Arn awoke to a dull distant rumbling. The damp stone wall behind him vibrated, the floor too. At first his mind struggled to make sense of his surroundings - the complete darkness of the cell blurred the line between sleep and waking. The vibrations grew more intense and Arn jerked his hand from the floor but still felt them on his back and legs. He got up to his feet and looked about, a defeated chuckle escaped him. ¡°It¡¯s dark, what am I going to see?¡± he whispered.
The rumbling was now close enough for Arn to pinpoint - it came from the wall opposite him. The vibrations continued to grow. There were no guesses in his mind as to what may be causing this, he knew of no beast or phenomenon that might explain his experience. He tried to convince himself that it was a dream, but the falling dust and small pebbles bouncing off his head disproved that theory. Arn blinked at the darkness, his heart pounded, sweat ran down his back. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die here,¡± he whispered.
Faint silvery light shone across from him, it grew in intensity and spread through the cracks between the rocks of the wall. It soon became too strong for his eyes and Arn had to cover them. The rocks rumbled thunderously, he heard some of them crack and creak. Arn feared that the wall would explode and shower him with rocks, he crouched and made himself small for all the good that would do. Just as he watched, a dull thud shuddered the wall, followed by another, then another. One of the rocks fell to the ground. He closed his eyes, redying himself. A thunderous blast erupted and Arn felt the shockwave together with small pebbles and dust which left shallow gashes on his skin.
Complete silence fell, only his heart pounded furiously in his chest. He heard footsteps. Where were the rocks, he wondered, why didn¡¯t they hit him when the wall exploded? He peaked through one eye and jumped, hitting the back of his head against the wall. A large rock floated in midair mere inches from him. More rocks floated all through the cell, backlit by the silvery light. Arn gawked at the surreal scene until his eyes fell upon a figure standing in the newly made opening.
¡°I think you saw them - I said, ''don''t see them'' but you did see them,¡± he heard the familiar voice. The man walked into the cell and dusted off his robes.
¡°De''al?¡± Arn whispered, ¡°what in the name of Elar''Saga?¡±
¡°They watch - but not you, to see is theirs,¡± De¡¯al said.
¡°H-how?¡± Arn stuttered ¡°w-what?¡± he looked around at the rocks hovering in midair, they moved away from De''al as he walked.
¡°Too early,¡± the man said.
¡°Too early?¡±
¡°Yes - we haven''t met. You don''t remember,¡± he replied.
¡°We''ve met...you''re De''al, I know you!¡± Arn said.
¡°You''ve met me then; I now refer to the not yet - whom you have yet to meet.¡±
¡°That doesn''t make any sense..." Arn said, then waved at the rocks "how?"
De''al came closer to Arn and sniffed him¡± fruity!" he said.
"What? what are you doing?"
"Fruity smoke hangs about your clothes, but crisp and clear your mind appears," De''al said. He walked the perimeter of the cell and touched the door as he passed it.
¡°That''s just the smoke from her pipe.¡±
"Just smoke, yes - but more. Yet to you it is just smoke. That is in proper order. Good."
"What are you - can you free me? Can I come with you through there?" Arn pointed at the opening.
¡°Rana is watching!¡± De¡¯al cut in ¡°always!¡± he came closer to Arn and their eyes met. ¡°She and others,¡± he whispered, covering his mouth with one hand.
¡°This is not real¡± Arn muttered ¡°I lost it - I am seeing things.¡±
¡°No no no!¡± De¡¯al whispered ¡°they!¡± he said and grabbed Arn by the shoulders ¡°they are seeing! You¡± he paused ¡°you don¡¯t see yet - no no, not yet.¡± he released Arn and took a few steps away. ¡°Not yet, no - you don¡¯t see, but they see.¡± De¡¯al continued to mumble and Arn couldn¡¯t understand his words anymore.
It¡¯s hunger, I am too hungry, and I am hallucinating - rocks don¡¯t float! Arn pushed against one of the rocks and it floated back a short way.
"Come with me. It is time for you to see," De''al said and started towards the hole he made in the cell wall.
"You''re not real...this is a dream,"
"Dream, this is not a dream. You had a dream before, in the forest, this is not."
"How - how do you know about that?"
"Come! you must follow - must see, you can see where they can''t, but where they see you shouldn''t yet."
Arn watched De¡¯al disappear into the passage. He looked around the cell, rocks still floated about, and dust hung in the air. Shafts of the silvery light bathed the small dark room and it almost looked majestic. It must be a dream, he told himself, but stood up nevertheless. ¡°We must go!¡± he heard De¡¯al¡¯s voice, growing distant now.
What was he waiting for? Rana had no plans of letting him go, this was his chance. Even if it were a dream, he might at least enjoy the open sky and fresh air. What if it were a trick? He wondered, what if Rana set this up as a trap? Arn shook his head. No, it couldn¡¯t be, it just couldn¡¯t. Deep down he knew that this had nothing to do with Rana.
¡°I¡¯m coming!¡± he yelled.
The passage was unnaturally round and straight. Ambient silver light softly illuminated the two feet of stone that made up his cell. Beyond that the passage walls were through solid ground. Roots hung above his head; some thick and gnarly, while others thin and willowy. He spotted De¡¯al nearly a hundred feet ahead and hurried to catch up to the man.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
They walked in silence for nearly an hour until Arn saw a small point of daylight far in the distance. He looked at De''al but the man was moving his lips and whispering unintelligibly. Was this man real, was the tunnel real? Could he be dreaming this?
"Do you have a Tjoreal?" he asked De''al.
"Tjoreal, no not that, not now. I was under the eyes, but I am seen no longer." he said.
"What eyes?¡±
¡°Shh! Silence, they see and hear both.¡±
Arn frowned. ¡°How did you do this?"
"Unseeing you are at present - but you don''t yet know, too early."
Arn stopped himself from asking more questions, he couldn¡¯t understand the man anyay. They soon approached the distant light and the ground sloped upwards. The light grew large enough to be an opening. We''re almost out! Arn thought with excitement.
Arn had to shield his eyes at first despite the overcast sky. After days in the darkness even this was too much for him. When he could finally see properly, he realized that they were in a forest. Tall pine trees stood all around them and untouched snow covered the ground. There was no sign of the city, not a smell nor a sound. He looked at De''al, who looked back, then started walking again. Arn followed.
"Am I free? Where are we?"
"Come." De''al said.
Arn felt a pull, a sensation in his gut that manifested in his thoughts as well. He wanted to walk towards it, to follow De''al. He looked around but saw nothing but trees. A distant deep croak echoed through the woods, followed by a few others. It soon faded.
"What was that? Ravens?"
"Perhaps, but I don''t know, I heard nothing but the wind and trees," De''al replied.
"Just now...never mind." Arn said. He stared into the distance, not knowing their destination yet feeling something pulling at him to go on. A pale green and blue light shimmered among the trees. Arn stopped and looked at it, his heart beat faster and a small part of him wanted to go back to the cell.
"What is that?" he asked, motioning to the light.
"Welcome to the sighted," De''al said.
The light grew as they approached. Arn noticed a grey skeleton in the distance. It must have been a deer, but it looked old, very old. How''d it stay uncovered and exposed to the beasts and elements, he wondered. Soon, the light stretched dozens of feet in each direction, like a wall, or a dome of some sort. De''al stopped when they were about twenty feet away. Arn looked around and saw another skeleton, this one of a predator judging by the skull, and in similar condition to the others - he''d seen at least seven or eight as they approached.
"What are these?" he asked.
"The skeletons? They are part of your sight, they come from there," he pointed at the light.
It didn''t make much sense to Arn, but his thoughts were overcome by the light. It mesmerized him, and the longer he looked the more details he saw. The colours shimmered in waves and he caught glimpses of a honeycomb lattice, though when he looked directly at it the dome seemed a hazy blur before him. Arn felt a hand on his shoulder, De''al had stopped him. Why''d he do that? Arn wondered.
"Not so fast."
"I can hear it," Arn said and turned back to the light, it was closer now. When did he come closer to it?
"You should rather say that it can speak to you," De''al said and tightened his grip, then pulled Arn back.
Arn tried to resist, but his body was uncertain whether to obey the light or De''al. A faint voice within him whispered to let De''al guide him. He chose to follow it despite the beautiful sight ahead. They stepped away from the light, back nearly fifty feet. Arn felt a weight lessen, and his own thoughts became louder and clearer.
"What was it?" Arn asked.
"I don''t know, but you need to see it, and you need to see them too."
"The skeletons?"
"No, look ahead of you."
Arn looked towards the light but saw nothing beyond the undulating colours and the pale lattice they formed. He squinted and changed his eyes'' focus, but nothing appeared. Then, a slight disturbance in the snow, just mere feet ahead of the shimmering light, caught his attention. It moved slowly towards him, not footsteps exactly, but a thing which makes its way forward. Arn recoiled and took a step back.
"You see it? No, perhaps not." De''al said.
"Can you?" Arn asked.
"We aren''t here for my sake, at least not as far as your concern extends."
Arn noticed the change in De''al - the man spoke clearer and with more certainty. What was causing it? The light? He was almost certain that De''al could see whatever was approaching them. The thing came slowly, at least judging by the slight path it made in the snow. It covered half the distance between them. Arn''s heart raced. Goosebumps washed over him, rising along his neck and back in waves. Panic bloomed in his belly, a cold empty sensation.
"We - we should go," Arn said.
"Good."
"What''s good? I don''t know what this is, but it feels wrong, it''s dangerous, we need to go!" Arn stepped back. The path in the snow moved faster, accelerating with each of Arn''s steps.
"Can you stop it? Is it after me?" Arn yelled.
De''al turned to Arn and watched him carefully. His uncharacteristically clear eyes felt to Arn as questioning orbs which pierced him through. De''al raised an arm and Arn saw a faint wave, like the disturbance above a fire, move towards the invisible thing which was coming to them. The thing in the snow stopped.
"We met earlier than I had expected," he said.
"What?"
"You''ve taken but a handful of steps on a long journey, and seemingly a shortcut or two."
"I don''t understand what you''re saying!" Arn said, "can we please leave?"
Out of the corner of his eye Arn saw more movement. Several disturbances at once moved out of the light. They all came at them, slowly yet steadily. De''al broke his eye contact immediately.
"Perhaps we should leave," he said.
As the two of them stepped back, the snow moved faster, whith each step it accelerated.
"Stop them!" Arn yelled, but De''al was shaking his head. "Why did you bring me here?" Arn yelled.
Just then a gust of wind blew between them and the phantoms. Another gust followed, snow rose from the ground and flew upon the wind. With each second it blew faster, picking up more snow and small debris. It was then that Arn noticed the silhouettes the snow made above the disturbances.
"Are these people? What the pit is this?"
"We are fortunate," De''al said "come, run!"
Arn didn''t need to be told twice. He followed De''al, and looked back at the phantoms, they still stood in the wind, unmoving. Soon they were gone, and he no longer heard the gusts, but De''al didn''t stop. They ran all the way to the passage from which they came. De''al reached it first and beckoned Arn to enter.
"I am not going back!" Arn said upon realizing what was taking place.
"It is not the time! Mine isn''t the hand which takes you to freedom."
"Yes, it is! I am already free - look!" Arn motioned all around them.
"Free you say, then what were we running from?"
"That''s, that''s not," Arn said then looked back, "there is no one, we ran away, we lost them."
De''al shook his head and the spark in his eyes dimmed, no longer quite as sharp as it were when they just reached the shimmering dome. He came upon Arn quickly, too fast, and grabbed him by the shoulder in a powerful grip.
"Too soon! You are but barely sighted - too soon!" he said in a harsh voice and pulled Arn into the passage. Arn did his best to resist but it made no more difference than resisting an ox. How is he so strong? In Elar''Saga''s name, what is this? He struggled while De''al dragged him through the passage, he looked back and watched the daylight dim and shrink in the distance. In a last-ditch effort Arn channeled his inner Esarel to his feet and willed himself to stand fast. The energy flowed through his body and into his legs, then right into the ground. Arn stopped, his feet rooted to the earth, he looked at De''al''s bewildered face. The man was confused but only for a moment.
"Fruity sees," he hissed at Arn, "she awaits - but another finger of the hand comes too!" he jerked Arn once, twice, and on the third his feet left the ground in a small explosion of earth. "Another step you take!" De''al exclaimed, "your path continues, and soon we''ll meet." Arn struggled, he tried to root himself again but could no longer muster the will. De¡¯al had barely noticed his attempts and kept on dragging him back into the cell. While ineffective, his efforts exhausted him.
"Freedom comes upon your path, you must see before we meet, I left, soon I will be gone..." De''al kept repeating until Arn lost consciousness again.
Chapter 12 : Freedom
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Chapter 13 : Home Sweet Home
Could he not? Could he say nothing? Judging by the intensifying smell of horse and the clopping of many a hoof, they had finally reached the coach house. His heart raced faster than before. Arn held out a hand in front of himself and watched it tremble. What is the matter with me? I¡¯m just going home, he thought and clenched the hand into a fist. It still trembled. The door of his carriage opened, and he saw a large group of people - most were his relatives and some of the city constables, trying to keep the peace.
Great, this is great, this is so great. Great. Could Arn stay in the carriage until they all left? How long would it take for them to give up? Hours, days? Who am I kidding? They will never leave. I will starve to death first. Arn took a few deep breaths and stepped out of the carriage.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
¡°I won¡¯t have this! Let me¡,¡± he heard his mother¡¯s voice, ¡°let me through, right this moment!¡± A city constable tried to stop her. The man moved to block her passage but stopped short of physically restraining the woman when he saw Arn¡¯s father¡¯s glare.
She harrumphed and charged him with the intensity of a mother bear - the constable, having never seen such behaviour before, jumped out of the way and then glanced one last time at Arn¡¯s glaring father.
In moments, Arn¡¯s two parents were upon him - his mother hugging the lights out of him and his father shooting death glares at any who dared approach - including the other relatives. I can do this, he thought. He saw tears in his mother¡¯s eyes.
¡°It¡¯s ok,¡± he said ¡°can we go? It¡¯s ok,¡± he tried to calm her.
¡°I knew,¡± she whispered. ¡°I should never have let them. I knew something would go wrong!¡±
¡°Nyra, everything is well now. We are whole again. Come,¡± his father comforted her, ¡°come, let us leave this noise,¡± he said, pushing people out of the way as they passed.
Arn glanced about and watched his cousins, aunts, uncles - the entire extended family. They ogled and whispered and pointed. When he spotted his uncle Doren and aunt Vena, the two avoided his gaze. Arn watched them briefly as he and his parents passed through the crowd. His grandparents were absent - thankfully. They will probably ambush me at home, he realized.
Arn and his parents had finally reached their clan house. To Arn¡¯s relief, the crowds had thinned quickly, and none bothered them most of the way home. News travels fast in Nysaros, but thankfully this news at least took care not to overtake Arn. His home¡¯s familiar sights, smells, and sounds overwhelmed Arn, and he followed his parents mechanically the entire way to his room.
Arn walked in, saw the bed and the armoire, the small wooden desk in the corner, and a pile of his old toys. He felt dizzy and sat down. His parents remained in the room. His younger sister Sarhaa briefly peaked into his bedroom, but Arn¡¯s parents sent her off.
The three of them sat in silence for several minutes, and Arn thought perhaps they¡¯d just let it all get back to normal. They might ignore it all, and life could continue as if nothing happened. No Rana, De¡¯al, or even Ossagar.
¡°Nyra, we should give him time. Let him feel at home,¡± his father said.
¡°He may need something - do you need anything, Arn?¡± his mother said as she turned to him.
Arn shook his head and laid on his bed, his legs still hanging off its edge. ¡°Look at him. We must do something. I can¡¯t watch him like this,¡± his mother said. Arn covered his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Maybe they¡¯ll leave, he thought.
¡°I know Nyra, but believe me, he needs time.¡±
Arn¡¯s mother stood up and looked at him. He felt her gaze upon him. He wanted them to leave, but they stayed anyway. Arn was happy that they did.
¡°Mom?¡± he nearly whispered.
¡°Yes, Arn?¡±
¡°I never got to finish the mushrooms you gave me. Do we have any left?¡±
¡°Yes, yes, of course, we do! Move, Atrel, let me get the mushrooms,¡± she pushed past Arn¡¯s father, who smiled, though Arn still lay with his hands over his eyes and didn¡¯t see it. Soon Nyra returned with the mushrooms and a few other things besides - she brought biscuits and other dried foods and a pot of aromatic tea. Then, as though she could read his mind, and with great difficulty - he could tell - she let him be.
¡°Come, Atrel, let¡¯s let him rest and eat. He will feel better soon,¡± she said, and together with his father, they left the room, leaving the door partially open. Arn took a deep breath and observed his own room. It seemed entirely too cluttered now. Too much of everything. Did he ever need these - things? Just then, the aromatic tea drew his attention back to the food. The scent reminded him of Rana¡¯s fruity tobacco smoke. A small part of him missed that scent and even the relief at seeing her in the dark cell, at no longer being alone. He reminded himself that he was back home now, that his family was all there.
He couldn¡¯t get her words out of his mind. Despite all she did, he couldn¡¯t ignore everything he¡¯d learned. And then there was De¡¯al. Arn didn¡¯t have the energy to think about De¡¯al just then. He couldn¡¯t bring himself to parse the bizarre speech, nor the man¡¯s strange powers.
Was De¡¯al real? Did he dream of seeing the strange man? He knew Rana was real. With great effort, Arn wrestled himself away from that particular bucket of wrigglers. He picked up a mushroom in one hand and a biscuit in the other and looked at them for a long moment. Memories flashed in his mind. He recalled looking forward to returning from the mission and telling everyone how safe the border towns were. Arn laughed despite himself. Nothin was ever going to be the same, that much he knew.
Chapter 14 : Charmcrafting
Three months have passed.
"What news from the cave dweller?" Doren asked when Arn walked into the dining hall.
The man wore a mischievous grin that quickly faded when no one took the bait. Arn stared off blankly as he walked to the table and sat down - as far from Doren as possible. He''d developed the habit of receding into his thoughts after the events three months ago. Rana''s and De''al''s words repeatedly played in his mind, never producing anything new, yet he always returned to the memories. In doing so, Arn often ignored his surroundings and that included people as much as objects.
In this instance, though, Arn simply didn''t want to respond to his least favourite uncle. Doren always sought things to poke at, ways to aggravate people - the man was insufferable.
"Are you awake?" Doren said and chuckled, then looked at everyone else around the table. No one reacted. "I''ve asked you a question, boy!" he went on.
Now that the man was getting mad, Arn had to continue ignoring him. It wasn''t a choice, really, just the way things had to be. Doren didn''t have to call Arn names, and if he didn''t speak to Arn at all, it would be a blessing.
Besides, Arn didn''t have time for this. He was just thinking of the latest scroll he''d read at the Nysaros Archives Vault. In the past three months, Arn had mentored under a historian in Nysaros and recently earned the right to access the forbidden scrolls. ''Earned'' may have been a stretch - Mallory, his mentor, had a habit of leaving Arn to himself for days. "You''ve earned the right to perform your duties independently," the portly man said, but Arn knew the truth - the man spent most of his time at the Inn on the outskirts of Nysaros looking for stories from newcomers. During one such day, Arn dared venture into the forbidden section and has continued doing so ever since. To his surprise, the metal gate wasn''t even locked - just jammed from apparent disuse. He pushed hard against it, and the gate creaked open. Arn''s heart leapt. He was sure someone had heard - but no one came. No one ever came to the vaults aside from Mallory and himself.
Arn couldn''t stop thinking about the casual mention of someone diverting enough rocks to cover sixty feet of a road. He had to read more of the scrolls to find similar accounts - what if Rana gave him a fake scroll, a forgery? Doren, meanwhile, had moved on to another victim.
Alas, of all the scrolls he managed to access that were also written in the common tongue, most contained records that proved the authenticity of Rana''s scroll. He almost wished that she was lying. Life would be so much simpler. Now though, now he couldn''t stop thinking about it.
"Hey! Arney! Can you hear me?" his little sister''s voice broke through his concentration.
"Yes, what?"
"How is your mentorship? Did you like it better here or back there, in the other town?"
"It''s fine. It doesn''t matter where it is - I just like not having to look over my shoulder every second," Arn said. Though he still had to do that in the forbidden scrolls section. Sarhaa recoiled a little at his words. He reminded himself that she was only thirteen years old.
"I mean," he started, "I meant that it''s just nicer to be home and not so far from everything, that''s all."
"Yeah," Sarhaa agreed, though her suspiciously narrowed eyes betrayed her real feelings. Nevertheless, she smiled at him and poked at some potatoes on her plate. Arn sighed but let it go.
"Dad, you have nothing else to discuss?" Kenon said sharply.
"I don''t see how it''s any of your business. I''m just pointing out the obvious, and someone has to." Doren said.
"Elar''Saga save us," Vena whispered and touched a hand to her forehead.
"You have nothing to discuss, no other topics besides the one thing we all agreed not to mention?" Kenon said.
"Well, I don''t understand why I shouldn''t mention it!" Doren said.
"Mention away!" Arn cut in, a little louder than he intended. His heart raced, and a fire smoulder in his belly. He felt the sensation more often after his ordeal. The fire was always close, and it waited for a chance to overtake him. "What do you want to know, Uncle? All the grizzly details? Did you want me to describe how they interrogated me? Is that it?"
"See what you are doing, Doren Dar!" Arn''s mother joined the conversation.
"The boy has anger issues, that''s what I see - I''m just asking politely, and he goes off like that - how did you raise him, Nyra?" Doren shot back, and his voice rose to a near shout.
After that, Arn couldn''t quite make out the individual sounds as everyone spoke all at once. He hated that he became the reason for this; he preferred it when other people or events set these shouting matches off.
Arn tuned everything out and returned to his musings about the scrolls. Each of the Inspectorate agents that appeared in the history tomes had some training in Charmcrafting. The detail didn''t stand out initially, not until he considered changing his apprenticeship to something more exciting than reading. The tomes and scrolls contained only the historical accounts but no explanations, so he had limited means of uncovering the reasons behind the things he learned. He did, however, note that Charmcrafting was less of a unique profession and more of a point of esteem in the older records. It was almost equated with overall prowess - what a strange concept, he thought. Perhaps if he took up the craft, he''d learn more about the Inspectorate and eventually figure out how to make another Tjoreal. Besides, even today, a Charmcrafter was a well-respected figure in society. Oh, Elar''Saga, how am I going to remake the bloody thing? He cringed. Thus far, Arn managed to avoid either using or talking about the Tjoreal, but he knew that it couldn''t last forever.
"Arn!"
"What?" he realized that everyone had left, and Sarhaa alone was staring at him.
"Are you ok?"
"Stop asking me that. I am fine."
"You just blanked out most of the breakfast."
"I need to go back to the archives. See you tonight at the great hall."
"Oh, alright."
"I''m sorry, I just have a lot on my mind."
"It''s ok."
"Yeah, it''s ok."
"Well, I have to go too, so bye."
Arn winced. He kept unintentionally hurting people lately, but he couldn''t help it, his mind simply wandered too much, and he couldn''t keep his thoughts off the archives. So once more, he put all his worries aside and left for the vault.
Evening came quickly - almost too quickly. He''d only just put down his first scroll - or was it second? Suddenly it was time to attend the dinner ceremony at the great hall. Since his return, Arn learned to appreciate the little things. He glanced at the scholar''s table, he''d never even noticed it before, but now all he could see were young people sitting awkwardly, uncertain where to look.
Traditional tables at the great hall were round and made of thick wood. At their center was a fire pit layered with rocks to serve as insulation. The rocks heat up quite a bit, and where they touched the wood, it blackened. Today a small fire crackled, and Arn stared into it as he thought. The undulating flames mesmerized and drew him in. He felt their warmth and energy, and the fire grew closer in his mind as though reaching out to him. The crackling and popping intensified, and ever taller flames rose in the fire pit. Sweat beaded on his face from the fire''s heat, and he noticed with a start that everyone was looking at the flames, perplexed and worried expressions upon their faces. Arn shook his head, and the peculiar reverie broke, the fire diminished to its previous state. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
"What was that?" Sarhaa asked.
"Must have been a draft or something," Arn replied. The tension melted away as the murmur of voices around them grew. No one seemed to be overly concerned. Arn wondered what had just happened - was it his doing?
"I, for, one couldn''t wait for winter when I was a girl," his grandmother said. "I used to love skiing and tobogganing. Don''t know if I can do it now, though," she added and winked at Arn.
His great uncle Sead chuckled, "ah, but those were good days," he said. "Why. I recall little Vena, Leod, and Patos, together with your Nyra, practically begging to go out into the woods and ski and sled. The memory brings me warmth and comfort it does."
"Weren''t we all like that once?" Goren, Arn''s grandfather, said. "You know, Tena, before we met, when I still was a young boy in the Hillsnow clan, my brothers and sisters and I used to beg our parents to take us out into the forest. Nothing quite like the open air and the wild woods."
All of the elders of the clan smiled and nodded at each other. Even Doren kept quiet. That was amazing, Arn thought. He was always impressed with the quiet authority that his grandparents carried. One day he hoped to match it, though he knew of no path to reach that goal.
"History helps us remember our roots," Sead said. "Without it, we know not where we come from, and a path must always be between two points, you see." All nodded, though Arn suspected not everyone agreed or understood quite what Sead meant. He wasn''t sure himself, though the sentiment seemed wise.
"Who knows, perhaps in time, I''ll teach you the craft of my golems that help make the stories come alive." At that, Arn''s eyes widened. Sead always kept secret the manner of his dolls that he used when telling the old tales. Arn thought that it was some sort of magic that his great uncle performed with the Tjoreal. But, having learned all that he did recently, he wasn''t so sure. What are golems? He wondered.
"Sead, we should take care to keep our words," Arn''s grandmother said, "this talk is better had at the clan house."
"True, Tena Elo," Sead agreed and bowed his head lightly.
"Do I have to continue being a Historian for that?" Arn asked.
"Well, that depends, but perhaps we discuss later, as your grandmother suggested."
"It''s just that my time at the archives - well, I am not sure that I wish to continue," Arn said.
"No shame in that," Vena said.
"I am not -" Arn started.
"It''s not for everyone, you know - nose in the books and all," his father cut him off. "If you choose the Apothecary path, your grandmother will help you along; she''s quite renowned, you know."
"Oh, no need for all that, Atrel Dar," Tena said. "Arn should be free to choose a path, and we will help in the capacity that we can."
"I haven''t decided yet. I just feel that I want more - more movement, or agency, perhaps."
"You should visit the Heartland," his mother said, "you must see Indarapan - it''s full of such beautiful architecture, and the fields of flowers on the banks of Arngosadar river, nothing quite like it."
"Maybe," Arn replied. He gave little thought to seeing the marvels of Nedreal. Instead, his mind focused on his missing Tjoreal. He hadn''t revealed it yet to anyone, though he knew the day would come when he''ll have to use it. De''al didn''t need one - so Arn thought.
The dinner at the great hall ended, and the family managed to keep the peace until that time. The road back to the clan house wasn''t long; Stonefather residence was quite close to the town''s center, a point of pride, especially for Arn''s mother. On the way, Arn''s grandmother approached him and put a hand on his back.
"There are some things which hold their value even as time passes," she said,
"I know, I know that history is important, but - "
"I don''t mean books and scrolls, though they have a value of their own," she said and smiled at Arn. "We each hold a promise to ourselves, to seek our potential faithfully and fully. Each step on that path gains in value with each breath you take. Each step you miss weighs the more heavily as time passes and youth diminishes."
Arn didn''t have a response to that. He wasn''t sure that he understood it fully, though a sense of a distant epiphany slowly blossomed in him.
"We each view your path from our own treetop, and different branches obscure the vision. So trust your eyes most of all, and heed the council which you deem wise. But don''t forget that each step you take is your own," Mama Elo said.
After that, they walked in silence. Arn heard the rest of the family but couldn''t quite make anything out. His grandmother''s words took up his thoughts until he was back in his room, and even then, they only faded as he fell asleep.
The following day Arn entered the dining hall of the clan house. It was strangely empty with just his parents. He stopped in the doorway and blinked at them. His mother and father were deep in a discussion and didn''t notice him. He sat down next to his mother. She was mildly startled but happy to see him.
"Good morning. Glad to see that you''re breaking fast with us today," she said.
Arn smiled as his father wished him good morning as well. In the last few weeks, he''d often skipped breakfast or took it with him to the archives. There was too much noise around the table with all of his uncles and cousins. They asked so many questions.
