. A scaly tail followed the creature slipping below the surface.
Glancing at the next tree, Jurren saw Kidelar shaking with mouth open wide. Would the scholar be ready to do what needed to be done when the time came?
Climbing further up, Jurren switched to the other side of the tree. Water splashed below as it hurdled upward. Fangs arched forward and clamped on Jurren’s second perch. This time, Jurren nearly saw its full form. It appeared to be some kind of morphing together of a snake and a bat. Similar to how a griffin was half-eagle and half-lion. It had a snake’s head, tail and belly with the wings of a bat, but also with talons like a bird of prey.
The tree quivered from the force of the impact as the beast advanced.
“Jurren!” Arkose held a hand to his mouth. “You’re running out of tree.”
He looked up. Only two more branches remained before he reached the broken stalk at the top. Great. He dug a hand into his hair. His fingers caught on a snarl. It gave him an idea.
Hopping up to the next branch, he pulled out his bundle of rope. The winged snake writhed in the water, churning up silt. It made a sound like a hiss. Jurren ignored it, threading a length around the stump above. He pulled a loop through then wrapped it at another point and pulled a second loop, creating an anchor.
The tree shook. Jurren wrapped his arms around the trunk, nearly dropping the rope. Great. The snake rammed into the tree again, this time something popped. He gathered the rope until he had enough. Twisting a piece forward, he formed a slipknot. Pulling the loop wider, he waited. The beast slammed its head into the trunk. Another pop. The tree groaned as it leaned into the pressure. Jurren loosened his grip on the cord in his hand, keeping it open. With his other hand, he snapped off a twig and flicked it down. The scaly head pulled back to look up.
Waving his hand, Jurren leaned forward. “I’m up here!”
It pierced wide talons into the trunk and breathed a hiss. Muddy wings pulled out of the mire as it climbed towards him. Streaks of silt dripped from its thick skin. That black tongue flicked repeatedly as it raked one claw over another. The tree vibrated with each grasp. Jurren adjusted the loop in his hand and positioned it close against the bark. Keeping his grip relaxed, he waited. The thing continued to breathe its audible displeasure at him. As its mouth opened wide, Jurren saw the soft pink opening leading to its belly. Now he wished he had readied an arrow.
Two more claw motions up and it came within a few feet of reaching his boot. The beast moved an arm to inch closer, and Jurren swung the rope to catch its wrist. Cinching it tight, Jurren gave a strong tug. The snake creature pulled against the motion and realized it was caught. Giving a loud hiss, it pulled against the tether. The tree groaned, popped, and leaned.
“Jurren!” Arkose was preparing a similar loop of rope.
Keeping one arm braced around the branch, Jurren pulled out an arrow. The trunk swayed in the direction of the snake’s thrashing. After a few more tugs, it used the rope as leverage to start climbing again. Jurren slipped out his bow and shot an arrow into that pink, gaping mouth. The beast hissed a spray of blood.
A loud crack sounded and the tree collapsed. Water covered Jurren’s face as a tangle of rope, branches, and reptilian skin surrounded him. A loop caught around his ankle. Unable to open his eyes in that filthy muck, he felt outward in every direction. Nothing but slimy water. He pulled against the rope on his leg, only to have it wrap tight and pull him along. With both hands he struggled to get it loose. Something burned his arm. Then, he felt searing on his cheek. The blood. When they had fought the goblin-like creature in the swamp, its blood had caused the ground to boil. If a deformed goblin could cause such a thing, what could a deformed griffin do?
A sharp pain struck his back. Leather slopped against his face. The loop on his ankle jerked him again. A cool breeze engulfed his face and he sucked in a breath before being ripped under again. A streak of skin burned from his shoulder to the middle of his back. He felt for a dagger on his opposite leg. Gone. The one on his hip. Gone. Stupid snake! The dagger strapped to his left side tucked dutifully in place. Finally! He slashed the rope. Standing, the water pulled down to his armpits. Precious air slapped his face and he huffed for breath.
Someone called out. He turned to see Arkose falling headlong into the water. The winged-snake writhed under him, thrashing up waves. Arkose landed on the creature’s wing and disappeared in the chaos of talons, scales, and murky water. Jurren ripped out his sword and caught sight of Azredan in the distance doing the same. They had precious, little time.
For some reason, Kidelar dropped from the tree. He descended as though caught in a seated position, with a dagger in each hand. Landing on the beast’s neck, he jammed the blades into the snake’s eyes.
The thrashing stopped.
Jurren hurried forward. Reaching under the beast’s side, he found a boot and pulled with both hands. Arkose splashed upward, arms out wide.
“My hands!” Kidelar screamed.
“Quick, quick! We must retreat.” Azredan reached for Kidelar, slinging him over his shoulder.
Something burned against Jurren’s leg as he marched after the elf. Hobbling from the pain, he caught Kidelar’s gaze. “You did it. I’m proud of you.”
The scholar dipped his scalded hands into the water. “I don’t even know what compelled me to try.”
“Less talk, more hustle.” Azredan’s voice strained under his load. “Those hawk men haven’t given up yet.”
CHAPTER 12
In the two weeks after the encounter with Arnya, Tascana struggled to focus on her studies. Each of those fourteen days, she revisited that final moment a thousand times. The look in dallest’s eyes, as she formed that ball of fire, continually hung in the back of Tascana’s mind during her waking hours. When she slept, the dallest’s expression as she succumbed to the water taunted like a ghostly moon that refused to wane.
; Tascana shifted her gaze from the book to the wood grain on the table. If she averted her eyes any farther, Jerricoh would notice and come to correct her. Why....? The question hung like a noose around her neck. Much like how the feeling of holding Arnya’s wet, lifeless body clung to Tascana’s skin like a rotting infection. What purpose did a fight to the death serve? Sure, it convinced The Master that Arnya hadn’t tried to help Tascana. And it helped give Tascana an excuse as for why she spared the people of Tretchin. Jerricoh had acted annoyed first, but didn’t question her further once he learned Arnya died within a few hours of Tascana entering the valley. Almost as though her death brought so much relief, he didn’t care what happened to the rest.
And what would happen to the rest? Without Arnya there to protect them, would they survive? Tascana turned the page. More than anything, she wanted to believe Arnya died with purpose. Not some kind of freak suicide to avoid what was to come. She couldn’t shake the instinct that Arnya had done it for a reason. A good reason.
Perhaps, it really did have something to do with the missing piece Arnya alluded to. The Fates may have left out a key piece in The Master’s puzzle. They often skipped over what They considered to be minor details. But The Master had fought through Their missing pieces for over two hundred years. Surely by now he knew not to get his hopes up, and bide his time to learn the truth. And besides, what tiny secret could possibly give her a chance to hope? She was trapped in this castle, with no way of escape, and pregnant with something he always wanted. He won.
“Tascana!”
She jerked, realizing she had allowed herself to get lost in thought. “I’m sorry.”
Jerricoh strode towards her. His eyes hardened into a light blue. “It has been almost a full month, and you have yet to finish that book.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
She looked up at him, nodding.
He put one hand on the back of her chair, one on the table, and leaned in until she was pressed into the cushioning. “Your pitiful excuses are not worth the torment I endure because of your poor aptitude.”
