Based on the legend surrounding him, Clarysa speculated life must have been horrible for him. Everyone in Aldebaran despised and feared him. She herself was guilty of judging him based on nothing but hearsay. Now, however, she knew the truth, and would act accordingly.
Though fantasies about altering the destiny of his life ran through her head, the more realistic option might be found in simple gestures. Welcoming him into her family was one. Then there were the advantages only wealth could bring. She had already decided she would buy him a gift, perhaps a few new tunics or the latest fashionable cape. Lionel would help her pick out something. Or maybe a–
“Something’s heading this way!” shouted one of the cooks.
Edward issued a formal halt. The procession came to an immediate stop.
Clarysa looked left. A group of villagers were racing across the plain. A massive herd of feet and dust, they seemed to run at an impossibly fast pace. The town of Arcadia was about a mile beyond the hill. Is there a fire?
The riders ahead skewed sharply right. Then desperate cries and shouts of “Run!” and “Watch out!” and “Make for the woods!” ripped through the air.
“What’s wrong?” Clarysa cried.
“I think we’re under attack,” said the same cook as before.
“By whom?” Clarysa’s voice grew shrill. “What are they after? Do they know who we are?”
But before she could receive an answer, the villagers were upon them. Scores of belligerent men and women dove into their flank, scattering the royal hunting party. A wild, frenzied look accompanied each person’s unnatural, bestial gait. Horses and their riders drifted about everywhere leaving nothing more than a jumbled panorama. Dumbfounded, Clarysa could only stare as some of the guards and servants formed a protective barrier around her.
“What’s wrong with them?” she asked.
“Difficult to say,” one of the guards speculated. “But we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Craning her neck, she sought Edward and Lionel. After a moment she spotted them, swords raised and teeth bared, valiantly fending off the rabid attackers. Clarysa watched in horror as one of the villagers leaped into the air, hammering one of the riders from his horse. The pair fell onto the ground with a sickening thud, and began wrestling in a cloud of dust. These people…they’re acting like animals–so crazed and berserk!
More villagers appeared. They wielded chunky weapons of axes, stones and wooden clubs. They swung clumsily but fast, grunting and howling their wrath. Several of the King’s guards lay dead on the ground, their gory remains splattered in thick, random blankets.
Clarysa shuddered. But it wasn’t only the violent exchange of blows scaring her. It was their eyes–she had caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes as he hurtled toward the rider.
Blood red. The orbs had been suffused with crimson, obscuring even the pupils.
A chilling thought quickly enveloped her. No, it can’t be. How is it possible? But the truth could not be denied. “Pestilence,” she croaked out, her throat now coated with dust. “It’s Pestilence!”
No one seemed to heed her warning. Instead, her companions shouted at her to reverse direction. Clarysa glanced wildly left and right. Five or six villagers were closing in on her group. She was weaponless, but she dare not abandon her kin. Yet what could she do? Nothing. Nothing but sit there and stare into the glazed expressions of her attackers.
Lionel and Edward sped forth, apparently intending to join her. More villagers surged across their path, effectively blocking their advance. Anxious voices buzzed all around her. A cloud of dust. A blanket of blood. A cacophony of shrieks. Then she lost sight of her brother and cousin.
She didn’t know where to turn, but then a guard directed her horse for her. “I’ll escort you away from here, Your Highness!” Following his lead, Clarysa spurred her horse into a gallop.
Within seconds, they became separated from the rest. Clarysa looked back, gasping as a one-armed villager gave chase. He gained on them unnaturally fast. One soaring leap and he landed on her guard’s horse. Man and monster exchanged a round of blows.
“Keep going!” the guard ordered, even as the villager bit off his ear.
The guard and villager crashed to the ground in a tangle of bloody limbs.
There’s nothing you can do here. Go! Clarysa whipped her head forward and rode on. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Soon the sounds of the skirmish faded entirely. Before long, only the rhythmic beat of Apple’s hooves trampling the ground remained. Her heart rate began to slow; her breathing began to stabilize. She gingerly pulled on the reins to slow the frightened beast. They both desperately needed to catch their second wind. Attempting to regain her calm as well as the horse’s, she cooed into its ear. She had control over her own behavior, at least.
