Jewel of the Surf

by B. C. Johnson

  Sam looked at her confused. April stared into his cerulean eye as he stared into hers, the deep emerald swirling. April leaned forward and kissed the bandage over his eye gently, placing her hands on the sides of his head. “Get some rest,” She said softly, “I’m going to start a fire.”

  When Sam awoke again it was to the sound of many voices. He turned to see that nightfall had descended and his friends were huddled around a campfire in the center of the cavern with fresh supplies scattered about. David noticed Sam was awake and motioned to Haven, who came to Sam’s side with a smile. “You're awake,” Haven observed, “how are you feeling?”

  Sam nodded, “Better.”

  Haven checked his vitals and placed her hand on his forehead, her pupils disappearing as she performed her magical assessment. Sam shuddered as he often did when she performed the procedure; the eyes always set him on edge. Haven’s pupils returned and she smiled again. “You seem to be doing a lot better. Guess you have April to thank for that.”

  Sam looked over at the fire, April watching from a distance like a hawk. “She killed him didn’t she?” Sam asked, his memory of the final moments of the fight with Blaine still foggy in his mind.

  Haven dipped a cloth in a nearby bowl of water and began to run it across Sam’s bandages. “She did, and brought you to us. You woke everyone up with your yelling. Ahtash burned the wound like her mother did David’s and I went to work healing the gash.”

  “How bad was it?” Sam asked as Haven continued to douse the bandages in water.

  Haven’s pursed her lips slightly, “I’ve seen worse, what I am most worried about is if your eye will have permanent damage. I wanted to wait until it was dark out to remove your bandages.”

  As the white strips of cloth became saturated, the adhesive Haven had used to fasten the dressing started to give way. The golden haired healer began to peel away the strips one by one, Sam’s skin feeling like it was taking in a fresh breath of the cold air around them. Sam watched Haven’s face as she removed them, eager to see any positive or negative reactions. To her credit, Haven’s face never wavered from the stern unemotional look of concentration. After a few more minutes, she had removed all the bandages and was washing off the last traces of adhesive left on the young Guardian’s skin. She sat back on her heels and nodded. “Ok, try to open your eye.”

  Sam’s eyelid rose and he could see blurry shapes out of it. After a few moments his vision cleared and he sighed in relief. Haven handed him her handheld mirror and Sam looked at himself within its surface. The blade and the burning had left its mark on his face. A deep gash now stretched from Sam’s hairline to his jaw bone vertically along the right side of his face, crossing over his eye socket. He sighed depressingly as he viewed it in the mirror, his free hand feeling along the scar. “I can try and mend it. There are some spells I could do,” Haven started, “It would probably take numerous attempts and a few months but it just might…”

  “No, leave it,” Sam interrupted her. “I want to keep it.”

  Haven looked towards him with concern in her eyes. “Keep it? What for?”

  “So the next time Cain sees my face,” Sam put down the mirror with a fire in his eyes, “he will know that he failed.”

  Chapter 2

  The Capital

  That night, the nightmares started. Sam tossed and turned in his sleeping linens, a cold sweat pouring down his face. He replayed his mother’s death over and over, watched Elsa roar out in agony as her life was ended, scanned the Cortendale Valley and saw everyone he knew burned alive. Charles, Nathaniel, Haven, David… worst of all April. They reached for him, crying out in agonizing pain for Sam to help them, but all he could do was watch. Throughout each horrific image there were the eyes. Those dark red eyes staring at him, the ones that hovered within the smoke the night of Sam’s vengeful attack on those who had burned his home. The eyes of the Dark One, the eyes of Cain.

