by R D Wolfe
Totra-Dal began to ramble on, the amber liquid in his glass having been finished long ago. The drink was making the long-winded man more verbose than usual. Darien’s mind began to wander. Then he realized that he had heard a familiar name. Cyprin. Totra-Dal had mentioned Cyprin. That meant that the big man knew of the Cycle, and maybe more that Chorrun hadn’t been able to tell him yet.
“Totra-Dal?”. Darien cut into some thought that Totra-Dal had been entertaining, something about a drink made by the Mer people in the western seas that he wished he could have gotten on his last trip there. The number of subjects the man could link together was impressive.
“Hmm?” Totra-Dal asked, clearly not invested in whatever words he had been speaking in the moments before, as he poured himself another glass of the liquor, spilling some of it on the table.
“You mentioned someone earlier. Cyprin, I think it was? I’ve heard that name a few times now. Who is that?”
Mentioning the name had a stark effect on the grey man, who snarled as he slammed the glass down on the arm of his chair
“That bastard is the darkest creature to ever set foot… anywhere.” Totra-Dal slurred. “He stays high up on that cursed mountain of his thanks to some kind of ancient spell, and every fifty years or so, chaos erupts in the lands, and some crazy adventure ensues in a race to stop him from coming down. I was told the story as a kid, but never put much stock in it. Nothing more than tales to frighten children into behaving. Though I’ve seen this ‘adventure’ grip the world about four times now and—”
“Four times? That would make you…”
“Two-hundred and thirty-seven to be exact,” Totra-Dal said the number with pride, and with no evidence that this should be any great shock. Darien’s expression went completely blank as he was quite literally, dumbstruck. Totra-Dal didn’t notice as he waxed on, goaded by the effects of the freolia.
“I’ve never seen any of the adventurers who are supposed to come to Olympus each… what do they call it, the ‘Cycle?’ I’m not even sure they’re real. Blast, at this point I’d even say Cyprin wasn’t real if it wasn’t for the chaos I’ve seen every fifty years. The people in the cities all grow paranoid as the time approaches. This kind of life gets difficult when people stop sending caravans for us to take.”
Totra-Dal waved his hand, swatting the subject away. “None of that matters, though. We still have some time before all of that nonsense. Though raids have been coming up short lately.”
Totral-Dal rambled on for a short while more with glossy eyes. He said something about the need to stock up on supplies before the inconvenience of the Cycle came around again. Darien realized he wasn’t going to get any new information and let Totra-Dal ramble on. Eventually, he began to drift off, his head falling to his chest. Totra-Dal noticed and told Darien that he was dismissed, taking pity on him.
“Oh, I’m not done with you young Darien! We will talk again very, very soon. I have use for the likes of a swordsman like you.” The large troll’s words were so heavily slurred now after his fifth glass of the freolia.
Making his way to the tent flap, Darien found himself facing an empty camp, most of the members having turned in for the night. The fire still roared along in the center, providing light and warmth to those few who still stood around it conversing in hushed tones. To his right, Darien saw points of light, and caught flashes of Scillan faces as they worked on the body of the creature Darien and the others had brought back to the camp. He considered for a moment going to see what they found, and then decided against it due to sheer exhaustion. Darien made his way towards his own tent, on the opposite side of the camp. Darien skirted the perimeter and, realizing that he hadn’t had chance to relieve himself since returning from their ride, stepped behind the line of tents and into the trees where he would have a modicum of privacy.
He spotted an isolated location and moved quickly towards it. Suddenly, he heard the snapping of a branch behind him and turned. He wasn’t quick enough. A forceful arm pinned him to the side of a tree. He felt cold steel firmly pressed against his throat. Darien’s eyes took a moment to focus. His head had slammed against the loose bark of the tree, and his eyes watered from the pain. Once his vision cleared, he searched for the face of his attacker, fearing what was going to happen next. It was Evatra.
“What are you doing?!” Darien’s voice cut through the silence.
