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Join Rook and Tamor as they go on a quest of fate. |
| [Introduction]
For those of you readers just passing by this campfire, this is just two authors playing with characters from two seperate manuscripts. Rook and Tamor aren't from, well, the same place so to speak. We're doing this for fun. We just can't get our characters out of our heads, so we figured we could arrange a play-date for the two of them to get to know one another better... Chapter One *********** Rook left Bercelly far behind. His beloved Lauriette, unable to resist her inevitable fate had gone in search of Daumion. Rook did not have it in his heart to chase after her this time. He donned the familiar black robes of the Shan-Sei priesthood, tied his hair in the turban and set out on a hermitage. After following the cobbled roads that led from 'her' city, he abandoned civilization all together and stuck to the forest. The towering pines swayed as he ambled over the boulders and thick patches of pine needles in a direction he was drawn in. As it was when he had left his own city years ago, he felt the pull of darkness. When night fell, black and lonely, he built a fire to warm himself. He sat before it, the magical glimmer in his eyes, more than a reflection of light, served as a warning to any predators that might be lurking near. A few lengths away, a twig snapped. Rook looked up, warily. |
| He had felt trapped. The very windows by his bed had been barred. The rituals of meditation, purification, and restoration seemed a waste of time to him. When he reached his fifteenth winter, he made a list of the things he hated about the council and the things he liked. The day he sat down and studied that list had been the day he'd decided to leave. For good. Tamor left the council and Magilicline, his father, at the castle keep. He left in search of adventure. He found love. But love in a war torn country is as feeble as a torch in a gale. His relationship ended in tragedy and a boy fraught with unleashed his wrath on those who had wronged him. His powers were immediately regarded with suspicion, for Tamor had learned the secrets of his council before leaving. A series of misfortunate events and unfair coincidences molded Tamor into a hardened warrior. His skills were soon noticed by a pair of dark eyes with evil ambitions. Tamor wore the colors of Gana, the Dark Lord, for two years. During this period he did many terrible things. But a ghost from his past reminded him of his destiny. He left Gana shortly after to start his journey, a journey he hoped would lead him to redemption and perhaps peace. But his previous involvements with the darkness has tainted his judgement somewhat and has made enemies of those he once had an alliance with. Tamor may think himself free of the shadows that used to cling to him, but the Dark Lord has other plans. Gana will stop at nothing to see Tamor erased from existence, for Tamor cannot be allowed to complete what he was destined to do. Fleeing Belera seemed Tamor's only hope to escape those that hunted him. He needed time to think, time to heal, and time to understand who he really was. He knew nothing of this land he had stumbled upon, but he continued jogging through it. He would never find the answers he sought if he didn't live long enough to search them. The white wolf panted, its tongue lolling from its bloodied snout as it limped down the leaf covered path. It hadn't remembered entering the forest. Course the last thing it had remembered was being ambushed and . . . . It didn't matter now, though. It had destroyed a good portion of its pursuers in that last attack. The remaining members of that party would have to travel slower now, what with the wounded they carried and the decrease in their morale after losing to a single wolf. Trained horsemen were not supposed to be ousted by some dumb animal. Well, the wolf was no dumb animal. And it had more than just instincts driving its aggression. The mind was a terrible thing to waste, even when assuming the form of a beast. Tamor smiled as best as a wolf could. Combining an animal's natural killing potential with the mind of a killer? Sheer brilliance. Wonder why he had never thought of that before. Oh, right. He had thought of it before. It's what got him into this mess in the first place, just two years ago. Strange, but how time flies when you're on the run. His wolf body had lost too much blood. The attack had left him with so much adrenaline he had not noticed how injured he was. Dizziness was setting in. He had to transform back, else he bore the risk of dying in this body. It would be so simple. Just transform and then run away from here as . . . . The wolf whined as Tamor realized it would not be that easy. His hunters would find him the minute he performed the drawing. Tamor cursed himself inwardly for his poor judgement. Either way he would lose. What to do! The wolf's failing vision noticed the fire and the light from the man's hood before the twig snapped under its paw. The man sitting by the crackling fire started to the sound. Tamor could not hold on any longer. In his last ounce of strength, he dragged his failing body through the bushes and into the light of the camp. With a muffled whine he collapsed right in front of the startled man. "You poor beast. What's happened to you?" These were the final words Tamor heard that night. The rest faded into the darkness that swallowed him. |
| Rook let his hands trail over the bloodied white fur. There were gashes, deep and dripping with the creature's hot blood. How he hated suffering. In the distance Rook heard the hushed mutter of many voices, but they were headed in the wrong direction, so he calmed himself. He sang the prayer soflty as he had done a hundred times before, as he had done regretfully for Daumion when the vile creature lay bleeding and bashed in a deep pit. He let the white light flow from his hands and closed his eyes concentrating on his own voice, the rise and fall of the words, all in Old Kaladian, a language all but dead now. He felt the fur pull together, the flow of blood eased and slowed at last stopping all together. Rook opened his eyes and searched within the blinding white orb of light that encompassed him and the wolf. "Father," he whispered, "I would like to see you again." Gradually the light dissipated, leaving him again in the glow of the fading campfire. Sleep was whispering to him as he stroked the wolf's fur. He gazed around the trees for some glimpse of the old ghost, but his father had not come. "It is just us," Rook said gently as he rubbed the wolf's muzzle. "Do not worry, my friend, the ravens will watch over us." High in the trees the ominous black birds were doing just that. When Rook lay beside the wolf and closed his eyes in sleep, it was through the ravens' eyes he saw as he half dreamed. The sun rose and its warm rays filtered down through the pines breaking the crisp chill of the air. Rook sat upright and gazed for a moment at the wolf beside him. Its ribs rose and fell methodically with each breath; it slept. Gazing at his bloodstained hands, Rook halfheartedly sang the morning prayer. He thought of Lauriette and futile anger rose up in him, making the trees tremble. The ravens flew from their night perch in a cackling horde. |
| "Father says I am finally ready." Her tiny child's voice echoed in his mind, reviving memories he had forever been trying to smother. "Father says I have become as strong as you." The air was filled with the smell of apple blossoms and the sounds of nature. Ducks quacked out on the lake. Mourning doves cooed out their love poems to their mates and preened each other on an overhead tree limb. The sun cut through the branch covered path and cast a golden halo onto his younger sister's black hair. She raised her head and made a face when she caught him staring at her. "Is something wrong, Tamor?" Tamor felt the crisp air stir his black hair as he shook his head. "I just can't get by how much you've grown." He playfully wrapped his arm around her in a choke hold, messing up her hair with his other hand. She wriggled free and stepped back. She stared down at her wrinkled robe and tried her best to smooth her hair. Disappointment glowed in her large, green eyes. "For once, Tamor, couldn't you just show the slightest interest in your heritage?" "Weaving spells and striving to live like the gods is not my purpose in this life. My spirit will not allow it." "No?" Serenity frowned. "Then what have you been born for?" "To see the world. To live. To fight for my place in a society that has attained true freedom by reverting to the way of the beasts." "And what is the way of the beasts?" Tamor looked at her and smiled with eyes that glowed a darker green. "To survive, Serenity. That is the only rule." Serenity rolled her eyes. "We survive here, you know. What's more? We have learned how to survive in peace." "But because we have never fought or attempted to sin, can we say we've actually survived? We've successfully avoided the darker sides of reality by isolating ourselves in this idealistic place." "You speak nonesense." Serenity turned to leave, her blackwork boots clicking down the cobbestone path. "The world is not perfect, Serenity!" he called out to her. "By staying here we ignore that notion. But there will come a day when our world will die and we will be forced to see beyond our purification and perfection. What will we do then?" "I suppose we would die," came the cynical reply. "We will. That is, if we do not attempt to adapt to it first." She stopped and tilted her head. Tamor didn't need to hear her to know she was sighing at him. "You've always been the doomsayer of the council." She spun around, the fabric of her robe sweeping the ground. "Tell me, Tamor, have you truly seen all this death and destruction in your visions or is this just another excuse for Father to break up the council?" Tamor did not reply. He merely frowned. Serenity scoffed and walked back to him. "It wouldn't suprise me if this dark vision you're having reflects your own desires to abolish Father's dreams." She bore into him, wagging her finger motherly. "You never listen to your lessons. You mock the Code. You disobey our laws whenever you can and I've even heard you cursing on holy ground!" "I only do so because they are wrong!" "But it is who you are, Tamor! It is who we are." "It's not who I want to be!" Hurt shone on her face; a tear was quickly wiped away as she stared at him. "What's happened to you, Tamor? You used to love the council as much as I did." Tamor folded his arms. "Well, my feelings are not like that anymore." "No, they're not." The pain was apparent in her voice. "But you made that mistake! Your curiosity killed you, Tamor. The day you first left the keep was the day I knew you'd change." She whirled around and ran away, sobbing. . . . Serenity, wait! Tamor awoke with a start. Sunlight forced his eyes to open and he realized only after he looked around at his tree infested surroundings, that he'd been dreaming. He lay at the roots of a towering oak; a single raven cawed in the branches high above him before taking wing. Ravens. His sister's favorite bird. He watched in distaste as the bird disappeared through the trees. Carrion eaters, the lot of them. How could Serenity love such a disgusting bird? Another question hit him. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was being attacked by those horsemen. Perhaps he'd passed out from his injuries? Sudden chanting startled him. A cloaked figure walked through a gathering of bushes in front of him. From what Tamor could see, the man was unarmed, but his first reaction was distrust. "Who are you!" he demanded. He was surprised to hear his words come out in a menacing growl. He rose to challenge the resolve of this man, supporting his weight on all fours. The man, having heard the wolf growl, backed off to watch the creature curl its lip at him. "Be at peace, my friend," came the shaky reply. "I mean you no harm." Tamor watched with baleful eyes as the strange smelling man lifted his hands in submission and came nearer. He bristled his fur in threat and hunched his back. "Come any closer and I'll rip your throat out!" The man hesitated. He smiled with his strange glowing eyes. "I understand your fear." He then sat down where he stood. "This world is not safe for either or us." Man and wolf studied each other for a long time, the tenseness between them made worse by Tamor's low snarling. You are not who you seem, Tamor thought as the man closed his eyes and began to chant again. You are probably one of my hunters, for all I know. This display of friendliness is all an act to make me drop my guard. He barred his teeth and snarled in a final warning for the man to keep his distance. Then he settled back down among the tree roots. You don't frighten me, dark one. I will tear you apart if you dare make a move. Remember that. |
| Rook turned again to look into the wolf's eyes. I hear you, he said with his mind speech. And it is not right for a wolf's thoughts to sound like that of a man's. The wolf cocked his head at Rook, eyeing him angrily. A mist had gathered in the night giving the forest an eery feel. The scent of fresh earth was all around and mingled with the ashen odor of the burnt out fire. Suddenly a single raven flew above cawing a warning until an arrow pierced it through, silencing it. It dropped to the ground in a crumpled heap at Rook's feet. The priest's eyes became wide as he gazed down at the bird. It's black blood ebbed out staining the pine needles. The hunter's horses came stampeding toward Rook who stood and placed his hand on the handle of his curved long sword beneath his robes. Their fruitless chase and many casualties the night before had left a bitter taste for vengeance in their mouths. A path of death had been left in their wake. "A priest of Shan-Sei!" one rider cried out. "A traiterous, murderous desert leach. My Lord, his head would fetch a fine ransom from the clans." A flash of white in the bushes drew the hunter's eyes from Rook briefly. Having no will again to be in the company of men, Rook felt his anger rising. Company was not something he desired. Around him, the trees started to quiver. The earth shuddered and quaked. "What is this? What is happening?" the leader of the huntsmen muttered. His ice blue eyes shot round the scene in fear. "It's the priest! Kill him! He is bewitching the forest!" another rider screamed. Ten rode forward with arrows nocked and swords drawn to cut down the dark priest. Rook stood his ground gazing into the eyes of the leader. His eyes, so like that of the dragon, so cold, so murderous. Rook felt the dark power surging from deep within him. He fed its fire with his anger, his need for revenge from the memories that tormented him. From behind, the great oak crooned as the earth that held it swelled with Rook's rage. The ancient tree came crashing down, felling three men and knocking the leader from his horse. Rook stepped up to the leader. An arrow caught in the priest's shoulder, but his mind was set. He drew out his sword. The metal hissed as it was released. The blade held high, Rook whispered to the fallen man, "Tell the Creator, I did not like the color of your eyes." The sword fell with a horrid thwack and Rook withdrew it to wipe it clean against the man's leather vest. The men swarmed round him like ants. Shocked by the death of their lord, they felt the desire to avenge him. Rook's eyes glowed white with the light of his power. His rage was still apparent but began to subside as he gazed over the shoulders of the men at something in the mist. A form, familiar and ghostlike was nearing. "Go from me now, Father! You do not come when I ask; now is not the time!" A few of the hunters turned round, but saw nothing. "He is insane," whispered the youngest of the band. "Ande' you do it; you kill him." Ande' gazed round at the others feeling his chance to take charge. He urged his horse forward. "The white wolf!" another screamed, "He is there!" A group of eight horseman broke away from the priest kicking their mounts on. Rook fell to his knees, caught in the cold eyes of the ghost. My son, my only son, do not follow my path. You should go back, you should follow after her. She is the only way out from this darkness you insist on entering. "No, she does not want me." Ande' dismounted, glanced over his shoulder at the emptiness the priest spoke to, then satisfied, turned back to his prey. He lifted his broadsword high in the air. Yet as he stared down at the man, he saw the madness in his eyes and hesitated. A howl sounded from within the thick mist. |
| Tamor ran. The riders tried in vain to trap him, tried to cut him off with their horses’ bulk, but the wolf’s presence had frightened their mounts. Tamor kept his belly flat to the ground as he rushed beneath the flailing hooves of the frantic horses, snapping at the animal’s ankles to secure himself an escape route. The hooded riders yelled in fury and brought their sword’s down in a last ditch effort to kill the beast before it slipped under them. The blades skimmed over him harmlessly and Tamor broke from the circle of rearing horses to leave the cursing, screaming riders behind him. He caught the strange scent again and bounded deeper into the forest, weaving through the trees with only one thing on his mind. He would find the man that had helped his hunters, the man that had pretended to save him only to deliver him to his enemies. No one did that to him! No one betrayed him. True, Tamor hadn’t trusted the man enough to be betrayed, but . . . . The man still had signed his demise. As he bounded over a felled log and entered a misted area that had been completely leveled by some unknown force, Tamor howled out a promise to the man he hunted. The ravens would eat well tonight. The scent led him to the center of the area. He saw his target but was astonished to see the man just kneeling there. A rider had stopped behind the man and dismounted his horse, glancing behind him once as if unsure what the kneeling man gaped at. Tamor wanted to know the same thing. The man’s mouth moved but who was he talking to? His attention fell back on the dismounted rider as the man produced a broadsword and raised it high over his head. Tamor recognized that sword at once. Fury surged through him and he momentarily forgot about the kneeling man. He leapt forward with a low growl, claws outstretched, teeth gnashing. The rider noticed the wolf a half a second too late and could only cry out as he was thrown backwards. Tamor jaws came down to receive the man’s throat but the rider raised his hands and caught the beast at its neck. Tamor snarled some more, churning the air between the rider and him with his spit. He pushed down, eager to taste blood. His opponent’s throat drew nearer as the man’s strength began to fail. Tamor snapped his jaw at the air and the man cried out in fury. But the rider’s resistance was futile. It would all be over soon, Tamor knew. “Damnable beast!” the man grunted, trying in vain to knock Tamor from him. “Traitor!” The knife appeared in the rider’s hand before Tamor could react. Pain, swift and brilliant, exploded in the wolf’s throat. A watery yelp was all he could muster as he lurched from the rider and collapsed to the ground, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. He felt the knife’s point digging at the lining of his windpipe with each gasp. He coughed the blood up as best as a wolf could and realized he was dying. No! he pleaded inwardly, forcing his mind to think up the image that might save him.Not now! Not yet! My journey has only just begun. The changes began as his vision started to fade. Bloodied fur dissolved, his bone structure rearranged. His racing heart and the rest of his organs grew and shifted to match that of the form he was assuming. Ears shifted to the side of a head that no longer looked like a wolf’s. Flesh, tanned youthful flesh, closed