"Today is quiet, so why not?" He said.
Sarhaa came into the room with a plate full of baked vegetables, nuts, and mushrooms. She sat down opposite him.
"Hi," Arn said.
"Mofnin," she replied, mouth already stuffed.
"I guess I might as well get my food," Arn said and went to the kitchen. No one spoke as he returned. "Where is everyone?" he asked.
"I thought you''d be glad that they''re away," his father replied.
"Well, yes - but where are they?"
"Your uncles had errands, and your grandparents are at the apothecary shop, something your grandmother needed them for," Arn''s mother said.
He nodded and sat down with a plate quite similar to his sister''s but with more food than she took. The baked vegetables were warm and fragrant, full of savoury spices. He bit into a juicy chunk and slurped as it nearly leaked out. Sarhaa giggled a little. Arn smiled as he chewed.
"So I think I want to study Charmcrafting," he said after they all finished and were having tea.
"Charmcrafting!" his father exclaimed, "that''s quite a shift from historian, isn''t it?"
"Well, sure, yes - but I keep reading about them, you know?"
"I hear people travel quite a bit when they study it. So perhaps you''ll get to visit the Heartland after all," his father replied.
"Oh, if only you knew the beauty of it, you''d have packed your bags, Charmcrafting or no, and ran off to Indarapan," his mother said wistfully.
"Mom likes the Heartland," Sarhaa chimed in. They all laughed.
"Charmcrafting is highly respectable, and it is challenging - I dare say you''ll be tested quite thoroughly before you earn the profession," his father said.
"What do you mean?" Arn replied.
"Alas, it''s not something I can explain - all I can say is that the studies are difficult, trying even. You must be quite certain before you take the path."
"Atrel, don''t scare him. It''s difficult, yes, but he''s young still, and he can always change his mind again," Nyra said.
"Hey, wait a second, I am not changing because being a historian is difficult. I just don''t want it," Arn protested. He leaned back in his seat and glared at his parents.
"No need for that," his father replied. "I''m sure your mother didn''t mean anything aside from reassurance that at any rate, you have a fallback right here with your grandmother."
"Why are we talking about a fallback? You''re so certain that I can''t do it?"
"No, Arn, that''s not what we''re saying," his mother said, her tone softened, and her expression turned to concern. "There are many things to consider which you haven''t seen yet, and having a fallback is a luxury more than a precaution."
"Well, I don''t need either the luxury or the precaution. If I choose to become a Charmcrafter, I will, no matter the trials and whatnot," Arn was on his feet at that.
His parents didn''t understand what he went through. Arn thought that they might have faith in him, but clearly, they still saw him as nothing but a child, one who requires luxury or fallbacks.
"Maybe we should move on from the logistics of the matter. Arn''s right; he''ll manage just fine, Nyra." his father said. Arn, meanwhile, sat back down, feeling somewhat acknowledged.
Arn''s mother looked at his father for a long moment, then relented. "Oh fine," she said, "he''s shown himself to be capable, so there is no cause to doubt him."
Arn looked at them suspiciously. This seemed a little too good to be genuine. Too sharp of a shift from their previous thought process.
"What about Charmcrafting drew your attention?" his father asked.
That wasn''t a question which Arn wished to discuss - in truth, it was Rana''s words and De''al''s abilities, and his destroyed Tjoreal. None of which he told his parents - or even to Ossagar during their ride back. Arn still didn''t trust the man. What could he tell them? Arn suddenly felt the cool metal of his leaf charm that his parents gave him before leaving for the Inspection.
"Metal charms," he blurted out, "so rare, right?"
"Ah, of course," his mother said with a knowing smile on her face. "You inspired the boy," she said to Arn''s father.
"Metal charms," his father said, propping his chin with a hand. "You''d learn about them alright, but it will be a while. They require the highest degree of mastery, you know."
"Where did you get this then?" Arn took out the leaf charm.
His father straightened and chuckled. "This, ah yes, well, it''s an old story. The charm was passed down in our family."
Arn raised an eyebrow. "Like an heirloom?"
"I suppose you could say so - and don''t worry, Sarhaa, we have something for you as well," he said.
"I''m not worried. I don''t need trinkets and praise to feel good about myself." They all stared at her in stunned silence. "What?" she said.
Everyone then burst out laughing, the tension melted away, and Arn had to wipe a tear - he laughed so hard.
Chapter 15 : The Black Warden
Though it was tradition for parents to handle their children''s education, Arn had decided to approach the Small Council himself. He would first discover how the transition between apprenticeships worked and what becoming a Charmcrafting apprentice might entail. He fully intended to arrange the new mentorship before announcing to his parents that his decision was final. Arn didn''t want to give them a chance to try and mess it up for him.
By the time he left the clan house, the sun had already climbed a quarter of its daily route. Winters in Nysaros were vicious, some days were bearable, peaceful even, but all could change in the blink of an eye. One could suddenly find themselves in the midst of a blizzard if they weren''t careful. So he took care to dress appropriately, with a second pair of deer pelt trousers and three pairs of socks. His coat was so big he looked almost round. Dressed that way, Arn needn''t worry about any surprise weather.
Taught by experience, Arn picked up a number from the door guard before entering the Small Council hall. His mood sank upon seeing the receptionist, who appeared so similar to the one from Kalarhan that they could be mistaken for siblings. Unless they were indeed siblings. Arn''s worries were for naught as the receptionist, though resembling his peer, was very accommodating and polite, and the wait for Arn''s appointment wasn''t quite as arduous as he feared.
Arn soon followed the long-nosed man through the hallways of the old building. These were well-tended, with no peeling paint or chipped decorations of any sort. Instead, the walls were adorned with pristine tapestries of Nedreal and the ancient stories of the spirits. They soon arrived at the office of the council member in charge of mentorships and education. The receptionist knocked on the door, peeked in, announced Arn, and left after bidding Arn go inside.
Arn read the name on the door "Beor Sar Whitesteppe - Mentorship and Education." He pushed the door open and entered the office. The differences between Kalarhan and Nysaros continued to grow - the office he entered was clean and well organized. It had a single open window, and a peculiar council device held the cold of the winter at bay, with only the fresh air and muffled sounds passing through.
A middle-aged man sat behind the nearly empty table. He wore dark orange robes with golden frills and sported a short beard. Each hair of the beard lay precisely as it should, and so did the hair on his head, which was peppered with grey at the temples. Behind him and across the entire wall stood wooden shelves with tomes and scrolls and other devices. Arn recognized a light emitter on one of the shelves, with its blue crystal dim at present. A distant croaking sound drew his attention away, and Arn glanced at the open window.
"Come in, Arn - I don''t bite, I promise!" Beor said.
"Thank you, sir," Arn replied and sat on the oversized chair before Beor''s desk. "It''s not what I expected."
"What were you expecting?"
"The other room - in Kalarhan, I mean - it was somewhat less organized."
Beor laughed, and Arn smiled in response. The gesture relieved some of the tension he felt.
"Ah yes, all tease me about it - but what can a man do? A habit is a habit. Enough about me. What can I help you with, young man?"
"I''ve been mentoring with Mallory -"
"Mallory? Mallory Eastbloom? The one from that town in The Heartland?" Beor asked.
"Yes, he is our historian. My parents arranged the mentorship a few months back."
"Ah yes, yes yes, Nyra and Atrel of the Stonefather clan. I remember now. How do you like it then?"
"It''s fine," Arn replied, and Beor chuckled, "It''s fine, but I think my heart isn''t in it."
"Not surprising, I remember you as a child - quite the adventurous spirit," Beor said and smiled. Another distant croaking echoed from the open window. Both of them looked this time.
"Adventurous maybe isn''t the word my family would use," Arn said, "after some thought, I decided to change my mentorship to Charmcrafting."
"Change it to Charmcrafting," Beor said, and his brows raised just a tad.
"Yes."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
"Most unusual," Beor replied and adjusted himself in his seat. He took out a white pipe and some tobacco from a drawer in his desk and prepared it for smoking. He puffed at it, and an inscription on the pipe briefly glowed with a golden light. "What made you choose such a path? Your clan has quite a reputation in Apothecary, and I believe your uncle Leod works at the smithy. So why not follow their routes?"
"I, I don''t know. I wanted to study Charmcrafting."
"You might want to consider it more carefully. It''s not an easy path, I tell you that." Beor said.
Arn took a deep breath. He wasn''t looking for another debate on the matter; this was supposed to be easier. He wondered why people presumed to advise him on issues that were non of their business. Even when these people technically dealt with those issues - still, he wanted them to just do as he asked.
"No need for that, no need for that," Beor said and raised his palms towards Arn - it was then that Arn noticed a golden ring with three triangles, two at the top and one at the bottom, engraved on the otherwise plain surface on one of Beor''s hands. As soon as he saw it, Arn felt the presence of his leaf charm that his father gave him. It didn''t turn cold or warm; he was simply and suddenly aware of it.
"Understand that my job is to make sure that you know what you''re walking into. Charmcrafting is perhaps the longest and most difficult path one can take. You''ll have few supports available and many challenges to face."
Arn furrowed his brows, counterarguments already formed in his mind. Beor continued despite his reaction, "if you''re certain, and your mind''s made, I must tell you that no mentorship is available for Charmcrafting, not here in Nysaros at the least."
"If not here, then where?" Arn asked.
"Naradael, of course. All Charmcrafting apprentices begin at the capital city. The Inspectorate likes to keep a close eye on that particular profession. But what don''t they keep a close eye on, right?"
Arn was taken aback by this, and he wasn''t sure whether the news of Naradael or Beor''s frankness about the Inspectorate was the bigger surprise.
"They," he wallowed and found his throat to be surprisingly dry, "they keep an eye on all things to protect us," Arn said.
"Yes, yes, of course. The Inspectorate protects us and knows best, for it knows more about us than we do ourselves, doesn''t it?" Beor said. He smiled lightly though the gesture didn''t reach his eyes, which now were cold and piercing. A chill ran up Arn''s back, and he sat upright. Beor maintained their eye contact until another croak reached them, then a few more.
"Pesky birds," Beor said. He rose from his seat and closed the window. "An Unkindness by the sounds of it," he said upon returning to his chair.
"An unkindness?" Arn asked.
"Crows."
"The birds?"
"A group of crows are called an unkindness," Beor said. "You''ve met an agent of the Inspectorate, haven''t you. Ossagar, was it?"
Arn flinched. How did Beor know? He then calmed himself, for it must not have been a secret from the council, for they would have known the identity of the man who took Arn to his first Inspection. They work with the Inspectorate, don''t they? He hoped.
"Arn, are you alright?"
"Yes, his name was Ossagar."
"Assuming he is as talkative as the others, you must have a new appreciation of the work they do," Beor said and smiled, a gesture that once again failed to reach his eyes.
"I''ve only met Ossagar, and just for a few days - I''m sure-"
"You''re quite perceptive," Beor cut him off, "don''t downplay your own intellect." That disconcerting smile again. Arn wanted to leave. The desire to do so grew in him with every word Beor spoke. "Anyway," Beor continued, "if you do follow your new path, you''ll see quite a few things for yourself. I am certain of that."
"My mother did tell me of the beauty of The Heartland," Arn said.
"Yes, indeed - I hear Indarapan has many secrets of great beauty, both visual and for other senses. Quite a rich history behind it." Beor watched Arn for a beat. "You''ve had somewhat of an adventure already, didn''t you? Facing one of the chief agents of the Rebel Clans."
"The Rebel Clans?" Arn asked, unable to stop himself. How did this man know so much, and why did he bring it up - all Arn wanted to do was get a mentor for his Charmcrafting. At least, that''s what he wanted earlier - now, all he wanted was to leave.
"Hmm," Beor mused and puffed on his white pipe, "perhaps it isn''t my place to tell you about the hounds - erm - the Rebel Clans, that is," Beor said and smiled. "The Inspectorate has it right, Arn. With the Tjoreal..." he said and paused, watching Arn for a second, "with the Tjoreal, we get access to the power of nature around us. The power we lost centuries ago. But it keeps us safe too - who knows what would happen if one were to access that power without protection, what unbearable trials they may subject themselves to?"
"I, I don''t know, I don''t know about any of this, I was here -" Arn started but was cut off by a town constable who barged into the office.
"My apologies, councilman, but I have word that the Black Warden has been seen!" the man said, breathless from exertion. Arn heard sounds from the hallways - people running and loud voices.
Beor sighed, then rose from his seat. "Come with me, Arn. This isn''t a matter for a young man such as yourself," he said and lead Arn out of the office and through several hallways. People passed them by, some in a hurry, while others less so. They finally reached a large door, which Beor opened and motioned Arn to enter.
"Please stay here with the others. Then, once we are able, we will arrange for your return to your clan house. This is the protocol, I''m afraid," Beor said.
Arn followed the instructions, too overwhelmed to ask any more of Beor. Who is the Black Warden? Why was it such a big deal that he had to be in a safe room? He looked at the other people in the room. All were either very young or very old. The receptionist was there too. Arn sat down on one of the chairs. This was not at all how he expected the day to go - again.
Chapter 16 : Off to The Capital
When Beor left, Arn took in his surroundings. The room looked like a waiting hall, with chairs and couches that could sit a dozen or so people. Currently, there were nine people in the room, primarily elderly, but one other woman looked not much older than Arn. Two of the elderly men spoke in hushed voices, though the size of the room didn''t allow for much private discussion.
"The Black Warden, they say," one of them said.
"I thought he was just stories, the sort one tells the children to stop from misbehaving," the other replied.
"Well, think what you will, but here we are. Real enough to cause all this ruckus!"
"Who do you reckon this fella is? I''ve heard stories of him in my youth, but it couldn''t be the same, could it?"
"Ah yes, so I''ve heard as well. My mother, Elar''Saga bless her soul, she told me of deeds claimed by this Black Warden from her own youth. What will you make of that?"
"Well, it''s certain, isn''t it? How can such a man exist, causing all this mischief for nigh on a century? He''d be older than the two of us!"
"I hear tales that he is one of the immortals," one of them said, quieter than the rest of his words.
"Immortals, you say? What sort of spirits are they?" the other questioned.
"Not spirits of any sort!" the first man said, then leaned close and whispered. Arn had to strain and move a little closer himself, just to hear the end of it.
"Men! Men who gained longer lives than they were given!"
"Shush, you old fool, don''t make such talk!" his friend replied. "You''ll get us both in trouble, and we''re too old by half for any trouble, I say!"
"Well, suit yourself. I''m just telling you what I know."
"Shush! Look over there. The youngster''s been listening! You''ll fill his mind with nonsense too!" the two of them looked at Arn, who immediately looked away and focused on the wall just ahead.
"Hey, young man!" one of them called out. Arn continued to ignore them.
"Young man! Don''t listen to the old fool. He had one too many adventures in his youth if you know what I mean."
The other man exclaimed indignantly and shoved his friend. "I shan''t stand for this foolish talk!"
"Quiet you! I am trying to help, you old ninny!" the first one whispered. The two of them continued to bicker for some time. They didn''t mention The Black Warden again, and neither did anyone else. The lot of them sat in silence, aside from the two men.
Arn let his mind wander. Could the Black Warden be part of the Rebel Clans? He didn''t seem like the sort of character to associate with the Inspectorate, though Arn realized that he knew little of either party. Maybe the warden is a monicker for an agent, and after one got too old, another took his place. Then again, he might not have been real at all, and as the old man thought, a tale to scare children. Though it seemed that he now scared older folk too.
At any rate, Arn hadn''t read anything about him at the archives, so whoever, or whatever this being is, wasn''t known in the pre-revolution days of Nedreal some three hundred years ago. It was then that he recalled Ossagar''s words of the Shepherds and the origins of the Inspectorate. Could this Black Warden be the Shepherd who founded the Inspectorate? In which case, he''d have to be centuries old. There couldn''t be real immortal people, could there? This all began to sound too close to what Rana was showing him.
An hour later, the door to their room flung open, and a different constable entered. He brought word that The Black Warden was far from Nysaros now, and he''d been dealt with besides. So the coast was clear for them all to return.
It was two more hours before Arn arrived at his clan house, escorted by two city constables. People will never let this be, he thought, Nyra''s son getting an escort from the constables. His family won''t let it be.
Sarhaa was the first to greet him. "What did you do?" she asked upon seeing the constables.
"I did nothing. This is for my protection!" Arn said, folding his arms.
"Unless you did something, you wouldn''t need protection!" she replied.
Just then, Uncle Doren came to the door and took in the situation. "Well, I can''t say that this surprises me," he said, smiling broadly.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
"We had a situation, and protocol dictates that all vulnerable people must be escorted to their residences," one of the constables said monotonously.
"Do you possess the authority to receive him safely?" the other asked.
"No one needs to receive me!" Arn protested.
"Shush you!" Doren barked, a severe expression on his face. "You don''t say," he replied to the constable. "I suppose we''ll learn of this through our clan representative at the briefing?"
"That is not for me to say. Perhaps you will. Someone from your clan will be notified." The constable said coldly. "Can you receive him or not?"
"Yes, yes, just be on your way!" Doren replied, frustration and a tinge of indignation in his voice.
"Very well, be safe," the constables said, and both left promptly.
"This looked serious. What happened?" Doren asked Arn. Sarhaa followed them as they entered the clan house. Arn had never seen Doren in such a state. The man usually had a disappointed expression as though Arn had somehow offended him. But now, he seemed genuinely worried.
"They said something about The Black Warden," Arn said once they were in the clan hall.
"The what? I didn''t take our Small Council to be naive children!" Doren replied, his usual character crept back in.
"Who is the Black Warden?" Sarhaa chimed in.
"It''s a myth, told to children to scare them," Doren looked at the two of them for a beat, "well, perhaps not in this clan we don''t. Elar''Saga knows why."
"I heard two old men talk about him, and it did sound like a myth. But then why would the council go to so much trouble?" Arn asked.
Doren rubbed his temples and sighed heavily. "Nyra will kill me if," he whispered, "you best learn it from your own folk. I don''t want anything to do with it," he said finally.
Arn and Sarhaa sat in silence. Uncle Doren didn''t usually concern himself with other people''s reactions. Just then, the entrance door opened, and moments later, his parents entered the clan hall. Arn couldn''t read his father''s expression, though his mother was clearly concerned.
"Good, you two seem to know what''s what," Doren said, then got up and left without another word.
Arn and Sarhaa turned to their parents. "I''m fine," Arn said.
"I don''t know what you were doing at the Small Council, but thank Elar''Saga for that," his mother said, and it was then that Arn noticed the weight of concern lift from her. He looked at his father and saw the same effect take place. Why were they so worried?
"Someone broke into the vaults and destroyed a number of the scrolls from the forbidden section," his father finally said.
The Black Warden came for the scrolls, Arn thought. If he destroyed them, then he can''t be with the Inspectorate - unless it is through him that they perform such acts? This was starting to sound like the conspiracy theories that his grandparents always talked about.
"Arn, are you with us?" his mother asked.
"Yeah, I''m just - I don''t know what to say."
"Why did you go to the Council?" before Arn could reply, his father added, "I am glad you did, son, still, I would know what it was for."
Well, it appears that this is the time I must confront them and be done with it, he decided.
"I went to have a Charmcrafting mentor assigned to me to switch away from history."
His father shook his head. "And how did that work out?"
"Beor is not what I expected of a councilman, but the whole business with the Black Warden was even stranger," Arn said. "I didn''t get anyone assigned to me - but they did tell me that I''d have to get to Naradael for that anyhow."
His parents exchanged a look, then his father walked around the table and sat across from Arn. "Beor is a friend, but you should have spoken to us before going to him. Then again, if you stayed at the archives, who knows."
"Do you really think it''s the Black Warden? Doren Sar said the man is just a story."
"Doren Sar," his mother said and then sighed. "It is a story, but we don''t scare our children with shadow men. We raise them well without such nonsense."
"But he came, didn''t he?" Sarhaa said.
"The vaults were broken into, and historical records were destroyed. Rare ones," Atrel said and looked at Arn. "You''ve been spending time at the vaults, Arn - and there was evidence of someone visiting the old scrolls in the past few weeks. Not a great challenge to put it all together."
"Wait a second, what are you saying?" Arn asked. Hints of worry grew in him.
"The council is under pressure by the Inspectorate. So they need to find someone, do you understand?" his father said.
"But, Beor - he, he was with me the whole time," Arn protested. He didn''t like where this was going.
"It doesn''t matter. If the Inspectorate needs a guilty party, any remote connection will suffice," his father replied. Arn''s mother looked away during most of the conversation.
"We haven''t broached the matter with you, but some details about your ordeal have come to light. The Rebel Clans have ways of turning people to their will, one way or another," his father finally said.
Arn felt worried, anxious even. It seemed that his clandestine endeavours at the vaults weren''t as clandestine as he thought. However, learning that people knew a lot more than he shared about his ordeal at Rana''s hands brought real fear. His emotions flared, and anger blossomed in him. How dare they accuse him - and of what exactly? Of being in cahoots with the Rebel Clans? He felt the anger flow through him. He felt the energizing and empowering effect it had. The metal charm against his skin came to mind - not cold or hot, it simply asserted itself in his thoughts.
"Stay your anger, son," his father said, "none at the Stonefather clan, even with the knowledge of what took place, suspect you of anything. However, the confluence of events does suggest some things."
"This isn''t fair! I did nothing!" Arn cried. "I didn''t damage the scrolls, and as a historian, I would have accessed them eventually!"
"Be that as it may," his mother said, "the matter remains. It would be best for you to be away from Nysaros until all things pass. The Inspectorate won''t have its eye on us for long. Our town is one of the most pious, after all."
Realization dawned on Arn, and he couldn''t help the smile that appeared on his face. His parents frowned at this reaction. "So then, I have no choice but to go to Naradael, right?" he said.
"Your father is scheduled to depart next week. He has council business in the capital. Things are on a slow simmer for the moment, and with some fortune, you''ll be just fine. You''ll get to see the capital and learn Charmcrafting," she smiled, though Arn could see the worry behind her facade.
So he was going to Naradael after all.
Chapter 17 : The Snowy River
When Arn went to the Small Council, he planned to take the journey alone, he wasn''t a child anymore, and he''d get by somehow. However, he witnessed his father''s preparations during the past week and learned that he knew very little of long journeys through the wilderness.
Thank the spirits for The Black Warden, he thought, then wondered whether the spirits would even want such credit. The journey to Naradael was far longer than he envisioned. His meagre preparations would have, at most, carried him through the first day or two, after which he''d have likely perished of lack of water, food, or from hypothermia.
The night before their departure came quickly, and Arn and his father stood over a map in the clan hall. The rest of the family were asleep, though Sarhaa joined them a few minutes after they started. Despite their best efforts, she wouldn''t leave, and Atrel eventually relented, conceding that this would be a good lesson for the future.
The map before them depicted Oshaaland, one of the seven provinces of Nedreal. Arn''s father marked their journey with a special pen that could be erased later.
"Whether we need to keep our journey from prying eyes or simply to clear the map for the future, this is the practice you must follow," he held up a soft rubbery ball and rubbed it on some of the writing - it was gone within seconds. Arn and Sarhaa nodded with interest.
"Here we are," his father said, pointing at Nysaros. "We''ll leave early tomorrow and follow the Hillside way along the river until we reach the Mountainview Bridge. And if all goes well, we should make it to the bridge ahead of nightfall and camp there."
"You know all about camping," Sarhaa teased Arn.
"It wasn''t my fault!" he protested.
"Lower your voices. It is late. Save this for later. I mean to finish our path then go to sleep. A long day awaits us, Arn," his father said, a stern and tired look upon his face. The two of them quieted.
"Now then," Atrel continued, "after the bridge, we''ll continue along the Hillside way until the Old Fort - it''s a large inn and resupply center for travellers," he explained to the two of them.
"We''ll spend the night there and take our time to resupply before heading over to the Southern Outpost," he moved his finger to an image of a small tower at the southern part of a mountain pass.
"The Mountain Pass can be unpleasant, but it shaves weeks off the journey. Unfortunately, there aren''t easy paths through the Grandfather Mountains or the Aldar forest," Arn''s father stood up and stretched his back. He humphed and leaned on the table again.
"If all goes well, we should cross the pass in four days. The southern outpost provides mountain horses - they feel at home in the rocky paths."
Atrel looked the map over then pointed at the second small tower at the northern end of the mountain pass. "Once we reach the northern outpost, the hard part will be behind us. It''s another supply stop, and then we''ll be off to the ferry docks to get across the Arm of Arngosadar - that''s another river," he said and pointed at the long blue line that snaked from the mountains and all the way across the map to the Samaroan sea.
"The northern shore of the river is home to the Caravan hub, and we''ll join one that allows it, and before you know it, we''ll reach Naradael."
Arn couldn''t sleep that night, the excitement kept him up until well past midnight, and when he finally closed his eyes, his father shook him awake.
"We''ve got to get ready, get up, Arn," he heard through the haze of sleep. He tried to hide under the covers, but they were taken away suddenly. Arn groaned and, with great effort, managed to sit up on the bed.
"Come down for breakfast, but get dressed first," his father said and left the room. So Arn took his time, which he was reminded of by the occasional summons he heard from the clan hall. When he finally came down to the hall, he saw his sister, grandmother, great uncle Goren, and great aunt Analen. By the sounds from the kitchen, his mother must have been working on breakfast.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"You''re all up early," he mumbled, and half sat, half slumped on a chair.
"I like the quiet of the morning," Mama Elo said.
"I like the quiet from your great uncle Sead - he tells lovely stories, you know, but sometimes the silence is lovelier," Arn''s great aunt Analen added and smiled. They all chuckled, and Arn felt himself slowly awaken.
The rest of the family poured in by the time Arn had finished breakfast. His mother brought out food and joined them while uncle Doren took her place in the kitchen. They all wished Arn and his father well on their journey. Sarhaa expressed her jealousy that Arn would see the capital, but everyone reassured her that her time would come soon enough.
A few hugs and kisses later, he and his father were off on their way, laden with heavy backpacks and a long road ahead.
"We''ll need to stop by the charms shop on our way out," his father said.
"The one thing we forgot!" Arn said, "a week of preparation, and we forget the charm!"
"We didn''t forget, Arn. For a journey like this, I requested a specially made one for each of us."
"Oh," Arn said, "they specially make charms for each journey?"
"Not any journey, no, but a difficult one, and the first one for you, that''s an occasion which calls for it," his father said and patted Arn on the back.
They soon passed the residential part of Nysaros. The smells and sounds of the industrial sector slowly took over. The sounds he didn''t mind so much, metal on metal, sowing of wood, and other sounds he couldn''t quite identify. The smells were another thing altogether - some of the stronger and more pungent were no less than an assault on his nose. He eventually covered his face with a hand, his father chuckled.
Finally, they reached the last row of buildings where they found the charms shop. It had no foyer, and the second they entered, a discontented voice ordered them to hurry and close the door. The entire building was nothing more than a large, long hall with four chimneys heating it up. A few feet from the entrance was a tall counter with a heavily scuffed wooden top. A few tomes lay to one side. Arn had assumed they were ledgers of some sort.
The Charmcrafter''s voice came from deep in the hall, beyond the rows of shelves that were laden with dozens, if not hundreds of different charms. Arn never realized how many different types there were.
Shortly following the footsteps, a tall and lanky woman, older than his mother but younger than his grandmother, came up to the counter. She stood an inch or two taller than his father and only just glanced at Arn. Then, she straightened her thick leather apron and greeted his father.
"Atrel," she said, the hint of a sneer on her face. What is that about, Arn wondered.
Arn''s father smiled. "In the flesh, dear Pathal," he said and lightly bowed his head.
"Unfortunately," she replied.
"Well, not that I don''t appreciate your hospitality - but we''re here for a reason."
"Taking the son, aren''t you? Not enough that you move around like the Northern Wind, you need to drag a child into it?"
Arn''s face burned - child? He fumed. His father only smiled and motioned towards the shelves of charms behind Pathal.
The woman shook her head and looked at Arn with a mix of pity and scorn on her way to fetch the charms they came to pick up. She brought a small cloth-wrapped bundle with a thin leather belt around it.
"Here we are then. I don''t need to remind you to activate them," Pathal said.
"No, you don''t, but you just did." His father took the charms and placed them in his backpack. He bowed his head lightly once again and received a scowl for his trouble. "Come on, Arn," he said, and the two of them left.
"She doesn''t like you," Arn said once they moved far enough from town for the smells to die down. The fresh scents of the forest were a welcome change.