  After a few more days, Sam felt healthy enough to travel. The group packed their few belongings and started towards the village they had discovered after the blizzard had cleared. The sleepy town of Greenoch was little more than a gathering place where the independent farmers could sell their excess harvests each year to travelling merchants and produce vendors who came from Lochmare. Recently there was more activity than normal as the Lochkary Royal Army had created stations where the independent farmer’s wares were gathered and inventoried before sent on to the capital in an attempt to stem the tide of famine that was beginning to creep through the kingdom. The outlying provinces had been supplied with enough food to last them through the winter, but Lochmare’s residents, having no ability to produce food themselves, were in danger of starving halfway through the coldest months. Every grain of rice and stock of corn was precious.

  The army had been sent in to maintain a peaceful collection of food. Where Cortendale was used to having most of their harvests collected every year in order to feed the capital, the independent farmers of the central province were used to selling anything they could afford to call excess. Having their food stores plundered without so much as a copper piece from the government was angering the locals so much that there was a real danger of riots starting in little towns like Greenoch. The only thing keeping the food collectors safe from public beatings were the heavily armed soldiers standing close by.

  As Sam and his companions walked the busy, snow covered cobblestone streets of Greenoch, David noticed an influx in the number of soldiers present in the city. “Did something happen in the last couple days I’m not aware of?”

  “It looks like they moved another company in,” Nathan observed “Things must be getting worse.”

  “So laying the hammer down is going to solve it?” April remarked, rolling her eyes, “That’s only going to breed more discontent.”

  “The kingdom is in crisis,” Nathan sent her a disapproving glance.

  “The capital is in crisis,” April corrected, eyeing him with a glare of her own, “And when the capital tightens its belt, it’s the provinces who feel the squeeze.”

  Before an argument could start between them, Haven stepped between her brother and the auburn haired rogue. “I’m starving! Where can we find some food?”

  Sam pulled an apple from his pack and passed it towards her, “Here you can have this…”

  Suddenly a burly hand clasped onto Sam’s wrist. A large, armor clad soldier had a tight grip on Sam’s gauntlet. “All food must be turned in at a collection station, citizen!”

  “Let go of me!” Sam said, pulling back on his arm in an attempt to break the soldier’s hold.

  Ashtock stepped forward; slamming his monstrous fist into the soldier’s suddenly shocked face. The soldier fell to the ground and the crowd parted like a receding wave around the travelers. David rolled his eyes, “Here we go again.”

  Soldiers began to appear from every direction. They swarmed the group, weapons brandished. Nathan stepped forward, his arms raised high. “Stand Down! I am Captain Nathaniel Whitespell of the Royal Guard; these people are not a threat!”

  An armored soldier with a red cape and riding a horse came galloping up towards them, the horse’s iron shoes echoing throughout the hushed streets. “You’re a long way from the palace, Captain,” The mounted soldier jeered.

  Nathaniel crossed his arm over his chest in salute, recognizing the armored man’s rank. “Colonel, Sir. With respect, these people are not farmers. They are travelers with their own personal stocks of food.”

  The Colonel looked over the group, noticing the mix of weapons, cloaks, and armors. Sam imagined how ragtag he and his friends looked compared to the shiny and uniformed soldiers. It was then the Guardian noticed that the Colonel was fixing his eyes on him and him alone. “Who are you?”

  “Samuel Gale, from Cortendale,” He responded.

  “Guardian of the Wind,” April added, trying to gain some sort of high ground over the soldiers.

  The Colonel’s eyes widened. “Guardian of the Wind?
Is that true?”

  Sam shot April a look, and then turned back to the Colonel. “Yes Sir, that is true.”

  The Colonel’s face turned back to a grim expression. “Bring them to my camp,” he spurred his horse. “Take their weapons.”

  The soldiers pounced on them at the order, taking every sword, dagger, quiver, and other assorted weapon from them. When one guard brandished iron shackles, Nathaniel again stood between the soldiers and his travelling companions, but it was Sam who calmed things this time. “Nathan, it’s alright. You’ve already risked too much of your career for us. Besides, I’m starting to get used to this sort of thing…”

  Sam presented his wrists to the soldiers and the others, albeit reluctantly, followed his example. The villagers looked on as whispers started circulating through the crowd. Sam and his companions were led through the throngs of people towards a cluster of white tents on the far end of town.