up the gore on his neck, thus allowing him to breathe again. The rider appeared over him before Tamor could finish transforming. He glared down at Tamor with a vengeance, once again producing that mighty emerald hilted broadsword, the same broadsword given to Tamor by his captain. “Die, whoreson of the magi!” he growled and brought down the blade. Tamor rolled. The heavy blade slammed the ground missing the boy by inches. As the rider worked to free the blade, a fully formed Tamor stood, dusting his dark green pants off before kicking out. The man released the sword and staggered back with a grunt as Tamor’s boot nailed him in the jaw. Ah, the wonders of transforming fully clothed. Tamor then reached down and retrieved his sword. “Great to have you back,” he said, running his thumb along its edge. “Hmm. You’ll need to be sharpened once this is over. Apparently you weren’t taken very good care of in my absence.” “Damn you, Magi!” The rider finally shook off his dizziness, only to find himself glaring back into Tamor’s glowing green eyes. The tall lad’s dangerous smile was the last thing the rider saw before his head and his body landed separately on the ground. Tamor wiped his victim’s blood from his face with the back of his armguard and shrugged at the gore by his feet. “We’re all damned, really,” he sneered. “Who knows? Maybe someday I shall join you.” He found Ingochun’s scabbard on the dead rider’s back. After strapping the blade across his own back he then searched the man’s beautiful black horse for his longbow and quiver. Success! His yellow hilted dagger was found and shoved in his belt along with his poison dipped short sword. “Ah! I feel normal again.” He glanced over to the man kneeling beside him. “And you’re anything but.” He remembered the way the man had spoken to him in his mind and frowned. “Was a good trick, I’ll admit that much. And if I didn’t have to kill you, I would have probably had you teach me how it’s done.” The man didn’t respond. He just kept staring and murmuring. Tamor would have felt bad for the man had he not lost his sympathy years ago. “No hard feelings, my friend.” With ease, he withdrew his yellow hilted dagger and ambled behind the man. “But you can read minds. I have too much on my mind right now. I can’t have you waking up from your trance and using that power of yours to locate my whereabouts by listening to my thoughts. Don’t know which side you’re on at the moment, but I can’t take that chance. You understand, right?” Still, no answer. Tamor rolled his eyes. The man was insane. “Oh well.” He grasped the man’s cloth-wrapped head in one hand and pulled to expose the neck. “Sane or insane, Hell welcomes all manner of fools through its fiery gates. Thanks for healing me before, by the way. Now let me return the favor by easing your suffering.” With that, he placed the daggers edge against the other’s flesh. “Go in peace, my friend,” he sneered. But he never got the chance to slit the man’s throat, because no sooner had his dagger touched flesh, a mighty force snatched Tamor up and hurled him backwards. With a grunt, the young man was slammed into a nearby tree, the only tree that remained standing in the area. He slid down the trunk on his back, dizzied and fighting to stay conscious. The sounds of whoops and cries wracked the night as the riders Tamor had left behind picked up the trail again. The man that had once been kneeling finally stirred and glanced Tamor’s way. “I’m sorry I had to do that, boy,” he said, his voice filled with little remorse. “Not as sorry as you’ll be when I . . . .” was all Tamor remembered uttering before he lost the battle and was pulled under. |
| Rook stood over Tamor with a strange sense of shock. Never before had he knocked someone unconscious with the sheer force of his will. He gazed down at his hands, always meant for healing before and this day they had killed a man. Granted, it was in self-defense. As if awakening from a nightmare, his body began to react to the strain the dark power pulled from his strength. His limbs shook violently. His breathing became rapid. Not far away, he heard the hunters. "This way, I can smell them." And Rook began to panic. He gazed round at the destruction he had caused in the forest. He had used the land badly, the most vile sin a Shan-Sei priest could commit. A large war horse from one of the fallen hunters whinnied to its companions. Rook turned and eyed the animal. He would have preferred a camel, but Lauriette's obsession with horses had given him enough experience with them to get by. He walked toward it and took it's bridle forcefully. His left boot in the stirrup, he gazed again at the fallen young man. He thought of his eyes, green eyes like green fire, much like his beloved's. It would be wrong to let him die at the hands of those hunters. Tamor was still unconscious as Rook laid him gently over the flat saddle, little more than a leather pad, and climbed up behind. He held the boy with one hand while guiding the horse with the other. "It's going to be a bumpy ride," Rook whispered as he kicked the side of the nervous beast. It jumped forward with great speed. The hunters came upon the clearing and examined the area briefly before following the clear trail of broken brush. They rode faster, pressing their mounts though the animal's coats shined with sweat. They encountered a rushing river where the trail went cold. The hunters split into two grups, their numbers which had dwindled, left five to go north and six to go south. The ghost of Rook's father, made stronger by the water, followed just behind his son. Rook could feel him there, pulsing and receeding with the water's energy. But he no longer wanted his father's attentions. Something was awakening him to who he was once more. Ten years in the temple of Shan-Sei had taught him to fear the darkness within himself and that ghosts, no matter how well-mannered or useful should be hurried along their natural path to the next plain. So Rook set his mind to find the stones. He would lead his father there, pray for his mother to open the gateway and beg her to take his father's spirit in her arms forever. He glanced down at the young man who's body bobbed up and down with the furious gate at which the horse galloped. But what to do with you? Al-Shinah, my son, this is the river that flows from Edchir. Rook looked back and found that his father's ghost was floating just at his back. He could feel the entity's moist breath as it spoke without speaking. Goosebumps rose on his skin. He was becoming lethargic from the drain of power. If we hurry, we can make it to the temple by nightfall. Rook's eyes closed briefly and the horse, sensing the lack of attention from its rider began to slow as well. The priest's eyes opened groggily and he feared he would not be able to stay awake much longer. The ghost slid round his son and hovered over Tamor's body. Cut him loose, Rook. He is useless to you. Your regard for others is your weakness. "I will not. You forget your own past. Your regard for others was your greatness." The ghost smiled, its teeth a straight blur of vapor. That was before I met your mother. Rook pursed his lips and prayed silently that the ghost would meet his mother again soon enough. His strength nearly gone, he said: "Help me then, I cannot see the way now, the light is coming, and I must sleep." The ghost slid forward and whispered into the horse's ear. The creature become terrified and ran for its life. Remembering his younger days, Belshing, Rook's father, held tight to his son's body so that he would not fall, but only rest against the body of the young-boy he insisted on keeping. |
| The double doors were opened, and the great hall beyond lay in complete darkness. But to see what this room held was not needed, for Tamor could feel the power in the air. He knew he did not want to go in there. The two men that held him had other plans. The texture of crushed velvet was felt beneath his bare feet. His shirtless chest heaved as the power in this room forced the very air from his lungs. Bring him to me. Tamor fought his captives tooth and nail, but their grips remained constant as he was dragged toward the ominous presence. The pressure on his heart increased, as did the stress on his lungs. Finally, he was thrown sprawling to the ground. He picked himself up slightly but otherwise stayed where he’d landed, feeling the smooth coldness of marble beneath his hands and knees as he gasped and lowered his head to fight against his dizziness. Leave us. He knew not where the voice came from, whether it came from one direction or everywhere at once. He felt rather than heard the two men leave his side. Moments later a boom echoed through the chamber as the double door were slammed behind him. At long last we meet, boy. Tamor started as something cold suddenly grasped his shoulder. With a muffled cry, he recoiled and lashed out at the unseen hand. Dark, mirthless laughter filled the chamber. Your fiery nature is impressive for such a young man. “Who are you?” he demanded, unable to keep the fear from his voice. He fought against his weakness to stand. “Show yourself!” More laughter. Is that fear I sense? Tamor felt a rush of cold air go behind him and he spun around to confront his assailant. Darkness would not reveal the maker of that voice. Playing cat and mouse will help neither of us, boy. Another cold rush of air, and Tamor was stuck a wicked blow to the cheek, throwing his face to the side. And I do believe we can help each other. Tamor rubbed his swollen cheek and bit his lip. “Name your standards,” he demanded. Laughter echoed through the darkness. You will go far in most places with such a commanding presence, lad. But your tongue will better suit you cut out if you dare speak to me in that tone again. I decide when I shall speak. You are nothing to me if you do not know your place. “This is ridiculous!” Tamor turned and started back down the hall toward the doors. “I was better off in that prison cell than speaking to the likes of—” Fool! The voice boomed all around him as a mighty force snatched him by the neck and threw him into the wall. Tamor was pinned against that wall, his feet dangling helplessly as he clawed at the unknown force that was crushing his windpipe. You will know your place if I have to rip out your free will and control you myself! ************************************************** Tamor was jarred awake. Be it by his unsettling dream or by some environmental disturbance, it was not certain. He decided to go with the latter, for when the boy awoke, he found himself stretched out across a galloping horse. His first reaction was to freeze, afraid if he made any sudden movement it might cause him to lose his balance. Losing one’s balance on a moving horse was usually always fatal. Once he had controlled his first reaction, his next reaction was confusion. That odd man with the head wrap was slumped forward against the horse’s lower neck. As far as Tamor could tell the man was just as far gone as he’d recently been. In that case . . . who the devil was steering! Struggling, his mind set on balance and timing, Tamor inched his way to the horse’s neck and reached for the ropes that were still clutched in that unconscious fool’s hand. “So, is this your idea of saving me?” he grunted as the horse hit a bump and his first attempt to snatch the ropes failed. He leaned in further reaching out to grasp the man’s shoulder with his left hand for stability. “In that case . . . ” he strained, his fingers groping at the air, “I believe you need a little lesson on being a hero, my foolish friend.” Finally! Tamor breathed a short sigh of relief as he clutched the ropes and pulled the horse’s head back with them. Forced to stop in mid gallop, its hooves digging into the ground, the fussing steed reared its head and whinnied in protest as it skidded to a graceless halt. Tamor took no time to see where they were before jumping off. He rubbed his legs and sore rear, glaring at the miserable beast and its rider at fault. The horse snorted at him, its intense brown eyes glaring. Tamor met the beast’s gaze with a frown. “Don’t blame me for your extra weight, mule. Had your swine of a rider not struck me senseless, you would have had a wolf chasing you instead.” He averted his irritated gaze at the sleeping man. “Well, what have you to say in your defense?” No answer. Tamor rolled his eyes and folded his arms. “That seems to be your favored reply, doesn’t it? Nothing. If you spent more time speaking and less time blowing things up, you wouldn’t be as weak as you are now.” He smiled in spite of himself, glancing down at his dagger. “Course, hehe, instead you’d probably be dead.” He had no use for a horse. He didn't like them and only rode when he needed to. So he turned with a final shrug and started to walk away. He would pick out the next safest spot as downwind as possible to any creatures possibly tracking him. Then he’d rest for the night, set off to leave this desert of a country in the morning, and then return to his own to settle the . . . misunderstand he and his liege seemed to be having. Gana’s little minion hunters were annoying Tamor. To fully kill a weed, one must yank out its root. You are going to leave him? Tamor whirled around, dagger hot in his grasp, teeth grit. He saw no one. With a nervous chuckle, he started off again. “I need to get some sleep,” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair and tilting his head up to the sky. “This day has apparently taken its toll on my sanity.” Sanity is a form of insanity. Again, Tamor reacted harshly, if not more harshly. “What spirit dares mock me?” he demanded, his breath appearing in a vaporous cloud before him. “I have ways of destroying you if you do not cease to annoy me.” To find a mouse, one must first find its hole. “Oh, great,” Tamor muttered, plunging forward again, his head lowered against the sudden wind that had kicked up. “Not only is there a spirit haunting me, but it is a spirit who seems to think it sounds profound with its limited vision of life.” He felt the odd presence and decided to increase his speed. The presence followed, probably hovering over him so to better annoy him. You can’t catch the night because the night moves too quickly. However, you can catch your death because that moves to the beating of your failing heart. Don’t you feel it? Death pressing in? Soon you shall be one with the night and will no longer have to worry about outrunning its advance. Tamor pressed on, feeling the weight of the phantasm’s words. The climate out here was much colder during the night as a Human. But to transform now could be worse. Who knew how many of those riders still searched the air currents for him. Just ignore it, he willed in his mind. He walked on, rubbing his shoulders and upper arms with his hands, trying to imagine warmer weather, his home in the central Breadbasket, his wife, Serenity. But the images only went to make him colder. He wasn’t surprised when he lost the feeling in his toes. The hard earth under him and before him seemed an endless platform of bone-biting cold. He couldn’t fathom how anyone could survive in a region that baked its prey in the day and froze its leftovers solid at night! How can you see your face when you hide from yourself? Tamor made a noise of disgust and attacked the air in hopes of finding his nuisance. If he even attacked in the same direction as the invisible specter, nothing was struck. The ghost continued to mock him, drawing his patience taut against his forehead like a readied bowstring. If you wish to discover new things, you must first discover who you are. Do you know who you are, dark one? Do you understand what you have been sent to do? Or will you continue to wander, wander without an idea of who or what you are? Will you? “Enough!” Tamor grabbed at his head, whirled around, and screamed out into the night. He heard his echoes and no longer cared if he was heard by anyone nearby. “I can’t take it anymore! What is it you want from me?” You left him. “And is that supposed to make me feel guilty?” You left my son. “Your son? I can see why he went mad.” He will die. Tamor scoffed, dismissing the lost soul’s statement with a rapid gesture. “What do you care? Will he not join you then?” You left him. “Wonderful conversation skills must run in your family.” I shall not leave you until you go to him. Tamor sanded his teeth smooth while he considered his options. He heard the roar of a river nearby. Its water would most likely be freezing. If he jumped in they would sweep him away and kill him quickly. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about Gana or this phantom or the riders any longer. He’d be at peace, finally, with no memories of Serenity or of Kala. Even his father wouldn’t be able to touch him in such a place. No! Tamor had made a vow he would stay alive until he had completed his task. And he would honor that vow even if he ended up losing his sanity because of it. So, in that case, he really only had two options. One, to return to the horse and that foolish man who’s turban was probably tide too tight round his head and thus breaking off blood flow to his brain. Two, he could continue on in the opposite direction and listen to the man’s dead father haunt him as the spirit floated around him and . . . . Tamor cursed. He could hear the phantom's laugher. He glared into the night, willing it to reveal the peevish presence. Unfortunately, the strength of his will had weakened with the size of his heart. The phantom remained unseen. “You promise you’ll keep shut as we head back to him?” There was no answer. Apparently that was a yes? Tamor sighed and started back, the winds howling in his hair and turning his exposed skin to ice. Will there be warmth once the sun rises, or shall an everlasting cold reign in your soul? Tamor growled. “I thought you said—-” When the darkness touched you, when the ice surrounded you, did you welcome it? Did you understand that you were one in the same? The next time it comes, will you fight it like you did, or will you let it come in? Tamor nearly cried as the man’s father haunted him the entire way back to the horse. “Should have chosen the river,” he muttered. “My suffering would have been quick.” |