"No, she does not," his father chuckled.
"Why?"
"That really doesn''t matter right now."
"What was that about the charms having to be activated?" Arn asked.
"Oh, yes - you''re going to study Charmcrafting, so this will come in handy," his father said.
"So, what is it?"
"Don''t be so hasty, Arn - we have a long journey ahead. A charm made for a specific journey must be activated on the first night of the said journey. You''ll see how it''s done soon enough."
Arn sighed and let the matter drop. Instead, he turned his attention to the forest around them. It vaguely reminded Arn of the dreams he''d been having lately, though the ravens were absent. He wondered what they meant or even whether they had any meaning to begin with. Could they simply be dreams with no meaning? He doubted that - there was something very unusual about them.
The road they followed descended gradually towards the Snowy River, and he soon heard the sounds of water. The trees to either side of the road stood close together, their canopies blocking out most of the sky and shielding them from the wind. A pleasant stillness hung about, and Arn found great comfort in it.
Chapter 18 : Mountainview Bridge
Arn and his father walked in silence for a time., and he was grateful for it. The road soon reached the riverbank, and there were no more trees between them and the river. It flowed northward, and its waters were clear and shallow. It was louder now, overcoming the other sounds and folding them unto itself, creating a melody of water, trees, and birds. The music released something deep within Arn, a thing he hadn''t noticed gripping him tightly. He breathed easier, and the forest air filled him with bright freshness and life.
"This part of the Hillside way, where it follows the riverbank, it is my favourite," his father said. When Arn looked at him, he saw an expression akin to his own, though there were other emotions present which he couldn''t yet recognize.
Along the opposite bank were curved trees with long branches that stooped low to the ground, overhanging the water and touching it sometimes. They had no leaves, but along the branches were countless white flowers.
"It''s where the Snowy river gets its name," his father said. There is an old poem about the White Willow. Let me see if I remember it.
"The white willow which bends over the river
Her limbs reach for the clear stream
When all the trees slumber for winter
The white willow flowers and blooms
Snowy petals fall from its branches
They glide on the water as it flows
None knows where the petals venture
None but the wind, and she''s silent now."
When his father finished the poem, Arn noticed the white petals on the water, bobbing with the waves as the river flowed past them. It did remind him of snow a little. He smiled. "I''ve never heard that poem before," he said.
"It doesn''t sound quite right until you''re standing right here, with the petals before your eyes," his father replied, and they continued onwards for another hour. By then, the sun had passed the midpoint of its journey across the sky. Arn noticed a few small trails leading off from the main road and into the forest.
"We might as well stop for lunch, I mean to reach the bridge by nightfall, and we''ll have to pick up the pace for that - some food and rest will revitalize us - come," his father said and lead Arn to one of the trails. Soon they entered a clearing, pine trees standing tall on all sides of them. The water''s song was dim now, buffeted by the woods, and the stillness returned. Arn thought that he heard a distant croaking sound, though it was so faint he wasn''t sure it was real. At the center of the clearing stood several thick wooden logs and a ring of stone with burnt wood inside it. A campsite, Arn realized.
"We won''t be cooking just yet. So for now, let us sit and eat the dry meals we have packed - though, perhaps I can make some tea first," Arn''s father said, "yes, I think I will indeed make some tea," he added.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
While his father prepared, Arn took out his dry meals consisting of meat jerky, assorted dried roots and mushrooms, and put it all on a wooden plate. Meanwhile, a small metal pot sat on a bed of bright coals and steamed lightly. His father used one of the firelighters to get the coals going. It was a stick-like instrument with a clear stone at its end and inscriptions in the old tongue covering its handle.
Arn never used one himself, though he was taught that it only required a bit of Esarel channelled through it to heat up the coals.
"Very good, very good - here you go," his father said and handed Arn a wooden cup with polished metallic inline. "Hold it up, carefully. The water''s hot."
"Yes, I can see the steam," he replied while holding the cup. A small tea pouch was already in it, and it released a sharp, earthy aroma as the hot water filled the cup. The scent fit perfectly with the forest, and Arn couldn''t imagine drinking the tea anywhere else, not in a town at any rate. They sipped the tea slowly and loudly as it cooled.
"The Black Warden is it," his father said suddenly, catching Arn off guard. "I don''t know why we haven''t told you children of him, or how you didn''t hear of it sooner."
"What is the Black Warden?" Arn asked.
"Not what, who," his father said, then sipped the tea.
"Who, then?"
"A man, probably. If he isn''t a myth, he is likely a man - was, rather," Atrel added.
"Was?"
"It''s an old legend, Arn. Not as old as some tales from the distant past of our people, but it is old enough for he who inspired it to be long gone from this world."
"What about back at the town? They said he came back."
"I don''t know, but I doubt it was him, probably a misguided youth dressed up to impress or someone pretending to be the Black Warden for whatever misguided purpose."
"You really think so?" Arn asked.
"Sure, why not."
"That doesn''t sound like a full answer."
"Since we never told you and your sister or any of your cousins, you should hear the story for yourself and then judge."
"Of the Black Warden?"
"Yes."
"Alright."
"Perhaps not just yet, though," his father looked up at the sky. The sun was getting closer to the horizon. "We make it to the bridge by sundown, and I''ll tell you."
"Well, that''s not fair at all! You just implied you''d tell me now."
"Is it? I guess the wilderness isn''t always fair," his father said, then smiled and began putting away the few things they''d taken out, "let''s go, Arn, time to move," he added.
True to his word, his father did pick up the pace. They soon left the forest, and the Hillside road now wove through expansive white plains. It diverged from the river, though still passed close enough to see and hear the water. Arn looked back at the forest behind them and the Zekasar Ridge, which stretched across the western horizon. The mountains were pale blue and purple with distance, but they still towered over everything else. The Mountainview bridge appeared in the distance a short while later. A few fires already burned nearby. Another campsite, Arn thought.
"Come now, it''s three miles farther at best, and we need to pick up the pace once more if you are to hear the tale of the Black Warden," his father said and hastened his steps.
"It better be a good tale!" Arn replied, starting to get out of breath as he hurried after his father.
Chapter 19 : Attunement
By the time they reached the Mountainview bridge, the sun was already halfway below the horizon. The bridge itself was a sturdy stone structure, wide enough for at least two carriages to pass freely. Claws of ivy gripped its grey stone, and superficial cracks ran down into the ground. It stretched over a narrow part of the river, no more than fifty feet across. The road widened into a circular flat area just ahead of the bridge, and several smaller paths led off towards distant campsites.
Arn''s father led them to one of the shabbier paths - no more than a trail, really. It took them along the riverbank and away from the bridge. They soon passed a small pine grove and walked out into a clearing. This section of the campsite was tucked away from the rest - no sound reached them, and only the tiny dancing shapes of the fire were visible in the distance.
"Thank Elar''Saga," his father exclaimed, "come on," he said and walked over towards several thick and short logs arranged in a semi-circle. He put down his pack and sat atop one of them.
The sun''s red disk peaked through distant clouds on its way down to the mountains. Purple light spilled upon the snow and cast long, twisting shadows. A breeze blew pleasantly upon him and carried the fresh scent of evergreens and the distant notes of campfires.
"You ok?"
Arn snapped out of his reverie, "Uhm yes, I just," he said and glanced about.
His father chuckled. Arn removed his own backpack and sat down on one of the logs. It felt cold despite the layers of furs that he wore.
"Think you can manage to light the fire?" his father waved at the abandoned coals and half-burnt wood that lay before them.
"Yes," Arn said, then fetched the fire starter from his pack. It was a foot-long stick about the thickness of a thumb with several blue gems embedded within it. Ancient writing covered a portion of it, though Arn couldn''t read it. He held the device in his hands and suddenly realized that he no longer had the Tjoreal. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his stomach turned. Would it even work without the Tjoreal? Did anyone ever try? He thought of the time at the cell when he tried to reach the candle. Esarel behaved very much like it did when used with a Tjoreal, just far less potent, especially at a distance. In fact, it almost entirely faded after a few feet.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath - focus, he thought. Arn pointed the fire starter at the coal before him, then moved it closer so that it touched the coal. He directed Esarel into the device and felt resistance as the energy flowed from him and into the stick. He tried to bend the Esarel and shape it to match the fire starter, but it refused his will.
"Everything alright over there? I am not smelling any fire," his father teased.
A tiny spark of anger flashed in his belly, and Arn was surprised as the energy he channelled into the fire starter sucked the spark into itself. He then felt the energy shift - slowly and unwillingly, but it shifted nevertheless. It was no longer the crisp and stable flavour Arn was so familiar with. Instead, it was agitated, warm, and it vibrated. He felt heat on the skin of his hand and opened his eyes - he didn''t notice closing them. The coals glowed bright orange, and thin wisps of smoke rose into the night sky.
It worked! Arn thought and smiled. Relief washed over him - if he could make the fire starter work without the Tjoreal, there may be hope yet, he would get by until he learned to create one.
"Finally!" his father said, then turned around, and a hint of surprise appeared on his face. "Didn''t you say you''d never used it before," he asked Arn.
"Did I mess something up?"
"No, no, on the contrary," his father said and came close to the firepit. "It''s quite good for the first time. You may have hope yet, my boy."
"Thanks," Arn replied, uncertain how much of his father''s words were a compliment and how much were a jab.
"I''ll deal with the cooking tonight, but tomorrow will be your turn."
"Aren''t we going to be at the Old Fort tomorrow night?"
"Ah, yes indeed. The night after that, then," his father said.
They soon had a pot of stew going on the hot coals and a couple of bowls prepared for when it was done. The long walk and rigorous pace awakened quite an appetite in Arn, and he could hardly wait for the meal.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
His father began mumbling something barely audible, but then his voice grew loud enough to make out words. Arn''s eyes widened, and he hissed at his father - but Atrel waved him off and carried on with his tune.
"Travel light but carry a pack
You never know when you''ll need a good snack!
Fasten your coat, tighten your belt
You''ll find on the road the hand you''re dealt
Follow the wind and hear its call
And you shan''t go wrong on your lengthy stroll."
His father was singing! Arn looked around, but the other campsites were too far for any sound to have reached them. That must have been why his father liked this place. He turned to Atrel, wide-eyed.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh, don''t woladleIt''s just a quick song people sing during travels," his father replied.
"But, but," Arn protested and waved his arms, "but they could hear, it''s forbidden." Then, in a quieter voice, "what if -"
"What if nothing, calm down in Elar''Saga''s name."
"Shh!" Arn hissed again, "he''s the one you''re disobeying."
"No, he isn''t, Arn. Now quiet down, and let me give you some stew."
Before Arn could protest, his father brought a large ladle of hot stew towards him, and he had to hold up the plate.
"Now eat and listen. I said eat." Arn frowned but obeyed his father.
"Elar''Sagaa never said anything about singing. The Inspectorate did, though. But, it isn''t one of their big rules, shall we say. Outside of Osha''aland, no one in Nedreal really adheres to it. On second thought, perhaps some of Heartland are keen enough to obey it too. But that''s it. Vule Sunal? They sing in every tavern."
Arn couldn''t believe his ears. His father was the last person he expected to flaunt the Inspectorate''s rules this way. He looked around them again - the other camps really were quite far, and he couldn''t hear anything, never mind make out actual words.
"They''re out of earshot," his father exclaimed.
"If I''d known your reaction, I''d have thought twice," he said, and the mirth drained from his face.
Arn felt a pang of guilt. But it wasn''t his fault. He grew up with these rules all his life - no one disobeyed the Inspectorate, for they enforced Elar''Saga''s will. Perhaps singing was an exception, he thought. Rana''s words flashed in his mind, and he pushed them away.
"It was a good - what do you call it, a song?" Arn said. "I''m sorry, I was caught off guard. If you say it''s not a big deal..." he trailed off.
"It''s from an old friend of mine," his father said and poked the coals with a stick - a regular one at that. "I should have guessed you''d react like this. We should have brought you out years ago."
Arn watched the fire as they ate. The stew was delicious, and eating it in the forest at night, by the bonfire, had only enhanced the flavour.
"So about that tale of the Black Warden."
"Oh yes, it is time," his father said. "Only we should activate the charms first."
"Really?"
"Oh yes, it''s quite serious business," his father replied and took out the cloth-wrapped bundle. He unbuckled the thin leather strap, opened the fabric, and took out the two leather charms.
"You can''t use your Tjoreal for that - the Esarel must come directly from you," he said and handed Arn one of them.
That wouldn''t be a problem, Arn thought and took the charm. It was an angular piece of leather about the size of his entire hand with a hexagon at the center. The head of a leopard was carved inside of the hexagon. Above it were imprints of leaves and flowers, while at the bottom were mountains and water. The work was quite intricate. A metal ring attached the charm to a belt and a clasp at the top.
"Put it between your hands and think about our destination," his father said, "Naradael," he added.
Arn had never been to Naradael, so he decided to focus on its location on the map. He could picture it quite clearly after he and his sister spent hours watching his father plan out the route.
"Now, this is the hard part. I know that you''re used to the Tjoreal, but you must direct your Esarel into the charm without it," his father said.
Arn recalled his actions with the fire starter from a few moments earlier and repeated the process. He felt the barest amount of resistance as the energy flowed from him and into the leather charm. Arn concentrated, and unlike before, his Esarel responded quickly - eagerly even. It poured into the charm. Much more of it came through than he used for the coals.
Soon the charm felt full - he wasn''t sure how he knew, the thought just appeared in his mind, and he stopped. The leather was a little warm to the touch. He was surprised to discover a handful of letters etched into a small section below the leopard carving. I am almost sure that I did this, but I can''t read it; how does that make any sense? He wondered.
A few moments later, his father was done with his own charm.
"Don''t be too hard on yourself. It may take a few...," Arn''s father began, but his words trailed off when he saw Arn''s charm. "You''re done?"
"Am I?" Arn asked and showed the charm to his father.
"You, yes you are," he frowned, "you''re really quick with this."
"I am?" Arn looked at the piece of leather, "that''s good, isn''t it?"
"Well, yes, it''s wonderful! Perhaps you are destined to work with charms after all," his father said, still looking at Arn''s charm.
"So, what did we do?" Arn asked.
"What - oh yes, the charm." Atrel finally tore his eyes away from Arn''s newly activated charm and held up his own. He frowned and twisted it in his hands.
"I think you did a better job than I did," he said.
"You''re kidding with me, right?" Arn said suspiciously.
Atrel chuckled and shook his head. "Never mind. What you did with the charm is bind it to yourself and to this journey. It is now attuned and will aide us in small things along the way."
"Small things? Such as what?"
"That''s hard to explain. You''ll just have to trust me on this," Arn''s father replied.
Chapter 20 : The Old Fort
It was well into the night before Arn fell asleep. His father''s levity with the rules made quite an impression on him. Worse yet, it related rather uncomfortably to Rana''s words about the Inspectorate. He wished that his father behaved as he always did. Instead, the man sang just a short way out of Nysaros. Sang! What did it all mean? Arn wondered. He hated the fact that Rana''s words kept clawing back into his thoughts and scratching at everything he thought he knew.
Then came the memories of De''al. Arn clamped his mind shut and didn''t let them spread. He knew that if he began recounting the - whatever it was that happened, he''d never fall asleep.
Arn turned inside his thick wool sleeping bag, tightly shut his eyes, and willed himself to sleep. Surprisingly, it worked.
Atrel woke him up with a nudge. The first thing that Arn saw was a dimly lit sky, dark blue in the west with hints of warm colours coming from the east where the sun was just rising. The coals of yesterday''s fire were still bright amber, burning unnaturally long by the power of the fire starter device.
He''d have to withdraw the Esarel from them before they left the campsite. His father had already set the water to boiling and prepared their breakfasts, which they finished quickly before packing up and returning to the Hillside way.
They crossed the bridge over the swift Dolinoan river, which flowed from the white peaks of the Zekasar Ridge to the west. The Snowy River that they followed from Nysaros had merged into the Dolinoan a few miles back. The land beyond the bridge was hilly, with sparse trees here and there. Small shrubs peaked through the snow, their dark branches bare of foliage.
Arn and his father followed the road as it rose and fell with the terrain, and soon the great expanse of the Yisaor Foothills unfolded before them.
When they''d stopped for lunch, several hours after they set out, Arn realized that his father still didn''t tell him the tale of the Black Warden. He didn''t quite feel up to wrestling with his father''s wit for the story just now and let it go.
His father occasionally sang short rhymes like the one at the campfire. Each time he did, Arn looked all around them and made sure that none were in earshot. Arn grew to like them and this side of his father that he hadn''t seen thus far.
The sun once more passed the midpoint of its daily journey, and still, they pressed on. The expansive views around them, while breathtaking in their beauty, soon gave way to fatigue and expectation of comfort at the end of their path.
"We''re almost at the Looking Hill. From there, you can see the Old Stone - as the travellers call the Old Fort Inn, you''ll know why once you see it," his father said.
They kept on for a half-hour until they crested a particularly tall hill that stood above the rest. True enough, Arn saw the Old Fort in the distance. It looked to be at least three or four miles away yet. Even from this distance, Arn could tell that it was quite a large structure. Ancient stone walls stood in a broken-up circle and what looked like newer construction filled the gaps. He could just see wisps of smoke rise from several chimneys and more than one road converging at the structure.
"I think we can make it before nightfall," his father said, then looked at the sky and nodded, "yes, we can make it, in one piece perhaps," he smiled at Arn and hurried off, picking up the pace even more than before.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Arn briefly glanced at the setting sun and rushed after his father. His heart already pounded, and even the soft and comfortable boots on his feet were now chafing in places.
"There is a tale of this Old Fort," his father said when Arn caught up.
"What about the tale of the Black Warden?" Arn said he couldn''t help himself.
"So hasty! There are many tales in the history of the world. Now is time for the tale of the Old Fort," his father replied.
"Alright, but you promised to tell me about the warden - I won''t let it go, you know."
"I will tell you, don''t worry - but now, listen," his father said, then looked at Arn and added, "it seems that you can scarcely spare the breath to speak as it is."
Arn scowled, but his father was right, so he listened on.
"So goes the tale for those who''ll hear it told
There stood a fort as old as time itself
None left who saw it come into our world
Long years of war and battle it withstood
Blood soaked its stone, and death lived in its wood
Dark stood the tower in winter and summer
Its halls and its stones drank all fear and all sorrow
It consumed sound of war and sharp clang of sword
And those who dwelt there beheld in their dreams
Dark murmurs, old whispers, and soft echoes of screams
Deep in the tower a dark mind had stirred
Crimson it''s thought filled by anguish and wrath
It whispered in dreams and made itself heard
And the lips of its dwellers carried its voice
Abiding its biddings, never making the choice
''Till Egthon the Bloody, with marauders in tow
Assaulted the tower, under moon''s glow
Its whispers and words bewitched Egthon''s thought
Lord and his bandits bloody deeds wrought
And the tower once more with crimson was bought
Dawn cast its warmth on the tower''s dark walls
Where Egthon the Sleepless meandered the halls
Thought bent on his reign that he yearned to expand
The tower''s dark mind had its bloody right hand
And its will now had means to ravage the land
Each night Egthon''s mind wrestled the tower
Drawn was his face and his countenance dour
His thoughts ever darkened, and anger did grow
Fear spread ''midst his allies like a disease
His kingdom did shake ''neath his bloody decrees
Folk of the land lived in fright of his madness
His rule brought to them nothing but sadness
To spirits they prayed for relief of their plight
They sued for a hero to cleanse the dark Fort
To relieve them of Egthon, their ruthless lord
Yet for many a year, their pleas were ignored
''Till first day of spring, two score years in his rule
There came a man with the dawn at his back
Wind bore his words over walls and through stone
Oh Egthon the Sleepless, I seek you alone
O''er the rampart, the guards sneered and mocked
Begone ye poor fool, bother not our great lord!
Blue cloak hid his face, yet his voice clearly sang
Egthon the Bloody, descend from your throne!
Guards cried in one voice, flee fool, you''re alone!"
Arn''s father paused at that and looked at him. "Are you paying attention?"
At that specific moment, Arn was observing the ruins of the Fort in the distance as they grew closer.
"Arn!"
"What?"
"Are you listening to the story?"
"Yes."
His father smirked, "no, you''re not."
"Well, I didn''t expect a long poem like this - I thought it''s a normal story."
Atrel sighed and shook his head, "youth," he said, "fine, just come on."
Arn could have sworn that his father picked up the pace in retaliation for his lack of interest. He was soon panting and out of breath. Thankfully, the Old Fort was getting closer.
"So, who was the guy at the gates?" Arn asked.
"Oh, now you want to know!"
"You could have just told the tale normally."
"You don''t understand style," his father protested.
"Fine, but can you just tell me?"
"The man at the gates was the Son of Adarsara, The Northern Wind."
"And what is -"
"None of that now," Atrel cut in, "when you learn to listen, I will continue the tale."
Arn grunted and hurried after his father once more. He was now sure that the man walked faster anytime he wanted to avoid a conversation. Arn was determined to improve his stamina just to deny his father the satisfaction.
Chapter 21 : Our Mutual Friend
Arn was awed by the sheer scale of the structure before him - nearly four hundred feet across and taller than any building he''d seen, taller even than the Scholar''s Shack Inn and its pointy pole. Dark grey stone marked the ancient remains of the original fort, while cracks and jagged edges betrayed its age.
A lone turret survived on the eastern side. It rose above the other structures and watched over the valley, just as it did for a thousand years. Arn imagined all the people that must have gazed up at the turret in centuries past and wondered what thoughts crossed their minds. He realized that some of them would likely have sought refuge from battles and wars. Arn looked back towards Nysaros - there aren''t wars anymore in Nedreal, he thought.
From the old ruins rose new structures. They clung to the massive grey stones with wood and metal. The smaller building sprouted like mushrooms upon an old stump; their pointy roofs peaked above the walls.
Arn saw at least three gates. The Hillside Way that they followed led to the southernmost gate. New construction patched holes in the original walls of the fort, some made of wood while others of smaller and more uniform bricks.
The sun had touched the horizon some time ago, and the dim evening sky glittered with stars. A myriad of narrow windows shown with a warm yellow light all across the fort. He heard sounds reminiscent of a city, or a large inn, rather, for that is what the Old Fort reminded him of. It''s literally called ''The Old Fort Inn,'' he reminded himself.
They weren''t the only arrivals. Arn saw a handful of travellers pass into the fort through the gates to which other roads led.
"How is it up close?" his father asked as they passed through the southern gate.
"The Looking Hill doesn''t do it justice," Arn replied.
"Indeed it does not."
The road they followed led to the center of the inner court and to a five-way intersection with an ornamented signpost at its heart. Arn realized that the fort was, in truth, a collection of individual inns and taverns. The inner court spanned nearly two hundred feet and housed a stable and a small coach house. There was also what Arn took to be a market, for he''d only heard descriptions of such a place before then.
"We''re not here for that," his father remarked impatiently, following Arn''s gaze, and nudged him away.
Arn glanced at the market one last time. It still bustled with activity and people that moved from one stall to the next, inspecting items he couldn''t quite make out from that far away. Maybe later, he thought.
The two approached one of the better-looking inns, with clean walls and a solid ornamented door. ''The Dancing Dragon'' he read above it. The shape of a twisting serpent with six legs was wrought in metal all around the sign.
They were let in after a man inspected his father''s token. There were no pelts to be seen, and the structure looked little like anything in Nysaros. They were let into a small hallway with wooden walls and a staircase on one side, while the other side opened into a large hall.
"Come on," his father said and lead Arn to the hall. They entered the tavern portion of the inn, though it was much fancier than any he''d seen before. It made him think of a tavern made for a town council if such things existed.
His father talked to a long-nosed fellow at the counter, who kept glancing at Arn throughout. The man looked like a twin of the secretary at Kalarhan and the one in the Nysaros Small Council hall. Were they related? Atrel turned and motioned Arn forward.
"This is my son, Arn. He is to be let into the Dancing Dragon. Make a note of that."
"Certainly, sir," the man said. "Your token, sir," he added, looking at Arn.
"Here," Arn said and gave the man his scholar''s token, a new one he''d received when declaring his plans to the Nysaros council. The man placed it in a device that resembled the one Arn saw in Kalarhan at the office of the old councilwoman.
"All set, he''ll be let through. Anything else, sir?"
"Just a key for our room."
"Yes, of course, sir," he said and gave Arn''s father two keys.
They climbed two flights of stairs, then proceeded through a wide hallway to one of the farther doors. Atrel unlocked it, and they went in. The room was much larger than what Arn had in Kalarhan, he didn''t know what token his father carried, but it must have been one of a high rank.
A large bed stood on either side of the room, there was a door leading to a private bathroom, and a desk stood in the center. One of the slit windows looked out into the wilderness. Arn wished it would have been the court. It was by far the most exciting place he''d seen.
"Arn, you need to remember that this isn''t Nysaros," his father told him as they unpacked.
"I know it isn''t Nysaros."
"You haven''t seen the world yet -"
"Oh, haven''t I?" Arn raised his voice.
"Kalarhan," Atrel deflated as the word passed his lips, "that''s not what I meant. You''ve been through a lot."
"How is it not what you meant?"Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
"I know what you''ve been through, but there is much outside -"
"You know what I''ve been through?" Arn stopped unpacking and looked at his father. "How do you know that?" he saw the pained expression on Atrel''s face.
"The outside - outside of Oshaaland, it''s not something you''ve known."
"Is it worse than getting imprisoned in a dark cell for days on end?" Arn said. His stomach lurched when he realized that this was the first time he spoke of what he went through. Pain and sorrow rose in him, clutching at his anger-filled belly, threatening to overwhelm the fire which drove him. He knows nothing, Arn tried to convince himself.
"Just be careful," his father finally said and looked away.
Arn stood for a long moment and watched his father''s bent shape and stooped shoulders as he unpacked their supplies. It irked Arn that his father let the conversation go - why''d he have to just stop there? He fumed. He needs to hear me. Arn clenched his fists and readied himself to go on. What would he say? Arn didn''t want to risk talking about Rana or De''al.
The silence stretched out and sapped his fire. Arn focused on the sounds of items going into drawers, the leather of the backpack that creaked as it emptied. He felt emptied too, and instead of anger, there was only sadness. Arn hated that feeling. Once he reached the Capital, he was going to take up Ossagar on his offer. The Inspectorate has power. They don''t fear that which lies beyond Oshaaland. He wouldn''t be like his father.
They went down to the tavern in silence. Arn looked away as they sat at one of the booths, waiting for their meals. I should have gone alone, he thought; I''d have made it to the Capital. I survived Kalarhan - this is just a trek across the fields. How hard would it have been?
"Atrel dar Stonefather?" a serving girl asked.
"Yes?" his father replied.
"You are needed at the council chamber. It shouldn''t take long, but please hurry," she said.
"The council chamber? I just arrived, and we''re only passing through," he replied and frowned.
"I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I only deliver the message. They did say it is urgent," she said and glanced away, then back at Arn''s father. "Please, sir, I will get into trou -"
"Fine," he said and got up. Then looked Arn in the eyes, with that same pained expression. "Be careful," he said, then left.
Arn watched his father walk up to the barkeep, who seemed apologetic, though the noise prevented him from hearing any of their talk. Unable to avoid the summons, Atrel had finally left the tavern - though not before a last glance at Arn.
Arn took a deep breath and sank into his seat. He looked up at the ceiling. It was high. Thick wooden beams crossed it at even intervals. The light of the candles flickered upon the wood and mesmerized him. Just then, a man slid into the booth and sat across from him. Arn panicked and sat upright, looked at the man, then all around. No one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.
The stranger was young, only a few years older than Arn. He wore a dark jerkin with a thick shirt underneath. He hadn''t shaved in some time, but his hair was neatly trimmed. What struck Arn the most was the glassy stare, as though a pale curtain hung before the man''s eyes.
"You are Arn, are you not?" the man said. He looked at Arn for a moment, then away.
"Why?"
The man snorted and returned his gaze to Arn. "I am Thoard, Warden of the Inspectorate," his voice was raspy, as though he recently screamed or perhaps was a smoker.
"Like the Black Warden?" Arn said in a low voice. He''d never heard of wardens before, aside from the Black Warden - who he didn''t think was with the Inspectorate.
Thoard chuckled and glanced about them. "That isn''t something you should say out loud, or you''ll draw attention you''re not looking for," he said.
Arn''s heart beat faster, and a chill went up his spine. We''re they already on his trail about the archives?
"I am here on behalf of a mutual acquaintance of ours," the man said.
