Oblivion: Part Five of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  He sat back against the rock he had earlier used as a seat, and patiently waited for the meat to cook until sizzling. Helen, however, was not so calm as he, and after the fire began crackling and the meat roasting, she climbed onto her feet and glared down at the poor woodlander.

  “The Fallen is out there somewhere, wandering into lands overrun with darkness and disease, and we’re to just sit here waiting? I cannot stand this any longer!” Helen waved her arms in a gesture of impromptu frustration.

  Eladrid calmly raised a finger, saying in an even voice, “We are not going to just sit here waiting, dear Helen. We are to move into my homeland as soon as we have eaten and regained the strength necessary to do so. Remember, you are tired and much fatigued after yesterdays happenings. I am surprised that you haven’t slept a whole day through!”

  “How can I sleep when my best friend is walking right into the clutches of those who would spill his blood!” Helen exclaimed. “This is foolishness, all of it!”

  “Perhaps,” Eladrid said. He frowned, looking down at the fire and the meat. “I would have gone with him, had he not asked me to keep you safe. A true friend knows his place among the circle around him, and mine is to keep safe whoever is dearest to him. That is you, Helen.”

  Helen blew out her cheeks, and paced about stubbornly.

  “Do not think that Neth’tek would have led either of us into the clutches of those who would kill him, because I know that The Fallen would rather put himself into harms way than either of us.” He took out his knife and began carving on that same piece of wood, his eyes half closed and weary. “I would have gone with him into the very heart of the fire, and I know you would too... and he knows it as well. So be content on that, if nothing else.”

  Helen stopped and looked down at the woodlander, her nerves easing at last. “Alright,” she said, sitting down across the fire from him, “But if Neth’tek doesn’t return to these woods before long, I will go out looking for him, and there isn’t anything you can do to stop me.”

  “No, I guess there isn’t.” Eladrid tossed the hunk of wood into the fire, sparks scattering into the air after it. “Although The Fallen promised he’d find us when all is over and done, I would do the same as you.”

  And no more was said between the two of them for the rest of the time that it took for the meat to cook, and once Eladrid had turned the strips over on the hot stone with a careful hand and dagger, a cold wind suddenly passed from the Northern Caps and into the valley where they camped. Helen shivered reflexively, drawing her knees up against her chest and wrapping her arms round them. But Eladrid, ever caring for those in his company, unbuckled his forest green cloak and flung it round the humans shoulders.

  She thanked him, and Eladrid returned to his seat beside the fire, trying to appear as though it were a summers day. But the sting of the chill wind made that nearly impossible.

  *****

  As reluctant as ever he to say goodbye to the dearest of friends, his eyes lingered on them just long enough for an image of their tender faces to be sealed in his memory. He left that place of quiet and safety, left his friends on the borders of Stonewood, and began his own trek westward across the plains and low hills, into Furnost forest, with the quiet hunters. They seemed intimidated by him now that he had suffered a great loss. But he stopped at the borders of the trees of Furnost, knowing that the shadow valley of Swaldar lay beyond their forbidding shadows. By this time the sun had reached its midpoint in the sky, and warmed his back and shoulders as he stood there.

  He wanted to go back, return to the comfort of Stonewood, where no shadow seemed able to pierce. But those shadows were relentless, and they would attack and force back whatever might held them at bay, until it was broken. Evenstar was lost to him, a place of peace and comfort for those who had needed it. How long would it take for Stonewood to give way and burn in the fires of industry, kindled in the hands of two unworldly beings, the Shadow Queen and The Watcher?

  Neth’tek sat down in the green grass, and sighed, running his fingers through the reeds, damp with the morning mist. He looked up and peered into the dark forest with curiosity, wondering what secrets were withheld from those who feared to enter such dark places.

  “Shall we gather game in the wood?” Hakal asked him.

