by Adrian Juhl
Chapter Six
The small party made their way over the wet sand and into the thick brush. Broken branches lay scattered over a track carved through the brush, seemingly by something large and brutal. Kayne paused, wary of entering the path ahead.
“Remember, boy, there’s a fine line between a hero and a memory.”
Kayne shook his head and stared at Jack with disbelief. “Really? Did you just come up with that, or have you got that pearl of wisdom written down somewhere?”
A smile teased the corners of Jack’s mouth. “Well, I figured it was better than saying I told you s-”
“Okay. Okay. I get the point.” Kayne turned to face his men. “Men. A lesson to be learned here today. Always expect to kill something on a trip to the beach!”
Surprised at his informal approach, the men looked at each other, unsure of how to react. Garos grinned and stepped ahead of the prince. His eyes narrowed, scanning the way ahead.
“I’ll remember to pass that on to my grandchildren.”
Silver ferns lined the path, their broken fronds strewn about the ground. Garos moved past them with disinterest, but the men picked them up, admiring the silver underside of the leaves. He stopped, motioning for silence.
“This must be silver wolf territory. Move as silently as possible, and be on the lookout. One bite and you’re dead!”
Jack reached down and unsheathed a small sword from his belt, leaving his two-handed sword on his back. “I thought they were extinct.”
“What are silver wolves?” Kayne enquired as they continued along the path.
“Noble guardians of nature, almost extinct now. The Methuselans killed them for their silver glands and fur. Even Whetu didn’t escape the culling,” said Garos.
“I… I’m sorry, Garos. I didn’t know.”
“There are many things a young heir doesn’t know,” Jack whispered. “That’s why the First Regent instituted the Pilgrimage—so the new Monarch could identify the errors of their ancestors and rectify them.”
“I already know the first change I’ll make.”
Garos gestured for the men to crouch. “Look!”
Kayne stared in wonder at the intricately carved stone temple. Made of sandstone, it stood one story high. Its arched roof was reminiscent of an ancient design, long abandoned by the Methuselan Empire. Garos’ eyes narrowed. He motioned for the men to remain. A silver acorn pendant, which hung around his neck, lit the area. Kayne pointed at the small amulet. Before he could speak, time slowed. Small birds appeared to be frozen in midair. On closer inspection, their wings still moved but at a speed so slow it was barely noticeable. Garos, unaffected by the acorn’s magic, stood and looked around. Even with the power of the amulet, he ran through the abandoned temple. Just as the birds completed one flap of their wings, Garos arrived back at the men, and time resumed.
“What’s tha-” Kayne looked around, bewildered.
Garos nodded at Jack, who stood up and smiled at Kayne. “You look confused, boy.”
“I swear Garos was kneeling beside me just a second ago.”
“Nonsense. Maybe you need to return to the ship and get some rest. Leave this adventuring business to the adults,” Jack teased.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Garos’ tone put an end to Jack’s jesting. “I would suggest you ready your men, Jack. It seems your advice on trips to the beach was correct.”
Kayne looked around, still confused. Jack sheathed his short-sword and drew his two-handed weapon. The men responded, filling the air with the sound of metal. Garos signaled the men to move forward. He drew his bow and stared down the nocked arrow, searching for enemy targets as he proceeded. The Ranger’s keen eyesight detected no enemies as he led them into the temple courtyard to the grisly scene therein.
Jack sheathed his weapon, while the men took up guard around the perimeter. Kayne had seen many horrors in his battles against the Necromancers, but nothing prepared him for the sight of the dead monks that littered the ground. Garos pulled a handful of crushed silver fern from Whetu out of his pouch. He tossed it into the air, reciting a quiet chant as he did so.
“What’s he doing?” Kayne asked Jack.
“These monks were tortured. He’s bringing their spirits peace.”
“Tortured?”
“Yes. They didn’t die in battle. Look closer. See the scars from their bindings? The type of wounds?”
Kayne stepped forward to close the eyes of the dead monk in front of him. As he touched the tops of the eyelids, a sticky black slime oozed out.
“His eyes! Necromancers?” he asked, recoiling in horror.
“Ophidia!” Jack turned away, hiding his fury. “We need to bury the dead.”
Garos took an arrow from his quiver and dipped it into a wall sconce. Its tip dripped pungent liquid. Kayne pulled out a small flint and struck it several times, sending sparks into the air. Several of them struck and ignited the arrowhead. Garos took aim and fired the arrow into the air. Kayne summoned the frightened men. They milled around him, disconcerted at the events that had transpired. Kayne cleared his throat as Garos and Jack stood beside him.