| Tamor pushed the man's body down so that his arms and legs dangled over opposite ends of the horse. He pulled himself up and the horse grunted. "Not my choice either, beast." The ghost came close to Tamor's face. It was a vaporous thing with faint yet visible features. Tamor studied its colorless eyes, its long, pale tendrils of mist-made hair. "You will be quiet now," Tamor commanded. The ghost grinned maliciously, its near human form melted a bit, revealing something monstrous for a moment. Tamor, not one to be afraid, leaned closer to it. Oh you should fear me boy. You see, I let the darkness in; I welcomed it; and it consumed me. Tamor prodded the horse. The poor animal reared as the ghost passed through its head laughing. The laugh echoed up into the trees and was answered by the incessant caw of ravens. Rook's turban fell away and his mass of black curls hung in the water the horse raced over. Tamor prodded the animal on faster until its breathing seemed too hurried. The first moon began to rise over the trees. In the glowing light it provided, Tamor saw columns rising above the trees in the distance. He pressed his mount harder. Let me be rid of you. Following the river, Tamor found himself in a wide clearing. The curved columns of the temple of Edchir were the only remains of what once had stood there. The horse slowed to a trot, it's breath coming and going in hot misty clouds. In the center of the columns, Tamor pulled back on the reins, eased the body from the horse's saddle and let the animal wander. "Well, looks like we're home. Ah, what's this, dropped your hat? Looks like you need a haircut," Tamor scoffed. He then leaned in to pick the priest's pockets for food. His stomach was growling. He was in luck, a sack of dried meats and fruits silenced the grumble. He watched the dark man curiously, his eyes were moving behind their dark lids. Rook began to mumble, softly at first. The acrid stench of sulfur lingered. Lauriette lay beside the dragon, her face frozen as she suffered Daumion's agony. The great lizard's body was torn beyond repair. By all accounts, Daumion should be dead. His mismatched eyes opened, and Rook studied their icy colors both pale blue and green. He could see his reflection in those eyes right down to the beige tunic of Chalois he wore, it was all there, mirrored in those cold, evil, scheming eyes. Rook felt the creature's suffering, so sharp and unrested. Gol's voice echoed from behind: Dragon's are vile, but not like this, not to their own kind. Why would they do this to one of their own? But Rook knew why, even as he reached down to heal the monster, praying to the Creator to give him the strength, the dragon was so big, bigger than anything he had tried to heal before. Rook sat up abruptly awakened by his own scream. Tamor flinched back, startled that the priest woke so suddenly. "Nightmare?" Tamor said with a sly grin. Rook rubbed his eyes and glared around to see where he was, to get his bearings. He gazed up at the sky, studied the location of the first moon and sighed. "Yes, a nightmare. I do not have dreams anymore, only nightmares," he finally answered. "Well it's a lovely night in this godforsaken cold woods, I was wondering where it is we're supposed to be headed now?" Tamor began "It seems your dead father, who, by the way I find to be aggresive as ghosts go, wants me with you." Rook smiled, something he had not done in a very long time. "He spoke to you?" "Yes, I had to bring you here to silence him." "Well, I'm sorry. He ..." Just then, a series of voices could be heard in the trees. Rook and Tamor turned at the sound, both wary and reaching for their weopons. |
| Tamor’s great green eyes narrowed on the silver birches, his vision hindered by the shadows the wall of trees commanded. The voices around him and the priest grew in fervor, chattering and gasping in inaudible whispers. Tamor felt like he was being judged by these voices, as if they were ripping off his clothes and rendering him exposed to the air like a filleted fish. It was not know if the voices belonged to demons or angels or whether they were a figment of the imagination entirely. But be them figments, Tamor knew he wasn’t the only one with an active imagination. He glanced over to the priest, whose grip locked about the hilt of an odd curved sword. “How long has this place been left to ruin?” he asked, his own fingers curled around Ingochun’s hilt. “Too long,” came the grim reply. “Long enough for tortured souls to gather and use this place to depart from this realm.” The priest took a step back, his boots making barely a sound on the mud-caked cobblestones. Neither boy nor man had unsheathed their weapon yet, but it was becoming increasingly more likely they would have need for it soon. “The living are no longer welcome here.” He gestured to a pile of felled marble columns and started for them. “We must make ourselves scarce.” Tamor made no move to follow him, not even when the whispers around them matured into tortured shrieks. The priest did not seem impressed by the boy’s courage and grabbed his hand finally, forcing him behind the marble. There the two crouched in wait, the shrieks wracking their minds and speeding their hearts, until finally, three women darted from the foliage in front of them. “Help us!” one wailed, one of her bare feet catching a stone and sending her to the ground. The other two helped their fallen comrade, one glancing warily behind her until the girl had been pulled to her feet. They scaled the earthen steps to the temple in a frantic haste, their feminine whimpers striking a soft spot in Tamor’s heart. “Disciples of Edchir, please! They pursue us! They mean to kill us!” Tamor surged upward but was held back by the priest. He glared at the man in warning. The priest released him. As Tamor walked from the marble columns and navigated the earthen stairs down toward the frantic females, the priest’s father suddenly materialized in his path. “Are you so quick to trust these females?” The specter’s body shimmered in the blue moonlight, his pale face, stringy silver hair and vulgar red eyes adding to Tamor’s disgust. “If so, you will just as quickly find your body hanging from these trees.” “Leave me to die alone, if dying is what I am to do!” Tamor lashed at the apparition. The ghost grinned malevolently as the boy’s fist harmlessly passed through its forehead. “You have been warned, fool of a magi.” Tamor did not have time to question the ghost’s knowledge of his heritage before the horrid creature floated away to be with his hesitant son. Tamor did not look back at the priest because he did not want to meet that man’s eyes and find out how foolish he was to do what he was doing. Ingochun still was ready for a battle. As innocent as the distressed girls below him looked, Tamor’s first intention was always to believe a fight was possible. He kept to the shadows as he descended the path, feeling more at home in the darkness than in the pockets of light from that annoying blue moon. The women were too busy running up the stairs to see him coming down, so he easily flattened his back behind a cracked column as they approached. It was only after the three of them rushed past him that Tamor stepped from his hiding place and spoke to their retreating backs. “What can I do for you ladies on this fine night?” He watched as they stopped and whirled on him, faces tight in panic. “Fear not, ladies,” he bowed, urging them toward him. “I am known in my country for my skills of destruction. If you are being pursued, let’s hope it is by Death himself if I am meant to have a challenge.” The girls giggled as they neared him. Tamor could not stop his eyes from feeling them up. Each wore a light dress of a different shade of green. Their voluptuous lips seemed to call to him as they drew nearer, their hips swaying seductively and their breasts . . . . Tame your animal impulses, my wolfish friend. Tamor nearly fell on his rear in surprise. He frowned and aimed a thought the priest’s way as the girls continued toward him. Stop spying on my thoughts, you trespasser! The priest laughed in Tamor’s mind. Oh, I needn’t read your mind to understand your thoughts at this moment. Tamor rolled his eyes just as the leader of the lady triad stepped from the group and walked those few more steps down to stand an inch taller over Tamor. The blue in her large eyes were as pure as the purest lake. Her silver hair was made more radiant by the blue moon. It cascaded over her shoulder as she bent down to smooth a wrinkle in her dark green dress. “My sisters and I are pleased that you have come to our aide, dark traveler. Where are you from?” Tamor grinned, ignoring the priest’s thoughts of warning as he knelt to one knee and kissed the silver haired maiden’s hand like a courtier. “From a land that has never been blessed with a women as fair and beautiful as you ladies.” The girl giggled and drew near to kiss him on the cheek. “It appears you have frightened away our pursuer, noble warrior. And for that, we must thank you.” She lifted a single finger and ran it down the middle of his face, ending at his bottom lip, which she leaned her neck in close for him to receive. Oh, spare me. Quiet, you! I am weary and have journeyed far. He smiled at the girl and playfully bit her neck as he inwardly cursed the priest. Who the devil knows when the next wench shall come along? And I’ll be damned if I let this opportunity pass me by. The priest sighed in apparent disgust. Very well, Wolf. But be quick of it. I am eager to be rid of my father. Tamor laughed, more so at the other girls joined their sister. Some son you are. Indeed. By now, the girls had formed a circle around Tamor, running their fingers through his hair and backing him seductively into one of the marble posts as they proceeded to strip him of his black uniform jacket, one button at a time. The boy’s wolfish instincts were nothing compared to his human lust, and before he knew it he had started tearing the silver haired maiden’s dress from her, his lips kissing her as he undid her lacy boddess beneath with his teeth. She gasped a bit and tilted her head skyward, her prominent collarbone wet with sweat. His uniform jacket was off. The girls helped him out of his undershirt. Tamor did not stop, even if the silver haired maiden wanted him to, he probably would not have. He was having fun now. His lips could not find her breasts quick enough. His body temperature was rising to the point that he was getting dizzy. The other girls laughed some more and danced around him, one reaching for his trousers. The other girl reached for something more. Tamor felt Ingochun sliding from its sheath at his back and he rolled his eyes. He'd been right to assumed this was all too good to be true. With a fluid motion he pushed the silver haired maiden off him, twisted about, and grabbed the startled thief by her golden locks just as Ingochun slide from its scabbard. The girl fought him and screamed like a rabbit, her grip still decent on Ingochun’s hilt. She bit him on the wrist, drawing blood. He endured the pain and tried to get a better grip on her squirming body. But she was a fast little devil and no matter what he did she always seemed to squeeze free. Soon even his grip on her hair failed him and the wench ran off down the earthen steps to join her shrieking sisters, her trophy dragging on the ground at her side. Enraged at being played for a fool by the sluts, Tamor didn’t bother throwing his shirt or cloak on as he tore down the steps after them. The priest laughed in his head. It seems, Wolf, you have been punished for your disrespect of a woman’s flesh. Tamor ignored the jeer and used his anger to fuel his speed. The downhill tilt increased his pace all the more, and he near overran himself by the time he’d reached the end of the stairs to cut through the trees immediately after. No women tried his patience so much and lived to tell the tale. No one would— As he rounded the path’s corner, following the incessant squealing of his prey, the boy stepped foot in a loop of rope. He barely caught movement in the tree to his right before his world was whipped out from under him. When his senses were returned to him he glanced up at the primitive hunter’s trap that he had so foolishly been snagged in. Cursing, he grabbed his dagger and began sawing at the thick cord wrapped tightly around his ankle. A twig snapped, flinging Tamor from his sawing to glance in the direction of the sound. “Hello?” he called out, scanning the area of his upside down world. “Ladies?” Another twig snapped, followed by the crunching of dried leaves as whatever was out there decided to come closer. Tamor darted his gaze toward the sound. “I’m not angry at you anymore,” he lied. “If you free me, I’ll even forgive you from taking my sword.” Another lie. When nothing was seen, he assumed it his imagination and resumed his sawing. He stopped again as the forest moaned at him. ************************************************** “Who’s there!” he demanded, darting his gaze around as he increased the intensity of his sawing. Trees creaked and distant ravens cawed. Leaves danced in a miniature whirlwind a few feet from where he hung. He could not keep the muffled scream in check as that bothersome ghost suddenly launched himself into Tamor’s view, pressing its face against his as if to smother the lad with its swirling curling substance. “Curiosity kill the wolf.” The ghost’s mouth split wide in a venomous grin. Did I not speak of this misfortune before? “Quiet you!” Tamor lashed out at the air in attempts to dissolve the apparition before him. It didn’t work and Tamor gave up and went back to sawing. “I need your company like I need a hole in the head.” The ghost cackled shrilly and floated closer to Tamor’s ear. “I’ve news for you, boy,” it crowed. If the wood-wives return you shall have more than just a hole in your head.” “Wood-wives?” Tamor frowned, meeting the ghost’s transparent gaze. “What are they?” The sound of distant singing filled the air. The ghost grinned again. “I would try harder to cut myself free, Boy. The nymphs have seen fit to slaughter you.” Tamor grit his teeth, the dagger failing to make a scratch in the tough cord around his ankle. “As soon as I am free from this hunter’s trap, I will help that priest be rid of you,” he growled. The ghost shook his head, his robed body fading from greenish yellow to a milky gray. “The blades of men are nothing compared to the traps of the Skoggra. They have chosen you to vent their anger upon.” “Why?” He worked his bodyweight to sway in attempts to instead snap off the branch he hung from. “What did I do to them?” The singing drew nearer, filling the old forest with a haunting requiem. You did nothing, came the casual response. It was my son who unleashed his power on the ancient forest. The wood-wives are connected to the region in such a way that if a tree is destroyed dozens of these faerie creatures are destroyed with it. Those that survive seek out the soul with such disregard for innocent life. Their vengeance on that individual is swift and terrible.” The requiem grew louder and more haunting. Tamor continued to sway. “But what does this have to do with me, then?” he strained, his attention mainly focused on freeing himself. “If your son killed the forest, he should be the one they’re after.” The ghost smiled roguishly. “The wood-wives know not who destroyed their sisters. All they know is someone must suffer the way the dead suffered before they died. Nobody says it has to be the one at fault.” Tamor stopped swaying; the blood that had rushed to his head made him weak. “Is that why you made me return for your son in the wasteland?” he growled. “Is that why you lured me to this temple and allowed me passage down those stairs toward those women?” He swayed some more, the approach of the wood-wives making him all the more eager to be free. “You knew what awaited me and you wanted me to take the fall for your son’s destructive tendencies. How dare you!” The ghost launched itself at the boy’s face, a look a pure hatred in its eyes. “I mainly feel it better to rid this world of an unpredictable killer than to rid this world of my son. You would have destroyed Rook had he given you the chance. I cannot take that risk anymore. When I am gone, I would like to know my son is safe.” The ghost’s foul red eyes found Tamor’s green ones and pierced the boy’s soul. “And if that means I must lay witness to your death, then so be it.” The ghost disappeared again just as the upside-down bushes parted and five women came toward Tamor. These women did not sing but carried wooden bowls of red berries, which they dipped their hands in and smeared the sweet juice on Tamor’s forehead and bare chest. Their sticky task done, they knelt in front of him and bowed their heads. A few sentences in an unknown tongue was uttered before the girls rose and disappeared back into the brush. Tamor struggled some more. He did not like this. He did not like this at all! I wouldn’t mind you helping me, dark priest. Actually, I insist! A voice cackled in response to this, but it was not the priest’s. “You waste what little breath you have left, boy. My son cannot hear you. His nightmares fill his mind now. I made sure of that.” Rook! Your father has gone mad, if that is possible for a dead guy! Rook! The bushes moved again, only this time they yielded fifty or more women, all singing and carrying lanterns, their black hooded heads bowed as they slowly made their way to a spacious area across from where the boy hung. The melody flowed through Tamor like molten steel, stabbing at him with invisible knives. He gritted his teeth and glanced at his arm where the pain had mostly come. Blood leaked from many tiny incisions below the elbow, faint and thin, but still visible. How? Words could not physically HURT someone, could they? Nor could music. Yet, he could not ignore the blood. Madness! The women gathered in front of him continued to sing, their voices blending together like some angelic choir. It would have sounded beautiful, had it not been digging at his skull with every note. He tried to endure the pain and swayed some more, desperate to be rid of this trap and rid of these girls. The gods only knew what these wood-wives were doing to him! His neck started to tingle then sting then white hot agony pushed through the surface and entered his throat. He clutched the area and cried out, aiming his frantic thoughts outward. Rook! Still, no reply. The priest’s father was right. Tamor was alone. Story of his life. Apparently it would be the story of his death, as well. He stopped swaying as the voices found his mind and gnawed through his senses. His body then went taut; only his chest gave in to his labored breathing. Then the voices stopped and he could move again. He smelled the metallic scent of blood. Not his blood, but still a large quantity of it. The women gathered there turned their heads in unison to the bushes again, and the branches parted. Two women appeared, their thin bodies garbed in white sleeveless dresses, their hands clutched to either end of twin poles which held up a large, wooden board. Tamor saw the prone form stretched out on the board, her peaceful body sprinkled with lilac petals, one arm hanging limply off into space. Dead, Tamor realized. He narrowed his eyes as more of those white dressed women appeared with the same burdens. Twenty boards bearing bodies were carried up the path and set down right below his. Their blanks stares found him. He had to look away. He was no stranger to death, but the sight of mangled women’s bodies invoked terrible memories. His dagger found the trap around his ankle and tried again. Still, no go. The tide of black cloaks and white dresses stirred as the women suddenly knelt. All eyes were fixed on him. Silence crushed Tamor for many minutes. Only the ravens cawed above. Then from the bushes walked a taller woman with a vibrant blue robe. She carried in her pale arms a large urn. Dancing with that urn, she spun down the path toward Tamor. When she was in front of him she flicked the urn’s mouth at him, dousing him and the dead women below him with a dark liquid. She then spun away as the requiem started again. Tamor coughed up the liquid that had entered his mouth. What was that smell? Oil! Rook! Nothing. Still nothing! Tamor sluggishly struggled some more, grunting and cursing. He couldn’t change into the wolf, either. The women’s song seemed to hold him in a half trance. He was aware of things, but his mind was limited in what it could do. The ability and knowledge of transforming was one thing denied him. Panic struck him as another girl in a bright orange dress came dancing through the bushes toward him. In her hands, a mighty flaming torch licked at the air. She said one sentence in Tamor’s tongue for every five sentences in their own tongue. But one sentence stayed on Tamor’s ears the longest. “May the souls of our sisters consume this man for all eternity.” |