  Neth’tek shrugged in reply, and Hakal looked at him for a moment, uncertain. He turned about, waving for the two others to follow him, and they disappeared for the time that it would take for them to lay their traps. However, Mope passed by Neth’tek and stopped just next to him.

  “Mope,” he heard the man say, and then add almost hesitantly, “Sorry.”

  Neth’tek did not look at the odd man. Instead, he watched the trees, trying to force down the feelings that came over him. The man went after the others, then, leaving him alone to think alone.

  “You were wrong to leave the others behind,” he heard a voice say in his mind, though it seemed to echo in the cool air about him. It was Ezila’s voice, and he felt the presence of the spirit standing just behind him, her shadow cast upon his back. “You were wrong, but you were also right... Such things are beyond the beings of this world.”

  “Say whatever you like, I know what I’m doing.” Neth’tek curled his fingers and wrenched up a handful of the wet grass. He looked at it, and then tossed it to the side. “Beyond these trees is everything I hoped to avoid, everything I tried to lose to the past. But here I am, sitting before its walls of shadow, about to walk in and take it all back.”

  Ezila stepped forward and knelt down beside him. She looked at him for a moment, and then examined the forest instead, her green eyes piercing into its veiled depths. “In order to find that which we seek, sometimes we must dig into the unwanted parts of our existence,” she said slowly.

  Neth’tek grunted, shaking his head in denial. “Where did you learn that?” he asked skeptically.

  “I learned if from a young fighter, one who called himself Vaknorbond Vulzdagg.” She looked at Neth’tek, who had suddenly fallen still and silent, his expression unreadable in the gloom of the day. “Neth’tek Vulzdagg,” she began, “your father believed in sacrifice just as much as you, and knew when it was time to leave a fight just as much as when to walk into one.”

  “And look where that got him,” Neth’tek remarked softly. He glanced up at the spirit, and then back down at his hands idly fingering the grass. “Ezila, I haven’t seen my father in over twenty years. By now he should be dead, at last killed by his enemies.” He paused, sniffing and shutting his eyes. “I missed the part of my life that could have been spent with them...”

  “Your father may have passed from this world and into another, but be assured that it was not by the hand of any nemesis.” Ezila put a cold hand on his shoulder, and Neth’tek almost flinched at the chillness of her touch through his cloak and tunic. “If this is the path that your heart tells you to take, there is no denying the course before you.”

  “Is it my heart or my pride?” Neth’tek asked.

  Ezila took her hand from his shoulder and stood up straight, hardly bending to get onto her feet again. “Both,” she replied. “Pride is a trait that can be used for good just as well as evil, as long as it is a pride in that which is good in your own heart.”

  Neth’tek nodded, and he climbed stiffly to his feet, his cloak and trousers wet from the grass. “Then let us pass into the west, where shadow and fate await those who ceaselessly wander the vast landscapes of this world.” He straightened his shoulders, stretched the stiffness from his arms, and stepped up to the trees. With a sigh he said, “Now for it.”

  And side by side they walked into the forest, trees that at first were grown like any ordinary oak or pine, but gradually darkened both in shadow and texture as the wanderers faded into the gloom of the deeper parts of the wood. The bark began to blacken, almost as if decaying, and the boughs hung low with age and weight, gross nets of reed and vine hanging from their branches.

  Like the valley of Black Wa
ter was the forest of Furnost, and both the woodland spirit and The Fallen passed into the Shadow Valley of Swaldar. They found the hunters carefully lying a trap under a tree, just burying it with leaves as Neth’tek came forward. Ezila had gone by then, back to her plane of existence so the men might not be startled by her presence.

  “Now we wait for them to spring,” said Hakal.

  “I’m afraid we can’t afford time for that, Hakal,” Neth’tek replied. He looked at the three of them, his expression unreadable. “We stand before evil, we will fight it. We are warriors now. Are we agreed?”

  They looked at one another with uncertainty. And then mope lifted his arm and said, “Mope. Agreed.”