“Be quiet!” she hissed threateningly. The cold metal of the knife held to his throat pressed tighter.
Darien obeyed, his mind racing to try to make sense of the situation.
What kind of backwards place is this?
“Walk,” Evatra commanded, pulling her knife away and gesturing further into the forest.
“What are—”
“Be quiet and walk.”
Darien realized that he still had his sword, and at the same time that he didn’t want to fight Evatra, so he walked. He continued into the forest before she called for them to stop, ordering him to turn around. When he did, he noticed the knife was back in her boot. They both stared at each other for several seconds.
“I know who you are,” Evatra said at last.
“You… what?” Darien said, caught completely off-guard by the statement.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” she said. “The signs are everywhere, and I won’t believe your fake ignorance for one more second. I was listening to your entire conversation with Totra-Dal.”
“Totra-Dal doesn’t even know who or what I am, how can you have figured everything out?” Darien asked, crossing his arms.
“Totra-Dal is too in love with his drink to care about finding any answers out about you,” Evatra grunted. “He only wants to keep you around as long as you’re useful. After that, he’ll let Kort have his way with you. I, on the other hand, kept my mind clear, and I listened.”
Darien’s heart raced, fear of what she would say next sat like a rock in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if he was more afraid of her coming to the correct conclusion, or if she had come up with some other theory, which could prove to be even more dangerous to him.
“I haven’t lived as long as Totra-Dal has,” Evatra broke the silence, “but I’ve lived long enough to read the signs of change, and they’re all around. I’m not arrogant enough to think that the cycle isn’t true. I was told the stories as a child, too. The fact that we couldn’t find a caravan yesterday, the fact that caravans have been sparse for weeks… Totra-Dal may be more focused on finishing off his stores of liquor than seeing what’s happening in the outside world, but I’ve noticed.”
Darien tried to keep his face blank, but he wasn’t sure if he was successful, or if he just looked like someone with an upset stomach.
“The signs of the Cycle are everywhere,” Evatra said, pacing for a few moments before turning back to face Darien. “I’ve seen it written all over the faces of those we’ve managed to raid, what little are left. Then you, a master swordsman of some strange, unknown race, comes out of the south, riding to Farkland Reach. Next, we find these hulking beasts to the east that attack us for no reason. Don’t you see the connection Darien? You’re one of the Four!”
Darien didn’t have an idea of what to say. She had pieced the puzzle together perfectly, and he saw no way to pull it apart again. The only option he had was to play dumb, and that seemed to have stopped working.
“Look,” he began, but was cut off by a look from Evatra.
“You have to help me, Darien.”
“I just want—wait, what?”
. “That child, who was imprisoned with you when you first arrived, she’s been possessed by a wraith,” Evatra’s eyes welled with tears. “That’s my niece, Atreya. She is the last link I have to my sister. Totra-Dal kept her alive after I begged him to, and I’m afraid his patience with keeping her is wearing thin. It’s dangerous.” Several tears rolled down Evatra’s gray face, glinting in the moonlight, making it appear that streaks of starlight ran down her grey cheeks.
“How
can I help?” Darien asked, uncomfortable by the display of emotion. “Look, Evatra, I didn’t know I was supposed to be one of the Four before I got here and Chorrun told me what was going on.”
“Who’s Chorrun?”
“He’s one of the centaurs who found me. Well, kind of. That doesn’t matter. Look, I didn’t know anything about the Cycle, the Four, Cyprin, none of it, until I got here a few days ago. We were on our way to Farkland Reach to see if anyone there could figure out why I was brought here. I have a life back home. I mean, I was about to graduate, I was about to have the job I wanted, time with my friends, and then I showed up here. So, I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know how to help Atreya any more than you do.”
“So, you’re not one of the Four?” Evatra stared at up at him from her downturned face.
“I might be,” Darien sighed. “I don’t know, this is all so confusing.” He walked past her, punching a tree as he went by causing thin, sharp leaves, and more needles to fall through the air. “I just want to get back to my life.”
