by M. K. Adams
Most of the onlookers dispersed, going off to bed or back to their final chores for the day. The drama seemingly over, a mere nightmare to the untrained eyes and ears. Drystal was the last to leave the scene, his face twisted and scornful. Turiel caught the onlooker in the corner of his eye, skulking in the shadows of the fire. He knew that Drystal didn’t trust him, didn’t trust any warlock in fact, and that he didn’t feel safe with Lyvanne around. But that battle would have to wait for another day.
Turiel saw movement to his side. Kwah nervous and eyes full of worry appeared, taking a seat by Turiel’s at the fireside.
“Is she going to be okay?” he asked.
Turiel nodded. “Yeah, she’ll be alright,” he said, his every thought spent on trying to untangle the meaning of her nightmares, “but double the guard.”
Chapter 17
The memory of the night before was still burning bright in Lyvanne’s memory as Turiel brought her an early breakfast.
“Are you still sure you want to go through with this?” he asked as they ate quietly in the quiet of the morning.
“Yes,” she replied assuredly. In truth, she just wanted Jocelyn to be here with them, to know that she was there to lean on when things got tough.
Lyvanne found the journey out into the countryside beyond the woodland to be much easier than the journey they’d undertaken to arrive there in the first place. Turiel and she had set off at the first sign of dawn as the sun, blotted by a spattering of grey clouds, began to peer in through the dense thicket of trees that surrounded them. Kwah had been gracious enough to lend the two a horse for their travel. The Spring didn’t have a large number of horses, enough for a dozen riders, kept in a small fenced area to the rear of the camp. So it was a commodity that he hadn’t had to share.
“Thank you,” Turiel said as Kwah walked over with a black stallion in tow.
“Thank you, Kwah,” Lyvanne echoed.
Taking the reins of the horse Lyvanne watched as Turiel tied a large backpack onto his saddle. Turiel hadn’t told her how long they would be gone for, but she had seen him packing a substantial amount of food and water satchels into his backpack. There was enough to last the two of them a few days out in the wild, Lyvanne had concluded.
“Why do we need to be so far away from camp to do this?” Lyvanne asked as she struggled to keep herself perched on the back of the horse, holding tight onto Turiel’s waist as he led the horse through the countryside. Her experience of learning how to ride a horse was limited to the few days she had spent with more than enough spare time on her hands at camp, watching those richer than herself ride back at Astreya, and the few hours they had been journeying that morning.
“Fewer distractions,” he replied as he brought his hood further up over his head in a futile attempt to fight away the heavy beats of the sun as it began to soar high into the sky. “Besides, these next few days aren’t going to be pretty for either of us, we don’t want the others getting itchy feet around us.”
All in all, they were journeying by horse back for half a day before Turiel pulled up in a small clearing at the base of a large rocky hill, a rare landmark among the dominant meadows of the countryside.
“We go up there,” Turiel pointed up towards the summit of the hill.
Lyvanne nodded and Turiel spurred their horse into action. The hill itself was an easy climb, especially for the broad and strong legs of the horses, but finding a place to set up a camp was less so.
“What is this place?” Lyvanne asked with childlike glee as their horse reached the summit of the hill.
Where Lyvanne had expected a simple rocky outcrop, she instead found the relics of a by-gone age. Ruins littered the land before her, small and large, stable and broken. Walls with ancient carvings that she couldn’t read, a gorgeous archway of meticulously carved stone half collapsed in on itself and the remnants of a long fallen column broken into pieces where it fell along the summit.
“Depends who you ask,” Turiel replied as he gazed at the physical remnants of forgotten memory. “Some say that they were made by the first men to set foot on the Rive, others would argue that it’s a fallen Hemeti watchtower and some may even tell you that it pre-dates them both. No one really knows.”
A small grassy patch of hillside revealed itself as Turiel led their horse through the ruins. It was only a few square metres in space, but it was more than ideal for the two of them and had enough ruins on either side that the horse could be tied up with some ease.
“Can you read the writing?” Lyvanne asked as she dismounted the horse and ran over to a series of intricate markings on the side of a crumbling wall.
“Afraid not, I don’t know of anyone who can.”
At first, Lyvanne was crestfallen, but a sudden surge of determination warmed her blood and quickly turned into a promise, not to Turiel but to herself. “I bet I could learn.”
“I have no doubt”
After unpacking a pair of basic bed mats from his backpack, Turiel threw one over to Lyvanne and told her to find her spot, not that there was much variety to choose from she thought. With the horse safely tied up, Lyvanne parked herself onto the damp grass around a fire that Turiel had started crafting. It had rained lightly on their climb up the hill but nothing too torrential, at least not yet, and Lyvanne was grateful for the chance to dry off among the shelter of the ruins.
Peering out from their perch high up above the countryside Lyvanne had an almost perfect view of everything that lay beyond the foot of their claimed hill. The woodland area that she knew housed the other camp took up a large portion of the world before them, the wood evidently being larger than she had first realised when they arrived in the dark. Down to the north, she could make out the feint shimmering of a small river, a divergent arm of the Anya. As her gaze followed the river toward the horizon she could make out the signs of what appeared to be a small village. The location, she assumed, where The Spring would restock their supplies when needed. But looming once again above it all were the threatening grey clouds she had learned to loath in such a small amount of time. Especially now that she didn’t have the protection of the canopy above the woodland camp. Watching the low rumble grow closer Lyvanne began to seriously question why she’d agreed to come along.