  Just as he spoke, however, they heard a commotion in the woods behind them. Jakal turned around, looking at Hakal excitedly as he said, “The spring trap!” and then dashed into the trees with Hakal and Mope close on his heels.

  Neth’tek followed them for several yards, the trees dark and loathsome all around him, and the harsh feeling of being watched overcoming him the deeper he went into the forest. He couldn’t tell if the huntsmen felt the same, but they seemed confident as they retraced their steps back to their trap.

  They stopped, however, and stared at the trap that had sprung. Neth’tek looked at the three of them, waiting for one of them to speak, but they only stood there and stared. So, slowly turning his head to follow their eyes, Neth’tek looked at the trap and what had been caught.

  Instead of a rabbit, or a small fox or deer as was usually found, they found a human figure struggling with a rope that held his ankle in the air above his head. He wore a brown cloak and tunic, trousers that were muddy with travel, and held a short scimitar that he was about to use to cut the rope. However, Neth’tek stepped toward the person, one hand on the hilt of his scimitar and the other reaching for the hand that held the sword.

  An arrow stuck into the side of a tree just in front of Neth’tek’s face, barely three inches from his eye. He dropped low, whipping his scimitar from its scabbard and calling over his shoulder to the hunters.

  “Get down!” he cried, and just as they ducked and ran for cover, a figure clad in a purple cloak flipped over their heads and landed between them and their prisoner, an arrow pulled back on the string of a bow touching Neth’tek’s throat.

  The arrow was slender and dark, familiar to The Fallen who had used such tools in the war against the Adya. Neth’tek’s sword came up in a flash of steel in the dim sunlight that filtered through the boughs above them, and cut the tip of the arrow from the shaft. And then he ducked as the arrow fired over his head and sped off into the trees, and swept his leg under the feet of his opponent.

  Neth’tek’s adversary used the momentum of his fall to roll backwards, tossing his bow to the side and coming onto his feet again with a blade in one hand and a dagger in the other. Neth’tek whacked at the blades in either of his hands, but the other easily held his own, blocking each successive swing and stepping backwards, ducking beneath blows and diving for another.

  The other cut himself from the trap and rolled behind Neth’tek, although the three hunters leaped forward with their swords and hatchets drawn to fall upon either of these enemies. Neth’tek put up his hand suddenly, calling for them to halt.

  The hunters stopped in their tracks, eagerly fingering their weapons as they looked from either of the two combatants.

  But Neth’tek’s eyes were on the person in front of him, wearing a purple cloak. “You wear the colors of the Urden’Dagg,” said Neth’tek. “Why? I thought the deity was long dead.”

  “What difference does it make,” replied the other. “You are The Fallen I am looking for. Duoreod, this is The Fallen!”

  The one clad in brown looked up at Neth’tek in surprise, and Neth’tek half turned to examine the one who had been caught in their trap.

  “You don’t mean to tell me that Duoreod, king of the Adya, stands before me,” said Neth’tek, and he lowered his weapons slowly.

  Duoreod cast back the brown hood that hid his face and met the eyes of The Fallen. “I am Duoreod, king of the Silver City,” he said. “Muari has sent me to find you. You know about the Shadow Queen, don’t you?”

  Neth’tek nodded, sheathing his sword and bowing his head to the king in reverence. “I know,” he replied.

  “Tell us all you know!” the king commanded him, and both he and the other, Vexor Hulmir, sheathed their weapons.

  Vexor put his hand on Neth’tek’s shoulder, drawing the eyes of The Fallen to his. “Well met, old friend,” he said.

  Neth’tek, taking a moment to recognize the strange Fallen before him, smiled and clasped arms with him. “Well met indeed,” he said, “It’s good I didn’t run you through!”

  Vexor nodded, and then looked at the three hunters standing in confusion, looking from one of them and then the other. “These are your companions, then?” he asked.

  “A handful of them, yes,” Neth’tek replied. “You have them to thank for catching your honor, king Duoreod.”