"Who?" Arn asked.
"He has great hopes for you, and so he will help you on your path," Thorad replied.
"Who are you talking about?" Arn insisted.
The man sighed and placed a token on the table. Caravaneer''s union, this one with just one star. Ossagar, Arn thought. How''d he find me? And why?
"Take it," Thorad said. "You''ll need the token when you get to the Capital."
"Why would I go there?"
"Take the token, Arn," Thorad insisted. Arn locked eyes with the man, but the glassy stare shook his resolve. It was blank, devoid of - he wasn''t sure of what, but emptiness was clearly there. It scared Arn, and he took the token. "Good," the man smiled.
"What does he know of my path?"
"He is a captain in the Inspectorate. He knows much."
A captain? Why would the Inspectorate send a captain to escort me to my first mission - why didn''t they send this man, he wondered.
"Trouble follows you," Thoard said suddenly.
"What are you talking about? What trouble?"
"Your town caught the attention of one of whom we spoke earlier," he said. "Just as you returned, too. Isn''t that interesting?" he added after a pause.
The Black Warden, Arn realized. He suddenly wished that his father returned soon. The shame of the thought was overwhelmed by the discomfort he felt.
"I don''t know anything about it, why would -"
"Calm yourself," Thoard interrupted him, "the world is wide, and many wills compete upon it - yours isn''t the only one, nor is it of great significance."
What is that supposed to mean, Arn thought to himself.
"Not yet, at least," the man smiled again. "Accept the help once you reach the Capital. It isn''t easy to secure the particular path you''re on. But, he will help, for he has great hopes for you."
"Why? Why does he have great hopes for me?"
"That you''ll need to ask him yourself. I am here to deliver his voice." Thoard leaned in and whispered some words Arn didn''t recognize, though as he heard them, a sense of meaning echoed in his mind. It was faint and vague, and even while he didn''t understand nor recognized the words, he remembered them.
"What was that?" he whispered.
"A passcode," Thoard said.
"A passcode?"
"To meet Ossagar at the Capital. Say it back to me."
Arn repeated the words. Speaking them was a peculiar experience, for he knew not what he said even as the words sounded familiar and their meaning echoed faintly in his mind, just beyond reach. The man smiled and nodded.
"Good. With the passcode and the token, he will find you when the time comes."
"What do you mean he''ll find me?"
"Use the token at the capital and wait," the man said.
Arn frowned. "Why didn''t he just come here?"
Thoard laughed softly, and a spark of clarity shone in his eyes. It was gone in a blink, replaced by his glassy stare. "Your father will return shortly. If you wish, you may tell him of this, but you cannot share the passcode or the token. Those are a secret for you alone."
"He''ll return soon, will he? Is it because no one actually called for him?" Arn said and frowned.
Thoard shrugged. "I wouldn''t know. The council of this place doesn''t update me on their business. I would imagine that he doesn''t have much interest to keep you here alone, to prevent people like me talking to you."
"Why would he be concerned that an inspectorate warden spoke to me?"
"An Inspectorate warden," the man repeated and scoffed. "You haven''t been outside of Nysaros much?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I wouldn''t be too open about chatting with a warden," Thoard said, "either one, really," he added and chuckled.
"Either what - oh."
"You may have seen constables, but you haven''t seen wardens."
Arn caught on. How would he explain this to his father then? He was sure that he wouldn''t be able to keep Rana or the Tjoreal secret in such a talk.
"We have an understanding," Thoard said and smiled knowingly.
"I understand - that I shouldn''t speak of this at all."
"That is your choice entirely. We only ask you to keep silent about the passcode and the token."
"Oh, is that what you ask?" Arm mocked him.
The man smiled, and that flash in his eyes returned briefly. "Tell me the passcode once more, to be sure you hadn''t forgotten."
Arn narrowed his eyes but whispered the words nevertheless. They came as they did the first time, with naught but an echo of meaning. The man smiled.
"Don''t forget the token," he said.
When Thoard left, Arn repeated the words a few more times, trying to figure out where they are from. They were familiar, and he had a vague idea of meaning, but he had no clue how he knew them. Unfortunately, his father took longer than Arn expected and only returned quite late.
It turned out that there was a matter for him to manage and that Thoard had nothing to do with it - probably. They finished eating and retired to their room. However, the tension between them remained. Arn felt exhausted. The day''s journey took much out of him, and as soon as he laid his head on the pillow, he was out cold.
Arn felt a breeze. It washed him over, though it wasn''t cold, nor was it warm. He opened his eyes to the familiar grey forest. The sky above was dark and filled with stars. It snowed as it always did. The trees extended in all directions. This time it was quiet. He felt an urge to walk, and so he did. Looking back, he left no footsteps. He swerved away from a branch, but it no longer hung before him.
Arn heard the croak of a raven once again. He heard distant wing flaps but saw no signs of the birds. He kept on walking for a time. Ambient light emanated from all around him, and no shadows fell. The light dimmed, just enough to notice.
He looked for the sun but found none. Then, far in the distance, he heard the footsteps on the snow, as before, he felt them more than heard.
He froze. A distant fear grew within him; it scratched at his consciousness. He looked about, but the trees obscured his vision, and the light grew dimmer in the far distance. Then, a loud croaking caught his attention, and Arn turned his head just as a large black raven flapped its massive wings merely two feet from him.
Chapter 22 : A Warning
Arn awoke before his father. The dream was still fresh in his mind. It was the same place each time, and he wondered what that meant. However, the latest dream felt heavier to Arn, as though something pressed down upon him and dimmed the twilight world.
Would his father know anything about it? Perhaps he could ask. But, knowing Atrel, Arn worried what such a talk might drudge up. If his father heard anything of Rana or De''al, he''d want to turn back. I know he would, Arn thought - I''ll have to wait until the Capital, no going back from there.
A wave of nausea washed over him as Arn remembered last night''s argument. He felt guilt creep up into his mind - why do I always do this?
Atrel stirred and quickly got up from bed. He didn''t say a word to Arn except inviting him down to the tavern for breakfast. Arn took that as a reconciliatory gesture, and his heart lightened.
The tension slowly lifted as they ate, and his father talked of the supplies they''d need to get later and the horse they''d need to take from the stables.
The courtyard looked quite different in the morning. The sun was just on its way up, and a warm haze hung all around. Few people were out now, unlike the crowds of last night. The market stalls stood empty and covered, and only the horses at the stables were as awake as ever. They whinnied and neighed in their enclosures. Arn watched one of the stable boys struggle with a particularly obstinant horse.
Halfway through the courtyard, Arn heard a loud croak; his father didn''t seem to notice or pay it any mind. But Arn turned around. Three ravens sat atop the eastern turret, croaking and cawing, flying up and landing again. Their forms seemed hazy, insubstantial - he figured that it was some trick of the light.
"Arn, you''ll need to get us a pack mule," his father said. Arn nearly bumped into him while walking, distracted by the ravens as he was. "Are you alright?" his father asked.
"Yes," Arn said, rubbing his shoulder. "I just, do you see the ravens over there?" he pointed at the turret, but the ravens were now gone. "Oh, they''re gone," he said, confused.
"Ravens? No, I don''t see any ravens - what are you talking about?" Before Arn could reply, his father waved his hand, "forget the ravens - will you get the pack mule from the stables?"
"They were just there, three of them," Arn said, still frowning at the distant turret.
"Focus, Arn, focus! There are no ravens, not now at any rate - we need to move, will you get the pack mule or not?" his father spoke, though now impatiently.
"Yes, yes, fine, I''ll get the mule."
"Your own token should suffice, but let them know we''re headed to the Southern Outpost. While you do that, I will get the supplies. Stay with the mule. I will find you. Got it?"
"Got it."
Atrel watched Arn for a moment, then frowned and left to the quartermaster. Arn glanced at the turret again; one of the ravens had returned. So now you''re there, he mumbled, thanks for making me seem unhinged. The raven cawed softly. Arn flinched - is it talking to me? No, no, the mule, focus, Arn. Just as he turned, someone grabbed his arm. He looked up, heart thumping, but it was only Thoard.
"What?" he asked, sharper than he intended.
"Passcode."
"What do you want from me? I said nothin-"
"Tell me the passcode."
Arn thought of the phrase from last night, and it floated up to his consciousness. He spoke it somewhat slower this time. Once more aware of its vague meaning, but not quite able to formulate it into a thought.
Thoard narrowed his glassy eyes, though the gesture was so slight that Arn wasn''t sure he''d actually seen it.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"Fine, good," Thoard said, still watching Arn intently.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Keep repeating the phrase every day. You will need it to contact him."
"I don''t even know what it means."
"It''s a passcode, don''t forget it."
"I know it''s a passcode, but what -"
"The Inspectorate has increased presence in the valley," Thoard interrupted.
"I didn''t do anything!"
Thoard looked around them, then smiled at Arn, though it never reached the man''s eyes, "yes, I know. they''re here for Rana."
A chill ran up his spine. Rana? Why would they be here for Rana? "But, they have Rana, right? They had her."
Thoard stepped closer, "keep your voice down," he said. "Yes, they did have her."
"Did have her?"
The man scoffed, "she escaped," he dismissed Arn''s reaction with a wave. "There is no reason to think she can find you or would want to find you. Just keep your eyes open."
"If she doesn''t want to find me, then why are you telling me this? And who walks around with closed eyes? What does ''keep your eyes open'' mean?" Arn''s patience for this man was at an end. Inspectorate warden or not.
Thoard stepped even closer and grabbed Arn''s shoulder. "Don''t misunderstand me, boy," he hissed, "It is but a courtesy to you, in honour of his favour upon you. I am still an Inspectorate warden, so mind your insolent tongue."
Once more, Arn saw a spark flare and then disappear in Thoard''s eyes. Up close like this, the man was much more intimidating, and the emptiness of the courtyard suddenly dawned on Arn. He put his hand on Thoard''s and pushed it away, but the man resisted, "do you understand me?" he hissed.
"Yes!" Arn whispered. A bead of sweat ran down his temple.
Thoard looked him over, then released him. The man turned around and hurried off towards one of the Fort''s gates. Arn took deep breaths to steady himself. Something wasn''t right about Thoard - though maybe it is the way all wardens were, for he''d never spoken or seen one before.
The stablemaster didn''t ask too many questions, and upon checking Arn''s token, called one of the stable boys and had him provide Arn with a pack mule. He soon stood next to a very stocky and hairy mule, whose name was ''Old Lady,'' as it turned out. The mule was much more at ease than Arn himself.
Rana wouldn''t look for him, would she? Arn wondered as he waited by the animal. Ossagar told him that there she had many other prisoners, and how would she find him anyway? He reminded himself that Ossagar found him - but Ossagar was a captain at the Inspectorate.
Arn waited by Old Lady for almost an hour before his father returned. He carried several large packs, which he secured on the mule.
"Did they give you any trouble?" he asked Arn.
"No, no one asked anything. This is Old Lady, by the way."
"Who?" his father asked while checking the straps and clasps of the supplies.
"The mule, her name is Old Lady."
"Oh," he said.
They led Old Lady back to the courtyard and out the northern gate through which the Hillside way continued north towards distant mountains. Several other people left with them, though they walked slower and were soon left behind.
Arn looked back at the Old Fort as they walked, it shrunk with every glance until they descended some hills, and the Fort was no longer visible.
His father pointed out plants and trees by the road, insisting that herb lore was crucial on long journeys. Arn only half-listened; his mind was still on Thoard''s words. Rana escaped. The Inspectorate was in the area - which likely meant that she could also be in the area.
But the Yisaor Foothills were vast. She wouldn''t be able to find him here. No, she would wait at the Southern Pass, he realized with horror. They were likely walking into her hands. But the Inspectorate would be there too, wouldn''t they?
"Arn!" his father yelled.
"What? What?" Arn looked around.
"It seems I''ve been speaking to myself, for though my son is walking with me, his mind wonders elsewhere."
"Sorry, I - it''s getting cold!" Arn shivered, suddenly aware of the chilly wind.
His father shook his head. "Yes, it is. We''ll soon begin our climb to the Shield Tower, the Yisaor Foothills are behind us, and the Legs are ahead. It will only get colder."
"The Legs?"
"That''s what they call the foothills before the mountain pass," Atrel said.
"But that isn''t the point - you need to channel you Esarel through the travel charm. It will warm you up."
"Really?" Arn said, reaching with his hand to the charm hanging from his belt. "How?"
"It''s an old technique. Focus on the chill that you feel, and try to warm yourself up, but instead of your Tjoreal or your own body, send the Esarel into the charm."
Arn followed his father''s instructions and felt a slow warmth build up all around his body, emanating from the core and washing through him in waves. To his surprise, even after he stopped, the charm maintained the flow of energy on its own, though it was barely a trickle. He looked at his father in surprise.
"Well, Elar''Saga be my witness. You are too fast with all this," his father said and shook his head, an expression of pride and surprise on his face. "With the charm, you will keep warm for quite some time. It''s one of the many things it helps with."
"That is amazing!" Arn exclaimed, and for the first time in days, he felt light, and the warmth that spread through his body brought with it comfort and joy. His previous thoughts were held at bay for now, and even his father''s comments about the plants no longer seemed quite as dull.
Chapter 23 : The Ill Fated Pass
The wind picked up as they ascended. It pierced Arn''s furs and sent cold needles into his very being. Arn shivered and pulled his coat tighter.
"I thought you said the charm would keep me warm!"
"It should - but you have to resupply it with Esarel!" his father had to yell to overcome the howling gusts.
Arn growled. His boots were covered with snow, so was the rest of him. In fact, snow peppered his face for the past hour. His irritation reached a tipping point, and Arn felt the familiar flame within himself. He ushered it into the travel charm, and it obeyed immediately. The flame - for that is what he took to calling it - swept through him and flowed into the charm.
He felt warmth emanate from his core, more intense than the first time he''d tried it. Arn didn''t feel his Esarel flow into the charm, just the flame. Heat emanated from him. The temperature of the air around him rose and melted the snow before it reached his face. He felt completely at ease; the irritation from moments ago was gone without a trace.
"Are you ok back there?" his father yelled.
"Fine, I''m fine," Arn mumbled, still bewildered by the results of his action.
"What did you say?"
"I''m fine!" he yelled against the wind.
It was two hours before the wind died down. Thanks to the trick with the charm, Arn no longer felt cold and was free even from the peppering snow. When he saw the tiny path that led away from the main road, he let out a sigh of relief. They finally reached the camp - with a fire and food, he thought.
Thankfully he had no dreams that night, though the sounds of animals kept waking him up. There were no ravens, but other birds, distant wolf howls, and Elar''Saga knows what else continued throughout the night. He was surprised to learn that Old Lady seemed to be doing just fine, not in the least bothered by any of it. The mule lazily plucked at the sparse grass below the snow and farted occasionally.
They were soon back on the road, which sloped upwards, ever higher as they went. The wind pressed its assault, but it had little power over Arn now. Whatever he did yesterday kept the charm fully charged still, and the snowflakes continued to melt before it reached him.
The view behind them was breathtaking. The entire Yisaor Foothills stretched out far into the distance, with the mountains on one side and planes as far as the eye could see on the other. The day was clear, and he squinted, looking south, trying to spot Nysaros just ahead of the Saro woods.
"You might see it at night if it''s a clear one when the fires of the clan houses glow brightly in the darkness," his father said.
Arn still tried his best, though he only managed to see vague shadows where he thought Nysaros should be. The Old Fort was visible again, dark against the snow, no more than a speck.
"Come, the road is long still," his father said, then chuckled.
"What?"
"They call this road the Seamway, after the seams of pants, since we''re climbing the legs."
"That can''t be real..."
"Oh, it is real, but be my guest and ask someone at Ar''Thorsan," his father replied.
"Ar''Thorsan?"
"The Southern Outpost. Ar''Thorsan is its proper name - you''ll see soon enough."
The views, chill wind, and banter kept Arn''s thoughts at bay, and he managed to maintain good spirits all through the day, even as the muscles in his legs ached from exhaustion. His father nearly had them skip lunch, but at last, Arn had convinced him that it was necessary.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
They used one of the camp-sites off the road, to which the small trails led, and made quick lunch.
"You were right," Atrel admitted after a sip of hot spicey tea.
"I''m always right!" Arn said, and his father chuckled at that, mumbling something. Was it ''kids''? Arn couldn''t be sure. The wind still gusted loudly.
"Remember the poem from earlier?" his father asked as they began packing up.
"Which poem? The Old Fort?"
"No, no, not that one. The short poem about a pack and belt,"
"I - Uhm, not sure what poem that is."
"Alright, if you insist, I will teach you."
To Arn''s chagrin, his father recited the poem - which he now remembered hearing at the first camp they set by the Mountainview bridge. When finished, his father looked back at Arn, a mischievous smile on his face.
"Now your turn."
"Oh, bloody bear claws," Arn whispered, "no, thank you."
"I''m afraid we must, Arn. Some people will think less of you if you don''t know at least a couple of short poems."
"Some people will think less of me if I do know a couple of short poems!"
"Arn, I am your father, and I know best."
"But dad!" Arn protested, though twenty minutes later, his resistance was ground down by his father''s relentless persistence. He repeated the lines as they went and was only let off the hook after singing the entire poem perfectly three times.
After that ordeal, it was back to lessons about botany and herbology, and he wasn''t entirely sure which was worse.
Just as the sun set behind the western mountains, he saw the top of a grey stone tower and a great fire burned atop the turret. It rose above the pointy treetops, not as tall as the eastern tower of the Old Fort though still quite impressive.
The Seamway wound about, rising even steeper as they approached, bending and climbing towards the tower. Old Lady didn''t seem to mind the terrain, but Arn was at the end of his stamina. He panted heavily and started slowing down. Finally, they came to a large flat field beyond which the mountain pass lay between the Zekasar Ridge to the west and Grandfather''s Peaks to the east.
The Seamway led to a great stone structure, low, wide, and large as a great hall. At one end was the tower Arn saw earlier, and nearby were the stables. A small gathering of people was just at the front of the building, and one of their mules was lead to the stable.
"Come on, Old Lady must go to the stables," his father said.
"We''re not bringing her to the pass?"
"Elar''Saga forbid, she won''t make it. We''ll take one of the Yaelen Luel with us to the pass," upon seeing Arn''s bewildered look, he explained, "they are horses from the northern province of Vule Sunal. You''ll find no animal better suited for the treacherous mountain pass with cold winds, snow, and narrow passages. The Yaelen Luel are said to have a spark of the Northern Wind Spirit in them."
Before Arn could respond, his father added, "this might be another story to ask your great uncle Sead."
More and more questions, Arn thought. Seems that each talk with his father brings about more things he doesn''t know, and he hadn''t even broached the important questions.
At this point, Arn began to reconsider his decision to keep the secrets to himself. Perhaps his father would tell him something useful. No, Arn told himself, not before we reached the Capital.
While the outside of the Ar''Thorsan reminded him of the great hall, the inside was nothing like it. They entered an expansive room where several people lined up before a clerk, who had the same features as the other receptionists at Nysaros, Kalarhan, and even the Old Fort. Arn stared at the man. This can''t be real, he thought.
"Come, we''re in this line," his father beckoned and led Arn to a different counter with a woman behind it.
Once she verified his father''s token and gave Arn a long glance, she nodded and directed them to one of the hallways at the back.
"Departures are an hour past sunrise. If you miss it, you''ll need to wait until the next morning. Here''s your room key," she said.
Unlike the Dancing Dragon inn, this room was nearly empty and less than half the size. Two rickety beds stood on either side, and a small window barely let in light through the opaque glass. His father dragged their items toward one of the walls and sat on one of the beds. He chuckled upon seeing Arn''s expression but said nothing. Arn walked to the other bed, took off his coat and sat as well. He looked at the bare walls and sighed.
"It''s just for a night," Atrel said.
"Yeah,"
"You''ll think better of this room tomorrow, believe me."
"I don''t know. Sleeping outside under the stars is not easy, but it has its charm."
"You haven''t spent a night in the Ahotharo Pass."
"Ahotharo Pass? Is that another story for Sead?"
"Oh yes indeed. I am far too exhausted to tell you that one," a moment later, Atrel said, "sar ahoth aaro dar kah."
"Say what?" Arn furrowed his brows, "did the cold scramble your brains?"
Arn''s father laughed but then put on a serious face, "you can''t talk like that to your father," he said. But Arn saw the hidden smile.
"It means ''the ill fated pass'' in the old tongue, a bit of a mouthful, so it was shortened to Ahotharo over the years," Atrel added, then looked at the opaque window. "Sead will be only too happy to tell you more."
"I should keep a list," Arn said and chuckled, "at this rate, I''ll need to spend a week full of storytelling with him."
"I could think of worse ways to spend a week," his father said. "I am exhausted. Let us sleep now. Tomorrow is an early morning."
Chapter 24 : Foul Mood
Arn and his father packed their supplies onto one of the Yaelen Luel horses. A large leather pouch hung from either side of the animal and was strapped with a number of thick belts. Each of the prized horses was given to a group of three - so they had to wait for someone to join their duo. In the end, it was a family of four - two parents and two children.
Their group received two of the horses, and Arn waited for the others to load up theirs.
Calling the Yaelen Luel horses didn''t quite describe them. Each stood a head taller than an average horse, and their coat was so white that it shone in the light. Their stocky, muscular bodies appeared even larger due to the thick fur. To Arn''s eyes, they looked like a mix between a horse and a polar bear, minus the claws and fangs. Eventually, one of the horses noticed his stare, and their eyes met. Arn could have sworn that the horse knew what he was thinking; its expression could almost be compared to a snicker, then the horse snorted loudly. Arn jumped away.
"You alright?" his father asked.
"Yeah," Arn said, still looking at the horse. "Can they, do they understand people?"
Atrel chuckled, "could be, I don''t know. Why, what did it do?"
"Nothing. Doesn''t matter."
The other family finally finished their packing, and the stableman led them out of the Ar''Thorsan tower to the very edge of the Ahotharo Pass.
The stableman looked to be at least twenty years older than Arn''s father. Bushy white brows contrasted sharply with his leathery skin, and his moustache hung well beneath the chin. He glared at them disapprovingly. His eyes lingered on the mother with her baby, and he clicked his tongue.
"Listen up," he bellowed, though the silence of morning didn''t require such volume. The man adjusted a thick belt over his woollen coat.
"I don''t like sending off unprepared people into the pass," he growled, his gaze once more lingering upon the mother. "You can imagine how crappy of a morning I''m having thanks to the lot of you!"
The other family stirred, but their father shushed them. Arn himself was irritated, but when he glanced at his father, he saw a twinkle in the man''s eyes. This has to be some sort of an act, he realized.
"The pass is a bad place for a family picnic," the stableman said, "do not, under any circumstances, stray off the road - unless you want to become bear droppings."
"We know how to follow a road, old man," the woman with the baby said. Arn noted her unfamiliar accent.
"Oh!" the stableman exclaimed, "oh, you do, do you?"
The woman only scowled in response.
"I''ll just let the local Ranger know to keep an eye for some bones," he said, then looked at her baby, "very, very tiny bones."
The woman gasped, but he continued before she said anything. "You will listen to me," he nearly yelled, "the tower will be held accountable for your idiocy, and I don''t want to answer to the council because of the likes of you."
"Hey, Alek, why don''t we move along here," Arn''s father said.
The man glanced at him, then smiled. "Atrel, why do you keep coming back here? I''m tired of seeing you around. You''re messing up my tough act!"
"I''ll keep an eye on everyone. You have my word."
"Well, if you say so," the old man sighed. He then looked back at the other family. "The Yaelen Luel know what to do, follow them. They know the way to the northern outpost and the way back. Stick with the horses. Got it?"
His words were greeted with murmurs and shuffling. The old man shook his head. "They''re all yours," he said to Atrel, then walked back to the outpost.
Several arduous hours later, the small group crested yet another of the many ascending hills along the path. A steep rockface rose ominously to the of their twelve-foot wide road. The drop to the right wasn''t as steep - I''d probably survive the fall with only a few broken bones, Arn mused.
The family lagged behind, parents often bickering among themselves though their voices were too muffled to hear.
"They''re taking a baby through the pass?" Arn whispered to his father.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"We all have reasons beyond our control."
"But - a baby!"
"I''m sure they have a good reason."
"Why would - "
"Enough, son," his father said abruptly, "don''t whisper when we''re with company."
"Fine," Arn replied. He glanced back at the family, who slowly ascended yet another hill. The mother was having a particularly tough time carrying the baby - she stumbled, her husband quickly caught her arm. Then, he said something which Arn couldn''t quite make out. He recalled the unusual accent the woman had earlier.
"What is that language he just spoke?" Arn asked his father.
"The old tongue," his father replied. He then stopped and looked back.
"We should wait a little and perhaps slow down. Can''t skip ahead like that, not in these parts."
"The old tongue? Isn''t that for charms and scrolls?" Arn held up his travel charm with the letters he couldn''t read.
"They speak it still in Kahos - it''s an island across the Samaroan Sea," Atrel looked at Arn with a frown, "don''t ask me more about it while we''re near the family."
"Why not?"
"It''s impolite."
"Why is everything impolite?"
"Just do as I ask, Arn. This isn''t the time," his father''s voice grew stern, making Arn reconsider his line of questioning. Atrel was in his serious mood, which Arn saw seldom but knew to respect - at a distance, if possible.
"We can load some of your packs onto the horses," Atrel said to the family once they were in earshot.
"The land shall keep us," the man replied, then brought up a pendant and kissed it.
"The path is narrow and difficult. The horses know it well. That is what they are for," Arn''s father insisted.
"Sar thorsan dar Kahasar," the other man muttered under his breath, "Sir, please look for your own. We are of the land." The man then turned to his wife and whispered something inaudibly.
Arn was sure it was in the old tongue, which he wouldn''t understand at any rate. Atrel kept his frown but let the matter drop. The horses clearly had a good deal of room for additional supplies, but the family insisted on carrying their own.
The pattern continued for the rest of the day. Arn and his father moved ahead, stopped to wait, then the family caught up. They never did introduce themselves or say anything beyond the necessary.
They huddled together during meals, ate and spoke in whispers which Arn could neither hear nor understand.
The group reached Mount Sentinel around evening. The sun had just touched the mountain tops casting blue and violet shadows over the ground. The two massive ridges towered on either side, with black rocks visible under the white snow. Few trees grew in the pass itself though they saw the Aaro Forest to the west earlier in their journey. His father stopped again and turned around.
"We''ll stop at the first camps beyond the mountain," he said after the family caught up once again.
"Of this path, I made many travels," the man said, "another camp lies ahead. We stop there."
"We won''t make it before nightfall - do you want to walk here during the dark?" Atrel said and motioned around them.
"I travelled of this path and was of the second camp less the night!" the man insisted. The man''s face screwed up in a stubborn expression, and his hands planted on his waist.
"You probably didn''t travel with two children, one of whom is a baby!"
"This child is of yours!"
"Arn isn''t a child!" Atrel snapped, "you have a baby!" he pointed at the man''s wife.
"Of my protection, not of your mind," the man proclaimed and folded his arms. "We stop of second camp, now go!"
Arn saw the struggle on his father''s face. Atrel looked ahead and seemed to be making mental calculations. He then took out a light emitter - almost the same as the one at the archives - and gave it to Arn.
"You know how to use this?"
Arn shook his head.
"Just like the firestarter," Atrel said, "do it once it''s dark." Once Arn took the device Atrel stormed off to walk a short way ahead. ''This was supposed to be for emergencies, but perhaps having fools for companions is an emergency," Arn heard his father mumble and had to stifle a laugh.
They reached the second camp well after sundown and would likely have fallen down the hill to their right without the extra light from the emitter. The blueish light cast everything an eerie monochrome - the trees, snow, clothes - all various shades of blue. Only the distant sky remained pitch black.
The baby began crying nearly an hour before the camp, no attempts to quiet it worked. Atrel watched grumpily as the family settled by the firepit. He clearly expected them to light the fire.
Arn''s father finally snapped and nearly threw the firestarter at Arn, who was only too eager to practice using his Esarel once more. The embers were soon lit and radiated heat, and though the fire wasn''t as bright as their previous camps, the heat was much more intense. Arn wondered at that.
"It''s Emberwood," Atrel said, "very rare, but can''t abide without it at the pass, we would all freeze to death in our sleep," he added and looked at the family, who were ignoring them both now that there was a heat source. "Turn off the light emitter," his father said, then started walking off.
"Of where do you go?" the man asked.