| "Ladies! Please! I did nothing to harm them! It was the priest!" Tamor screamed frantically. "He hides like a coward in the ruins. Let him meet your flames!" The torch bearer hesitated, her dull brown eyes fixed on Tamor's mouth as though she had to concentrate on his words. The melodic singing continued and strengthened as the numbers grew. The skoggra were crowding together, all eyes fixed on the torch bearer. She looked back at the dead and turned again to Tamor. "Kill him and be done with it, Shaylin," said the lady in blue. "He lies; they all lie." "No, I speak the truth!" Tamor cried out. Shaylin hesitated. She was torn. Her own sister, her twin, was among the dead. She stepped closer to Tamor, so close that he felt the heat of the flame near his legs. A fraction closer and the fumes would ignite. "Speak his name," she said slowly. She knelt low to bring her face near to his. "What is this man's name?" "Rook," Tamor replied a feeling of lethargy consuming him. I should have pushed you from that horse, boy! The ghost buzzed just before Tamor's gaze mingling with the thin, triangular face of the wood-wife. Shaylin smiled at Tamor, revealing two sharp fangs that had no business in the mouth of a beautiful woman. "You are haunted," she whispered. She reached up and touched the misty shape between them. The ghost turned and Tamor fought the draught of sleep the skoggra's voices were forcing on him to read Shaylin's lips. He was struck by the beauty of her lips, soft, small rosebud like lips. "I know you," she whispered to the ghost. "You planted the seeds after..." her voice trailed off for a moment. Then she raised her hand and attempted to touch the ghost's face. Her fingers passed through him. "You were the light of the forest in my younger years. What happened to you Roderick Belshing? Cousins from the south brought word that you felled all of Dar'Sineh, that all the trees were lost. Why? Why did you do it?" Tamor could not tell if the ghost answered. He was instead concentrating his last reserve of strength on Rook. Priest, help me. Rook, wake up, help me. The woodwives' song drifted in and out like the ebbing of the tide. From above, the moons came apart, the blue light faded and the only light remaining was from the glowing orange flames of Shaylin's torch. Tamor closed his eyes and a feeling of surrender came over him. "Where are you, boy? How many are there? Came Rook's voice within Tamor's head. Tamor was too tired to form coherent thoughts. He passed on the image of Shaylin and the myriad of women to Rook, wondering how he had achieved the feat. "Enough!" came a thundering bass voice as the priest steeped into the gathering of women. The woodwives' song ceased. Tamor felt his strength returning. He opened his eyes and pursed his lips. The priest had come into the circle. "You have no quarrel with this boy! He has done nothing to harm you. It was my foolishness that murdered your sisters." The women gasped. Shaylin turned to face Rook, her rage flickering and finding its new mark. "You killed my sister. You killed them all!" Tamor could see Shaylin's free hand as it twisted in on itself. What was once the shape of a dainty woman's fingers grew and twisted into long black claws. She reached out to grasp Rook's face in her free hand. He flinched as her claws caught his cheeks and held his face down to her own. Memories of her sister, of their years together played havoc with her heart. She leaned closer, her torch held high. "Why?" she pleaded. "I am the son of Belshing," he offered. "His evil lives on in me." The others murmured, their voices like the whisper of leaves on a windy day. The lady clad in blue stepped forward. "Shaylin," she began, but quickly stepped back as Shaylin shot her a malicious look. "Belshing was once Edchir," Shaylin began. "Some part of that then lives on in you as well. Bring my sister back! Bring them all back!" She released Rook's dark face and blood dribbled from the tiny punctures caused by her claws. The priest turned back and gazed at the dead. When he again faced Shaylin, tears filled his eyes. "She suffers, father," he said aloud. The ghost's voice echoed loudly as his form swelled in front of Tamor. "It is a sin to bring them back. Death is the end for all of us. We must meet it in our time and not desire the life we have left." "You did not accept death!" Rook accused. |
| The ghost rose up into the trees, for once, at a loss for words. Rook watched it go. When it became high enough the mist dissiptaed and he found himself gazing at the stars. Shaylin's claws brought him back as she grasped his face once more. Rook glanced at Tamor whose chest was pricked and dotted with blood. You fool. He shot. Tamor only grimaced. His body felt afire with pain. He struggled again, trying feebly to be free of the snare. "You heard me, Rook," her voice catching dryly on the sound of his name. "I want my sister back." Shaylin brought her own face to Rook's. She was so close that he could smell the moist scent of earth on her breath and the airy fragrance of lavender that her bright orange dress was scented with. Lavender, the perfume sickened him, brought back visions of treachery, of loss. He fought back his anger which seemed to rise so easily. "Wait!" came the woman in blue, again attempting to interceed. "Let him test his powers on the boy. Let us kill him and see if the priest can bring him back." Shaylin withdrew once more from Rook. She clicked her claws against one another as she paced. Her torch made a breathlike sound as she became quicker. She stopped before Tamor and smiled slyly as he continued to struggle. Tauntingly, she held the flame to Tamor's face. His green eyes grew wide. "Wait, please! The boy is harmless as I told you. I am not sure if I can do what you ask. I can try, but there are so many dead." Shaylin snapped around, her dull brown eyes shadowed by her furrowed brow. She crept toward Rook, her claws clicking nervously. Tamor struggled harder, his strength beginning to return as the women had ceased their tortuous song. Again the countless women in the trees murmured. The sound was this time crackly as though fall leaves were being crushed underfoot. Soon the others, sensing that all the dead would not be returned to life, began to call out for their sisters to be first. "My sister Ankan, go to her first, priest," called one. "No, Beseth was the youngest, barely a child, bring her back!" A panic was breaking out. "Silence!" Shaylin hissed. She took up a clawed handful of Rook's thick hair and pulled him to Tamor. "Test your strength on him, now! Heal his wounds!" Rook frowned. Tamor froze, his eyes on the priest. I trust you will run this time, my friend. The chance for one of us to flee is near. Don't be a fool again. The priest clasped his hands together and began to sing soflty. His calming voice rose and fell with the melodic pull of each word. Tamor flinched as a white light glittered within Rook's palms. In the distance a racous howling began. Shaylin cleared her throat. "Hurry priest." Rook knelt as he lay his hands on Tamor's chest steadying the boy's swaying body. Tiny pock marks began to seal. Thin gashes closed, and at last Tamor's flesh was whole. I will distract them, boy. Do your trick and run. Follow the river. My father has sent something that I cannot control. The howling grew closer, a strange almost human sound, followed by yips and cat-like hisses. Shaylin's head whipped round as she saw glowing red lights in the forest. "My sister, bring her back, Rook. Now!" Rook rose and swayed as if he were weak and dazed. He leaned against Shaylin and she pushed him to the board where her twin sister lay. Rook knelt beside her and looked up at Shaylin's face. She held her sister's hand and wept. "Wood-wife, he whispered. "You heard the ghost of my father. It is wrong to bring her back. I ask you this: Think, please, before we pull her soul down from whence it has gone. Think of her eyes, of her voice. Will it ever be the same as it was when she was here? Will she not miss the light she has gone into?" Shaylin's shoulders heaved as she began to sob uncontrollably. "Please," she managed. "Please do this for me." A loud shriek pierced the night, followed by another and then yet another. The women were screaming. Something was lowering their ranks. They fled. |
| The young man heard the priest’s words, faint as they were. I will distract them, boy. Do your trick and run. It took him a moment to realize what Rook meant, Tamor’s mind clouded and disoriented. But as the women’s singing turned to screeches of fear, and a new collection of cries broke through the forest eaves, Tamor’s strength returned to him and he finally understood his purpose. Thus, he began to concentrate . . . . His organs rearranged. The vessels and arteries attached to the heart and brain remained, but the rest of his bodily fluids evaporated so to prevent Tamor from bleeding to death or being poisoned by his own bile. Muscles and ligaments became stronger to compensate for the awesome power of the creature he was becoming. His face narrowed, his eyes changed color and location, and an amber hue more adept at night vision replaced the human green. Tamor felt a slight pain as his bone structure shifted. At this moment, he would have fallen onto all fours, yet hanging there as he was did not allow him this privilege. Ears broadened and the pathetic boy’s limited hearing was increased ten fold. He could hear the howls and inhuman shrieks clearly now. And he did not like it! Tamor’s wolf body was a lot more streamlined than the boy’s, and the once tight trap around his ankle slipped effortlessly over his thin hind legs. He landed gracelessly on his back, mustering a slight yelp of disgust as the women’s dead bodies cushioned his fall. He jumped clear from the bloodied mound and soon found himself staring at the priest that had made all of this possible. The priest smiled and gestured behind him to the bushes the shrieking women had earlier entered from and now rushed frantically through. The snowy wolf sniffed at the air, smelled the water, and understood. Behind them, the monsters were drawing nearer. Whatever they were, they obviously held a penchant for killing: the wood-wives’ blood curdling screams wracked the afternoon air, competing for dominance with the beast’s disheartening snarls and yips. The wolf glanced at the priest in confusion. What are they, Rook! he demanded with a growl. Why has your father done this to you? Flee while you can, my friend, came the sullen reply. I will be no use to you in due time. Tamor did not argue. With a flick of his tail he bounded toward those bushes. But before he plunged into the foliage, he turned to glance Rook’s way just as those horrible snarls were accompanied by a foul odor. The creatures were close if the wolf could be picking up their scent when he was upwind. He met Rook’s fierce glowing eyes for an instant and saw the resolve embedded deep within. An unsettling feeling in the air had stirred up, and it seemed to come from Rook. That man isn’t planning on . . . . No! He’s already weakened from healing me. If he does what I think he’s going to do, he’s liable to pass out! More women darted passed Tamor, one even jumping over the wolf in her desperation to reach a safe haven beyond the bushes. The white animal ignored their passing. Instead, he whined at the priest, who winked before turning his back to take up a fighting stance. What are you to do, dark priest? Challenge those monsters alone? Why are you still here, boy! Tamor winced at the man’s strained thoughts. The wolf could smell the priest’s fear, but the boy inside the beast knew where pity would get him. With a bark, Tamor bounded through the bushes and left the priest on his own. A gaggle of ravens took off into the sky with a rustle of wings, their annoying caws diminishing as they too abandoned Rook. Tamor ignored it all and pounded the hard earth toward the source of that water scent. He may be a wolf but he still was vulnerable to those wood-wives’ flames until he was rid of their oil. Soon his panting was drowned out by the roar of a river. Tamor raced down the flower laden hill and plunged into the surge. The river’s depth was a hazard, a strong undertow apparent, but the wolf’s instincts were smart enough to take this into consideration as Tamor first stopped for a drink and then submerged himself. He was on land and shaking himself dry in no time. But the sounds of the forest had suddenly gone very wrong. Save for the rushing water, there was silence. This sound was worse than all the screams and chaos before it because this meant even nature feared to speak her mind. The wolf glanced in the direction he had come, the acrid scent of the creatures actually burning his nostrils. Rook was clearly in over his head if the very trees dared not sigh and the air ceased blowing. What were those creatures? Not his problem. Tamor turned tail and raced in the opposite direction, intent on getting back to the temple’s stairs and the horse and putting this harrowing journey behind him. Too bad for the priest. He should have known not to trust a wolf. Like any creature, they followed the direction of the wind to guide them and were subject to turn quickly. Also, wolfen eyes never held within them the compassion of Man’s heart. Rook’s fate was not Tamor’s problem. A shriek cut through the air, stopping the white animal with a skid. The deep roar of a man betrayed sounded right after it and the forest shook with his rage. The wolf whined and turned around to stare down the leaf blown path, the forest dissolving into darker shadows the further he looked out. How can you leave him like that! A little voice rose up inside him and prodded his heart. He’d never heard this voice before; either that or he had ignored its words for so long he had forgotten the voice existed within him. The priest has saved you countless times, asking nothing in return for his heartlessness. How can you live with yourself knowing that you denied him your aide in his darkest hour? How can you denounce your association with the magi if your actions hold as much cowardice as your father? The wolf howled in protest, but the voice was too strong for him to ignore this time. Or maybe he was too weak? Or maybe he knew the voice spoke the truth and Tamor’s guilt forbade him to ignore it. Be it destiny, pity, or a notion of responsibility, the wolf soon found itself bounding toward the battle. The boy cursed his poor sense of self worth but was unable to ignore the feeling as a sliver of that ice melted. Perhaps Gana didn’t fully own him yet? Perhaps there was still some hope against the darkness that reigned in his heart? Shaylin suddenly jumped from the trees and landed in front of him, Ingochun positioned strategically behind her back as her free palm stopped the wolf from plowing into her. Tamor snarled and jumped clear, immediately wrinkling his nose and showing off his white teeth. The fierce light in his eyes and the bristled fur along his rigid back told of his resolve. The girl was a threat. He leapt for her throat. Surprising was her speed as she dodged. Tamor snarled as he flew harmlessly past her, skidded on the ground, pivoted in mid-skid, and leap at her side. She dodged again! Ingochun’s blade whipped from behind her as the wolf flew past and Tamor felt the mighty blade’s hilt slam into his skull with astonishing accuracy. With a yelp he hit the ground on his stomach, skidding a bit before forcing himself back up to retaliate. As he shook away the daze, his body poised for another go if need be, the girl spoke to him. “Nay, Wolf.” She stepped back, returning the sword to a ready position behind her. “I come not to kill you but to apologize." She averted her gaze to the ground. "It was wrong of me to seek vengeance on you and your friend," she sobbed. "My sister . . . she would not have wanted me to react in such a cruel way." Her heart was mirrored in her shiny eyes as she glanced back at Tamor. "She was a lover of all things, Wolf. Even the creatures of evil found sanctuary in her heart of gold.” With that, she tossed Ingochun to the ground. The blade slid to rest under Tamor’s spit lined jaw. The wolf's baleful eyes flicked down at the sword and then back to Shaylin's pixie face. What would have been a second or two of tense silence was made impossible by the fight that had started behind them. Tamor was still unsure about the girl, but he had no need of any more enemies. If you are to help right your wrongs, then keep up, he growled. I’ll not have you slowing me down. He then bounded away, leaving the sword for Shaylin to pick up. The girl suddenly appeared on the side of him, a smile on her rose lips betraying her anguish. “Perhaps you should heed your own words, handsome sir,” she giggled. Tamor was astonished when her lithe body picked up speed and she left him to eat her dust. His pride would not allow him to be bested by a woman, so he shot after her. Soon the two were racing, side-by-side, both driven forward not by duty or guilt, but by a solemn understanding of where the other was coming from. |
| Rook stood over the body of Shaylin's fallen sister for too long. Even Shaylin had had the good sense to flee. He struggled with his desire to bring the skoggra back. He rested his hands on her cheeks gently and wondered if he could do it. To bring someone back from the dead would be wrong, wouldn't it? The howling had ceased. From behind, Rook heard low growls. He turned slowly and was met by a set of glowing red eyes. The black pupils within them thinned their cat-like slant as they focussed in on their target. The priest rose slowly. He glanced at the place where Tamor had been tethered and was pleased to see the rope dangling and empty of its prize. The creature stepped forward, undaunted by Rook's new size, thinking merely that a larger meal was now present to fill it's stomach. Two more sets of eyes glittered just beyond the first. Rook backed up slowly and felt the rough touch of a tree just at his back. He turned and grasped the mottled bark and began to climb as fast as he could. The first cat lunged and caught Rook's robe, tearing it badly. Another cat jumped at him and sank its teeth into his left boot. The creature's fangs pierced the thick leather and caught in the priest's flesh. Rook kicked with his free leg and managed to make contact with the animal's eye. It fell to the earth in an angry hissing heap. Belshing's cats encircled the tree, howling their displeasure. They barked at Rook, a warning that they could wait out eternity for him to come down and be eaten. Then, seeing as how there was plenty of fresh meat there for the taking they began to feast on the slain bodies of the skoggras. Rook shimmied further up the tree. It was dark save for a bit of glow from the stars above. He gazed down at the beasts and cringed with each savage crack of bone or tear of flesh as they destroyed the remains of the women. "Forgive me, Shaylin," he whispered. "I cannot save her now." He sang the prayers that would lead the women's souls on the great journey. Not far away, he heard a new sound. The cats heard it as well as they grew stealthily silent. Something or someone was approaching. "This way, men. I can smell it. They cannot be far," came a low voice. The voice and the sound of the heavy horses gave the hunter's approach away. The cat's were patient, their stomach full, they intended to play with the next meal that would come along. Rook too, was silent. He held tight to the thick branch he had found. His foot was throbbing, but he dared not use his power to fix it with the hunters so close. He gazed down at the cats. Their bodies moved slowly, dark shadows of the night. He dared not used the trees as weapons again. The faces of the dead women would trouble him all the rest of his days. It seemed then that his father's decision to call forth the cats was not a bad one. The heavy war horses plodded closer, then stopped short. "Here. They should be here." One of the hunters lit a torch and Rook pursed his lips to avoid gasping at the gory remains of the women. The cats had made quick work of the bodies. Bones glowed bloody in the yellow-orange light of the flame. Gobbets of flesh were spread over the pine needles. Bits of hair and tattered cloth clung to the bushes. One of the younger men vommited into the bushes. A cat came lurking into view. It's muzzle and chest were dripping with fresh blood. The glittery scarlet shone bright against its unnatural green fur. Rook gazed at the animal warily. He gave thanks to the Creator that the creature was hoofed, for if it had claws like any normal feline, he would have died in the tree only moments ago. "What the devil is that!" called the man with the torch. The cat crouched low, its belly close to the earth. It stepped forward, warily. "Kill it!" the man screamed. The other's struggled to knock their arrows. But they were too late. From behind the rest of the pride pounced attacking horse and rider alike. Rook's fingers dug deeper into the bark of his tree. "By the Creator," he whispered. "They're bigger than a horse." The men's screams pierced the night air chilling Rook to the core. He knew he could not stay in the tree forever. It was only a matter of time before he fell prey to the cats. |
