The Vitalis Chronicles: White Shores

by Jay Swanson

  Ardin twisted to his right, planting his left knee and dropping the rifle into place. He fired the first shot without checking his aim. A spray of blood puffed out of what appeared to be a growth on a tree.

  He spun back to cover as the bark was ripped off the tree next to his head. Continuing the motion he brought his gun to his shoulder as he cleared the other side of the trunk and fired at the top of a small boulder. His shot was rewarded with another large puff of blood that drifted into the breeze as the soldier’s head, camouflaged into the grass, was flung back by the impact. Ardin froze in place, his breathing now matching his heart rate.

  The whole thing had happened in near silence. It would have surprised Ardin, who had never heard of guns firing quietly before, had he noticed it through the blood pounding in his ears to the rhythm of his heart. Moments passed before his stomach knotted and he lowered his gun. They were dead, both of them.

  Ardin Vitalis felt sick suddenly. The clarity that had been given him hadn't left, but he couldn't help but feel like his mind was clouding in the midst of it. What was happening to him? He clenched his eyes shut as the voice worked to break through his moment of self-actualization. It wanted him to move but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He fought back, head twisting as his face contorted subconsciously.

  Gritting his teeth, Ardin grabbed the sides of his head and pushed back against the voice. Wishing it gone, hoping he could somehow get rid of it. And then he saw her: the girl, her fear, her uncertainty. His heart sank into his stomach as if to release it from its knot, and suddenly he found his strength again.

  She was close; it felt as though she were moving towards him now. He stood and began to run, avoiding the corpse of the second soldier as he made his way through the trees.

  Ardin jogged down a small hill and slid to a stop. He no longer knew where to go. It was as if the clarity of his sense of direction was suddenly removed.

  His idea of where she was hadn't been clouded, it was gone. He looked around, and not certain of what to do he continued in the direction he had last sensed. As Ardin jogged farther he felt his sense of unease grow. Something was wrong, the farther he ran the less he felt the energy that had been coursing in his veins. He continued running until he stumbled upon a draw that ran uphill into a steep ravine and down around a corner into the foothills beyond.

  It looked almost like a dry riverbed to Ardin, and it posed a problem. For whatever reason this was a crossroad. He knew it, and he had no idea which way to turn.

  Then he heard them: men grunting and yelling from up in the ravine. Ardin threw himself down and crawled back up the direction he'd just come from until he was hidden behind an outcropping of small boulders. No sooner had he lain in the grass than three men walked into the stream bed behind him.

  “Why have I always gotta do the lifting?” complained the thick one. It looked like he was carrying a duffel bag full of gear on one shoulder and something else on the other.

  A skinnier one with sharp eyes walked behind him just off to his right. He was carrying a strange stick that looked like it was glowing on one end.

  “Because you're so dense,” he said, smirking to himself as the thick one floundered.

  He was already thin, but having shed his textured camouflage he looked doubly slender in the strange, nearly skintight uniform he wore. It looked familiar, and yet Ardin was sure he had never seen anything like it.

  “How could something so light do so much damage?” the thick one continued. “I mean I can almost lift her with one hand, and she killed all of us!”

  “With the unfortunate exception of present company.”

  “What?”

  “Let's go,” the tall one in the lead turned out of the creek bed to his right and away from Ardin. “We don't have all day. If Tash and Ren made it they’ll be ahead of us by now.”

  They continued to talk and jostle as they made their way through the woods. Ardin dared a peek as they crested the gentle rise and began to disappear into the trees.

  The thick one was carrying a girl! Her long dark hair waved to and fro between her arms as she swayed over his shoulder. Ardin didn't need to see her face; he knew her in an instant.

  But he didn't know what to do; the certainty that had so mysteriously come over him had been replaced by a vague sense of purpose and a growing feeling of disquiet. He knew what he had come here to do but no longer felt like he could manage it on his own. He slowly picked himself up, watching for any sign of other soldiers but strangely certain that there were none. It sounded like he had unwittingly finished off the last of their crew.