  * * *

  Sam had been left standing in the large command tent with nothing more than “Colonel Miller will be with you shortly.”

  Bear skin rugs and hearths were strewn about to keep the living space comfortable in the winter months. A large table with troop placements dominated the central area, but Sam could see other living amenities behind a wooden divide in the far corner. It was clear the Colonel not only led from this room, but lived here as well. Two soldiers stood guard at the entrance, their eyes trained on the Guardian as if he would attack at any moment. What rumors had they heard, he wondered, to warrant such treatment? Did they have orders to kill should they deem him a threat? Sam stood as still as possible, not wanting to find out.

  Colonel Miller, the mounted commander who had ordered his capture, entered and began removing some of his cold weather clothing. “So, the rumors are true…” He said, removing his gloves and placing them on the central table.

  The man was aged from what Sam could tell. Either through the mounting years or the stress of command, Miller had graying hair mixed in with his black strands. He was athletic, but not overly so, with a strong jaw and dominating eyes. The man was not much taller than Sam was. “What rumors are those, Sir?” Sam asked as he watched the Colonel move about the room.

  Miller leaned against the table and examined the boy. “That there was someone riding through the provinces playing hero.”

  “I wouldn’t say that’s what I’m doing,” Sam shook his head. “If that is the word being spread, it is not coming from me or my friends.”

  “Really?” Miller argued. “Your companion was quick to profess your title within earshot of the townsfolk.”

  “That was because you thought we were thieves,” Sam responded. “Had your guard not assaulted me, we would have passed through this settlement without incident.”

  Colonel Miller squinted, as if he was still studying Sam’s credibility. “Yes well, incidents tend to surround you, don’t they?”

  Sam had no response. He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. Miller never took his eyes off of him. “Whoever you are, you’re lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Sam repeated.

  “Had we not been told of your arrival; you might be sitting in a jail cell right now awaiting trial,” Miller waved to one of the soldiers and the guard stepped forward, twisting a key into the iron shackles and releasing Sam’s wrists.

  Sam massaged his forearms and looked at the Colonel quizzically as the leader moved to the far end of the table. “It was all for show?”

  “Tensions are high in this area, young man. I must appear to have everything under control at all times. An appearance of a third party, no matter how outlandish his claim, could cause the locals to question that control,” Miller looked over the table, reading reports left for him on pieces of parchment.

  “But you were told I was coming?” Sam asked.

  “The Dark One isn’t the only one with a network of spies. My command issued a warning about a blue haired man causing a stir in the southern province and told us to be on the lookout. We were to detain on sight and await further instructions.”

  “So I am a prisoner,” Sam sighed. It was depressing how used to this treatment he was getting.

  “You are a guest. However you want to interpret it,” the Colonel looked at him.

  “And my friends?”

  “Sitting comfortably in a tent nearby, when we are finished here you will be escorted to them,” Miller turned back to the table. “I ask you to remain there until I send for you.”

  Sam knew better than to think that was a simple request. He was being imprisoned, albeit comfortably, for the time being. “What can I expect?”

  “You can expect to take orders, son,” Miller responded.

  Sam walked forward and placed his hands on the table across from the stoic commander. “I’m not one of your soldiers, Colonel.”

  Miller turned and stared straight into Sam’s eyes. The Guardian could see that the Colonel was a man undeterred by complications. He stood rigid, confident, and professional. “No, you’re not. You are however, a citizen of this kingdom. As such, during a time of war, I can detain you until the three moons turn to dust if I damn well feel like it. I would suggest you take my hospitality while I still offer it. The stockades, I hear, are far less comfortable.”

  The two men stared each other down for a few tense moments, the soldiers at the door shifting uneasily. Sam eventually stood back from the table, visibly frustrated. “Then I shall take my leave.”

  “You do that,” Miller looked back at the table.