| Wolf and wood-wife followed the blood curdling cries, their lungs fighting for air and their muscles crying in protest. Tamor had long ago picked up the scent of the horsemen—his hunters—yet he had still plowed forward, eager to save Rook and repay the debt he owed the priest. The two neared the bushes that led into the grove. The smell of blood was strong, the wet sounds of bodies being ripped apart discouraging. Still, Tamor and Shaylin had every intention of engaging whatever enemy met them beyond these branches. But they’d need a plan. You, woman— “My name is Shaylin,” the girl interrupted in indigence. “Not 'Woman.'” Fine, whatever, he growled. Find another way into the battle, 'Shaylin,' he mocked. Beyond those bushes is open ground. Chances are you’ll be spotted immediately if you try stepping through them. Shaylin looked at him and frowned, the moonlight turning her brown eyes golden. “And what of you, Wolf? If you bound through there, you shall be seen just as quickly.” The wolf picked up speed. The name’s Tamor, he spited her. And that’s the plan. The two arrived at the bushes. Shaylin jumped off the path at this moment and started her journey around. Tamor didn’t even slow before bounding directly through. He landed without a sound and took off like a shot, plowing towards his fist target. Because its attention had been on stalking a certain tree, the large green cat didn’t see the wolf until it was too late. With a mighty bound, Tamor soared through the air and hit his hissing opponent like a boulder, actually knocking the hoofed beast to the ground. Tamor jumped free, his snout painted crimson. The afflicted cat hauled itself up to retaliate, its throat gushing blood. Its coiled muscles tightened as it powered up for the pounce. Unleashing its fury with a watery roar, it lunged. But the wolf slipped under the feline attack before it hit the ground. It didn’t get up this time, for the beast had died in mid air. The loss of blood—not to mention the loss of its throat—had been even too much for the mammoth cat to endure. A slight hiatus in the fighting allowed Tamor a quick glance at the battlefield. He saw the bodies of the women, or what was left of them. The same treatment had been given a few of his deserving hunters and their innocent geldings. A torch flickered on the ground nearby, but the puddle of blood it lay in finally snuffed the flames. It didn’t matter. Tamor’s wolf eyes were made for such crushing blackness, and he saw as clearly as one might see at early sunrise. He didn’t like what he saw. The priest was nowhere to be found. And unfortunately, all the bloodied pieces of flesh on the ground looked the same. His nose was too full with the scent of blood and fear, so even if the priest still lived, Tamor would not be able to find him by sniffing him out. He spotted his next bear sized target about a dozen feet away, dining on the gore of its once living trophy. In fact, the horse it was hunched over still screamed, but the cat simply ate the less vital areas to suspend the torture. Apparently, it was no longer very hungry. Tamor realized this cat had claws. He snuck in, his belly dragging on the ground. The suffering horse’s neck found his powerful jaws, putting an end to its misery. Mercy no longer a requirement, Tamor then leapt onto the cat’s back, his fangs digging into the back of its neck. The monster snarled in surprise and took off like lightening. Tamor held onto it, snarling as he tore at the cat. His teeth were not even penetrating the animal’s thick fur that lined its neck and shoulders. It looked like the very same thickening of fur that a wolf might have. But . . . this was a cat, right? The boy knew he should let go and look for another opening. The wolf, however, was determined to bring the cat down by the back of the neck way, the monster’s thick fur merely an obstacle the beast seemed hell bent on overcoming. The wolf’s lust for a kill dampened Tamor’s rational thinking for a brief moment. A bump was struck, and the force kicked the wolf from the feline’s back. The wolf continued to clamp firmly to the area its jaws had claimed, its entire body thrashing viciously in further attempts to tear the cat’s flesh. By the time Tamor realized his mistake, it was too late. With impressive speed the cat whipped its head around, its powerful jaw finding the wolf’s back. The fangs sank deep, and Tamor could not suppress the loud yelp as he was torn from the cat’s side. The feline had no use for the whimpering wolf hanging limp in its jaws and so it tossed it away as if it were tossing a doll. Tamor hit the ground with another sharp yelp, his body sliding on the blood-slicked earth for a moment before he finally stopped to rest on his side. “Tamor!” Shaylin’s cry brought him to his senses. Just as he was hauling his trembling body up, something plowed into him from his side. He was flung a slight ways to repeat the skidding, stopping, and slight blackout before struggling to rise again. “Tamor, watch out!” The cat came at him a second time, determined to finish what it had started. Because of Shaylin’s warning, Tamor saw the jaws headed for his skull, managed to dodge them, and then ripped out a considerable chunk of the cat’s face before his wolf’s dying body could stand no longer. In a strangled whine, he collapsed back to his side, his chest rising and falling quickly as he panted. Come here with me, Shaylin. came a familiar voice in Tamor’s fading mind. You cannot do anything for him now. “I won’t let him. . . .No! Tamor, do your trick!” The wolf’s eyes fluttered open and he saw Shaylin. She was hiding up in a tree, not too far from where he lay. He recognized someone else in that tree, but his vision was quickly failing him and so he didn’t bother studying things. His back was on fire! Blood covered it and leaked down his shoulders, contaminating the pureness of his white fur. But the girl’s words seemed to feed him the strength to think up his human image. He knew he only had a few seconds before that cat recovered from its infliction and snapped off the wolf’s head. He started to transform. His fur melted away . . . . The cat near him finally recovered from its infliction, one of its eyes completely obliterated from the wolf’s attack. Blood leaked from the empty eye socket as it reacquainted itself with its surroundings. His bones and organs shifted . . . . Its single feline eye scanned the ground for its target. It growled low in its throat, a distinct sound of displeasure. A young man’s pained features replaced that of the wolf’s feral emotionless amber eyes. The wound on Tamor’s bare back was healed finally, and the boy slowly regained the strength to rise. He had transformed with pants on, but no shirt, considering he had yet to retrieve his cloak and uniform attire from the temple’s steps. He shook the dizziness from his mind. He heard the girl scream and whirled to see the cat charging toward him. At a loss for options, he took off running. He quickly found out a human—even an athletic human that prided himself on his running ability—was no match for the cat’s speed. Shaylin screamed again and Tamor whirled in mid run to meet his fate. Something shot from the trees onto the leaping cat before it could fully begin soaring toward him. There was a nasty squish and then the beast dropped back down to earth with a final roar before going silent. Tamor didn’t know what had happened until he saw Ingochun’s hilt. Only half of the broadsword could be seen, as the rest was embedded in the creature’s brain, the blade’s tip sticking out from below the cat’s chin. He smiled. “Couldn’t have done it better myself, Rook.” “Neither could I,” came the choked reply from above. “Shaylin threw it.” Tamor’s widened gaze snapped upward. He found Shaylin looking at him strangely. He turned away just as the final cat stopped playing with its screaming hunter to charge the boy. He wasted no time to slide Ingochun from the dead beast’s skull. This cat continued at him and Tamor did not run. Ignoring Shaylin and Rook’s advice to join them in the tree, the boy stood unwaveringly before the newest threat. He was not a coward. He would not be his father! Enough was enough! No longer was it just about him. And if he had to die to prove himself that, then it would be the bravest decision he would have ever made. The cat splashed the blood puddles, its body larger and thicker than its dead brethren. Tamor did not let its size intimidate him and as it neared within twenty feet of him, its body rippling with its potential strength, the boy simply planted his feet and got himself into a stance, the very same stance he had been taught by Gana. “What are you doing, Tamor!” Rook seemed just as concerned for the boy’s safety as Shaylin. These people actually cared about him. They cared more than everyone else in Tamor’s life put together. That was enough reason to want to protect them, right? The cat, a larger version of the last one he had fought, leapt for him. Tamor ducked and sidestepped. Ingochun came up and used the creature’s speed against it to slice its belly as it flew past. The infliction didn’t seem to phase the animal for it turned and repeated the attack. Tamor got it again, this time on the flank, Ingochun cutting deep and drawing much blood. The creature backed off this time, deciding to circle the boy instead. Tamor held Ingochun ready. The beast growled in annoyance as it found no openings. Frustrated, it snapped at his sword arm and leg. The boy found amusement in the pathetic attacks. This from one of the most powerful beasts in the . . . . An arrow shot at him, skimming his thigh as it passed. The boy’s fleeting moment of shock gave the feline the chance it had been looking for. It lashed out at his other thigh. Had Tamor not predicted it might do that and so managed to dodge it a little, it would have taken his entire leg off, but the wound was still serious enough to gush blood. He cursed the monster and the cowardly archer behind him. Then he brought Ingochun back up. He used the blade’s reflection to see behind him. He saw the archer no more than twenty feet away. The man readied his bow with an arrow and took aim. He was smirking as the bow moved and centered on the middle of Tamor’s back. He must have thought he had Tamor beat. What a fool he was to think that. The arrow screamed toward its target again. Tamor knew which way it was headed before it even left the bow, therefore he dodged it easily. The creature in front of him, however, was caught completely unawares. It snarled in hatred as the missile struck the center of its forehead. Tamor wasted no time to pronounce the beast dead before whipping out a smaller knife from his collection at his belt, pivoting on his right foot, and chucking it at the shocked archer. The blade got the man in the chest with a satisfying squish. The fool didn’t even have time to scream before he joined the dead on the ground. No sooner did he fall, the big cat in front of Tamor crashed down, the ground shaking upon impact. His leg weakened and useless, Tamor dropped to one knee, using Ingochun as leverage. Shaylin jumped out of the tree and was at Tamor’s side before Rook had managed to descend the last few branches. Tamor watched the priest struggle and couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose you grew up in the desert and so never learned how to climb trees, right? I really hope that’s your excuse.” Rook smiled as he finally started toward the boy and girl. “And what of you, wolf? Is the mark of a warrior achieved by bounding blindly into a fight?” He reached Tamor and ruffled the lad’s black hair with his palm. “Perhaps I shall add that to the endless list of things I must teach you.” Tamor grinned, finding himself unable to deny the fact that he enjoyed the feeling of saving someone more than killing. “Okay, how about this. You teach me what is it to be a smarter fighter, and I’ll teach you how to be a real man.” Rook pretended to be hurt. “I am a fine man. Women have always found me worth their while.” “Aw, come on, Priest! You can’t tell me that robe and that bird’s nest you call hair actually is working for you.” “A real man need not look to his appearance to win the hearts of women. We, Wolf, do it by using something you are very unfamiliar with. It is called respect.” Tamor rolled his eyes and Shaylin left him to go pray by her sisters’ remains. He watched her go, his eyes falling down to her swaying hips and squeezable rear. “Respect. I’ve never had any use for that. And I doubt I ever will.” He started to rise but fell back, wincing. Rook glanced at Tamor and the direction of the boy’s gaze. He smirked and rolled his eyes. “You’ll never win her heart if you do not get to know her for her.” Rook knelt down, said a few chants and then rubbed his palms together. His hand started glowing with that healing light which he set to Tamor’s open thigh. “Believe it or not, boy, the inside is more important than the out.” Rook left Tamor to stand by Shaylin. Tamor watched the priest comfort the girl and looked away. I just saved him. he thought in incredulity. And now the man wants me to start having respect? Too much changing at once would only go to hurt me. Rook expects too much of me. Frowning, he watched Shaylin and Rook pray for the dead. What good is that going to do? They’re already gone. Not like any prayer can bring them back. Still, the melody of their chanting was peaceful and Tamor could not help but be lulled into a sense of wellbeing with their voices. He glanced up at the night sky through the trees and smiled. “Maybe, Kala. Maybe, I can let you go, after all.” |
| Rook and Shaylin joined Tamor. Shaylin led them back to the Edchirian ruins. "You asked for the stones," she said to Rook. "They are in disguise." She pointed to the columns which stood around the stone platform. "There are thirteen encased in marble swirls. That is the only reason the columns still stand." Tamor sat down to watch as Rook cleared a circle on the pine needle strewn platflorm. Shaylin too, moved back from him, unsure of what he was about to do. The priest sat in the center, closed his eyes and began to pray. "I call upon the Creator to hear me. A spirit has strayed from your sight. A spirit has stepped away from the path you provided. A spirit has been trying to remain in the land of the living, when indeed, it belongs in the land of the dead." Shaylin shivered. She edged closer to Tamor and sat next to him. "What is he doing?" she whispered. "I'm not sure." Rook paused, looked beyond the two and into the dark trees. He reached into the folds of his robe and drew out incense which he lit. The smoke rose and filled the scene with a lemon-like scent. "I call upon the spirit of my beloved mother, Shahzar Galkwin, to look down and see the spirit which has not gone into the light. I call upon her to open the door and reach down for my father, Roderick Belshing, so that he might see the way." Tamor pursed his lips as a slight breeze came in from the woods. It chilled his bare skin and goosebumps rose there. Shaylin pulled the hem of her orange dress down over her ankles. Both gazed up as lighting slashed the cloudless sky. "Look at his eyes," she whispered. Tamor did and saw that Rook's dark eyes were glowing white. But he only saw it for an instant as a beam of white light shot down from the heavens and engulfed the circle. The light was too bright to see beyond. Shaylin took Tamor's arm and gasped. Rook's voice sounded again. "I call upon the spirit of my father, Roderick Belshing, to come to me now and see the light of the Creator. Take my mother's hand and follow her to the next life." Tamor and Shaylin were thrown forward as the ghost rushed past them. Its misty form wavered before the light, but it did not enter. "I will not go!" it screamed. "Spirit, look into the light of the Creator. Your mother and father are there waiting for you. Go to them and do not look back at me. Do not see the need for you in my eyes." "No," the ghost growled. Shaylin stood and walked toward the light. She heard a familiar voice within it. "Anileen!" she called urgently. "Sister!" Tamor pulled himself up and squinted as he gazed into the light. A figure was emerging, an exact lighted copy of Shaylin. It stepped from the beam and touched Shaylin's cheek tenderly. Then, it reached out for Tamor. Her lighted hand passed through his chest. Tamor felt a lightness, a sense that he was part of a greater plan beyond his grasp. His breath quickened. The ghost smiled at him. Then it hovered toward Belshing and merged with his form. The angry spirit screamed in fury. "Mother," came Rook's plea, "reach down and take his hand." The beam of light thickened and pulsed as indeed a new form emereged. Tamor and Shaylin watched as the new spirit, little more than light itself merged with Belshing's ghost and pulled it screaming into the circle. Thunder crackled from beyond the trees and the light winked out. Tamor and Shaylin rushed to Rook who was lieing in a heap beside the smoking incense he had lit. "He is alive," Shaylin whispered. She wiped away the moisture from Rook's cheeks. From above, a rush of black feathers fell. Tamor noticed that the sounds of the ravens, which he had first heard when he found Rook, were entirely gone. When the sun came peeking over the trees, Tamor gazed around at the dark feathers which had fallen over the entire cleared circle Rook had made. Shaylin went looking for berries and left Tamor to watch over the sleeping priest. Rook woke suddenly and gazed at Tamor as if seeing him for the first time. "Who are you; what is your name, boy? You look familiar to me, but my memory is muddled. I remember a wolf..." |