The duo didn’t do much for the next couple of hours; Turiel cooked a late lunch of sausages, tomatoes, and the usual small loaf of bread split between them both. The sun was beginning to set when Turiel finally slapped his knees and stood. The grey clouds had fortunately avoided them, but from her lookout position Lyvanne watched the rain falling heavy over some mysterious land off in the distance
“Up!” Turiel commanded with a playful gusto. Lyvanne did as asked and joined him back in the small clearing. “One last chance to back out, little one. Otherwise, there will be little rest between now and our return to the woods”
“What exactly are we going to be doing?”
Turiel’s face turned dark, and not just because the sun was lowering in the sky behind Lyvanne, casting her shadow out across her pale friend.
“We need to revisit the place where your mind took you last night. Can you describe it to me? The more I know beforehand the more efficient I can be once we’re there.”
Lyvanne was unsure how much she wanted to share, the memory was still too vivid and too painful, but seeing the look in her friend’s eyes she relented. “It was like an eternal darkness, completely surrounded by a wall of fire. It felt like the fire could burn the both of us at any minute, but the shadow… they didn’t seem to be affected by any of it.”
Turiel nodded his head. “Never been a fan of flames, but I guess it’s a good defence mechanism.”
“Is this going to hurt? Like the way it did last night?” Lyvanne asked, petrified of the answer.
“It will hurt, but not the way it did last night. For this to work, I’m going to have to try and invade your mind the same way the king’s warlock had, but considering it’s my own spell that was helping to pr
otect you, I should be able to work my way through without causing too much distress to your body.”
Lyvanne nodded, she felt ready, scared, but ready. “Do it.”
“Steady on, Lyvanne,” Turiel said through a curling grin. “There’s a few things we need to clear up before we start. Firstly, you will be in pain whilst we’re in there. I don’t know the extent as it can change from person to person, but I know that it will be less than last night. Whatever you feel in there, whatever your body is telling you, none of it can follow you out, none of it will return here. If your body starts hurting before you’re taken there then don’t worry, it’s just your body warning you that something it deems to be bad is about to happen, admittedly in a rather inconvenient manner.
“Secondly, once you’re in there, once the fire builds up and it feels like there’s no escape, that’s when it’s going to be just you and me, that’s when you’ve got to force us both out of the defence your mind has built up. The place we’ll be taken to is your own creation; it’s your mind. I’m not in control there, nor anyone, None but you. Thirdly, and likely the most important, once we’re in there the invader can do very real damage to you. Do not let me, or whomever else it is get close, do not let them touch you or their strength will only increase. They won’t be fast. You’re trained up well enough that at the very least that’s something you won’t have to worry about, but it’s crucial that you stop them before they can connect with you physically. Do you understand?”
Lyvanne took a moment to try and take in everything she had been told, but quickly nodded her reply, followed - as usual - by a question. “Turiel… how do you know all this?” The words escaping her mouth unbidden, but she had to know. “You said your Father helped you escape once you started showing magical talents, but you never said he taught you anything he knew.”
Turiel smiled, bringing back memories of the childhood he so nearly had. “You’re right, it wasn’t my father. He was an especially gifted warlock, but our time together was too brief and too fragile to train me. But, like all good students I did at some time have an even better teacher stood behind me… maybe that’s a story for another time though. For now, focus.”
The white streams of magic began to ebb and flow through Turiel’s raised palms and fingers. Standing only a few feet away Lyvanne could now sense the presence of magic, something that she had not been able to do when she first came into contact with him. She put it down to growing accustomed to him using her as a theoretical punching bag back at Astreya. The two were stood apart from each other for a handful of minutes, with every passing second the sensations of the night before returned. The sweating, the pain…
“Stop!” she shouted and Turiel broke off his spell.
“Are you okay?” he asked, rushing over to her.
She nodded, embarrassed that she had chickened out before the real test had even begun. “Just… remembering last night.”
“We can wait a little longer if -
“No, let’s start again. I’ll be ready this time.”
And she was ready. Lyvanne didn’t flinch as the pain soared through her arm and she wasn’t fazed as her world turned to darkness again. It was a different story once they were back among the flames however. The pain was unbearable, true it wasn’t as torturous as the night before, but it was still more than she could bear. Her screams reverberated around the emptiness beyond the wall of fire, and before he’d even had time to materialise Turiel broke off the spell and pulled them out.
That was the pattern they followed for the rest of the day until the sun had vanished behind distant hills and light had turned to dark. Turiel would invade Lyvanne’s mind, Lyvanne would try her best to resist but the pain would steadily overcome her. It had become obvious that without Turiel’s aid the night prior she wouldn’t have withstood the invasion alone. Her friend never materialised in her mind’s world the way the shadow creature had, instead he opted to hang back, watching as Lyvanne tried to master her surroundings. It caused him more personal pain than it would have done to materialise, and often dragged out a scenario that he could have ended himself in a matter of moments. But Lyvanne knew what he was doing, and whilst she appreciated it, she was also very conscious of the ever-growing cascade of scars that were climbing up his right arm.