"Setting up a perimeter, we''re too close to Aaros Woods. There are wild animals," his father replied.
"We are of the land -"
"You''ll be under the land," he barked and disappeared in the dark.
The family whispered indignantly among themselves though they pointedly avoided looking at Arn. He''d never seen anyone rile his father quite this much - anyone that wasn''t a family member, that is. The second child was a young boy who was watching Arn intently. He had dark brown eyes, nearly black, and his skin was white as snow. Arn looked at his own hand, which was somewhat darker, like all other people he''d seen.
Suddenly the woman noticed her son looking at Arn and pulled his arm. Her eyes were very dark as well. He''d never seen eyes like that before. Most of the people of Nysaros, and of Kalarhan too, had eyes some shade of violet. Some were brighter, others a bit dimmer. His own were bright violet, but he''d never seen pure dark eyes before. Not even at the Old Fort earlier.
His father returned shortly, though his time away didn''t do much to dissipate his foul mood. Thankfully the man from the other family picked up on it and spoke no words for the rest of the night.
Chapter 25 : A Pulsing Vein
The forest extended in all directions; tall pines stood still and unbothered by the breeze. Arn blinked at large snowflakes as they floated down from the sky. The colours around him were muted, just shadows of what they should have been. He took a step forward, but his foot made no impression in the snow. That made sense to Arn. He didn''t find it concerning or unusual. In fact, he had expected as much. There were no mountains around him, just the endless forest, the dark sky, and many glittering stars that he didn''t recognize. Yet, they seemed more familiar than the sky above Nedreal.
As before, dim light permeated everything he saw with no discernable source. Sounds came to him slowly; they washed upon the forest as the light of morning''s dawn. The rustle of the pine needles, scraping of tiny claws upon the rough bark of trees. Swish-swosh of large wings, the dull thump of paws upon the snow.
The latter was something he knew of more than heard. Arn turned towards the thumping and saw the shape of a leopard darting among the trees.
Fear''s memory blossomed in him, though the emotion itself didn''t follow. It fizzled out, impotent in this place. He gasped, ready to run, but his body didn''t react with the expected rush and readiness. Instead, he was calm and at peace.
The green of the pines grew brighter, their vibrancy pushed against the earlier muted palette. Purple and orange washes spread across the snow, saturating the world around him with life and vigour. Yet, the black sky alone remained unchanged.
Something radiated cold against his chest, an incessant sort of feeling that drew his attention. It waxed and wained as waves of the sea, and he finally touched it, only to realize that his chest was bare - nothing but the charm adorned it. The charm his father gave him so long ago, it felt like years, lifetimes even - though, in truth, only months had passed.
Arn opened his eyes to a sky lit by the warm colours of the rising sun. The pendant still felt cold on his skin, even hidden beneath his shirts, coat, and scarf. What was that about, he wondered, then pressed a hand to his chest. The cold faded quickly just as the memory of his dream floated to his mind.
The dream again, he thought. Though he''d never felt the pendant in his dreams before - or were they visions? Arn glanced at his father, still asleep inside the sleeping bag by his side. Should he bring this up? It seemed important, growing in urgency. He decided to broach the matter right after the pass. He wouldn''t wait until the capital.
Morning in The Ahotharo Pass was peaceful and near-silent. Cold winter air hung in place as though it, too, just now awakened with the sun''s rays. Remnants of the night''s mist lingered in the lower parts of the pass, pierced by lone conifers and their dark needles. A sudden breeze disturbed the peace, scattering the fog and blowing cold air in Arn''s face.
The air stung, as cold things oft do, upon contact with skin. The others stirred. Arn noticed that the family huddled close to the embers, too close, he realized.
A system was worked out: Arn and his father cooked their breakfast first, as they often rose first. Then, the other family would awaken and follow with their own meals. Thus they did today as well.
Arn and his father sat upon large logs around the firepit. They ate a warm stew of dried vegetables and roots, perfectly spiced with his mother''s blend that she had given them. The stew was more of a soup, really, a convenient way to eat and have a warm drink all at once, so his father said.
"Do dreams repeat?" Arn asked his father while the family made a ruckus with their own food preparation.
"How do you mean?"
"Could you have a dream in the same place as another dream you had?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
"Do you mean when one is roused in the middle of a dream, then returns to the same one upon falling back asleep? Is that what you''re asking?"
"No."
"No? What then?"
"I don''t know."
"I don''t think you mean to ask about dreams in the same physical location," his father took a long breath, "I''m not sure I understand what you''re asking of me?"
Arn frowned. He briefly considered abandoning his line of questions but, in the end, decided to press on.
"Its dreams that end, then later other dreams happen in the same place. Like a series of dreams in one world. Have you ever had something like that?" Arn asked his father.
Atrel furrowed his brows and gazed out toward the horizon. "Well, dreams are a complicated topic. They do what they will, and are as likely to yield a meaning as not."
Arn''s father put his spoon into the bowl, held it down with a thumb, then sipped the stew. Slurping noises drew the scorn and indignation of the family nearby. Arn ignored them but saw a tiny smile flash across his father''s face.
"It''s nothing then," Arn said quietly.
"I didn''t say that," his father insisted, "it may be nothing, but it may be something. What sort of dream was it?"
Arn wasn''t sure that now was the best time to speak of the dream. He wasn''t even sure why he''d broached the topic in the first place. I wanted to wait ''till the northern tower, so why''d it just spill out of me like that? Perhaps it was for the better, he thought, then glanced at their companions who were just sitting down for their own breakfasts. The noise of preparations was dying down. Arn shook his head.
"Maybe it really was nothing," he said to his father.
Atrel leaned closer to Arn, "is it a sort of dream that you''re embarrassed to speak of?" he whispered.
Arn recoiled in shock, but his father laughed. "No, it isn''t! It''s in this forest, with no wind - it doesn''t matter."
His father ''hmmed'' loudly, rubbed his chin, then ''hmmed'' again.
"What?" Arn barked.
"They say that in our sleep, we visit worlds beyond our own, beyond our knowledge, and with no path by which it can be found in the waking world."
"You think I go to a different world? Are these worlds empty - does anyone live there?"
"Not of a different world," the man from the other family said. Neither Arn nor his father noticed the silence with which their talk proceeded for the last minute or so.
"Of road to worlds, that is the dream," the man said. Arn stared, uncertain how to respond. Could this man be right? Is this some sort of a road between worlds that he visits in his dreams?
"Ah yes, the Aether," his father said suddenly and pulled Arn out of his reverie. "The road between worlds which the spirits travel and mortal men can only reach through dreams."
"It is." the man nodded.
"Quite a legend, to be sure. But we''d have to speak with one of the spirits to confirm it, won''t we? No mortal man has stepped there in recent memory."
"But it could be?" Arn said hopefully, looking first at the man, then his father.
"Anything could be, Arn. Take care to remember more of your dreams, and see what else you learn. I wouldn''t worry over much about it. Let us focus on the way we should be returning to sooner rather than later," he said and then looked at the family. They scoffed and returned to their meals.
It took another half an hour before the group was back on the path. Arn and his father moved ahead, stopped to wait, and so the process repeated. That morning they were followed by croaks and swooshes of wings, more often and closer to them with each passing hour.
None else gave it much notice, but Arn kept looking after the sounds, though no ravens could be seen. He couldn''t wait to leave the pass, as beautiful and serene as it was, something in it unnerved the deepest parts of him.
Unlike yesterday, the young boy of the family wouldn''t stay with his parents. He ran this way and that, tripped in the snow, fell, laughed. Finally, his father whispered to the mother, and she yelled out to the kid in their tongue. Arn guessed the boy''s name was Athny, though he didn''t seem to hear his mother''s pleas.
The boy began to climb the trees and rocks that they passed. This seemed to have tipped the balance, and the boy''s father joined in the yelling.
"Don''t yell so loudly!" Atrel called to them.
"Of our charge our son!" the man replied.
"Your son, yes, but we''re still near the woods, and there are many an animal there which we shouldn''t care to attract!"
"We are of the land, Kahasar -"
"For Elar''Saga''s sake!" his father exclaimed, "keep it down! The animals don''t know who is of what land. You can go back to shouting at your child after we pass through Ahotharo!"
At this, the mother made to speak, but the man held her back. He touched the talisman around his neck and whispered something to her. They continued to call after Athny, though not as loudly.
Arn''s father gave up after that and made a point of ignoring them. They moved in relative peace until lunch, which passed uneventfully as well. Athny seemed to have been bolstered by the food and rest and redoubled his efforts thereafter. Arn watched a vein pulse on his father''s temple. That wasn''t a good sign, he knew.
Chapter 26 : An Old Anger
Atrel''s vein continued to twitch. Arn watched his father wince each time he heard their companions yell. The horses, just a few steps ahead, were blissfully unaware of the commotion and trudged on, up and down the path. Their powerful legs propelled them with ease, the weight of supplies hardly affecting their gait.
"Eh," Arn''s father sighed, "to be one of the Yaelen Luel and to charge through the pass at full speed," his father said.
"You want to be a horse?" Arn chuckled.
"What? Oh, spirits - I didn''t intend to speak it out loud."
Behind them, the yells intensified. Finally, Atrel had had enough.
"Keep your blasted voices down!" he yelled at their companions, not following his own orders.
They argued back and forth, making as much - if not more noise than before. Arn hadn''t seen his father so caught up in a heated exchange in a long time. Even uncle Doren didn''t often get so deep under Atrel''s skin.
"If you''re not afraid of wild beasts that might carry your child away, you might concern yourself with causing an avalanche!" his father shouted.
While the two men argued, Athny had somewhat calmed down, undoubtedly exhausted by his running and climbing. His mother struggled with heavy bags and the baby both - the family still refused to use the horses and insisted on carrying most of their supplies themselves.
Before Arn could say a word to his father, he noted the Yaelen Luel freeze just up ahead - the two horses looked eastward. Suddenly, they bolted forward upon the path, moving faster than Arn''d have thought possible over such terrain.
While they all gawked at the horses, a loud crack exploded somewhere nearby, then a deep rumble reverberated through the snow and trees. It shook everything around them; the woman fell to the ground, her packs opened and spilled their contents.
"Avalanche!" his father yelled, "coming from the east ridge, run!" It was then that he saw the woman and the spilled contents, "leave it, you fools, you''ll die! Run!" he yelled.
The family ignored him and were frantically stuffing their things back into their bags. Meanwhile, the rumbling intensified. Arn felt the powerful vibrations in his chest. The avalanche rushed at them down one of the slopes upon the eastern ridge.
"We should help!" Arn said and bolted towards the others, but his father held his arm.
"No, they won''t let you, and it is too late anyway! You need to run to that rocky hill over there! Go now!" his father yelled. Arn looked back at the family, the mother still holding her baby, both the father and the young child were packing their belonging. They''d never make it, he thought.
"I can''t le-"
Arn''s father grabbed him by the shoulders, so tightly that it hurt even through all his layers.
"You have to run!" he shouted. Suddenly Arn saw his father''s flushed face and the sweat that bead upon his brows and streamed down his temples.
Was that steam rising off of him? Arn wondered briefly as his father shook him and yelled again. He tried to argue, but Atrel held his face. His eyes met Arn''s, and the immense struggle within them stalled his words. Atrel''s hands felt hot, nearly burning against his skin.
"Please," his father pleaded, "you have to run, please!"
Arn nodded, stepped back, then ran to the stony hill south of them. Of all the events of today, this was by far the most alarming. He looked back as he ran. Atrel remained in place for a few moments, then walked to within twelve feet of the family. They were almost done by now, but it didn''t matter - they''ll never make it.
Arn had just reached the hill. It rose a good twenty feet above where his father stood and was nearly out of the way of the avalanche. The rumbling became deafening as a wall of powdery snow sped towards them. His father wouldn''t make it out either. Why''d he stayed?
Arn yelled, but the rumbling and roaring of the avalanche drowned all other sounds. His father stood, facing the oncoming snow, and now steam rose from his body in truth. Atrel took a deep breath and let out a savage yell, so powerful it overcame the thunderous snow.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
This finally drew the attention of the family, who jumped to their feet and began to move back - was it fear that Arn saw upon their faces?
The snow around Atrel melted too. It sizzled and steamed a few feet in each direction. The sudden moisture from the melted snow turned the earth into mud, then the mud dried and hardened. Arn''s father raised his arms and braced himself with his left leg.
The family, who was backing away, staggered and shook. They seemed unable to move, then each fell to the ground, struggling to hold themselves up even while on all fours. Arn briefly wondered about that; just as a wave of pressure hit him, it sent shivers down his spine, and goosebumps washed over him in waves. The pressure weighed him down - it was all he could do to stay upright.
Then came the avalanche. Arn''s heart lurched, he yelled against the thunder and rumbling, but there was no hope. The massive wave of snow crashed into his father, then burst upwards as a massive white plume.
The mass of snow split as water against a rock. It flowed and tumbled to each side of where his father stood. Large chunks of solid snow and debris flew upward and away. The pressure he felt earlier rose and threatened to overwhelm Arn even from that distance.
A crater was forming behind the split, just large enough to protect the family, who huddled together and shivered so intensely it could be seen from Arn''s vantage point. Snow piled in two massive mounds to either side of his father. The pressure wave peaked just as the avalanche abated, and all at once, it was over.
The family jumped to their feet as soon as silence fell and the pressure was lifted. First, they stared at Arn''s father in horror, then they ran away. The mother carried the baby, the father hauled Athny and the few precious packs they managed to collect thus far.
Arn gazed at their abandoned possessions - possessions that they nearly died for. That they almost killed him and his father for. Arn watched them, and anger rose within him, but it was quickly overwhelmed by fear over what he had just witnessed.
He rushed to his father and saw him stand in an area of naked earth about six feet in each direction. A massive wall of hard-packed snow split to either side of him. It was at least twelve feet tall. Arn froze. What did he just witness? The memory of Rana''s scroll flashed in his mind. His father turned slowly, saw Arn, then turned back towards the snow.
"Dad!" Arn yelled, finally finding his voice, "dad," he repeated more quietly.
"Stop," Atrel growled.
"What?"
"Don''t," he hissed.
"Dad," Arn whispered, "it''s ok, right? It''s over?"
"Run," Atrel replied.
"What are you talking about?"
"Run! You have to run!" his father yelled.
"You stopped it, the avalanche is stopped, I already returned from the hill, you said earlier to run..."
"You don''t understand, son." Arn flinched from the heavy sadness in his father''s voice.
"But it''s over! We just need to find, to find the horses, that''s all we need, then we can -"
"They are already coming," his father whispered, and the sadness was gone from his voice, replaced by something cold and foreign. Arn never heard this tone from his father. He took an involuntary step back.
"Who? There''s no one here!"
"You met one of them at the stables, at the Old Fort, didn''t you?"
Arn shuddered. His father knew? How? "What? No, it''s not - it wasn''t about you, I can explain -"
"It isn''t a blame, son," his voice became calmer with every word, but the cold undertone remained. He still looked at the snow. "There is much you don''t know. You need to trust me on this."
"I can come with you," Arn said, "please," he whispered.
"Don''t make it harder, son," his father turned back, and Arn saw that there were tears in his eyes too.
"You have a chance. You must double back through the Aaro Woods, a few hours at most, then return to the trail. By then, I''d have led them away. You will be able to reach the Tower of Het. From there, the road to Naradael is easy."
"Come with me, double back with me!"
"I can''t come," he then looked somewhere in the distance, "they are already on their way."
"No, please, I''ll come with you then! Don''t leave me here!" he yelled the last part. It is then that he felt the fear. The darkness of that cell in Kalarhan wasn''t what scared him - it was the isolation, the complete loneliness. The fear of it crawled and clawed into him, its dark tendrils twisted around his heart. Arn struggled to remain upright.
Atrel''s face twisted, then hardened. "You need to leave now! No matter what your fear is, you can overcome it. We will meet once more if you go now!"
"No...I can''t," he whispered.
"Go!" his father yelled, and the steam once again rose from him, and the wave of pressure hit Arn a second time. However, unlike before, his own body nearly vibrated in response. What is this? A small part of him wondered. The fear of being alone now, the weight of his loneliness in the cell, the desperation and inability to do anything against Rana, De''al, and now his father - all melded into a single roiling mass.
His body shook. His mind shook. Fear slowly faded and in its stead rose a mighty anger.
Old anger that took its time to grow, dense anger that didn''t simply blow in one spectacular flash. It was an anger that pushed the pressure away, that made him brave against the world.
"Fine," Arn growled at his father. Their eyes met, and Atrel flinched.
"Son, you misunderstand..."
"I don''t think so," Arn whispered. For once in his life, he had something to banish his fear, something to help him take control.
Atrel''s expression saddened. A distant part of Arn''s mind hurt from that, but that part was too afraid to face the world, and so it remained buried deep under the anger.
"I''ll be fine," Arn said and turned away from his father. He walked off towards the Aaro forest, then began running.
Arn didn''t see his father''s shoulders as they shook after he left. He didn''t see Atrel fall to his knees and weep.
Chapter 27 : The Wolves Are Coming
Arn''s breaths came ragged. Cold air hurt his throat on the way down - steam came out with each exhalation. His feet sank into the snow, taxing his muscles with each step. He hadn''t stopped yet, hadn''t dared slow down, hadn''t dared think about what just happened.
His path rounded the Sentinel Mountain and led him to the Aaro Woods treeline. Maybe he''s right behind me? Arn thought - but he knew that it wasn''t true. The wall of conifers grew taller, and he soon entered the forest proper.
In a moment of weakness, he looked back at the empty valley behind him - a single line of footprints in the snow disappeared in the distance. Arn growled, spittle landed on the snow and left tiny holes. His heart thumped like a drum, shaking his entire body with every beat. The anger from before flared once more. It clawed Arn with its dark tendrils, sending waves of energy to urge his body onward.
"Fine," Arn yelled. A fit of coughing burst from his throat. "Fine," he whispered a moment later. "I''ll double down around the mountain, through the forest, back to Ar''Thorsan," he added.
Arn knew that his father was afraid of the Inspectorate, that he worried of pursuit. What do they want with him? Arn thought, they came to the Old Fort for me; the Warden was there for me!
The thoughts drained Arn of his vigour, ushering fatigue that settled upon him like a heavy blanket. He swore at the forest and at the mountains.
The sun above just crossed the midpoint of its journey. He would follow it for a time, then turn Eastward towards the trail, farther down and closer to the Southern Outpost.
Arn slumped against a particularly tall tree. His bare hand scraped painfully against its rough bark. ''Ouch!'' he yelped and cradled it. When''d he lose the glove? That''s all he needed - to lose all his clothes and freeze to death. He slid to the snow-covered ground for a moment of much-needed - nay, unavoidable - rest.
He then wondered whether the Inspectorate could have been after his father from the start. Could they have simply used him to get at his father? No, he decided, no, they weren''t after anyone; Thoard was there to help me, to lead me to Ossagar.
It was Rana who imprisoned him, Rana who held him captive in that damn cell. His anger flared once more - Arn smashed his bare fist against the snow. The Inspectorate saved him and brought him back home; that''s what they did thus far. His father was crazy, simply out of his mind.
Arn was tired of the talk about spirits and old legends; that was all his family cared about. They had no idea what he went through - they lived an easy life without a care. "No idea," he growled. A croak echoed in the distance, then another one.
"What do you want?" Arn yelled and glared all around, "what do you want from me? It''s not enough I see you in my dreams; you follow me out here too?"
The forest mocked him with its silence. A cold wind swept through the pine needles, rustling them and blowing off some of the snow.
Arn sighed. If his father didn''t want his company, then so be it. He''d reach Naradael himself and then join with Ossagar. Arn repeated the strange password Thoard had given him. As before, a faint glimmer of meaning flashed into his mind but faded before forming into a proper thought.
His breath settled, muscled relaxed, and mind cleared. Though his anger didn''t abate, instead, it settled into a dense and heavy pool in his core. It sent waves of energy throughout him, warming up his body and fortifying his resolve.
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Finally, he got up. The sun had nearly reached the mountains. He''d have to hurry if he were to make it onto the trail before nightfall. Even in his state of mind, the prospect of the forest at night was less than appealing.
He ran once more, but this time tried to conserve his energy. Sentinel Mount to his left towered over the treeline, serving as a beacon by which to find his way. Arn took no provisions in his haste - the hunger gnawed at his empty stomach, but thurst was foremost on his mind. His throat was dry, and he coughed as he ran, each swallow scratching and clawing at the back of it.
A fit of coughing forced him to stop. I need water, he thought - the snow perhaps? He grabbed a handful from one of the lower branches and shoved it in his mouth. It was cold, but it melted quickly into sweet, freezing water. He grabbed another handful, and another, a sudden and ear-splitting pain exploded in his head, it dropped him to his knees.
It was the worst brain freeze he''d experienced in his life, and it lasted longer than any he''d ever felt. Why, why is this all happening? The pain drained his resolve, tired muscles flared into his consciousness, and Arn wasn''t sure he could get up. He sat against another tree. Before he knew it, his eyes closed.
He awoke to near-total darkness. The faint glow of starlight reflected from the snow, outlining the dark and ominous trees all around. Oh, spirits! I fell asleep, oh spirits! Arn vaguely recalled a sound - it was what woke him.
''Wolf droppings," he whispered, "knee-deep wolf droppings!"
This was precisely what he tried to avoid. The sun was no longer there to guide him, and the night was moonless. He scrambled up to his feet, then held on to the tree against a sudden dizzy spell. The mountains stood as dark shadows against the starry sky - they were all around him, and he couldn''t tell the Sentinel just by the outline of it.
"Wolf droppings," he muttered.
Arn looked for the tracks he''d left to the tree; there they are, he thought. His only choice was to continue in the direction they led. And so he did.
The going was much slower at night, for he could barely see anything in the dark. Suddenly, Arn stumbled upon a snow-covered root and fell to the ground. He remained in his prone position for a time, then crawled toward another tree trunk. His heart pounded again, but this time not from physical exhaustion.
For just a second, he thought that he smelled the sweet scent of Rana''s pipe. Rana! he startled himself; she was out here somewhere. He looked about frantically, but the night was still too dark to see.
The pressure upon his chest grew. He grabbed at his coat and pulled it apart. The cool air sent goosebumps as it touched his damp shirt. The respite was brief. Rana kept creeping back into his mind. De''al, too.
He wondered about the Inspectorate Warden as well - would he have followed them to the mountain pass? His mind conjured the image of people standing over his sleeping body come morning. Rana, De''al, the Warden, and even the Black Warden, whom he hadn''t seen, but imagined as a tall and dark shape, hooded and manacing. Breathing was difficult, he gasped, but the cold air only hurt his lungs. He saw spots at the corners of his vision. His head swam.
A peculiar sensation cut through it all. Cold against Arn''s skin - but not that of the winter air. A different kind of cold, deeply familiar, yet unknown. He glanced down at his shirt, and a very faint yellowish glow was just visible from beneath.
"The metal charm? It''s glowing?" Arn mumbled. He pulled it by the chain and looked at it. It did glow. He felt all things around him recede, pulling away from him. Even his body, propped against the tree in the cold dark forest, became a distant object, less a part of him. A mere vessel.
Arn''s consciousness floated just outside of all the commotion and worries that threatened to overwhelm him moments ago. Every second brought a sense of calm to him, he was drawn away from - from himself? That made no sense.
He sensed someone or something behind him. It not so much stood behind him as had his back. It felt safe and massive beyond imagining. He stayed within its enormous shadow, and all his worries quieted, diminished, faded away. He breathed freely.
And then, some of the power that banished his worries flowed into him. It filled him with peace, pushing the anger and fear out, cleansing him from their gnarled tendrils. He opened his eyes. The darkness around him no longer held the menace it did earlier. The pressure on his chest was gone, and his heart returned to its normal pace. Padum, Padum, Padum.
Arn got up, feeling unexpectedly refreshed. He was calmer, true, though he still didn''t have a clear path to follow. He tried again to identify the mountains and retrace his steps, but all his work resulted in uneducated guesses.
Soft blue light drew his attention. He just spotted it from the corner of his eyes. It winked out, then reappeared, then out again, continuing so as it moved across his field of vision. He walked towards it. There was no other path, and in such things, before now, he always had good intuition, and so he followed it once more.
The light grew as he walked and took the shape of a four-legged beast. It weaved among the trees, leaping ahead at times, then slowing down. A snow leopard, he thought. He followed it for what seemed to be hours. The night remained as dark as ever.
Faint howls emanated in the distance - wolves, he thought. The howls rose with each step; he soon could no longer ignore them. If wolves set upon him at night, well, that didn''t bear thinking.
Arn found a large solid tree, tested its branches, then climbed up. He climbed twenty feet, or so he estimated. Enough to stay out of their reach, then sat to wait. It didn''t take long for the beasts to arrive. Several wolves circled the tree, their very breath audible in the quiet of the forest.
They snarled and scratched at the trunk, though luckily, they couldn''t climb it. Arn was safe, for now.
He took out his belt and tried to put it around the trunk - it wasn''t long enough. He''d have to get by with the branch. Arn tied himself as best he could and put his arms around the trunk. More and more wolves gathered below him. They have to leave at some point, he hoped, following the wolves with terrified eyes.
Chapter 28 : DEKATH!
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Chapter 29 : The Ranger
Soft yet agitated mutterings reached Arn''s ears from behind him. He heard the snow crunch under heavy footsteps and the sound of something getting dragged. He felt that he was moving, though not of his own. In fact, he was lying on a hard surface that bobbed and bounced.
Daylight greeted his sight, the sun shone, and a gentle breeze caressed the exposed skin of his face. He watched the trees recede into the distance, realizing that he was strapped to a makeshift gurney. He was moving, which meant that someone pulled the thing.
Arn''s thoughts came slowly this morning, and the day''s beauty distracted him further. Finally, he noticed the straps that passed below his arms and fastened over his thighs. His hands were free, though, and he brought the right one to his face - all seemed in order. Very good, he thought, now the right one - ah, very good as well.
He tried to look back, but the gurney blocked his sight. The grunts behind him were delivered by a feminine voice. A particularly steep ascent elicited some curses - quite spectacular ones, he thought. Arn almost chuckled. He never wondered who the woman was, nor why he was strapped. Nor did the memories of the previous night reach his mind, tired as it was. The songs of birds and the rustle of the pines were the only sounds he heard. He went back to sleep with a smile.
Arn felt a sudden rattle and jerk, followed by cursing and more muttering. He fought the urge to awaken, for he was in the midst of a particularly pleasant dream. In it, he was back at Nysaros, the whole family sat for one of great uncle Sead''s stories. There was food and drink and much merriment.
Another jerk and more cursing. The dream slipped from Arn''s mind. He opened his eyes and saw the world lurch once more, then the outline of a doorframe through which he was dragged into a structure. Old wooden beams crossed the ceiling, the space between them covered by animal pelts. The gurney left tracks on the dusty floor, and the snow it dragged inside pooled in dirty puddles. A backlit figure rushed past and closed the door with a soft thud - the woman sighed and muttered something again.
Arn blinked a few times to adjust to the dimmer light. The woman didn''t notice him awaking. Against the wall stood several worn spears, a bow, a staff, and a coat hung nearby. He saw a part of a large map with several spots marked, but then the woman came to unfasten him, and he closed his eyes again.
Arn wasn''t entirely certain why, but he didn''t feel ready for an introduction. She grabbed him with surprisingly powerful arms and roughly pulled him off the gurney and onto a bed, which creaked as he dropped. He reconsidered his earlier decision, though it was too late now. His mind clouded over, and other dreams flowed into it.
''Clink clank,'' he heard. There was a slight pause, then a creak as though something was tightened, followed by ''clank, clank, clank.'' Another pause, footsteps. Scraping noises followed, then ''dun dun.'' Sleep faded from Arn''s mind as the noises around him continued.
He breathed in a musty scent, filled with hints of smoke and unfamiliar herbs. Arn lay beneath a soft blanket, no longer fastened to the gurney.
Right, she put me in the bed, he remembered.
His mind was much clearer and sharper this - morning? He wasn''t sure what the time was. Arn opened his eyes to see the old wooden beams from before. He looked around - he was in a large hall, bigger than the largest room in his clan house. At its center stood a massive fireplace, and a smouldering flame burned within it. The smoke was sucked upward into the chimney, little escaped into the room.
There were three more beds beside the one he occupied. Two appeared unused. The map from earlier - huge, at least five feet across - hung on the wall opposite him. It displayed the Ahotharo Pass and surrounding area with a multitude of pins marking various locations. Arn turned his head and saw the woman who''d rescued him last night. She stood over a table with tools and clamps, though Arn didn''t quite know what she was doing.