There. Her overworked lungs ceased their lament.
Clarysa looked cautiously behind her. She hadn’t realized the contagion was so widespread. Those poor people. They’re nothing more than savage maniacs. The Aldebaran citizenry had to be warned. But which return path would be safest?
She contemplated turning back to help her brother and cousin, only to squash the idea. She had no weapons on her. But so many of her people were at risk. She frowned, feeling useless and stupid for running off. Yet she couldn’t stay here in the middle of nowhere and do nothing.
Apple pawed the ground, turning her head anxiously from side to side. Clarysa leaned forward, stroking her mane for comfort. “There, there,” she said in dulcet tones. “I’ll figure out something, don’t worry.”
Clarysa sighed, a long, slow sigh that seemed to go on for years. Others were depending upon her, and she wasn’t about to let them down. But what were her options? More importantly, whose aid could she enlist?
Stellan!
Perhaps it wasn’t too late. If she rode hard, as hard as her mare could muster, she might catch up with him. With a fierce cry, she swiftly changed direction, and spurred her steed west toward the cold, unrelenting darkness of the Snowflake Kingdom.
Chapter 9
At first, the roads Clarysa took were familiar, well worn. As a youth, she had explored these woods and fields many times in the company of Lionel and other relatives. Memories of gathering mushrooms and wild berries sprang to mind. On this side of Dungeon Forest, Eastender’s Road was landscaped and well maintained. Clarysa even passed a few startled travelers. They stared in surprise as she galloped past, shouting warnings.
As she traveled on, the road before her narrowed and took on a rougher form. Large craters appeared, threatening to devour them whole. On the horizon, the sun had gone to rest, replaced with a gloomy dusk. Trees pressed up against the road, crouched amid thick bushes and other wild, scraggly undergrowth.
While Clarysa stopped at a small stream so Apple could drink, owls hooted.
Back on the road, the forest’s nocturnal citizens began their routines. Unseen creatures skittered alongside the road. Night eyes followed her progress from the shadows. She scanned the darkened path before her, alert for obstacles. Regardless of the danger, she forged ahead.
At a crossroads she pulled tightly on the reins, urging Apple to stop. In the inky sea now surrounding her, she couldn’t quite remember which road jutted from Eastender’s toward Vandeborg. She only knew that one angled north…somewhere. Was this particular path the correct way or not?
The journey seemed to be taking longer than it should. The murky surroundings did little to inspire confidence, let alone a clear view. Without a torch, her horse could very well collide with something. But if she didn’t remember the correct route soon, she would have to consider turning back.
No, failure wasn’t an acceptable option. Her people were counting on her to press onward for help.
Oh, but wait! Clarysa noticed a wide opening in the forest wall. How had she not seen it before? She peered into the clearing. True, it didn’t appear to be much more than a path for errant pigs, but it was a path nonetheless. Squinting, she even spi
ed something white on the ground farther in. It emitted a soft, luminous glow in the burgeoning moonlight. Was it snow? With renewed vigor, Clarysa guided Apple onto the trail.
Once through the narrow opening, the path seemed a straight shot. The horse galloped away. Snow crunched underfoot. The air felt markedly cooler, prompting Clarysa to pull up her hood.
Apple swerved suddenly to avoid a large tree. Heavens! Where had it come from? Clarysa flicked the reins. “No, silly, don’t slow down!”
But the mare had no choice. The path–if it still was one–became glutted with gnarled, blackened trunks. Branches swayed overhead as a chill wind teased her. Apple slowed to a trot, then merely a walk. Tentacle-like roots necessitated careful navigating. Clarysa groaned. This was taking forever. She eased her horse slightly right, as it seemed the path resumed in that direction.
They wandered for many long minutes. Slivers of moonlight poked through the canopy above and then night reared its stark head with a vengeance. The snow here lay thick and deep. Apple’s ears pricked up. Clarysa glanced around. It appeared they were not alone.