| Tamor wriggled free from the priest's choking grip and stared down at him with a furrowed brow. What was wrong with him that he couldn't recognize the boy that had saved his life? Well, no matter. Rook was alive to get his memory back, which meant Tamor's big save in that forest with Belshing's cats was not a lost cause. Not eager to have that priest blubbering at him until Shaylin came back, Tamor went and sat on a nearby log across from the campsite. It was a good spot. Here, he could watch for Shaylin's return and yet still fulfill his duties to guard the poor, empty-headed priest. Tamor folded his arms against the slight chill in the air. He finally wore a shirt, but the cold still found a way to his heart. It didn't phase him too much, however. Tamor was used to being cold. He'd been cold for two years while serving as Gana's henchman. Two cold, bloody years. The same two years that had drenched Tamor's hands in the blood of his own people. He pursed his lips and stared out at the temple ruins in front of him. Edchir was a real dump! All the marble columns littering the ground gave the ruins the look and feel of a graveyard. But what amazed him most were the stones. Their appearance was nothing special and their circular formation a thing to gape at. It was their connection with the spirits Tamor pondered. How could these simple stones--tall as they were--actually open a portal to the other realm? Tamor had heard stories about certain areas of Belera possessing such properties, but they had been extremely unique places: shrines and landforms, such as waterfalls or lakes situated on naturally holy ground. If the same properties could be said about this country, could it be possible Edchir was actually built on sacred earth? Then had that really been the holy light? Had he really been touched by an angel? And had the prophesy Shaylin's sister fed him through brief flashes in his mind been more than just a really great trick? Had it been an actual prophesy? His destiny? Tamor shook away his musings and closed his eyes. Fate wasn't decided by someone at birth. One made one's own fate, so nobody, be them angel, demon, mortal, or otherwise, was going to tell him how he would live. Or how he would die. Tamor frowned. He would decide that for himself. But many questions still remained unanswered. Seeing the holy light for the first time was a frightening experience for him. He'd heard his father had done it many times and that he had become insane because of this. But one time was truly an experience Tamor would keep with him as long as he lived. And yet, if that truly had been the portal to the spirit realm, why hadn't Serenity come to see him as had Shaylin's sister? Why hadn't Kala said goodbye to him, either? Tamor was afraid he knew the answer and he wasn't in the mood right now to confront such truths. Shaylin's sudden appearance saved the boy from his thoughts and the three new comrades gathered round the pathetic campfire Tamor had tried to prepare. The meager meal consisted of berries and water, but Tamor couldn't complain. This food had been the first he'd had in a long time! Shaylin laughed at him as he ravaged his portion like the snowy wolf he tended to transform into. He met her eyes once as she giggled at him, and he quickly looked away, feeling a sudden wave of heat wash over him. Clearing his throat, he decided to make conversation. Thank the Creator Rook had finally regained his memory after a bit of food was shoved down his throat. "Kind of quiet with that old man gone," he said, breaking the long silence. The priest looked up from his berries and fixed the boy with a haunted stare. Something had been troubling Rook ever since he'd collapsed. Tamor realized he'd said the wrong thing, seeing how the loss of his father was probably what was bothering the man. Again, he cleared his throat. "Sorry. I just didn't like the spook, dark priest. When someone tries to kill you, ghost or otherwise, it tends to dilute all chances of a friendship, you know what I mean?" Rook nodded, dropping a few berries into his mouth and washing them down with a few sips from his water skin. "I understand your hatred of him, Boy." He stared down at the ground. A few feathers rested by his feet. The wind picked up and a mighty gust caught those feathers up and whisked them away from the campsite. Rook watched them go and Tamor knew he was considering the omen. "Unfortunately, my young friend, I did not hold the same hatred for him. My father was not always evil. He taught me many things. He failed to teach me how painful it is to know you're alone." "You have us now," piped in Shaylin from Tamor's left. "I no longer can return to my people. Because I failed to carry out my duties as a sister of the forest, I have been freed of said duties. The others came to me and told me of their decision as I was gathering food for us." Tamor frowned, wiping the considerable amount of berry juice from his face and realizing Shaylin had laughed at him for good reason. "You're taking such news well." Shaylin smiled sadly. "I have no choice, wolf warrior. My people have spoken and I would only be allowed back if I fulfilled my tasks." "Then why don't you fulfill them?" Shaylin met his gaze again; her expression was grave. "Because my task is to seek vengeance for our sisters. And that would mean killing you." The skip of his heart was ignored. "It wouldn't be the first time I've had people after my head." The wood-wife cocked her beautiful head. "Why?" This brought great laughter from the boy, laughter he used to cover up his own guilt. "Let's just say I'm no innocent man, Shaylin." "Really?" She moved in closer to him. He could feel the warmth of her body press against his. "To me, you are a hero." This time a deeper laugh shook the air as the priest noticed the panicked expression in the boy's eyes. "I believe communicating with the ladies is something we shall have to cover as well, my young friend." Tamor growled and indignantly stood. Shaylin's head nearly fell to the ground as her pillow moved out from under her. "I need no help from either of you fools!" he snapped, walking away to think. "And my name is Tamor, okay? Rook, stop calling me boy. Shaylin . . . . Stop calling me a hero." He sighed, lowering his head as he stopped walking, his back to the others. "Because I am everything but that." |
| Rook and Shaylin shared a knowing glance. Then the priest came and sat down beside her. "Tell me," he began, "what other things you are capable of." She glanced at the scabs on Rook's cheeks where her own claws had injured him. Then she gazed after Tamor who soon vanished into the woods. "I am of the fairy folk. We can work some magic, earth magic. But we do not destroy as you, as you..." "Yes, as I did." "How could you do it?" she asked sadly. "I did not know this part of the woods had woodwives. The ghost of my father was haunting me. You saw him. I am sorry, Shaylin. I meant no harm to you or your sisters." She stood and began to pace, glancing back to the place where Tamor had gone. "They are my sisters no more, not as long as I am with the two of you. I'm afraid to leave this forest. It has been my home always. But I cannot stay any longer." "Then will you come with me?" he asked. "I have to find my wife. I will not be able to get to her alone." "Where is she?" "She has gone to the man called Daumion." Shaylin's face paled. "Daumion?" she whispered. "The sorcerer with the flaming hair and mismatched eyes?" Shocked, Rook stood as well. "You've heard of him?" "Oh yes. He has been to the sisters. He has met with the southern clans and the Hulderfolk of the woods. He is gathering them to him, those that will come. He speaks of a great war and the end of all mankind." "Do you know where he is?" "In the north, past the islands of Npela, farther north than any man has traveled. And Rook," she hesitated, fear turning her dull eyes darker. "He has warned us of a dark priest that would try to come for him. He has offered the secret of immortality to the one that brings the priest to him alive." Rook stilled himself, anger biting into his heart as he thought of Lauriette and how the creature had tricked her with the same offer. He clenched his fingers into fists and tried to remember the breaths to calm himself. "It's you, isn't it?" she whispered. "Yes." "The north you say?" Shaylin nodded. "What is the fastest way to the river?" Shaylin lifted her hand and pointed to the forest in the same direction Tamor had gone. Rook headed into the trees, his long stride forcing the wood-wife into a run to keep up. He tramped through brush in his effort to get to the water's edge as quickly as possible. When he reached the river, he knelt into the muddied bank and dipped his hands into the water. Shaylin caught up to him and stared wide eyed. "What are you doing?" He ignored her as he whispered to the river. At once a ball formed from the water and hovered until it was level with Rook's face. It began to spin and expand revealing a scene. Shaylin gazed at it trying to decipher what it showed. “Look what I found!” Tamor interrupted. He strode in front of Shaylin with three rabbits trussed together. Their bodies were still soft. The woodwife screamed and jumped back. The ball of water fell back into the river and Rook turned on Tamor with a scowl. “What? Don’t you want a real meal?” Tamor asked “You eat meat?” Shaylin asked aghast. “Oh, how can you?” She stepped even furher backa nd bumped into Rook, who started to laugh. “Looks good to me Tamor,” he said between laughs. “Beats berries.” |
| Tamor shrugged, walking away from the priest and the melodramatic wood-wife. “You are no longer a woman of the forest, Shaylin,” he said as he started for the other side of the river, took out his short sword, and crouched down near the water’s edge. “You need not worry about its animals.” Rocking on the soles of his boots, he took hold of the first rabbit and proceeded to skin it. Blood ran into the river and tainted the water with its hue. Shaylin moaned and pressed her face into Rook’s cloak. Tamor rolled his eyes as the priest laughed some more. “I can see how this journey is going to be.” Rook looked at the boy strangely. “Journey? So….you have decided to come with us?” “Decided?” The boy laughed. Another layer of fur was cut clean off to fall in a bloody, fuzzy pile under the rushing surge. “I’ve really no choice, Rook. We’ve seen how well you can fend for yourself. If you’re not stuck up in the trees, you’re blowing them up.” “It is not your place to be my guardian, Tamor.” Again the boy laughed. “No, it’s not.” The rabbit was halfway skinned; Shaylin looked like she might be ill, but Tamor ignored it. “However, who says I am coming to guard you? I thought I might tag along for entertainment.” “Oh?” “Sure! You’ve really no talent in combat, anyone ever tell you that?” He pulled out his short sword and began hopping around in an odd display of poor posture and pathetic swipes. “You look very much like a grounded bird with a wounded wing.” He did not make Rook laugh, but he succeeded at getting Shaylin to. Realizing he was starting to become the good guy in that girl’s eyes, he immediately stopped and went back to the rabbit. He twisted the rabbit’s body so to make the bones crack and disgust the girl some more. He didn’t stop until he heard her annoyed moans. He couldn’t prevent the smirk from being seen. “Also, Rook . . .” he continued, slightly more serious than before, “you’ve a few tricks you need to teach me.” He felt the satisfying feel of blood rushing down his arms and had the greatest urge to eat the beast right then and there. For Shaylin’s sake, he ignored such impulses. “You don’t think I’d save your life without expecting something in return, do you?” “That thought never graced my mind.” Rook stroked the back of Shaylin’s head as the two watched the boy tear into the rabbit with his blade. “What is it you want from me?” Tamor grinned. He held the rabbit by the back legs and wagged the dead animal at the priest while he thought. “I’ve always wanted to know how you send your thoughts to people. That could prove useful to me. Also, how do you hear what others are thinking without them telling you?” Shaylin frowned at the boy’s insensitivity toward the lifeless rabbits. “Can you please just finish mutilating the poor beast if you are to do so?” She folded her arms, her great brown eyes locked on Tamor. “Please, it is disgusting!” The young man ignored the girl, his eyes fixed on Rook as he waited for an answer from the dark priest. “Well . . . ?” he pressed. “Can you teach me?” “I . . . .” The man went silent for a spell. Tamor watched in confusion. Was Rook actually pondering this? The question could be answered simply by saying ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ What could be difficult about that? Shaylin took this time to find a suitable rock to chuck at Tamor. It clunked him square in the jaw. He fell back with a howl and rose to glare at the little wench, who had skipped away, laughing. Tamor watched her disappear into a grove of trees, her high giggles of amusement flittering on the air. If she thought he was going to chase her, she had another thing coming. He rolled his eyes and went back to his bloody task, sneaking a bite from the loathsome rodent just to spite the wood-wife. But he found he was unable to stay angry at her for long. Realizing his thoughts had centered once more around women, he shook his head to clear it. More blood spilled in bucketfuls, and the once cute, furry rabbit was now a red mass of limbs and dripping muscle. Tamor held it up by the ears, gave it a look over, and then submerged the entire critter beneath the river’s rushing surge. The water fingered the exposed flesh, tearing off small bits and taking it downstream for the fish to dine on. Strings of tissue and tendon hung off the body and danced alongside it, fighting to stay connected to their host. The rabbit was swollen with water by the time Tamor hefted it back out and literally wrung the thing dry. He heard Rook laughing at him and so met the man’s gaze. “What?” “Nothing.” The man tried to ease his fit of insanity. “You . . . haven’t prepared an animal to be cooked before, have you?” The boy narrowed his eyes. Rook was right. Usually, it was the wolf in him who caught and ate for Tamor, so he always ate things raw. Preparing things as a human was one talent he found no use for. “And what if I haven’t?” he snapped aloud, too proud to admit his faults in front of this man. “Here!” he rose, covered half the distance between Rook and himself, and then pitched the dead creature at the priest. “I suppose you feel you can do better.” Rook caught the creature with one hand. He smiled to conceal his disgust of the mess the boy had made of it. “I believe a child could, Tamor.” “Fine, then!” The lad threw his hands up. “I didn’t want to do it, anyway.” With that, he went back to the other two rabbits and hurled them across the river at the laughing priest. “Seeing how you believe yourself to be an expert at everything, you won’t mind having this meal done by midday, then?“ “But that is in a few minutes.” “Then you’d best hurry up.” Tamor knelt down again and plunged his arms up to the elbow into the water to get the smell of blood off him. As he rubbed the skin with his other hand, he considered what he had been thinking about before he had gone to get the rabbits. Hs thoughts had been of Serenity and of the dark lord, Gana. It had centered around Kala, too, seeing how she was the one he thought of most nowadays. He didn’t know why, really. She was the only one who had betrayed him. Even Gana hadn’t done that. Anger plagued his heart once more, and he didn’t realize how angry he was until pain brought him back to reality. He glanced down at his arms, the water cloudy with blood. His blood? He lifted them from the wet mess to study. Inch deep gashes ran up from his wrist to his elbow on one arm, the wounds obviously made by friction. He stared at the palm of his other arm and flipped his hand around. His own flesh clogged the space between his nail and the tip of his fingers. This did nothing to improve his mood. He had let that bitch get to him again. That unfaithful, dishonorable bitch! Yes, he could call her dishonorable! Before she had used him to get what she wanted, Tamor had possessed enough honor about him to find her lacking. It had been her words, her lies that had made him who he was today. She had molded the wolf from the pup. And if she were still alive today, he would have made her pay dearly for her betrayal. Unfortunately, Gana had taken care of Kala himself. He had used her and destroyed her. Just like she had done to Tamor. “You still didn’t answer my question!” he snapped at Rook, his tone far more vicious than he’d intended. The priest turned away from the rabbit he’d been cutting up to frown at the boy. “Answer? I have no such thing for you. To ask me to teach you such skills is asking too much for me, boy. The path I follow is a treacherous one, one I have tried many times to find a way from but have stumbled over obstacles unseen in the darkness surrounding me. The only way I could do what you refer to is if you are willing to accept the risks of joining me on that path.” The young man rolled his intense, green eyes. “You speak like I’m asking you to kill me or something.” “. . . That very may be what I’m saying.” Tamor hid his surprise. “What strengths must I have before I try to learn your abilities?” “Only you can decide that.” “It would be much easier if you could just tell me.” Rook sighed. Done with the first rabbit, he took his knife and began on the second. “I could not tell you and be sure. It is different for each mind.” “Must I have strength of heart, body, mind, spirit?” The boy folded his arms. “I am a wielder of powers just as difficult to handle if you do not have these qualities. I am quite sure I can survive the mastery of a few trivial mind games! It can’t be—” “Tamor!” The priest’s voice hinted of annoyance. “It is not just the body, mind, and spirit that must be strong. It is many different things that factor in to give you a balance. If one of whatever qualities you need is wrong, the balance shall be off and you can easily drive yourself insane. Now, ask me of this no more and let me prepare this meal in peace!” Silence fell on the two of them as Rook worked. Tamor sat down to stare up at the forest canopy. He listened to the birds to take his mind off Kala’s betrayal and Rook’s spiteful decision. The songs of the winged creatures in this magical forest was a lot nicer and safer to listen to than the wood-wives lethal lullaby. The bird’s tune worked to loosen Tamor’s stress like a great massage might do, and the boy soon found himself relaxed. Laying down, his arms supporting his head and his eyes closed, Tamor let the music lull him to sleep. He was awakened with a start at the sound of Rook’s voice in his head. Get up, Tamor! Shaylin calls us to her! Why? came the boy’s indifferent reply. Something approaches. Tamor didn’t like Rook’s answer. Something large. Tamor was up with a start. He had Ingochun unsheathed before Rook could mention drawing weapons, and he bounded by the dark priest as if the man were standing still. The two men found the girl huddled in the corner of the grove, her gaze fixed straight up, a look of pure horror on her face. Rook was the first to notice where Shaylin’s attention went, and he tilted his head to join her. Tamor didn’t see the dark priest go pale. Instead, the boy neared the wood-wife. “Shaylin, what’s—“ Without looking away, she grabbed Tamor by the arm and pulled him down to her level. He tried to get another word in but she covered his mouth with her fingertips then pointed upward with her other hand. Tamor finally took the hint and followed her gesture to a hole in the canopy. The sky was relatively blue, give or take a few wispy clouds. But something else caught his eye, something that seemed to blot out the very rays from the sun as it flew over once, circled around, and then came back for another pass. Tamor squinted as the shadow from the creature played on his face. He couldn’t see exactly what the large beast was for it flew in front of the sun, but he could hear its wings slapping at the thermals as it kept its large body airborne. The silhouette of the animal was long enough to easily tower over the tallest man; its proud head and neck bore the ridges of scales. A tail as long and seemingly as deadly as the neck and fang filled mouth hung behind and below it. But it was the animal’s wingspan that impressed Tamor the most. Never before had he seen such an awesome creature. He hoped he and Rook wouldn’t have to battle it. Though Tamor didn’t want to admit it, he was still trying to regain his strength after the last scuffle with those cats. He wriggled free from Shaylin’s restraining fingers. “What is it?” he whispered to Rook. “A monster,” was the only reply. “A spy from a foe who has long seen fit to rid this world of my hide.” “That does not answer my question.” “It is a beast the creatures of the forest fear to utter.” Shaylin grabbed Tamor’s hand again and buried her face in his chest. He couldn’t deny the fact that it felt kind of good. “That still doesn’t—” A dragon, Boy! Rook bore into Tamor. It is searching for us. Wait a minute? Us? It’s just you it’s after, right? “No.” Shaylin’s voice was muffled as she pressed her face further into the boy’s uniform. “We are now involved in this conflict. Allying ourselves with Rook has made us enemies with his rival.” Rook glared Shaylin, silencing the girl and confusing Tamor all the more. I am going back to the river. The rabbits can wait, dark priest. That is not why I go to the river. As Tamor looked on in confusion and Shaylin looked on in worry, Rook rose. He was careful not to upset any twigs or dry leaves as he made his way back to the river and the rabbits. But he had a far more dire task at hand then to skin a few bunnies. |