Seeing the scars she squirmed uncomfortably in her place. The two shared a knowing glance. “Are you okay?” she asked after a particularly nasty looking scar climbed up the base of his neck.
“We both knew this would be tough,” he replied, any pain well hidden. So, they continued.
After one particularly daunting episode within the fiery walls, Turiel took a step back. “We can finish for the night now if you wish?” he asked, beads of sweat pouring down both of their faces.
“No… not unless you need to?” Lyvanne replied, nodding her head in the direction of his newly formed scars.
“I’m good, suffered worse.”
Back into the cycle they went. Lyvanne felt as though she was getting a handle over the pain as the night drew on. The flames still licked at her face, but she felt more comfortable in their presence, less scared by the opposing force she had to contend with every time.
“I can beat you,” she said defiantly as the flames surged all around her. Her senses overloaded by the smell of burning ash, the sound of Turiel’s shapeless form egging her on from a place of hiding and the daunting presence of the vast emptiness which lay beyond the wall of fire.
“Nearly,” Turiel’s replied, his body hidden beneath flame.
By the time they decided it would be best to finally get some rest, Lyvanne thought on the day to come as one where she would finally master the art it took to be able to lock her mind away from the invasion of others.
“Wake me up if you have the nightmares again,” Turiel said as the pair settled down on their bed mats, nothing but the nearby fire and small thin sheets of fabric to keep them warm.
“I will,” Lyvanne replied as she feasted on the last of a quickly made rabbit stew which Turiel had thrown together for the pair to eat before they slept. There wasn’t much meat to be found on most of the rabbits, but it was better than nothing.
The night came swift and carried her off into sleep. The Goddess looked down on her kindly and for the first time in what felt like forever Lyvanne slept soundly through the night without even the smallest inkling of a return to her nightmares.
Chapter 18
Lyvanne wondered exactly how much food Turiel had stashed away into his overly large backpack as she watched him cook a morning feast of watered oats and honey.
“You should have been a chef,” She commented.
Turiel laughed, “Yes, I’m sure Father would have loved that. Turiel, son of Frandil, Weapon of the King… a chef”
“Weapon of the King?” Lyvanne asked.
“Well… yes. As you know my father was a loyalist and when you pair that with magical abilities then the king is oft to find a suitable place among his armies for you.”
Lyvanne knew this already, but she felt as though there was more Turiel was yet to share. “Did he tell you much about the wars?” She asked, trying to choose her words carefully as the smell of oats wafted through the air and filled her senses.
“Not too much, enough to keep a young boy enthralled for an hour or two when he came home, enough to make me idolise him as some kind of hero. Doubt too much of it was true… hope the rest of it wasn’t.”
“Did he fight in Tyberia?” She knew that the years didn’t quite match up for this latest conflict with the people to the north, but the two kingdoms had been warring hot and cold for decades now, he might have been there at some point.
Regardless, Turiel shook his head. “No, afraid not. My father had a specialty; he made for an exceptionally good Captain at sea, and so he was put in charge of the king’s royal fleet.”
“Who did he fight?”
“Tyberian fleets if they ever dared to venture too far south, which they rarely d
id. Pirates mostly, raiding and pillaging towns and cities along the Eastern shoreline. But he made his name in the Battle of the Winter Winds.”
Lyvanne’s eyes lit up. “I know that one!” she exclaimed, nearly jumping up from her seated position on the cold floor. “Abella told me about that one,” she continued. “It was a convoy of five war galleys from the king’s royal fleet facing off against three times their number from the Crag Islands! The winds were said to have been so strong, the rain so icy, that the captains had little control over their vessels. Your father fought in that battle?”
Turiel nodded, a thin smile giving away how impressed he was with her knowledge. “He didn’t just fight in it, he won it.”
Lyvanne’s jaw dropped, “He did? I don’t remember Abella mentioning anything about a warlock.”
“She wouldn’t have known, the king didn’t like his victories to be blamed on the use of magic alone, so their work was often scratched from the official records. But yes, my father had seen their odds of survival were so thin that the only reasonable option would have been to run. But the king wouldn’t have taken too kindly to that. So instead he conjured a spell so powerful that it shaped the very weather around them, he sent winds hurtling against the enemy and caused their ships to careen into one another. The royal galleys then swept in and finished what was left of the enemy.”
Lyvanne smiled, she appreciated him sharing some of the few memories he had of his father with her. “Thank you.”
Turiel smiled and soon after the pair returned to business. Off in the distance Lyvanne made out a herd of cattle, roaming what she assumed must have been farmland. She doubted they minded too much when she screamed in anguish. Turiel was being less forgiving today, manifesting himself into a creature similar to that of the shadow that had invaded her a couple of nights ago. He repeated the invasion over and over again until she was able to maintain some level of composure as he made his march through the flames and towards her.