“I must be wrong.” Evatra said, defeated. “All of the stories of the Four talk of their bravery, their honor, and courage to take on Cyprin. They’re warriors of immense strength and ability. You’re just… some kid who knows how to use a sword.”
The malice in her voice stung as it cascaded against his ears. Evatra made her way back towards the camp, making sure to forcefully bump Darien on the way. He stared after her, wishing he knew what to say. After standing alone in the silence, Darien completed his initial reason for coming into the forest and returned to the camp. He crawled inside his tent and folded his now-dried clothes as neatly as he could, putting them into a corner at the far end of the canvas shelter. Once again, he pulled his pack over as a makeshift pillow and laid his head down, staring out at the sky above.
The emotion of the day crashed against the walls of his mind. He had gained Evatra’s favor, and then lost it. The stress of maintaining his precarious position of ignorance was all for nothing, since she had discovered his identity. She would almost certainly tell Totra-Dal of her findings, if she hadn’t already. But what weighed most of all on his mind was the killing. He, Darien, taught and raised within the safe, familiar walls of The Academy, had taken a life. Not just one, but several other… could they be considered people? It didn’t matter, they had all died because of him. Knowing that it was the only way did nothing to suppress the loathing he felt for himself now.
Darien felt hot tears spill out onto his cheeks. He turned face down into his pack and sobbed as quietly as he could. He mourned on behalf of those he had seen die, for his only positive relationship with the marauders. After he had expunged every last tear, he began to fade into a restless, fitful sleep. His dreams were violent, offering no respite from the images of violence playing on the backdrop of his mind. His only relief would be the sunrise of the following day.
Chapter 11: The Wraith
Darien remained exhausted the following morning, feeling as if he had only managed a few minutes of sleep. The turmoil of his dreams was reflected by the state of the camp outside. Tents were removed from the lines which held them. and rolled into tight bunches before being attached to the backs of several horses, laden with other rolls and supplies. All around, riders were saddling horses, and the two large wagons in the camp were loaded with items from Totra-Dal’s tent and the pots and pans of the makeshift kitchen where Darien had retrieved food during his time in the camp.
Darien looked around to see if Evatra was among the crowd, but she was nowhere to be found. He decided to follow the camp’s lead, and began packing what he knew how, mimicking the others around him and rolling the canvas of his tent as tightly as he could. It wasn’t as neat as the others, but it wasn’t half bad for his first attempt. It took the camp another couple of hours before everything was broken down. Darien made himself useful where he could, assisting in putting supply bags onto the backs of horses, dismantling the makeshift stalls, and finally mounting up as ordered, once all was done.
The large caravan of one-hundred or so rode center file on the narrow, barely worn trails that had been made by the raiding parties. Darien saw Totra-Dal heading up the long line of riders and wagons, nodding at him as he passed. Darien sighed in relief as he watched the line file by. If Evatra had given him away, Totra-Dal wouldn’t have just rode casually by. He continued looking for Evatra in the throng of riders, but remained unsuccessful, though he did see Kort, who glared as he rode by. Darien took his place near the rear of the caravan, finding himself riding just in front of the pale faced Scillans.
As they exited the tree line, following a similar path to the one Evatra had set them on the day prior, the group fanned out. Darien noticed that the wagons were now in the center of a large bunch of riders, all of whom had bows in their hands and kept a watchful eye on the surrounding area. When they reached the point where Evatra had them turn north, Totra-Dal continued the group’s ride to the east, still following the tree line. Darien wondered where they were going, but the red-bearded troll seemed to have some destination in mind. Eventually, Darien was able to work his way closer to the Scillans all of whom rode in silence. He found the one that he had previously spoken to, and motioned for the pale-faced rider to come closer to him.
The Scillan glanced at the other two and then, almost seeming to shrug, , bridged the gap between them and Darien.
“Did you need something?” The voice was friendly, but apprehensive.
