Dark Thoughts of a Twisted Mind

Her Wrath

Author's Note - I know I'm a day early, but I work a long shift tomorrow and I'm not sure I'll feel up to posting tomorrow so I'm posting now. Also, please keep in mind these posts are from my daily writing journal so - can't say how they'll end or if they will end at all. :)


         Cyali crouched near the river’s edge, eyes of ice green locked on the dark aquamarine depths, noting the gentle sway of aquatic vegetation. The vibrant orchid plants, as mesmerizing as their movement was, served only as a focal point, his attention on the two men standing less than fifteen feet behind him. Of particular interest was their hushed discussion, the two surreptitiously speaking of Daeandor Forest. More to the point, they debated the possibility of entering the cursed woods, of daring the spirit of the forest’s wrath. A dead man’s journey, Cyali knew, just as he was aware there was no point in trying to reason with them. They were duty bound to achieve their goal – and save the lost noble.

         Lifting his head, he studied the thick boscage of trees, the undergrowth impenetrable, the foliage rich, vibrant, and healthy. A stunning sight that was so magnificent, so overwhelming one had to stop and admire the breathtaking vision, to contemplate the true meaning of natural beauty in all its imperfection. And Cyali was tempted – if not for the underlying tone of the aura, a sense of heaviness that seemed to portend danger. What concerned him was that he was the only one aware of just awaited them.

         “You there! Elf!” Tirdol called, his accent reminding Cyali of someone who spoke with a sharp clip, but a loose jaw. A strange combination that created a sloppy facsimile of annunciation. “Come ‘ere!”

         Cyali continued scrutinizing the wooded area across the river, his pale eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts, his expression confessing nothing of his heart. He simply sat back on his haunches and scanned the land before him with a critical eye, trying to determine exactly what had him on edge. Darkness. The longer he searched for what was wrong with the woods, the more he realized the woods were wrong. A darkness clung to the copse of trees like a skin, shunning all light, rejecting any illumination – or rather, she did, the Spirit of Daeandor, Lady of Shadows.

         “Lord Cyali, will you join us, please,” Luca asked when Cyali, in no way, acknowledged Tirdol’s demand. “We have need of your council.”

         Cyali glanced back and inclined his head before rising to his feet and joining the two men. As he approached, Tirdol took a step back, one hand coming to rest on the hilt of his sword, his lips pressing into an angry white slash across his pitted face. A reaction Cyali experienced all to often, Tirdol’s kind all too familiar to him – those humans who hated as much as feared Elvin kind, those who could not let go of the war that ended over twenty years before. The soul deep animosity was fueled by the realization that most Elves they met fought in the hostility between their ancestors and the Elvin nation. That malice was something Cyali chose to ignore, seeing no reason to stoke those fires in an attempt to put the flames out. People who wanted to hate – would hate.

         “If it is my council you seek, then I must advise against Daeandor,” Cyali stated, his voice rumbling through the tense silence. Looking from Tirdol to Luca, he continued, wishing only to spare innocent lives the horrors of the cursed forest. “The Spirit of the Wood is not likely to sympathize with our cause.”

         “Surprise, surprise! He’s a bloody coward!” Tirdol snorted derisively, he’s sounding more like his to Cyali. “He’s afraid of fairytales and ghost stories.”

         “Enough!” Luca snapped, his voice deepening to a guttural growl, his eyes narrowing, his brow furrowed. “Quite enough, to be perfectly honest.” The man didn’t give his companion a chance to respond. Instead, Luca turned his back on Tirdol, facing Cyali. “I apologize, Lord Cyali…”

         Cyali lifted a quieting hand, silencing Luca’s apology. “Tirdol’s ignorance is not my concern. What does concern me is your willingness to risk her wrath by daring to enter Daeandor.”

         Tirdol opened his mouth, his lips curling into a derisive snarl, leaving no doubt as to his thoughts on Cyali’s stance. However, what he had to say in response he quickly swallowed, the biting words likely a bitter acid going down his throat and settling low to gnaw at his gut. Apparently, the man preferred that than facing Luca’s anger because a single warning glare from the latter silenced whatever disparaging comment Tirdol intended for Cyali. Luca, satisfied he’d reigned in his churlish companion, stared off at some distant point only he could see. A faint breeze tugged at a few strands of the man’s silvery white hair, causing the pale fringe dance against his brow, his almond shaped eyes lit with a raging fire of purpose, his jaw set in almost obsessed determination. At that moment, Cyali didn’t doubt Luca, he didn’t disbelieve the man’s dedication to his duty, his honor, and his king.