Chittering sounds rose from the darkness, first from one side, then the other. Clarysa yanked on the reins, forcing Apple to a stop. The mare snorted her protest. This most definitely did not seem like a proper place to stay, but Clarysa needed to find her bearings. She leaned forward to stroke Apple’s mane and ease some of its fear before continuing.
All at once, the surrounding forest fell silent. It was as if the giant hand of death had clamped down on everything surrounding them. Clarysa’s loud heartbeat was the only sign of life.
She tried to detect any lights, any movement in the area ahead. Unidentifiable animals scampered among the low-lying bracken. Henceforth, you carry flint with you. Chilly air seeped past the folds of her dress. She rubbed her hands together for warmth. Am I lost? Where in blazes is his castle?
More chittering arose. This time surrounding her; this time laden with grunts. Clarysa whipped her head around. What was that snapping noise? Small, inky-black shapes seemed to be drifting alongside the horse, but it was difficult to see anything clearly in the oppressive darkness. She rubbed her eyes. It was only bushes, a trick of the scant moonlight and its many shadows.
Apple reared high into the air, throwing Clarysa to the side. She slammed against a trunk. Pain exploded throughout her body as she tumbled to the ground. Strange noises erupted around her, sounding like gleeful titters. No wonder her horse had spooked; these were no ordinary nocturnal animals.
Dazed, Clarysa rose on shaky knees. “Apple?”
A soft neigh broke the silence, followed by the horse’s terrified shriek.
“Apple!”
Clarysa sprinted toward the sound. The horse lay a few yards distant. Something had brought her crashing to the ground. Dropping to her knees, Clarysa crawled forward. “Apple?”
The horse was still, but something else moved. Clarysa heard a squelching sound. A warm, metallic smell filled her nose. She inched closer. After reaching her horse, she slowly peered over Apple's back.
An imp squatted between its legs, feasting on the horse’s innards. At least, that’s what she thought it was. No larger than a small dog, its dark hide resembled those she’d seen in illustrations. But she wasn’t surrounded by warm candlelight and soft blankets, nor could she simply close a book to ward off the ghoulish image. Her current predicament was far more perilous.
The realization hit her like a rock: she had stumbled into Dungeon Forest.
She had difficulty catching her breath. Stellan had warned her about avoiding this place. Now she understood why. But she hadn’t meant to ignore his advice. Where had she gone wrong?
Noise interrupted her thoughts. The macabre scene before her wasn’t over yet. Blood gushed forth from Apple’s body, the surrounding snow soaking it up like a sponge. The imp, seemingly unaware of her, chomped mercilessly, at one point pulling hard at a resistant tendril of flesh. Clarysa gagged, then quickly covered her mouth.
It was too late. The creature turned. Blood dripped in torrents down its tiny chin. As their eyes met, its fangs spread wide in a vicious leer.
Scrambling to her feet, Clarysa ran. She ran like she had never run before.
Branches scratched her face as she pushed past them. “Stellan!” she shouted, then increased the volume. “Stellan!” It was pointless–he would never come. “Stellan!”
Clarysa cried his name until her voice grew hoarse. She darted about the forest for what seemed like an eternity. Fear drove her without mercy. Her straining lungs thirsted for air.
Farther and farther she ran, blindly, until an outstretched root sent her crashing earthward. “Oh no!” Pain shot through her ankle. Clarysa slumped to the ground, tearful and shaking. Keep going. If you stay here they’ll come and tear you apart!
But her legs refused to cooperate. Clarysa moaned. Why oh why had she taken the path? It had seemed the right choice at the time. The scolding voice of her eldest sister echoed in her head. “Why don’t you ever think before you act?” Then Stellan’s words came back to haunt her. “You must never take the path through the forest… It’s dangerously enchanted… Few people have passed through that forest and lived.”
Clarysa whimpered at the thought of being trapped in Dungeon Forest forever. But memories from the recent attack flashed into her mind. If she could find Stellan, there was a good chance lives could be saved–many, many lives. Resolve to stand filled her. She would find a way out of this hellish forest and complete her mission.