“I just had a few questions, if you don’t mind? About the wraith?” Darien tried to sound casual.
The problem of Atreya’s fate had weighed heavy on his mind, and so had his lack of knowledge on how to help the girl.
“Go on, I’ll answer what I can.” The Scillan sounded somewhat apprehensive.
Darien hesitated, not knowing where to begin. “Well, I heard someone saying that one of the Four might be able to help her? I was wondering, how could they help her, and why don’t we go looking for one of them?”
“Those are…” The pale face turned to him directly, watching intently as they rode for several moments. “Those are very unique questions. I will begin by answering your second question first. We do not seek out the Four because they are about to be embroiled in a quest of utmost importance, if it hasn’t begun already. Given that you ask about them, I will assume you know of their purpose in Olympus. Their mission to re-imprison Cyprin is more important than the life of one child. Asking them to divert their attention to save her is nothing more than a distraction. Besides, if word got out that the Four were assisting in the lives of individual people, it would spread across the lands, and there would be an endless line of requests for them. It’s simply not done.”
“Can’t they spare a day or two to help people, though? I mean, if the Cycle started, that means Cyprin is free, right? I don’t see anything so wrong with the world, yet.”
“You would not say such things if we were nearer to the mountain. The lands near there are sure to be blackened by his influence as he attempts to regain his strength. In fact…” The Scillan faded off into silence.
“What?” Darien asked, curious.
“It’s nothing,” the Scillan shook their head. “Just a thought. Something to explore at another time. Returning to your question, given that the Four would be unlikely to divert from their journey to assist an individual, and the impact that could have, the question of how one of their kind would help seems to be pointless.”
Darien thought about how to approach his next question carefully. The Scillan seemed to have a keen mind. If Evatra had figured out who Darien was, it was possible that a slip of the tongue would give him away. One person knowing his identity was bad enough.
“So, for the sake of argument, let’s say we ran into the Four. How could they help anyway?” Darien tried to sound hypothetical.
“That’s an interesting question,” a hand came to rest on the Scillan’s pale chin. “Do you remember what I told you a
bout where the wraiths came from?”
“The souls of spellcasters?”
“That’s right,” the Scillan affirmed. “What the wraiths hate more than anything is the one who condemned them to their existence in the first place. The Four are unique—they are not from this world, and their sole purpose here is to lock away the wraiths’ greatest enemy. It is possible, though it’s only speculation on my part, that the wraith might respond to a request from a member of the Four. There is a legend that a wraith once accompanied one of the Four to engage in the battle with Cyprin, so there is some precedence.”
Darien fell into silence as he rode, thinking about the possibility that he could possess the ability to save Atreya. However, if he did, he would reveal himself to Totra-Dal, and who knew what the reaction would be. Being one of the Four would surely make Darien Totra-Dal’s most valuable possession. How would the troll react to the revelation? Assuming Evatra hadn’t told him, now that they were riding. Would he hold the same respect others seemed to, and release Darien to continue the Cycle? Or would he hold him for ransom, knowing that no one could afford to let a member of the Four remain in captivity?
“Do you have any other questions for me?”
“What?” Darien jolted, he had forgotten their conversation. “Oh, sorry. No. Thank you for answering my questions.”
The Scillan eyed him for several seconds before nodding and turning away, rejoining the other Scillans as they began to talk in hushed tones.
The day dragged on as they continued to ride eastward along the forest. Eventually, night fell, and the group set up a makeshift camp. Darien followed the lead of those around him, tying his horse to a line by a stream which gave the animals access to water and a small area in which they could graze. Other lines had been set up at various points along both sides of the stream, readily accommodating all of the horses. Small fires began to appear out of the falling darkness, as their temporary living arrangement took shape. Everyone seemed to be forgoing the use of tents, laying their bedding out around the many fires. Watchmen were set at various points along the edge of the encampment. Darien was grateful that he was not selected. Shortly after putting his head down on his pack, he fell into a merciful, dreamless sleep.