         “I apologize for Tirdol and his mutinous tongue, and I pray his ignorance will not dissuade you from assisting us in our endeavors,” the human finally stated, his words calm, respectful, yet leaving no room for argument. “But understand this. With or without you, we will enter Daeandor. We have no choice. You yourself tracked Lord Shavanouck this far and, by your own admission, his tracks head straight for that Abyss Damned forest.” Luca hesitated, glancing at Tirdol, then toward the dreaded subject of the hour – Daeandor. “Tell me, what choice have we, Lord Cyali?”

         A valid question Luca had every right to ask, one that – unfortunately – had only one answer. None. “Cyali,” he quietly murmured, pivoting on his heel and drifting over to the nearest fire.

         “Wh-what?” Luca countered, following after him, Tirdol heavily trumping along, the heaviness of his steps silencing the nearby woodland creatures startled into hiding.

         “Titles are unnecessary out here, do you not agree? My given name is enough,” Cyali explained as he crouched down, using a sturdy stick to stoke the campfire into new life. Watching the flickering flames as they licked at the air, hissing in warning, Cyali caught a glimpse of the fire element hidden within, drawing a hint of a smile to his lips. “If Daeandor is our destination, we shall resume our journey in the morning.”

         “Morning?” Tirdol scoffed, refusing to remain silent any longer. “Lord Shavanouck will have died by then! Surely you, who speaks fearfully of the damnedable forest, would not leave a boy – a boy – to face those horrors alone!” He straightened himself in what seemed a feeble attempt to stand taller than Cyali, puffed out his chest, and looked Cyali from head to foot and, finally, met his gaze. “Perhaps you’re more coward than I thought!”

         Biting back his amusement at Tirdol’s posturing, Cyali shook his head and released a slow, whispered sigh. “Do you know nothing of Daeandor, Tirdol? The spirit of the woods rejects all forms of light, which makes traveling through the dense undergrowth treacherous on the brightest of days,” he explained, resisting the urge to rise to his full height – a good five inches taller than the human he addressed. Tirdol was likely to misunderstand Cyali’s effort to honor his own culture and stand eye to eye with those he addressed, the man more apt to assume Cyali was trying to intimidate him with his superior height. “But what you propose is that we enter her domain in the middle of the night. How are we to light our way? How are we to find our way? More importantly, how do you suggest we find your young Lord Shavanouck? We could walk right past him and we’d never know, all the while the Lady’s denizens stalk us under the safe cover of dark with malicious intent flowing through their veins.” At that point, Cyali did rise to his feet, moving slowly toward Tirdol, ignoring the fact the man backed away from him. “I, dear Tirdol, have entered Daeandor on a number of occasions – and still live today, which is why your king requested my aid. But, if you truly believe you know better than I, then go ahead. Do what you must. Enter Daeandor and hunt for your noble in the dead of night. I will not stop you, but nor will I be there to help you when you need – and you will need.”

         His peace spoken, Cyali turned and sank deeper into the camp, further from the river and the edge of Daeandor. He heard Luca, after a moment or two, reprimand Tirdol once again, the human speaking low enough that even Cyali was hard put to repeat what was said. What he did catch was Tirdol repeatedly asking if Cyali had indeed entered Daeandor on more than one occasion, the man unable to move past that revelation. The Elf didn’t remain to hear Luca’s response, uninterested in the rest of the conversation, his patience pushed to the limit by Tirdol’s challenges and ignorance. Better he focus his energy on preparing his tent, eating a bit of dinner, and settling down for the night – the next day one that promised to test everyone’s strength of heart.

         “Why?”

         Cyali heard someone approaching, the uneven gait accompanied by a hint of stale mead telling him all he needed to know – Tirdol. The man’s question, however, caught Cyali off guard, driving him to face his unwanted visitor. Tirdol looked confused and honestly curious, his anger and hatred fading beneath the heavy waves of curiosity. Cyali knew then what the human wanted to know, aware more questions would follow, but nothing between Tirdol and he would change. The man would still hate him for his race, although that loathing would come with a hint of admiration, begrudging or not. Perhaps for that reason, Cyali would share the story of what drove him into the cold embrace of Daeandor Forest.