  Sam stormed out of the tent with the soldiers in tow. It would seem his negotiations with the capital were going to be much more difficult than he had originally thought.

  * * *

  That night, in a tent much like the command structure Sam had been in earlier, the group sat around a fire eating a meal in silence. There had not been much discussion after Sam had relayed what he had been told by Colonel Miller. Everyone knew they were being held captive, but escaping didn’t seem like a smart idea. A wall of soldiers stood between them and anywhere close to freedom. Besides, Sam needed to see the king, and becoming a public enemy of the kingdom was not the way to get King Jeremy on his side. All they could do was wait and see what the capital decided to do with them.

  Nathaniel had been the most frustrated with the matter. For a man who was used to calling the shots, his rank didn’t seem to amount to much around here. The guards let him walk freely about the camp out of respect for his position, but the Colonel and his staff refused to meet with him when he tried to plead for Sam and the other’s release. Moreover, Nathan was getting the sinking feeling he had been blacklisted amongst the military, because soldiers refused to meet his gaze when speaking, avoided walking near him amongst the rows and columns of tents, and gave him the run-around when it came to accessing tactical plans of the war’s progress in the north. Now he paced like a caged animal, despite calls from his sister and the others to sit and eat with them.

  One by one, the group began to fall asleep. Bundled close to the fire for warmth, the relative peace brought on by the stillness of the winter night helped most find rest - all except Sam.

  The Guardian sat by the fire, the same place he had maintained since his meeting with Colonel Miller, all the while feeling along the scar over his eye. The eyes. Sam thought to himself. Always the eyes. He didn’t notice Dinaer move closer to him from behind. “Nightmares?” Dinaer asked in his dark and raspy voice.

  Sam nodded, not surprised at the elf’s insomnia. He was starting to understand it since the mark. Dinaer had been captured and tortured by Cain; no doubt his nightmares were far worse. “I can’t get the eyes out of my head.”

  Dinaer sat beside him in front of the fire. “That is the Dark One’s influence. He pours malice into your thoughts, poisoning your dreams.”

  “Just the dreams?” Sam asked, somewhat scared of the answer.

  “More…” Dinaer turned his head towards the man, “If you let him.”

  Sam sighed. “
So he does aim to corrupt me.”

  “Cain corrupts all things he touches, and his reach is long.”

  Sam slammed his fist into his hand. “I won’t let him. I won’t let him take control of me.”

  Dinaer nodded solemnly. “You are brave, but the Dark One is patient. He will wait, and prod, and provoke. He will find your weakness and when he has made you stumble, that is when he will take control.”

  “He’s already taken what I hold most dear, and it only reinforced my resolve,” Sam said confidently.

  “Yes, but with help,” Dinaer warned. “What happens when he takes even that away?”

  They both looked over to where April and Haven were sleeping, Sam’s strongest assets when it came to his emotional state of mind. If either of them got hurt… Sam didn’t want to think about it. Dinaer knew precisely what Sam was thinking. “The more people you surround yourself with, the more danger you put them in.”

  “So I go it alone?” Sam asked. “I don’t think I could do this without them.”

  Dinaer shook his head. “I am not the Guardian, I do not decide the path. Only you can choose what is best. I only provide you with perspective. It is not only your life you gamble, human.”

  Sam sighed as Dinaer rose to walk away. “People will continue to die, Samuel Gale. That much is certain. How many… is up to you.”

  With that the elf was gone, slipping past the sleeping guards and into the moonlit night. Sam wasn’t worried about the elf being caught, he worried more about the message he had relayed. More would die? Could he live with that guilt? He wasn’t sure he was even handling those deaths he had been responsible for already. Sam laid his head down and watched the fire’s coals flicker until sleep overtook him.

  The Eyes, always the eyes plagued his dreams.

  * * *

  Sam was shaken awake by Nathaniel who roused the Guardian as gently as he could. “Colonel Miller has sent for you.”

  Sam rubbed his eyes open. “Did he say why?”