  The three hunters bowed before the Adya noble, going down on one knee. But Duoreod commanded them to stand and then greeted each of them in turn while Neth’tek and Vexor exchanged their greetings to one another. And then, when their simplicities were done, Duoreod again asked for Neth’tek to tell him all he knew about the Shadow Queen.

  Neth’tek put up his hand apologetically. “Unfortunately, I don’t know much concerning this. All I know is that her power comes from the fortress under the mountains, a city called Grindle. We were on our way there when we encountered the two of you.”

  “I see,” said Duoreod, “and you are correct. The power has seized Grindle from us; thousands of my people were slaughtered without my knowledge. I would have taken the city with what strength I had left, but Muari instructed me otherwise. The First Born have chosen you, a Fallen of my people, to vanquish the shadows that draw oblivion upon us.”

  Neth’tek looked at the earth, understanding. He could almost hear Ezila speaking to him again. “We haven’t a moment to lose, then,” he said.

  “Indeed, we have not,” replied Duoreod. He pointed through the trees, indicating the way they had come. “Our horses are outside the forest, refusing to come in with us to search for food...”

  “Nothing walks these woods but fowl creatures of the shadows of The Watcher’s creations,” said Vexor with a dark expression. “I do not think we will find the smallest game in this part of the land, not with the power that broods here.”

  “You are certain of this?” asked Hakal, looking saddened by the thought.

  “We have been wandering these parts for a day and a half now,” replied Vexor, “and have found naught of life in these woods. I fear a disease of some kind may have driven them away.”

  Neth’tek shook his head. “I believe so,” he said. “We should go while the sun is above us. I’d hate to walk this place in the dead of night, as dark as it already is in the middle of the day.”

  They agreed, and as a company of six they began walking to where Duoreod and Vexor left their mounts at the forest edge. It was understandable that the animals refused to come inside the trees, as disturbing as the sense that the place gave off was, and that also explained the lack of game. This place, Neth’tek decided, was haunted by the horrors that steer the dark shadows to whatever purposes they were destined to fulfill.

  But Mope raised his arm and pointed away into the woods, catching Jakal’s attention. “Mope,” said the man, “see!”

  “Look!” cried Jakal, pointing the way Mope indicated for the rest of them to stop and look, “There is a deer! Life at last that will save ours.”

  Vexor, utterly stunned by the sight of the animal in this region, slung his bow from his shoulder and set an arrow to the string. The deer was small, but suitable for the company that they were, and walked in a ray of filtered through the foliage above. It raised its head and looked in their direction, and for a moment they feared it would dart away from th
em.

  But the animal merely ducked its head down and seemed as if searching the earth for food for itself.

  “It is a blessing from Muari,” said Duoreod, and as Neth’tek looked at him he thought he saw tears filling the brim of his eyelid. “This will feed us for days, perhaps enough to reach Grindle with enough strength to fight.”

  “We will need all the strength we can get,” Neth’tek agreed.

  Vexor pulled back on the string of his bow, set a beam on the slender deer, and shot with a twang and zip that ended with a dull thud.

  29

  The Keepers of Stonewood

  Eladrid Woodhaven had been leading Helen carefully and quietly through the outer woods of Stonewood, about a day and a half since Neth’tek and the hunters departed from their company, and were now coming into a part of the country that was far more secluded and protected then that of the world outside the deep green forest of the woodland. Helen took in the sights of smells of the vast forest, the fresh scent of the green growth refreshing her, clearing her mind from all of the pain and suffering, the grief and sorrow. And as she gazed into the long shadows of the great oaks and pines surrounding her, birds flying from branch to branch overhead, singing their everlasting songs, it seemed that all had passed away and was no more than a dream.

  But even as such peace and calm took hold over her mind, Helen was glad to know that the hard experiences of the past few weeks had occurred. A single tear slipped from her eye and down her dirty cheek, memories of her father coming back. His grey eyes, gentle smile, and kind words... she missed it all and more... she missed her dearest friend.