  Ardin started to walk, picking a path that would keep a safe distance from the men. The slope rose a bit higher under his feet than it had for his prey, and he hoped that they wouldn't veer too far to either side. Soon he could hear them talking again; it seemed for a moment like they had stopped walking.

  Ardin slowed, picking his way carefully through the trees until he could just barely see them. They had placed the girl on the ground and tied her to a tree, the strange glowing stick stuck in the ground by her feet.

  He couldn't really make out what they were saying, but it wasn't long before they cut her loose and began walking again. It appeared like they were disagreeing over something. Ardin's gut twisted as the girl was hoisted up again and roughly carried farther into the forest. He wanted to do something but wasn't sure what he could do to overpower three soldiers at once. He started walking again, keeping just within earshot of the killers.

  Then it came to him – the fire! It had practically obliterated the soldier back at the Cave. Maybe he could get it to show up again and torch the three men before they knew what hit them.

  They stopped again; he could hear their disagreement intensifying. It didn't sound violent, but it might provide the distraction he needed. Ardin continued to walk from tree to tree, taking his time, keeping as quiet as possible. He knelt just within sight of the men. They looked on uncertain terms as the thick one began gesticulating more and more. Ardin raised his empty palms and thrust them forward.

  Nothing happened.

  “C'mon,” he whispered under his breath. “I know you're in there!”

  He thrust his palms forward again, but nothing appeared. Life suddenly felt like a bad dream. It wasn't coming and he had no idea how to make it do so. The men were getting ready to move again until another one showed up. His comrades did not look pleased to see him, and soon the disagreement was reaching new heights.

  Ardin cursed under his breath; he didn't have much in the way of options. He raised the rifle as the thick one reached down to pick up the girl. He didn't want to hit her, and a tree obscured most of the thick one anyways, so he aimed at the skinny one.

  Like shooting a scrawny squirrel, he thought to himself.

  The gun barked quietly as the bullet threaded the trees and found its target. A quick burst of blood sprayed out as the slug thumped into its victim, spinning the skinny one to the ground. The thick one threw the girl down and crouched quickly, as did the other two who Ardin could barely see through the grass.

  Ardin's heart was racing, his nerves getting the best of him.

  “Where the hell did that come from?” the thick one yelled to the tall one before Ardin’s next bullet ripped through his abdomen.

  He screamed as he fell backwards, gun firing wildly in his right hand. Leaves, dislodged from their home, fluttered to the ground as the thick one gripped his gut. Thick purple blood flowed freely through his fingers in spite of the pressure he attempted to place on the wound.

  Ardin was moving now, he couldn't see the other two but he knew where they were without a doubt, and he knew how he could get into position to trap them. This was much like the games he and John had always played in the forest, except instead of throwing dirt clods he was shooting scalding hot lead.

  He knelt by a big sycamore tree, its brown trunk a unique disturbance in an otherwise homogenous treescape.

  “I don't know who the h
ell you think you are,” came a stern voice over the screams of the dying soldier. “But you picked the wrong damn day to mess with me!”

  Ardin eased around the sycamore. He placed the barrel of his rifle on the large rock that sat next to it. He had guessed correctly, a large tree blocked his line of sight to the two soldiers. But they had thrown themselves between two large rocks that jutted out on either side of another tree and, having nowhere to safely escape to, were trapped. They would have to leave that little U-shaped shelter. When they did they would have to move either to the left or right of the tree that was between Ardin's next round and themselves. When that happened, they'd get it in the teeth.

  “Why don't you come on out and see if I give a damn?” Ardin yelled, hoping to coax the soldiers out. “You picked a bad day to mess with my friend over ther–”

  Bright lights exploded in his vision as his head jarred away from a crushing impact.

  “While we're bandying about worthless nonsense, let me just toss in that you picked a wretched time to shoot me in the shoulder,” the sly voice of the skinny soldier slid through the turbulence Ardin's brain was traversing.