| Rook found himself again at the water's edge. He placed his hands into the cool rushing water and whispered the words his beloved had taught him so long ago. The very thought of her distracted him, her eyes, her lilting laugh, the warmth of her skin against his... The roar that resounded from above made him gaze skyward. "No," he whispered as the creature caught sight of him and circled lower and lower. The sun fell behind the beast and Rook could see the color of its scales, a deep and hauntingly recognizable purple. Its eyes locked on his and he felt weak with fear and anger. “No,” he repeated, “it cannot be.” He lost his balance and fell backward against the pines needles with a soft crushing sound. He could smell the dragon, a familiar, if not unpleasant oily scent, warm and husky as the beast landed gracefully in the middle of the water. The river churned against the creature’s mass as it stealthily approached. The short distance between priest and monster was covered in seconds. Rook was lost in the creature’s eyes, dark, black eyes with startling rainbow colored slitted pupils. “No, you are not Daumion,” he whispered to comfort himself. Mage, do you not know me? came the creature’s surprisingly feminine voice in his head. Rook moved his hand slowly down to the hilt of his sword, gripped it tightly and froze again as the beast questioned him. I have been looking for you for some time. Do you not remember me? Rook’s eyes ran over the dragon’s purple scales, the long, silky red mane that hung behind its thick curved horns. Rook, the dragon began again, a laugh in it’s mind-voice, I am Vren, daughter of Valen and Aridwin. Rook tried to steady his breathing which had gone wild and rapid. He steadied his thoughts and gazed again at the creature’s eyes still trying to convince himself of its identity. “Vren?” he said. “By the Creator, you cannot be. She is only as tall as me. You are enormous!” The dragon tilted its head lower until it was near face to face with the priest. It’s black lips curled as it smiled revealing the rows of long, sharp teeth within. The smile did not have the desired effect on the priest. Rook gasped. “By the Creator, how fast do dragons grow? It has only been five years since I last saw you.” The grin widened and Vren nudged Rook’s leg playfully. You know me! “Why have you come for me, Vren. Your home is far from here. What is it you need?” Rook let go of his sword and tried to calm himself. He reached out to touch the dragon’s face which loomed so closely to his own. Her skin was both hard and smooth. My father sent me. Mage, there is a great evil rising in the north. He said you might know what to make of it. He sent me to you and asks that you come back with me. He wants your lady friend and the firestarter to come as well. “L-Lauriette is gone,” Rook said sadly. “She has gone to find Daumion.” Daumion? What happened to him. My mother would be curious to know, “We changed him. Lauriette, Gol and I. We changed him into a man.” A man! The dragon scraped her paw in the muddy river bottom, nervously. Whatever did you do that for? I thought you only intended to separate his mind from your lady friend’s. “He had to be changed in order to dos o. But he chose the form, not us.” What of Gol, has he too abandoned you? Memories of Gol, Rook’s trusted golden-haired friend came rushing through his mind. He wondered what the dragons would want from a firestarter. “Gol went south, after my wedding. He did not want to go home to Chalois because he could not stand the sight of the sea any longer. He said he wanted to become a smith or a carver. He was going to apprentice himself out and then become a master of one of the trades.” The dragon grinned again, a devilish sight. From behind, Rook heard the careful footsteps of his companions as they crept closer. “It’s all right!” he called out. “The dragon is a friend. Come out. She will not hurt us!” |
| Shaylin had to literally drag Tamor out of his hiding spot in the bushes. She giggled the entire time as the boy fought her. “Dragon’s are not friends!” he snarled, swiping out in threat, but missing her purposely. “You can’t tell me otherwise!” “What ails you, boy?” Rook laughed. Shaylin giggled again, tossing Tamor sprawling to the ground in front of the priest. “He’s afraid of the dragon.” “Am not!” The boy picked himself up indignantly and brushed himself off with a sniff. “I just . . . don’t like them.” “Why?” Tamor glanced at the large monster in the lake. He had to admit it was rather beautiful. Purple? He had never seen a purple dragon before. Still, all those monsters were the same. He shuddered and made to scoot behind Shaylin, pretending that he was bending down to check the buckles on his boots. “I just . . .” He coughed, fastening a buckle that had already been secure. “I just have had some bad experiences with such beasts.” “Beast? Nonesense!” Shaylin grabbed the boy by the arm again and dragged him around her. The force of which she did this brought Tamor to his knees. “She’s actually kind of cute, in a large sort of way.” With that, she waded into the lake to stand next to Rook. Laughingly, she reached out and stroked its scaly head. The dragon made a sound of pleasure. But Tamor wasn’t buying it. “Cute?” Tamor frowned at the wood-wife’s remark. “How can you say it’s cute? That thing could swallow you both whole!” Rook smiled. “But she won’t. Come, Wolf,” he beckoned. “I’d much rather stay here, where I can run if that thing devours you fools.” Shaylin folded her arms. “You know, for a hero, you are acting very much like a baby.” “I’m not a baby! I just don’t see what’s so special about a horse that can fly.” “She is a great dragon, Tamor.” Rook seemed offended by the boy’s comment. “My friend and I were there when she hatched.” “Well, that’s very nice.” Tamor frowned and turned to stalk away. “Then I suppose I should leave daddy and baby alone for awhile to catch up.” Before he could go any further, some odd force picked him up off the ground, causing him to yelp as his feet kicked helplessly in the air. Shaylin laughed behind him. “If you’re going to act like such a baby about things, then I shall have to treat you like one. Now, you big baby, come here!” With that, the force hurtled him backwards with a scream and he plunged into the lake. He breached the water’s surface, sputtering and hacking, his hair plastered to his face and his clothes soaked. He glared at the grinning Shaylin, not certain he knew what had happened but knowing he didn’t want it to ever happen again. “I’m never getting you angry,” he grimaced, rising gingerly to his feet, massaging his sore rump. And then he was staring straight into the great dark eyes of that beast! “Tamor,” Rook chuckled, “Meet Vren.” The boy paled, unable to move as the dragon brought its huge head down and began sniffing his sopping wet clothes. Tamor jumped back with an unwilling yelp, his gaze fixed on the creature with malice. Be nice to her, my friend. She will be nice to you. Tamor turned to fix the priest with the same malicious scowl. Easy for you to say. You can tell what she’s thinking at any given moment! And I can tell she wishes you no harm. Gritting his teeth, Tamor took Rook’s advice and let Vren sniff him. The beast’s snout tickled him, rubbing up his pant leg and shirt to his neck, but the boy did not laugh. He had gone stiff with fear, the unpleasant memories of his childhood rearing their ugly head. The dragon reached Tamor’s back. But when she began smelling Ingochun’s scabbard and hilt, she recoiled with a roar, flapping her wings and flaring her nostrils. Tamor’s knees buckled and he collapsed on his rear from the horror of it all. The air between them was wracked with the sound of the boy’s alarmed cries and the splashing of water as the dragon tried to scramble away. Shaylin rushed to the petrified boy as Rook went to his large flying friend. Wood-wife and wolf boy watched in mute alarm as the priest had to duck Vren’s flailing tail before he managed to soothe her. For awhile, no one said anything, but the way Rook looked into the dragon’s eyes told Tamor he was talking to her in private. Finally, the priest flicked his gaze at him, eyes narrowed. “What have you failed to tell me about yourself, boy?” “What do you mean?” “Vren tells me you are a member of a very frightening council, called the Magi. She says you Magi were known to kill dragon’s for their coveted blood, horns, and scales, all of which bear magical properties.” “I used to be.” Tamor hesitated, feeling the dragon’s cold gaze on him. “My father, Magilicline, was the council’s founder. But I didn’t believe in their ways, so I left.” Despite his own fears, he stepped toward the dragon, holding his hand out in submission. “I may have the Magi blood in me, Vren, but I’m not like them.” Vren stared at the boy for quite some time, as if debating on whether or not to trust him. Tamor made sure not to look away, afraid if he took his eyes off the beast for even a second she might tear him apart for his council’s treatment of her brethren. And when she finally came at him, he backed off, tripping over a rock at the river’s bottom and landing once more on his rear. But this time, the dragon meant him no stress. Instead, she nuzzled his cheek. She glanced Rook’s way immediately after, as if meeting some silent request given her by the priest. Rook nodded before climbing onto the dragon’s back. What is he giving Vren the go ahead to do, Tamor wondered. Before he could think anymore on the matter the great creature’s wings flapped once, twice, three times and the dragon was airborne, Rook laughing as he encouraged her with friendly pats on the back. As Tamor and Shaylin watched, shielding themselves from the violent gusts of wind, the river’s water spreading from the force, Vren and her passenger lifted five feet off the ground. It was then that the mighty dragon craned her neck to meet Tamor’s gaze. Black lips parted to form a toothy grin, which the boy deemed more sinister than playful. The legs extended, the claws opened, and Tamor screamed like a girl as they locked about his midsection and hoisted him up. He closed his eyes, feeling the air rush by him, praying for the nightmare to end. It didn’t. It only got worse. Within seconds, the river shrank to the size of a puddle as the dragon rose. Soon even the tree tops looked like the bushes and the bright golden sky surrounded them. Tamor clamped his eyes shut, never a big fan of heights. He felt the sun on his back but did not move to watch the brilliant fire ball sink beyond the distant mountains. This was too much, even for him! “Let us be off, my friend!” shouted Rook from above him. Vren gave a bellow of understanding, Tamor cursed, and the purple dragon stopped hovering to soar. The wind whipped at him all the more, sucking the air from his lungs and threatening to whisk him from the dragon’s clutches. It wouldn’t matter if it did or not: Tamor felt like he was going to die either way. He started screaming again when he looked down and saw the land below. It was nothing more than areas of brown, green and yellow. They looked like the patches of some giant quilt, the rivers and highroads acting as the thread connecting them. Shaylin was whooping and screaming from the sheer pleasure of it in Vren’s other claw. But Tamor could not share her excitement. He felt ill. He felt dizzy. And then, he didn’t feel anything. |
| Chapter Two Gol sat outside his cottage and watched as Jennaline McCrory hung her washing on the line. The sun shone down on her hair and he glimpsed the highlights within the brown strands. He remembered the first time he had seen her. She had been the first in the tiny town to talk to him. He’d bumped into her in the busy marketplace while trying to pick out fresh fruit. She’d gazed up at him with mysterious blue-gray eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry, should watch where I’m going,” he had said. She only smiled at him and took his hand in her hers. “New here? I’m Jennaline, but you can call me Jen,” she shook his hand firmly though her own small hand was lost in his large one. Gol, unused to such kindness, pursed his stern lips together for a moment before finally smiling. “Yes, I’ve come from Bercelly. I’m looking to settle down, learn a new trade.” He said the last bit and soon regretted it for fear she would ask his previous trade. He would be lost as to his answer. He calmed a bit as he realized he could say he’d been a sailor. “You’ll be needing a place to live then?” “Um,” he glanced back at the inn and then to her, noticing her lovely eyes seemed to have changed to green suddenly. Was it a trick of the light? He couldn’t be sure. “Yes, I will.” “My sister moved to Tavin Glen five years ago and left me her house across the way. I could rent it to you.” she offered. Since that day, Gol had found a true friend, his closest and dearest since he had left Rook after the wedding. He didn’t like to think of Rook for it made his stomach turn when he thought of Rook’s bride, Lauriette, the only girl he had ever loved. On many nights Gol enjoyed Jen’s company,. She read to him her countless stories and poems and he would often comment on the lovliest sound of her soft lilting voice. He could not for the life him understand why no one had married the beautiful lady. Besides her writing, she was by trade an artist. She painted on died muslin in relief using wax to hold in the color. Gold had taken a job as a smith’s apprentice in town. The smith, puzzled why the smithy fires favored the golden-haired giant of a man, soon promoted Gol to head Smith. And so for once in his life Gold was content. He had no more anger in his heart. That day as he rocked in his chair, he thought perhaps now was the time that he should go ask Jen to be his wife. Gol stood and stepped down from his porch, the wood creaking under his muscular weight. He walked across the cobbled road and smiled at Jen, waiting for her to look up from her laundry. She slung a particularly striking work over the line. It was a fine cloth on which she had painted a large sea turtle with bulging green eyes. Gol was overcome by memories of his life at sea and felt a painful fear rising within himself. “Gol,” Jen said as she peeked from around the cloth. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.” “Gol stepped closer to her and she caught him as he teetered forward, overcome by the memory of the sea and the horrible creature that had wanted him dead. He was quite tall, and heavy so Jen ended up cushioning his fall as the two hit the soft grass. “Gol?” she asked again, concerned. “Can you hear me?” She placed her petite hand on his cheek and flinched finding his skin too warm. “Gol?” She ran her hand down to his chin and touched the deep cleft there, something secretly she had always wanted to do. Jen did not think Gol thought of her as more than just a friend, though she wished he did. His blue eyes were fixed on her face. He started to smile sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he began, “I um, got nervous there, almost fainted.” “What are you nervous about?” He thought of the painting but did not turn to look at it again. “I wanted to ask you to marry me.” Jen was shocked. Her light skin turned bright pink. “What did you say?” she whispered in awe. Just then a strong wind stirred up. Gol took his eyes from Jen and gazed skyward. “It’ can’t be,” he said. The purple dragon hovered over the two houses, so far from the village and finally landed gracefully in the cobbled road. “Daumion?” Gold called. The dragon shook it’s head and sent it’s thoughts to Gol. I am Vren! Do you remember me? Jen started to scream. She had never seen something so monstrous and frightening. The dragon lowered its head and Jen spied a man atop its scaled back. From its outstretched paws a woman in blazing orange and an unconscious man were lain gently onto the street. Gol, regaining his composure and held Jen closer. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “Don’t be afraid. It’s, well, she is a friend.” ********************* That evening, Jen and Gol ate with Rook at a large oaken table. Gol, an excellent cook, had offered fresh bread, pumpkin soup and a thick meaty stew prepared with venison. Jen sat very close to him eyeing Rook suspiciously as she had never seen someone from the desert lands. His skin was many shades darker than she thought possible and his wild, long hair seemed frightening. “I can’t go with you,” Gol said finally. “My place is here with Jen.” Rook smiled at the woman. “I understand, my friend. I only ask you because Valen wanted it so. If you don’t want to come, it’s fine.” Rook gazed at Shaylin, who was stealing into the room where Tamor lay sleeping. He turned back to his old friend and smiled. “You should stay here, you’ve never looked,” he paused as he caught Jen‘s eyes, “happier.” *********************** Shaylin slipped under the blanket beside Tamor and held him close. She lay her hand on his chest and felt his steady heartbeat within. She thought of her sisters, how they had shamed her and cursed her saying that her days would be dark if she followed after Tamor. She knew they would not harm the tree that she was bound too though. She had left them behind and all that was comfortable and familiar. She stroked Tamor’s chest and reveled in her decision. |