She was the source of the sounds - ''clink clank,'' then ''dun, dun, dun'' once she used the larger hammer. She wore a leather vest and loose brown pants that were held up by a thick belt with many latches. Her arms tensed as she twisted something on the table, the muscles moving like cables beneath her skin. Old scars on her right forearm drew Arn''s attention.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
She stopped moving, and the sounds stopped too. Startled, he looked up - their eyes met. Her''s were a bright violet on the outer edge of the iris and green around the pupil. Too many thoughts and questions rushed all at once, yet none amounted to either words or actions. Arn continued to stare. The woman raised one eyebrow and tilted her head.
"You seem fine, but," she said, then motioned towards him with her hand, "what''s happening right now?"
His face grew warm. "I - nothing, I''m fine. Where am I?" he asked and looked around.
"Thank you, glorious saviour, for delivering me from a miserable death in the cold forest. How can I ever repay you?" she said with a flourish of her arm.
Arn''s memories of last night were still foggy, though he did recall the gurney. "Thank you, thank you for saving my life," he said. "Glorious saviour..." he added a second later with a smile.
She chuckled and shook her head. "What were you doing so far from the road?"
Arn turned away from her and stared at the flames in the fireplace. Memories rushed into his mind, none of which he welcomed. "I got lost."
"You got lost?" she replied with emphasis on the last word.
"Yes."
"Boy goes lost in Ahotharo Pass, ends up miles deep in Aaro woods, far from the trail. Saved by a lucky encounter with a ranger. Is that about right?"
"Sure," he said, still watching the flames.
Arn wanted to get his bearings, to explain what happened to himself, before telling it all to her.
A ranger? This woman is a ranger? He turned back towards her.
The best word to describe her was rugged. She certainly looked like what Arn imagined a ranger would.
"You''re a ranger?" he asked.
"Lucky that you passed out where you did. Anywhere else, and no one would have ever seen or heard of you. You''d be another kid lost in the mountains."
"I''m not a kid."
She chuckled, "oh, excuse me."
Arn grimaced. She doesn''t know anything about me, he thought. She wouldn''t call him a ''kid'' if she knew what he went through. But he wasn''t about to tell a stranger - he hadn''t even told everything to his own father.
He winced at the thought and mentally closed off that door.
"Why was it lucky?" he asked the woman.
"Why?" she chuckled, "because it''s a large forest, that''s why. Usually a quiet forest too. Then, I hear a booming, thundering noise - I could have sworn that it was a voice, but - that''s just ridiculous." She shook her head and chuckled again.
Arn held her gaze. He wondered whether she heard the strange raven or the other voice that came after. It must have been the second since the raven spoke in his dream, or in his mind, he wasn''t entirely sure which.
"Anyway," she continued, "being the vigilant ranger that I am, couldn''t ignore it, so I went to check. And here we are, a couple of days later."
"A couple of days later?" Arn exclaimed, his voice hitting an uncomfortably high pitch.
"Oh yeah, you''ve been out cold for some time."
Arn tried to make sense of the last few hours - or rather days, as it turned out. He knew at least one of the voices he heard was real since she heard it as well. But, is this woman real? Could I still be in the forest somewhere, dying from exposure? He shook his head and abandoned that line of thinking.
"Why were you out there anyway?" the ranger asked.
"I got lost," he muttered in response.
The ranger started, mumbled a few things, waved a finger in the air, then shook her head. "To get lost, you''d have had to leave the trail - and I know the good old stableboy back at the Ar''Thorsan tower is very clear about that part."
"I had to go around the trail, and that''s how I got lost." It was near enough to the truth, at least as close as Arn was going to tell her.
"What happened?" she asked and eyed him suspiciously.
"I, I don''t remember," he lied.
"You don''t remember?" she cocked her head.
"The road was blocked by snow, a lot of it - I, everything is still - it''s hard to remember."
She frowned. Arn didn''t think she believed him. The ranger watched him for a moment, then her posture relaxed.
"Well," she said, "well, you have been passed out here for a couple of days, but you''re better now."
"A couple of days," Arn muttered, still getting used to the idea.
"Oh yeah, mumbling and moaning in your sleep. Wasn''t sure which way you were headed at first."
"Which way - what?"
"You''re ah," she said, then frowned, "you do seem as though more rest is in order. But don''t think that I''ve forgotten my questions. We will get back to your story later. She brought out a teapot that emanated a strong, pungent scent.
"Here," she offered a cup, "drink, sleep, feel better."
What is this? Could it be poison? No, of course not.
She could have simply killed him at any point during the days - was he really out for days? He took the cup and drank. The liquid made him gag, and he held a hand to his mouth.
"Swallow!" she commanded. Arn did, barely. The subsequent few sips weren''t quite as bad since he knew what to expect. Sleep came over him within minutes.
Chapter 30 : More Than Meets The Eye
The following day, Arn felt clear-minded and well-rested - nearly back to his usual self. The ranger woman wasn''t there when he woke up, which turned out to be a blessing since he found himself naked when he looked below the covers. Well, he still wore underpants - thankfully - but that was it.
Arn looked around, straining to hear any noise - all was quiet; a musty, smoky aroma hung in the still air. Finally, he spotted his pants and shirt on a nearby chair - warmth radiated through his cheeks. If he could just reach the clothes and put them on - Arn held up the blanket and started getting up. A creak made him jump, and he huddled back under the covers.
The ranger walked in through the front door; a gust of crisp forest air blew in after her. It carried the scent of pines and winter but was soon cut off when the door closed.
"Awake again?" she said, not looking in his direction as she took off her coat and boots.
"Yes," he held up the blanket.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I''m - my clothes," he glanced at the chair with his clothes.
"Oh," she snorted. "Had to smear some crushed Pyneor - or, Fireweed as you might know it - all over you. I strongly suggest you don''t nap outside in the winter. It doesn''t end well."
Arn reddened further and decided that it would have been better that he didn''t know. "You undressed me!" he half-whispered.
"Well, it wouldn''t work if I put it on your clothes!"
Arn didn''t quite know what he wished to say. He realized that she was right, but the thought of being undressed in his sleep made him deeply uncomfortable. His face grew warm again.
"You quit passing out in the snow," she continued, "and no one will undress you because you won''t need life-saving medicine on your body - is that something you can live with?"
"Yes."
"That was rhetorical - well, maybe it didn''t quite sound rhetorical. I''ll give you that one," the ranger said and went about her business at the worktable. Arn watched her work for a time, he thought of ways to broach the matter of his clothes, but nothing quite sounded correct. She finally turned.
"Why are you staring at my back - it was my back, right?" she teased.
At that, Arn turned bright red - again. "No! I mean, yes, of course - my clothes..." he looked at the chair.
The ranger made a show of an exaggerated sigh, turned around and reassured him that she wouldn''t look. He gathered his courage then quickly leapt for the clothes. They dried by now, and as soon as he was dressed, his heart slowed and face cooled to its markedly less red complexion.
"Done?" she asked.
"Yes."
"We''re going to have tea, and you''re going to tell me exactly what happened," she said.
Arn knew that sooner or later, he''d have no choice. What could he tell her? Certainly nothing of what his father did. Would she believe it? Would she believe that an avalanche separated them, blocked his path, forced him to leave the trail? He''ll find out soon enough, he supposed.
The ranger brought a teapot to a small wooden table next to him. She shoved off the junk that littered it - at least it looked like junk by the way she disposed of it. The aroma this time was pleasant and refreshing. She handed him a cup and sipped her own, waiting for him to begin.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Arn focused on his tea as long as he dared.
"There was an avalanche. My father and I were separated. I didn''t want to go back to Ar''Thorsan, so I tried to find a way around; to find my father. But tt got dark; I got lost."
"Avalanche," she said, then sipped her tea. "Avalanche, avalanche. You were with your father?"
"Yes, and we got separated," Arn replied.
"Anyone else?" she pressed him.
"No - well, yes, a family with two kids. They ran just before the avalanche hit."
"But you and your father waited ''till the last moment?" she said and arched an eyebrow.
"No, no, we didn''t wait. It just happened. They ran, but we were just behind, and it hit."
"You managed to survive the avalanche," she said, took her time sipping more tea, then continued, "what about your father, the other family?"
"I don''t know."
"You don''t know? But you still went after him?"
"Yes! Wouldn''t you?" he exclaimed, irritation seeping into his voice.
"I would have looked for them if I were you."
"There was a lot of snow, and I did look for him - but it didn''t work out."
The ranger eyed Arn, and for the second time, he had the suspicion that she didn''t believe him. "Where were you headed?" she finally asked.
"Tower of Het, at the northern end of the pass."
"And after that?" she pressed.
"I don''t know." It was getting more difficult to evade her questions, but Arn still tried to keep as much as he could out of his answers.
"Look, kid, I am doing my best to give you time and space, but you need to come clean here. I don''t know you, and while may be young, you''re not a child," she said with a serious look on her face.
"We went to Naradael."
She whistled. "The capital of Nedreal?"
"Yes," Arn agreed reluctantly.
"What did you forget there?"
"It doesn''t matter. Just tell me how to get to the Tower of Het -"
"Hold on there; we''re not done," she cut him off.
"Why?"
She shook her head, put down her cup and stood up. "You''re in the middle of a forest in the winter, and you just barely survived the same thing you want to do again?"
"I don''t have a choice. I have to get there!" Arn protested.
"Look here, you little - " she narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself. "I''m not trying to keep you here. Don''t mistake this for anything," the ranger waved her hand in the air "anything, I don''t know what your frost-bitten brain will think up. It''s my job to keep you alive until you''re out of my area - got it?"
Arn sensed the familiar slow burn of anger building up. It came somewhat as a surprise because he knew that she was just doing her job - more than that, she saved his life. And yet, Arn was irritated - the way she spoke, he felt disrespected, perhaps that''s what it was. Arn forced his thoughts and anger down.
"What aren''t we done with?" he asked.
"What?" she said.
"You said we weren''t done, so what aren''t we done with?" he clarified.
The ranger scoffed, "you need supplies, a map, food. You''ve rested well enough, I judge," she looked him up and down.
"I''ll take whatever supplies you''ll give me."
"Then you''ll go with very little because I won''t give you much," she replied and crossed her arms.
"So what am I supposed to do!?" he nearly shouted.
"I don''t need your little outbursts!" she shot back. "Keep it down, you understand?"
Arn nodded.
"What was that? Do you understand?"
"Yes!"
She nodded, "tomorrow, we''ll begin gathering your supplies. I have bare necessities here that I can spare, but much will need to be gathered. You will do it, and I will watch. Do you understand our relationship?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now get up and start helping me with dinner."
"What?" Arn was caught off guard.
"Up!" she motioned him towards a large table in the part of the hall that he didn''t see earlier. There were pots, pans, and vegetables on it. The ranger had him wash the food, then boil the water and watch the stew.
She cut the vegetables herself. The dinner turned out better than Arn hoped. After the food eased both of their nerves, they spoke more softly.
He was grateful to her, and if not for the events that lead to all this, well, he''d be more grateful. But, as things stood, he simply couldn''t focus on anything aside from the avalanche and what his father did.
"I know you didn''t tell me everything," she said, startling Arn. "But, I will help you anyway. I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and what I want in return is that you give it to someone else who deserves it."
This surprised Arn. He looked at her and suddenly saw more than the tough ranger he initially took her for. Instead, he saw a caring woman who may have been alone for a long time but still helped a complete stranger who nearly died by his own fault.
"Thank you, I will," he said.
Chapter 31 : Talking Trees
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Chapter 32 : Second Times The Charm
They entered Emberwood proper a few hours later. The ranger must have slowed her pace, for Arn wasn''t nearly as exhausted as before. Arn didn''t differentiate much between trees - not beyond their size and some of the other obvious features. But even he noticed a shift upon crossing the boundary into this particular forest. The trunks were darker, nearly black. Few branches lay upon the forest''s floor. The wind had little sway over the pines, for they hardly moved even when it gusted and blew in earnest.
Their bark was smooth, shiny even. It reflected the rays of the sun at times, unlike any wood he''d ever seen before. At length, they reached a rocky face that rose high and nearly vertical. It must have been several hundred feet tall, for the top was barely visible. They followed it for a time until a narrow passage opened up just ahead.
The passage was wide enough for a carriage, though its walls rose all the way to the top of the rocky face, so tall that they seemed to meet above their heads. Arn craned his neck as they approached.
"Watch where you''re going. I will keep an eye over our heads," Ekalin said.
The passage was littered with small broken rocks, each of which could turn an ankle. Arn followed her instructions, though the place was beginning to weigh on him, and the hairs on his neck stood. He trusted the ranger, she was as at home in the wilderness as any beast, but this passage unnerved him all the same. He looked ahead at the narrow slit of light. All was silent, and still, no wind blew, and no sound could be heard.
None but an echo of a distant croak, a raven''s call somewhere far off.
Ekalin turned back to Arn, gave him a curious glance, and then returned her attention to the passage ahead and the space above them.
What was that? He wondered, then remembered her earlier words and the implied knowledge of his past, which he didn''t plan on revealing to her.
Did he talk about ravens while passed out in her hut? He desperately hoped that he remained silent but could think of no way to ask without arousing her suspicion.
And what was it with the ravens, really? He''d barely noticed them in the past, and now they''re everywhere.
The light ahead grew wider with each step, and soon the passage ended, revealing a large valley full of broken black trunks and large pieces of strange rocks, also black.
"Well, we''re here," she said.
"What is this place called?" Arn asked; his eyes took in the valley and its sheer rock walls and the mountains which loomed tall in the distance.
"Better that you don''t know. I doubt you''ll find it on your own, and without the name, I feel quite comfortable bringing you here," she replied.
"Is this a secret?"
"Of sorts," she said.
"Then why did you bring me here?" he asked, despite hearing the hints of irritation in her voice.
"I am not sure," Ekalin replied, and Arn noted the genuine surprise that her words carried. "The emberwood in this valley is quite special. It burns in any environment, and if lit with a firestarter, it will burn long enough to count as eternal."
"Eternal fire? That sounds unbelievable," Arn replied.
"Just a few pieces, and you''ll never need to look for firewood in all your journeys. You can only pick up pieces from the ground, though I doubt you have the means to cut them off the trees. Pick three pieces about the size of your fist; that will be enough. No more, you hear?"
"Yes," Arn agreed.
"Good. Now go on, and watch out, you can twist an ankle or a neck around here, and I don''t have the means to fix the latter."
Arn nodded and headed off towards the black trunks and branches just ahead. Mountains blocked the sun and much of its light, casting the valley into perpetual dusk. Snow clung to the rocks in places and left them bare in others.
"Look on the ground!" Ekalin yelled to him.
He jumped, nearly fell, then focused on the ground. Most of the pieces were either large chunks or long branches. He tried to break one, about the width of a thumb, but the wood barely gave an inch no matter how hard he pushed.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
It''ll have to be an already broken piece, he realized.
Another croak echoed somewhere high above. Arn resisted the urge to look for the source.
"Hurry up!" she yelled.
Do I walk carefully, or do I hurry? He thought. Is she afraid of ravens?
Arn moved ever farther from the narrow passage and finally saw pieces of the emberwood that were the correct size. He picked up one, then another, and then the third. At last, he thought.
A thundering clap boomed and echoed throughout the valley. Moments later, it was followed by the now familiar deep rumbling. Arn''s heart lurched. Not again!
"Run back!" Ekalin yelled, "run back to the passage! Run!"
He glanced up one of the mountains just as a massive wall of snow tumbled down towards him. Arn clutched the emberwood and ran back towards the ranger. He cursed the rocky terrain that slowed him down but did nothing to hinder the avalanche.
Ekalin had reached the passage herself and watched him with horror in her eyes. He ran as fast as he could. Don''t look back, he told himself. But he did.
The avalanche was gaining fast; he wasn''t going to make it this time. His father wasn''t there to stop it. Arn chuckled bitterly at the last conversation they had.
What a waste, he thought. Even if it were hopeless, he''d still run, do his best; he would commit to that much at least.
What is she doing?
Ekalin bolted towards him; she discarded her bag at the entrance to the passage and ran flat out towards Arn. He yelled at her, but the rumbling swallowed his words, and he doubted that she''d listen even if she heard him.
The ranger waved him to the left, towards one of the large black rocks next to the valley''s walls. She ran like the wind, gliding over the uneven terrain without a hint of doubt.
He glanced back. He could make it to the rocks that she pointed out; he was close enough.
But when he reached the formation, he saw that it didn''t quite angle right, not enough to shelter them from the avalanche. Ekalin charged in front of him and nearly sandwiched Arn against the black rock wall.
His back and head hit the stone, and the world flashed; pain shot through him. The rumbling intensified. Ekalin put forth her arms, sweat pouring from her like water. Waves of heat washed over Arn.
"No," he whispered, images of his father flashing before his eyes, "why?"
A massive wave of hard snow crashed against the rock with an earth-shattering boom. It flowed around - straight at Ekalin and himself. The wave of snow hit an invisible wall, not more than a foot in front of the ranger.
The impact pushed Arn against the rock once more, knocking the wind out of him this time. Ekalin dropped to her knee and grunted with effort as the snow piled up high. The world spun, he found himself on the ground watching the wall of packed snow rise above them.
The rumbling grew ever more intense, and with it the ranger''s efforts, until she let out a bone shuddering growl which near enough matched the avalanche.
Then all stopped in a flash. Ekalin braced herself against the rock by his side. Her chest heaved quickly, her hair matted and wet against her face. Arn''s world stopped spinning. His heart pumped though he did nothing but sit, slumped against the rock, nearly knocked out by the blowback alone.
"You can never let anyone know about this," she whispered breathlessly.
"Just like my dad¡."
The ranger''s back stiffened, she turned towards Arn. "What?"
"Just like - like at the pass. The horses ran, and a loud boom," he whispered, his eyes stared out at the snow.
The ranger watched him, saying nothing. Her breath was slowly returning to normal.
"He told me to run," Arn continued, "I wanted to stay, but he told me to run."
Arn looked at Ekalin. Her skin glistened from sweat. She''d just saved his life. Again, someone had to save his life. She could do what his father could, so she''d be in the same type of danger from the Inspectorate.
Will she tell me to run away too? He wondered. He looked up at the sky just as yet another croak echoed in the distance.
"I hate ravens," he muttered.
"What?" the ranger asked.
"Ravens," he said, "I keep seeing and hearing them all over the place, in my dreams even." Arn flinched; he didn''t intend to reveal the last part.
Ekalin looked at him curiously but said nothing at first.
"What happened with your father - the truth now," she fixed him with a glare that broached nothing but the truth. He realized that he had no choice; he''d told her half of it already.
"The truth," he said and nodded. "He saved them; that''s why he stayed. They never listened, and, and..." Arn stopped. A ball formed in his throat; he swallowed hard, took a few deep breaths, and the tension lessened.
"He stood between them and the avalanche," Arn continued, "whatever you did, he did too and stopped it."
"The whole avalanche?" Ekalin replied, her eyes widened slightly.
"The snow split, half went one way, half the other, all around them like a giant snow crater," Arn said.
Ekalin held his gaze for a long moment, then looked at the rock they both leaned on. "He was in the open?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Lies," she hissed.
"What?" Arn yelled, surprising both of them. How dare she doubt him after all this, after he''d opened up to her?
"You''re lying," she said flatly.
"I''m not lying!" Arn held up his fists, "my father stood out in the open, and the snow around him melted, and steam rose, and it happened exactly as I told you!"
She turned towards him once again, her eyes narrowing.
"I ran away, to a rocky hill, but I still felt a pressure - I don''t know what it was -" Arn continued.
Ekalin shot towards him, and her hand clamped over his mouth. He tasted the salty sweat and dirt on her skin. He tried to shove it away, but it wouldn''t budge. Her face was inches from his, eyes burned, their green cores sharp against the violet.
"Shut up," she hissed, spittle hitting his face. Then, her intensity faltered, and her hand against his mouth loosened. "Never tell this to anyone again. Neither your father''s actions nor mine. Especially not mine!" she whispered.
Arn nodded; Ekalin took her hand off and sat back against the rock wall. Arn wiped his face.
"I should have known," she said, looking at the distant sky above them. "When a booming voice sounded in the forest and led me to a nearly dead child, what did I expect?"
Ekalin chuckled softly and shook her head. She remained quiet for some time after; Arn dared not interrupt her.
"You can''t go to the capital, Arn," she finally said.
"What? Why?"
"You can''t set foot in that place, in any large town, nowhere near the Inspectorate."
"Why? I did nothing!" he protested.
She laughed. Her laughter, though bitter, rang like a clear bell among a cacophony of hideous noise. "That isn''t how the Inspectorate operates. You''re close enough, or bait, or both."
"So what am I supposed to do then?" he asked.
"Go south to Kadam, better yet to East Kadam."
"I can''t just," he trailed off. "I don''t even know where that is; I''ve never been outside of Osha''aland."
"You''re not playing anymore. This isn''t a game. You will never be completely safe; at least in East Kadam, you might find allies," her voice carried a tone of sadness with it that Arn hadn''t heard earlier. A hopeless sort of sadness that had to be born because it would never go away.
"What are you saying? What allies? I am not fighting anyone! I just want to go back to normal," Arn sensed that she was right. Something deep in him agreed with her - but another part wished to return to the before, to his home, and forget all that happened.
"Some paths lead only in one direction," she said.
Chapter 33 : Rangers Revenge
Ekalin was quiet most of the way back, though she still communed with the trees. She glanced at Arn occasionally, giving him the impression that she discussed him with the trees. The notion would have seemed laughable, but after everything he''d seen, it worried him.
She spoke only the bare minimum and cut him off each time he tried to mention the avalanche. ''Not here, not now,'' she said.
On the evening of that day, they finally reached her hut. Arn practically crawled inside, barely managing to take off his coat and boots before falling on the bed. His chest rose and fell, and he stared blankly at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath.
Ekalin gave him time. He noticed her moving about and putting things away.
Did she ever get tired? He couldn''t tell because her breathing was even the entire journey. Arn wasn''t sure that she was an Ossar or even mortal - how can someone have such endurance? He wondered.
He sensed the familiar aroma of the fireball tea some minutes later. Arn sat up on the bed and watched Ekalin brew the hot drink. She smiled absently but otherwise ignored him. He watched her produce a candle, surrounded by a silver lattice with ceremonial ornaments. She lit the wick and let the flame burn for a time - the wax melted and coated some of the metal.
Finally, the ranger let out a sigh and closed her eyes, took a sip of the tea, then sat down in a chair before Arn. Ekalin unfastened her sleeve and removed the Tjoreal bracelet from her wrist, putting it down on the table between them. Arn''s eyes widened; he desperately hoped that she wasn''t going to ask him to follow her example.
"Come on, give it up," she said.
"I can''t," he replied.
"I''ll give it back," the ranger insisted.
"I, I really can''t - "
"You can''t," she grimaced. "What are you worried about? I said that I''d give it back!"
Arn shook his head, "I don''t have it."
Ekalin frowned, "well, go get it then."
"It''s gone."
"Gone?" she knit her brows, "gone? As in, gone?"
"Yes," he cried out, "gone! As in gone! I don''t have it; it''s gone, completely!"
The ranger humphed and folded her arm, "that''s impossible."
"I''m not lying!" he yelled, both fists clenched.
"What did I say," she growled, "back. All. The way. OFF."
The two of them glared at each other, but Arn relented first.
"I didn''t say that you''re lying," she spoke after a moment of silence. "The Tjoreal is made that way - to stay with you, it can''t be lost, and it''s damn hard to destroy."
It was Arn''s turn to knit his brows; he glanced at her Tjoreal. "I saw her do it," he whispered.
"Who? What - boy, you need to start talking in full sentences!"
"Clanless."
"Clanless?" Ekalin cried. "I am really reconsidering this whole business of saving you," she cried.
Silence once again. Ekalin loudly sipped her tea. Arn reached for a cup, letting the aroma wash over him and calm the hot ambers that burned within. He looked down at his feet and exhaled. The steam from the cup blew aside and curled in little whisps.
"How in the name of Khoar''Sae did you get involved in something like that?"
Khoar - who? Arn thought. The ranger still awaited his response. What would he reveal to her? Was there any point in keeping anything secret? He finally settled on omitting De''al from the story but told her everything else.
When he finished, Ekalin ran a hand through her hair and whistled softly. "Well, you are definitely not headed to Naradael, I can tell you that."
"Why?"
"Were you here when a boy just told me a charming story? Which added to the other charming things he told me, and some I witnessed myself?" she shook her head. "Even in your backwards town, you must have heard of what the Inspectorate is like!"
"Stop!" he yelled. "Stop insulting me and my town and everything!" his fists clenched again. Ekalin bit her lip, tapped the table with her hand, nodded slowly. Arn sat back down. When''d he stand up? He hadn''t even noticed.
"Too many," she waved her hand, "too many unusual events happen to you. The Inspectorate doesn''t appreciate unusual events; they like very usual and predictable events. They like things to happen in an expected order and without surprises. Surprises get dealt with. Catch my meaning?"
"So what am I supposed to do? I didn''t do anything! They sent me to Kalarhan, and they sent Ossagar, Rana - I don''t even; why''d she have to be there?" he cried out.
"Arn," she said and reached towards him with her Hand but stopped midway and lowered it. "I was once told that the designs of great forces always involve the average man, yet never considered him," her voice carried the tone of sadness he heard in it back in the valley.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"Can''t I just go back to Nysaros?" he pleaded as if her approval was the deciding factor.
"I don''t know," she said. "But don''t go to Naradael. Or back the same way you came, that Inspectorate warden you met at the fort, he won''t go away."
"How else am I supposed to return?" he asked.
"Well," she said and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Get to the Tower of Het, take the boat down the great Arngosadar, all the way to the Haasan Arenrad port, follow the road west to Noahdarn, then south across the Dalinoan - there''s a bridge - and finally west to Nysaros."
Arn laughed. A ball formed in his throat. He barely made it to the pass - with his father.
"That will take weeks! Are you joking? It''s a joke, right?" he said.
"I didn''t say it was going to be easy. I called you kid a couple of times, but in truth, your childhood is over. You''ve gotten noticed. Osha''aland is probably not the best place for you anymore."
He knew she was honest, but this was too much for Arn to take in. His life melted in his hands like snow.
She must be wrong. She didn''t know about De''al, and he didn''t tell her about Ossagar''s offer when he reached the capital.
Why would the Inspectorate want to - what, what would they even do? His thoughts raced to find a way out of the options she presented.
What if they''re all wrong about the Inspectorate? So far, they had saved me, just like Ekalin did. Rana spoke of prisons, but she put me in prison; the Inspectorate saved me!
"You''re wrong; you don''t understand anything about the Inspectorate," he protested. "Ossagar himself invited me; he promised to help me. They saved me; they saved me from Rana - they saved me as much as you did."
"Oh, they saved you, did they?" she chuckled. "They sent you into a dangerous border town - and then saved you," Ekalin squinted and leaned in, "that doesn''t sound like bait to you?"
"They didn''t know about Rana!" Arn protested.
"Of course they did! Didn''t you say that others were rescued too? Others who stayed there longer than you did?"
"So what?" Arn asked.
"Travelling scholars going missing for months and the Inspectorate never heard of it?"
"Maybe..." but Arn couldn''t explain that himself, "but Ossagar -""Saggy bear nuts, Arn!" she cried, "you know nothing of this man! How naive can you be?"
"Neither do you," he yelled.
"That is my exact point," she yelled back.
He didn''t know much about her either, except that she saved him. But so did Ossagar. But then, was Arn sure that Ossagar brought the Inspectorate to free him instead of simply going along with the Inspectorate''s existing plans?
"You know less than you imagine," she said. "Many forces are acting upon events. The Inspectorate isn''t even the greatest of them - you should seek anonymity and normalcy."
"I know things!" he cried. "I know of the Black Warden, and the spirits, and the Hand which moves the lives of men!"
Ekalin pursed her lips. She grabbed her Tjoreal and rushed out of the room. Arn called to her, but she ignored him. The ranger returned shortly.
"I''ll trust you about the Tjoreal," she said. "When I think you''ve gotten yourself into a mess, you go on and mention something else, even worse."
"What are yo -"
"What you heard about the hand, you need to forget," she cut him off. Her face took on a severity he hadn''t seen even during the avalanche. "People don''t know what they''re talking about," she dismissed his protest and continued, "it''s just a legend, made up by those seeking meaning where there is none to be found."