  “And, might I add,” he said, with a kick to Ardin's ribs. “That I hate insolent children.”

  Ardin rolled away from another kick out of instinct. The forest was reeling as he tried to pick himself up. Thankfully the skinny soldier wasn't moving very quickly through the pain in his shoulder.

  “I think I'll skewer you right here.” There was a bright fire in the green eyes of the wounded man. He pulled a knife from his belt as he pressed in on the scrambling Ardin, his eyes never breaking contact with the boy's. “I haven't killed anything in weeks. I'm afraid I'm suffering withdrawals.”

  Ardin saw the newcomer closing in on him out of the corner of his eye, but far too late. Another savage blow landed on the side of his head as he crumpled over the legs of the now dead Wilks. Things were going very, very black for Ardin as he struggled to breathe and found he could only cough. He started to crawl blindly over the lieutenant's large body in a weak attempt at escape.

  “I don't think so.” The tall one grabbed him by the foot and dragged him back.

  Ardin reached for anything to grab a hold of. All he could manage to grab was the strange glowing stick as he was pulled through the warm blood that covered the corpse underneath him.

  “You're done, kid. Who the hell are you?”

  “Oh why bother, Sam?” The sly one knelt down next to Ardin, positioning the tip of his knife between Ardin's ribs over his heart. “He's just some hillbilly come to play soldier.”

  “Finish the little bastard off,” chimed in another voice. “Just slide your knife right in his throat.”

  “I'm aiming a bit lower than that, Lucius.”

  “Hold it!” Sam yelled.

  The sly one's head whipped around vehemently. “Why the hell should I? I'm putting an end to this before anything else happ–”

  His jaw shattered as the end of the MARD stick slammed into it, bursting into dozens of colorful shards. Ardin flung the broken piece of equipment at the other soldiers as the sly one jerked back from the blow.

  Free, Ardin jumped to his feet and looked for his gun, a knife, anything. But Lucius was already on top of him; shoulder leveled, he plowed into Ardin and they both went sprawling.

  Ardin cried out in pain as he landed on a large rock. Lucius, still unharmed by some divine mercy, jumped on the boy immediately and began to throttle the life out of him.

  “Well you smart little son of a bitch,” he grunted. “I'd like to see you get yourself out of this one.”

  Funny, Ardin thought as he writhed on the ground. So would I.

  “Get off him Lucius!”

  Ardin gripped Lucius' wrists and tried to wrench his windpipe free but to no avail. He was stuck. For a moment he felt the heat begin to grow in his chest. It surged briefly and then ebbed as his mind went blank and he began to pass out.

  “I'm gonna end this kid right here.”

  “He's just a boy!”

  “A boy that tried to kill us, Sam. How does your precious sense of justice not see tha–“ Then suddenly, from somewhere else, a flash seared over Ardin flinging the soldiers over his head and into the trees beyond.

  Ardin coughed for a minute, then sat up slowly, dazed and disbelieving his fortune. Finally he lifted his eyes as he rubbed his throat, and there she was, the sun blazing behind her wild and flowing hair. Standing tall and dark and terrible; and painfully beautiful.

  “Who the hell are you,” she asked. “And why shouldn't I roast you right here and now?”

  TWELVE

  ARDIN'S MOUTH WAS dry, which made coughing through his sore throat that much more unpleasant. He leaned slowly against a tree and pulled his knees up to keep himself from tipping over. The girl was still staring at him, he wasn't really sure what to say. Somehow the truth seemed a bit farfetched to simply toss out there as a greeting.

  “Ok,” she finally said as she raised her palms. “I'm done waiting.”

  “Woah woah woah!” He snapped to as he coughed, putting his own hands up in an effort to stave off whatever she was preparing for him. “I'm on your side!”

  “You'd be the first person to hunt me down that was,” she said, not moving her outstretched arms.

  “Hey,” he started to get up until she took a menacing step forward.

  “Alright, alright,” he sat back down. “My name is Ardin, Ardin Vitalis.” He sat wide eyed against the tree, the bodies of the soldiers scattered around him. “I was sent here to save you.”