Reaching out an arm, she used a tree to prop herself up. Glancing up at the thin slice of moon visible through the trees, she charted a path roughly west. Gingerly, she tested some weight on her ankle. It felt swollen, but perhaps it was not broken. She could walk on it if she was careful.
Clarysa limped forward, but was forced to a stop. Her cloak had stuck on something. She turned around and gave it a tug.
A miniature two-legged creature sat on the edge, preventing her escape. Other than its wide, pale-lit blue eyes, Clarysa couldn’t make out any of its other features. With two tiny, but extremely strong hands, it tugged at her cloak in deliberate mockery.
First imps, now goblins? Clarysa attempted to steady her panicked breathing. Perhaps it was only her overactive imagination. She gave her cloak another tug. But the creature had an unnatural heaviness to it. It seemed to enjoy sitting right where it was. To struggle against it appeared futile.
Slowly, she eased the cloak from her shoulders. A quiet titter issued from the goblin’s mouth. Carefully… Almost there… Now run! Clarysa dropped the cloak, leaving it far behind as she stumbled away. A chorus of angry voices arose from the darkness around her.
The cold air stiffened her limbs, and the injured ankle only further impeded her progress. Onward and onward she ran, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. At a particularly crooked oak tree, she heard thumping noises from all around. A multitude of creatures suddenly dropped from the trees and dove toward her through the undergrowth.
Clarysa was surrounded.
All manner of nightmarish fiends closed in with glowing eyes and bared teeth. They snapped their jaws and slurped and smacked their lips. She avoided looking directly at them and ran. Given their small size, perhaps she had a chance of breaking through their ranks. Not so. Multiple hands latched on to her legs. Down she went once again. Death began to whisper in her ear.
Is this my fate? I simply wanted to help, to be useful. Oh, Stellan!
One of the creatures landed on her back. She tried to dislodge it, but collapsed under its weight. The rough ground scraped her cheek. Tiny paws tore at her dress. Then something hard, pointy and cold pierced her, like an icicle plunging into her shoulder blade.
Clarysa groaned, writhing with pain so sharp it threatened unconsciousness. Wetness coated her back–blood! Acute dread filled her. She would never see her family–or Prince Stellan–again. I failed you all. Please forgive me!
A canine growl p
ierced the air. Was she to be torn apart by demons and finished off by wolves? The malevolent snarls grew alarmingly closer. Paralyzed by fear, Clarysa squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the end.
Chapter 10
As the wolf neared, Clarysa braced herself. The fangs would sink into her flesh any moment now. No, no, no! Have mercy!
Then she heard an unmistakably human voice, though the words sounded incoherent. Is someone really there, or am I hallucinating? A wave of demonic squeals pierced the night air and faded abruptly away. The weight lifted from her back.
Strong hands gripped her waist. Someone had found her. A man. Clarysa was too weak to resist as the stranger lifted her onto a nearby horse. He mounted behind her. Once astride, he flicked the reins sharply and the horse galloped away.
The man covered her with his cloak. The heat of his body did little to mitigate her frigid state. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably. Exhausted and dizzy, she leaned back against her rescuer.
On and on they rode. Eventually, they emerged from the dark canopy of the forest. Moonlight shimmered across large hills of snow. The night was clear and the air brisk. The horse’s strong muscles rippled up and down as it plowed through the wintry mix with seemingly little effort. Beside them, a great white wolf kept pace.
After they cleared the last hill, a castle broke into view. Clarysa studied it from beneath heavy eyelids. The nighttime dressed most of the fortress in shadow, but it was moderate in size and had seven or eight pointed towers. The horse and wolf raced across a bridge that led to the front gate. As they approached, someone opened it from within.
As soon as the doors clanged shut, the horse stopped. Her rescuer dismounted. Clarysa looked down. A rush of relief coursed through her upon discovering Stellan’s face. She smiled weakly as he eased her from the saddle. Put the weight on your good foot! came the bleary thought. Once on solid ground, she gazed up at him.
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