“I can’t tell you who or what did this. I can’t tell you if these people were right or wrong, living in the Forbidden Isles. But I can tell you this. No man under my rule deserves such a death, and I make you this binding promise. I will not wait to be called as king to discover the perpetrator of the massacre that lies at our feet. Nor will I permit such atrocities again. I will find out what has occurred here this day, and bring to justice those who caused it, whether by my own hand or by the hand of my children.”
The men struck their chests three times with their right fists, and knelt before the prince, recognizing his promise. Kayne unsheathed his sword and opened his palm. He ran the blade across his hand and clenched his fist. He watched as his blood dripped to the ground.
“I am Kayne, heir to Methuselah. Today, I make this binding oath in front of all those present, and to every god that is listening.”
The prince’s blood beaded on the stone surface of the courtyard. It trembled, as if infused with life. Bead-by-bead, the three drops moved, unnoticed, under the feet of the men as they cheered for their prince. They moved toward the north wall and ascended, drawing Jack’s attention away from his concern at the prince’s oath. They continued up the wall. Kayne walked to the wall as the droplets stopped in front of three small holes. He looked closer at the beads of blood, and reached out to touch them. Before he could do so, they disappeared into the holes.
A loud noise interrupted the men as the ground rumbled. Forgetting he was back on the ship, the men called out for Reesus. The north wall illuminated the darkness. Sand fell from its face to reveal intricate, ancient carvings of the sun. Around the three holes, glowing lines appeared, connecting them into a triangle. Inside the triangle, the image of an open hand emerged. Kayne looked at it with surprise.
“The hand of the Summoner!” he exclaimed.
The shaking ceased. The men mumbled amongst themselves, shocked. Before they could react, the entrance to the temple sealed shut. Six small doors opened on the eastern, western, and southern wall. From the shadows, intense, silver eyes stared out at the men. Kayne signaled for his men to stand down. He knelt down and called to them without fear. The silver wolves exited their doorways, limping from fresh wounds. Although injured, their snarls warned the prince to leave at once.
Jack observed Kayne with mixed emotions. In this moment, the young boy now presented himself with unwavering confidence and command. A command that now inspired him. But could he let go and see him as a king? He opened his mouth to speak, but Kayne gestured for silence. Jack lowered his hand and shook his head at Garos, who stood ready to defend against the silver wolves. Garos breathed a sigh of relief, no longer having to choose between his duty to the prince, and protecting the endangered silver wolves. The pack leader limped toward Kayne, a low growl in its throat. Kayne remained kneeling and stared t
he old wolf down. “I see you’re a noble creature, just as my friend described.”
He held out his wounded hand to the wolf. It paused, staring at the magical wall, and then at Kayne. It sniffed Kayne’s hand several times and licked it. The wolf trembled, then fell at the prince’s feet and whimpered. The aggression of the other wolves subsided. They walked up to their pack leader. One by one, they nuzzled the wolf. The pack leader rolled onto its side and looked at Kayne, raising its paw as if in salute to the prince. It lowered its head, took one last breath, and passed away. Kayne stroked the warm fur of the old wolf, holding back his tears. The soft whimpers of the other wolves possessed a sorrow that filled the hearts of the men around them. The men struggled to maintain their composure as they watched the scene before them. Whimpers turned to howls as the injured animals mourned the loss of their leader.
The air churned. Dust billowed up, welcoming the Elemental as he landed in the courtyard. The wolves turned, ready to attack. Their low, guttural growls warned of retaliation against the unknown intruder. Garos led Reesus away from the wolves.
“Took you long enough,” he grumbled.
“I came as soon as I saw the arrow. The air currents around this island are treacherous. I’m certainly not flying back.”
Reesus stared at the bodies on the ground as Jack approached. “Glad you’re here. We’ve got some digging to do.”
Day turned into night as the men buried the dead monks. Kayne and Jack tended the wolves’ wounds. Other men returned from the ship with supplies of food and water. They opened the large satchels to the approving yips of the hungry wolves. The reprieve from stress was short- lived as Reesus raised new earthen walls around the temple grounds, fortifying it against intruders, and protecting the men as they buried the monks. It was close to midnight when the last monk was finally laid to rest.