"You just said that Inspectorate isn''t the only one, or the greatest; what else would it be?" he asked.
"I know what I said, but I don''t know what the greater power is," she replied.
"So it could be the Hand," Arn said.
"Or it could be a trio of scheming wolves," she rolled her eyes.
"Stop!" Arn yelled, "stop doing this, stop being this way, just stop it!"
"Fine," she said and averted her eyes. She sipped the tea, then twirled the liquid in the cup. "This whole Hand business," she started, "it''s just a reincarnation of an old fable from Sulayan - that''s the ancient name of our northern province that we now call Vule Sunal."
"What fable?" Arn asked.
"Lualinan," she said, "it means ''celestial memories,'' or the four hearts of nature; it''s known by more than one name. It''s a story of the four great spirits which keep our world, two that always were, one that came to the world long ago, and the fourth that is yet to come."
"And these spirits control the inspectorate?" Arn asked.
"They control nothing; they''re a legend."
"I don''t understand."
"Of course you don''t. The Hand comes from this legend, and there isn''t a hand either. It''s all legends. The real powers lay hidden," she said.
"But there is still something, right?"
"You''re not hearing me, Arn," she raised her voice.
"Yes, I am, I heard you, I heard this legend, it''s not real - but you still say something else is out there. So what does it matter which name we call it?" he snapped at her.
"Khoar''Sae save me," she muttered.
"What is that?" Arn asked.
"Boy, I don''t have time for this," she snapped at him.
They sat in silence, neither looking at the other. Ekalin seeped on her tea, and Arn just stared at the liquid in his cup.
"Take my advice, go to East Kadam. You''ll have a good life, a long one," she said in a half-whisper.
"I''m not running away," Arn insisted.
"You don''t understand," she said.
"I am done running; I will not run away, I will not, I will not," he yelled out.
"You''ve seen nothing. You have no idea what your words mean," Ekalin''s voice was almost pleading, but Arn''s ire overwhelmed his senses by now.
"Stop, stop, stop. Stop saying these things!" he cried.
"I''m telling you the truth, and it hurts to hear, doesn''t it. You''ve lived a sheltered life, in a sheltered town, in a sheltered province. Only because the Inspectorate needed you to."
"Why - why do they need it?" Arn threw up his arms.
"You need to become anonymous, ordinary, and maybe they''ll forget you - if you hadn''t drawn too much attention yet."
"Maybe it''s you," he growled, brows furrowed, finger pointing at her.
"Me? Me what?" she asked with genuine surprise.
"You''re making me doubt the Inspectorate; you want me to be afraid and to run away."
"Well, yes," she admitted, "technically, it is true - but -"
"Rana told me that it is what the Inspectorate does," he growled.
"So you''re listening to Clanless, the woman who imprisoned you in a dark cell?" she said.
"I am not listening to you; there''s a difference."
"You spoiled brat, you know it all, don''t you?" Ekalin shook her head, a grin on her lips though not her eyes. "Go where you will. I''ve done my job, I''ve saved you in my territory, I am no mentor to confused children." She snapped off the last words.
Arn''s cup dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed. A puddle of tea grew beneath him. He watched her, fists clenched again. He stood now, looking down on her. She kept calling him names, boy, child - humiliating him, dismissing him. The familiar warmth burned in his belly, no longer ambers but a smouldering fire.
"You are no mentor," he growled, spittle flying. Her face became a mask; she wiped her cheek and gazed into his eyes. There were no emotions in her own. But that only drove him madder. "I am not a child," he yelled. Ekalin chuckled and looked him up and down.
The smouldering fire within him spat and crackled. Even now, she was laughing at him! "Stop laughing at me," he whispered. Fists clenching tighter, the nails digging into his palms.
"I think it''s enough. Sit back down, now," the ranger''s words came in a measured and even tone.
"No," he slowly said and poked her in the shoulder.
Even in that state, with his mind on fire, his senses awash with rage and indignation, he knew his mistake. Before Ekalin reacted, a wave of fear rushed up Arn''s spine, extinguished his flame, and gave him just enough time to see her eyes. But it was too late.
Chapter 34 : Tjoreal
Years later, he still couldn''t tell exactly what happened - one moment he towered over her, finger jabbing her shoulder, then he felt a sharp pain throughout his hand, forearm, shoulder, and the dull impact of the floor as his back hit it from some height. He coughed, winded, and blinked to clear his vision.
Ekalin stood over him, her face an expressionless mask. But he remembered, mere moments earlier, the cold, sharp flash in her eyes. He saw it just a second before she reacted; time froze as though to ensure he''d never forget. He broke a precious trust; he invaded another''s sacred space. He then knew the truth of her earlier words, as one who steps into the untamed forest after visiting only gardens. Arn indeed knew little of the real world.
That flash of an expression was gone now; the fear of it weighed him more than the pain he felt.
"You touch me again, and I will throw you back out into the forest in whatever you''re wearing. If you freeze and die, I will gladly allow your corpse to feed the local bears," she whispered, then walked off to the workbench.
Arn stayed on the floor for some time - initially, it was because of the pain.
Idiot, such an idiot.
There was nothing he could do now. Several minutes later, Arn got up, his arm hurt, but nothing seemed broken, his back was stiff, and he was sure that he''d feel the consequences for days. He walked off to the bed that Ekalin gave him - before I jabbed her - sat down gingerly, and looked at her working on something at the other end of the hall. He sighed, shook his head, and lay down.
He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn''t come - Arn tossed and turned, his mind going over the events of the day.
The night took its time passing. He finally made up his mind at what he imagined was just before dawn: he would gather his supplies and leave. Arn didn''t want to face Ekalin again - she can find me if she wants to, but hopefully, she''ll just leave me alone, he thought.
He got up as quietly as he could and went about gathering yesterday''s supplies into his backpack. He put the emberwood with mixed emotions - but the sense of preservation won over his pride this time. The very last item was a waterproof canvas to cover himself with; he picked it up and latched one strap to his pack. He froze as movement caught the corner of his eye; looking towards it, he saw Ekalin sitting on a chair and watching him calmly.
"Good morning," she said, a weighty expression on her face.
Arn mumbled incoherently, but she ignored it.
"I owe you an apology," she said somberly, "this isn''t - " she chewed on the inside of her cheek, "my reaction was out of proportion to the admittedly stupid thing you did. I''m sorry, I feel very guilty for letting my anger overrun my actions, no matter what you said or did, that was a mistake."
He''d never expected her to apologize. Was she really sorry - why would she apologize; what could she gain from this?
"Sit, Arn," she motioned to a chair, "I should explain some things before you go." Her voice gained a calm tone, as though a veil was cast over a part of her he''d seen by chance.
"When you told me that your Tjoreal was lost and destroyed, that was more significant than you know," she said.
"Why?" Arn asked, despite himself.
"The Tjoreal - it''s made to be with you at all times," she spread her hands, "you shouldn''t have been able to lose it, nor destroy it."
"I didn''t," Arn whispered.
"She, then, shouldn''t have been able to destroy it either."
Arn''s eyes widened, and he looked at Ekal, "Then how?" he asked.
"I have no idea, and that is what scares me. I bet that is why the Inspectorate is so keen on you."
"We made it in the academy. We made it," Arn insisted.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
"You think so, don''t you."
"What?"
"The Tjoreal you have - had, rather - isn''t something you made, not entirely," she said.
Arn stared, she continued.
"I don''t know much about the way it is made, but I do know that it is blessed and purified by Inspectorate agents. Each time you gave it to your teacher for review - well, it didn''t return quite the same."
"I don''t - why, why would they want that?" he asked.
"There is much more to the Tjoreal than most people know, and that includes me; I can see the questions in your mind. But I do know a few things. What concerned me was that it''s made to be very hard to destroy and impossible to lose."
"But how?" Arn asked.
"I don''t know how," she sighed, "it just is. I''ve never heard of anyone losing the thing, and the only times it was destroyed - the Inspectorate was involved."
Arn noticed that there was more tea. While he did his best to sneak out, she managed to make tea, which she now sipped.
"Have you noticed your limitations without it?" she asked.
Arn thought back to the time in the cell when he tried to light the candle, "yes," he said.
"Do you know why?"
"No."
"Have you heard of Esarel and Sanarel?" Ekalin asked.
"Yes."
"Esarel is your internal life force, and Sanarel is nature''s ambient energy."
"I heard," he frowned.
"I am just making sure we''re on the same page before I go further. The Tjoreal somehow connects you to nature''s energy - Sanarel. Since it''s everywhere, you aren''t limited by distance from the source," she pointed at him.
"I can''t connect to it without the Tjoreal?" he asked.
"You can''t, no."
"And you?" he asked.
"It doesn''t matter right now."
"You can," he stated, her words triggered a series of connections in his mind, and quite a number of things began to make sense.
"When you use Esarel, you have perfect control. It''s part of you, like an arm or a leg. But it is limited, like an arm or a leg. After a few feet of distance, it diminishes to nearly nothing," she said.
"But there''s still a limit. With the Tjoreal bracelet, it doesn''t diminish; it just stops at a certain distance," Arn said.
"It does stop, yes," Ekalin agreed.
"Why?"
"The Tjoreal itself, probably."
"The Tjoreal limits us?" Arn exclaimed.
"Well, that''s perhaps not completely accurate - you wouldn''t be able to access Sanarel without it, so can you say it limits you?"
"I don''t know," he muttered.
"Yeah."
"What does this have to do with everything, with the hand, with the legends, with all of it?" he asked.
"Sanarel, it has to do with Sanarel."
"The energy of nature?"
"Yes. It''s all around us, it''s unlimited, it''s unlimited power."
"I don''t understand," Arn lied.
"You will. Eventually, you will." For the first time, Arn had the impression that she didn''t catch his lie.
"You''re treating me like a child again," he said, unsure where he was going with that.
"I am not. There are things that only experience can teach; I can''t explain it to you." There was nothing in her tone to indicate that she thought anything aside from what she said.
"Fine," he relented.
"Let''s get your supplies." Ekal was already on her feet, standing next to his backpack.
"So they all want power; they want this nature''s energy, is that it?"
"Something like it, I suppose." She brought out a sleeping bag and a small pot. "Leave this at Tower of Het; I will get there to pick them up."
"I will use Sanarel on my own, too," he said, "without the Tjoreal."
"Maybe. Have you packed all the supplies you''d gathered?" Ekalin patted Arn''s backpack. Arn nodded. She listed everything off just in case, and it turned out that he missed several items. Embarrassed, he had to bite his tongue from thereon.
He didn''t forget the emberwood, at least.
Arn didn''t think he''d get much more out of her on the topic of the Tjoreal, or the hand, or anything else he wanted to know about. She made up her mind, it seemed. He couldn''t complain. He learned much, he got supplies, and he wasn''t dead.
"You remember the route?" she asked one last time.
"Of course, I memorized it, and then memorized it, and then again for good measure," he quipped.
Ekalin only smirked at that. "You better not mess up my perfect record."
"What record?" he asked.
"No one died under my watch; it''s a point of pride, you know."
"I''ll be fine -" before he could finish, Ekalin hugged him tightly. Arn was shocked into silence. When the ranger let him go, she chuckled at his expression.
"Off you go then," she told him. Arn nodded and turned to leave.
"Oh, by the way," she called, "Khoar''Sae is the sacred Raven guide - kin of Elar''Saga."
"Oh," was all he could say before she turned and left into the hut.
The journey to the Tower of Het took three days, and without impossible avalanches, there were few surprises. The emberwood worked as promised, even wet and on the snow. The first night he had trouble putting it out until he remembered that it had to be covered by a thick leather - something or other.
The thing looked like a large hat, the leather layered as thick as a finger. It was one of the items Ekalin reminded him to pack before he left.
The Tower of Het was built at the northern end of the mountain pass and close to the river. Arn had been going downhill for hours before he saw it - the structure reminded him of what The Old Fort must have looked like before it was destroyed.
He looked back one last time and saw Ekalin far in the distance - too far to hear anything he could shout. He shook his head and waved at her. She waved back and disappeared swiftly.
Of course, she followed me, of course.
Chapter 35 : Reunion
The closer Arn came to the tower, the more it seemed a small town to him. The tower itself stood at the center of an imposing stone fort, around which were several other structures. It reminded him of the cities from old stories, where noble lords ruled over their surfs. From this far away, the people appeared as ants to him, moving in and out of the gates.
The tower stood at the very edge of the Ahotharo pass. Rolling white planes stretched beyond it, and a river flowed far in the distance.
The Arngosadar, Arn thought.
He guessed that the river was no less than half a day''s worth of a journey beyond the tower.
Arn sought the Ahotharo path itself, for he travelled through the forest on orders from the ranger. Ekalin mapped his route for him; she insisted he travel through the woods - all things considered, he chose to listen. This time.
He found the small path - it descended a few hundred feet to his right and expanded to a fairly wide road as it did. A small group of travellers walked with two of the white horses. It could have been him and his father; fate had other plans for him, it seemed. Arn waited for the people to clear before descending to the path himself - he figured that approaching the tower from the forest would raise questions he rather not answer.
There wasn''t an entrance or gate to speak of on the southern side of the Tower of Het. Just the road passing through the small town and towards the fort proper. No one paid him any mind, and he breathed with relief upon completing this part of his journey.
Arn entered a small square with an old wooden signpost at the center. One of the many old arrows pointed towards the Wondering Willow - the Inn where Ekalin told him to leave the supplies. On the way, he wondered about scanning his token and whether that would alert anyone. What could he do? He could stall, perhaps. He had enough food. What would happen once he left the tower, once he came to the river? He had to keep her supplies; he''d apologize later - this wouldn''t be the worst thing he did.
Arn sighed - there wasn''t going to be an easy meal and board after all. He pulled at the straps of his pack and marched through the fort''s inner courtyard towards the northern gate. Half a day to the crossing, and from there, he''d get on one of the boats to - where was it Ekalin told him? Well, never mind, he had it on his map.
Arn bumped into a hooded figure; he must have been deep in thoughts not to see it.
"Sorry, sorry," Arn mumbled, but then the figure turned, and he looked under the hood.
"Not too early now, neither too late. Just in good time, isn''t it?" the figure said in an all too familiar voice.
"What are you doing here?" Arn looked around. After everything that happened, he simply forgot about De''al. But now, the man was here, clearly looking for him.
"I see you''ve seen more; your eyes are better sighted, yet we are early too," he said in an uncomfortable sing-song tone.
"What are you saying? I can''t understand anything that you say," Arn snapped.
"The cold is everpresent," De''al whispered, keeping the hood down so that only Arn could see his face. "It hears and sees; we should be elsewhere, then speak."
"Elsewhere? Like where? Do you think fewer people will see us inside one of the buildings? I se - hey!"
De''al had already started towards one of the buildings. With a start, Arn read the sign "Wondering Willow" well, if that wasn''t an uncomfortable coincidence. De''al turned to shush him, then ducked in through the door. Arn cursed under his breath and followed. Why was he following? He couldn''t say.
The Tavern looked and smelled much as any other he''d been to. He has lately been to quite a few, it seemed, his mother would have much to say about that. If she knew. With the noise and commotion, perhaps De''al had a point. Of course, whomever De''al wanted to avoid would have to be on top of them to eavesdrop - though who''d want to do that?
Arn spotted the dark blue hood in one of the booths and scurried to it. He had to dance out of the way of a few of the staff as they ran to and fro with trays and drinks.
"Speak," he said, thumping down on the seat opposite De''al''s.
"Out of the chill, far from its ear, now is a better time to speak," De''al whispered.
"Elar''Saga keep me," Arn said. He had to get to the ship, and that was a half-day journey, yet here he was contending with a madman. A madman who had legendary powers.
"You''ve seen the ravens and the halls of dreams, and now it is time for me to join you," De''al said, his face uncharacteristically serious.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
"You want to join me?" Arn repeated - the man nodded in response. "Hold on, you know about the ravens?" Arn asked, incredulous.
"Oh yes, I know. Only I, the raven, he is not seen by all yet, not yet."
"Do you have to speak this way?" Arn asked. De''al blinked in response; the two of them sat in silence. "Fine," Arn relented, "what are the halls of dreams?"
"It is where you''ve been, before and now as well. But now, now you seek your father."
"No, I''m not," Arn protested - but the idea took root in his thoughts. "I am going back to Nysaros."
"Too early once more?" De''al whispered, "no, no, I think not."
"What are you saying?" Arn barked.
"I am not early yet."
Arn held the man''s gaze once more. Conversing with De''al drained him very quickly. However, De''al didn''t seem to mind the silence and was oblivious to his own effect on Arn.
"Bears and wolves and ravens and all that there is," Arn swore. De''al motioned him to keep it down. "I am not going after my father; I have no idea where he went; he just left me alone in Ahotharo pass."
"Is that what you think, or is it your anger speaking?" De''al asked.
"It''s not my anger. It''s what I know because I was there."
"I am sighted, and my eyes can see - " De''al started.
"How did you do that - back at the cell, when you came through the earth and walls?" Arn interrupted.
De''al smiled and leaned back in his seat. He nodded. "Good question. I am here to explain. It is time, though it will take a while."
Arn waited, but the explanation didn''t come. "Wait - you want to come with me to explain what you did back there?"
"Yes, and more. You must see more and hear more."
"I don''t have time for this, you''re scheming something, I know it - maybe this strange way you speak is just an act, huh? I wasted too much time; I need to go to the docks, I need to get out of here."
De''al grabbed Arn and pulled him down, for he stood up, ready to leave.
"What?" Arn hissed.
The man was looking beyond him at something in the distance, "we must go," he said.
"That''s what I said - and there is no we."
De''al stood up, surveyed the Tavern, then pulled Arn after himself. They passed through the kitchen and several apathetic cooks, then through another door into a dark narrow hallway, and finally out the back entrance of the Tavern.
"Why?" Arn asked De''al.
"They came - better not be so easily seen just yet. Too early for you. Follow me."
"What - who? Who came? What are you talking about?" Arn followed despite himself.
"The Inspectorate," De''al whispered.
"How did you know?"
"I know," De''al replied flatly.
After that, the man wouldn''t say anything more. So they continued on out of the keep and the small town, down a road Arn''d never have found himself. It was barely a road in truth, just a path in the snow. He wasn''t sure why he continued to follow De''al. Arn looked to the left at the docks barely visible in the far distance. Did he intend for them to walk along the river the entire way there? That would take months - and when did he start thinking of the journey as ''them''?
Arn grabbed De''al by the arm "stop, you need to explain where the bear piss we''re going."
The man smiled, unconcerned about the manner he was addressed "to a boat."
"No, no," Arn said, then waved towards the docks that lay far to the north, "the boat is over there. You''re going away from the boat."
"Too many eyes by that boat, too many ears. We must seek a less watched boat. Come."
"You have a boat stashed somewhere down the river? How long have you been planning this? How did you even - " then Arn stopped, rage flaring in him, the familiar warmth washing over him. De''al must have sensed something because he turned to Arn a few paces later.
"If you prepared a boat, you knew I was coming - how could you know?" Arn asked, barely containing his anger.
"I knew, as I knew your cell in Kalarhan."
"She said that avalanches are unlikely in the pass because she clears it, then another happened in the valley. I''ve seen you, I''ve seen you move the earth and, and - was it, it was you, wasn''t it?" Arn cried, "you did it!"
"No."
"Yes. You''re lying to me," fist clenched, Arn stepped forward. "It was your fault; my father would still be here with me; none of this would have happened. What do you want from me?"
"I do not lie," De''al''s face took on a severe look, more thoughtful and present than Arn''d seen the man at any of their encounters. The two watched each other for several seconds, long enough for Arn''s emotions to subside somewhat.
"I spoke to you of the halls of dreams; some call it Aether. I am of that place more than I am of here. It is how I know where to be; alas, I can''t tell you more just now."
Arn gasped; this wasn''t what he expected to hear. "Are you a spirit?"
"No spirit. I am a man."
"People live in the halls, then?"
"No people live in those halls, none are born there, but some may find their death," De''al replied.
"Then, then - what, how are you - "
"Not of my own choice, but more I can''t say."
"Then why are you here?"
"To find your father."
"Why would you want to help me find my father?"
"To help you see."
"He will help me see?"
A flash of irritation passed over De''al''s face, "I will accompany you on the way to help you see that which you must see; it has to be so."
"Again - what, what happened?" Arn looked back to follow De''al''s gaze.
The man suddenly focused on something behind them. "The Inspectorate found you. We need to get to the forest."
The forest was just visible far to the east; they''d have quite a trek across the foothills of the Grandfather Ridge. Arn looked back; a small group of people were visible in the distance, just near the Tower of Het.
"Maybe they found you," Arn said.
"Run ahead, and I will follow," De''al spoke clearly once again. There was a sharp light in his eyes, just like when he brought Arn to the forest from the cell in Kalarhan. Arn looked back at the man, then began jogging towards the trees. The Inspectorate would see them regardless. There was no cover, so what would it help?
The wind picked up and nearly blew his hat off; he held it down with a hand. Arn looked back - large plumes of snow lifted and flew in the air, rising high and wide like a thick fog. De''al lowered his arms and began jogging towards him. Arn watched the snow swirl in the air; the wind must be his doing too. Who was this man, of the Aether, not born of it? What did that mean?
"Go now," De''al ordered as he caught up, "don''t tarry."
Chapter 36 : Cousin
Furious flurries followed De''al and Arn as they fled towards the forest. The snow swirled and blew behind them, obscuring their passage against unwelcome eyes.
There''d be no footprints to follow, and even if their pursuers knew to enter the forest, they''d have a hard time narrowing down an entry point or locating a path. Was this enough? Arn only hoped that it was, though he expected the Inspectorate - if indeed these were the Inspectorate - to have means to follow them still. Perhaps time was bought, enough to put a good distance between them.
De''al, for his part, was silent for a long time as he led Arn through the trees, zigging and zagging at a brisk pace. Arn couldn''t have carried a conversation anyway, despite the mounting questions he had for the man. They crossed a small stream, narrow enough to jump over. De''al led them south towards the mountains, the land became hillier, and Arn was progressively getting out of breath.
Arn was about to call for a stop when De''al stood atop one of the hills and looked back. The snowy cloud stretched far to the west, covering a large portion of the forest behind them. Then, the man sat down cross-legged and closed his eyes. Arn stared.
What now, he thought.
De''al hadn''t stirred for several minutes, Arn considered breaking for camp, though this location would be cold at night, so high up and devoid of shelter. De''al suddenly stood up.
"We''ve put some distance and confounded their pursuit. It will be a while yet before the Inspectorate catches our trail again. We must go."
"I barely caught my breath; I don''t know how far I can make it," Arn said.
"You''ll need to make it as far as needed. Much remains for us yet," De''al replied, eyes still gazing out behind them.
"Much of what?" Arn said, his brows furrowed.
De''al didn''t answer; instead, he resumed their flight, albeit at a slower pace this time. They descended the hills and turned northward towards the Arm of Arngosadar.
"The snow, that was you?" Arn asked between breaths.
"It was," De''al answered; his voice was even.
"How do you know they''re not after you then?"
"They are after me now," the man replied.
"That''s convenient," Arn scoffed.
"It is for you, not for me."
"I didn''t ask you - I am not even, I haven''t decided that -"
"We''ll reach a small dock soon; the boat there is out of sight, few know the location. We''ll travel the river for a time," De''al said.
Arn looked back, then all around - nothing but trees in all directions. High above their pointy tops, the cloud of snow still swirled and billowed. Mountains stretched behind them, spanning the horizon. The Zekasar Ridge, ever-present and looming over the land. De''al hadn''t hurt him, as far as Arn knew, at least. If the man was to be believed, the avalanches weren''t his doing. And with his powers, Arn felt significantly safer.
Am I really considering this? It makes little sense, but it feels right, as though I am on the correct path. He hated to admit it, but De''al was right; he did want to find his father. How did he know before I did?
"Do you know where my father went?" Arn asked.
"I have seen, yes," the man replied.
"Go on."
"We are on the path."
"Where is he? Can''t you tell me?" Arn said impatiently.
"Your father, he is sighted, less than some and more than others. He''ll know to evade the scrutiny of the Inspectorate. If we''re to attempt the same thing, we''ll inevitably meet," De''al said.
Great, he is talking strangely once again, Arn thought. "You don''t know where he is, do you? You''re just guessing?"
"Do you know that the sun will rise in the morning?" De''al asked.
"Yes"
"What if it doesn''t?"
"It will," Arn replied, uncertain where this was headed.
"You''ve seen it rise tomorrow morning?"
"No, but -"
"Then how?" De''al interjected.
"It always rises; I am sure it will tomorrow as well."
"So it''s just a guess, then?" De''al turned to Arn; a hint of a smile crossed the man''s face.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
"That''s not at all the same thing," Arn protested.
"Not for you, perhaps."
Arn grunted and let the matter drop. The Inspectorate did come for him after all, so at least in that De''al was trustworthy. He also did warn him of Rana - after his fashion. Dare he trust this man?
They broke camp near a large tree. De''al secured the perimeter and forbade open fire; he instead had Arn dig out a hole in the ground and place the emberwood to create heat. With the special wood, there wouldn''t be smoke or light by which to track them.
The sun''s rays disappeared behind the mountains; it became a familiar sight as Arn spent more time outdoors these past few weeks. Although he still had some of the food supplies he''d gathered with Ekalin, he didn''t offer any to De''al. The man didn''t ask nor react in any way.
"Where will we go after the river? After Arngosadar?" Arn asked.
"South, to Iolunan Lake," De''al replied.
Arn perked up. Is he speaking clearly once again? "Is that where my father is?"
"It is not. We will then move west towards the southern Zekasar Mountains," De''al replied, his eyes gazing at the pit of emberwood.
"He''s in the mountains? How would we find one man in the mountains?"
"You''re early," De''al said.
"What?" did he revert to his confusing self again? No, it seems De''al is looking at something else. Arn jerked his head and saw who De''al was speaking to. His eyes widened, and he scrambled back, nearly falling into the pit; he lost his balance and landed near De''al.
Rana stood there; Arn heard her familiar laughter. He looked at De''al; the man had betrayed him, he led him to Rana! They must have worked together, even back at Kalarhan!
Arn stood up and backed away until he hit the tree behind him. His hand lept to the amulet his father gave him - didn''t seem to bring him much aid, did it?
"I''m early?" Rana quipped.
"I think you are - or was it late? It''s hard to tell," De''al said.
"Who are you?" Rana asked, a frown coloured her face.
"De''al."
"De''al?" she turned to Arn, "is this man bothering you?" she nudged her head towards De''al.
"This man?" Arn''s heart thudded, the blood swooshed in his ears, "bothering me?"
"Well, I see you certainly haven''t changed, have you?" she chuckled at Arn, glanced at De''al, then sat down opposite from the fire pit. Thus Arn now loomed over the both of them; somehow, this shift in perspective made the situation less intimidating.
"Imagine my surprise upon hearing word that the Inspectorate is in pursuit of someone matching your description, as I patiently await you just outside the Tower of Het," Rana said and chuckled. "This one, right?" she pointed her thumb at Arn.
"You must be late then. How much have you seen?" De''al said, then leaned toward Rana, their eyes locked.
"What''s he talking about? Did he hit his head?" Rana said to Arn, maintaining what was shaping to be a staring contest. Dare Arn believe that these two had never met? They certainly acted as though they hadn''t. So much had happened, so many powers at play. He''d found it easier once. Before all this, he would have taken them up on their word, but now that he''d seen what the real world is like - it didn''t seem unreasonable to him that these two maintained an act.
"What do you want from me?" Arn said.
"Wha - Arn! You wound me! I am only here to help," Rana cried out.
"You''re here to help; he''s here to help," Arn waved at De''al, "everyone''s so bear-piss helpful!"
"I wouldn''t trust his motivations if I were you," she whispered, covering her mouth with a hand to hide from De''al.
"Your motivations, you mean? You have the same motivations - you work together!" Arn barked.
"I admit, this looks suspect," she nodded and half smiled, "but come on - this guy?" she waved at De''al "we''ve exchanged two words, and he already annoys me."
"How did you escape the Inspectorate?" Arn asked.
"Oh, but a revolutionary never reveals her secrets," she wagged her finger at him, then took out a pipe and lit up, the air filled with that fruity aroma again. The cell flashed in his memory. Arn reached for the amulet around his neck. It felt slightly cool against his chest, even hidden beneath the layers as it was.