  “Really.” She didn't even attempt to disguise her disbelief.

  “Yeah,” he coughed lightly. “I saved you, didn't I?”

  “You came close at least.”

  “Oh give me a break.” He felt slighted by that one. “These guys are like battle hardened killing machines, I just held a real sword for the first time a week ago!”

  “These guys were hacks. Who sent you?”

  “The Witch, up in the Cave near Levanton.”

  The girl paused, weighing her response.

  “She wasn't a witch,” she said quietly, biting her tongue.

  “Oh I'm pretty sure she was.” He started to get up again. “They caged her up like one at least.”

  “She wasn't a witch!” The girl gave him a little burst of pressure that knocked him back to the ground. “Don't you ever call her that!”

  He groaned as he rolled on his side, “Damn, alright.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  Ardin could see tears forming in her eyes as she tried to squint them away in her anger. He slowed his words and did his best to sound soothing as he sat back up.

  “The Wi– Magess sent me. Charsi, I think was her name.”

  The girl just stood facing him, palms still extended but no power left in them. Tears were streaming down her face as her lip began to quiver. She didn't speak, knowing she wouldn't be able to regain her composure if she lost it.

  Ardin hadn't ever really figured out what to do when his sisters got emotional, and he started to feel the deficit in his knowledge now. He sat there, uncertain if he should say anything or try to give her a hug. He looked over at the seared corpse of the soldier behind him and figured that maybe it was best if he didn't try to hug her.

  “Did you know her?”

  She didn't know what to say, or whether she could really trust the boy, but she wasn't left with many other options. And she was tired, oh God how tired she felt. She sat down suddenly, her shoulders slumping and head dipping forward in exhaustion.

  “She was my mother,” she said quietly, and began to weep.

  Ardin Vitalis, in a rare moment of wisdom for a boy his age, kept his mouth shut. They sat there under the tall birch trees for a long time as the sun reached its apex and began to wane. Birds slowly began to return to the area, perhaps they had never left it. Their song quietly began again either way. Ardin couldn't help but feel the weight of this gi
rl's sorrow; it seemed to permeate the forest. Even the birds sounded mournful.

  He waited, and thought about his own family. He didn't feel like he could cry any more, but he wanted to. He wanted some form of release. The grasses brushed against him gently as the wind rolled through again, gentle, scarcely intrusive. He fancied he could smell the ocean on the breeze, but he'd never seen the ocean, and only knew it had a special smell because his father had told him so. Oh God, how he longed to be reunited with his family.

  Questions raised themselves as he faced the stark reality of his situation; why he had survived where others had not was paramount among them. And that didn't even begin to scratch the surface of his curiosity when it came to the Witch, Charsi, and this girl who apparently was her daughter. He remembered having been told that or something like it by Charsi herself, but that whole experience was a blur of searing white hot pain. He shivered.

  As if in response to his train of thought, the girl raised her head to look at Ardin. The ice had melted a bit from her eyes; she looked like she could sleep for a few decades.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Ardin wasn't sure what to say, so he just said she was welcome. She went back to studying the grass in her lap, she had plucked a sizable pile in her silence.

  “Really,” she continued after a moment. “I didn't stand a chance there, I was finished.”

  “Who were those guys?”

  She looked back up, a wave of incredulity passing over her face before it softened in exhaustion.

  “Khrone's Hunters.”

  Ardin jumped up in his surprise as his eyes darted between the three men on the ground. “Khrone's... you mean these are the Ghosts of the Mountain?”

  “So you have heard of them.”

  “YES?!” he almost yelled with excitement. “Hasn't everyone? They're the elite of the elite, the light infantry that can move through the mountains faster and more quietly than ghosts and who can take on whole battalions at a time! They're so good they're sent to kill the Shadow and even Magi!” He slowed, his wide eyed grin draining into a wide eyed panic. “Oh no. Hold on... they'll be coming after us won't they?”