"This won''t help you obscure his vision," De''al suddenly said.
Rana frowned at De''al, batted her lashes, then said, "I don''t know what you''re talking about."
"What are you talking about?" Arn asked De''al.
"There was a time when her charms would work, but you visited the dream halls, and much took place which she didn''t see."
"He visited the what?" Rana asked.
De''al didn''t answer, and Arn stopped himself. He watched De''al. It really did seem as though the two only just met. It would be such a coincidence, akin to the two avalanches and all the ravens he''d seen. Dare he believe that coincidence is all this is?
"What? What did he visit? Come on, I feel left out here," she looked from one to the other. Neither responded. Rana shook her head and blew smoke up into the night sky. "You know why I found you?" she finally said.
"You didn''t finish whatever you started in the cell?" Arn shot back.
"No - well yes, but no," she held up a finger to forestall any interruptions. "Haven''t had family around since I was younger than you. But, that family was - unsavoury." Arn wasn''t sure where this was going, but he already didn''t like it.
"Long story short, I always like to learn a little about my students -" she cut off upon seeing his expression "don''t give me that; you''ve learned much during our unconventional lessons. Now sit down before you meld with the tree!" she ordered.
Warmth spread over his face, his fists clenched. The ambers in his belly flared up, his frustration and anger once again transformed to energy. The energy flowed into his core and fuelled the burning embers. His vision came into focus just as it did back then with the wolves; he felt the trees, rocks, snow, and the ground beneath. He felt these things as parts of himself and called on their Sanarel. It flowed into him, a torrent of force and heat.
"Woah!" Rana cried and jumped to her feet, "cut that out," she said, pointing at him, "do you want to draw the Inspectorate to us?"
Arn scowled at her but noticed that De''al was looking at him too. The man stared silently, but his eyes unnerved Arn. Finally, his concentration broke, the connection released, and Arn sagged against the tree, feeling drained.
"When did he learn that?" Rana said to De''al, who shrugged.
"I bet you have some new stories for me, cousin," she said with a smirk.
Arn''s eyes widened, but words escaped him for the moment.
"I see you are speechless with joy," she said, "Arn, you''re my long lost cousin! Rather, I may be your long lost cousin, actually."
Arn burst into laughter. Her words made no sense; this was the worst, most unbelievable cover he''d ever heard. Worse than any of Sead''s stories, worse than even his sister''s stories. Rana chuckled too, then furrowed her eyebrows.
"This laughter isn''t healthy sounding," she said and glanced at De''al "what have you done with my cousin?"
Arn gasped for breath. Not healthy-sounding? His father ran away after stopping an avalanche; he was saved by a ranger, who beat him up - albeit for a good reason. He ran away from the Inspectorate with a man who made no sense outside of brief moments of clarity, and now the woman who kidnapped him is back and revealing that they are cousins. He wiped tears from his cheeks. Arn felt something within him snap - or perhaps it didn''t so much snap, as unclenched. It was a long time since he felt as clear-minded as he did at that moment.
Chapter 37 : Down River Arngosadar
The moon''s pale sphere hung in a black sky, casting its cold light upon the forest. Stars glittered within familiar constellations; Arn recalled the strange sky he saw in the Aether dream, back before he fought the wolves. His laughter fit had passed twenty minutes ago, but the other two gave him space, and Arn took it.
He glanced at Rana''s sleeping form - or, so it appeared. Was she sleeping? He didn''t trust anything the woman did. De''al sat motionless, staring into the pit of faintly glowing emberwood. The two were strangers. Worse than that, he knew little of their motivations. As bad as Rana was, at least he had a faint idea of what she was after - she wanted to recruit him to her cause. Didn''t she? Arn rubbed his eyes; sparks appeared at the corners of his vision only to fade away in a flash.
He glanced at De''al once more. Why is this man here? What does he want from me? Arn wondered.
"You must sleep; you''ll need energy for tomorrow," De''al said in a hushed voice.
"I don''t think so," Arn replied.
De''al raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe that if either of us wished to cause you harm, we''d have to wait until you sleep?" he challenged Arn.
"I," Arn whispered.
"The three of us are bound for the moment; your warranted suspicions must pause ''till we''re out of danger." The entire time he spoke, De''al kept his eyes on the pit.
Arn considered the man''s words, then sighed. "Fine," he mumbled, then got into his sleeping back, closer to the pit to catch some of the warmth. Sleep came surprisingly fast, but so did the wake-up call.
Arn felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. It was still dark; it couldn''t have been morning. Rana already stood, looking off in the distance.
"We''ve been found," De''al whispered, "we must go, hurry!"
Arn crawled out of his sleeping bag and stuffed it into his backpack. His mind hadn''t fully awakened; everything happened in a haze. They were running again, the emberwood left forgotten, heading east through the forest, probably to De''al''s mysterious boat.
"I don''t like your plan," Rana said after De''al filled her in, "I say we go up north, the Inspectorate won''t reach him there, and I have some friends that will help us."
"That settles it; we''re definitely not going north," Arn said between pants.
Rana protested but seemed surprisingly placatable on the matter - Arn made a mental note about that. He didn''t remember her being so agreeable the last time they met.
"They can''t see us, yet they know," De''al said. "Losing them will be challenging, yet lose them we must before reaching the boat."
"How can you be sure that they''re after us?" Arn asked. He hadn''t heard a thing the entire time they''ve been running. Rana didn''t seem to question their pursuers, but she wouldn''t if De''al and her were working together.
"If you hear the Inspectorate chasing you, then you''ve been caught already," Rana said.
"But," he managed to say before gasping for air, "but -"
"Save your breath," De''al interjected.
"You''re really out of shape," Rana said.
Arn scowled but heeded their advice. Neither of them was even breathing heavily. He soon slumped against a tree and had to take a break, spots appeared in his vision, and his breaths barely supplied enough oxygen. Every muscle burned in protest.
"At this rate, they''ll reach us before we reach the boat," Rana said.
"Stall them," De''al told her.
Rana gasped, "who, me?" she said, a hand on her chest, "stop a squad of the Inspectorate?"
De''al held her gaze while Arn tried to catch his breath. Their conversation was slowly registering in his mind, and he looked up at Rana. Could she actually stall an entire squad of them? He wondered. Rana suddenly turned to Arn and winked at him.
"I want my baby cousin to ask," she said.
De''al turned his expressionless face toward Arn as well. What are they waiting for? They can''t seriously... he thought.
"I am not going to beg -" he growled.
"Whoa, whoa," Rana raised her palms at Arn as one does with a wild animal, "I didn''t say beg, I just said ask."
De''al continued to stare at Arn as though nothing urgent was at hand.
"Fine," Arn said. He took a few deep breaths, all the while glaring at Rana, who seemed to be amused by his reaction more than anything. "Stall them," he said through gritted teeth.
"Wow," Rana chuckled. "Wow!" she shook her head and glanced at De''al. Did you hear that? By his attitude, you''d think I threw him in a cell or something - oh wait, never mind!"
Once again, there wasn''t a response from De''al; he looked at the two of them with the same sort of even and expressionless stare.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
"You two are no fun!" she cried out. Rana stretched her arms and back, then swung her arm to stretch her shoulders. "I''ve been itching to chat with the good fellas, you know? Now''s as good a time as ever. Where is the boat?" she asked De''al.
"You found him once; you''ll do it again," he said.
"I suppose I will!" she smirked, then darted off into the forest.
De''al didn''t seem to be in a hurry anymore. He let Arn catch his breath and rest.
"What if I just go after her? Neither of you seems very concerned considering you''re followed by the Inspectorate," Arn said.
"You shouldn''t go after her; it is dangerous," De''al replied.
"Are you going to tell me that I can''t see, but you can, and that''s that?"
"Yes," De''al said.
"Elar''Saga keep me," Arn muttered. Rana was gone for a couple of minutes now; all seemed quiet. That is until he heard a scream - that of a man. Arn jerked and looked at De''al; the man tilted his head, a hint of a grin appearing on his face. Arn looked back; the scream echoed and died out, then another, and another.
"What was that?" Arn whispered.
"That was our sign to leave," De''al said, already several steps ahead. Arn hurried after the man. They altered their course northward now that they didn''t need to worry about pursuit. Arn would have preferred to have seen the Inspectorate, but at least this way, he wasn''t directly involved in whatever Rana did to elicit those screams. Just as he thought that, a faint cry reached them from far away.
What was she doing to them? He was starting to feel bad for the Inspectorate agents.
"Don''t let your guard down," De''al said.
"But Rana, she is dealing with them, isn''t she?"
"It''s the Inspectorate; they have many tricks up their sleeves," De''al said.
"What are you saying? They are still after us? Another group?" Arn started hearing sounds: branches breaking, trees creaking, his eyes darted all around.
"Focus ahead; nothing is the matter just now, but keep your guard."
The screams still echoed in his mind, even if he could no longer hear them. Was this ever going to end? He wondered as they jogged among the trees.
"Where is the boat?" Arn asked.
"Where I left it."
Arn growled; he felt the warmth in his core once more. It energized him, removing the weight of fear and some of the exhaustion from his limbs.
The sun peaked above the eastern horizon, and warm orange rays cast long shadows upon the snow. It was light enough for Arn to see that the trees were ending soon. He heard the river''s sound as it flowed east. They must be close, finally!
They ran out of the tree cover and unto twenty feet of shoreline. The was a small dock tucked in a cove and a boat that seemed too large for it bobbing in the current. De''al stopped and held out an arm to forestall Arn.
"What?" Arn asked, looking around for any sign of whatever worried the man.
De''al didn''t answer; instead, he surveyed their surroundings and stepped back slowly, pushing Arn with him. The wind picked up; it blew in small gusts, lifting loose snow from the ground and blowing it all around them. Was this De''al? Arn didn''t relish the thought of an Inspectorate agent with power like that.
"Come out," De''al said calmly.
A moment later, a man exited from the trees near the cove. He seemed familiar; Arn furrowed his brows - where''d he see him before? That''s right, Ossagar''s warden!
"You may leave if you hurry; our companion is less forgiving than I," De''al said.
"Oh, can I? Thank the spirits for that," the man mocked De''al.
"I see that your goals are misaligned with what must be," De''al said.
"Oh," the warden gasped, his eyes widened, "are you an oracle? Wait, don''t tell me - you knew I was going to ask, didn''t you?" The man stepped towards them leisurely. A knife appeared in his hand, and he handled it with finesse.
Arn didn''t understand what the warden was doing there. Could he be after Rana? The man did warn Arn about her when they met.
De''al didn''t react to the warden''s taunt, though he watched him like a hawk does a mouse.
"You just go back to your business, and I will help Arn get where he needs to go. Nice of you to provide the boat," the warden said.
Why is everyone trying to help me? Arn thought, glancing from De''al to the warden.
"Didn''t you hear me? I am not messing around; I will carve you -" the warden twitched mid-sentence; an instant later, a blade hung in the air inches from De''al''s eye. De''al didn''t blink. The warden scowled, his stance no longer at ease. Arn could tell that he wasn''t expecting this.
The blade slowly flipped in the air, pointing to the warden, then dropped to the snow.
"Sighted as you may be, warden, you are too early in your journey. Leave, now," De''al began to pace towards the man. The warden''s scowl deepened, and he backed away.
"What, what are you?" the warden mumbled, but De''al continued his advance. Then, another blade appeared, this time to De''al''s right; it stopped inches from his temple.
"How? What is this?" the warden cried out; none of his bravado remained.
The warden dropped the knife he still held and took out a metal device with glowing runes on it. He whispered something and glared at De''al, then at Arn. Nothing happened. Fear appeared in the man''s eyes; Arn could see the white all around his irises.
The warden looked at the item and whispered again and again. Nothing. Finally, De''al had reached him; the man fell backwards in his scramble and tried to skitter away, but De''al was too fast; he grabbed the warden''s arm, pulled him close, and placed one hand on the man''s temple.
The warden''s body went limp, and he dropped to the snow.
"Is he dead?" Arn whispered.
"Dead? Yes, but not now - no, now he isn''t dead. He will awake," De''al replied in a singsong voice.
"What did you do?" Arn asked.
"Those not ready to see," De''al said, "their minds cannot accept the halls of dreams."
"What - what does that, what?"
"Come, we must reach the boat."
"De''al. Wait. How did you stop the knives? Wait," Arn hurried after the man. They reached the boat. It was larger than Arn expected. Large enough to comfortably accommodate three people.
"Nice boat!" came Rana''s voice, mere feet behind Arn - he jumped in surprise and nearly fell into the frigid Arngosadar. Rana caught him by the collar of his coat and made sure he was steady.
"Whoa there," she chuckled, "not a great time for a swim. I see you''ve had company?" she turned to De''al.
"He''s asleep; he won''t trouble us."
Rana still held Arn''s collar. He tried to pull it back, but her iron grip wouldn''t budge. Thankfully, she saw him and let the collar go with a sly smile.
"Are they?" Arn motioned behind Rana.
"Asleep? No, they are certainly not asleep," she said.
Arn stared at the woman. She shrugged, then brushed past him and onto the boat. De''al had already untied it from the dock. Arn swore under his breath and got into the boat as well.
They followed the current east. Trees passed on all sides, and the sunrise was beautiful. He could almost forget the likely dead Inspectorate agents and the one warden who was now asleep - if De''al was to be believed.
"It wasn''t an Inspectorate warden," De''al said, his voice back to an even tone.
"What?" Arn said.
"The man who is asleep."
"Then who is he?" Arn asked.
"He''s a warden, or rather, in service of one - just not from the Inspectorate," De''al said, eyes fixed toward the horizon.
"Why was he there?" Arn asked.
"Because of you," De''al said.
"Me?" Arn exclaimed.
"Oh, don''t worry, little cousin, the unstable one, and I will keep you safe. You just relax and enjoy the cruise," Rana cooed.
Arn looked at the two of them. Rana had abducted him several weeks ago, and De''al - well, he was just himself. The three of them headed down the Arngosadar to find his father. Judging by his previous experience, he didn''t have great hopes for it going according to plan.
Epilogue | Deal and Enloth
Snow crunched under their feet while conifers loomed overhead. They followed the road north, though calling it a road was generous - a mere five feet of virgin snow between the trees. De¡¯al struggled to keep up with the older man, he shifted the heavy backpack on his back and picked up his pace. The man - Enloth, didn¡¯t seem bothered by the cold or the deep snow, he wore a light jacket and boots more suitable for spring than the dead of winter.
Enloth stopped up ahead and consulted his map. De¡¯al took the opportunity to catch up, when he did, the youth bent over and put his hands on his knees, panting. He was glad for the brief reprieve but didn¡¯t know how much longer he¡¯d last.
¡°The first campsite is just up ahead.¡± Enloth said after a glance at his companion.
¡°Thank Elar¡¯Saga,¡± De¡¯al replied, still short of breath.
¡°It will all be worth it, believe me.¡±
De¡¯al stared up at the man, who stood above him completely at ease. ¡°I wish we¡¯d have hired a carriage or a mule at the least. When I became an historian I hardly expected to trek through the woods in the dead of winter with pounds of supplies and equipment on my back.¡±
¡°Oh? And did you expect to look through time and see the past with your own eyes?¡± Enloth asked.
¡°You¡¯re sure the ancient spirit can be controlled -¡±
¡°It¡¯s too late for doubts - and yes, I am sure.¡±
¡°I still don¡¯t see why we couldn¡¯t have hired a pack mule.¡±
¡°A pack mule comes with paperwork -¡±
¡°Yes yes. Secrecy is paramount, so you keep telling me. Give me a moment to catch my breath.¡±
Enloth frowned and leaned towards the young man. ¡°I don¡¯t think you quite understand what power we stand to gain here¡± he said, close enough for De¡¯al to feel the warmth of his breath. Their eyes locked until De¡¯al looked away.
The first campsite was decidedly not ¡®just¡¯ up ahead, at least not by De¡¯al¡¯s reckoning. They carried on for an hour before they saw the clearing. When finally there, De¡¯al dropped his pack and half sat, half fell onto a large log. While he rested Enloth had the fire going and suspended a black iron pan over it. He threw in a handful of dried vegetables and leafy spices, then added water. He took out a small pouch and emptied it into the pan - dark powder covered the contents and a sharp spicy aroma filled the air. Not a trace could be found of the man¡¯s earlier intensity.
De¡¯al salivated. ¡°Travel rations never smell this good,¡± he said.
¡°Ah yes, one picks up a trick or two in my age - grab a bowl, would you?¡±
De¡¯al sat upright on his log and presented his bowl to Enloth, who filled it with the saucy vegetables. The younger man stifled a moan as he ate. ¡°This has to be sorcery, it¡¯s the best thing I¡¯ve eaten,¡± he mumbled.
Enloth chuckled. ¡°There may be a little sorcery in there, nothing you should be overly concerned with.¡±
De¡¯al paused and stared at the half eaten meal, weighed his options and decided that it was too late to stop. The food revitalized his body and he finally relaxed. He looked out into the distance at the pale mountains above the treeline, their snowy peaks brushed the clouds. The ancient homes of the Masons lie hidden in those mountains, he thought. One day he¡¯d venture there, and he¡¯ll be the one to find the secrets of their stonecraft and bring back their living statues - golems, as some called them. This spirit they were about to see - Enloth¡¯s singing interrupted his thoughts.
¡°Travel light but carry a pack
You never know when you''ll need a good snack!
Fasten your coat, tighten your belt
You''ll find on the road the hand you''re dealtUnauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Follow the wind and hear its call
And you shan''t go wrong on your lengthy stroll¡±
De¡¯al¡¯s heart lurched and he looked all around them. Not a single branch moved anywhere in sight. ¡°What are you doing?¡± he hissed.
¡°Relax, there¡¯s no one here to report us.¡±
De¡¯al looked again - all was still and no sound reached his ears. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous, Enloth - even here I wouldn¡¯t -¡±
¡°And you didn¡¯t,¡± Enloth cut in.
¡°Fine, fine,¡± De¡¯al relented. After a minute he said ¡°haven¡¯t heard this song before.¡±
¡°You haven¡¯t heard a great many things.¡±
De¡¯al scowled but Enloth just chuckled.
¡°What are you laughing at?¡± The young man cried.
¡°Nothing, here, have a drink.¡± Enloth handed him a leather-wrapped flask. Upon it was a faded engraving of a bear and wolf, the Ranger¡¯s crest between them.
¡°What is it?¡±
¡°Fireball Tea.¡± Following De¡¯al¡¯s blank stare Enloth added ¡°an old Ranger¡¯s recipe, it¡¯ll help you stay warm - drink up; we need to get back to the road.¡±
¡°You never told me that you are a Ranger.¡±
¡°I¡¯m not - drink up.¡±
De¡¯al took a sip. The liquid fizzed on his tongue and a second later his mouth was on fire. He swallowed and the warmth spread to his throat. The burning faded quickly leaving a pleasant heat and a hint of cloves and cinnamon. The warmth spread throughout his entire body and hung about him. He turned to Enloth and inspected the man¡¯s light clothing once again - De¡¯al¡¯s eyes widened and he gasped.
¡°Is this why you¡¯re never cold?¡±
¡°This and sorcery.¡± Enloth replied and started back toward the road. De¡¯al tucked the flask into his coat and followed. Surely the old man was teasing, he thought.
***
The next day they strayed off the road and trekked through the woods proper. Enloth consulted his map with increasing frequency and De¡¯al strained for any signs of the ancient ruins. They must be getting close, he hoped. Yet the hours went by and daylight diminished. Purple tinged shadows stretched before them and the first stars made their appearance in the moonless sky. Bird calls echoed in the distance and wolves howled. De¡¯al shuddered.
A green blue light at the corner of his vision caught his attention. At first De¡¯al took it to be the Auroras of the northern sky, a lucky omen. But the light flickered between the trees, too close to the ground. It¡¯s smooth colours and undulating rhythm enticed De¡¯al. Before long he was walking towards it, he glanced back at his discarded backpack. It didn¡¯t seem important - he wondered why he¡¯d brought it in the first place.
¡°De¡¯al!¡± he heard. Someone was calling his name, behind him distant footsteps crunched the snow, getting closer with every second. Who was that? He thought. The green blue ripples of light swayed and merged in rhythm with his beating heart. A stray thought flowed into his mind - ¡°Enloth¡± he whispered. The name seemed familiar - should he know it, was it important? He wondered. It seemed important, but the certainty of the fact faded, washed away by the light.
Deep within him something roiled and seethed but the feeling was faint, muffled by the beauty he witnessed. The footsteps behind him stopped. Silence blanketed all about him - the sound not absent so much as consumed. The roiling sensation from before intensified, it grew sharper and stronger. An echo of fear reached through the dull canopy of bliss, sharp as a needle. Sluggish memories flowed into his mind - Enloth, the ancient spirit, that name again, he thought. He came here for a purpose, he knew that much.
The light flowed and intensified, drowning out his mind once more. He longed to touch it, to be one with it. He stepped closer and reached out. Immediately he felt a pressure close upon his arm and held it tight. Panic flashed in his mind, it pushed against the blanket which weighed him down but to no avail. His heart beat faster, it lost the light¡¯s rhythm, and in its stead it matched the roiling sensation deep within De¡¯al. The two oscillated in unison.
His hand prickled where the light held it. The fingers became numb and the numbness consumed more of him with every second. Soon, his whole hand lost all feeling. He clenched his teeth and pulled, but it didn¡¯t budge. He felt like a man about to drown. Fear ruptured through the dullness of his mind, it flowed throughout him like a cold wave. The light no longer held any beauty. The green blue ripples twisted and pooled in the center where they folded into a black void. It floated mere inches from his hand.
De¡¯al screamed, a wordless shriek against the unrelenting will that forced itself upon him. His mind was filled with fear, it consumed all thought and all emotion. All but the very last of him, a primal will that pulsed in concert with his heart, growing loud and powerful. It beat like the drums of war, refusing to be eroded, a last vestige of his being that the foreign power would never possess. Ta-dun ta-dun ta-dun. Each beat sent ripples through his body, calling his fear to arms, heating it up until it blazed white hot. He screamed again, this time with purpose, the drums within him frenzied and his fear exploded into rage.
The black void contracted like a pupil would against a source of bright light. De¡¯al forced the last of his will into his rage, he pushed against the void¡¯s grip. His arm trembled, fist clenched, and finally the force that held him shattered. The sky wheeled as he tumbled to the ground and then there was nothing.
Enloth approached De¡¯al¡¯s unconscious body. The light of the shimmering dome played over his face though it never reached his eyes. It took much of his strength to hold it at bay and he marvelled at the young man lying before him.
¡°You almost had it this time.¡±
Histories of Nedreal : The Black Fort
The Wind Shall Remember
So goes the tale for those who''ll hear it told
There stood a fort as old as time itself
None left who saw it come into our world
Long years of war and battle it withstood
Blood soaked its stone and death lived in its wood
Dark stood the tower in winter and summer
Its halls and its stones drank all fear and all sorrow
It consumed sound of war and the sharp clang of sword
And those who did dwell there first beheld in their dreams
Dark murmurs, old whispers, and soft echoes of screams
Deep in the tower a dark mind had stirred
Crimson it''s thought filled by anguish and wrath
It whispered in dreams and made itself heard
And the lips of its dwellers carried its voice
Abiding its biddings, never making the choice
''Till Egthon the Bloody, with marauders in tow
Assaulted the tower, under moon''s glow
Its whispers and words bewitched Egthon''s thought
Lord and his bandits bloody deeds wrought
And the tower once more with crimson was bought
Dawn cast its warmth on the tower''s dark walls
Where Egthon the Sleepless meandered the halls
Thought bent on his reign that he yearned to expand
The tower''s dark mind had its bloody right hand
And its will now had means to ravage the land
Each night Egthon''s mind wrestled the tower
Drawn was his face and his countenance dour
His thoughts ever darkened and anger did grow
Fear bloomed ''midst his allies, and spread like disease
His kingdom did shake ''neath his bloody decrees
Folk of the land lived in fright of his madness
His rule brought to them nothing but sadness
To spirits they prayed for relief of their plight
They sued for a hero to cleanse the dark fort
To relieve them of Egthon, their ruthless lord
Yet for many a year their pleas were ignored
''Till first day of spring, two score years in his ruleThis book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
There came a man with the dawn at his back
Wind bore his words over walls and through stone
Oh Egthon the Sleepless, I seek you alone
O''er the rampart the guards sneered and mocked
Begone ye poor fool, bother not our great lord!
Blue cloak hid his face yet his voice clearly sang
Egthon the Bloody, descend from your throne!
Guards cried in one voice, flee fool, you''re alone!
He paid them no heed and a third time he spoke
Egthon the Vessel, mindless hand of the fort
I shan''t wait for long ''afore invading your court
Atop the fort''s walls guards seethed and enraged
Their lord''s honour abused, battle they waged
Shining mail, clanging sword, and cries - for our lord!
Then a silence befell and the gate gravely groaned
There stood Egthon the Bloody, in crimson adorned
Blemished crown ''pon his brow, a contemptuous mien
Grating voice shook the air - who dares intervene!
Then the blue mantled man lowered his hood
Frost filled grey eyes, framed by ebony mane
Seized lord and guards and showed them their bane
The tower then shook and guards fell to their knees
But their lord stood unbent, resisting with ease
I am the Scion of the northern wind
The comfort to thine land¡¯s despondent pleas
I¡¯ll cleanse the stone and wood of the old fort
Leave now - free, and of your own accord
The man in blue called to the bloody lord
The great lord¡¯s visage then twisted and soured
Grim laughter boomed and in anger he howled
Guards trembled in fear and fled from the men
I shall suffer no wind, and neither her hen
Begone, blithering fool - never come here again
Adarsara¡¯s Scion stood fast - undeterred
The bloody lord¡¯s words his courage had spurred
Once more he cried out in a mightier voice
I know your measure, I have my mission
Begone from this land of your own volition!
Malevolent malice took hold of the lord
With white-knuckled tension he clung to his sword
A hideous snarl warped and twisted his face
He surrendered to bloodlust and hailed her embrace
And longingly welcomed the tower¡¯s dark grace
Hear me, dark mind, crimson soul of the fort
Spur my hen-hearted guards - ¡®tis my last resort
Then a Ghastly green glow boiled forth from the wall
It grasped for the guards - ¡®till green their eyes shone
Filled by a dark will, and relieved of their own
Adarsara¡¯s scion knew the thoughts of the fort
Halt thine dread will - to the spirit he called
Untangle your tendrils from mind and soul
Relieve them of memories - not yours to control
Egthon, thine vessel shall suffer their toll
Eghton¡¯s mad laughter resounded once more
The fort shan¡¯t obey the fool at its door
Yet horror and shock - the green glow abated
It yielded his guards, their courage deflated
Then Egthon did scowl at the scion he hated
Thrice you shall hear my guidance - oh Egthon
Be gone from this fort, ¡®tis your final hope
Cried the scion, unyielding ¡®neath Egthon¡¯s gaze
The frenzied lord was deaf to his appeal
O¡¯rtaken by black will - full of crimson zeal
The blue mantled man knew Egthon¡¯s intent
But the scion¡¯s great will was not to be bent
It swept through the land whose colour it drained
Barring Egthon¡¯s green light - which had remained
Thus the fort¡¯s bloody will its vessel had chained
Filled by crimson lust, Egthon blindly charged
The Scion evaded and raised was his blade
It sundered the tendrils, their clutches unmade
I free thee, poor vessel, your toll is thus paid
Absent his chains, on the ground Egthon laid
The Scion turned away from the poor lord
And raised his mighty sword to the old fort
Luminous grey eyes beheld its bloody soul
I broke my word, yet mercy was the goal
Fourth warning - leave now, ended is your role
Indignation and shame burned in his breast
Deaf to the world, by revenge thus possessed
He squirmed ¡®pun the earth and dagger he drew
The bloody lord lunged and his vile blade plunged
His credulous foe was thus surely expunged
Piercing blue light spilled forth from the wound
Its power and might struck Egthon aside
His mind overwhelmed, he lay ¡®pun the earth
Henceforth he was known as Egthon the Mad
Though vile last deed, completed he had
Adarsara¡¯s Scion was mortally struck
Life he did forfeit to accomplish his task
He then flung his sword, last effort of will
True flew his blade at the heart of the fort
The scion then kneeled, and colours returned
Shook then the fort with an agonized scream
Gone was the dark soul and too its regime
Naught but ruins remained of the once mighty fort
None saw again him who vanquished its court
Forgotten by time, for its grace is quite short
But the wind shall remember.