| His dreams were of monsters, yet he could not open his eyes. Conquering his fears in the waking world meant first facing them in his sleep. Gana could not be allowed to rule him, especially if he planned to kill the fool upon returning to Belera. Until then, he could only use the dreams to fuel his anger, his pain, and his resolve. The two swords met in a metallic clang, both combatants jumping free to recover before going at each other again. When the blade came down a second time, Tamor met it with his rage. A dagger from the man’s other hand lashed outward, the boy staggered back, clutching his chest, gasping in disbelief. His master smiled, the wicked glint of his eyes seen through his hood. You still rely too much on emotions to guide your hand, he chuckled, lowering his sword. If you wish to get anywhere, you must first stop feeling. Pain, anger, sadness, love—all have no business on the battlefield. They will only see you to your grave. His master’s cloak sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, revealing well toned, pale skin. The color of death, for that was what he was. He was the reaper, the ultimate evil. And he was training Tamor to be his successor. Clenching his teeth, the boy bit back his pain, as he had been taught to do through countless abuse. A year under Gana’s guidance had hardened him, yet the wounds of Kala’s betrayal were still open and raw. He had just about given up hope. Fighting was all he lived for now. Fighting and dying. Both he would welcome as readily as a lover. For he no longer had anyone else. Just his weapons, his malice, and his chains. The invisible chains Kala had clasped to his wrists and ankles herself. Free yourself of your weaknesses, his master’s voice interrupted his thoughts. The best warriors feel nothing. “I am not a warrior,” he muttered. “I am your slave, nothing else.” The cloaked man laughed knowingly. Indeed. But unless you wish me to kill you I suggest you try harder to become the warrior I see in you. He picked up his sword and swung it. Now, Boy, he gestured with a flick of his hand. Come at me. The fight began again, sword clangs and grunts filling the air. A few demons had gathered in the dungeon to witness the fight, a few hooting and snarling, some hissing, but all rooting for their master. No one cared for Tamor’s well being. Were it not their fear of the Dark Lord, they would have killed the boy long ago. He was thrown against his cell bars the instant he made his mistake. Had he not rolled from the descending blade he would have joined the parched bones on the ground. The Dark Lord laughed and swung in a vicious arc, knocking the lad’s own weapon away, kicking him in the gut and smashing the back of his head into the wall. Tamor did not cry out as his pain wracked his body, but kept fighting; the blood, what little had not leaked out from the many wounds on his body, rushed to his head. With a roar he charged his teacher, his own weapon forgotten as he grabbed onto the man’s sword hilt. He was slammed against the wall so many times he lost count, each impact jarring him less and less as his body grew numb to the pain. In a blind rage he lashed out viciously, using his eyes to mold the power he had been charging for the past fifteen minutes into a lethal weapon and sending it directly at the Dark Lord. On a lesser opponent such an attack would have turned one’s body inside out, but Tamor’s feeble chance at victory was deflected easily. His throat was grabbed soon after. He felt the pressure crush his windpipe. Still, he fought back relentlessly, not yet willing to admit defeat. I see you’re eager to engage in a battle of a different scale, the Dark Lord growled, lifting his victim by the neck until the boy dangled feet from the ground. What did I tell you about using such on me? “I . . .don’t care!” he choked, his eyes fierce as he locked them on the man’s dark hood. He felt himself weakening, but he refused to give in! “I . . . am . . .done with being . . .used by you, Gana!” He sent another blast, a weaker one, between the man’s hood, and was only slightly surprised when his blow was not even enough to make his opponent flinch. The pressure around his neck intensified. He heard cracking as his windpipe gave way before he was thrown backwards to slam and slide down the wall into a slump. He fought against his urge to pass out, knowing all too well his death wouldn’t be far behind if he did. And though he wished death more than anything, he could only die when his revenge had been completed. I told you my name, Boy, came the growl from the cloaked figure, his fist starting to glow ominously, only so you would know who owns your pathetic hide. You are to call me nothing less than Master, do you hear me! A large ball of fire shot from his palm, and had not Tamor been conscious to dive out of the way, it would have incinerated him on impact. The boy was blown across the cell with the force as the flames struck the wall in the exact spot he’d just been, spewing metal fragments, chunks of stone, and molten rock in a blossom of smoke and ash. When the dust passed, the echoes of the explosion fading away, Tamor looked across from where he had landed at a hole as deep and wide as he was tall. His empty stomach churned. A dagger was thrown at him then, and his reflexes saved him again, catching it before the blade’s wicked tip pierced his forehead. He turned immediately after to glare at his teacher in defiance. Still unable to suck a solid breath, what with his windpipe damaged and his exertion making it harder, Tamor felt himself let go, the dagger dropping from his nerveless fingers. But before he could sink into unconsciousness, he screamed in surprise as white hot pain bit into his chest, the very same dagger he’d dropped now lodged firmly in flesh. Blood was coughed up as he felt his body failing him, his heart slowing, peace falling over his tortured soul. Don’t ever think you can defeat me, Tamor! Gana’s voice hammered his skull. Return to me as my enemy, and I shall strike you down without thought. Your journey to my gates will end with your death. Tamor awoke to Shaylin’s close embrace, her delicate hands stroking his chest as if consoling his fears about his dream. He pretended to sleep, afraid she might stop were she to know he was awake. The two stayed like this until Tamor’s eyes drooped again and he drifted. His dream hadn’t even begun when he was startled awake by a knock at the door. Tamor and the wood-wife sat up in bed to meet Rook’s smiling face. The priest did not ask questions about the scene, nor did he make any assumptions, which was good for he would have been wrong. Nothing had happened between Shaylin and him, Tamor insisted, as if guilty. With a growl he rose from the bed and followed Rook from the room, Shaylin following at the men’s heels. Rook led Tamor through a rather large house, full of many dyed fabrics of painted images, each of which was colorful and commanded its own respect. The boy puzzled over the scenery outside the windows. A village? But hadn’t they been in a forest, somewhere near that temple where Rook had dispelled his father and Shaylin’s sister had . . . . Tamor felt woozy, ill, and he grasped a nearby shelf to prevent from falling. Rook glanced at him in uncertainty. “You are still unwell?” “I . . . I think I just need to eat.” He glared at his stomach as it growled in confirmation. “Where are we, Rook?” “In a friend’s house.” Before starting ahead, Rook gave a final glance at the boy to ensure the lad would be alright walking on his own. “I’m sure we can fix you up a nice meal.” “I’d be happy with eating bugs at the moment.” He sighed, tilted his gaze to the ceiling rafters and ran his hand through his disheveled hair. Shaylin popped up beside him, her hair a glimmer of gold in the sunlight. “You look a mess, hero boy. Nightmares?” “You could say that.” “You shook an awful lot, like you were trembling in fear.” “And had you not been so close to me, you never would have noticed.” “You liked it, though. Don’t deny it. I just wonder what you were dreaming of.” “None of your business.” She nodded in understanding and grinned. “Dreaming of flying, perhaps?” “Sure. Whatever.” “Vren wants to see you after you meet Gol and Jen.” The boy squinted as the blinding sunlight burned his sleep filled eyes. “Who?” “You’ll see,” she giggled, grabbing his hand and racing past Rook as Tamor tried his best to not be dragged. He heard the priest’s laughter behind them as the wood-wife picked up speed and the wolf boy yelled at her in protest. Both arrived in a kitchen soon after, Tamor smashing into Shaylin’s rear end as the wood-wife abruptly stopped. Two strangers, a blue eyed woman and a bear of a man with golden hair, turned their heads to acknowledge the girl’s presence with a smile. “Shaylin, are you hungry again?” asked the woman, rising from her chair by the man and crossing over to the counter. “Goodness knows you and Rook would eat us out of house and home with your large appetites. Shaylin laughed. “I’m fine now, Jennaline.” She used the grip she still had on Tamor to haul him to the side of her. “But this boy’s skinnier than me and needs some meat on his bones.” |
| Jen offered Tamor a bowl of stew and a loaf of bread which the boy hungrily devoured. Shaylin watched him disapprovingly. No sooner had he finished the meal, then Shaylin was pulling him up and out of Jennaline’s house. As the door slammed shut behind them, Gol said: ”Don’t you feed that boy, Rook?” Rook smiled back apologetically. “We were about to make a meal when Vren found us. She seemed intent that we be on our way. I hope we haven’t imposed on the two of you.” “No, of course not,” Jen said though her eyes were still on Rook as though he were not to be trusted. “Where did you say you were from again?” “From Shan-Sei. It’s a desert city far to the north of the forest lands. I was raised in the priesthood. It is the custom there for boys at the age of seven with the ‘gift‘ to be sent to the priesthood for training.” “Gift?” Jen said warily. Gol shot Rook a warning glance. She does not like magic. Do not speak of it! “Um, yes, the gift of scribing. I was a scribe and illustrator,” he said quickly. This seemed to put her at ease as she smiled in a friendly manner. “Really, so you draw, paint?” “Yes both.” “And where is it you want to take Gol, again?” Rook shook his head. “No, he said he wanted to stay here, with you. I think that’s for the best. We have,” he paused glanced at Gol, then finished, “have been through a lot together already. I wouldn’t want to make him feel obligated for a journey again.” Jen got up, cleared the table and grinned as Gol went to draw water to wash the dishes. “I’ll get it,” he said softly. She thought of arguing, but her curiosity got the better of her. She returned to the table with a bowl of apples and began peeling them in long, even strokes. She watched Rook out of the corner of her eye as he stared at one of the paintings. She turned to see what had caught his attention. “It’s a mermaid,” she said. Gol dropped a dish and it shattered on the stone floor. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll get it.” He carefully picked up the pieces and placed them in the trash bin, shooting Rook a warning glance. “Yes, it’s lovely,” Rook said. Jen caught the glint of a ring on Rook’s finger. “Are you married?” she asked. He turned to look at her, straight into her eyes. Jen caught the shine of tears under Rook’s dark pupils. He touched the ring sadly, his fingers beginning to tremble. “Yes,” he answered. “I am married. Perhaps you’ve heard of my wife. The Lady Lauriette, princess of Bercelly.” Jen cleared her throat. “Really?” She turned on Gol who had stopped scrubbing and was gazing intently at Rook. “You never told me you had royal friends.“ Gol grimaced. He dried his hands and came up behind Rook placing his hands on the man’s trembling shoulders. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” Rook nodded, unable to speak. “I knew it would happen. I knew when we found Daumion in that pit. Let her go, Rook. She doesn’t belong with us.” Jen stood up, not understanding the implications of what was being said. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I had no idea.” She hurried to Rook’s side just as he got up and embraced Gol. “I have to find her, Gol. I can’t live without her. I have to.” Gol took Rook in his burly arms and patted his back. “I can’t help you this time, my friend. I’m sorry.” Jen flushed. She felt she was causing Gol to abandon his friend. “No, I won’t have it,” she said boldly. “Gol, go over to your house and pack your things. I will pack my own. Let us leave in the morning after everyone has had a chance to rest and bathe. How long will we be gone?” Rook peeked over Gol’s bicep and tried to shake his head no. “I won’t have it. We’re going with you, like it or not,” she said. ************************************************* Shaylin dragged Tamor along, the boy was fighting her, uncertain of where he was being taken. “Let go of me, woman!” he screamed. |
| "I told you before," she replied, her grip showing no sign of loosening. "This is for your own good." The two made their way deeper into the forest they had entered ten minutes ago. Tamor had kept count. There hadn't been much else to do, besides complain. And he had done enough of that, as well. A bush that was pushed forward by Shaylin snapped back to hit the finicky lad full in the face, leaving a red mark on the ridge of his nose he could see through Ingochun's reflection. Incredibly pissed off at the Wood-wife and all manner of nature at the moment, Tamor began hacking through the branches with his sword. "What does dragging . . . me out in the middle of . . . nowhere do for my own good?" he grunted as he hacked. "Don't do that!" "They're just saplings so shut up!" Before he knew what was happening, he was elbowed in the stomach and kicked in the back of the leg, crashing to the ground on his side, the sword in Shaylin's grasp by the time she gazed down at him with a disapproving shake of her pretty head. "I was fine at the house," he growled, folding his arms and pouting like a little child. He refused Shaylin's offer to help him up, indignantly brushing off his uniform vest as he complained. "I even might have received extra helpings of stew had you not--" "Quiet, Tamor, we're here." "Be great if I knew where 'here' was." "Come." She grabbed him by the fabric on his shoulder, her other arm still clutching Ingochun so the boy could do no more damage with it. Having faced assassins, angry warlords, packs of demonic wolves, Trolls, and spear wielding Gnomes, one would think the boy could hold his own against a mere woodland creature. Yet Tamor was helpless in the woman's grasp. Anything short of hurting or killing her didn't even slow her down. "Alright, Woman, I give up!" he snarled, ducking a low hanging branch, his boot heels digging ruts in the mud. "Allow me the dignity to walk on my own! Cripes!” “Promise you won’t run off?” “Sure. Sure. I promise. Just . . . stop dragging me, already!” Shaylin let go. Tamor grimaced and brushed himself off indignantly. But he kept to his word, walking in front of the wood-wife, grumbling to himself. The two reached the base of a large rock and Shaylin told the boy to start climbing. Making a face, the boy nonetheless did as he was told, more curious than concerned with what the girl was getting at to protest. The higher they went, however, the more uneasy he got, the heights making him dizzy and insecure. He never did like heights, not even when he’d been young and unafraid of everything else. “Um. . .Shaylin, where are we—” “You’ll see,” the girl giggled, helping him gain the highest point then pushing him to the edge of the rocky crag. Tamor did not want to look over, but Shaylin made him. The forest was nothing but a green lake below him, even the treetops a good fifty feet down, a dark maw of leaves and branches that would consume him if he stepped too far off the ledge. Gulping, he stepped away, Shaylin’s hands pushing up against his back. He fought her, his unease increasing. “Shaylin, you’ve avoided my questions ever since we left Rook. What are you up to?” “Wait.” He spun around and glared at her, his finger jabbing the air accusingly. “I won’t! I’m tired of waiting! You’ll tell me now, Woman!” The wood-wife frowned and went silent. Tamor watched her eyes, her beautiful, dark eyes. What was she concentrating on? “This is getting too strange.” He tried pushing past her, but could only get past her wall of arms were he to inflict harm on her, which he wasn’t about to do. “Get away. I’m going back to—” “Now!” With that, the girl pushed Tamor back to the edge of the cliff. Tamor teetered a bit, his arms flailing, trying in vain to grab at something to pull him back onto solid ground. But it was useless. He lost his balance completely and tumbled backward with a shriek, his arms flailing even more now that he had nothing at all to grasp at. Looking up, he saw Shaylin’s concerned face grow smaller and smaller, the ground below him coming up to slap him. He cursed his foolishness. Again, he had been betrayed by a woman! Again, he would pay the price for his mistake! Then a flutter of wings, the glimmer of scales, and Tamor stopped falling, smashing painfully into Vren’s back as the purple dragon caught him up with a telepathic laugh. After realizing he had not died and that he was safe for the time being, the boy clung to Vren’s back like a lifeline, the wind snatching at his hair and taking the breath from his lungs. He screamed in a mixture of exhilaration and panic, watching as the forest trees zipped past, a feeling of weightlessness passing over him. Vren then began speaking to him. Not all dragons are vicious, Magi, she said. Tamor could not help but smile, cautiously reaching down to stroke the dragon’s smooth neck. “And not all Magi are dragon killers.” |
| You will be safe with me, but the others will know you for what you are when the time comes to see them. So stay close and I will protect you. A friend of Rook's is a friend of mine and my father. Tamor held fast to dragon's mane as she dipped low and then soared above the cliff where Shaylin was laughing. With a swipe of her paw, Vren snatched Shaylin up and held her close. Tamor's stomach lurch at the sudden change in direction. But Shaylin only laughed an howled happily. She liked flying. It reminds her of when she was a child and the birds that nested in 'her' tree. Tamor bit back a sarcastic comment as Vren sailed higher reaching, it seemed, for the clouds. The three flew over the dark village and across the tips of high trees. Tamor struggled to keep down his meal. His grip tightened with each twist and turn. At last the dragon soared lower, lighting in a wooded clearing. She dipped her muzzle into the star-mirrored water of a small pond and drank. Tamor pulled his leg over and slid down Vren's back landing on his bottom with a painful thud. Shaylin, now free of the dragon's paw, was smiling at Tamor in the bright moonlight. She came to stand over him, twisting a long strand of her hair round her forefinger. "Did you like it?" she asked, her lips tightening as she surpressed a giggle. "Isn't it the best feeling, to fly?" ******************************* Rook sat in the bath letting the warm water wash away his fears as well as the filth that had found its way past his robes. He scrubbed at his scalp and bubbles foamed and sizzled as he washed away the smells of the forest. He could hear Gol and Jen talking just outside the door, but he tried not to listen. He dumped a bucket of water over his head and then held his hands above the water singing as softly as he could manage. He thought of her, of her creamy skin, that certain look she gave him when she caught him staring too long. "Where are you?" he said finally as the ball of water rose and began to spin before him. He leaned closer and waited, patiently, for his wife to appear as she had done so many times before when they were seperated by circumstance. Within the shimmery surface he caugt sight of a fountain littered with rose petals. Behind the fountain, high above, the first moon was rising and Rook studied the pattern of the stars, remembering where he had seen them so long ago in such a position. Sound came ebbing forth from the ball of water, a gentle sweet voice singing of sadness with no words, only the rise and fall of a voice too tragically sweet to be human. The volume increased as the singer drew near the fountain. Rook saw the flutter of a purple skirt as the singer came into view. Gol dropped another dish as he heard the sound of Lauriette's voice from the bathing room. The crash broke Rook's concentration and he watched sadly as the image blurred and the ball fell with a splash before him. He gazed into the air as tears rimmed his eyes and began their descent down his dark cheeks. He wiped them away. Determinedly he stood up, towelled himself off and exited the steamy room. His bare foot met glass and he winced. "What's wrong with you?" he shot at Gol. Jen was kneeling beside the golden haired giant to help pick up the broken pieces. Rook hopped to the nearest chair to dislodge the chunk of glass from his foot. Blood dripped out onto the floor. Without thinking, Rook laid his hand over the slight wound and whispered the healing words. Jen was hurrying over to him with a rag when the light began to glow over his flesh, mending it. Her surprised gasp made Gol's head snap to attention. What are you doing? She doesn't like magic! You know how the villages are! Rook ignored him. He stood up, testing his weight on the foot, and faced Jen. "Wh-what did you just do?" she whispered. "How much do you know about him?" Rook asked as he pointed an accusatory finger at Gol. "Has he told you where he's from, what he can do?" "Gol was a sailor," she began. Rook felt Gol's large hand clasp his soldier. He turned and caught the anger in his old friend's eyes. "That's enough," Gol whispered. "You're tired. You should rest. Go on over to my house and take my bed." "You need to tell her," Rook began as he pulled free of Gol's grip and made his way to the door clothed in only a towel. "If she's to come with us, if she's to marry you, you need to tell her everything." Rook shut the front door just as Jen's words came sputtering forth. "What does he mean, everything?" The priest walked across the cobbled road to reach house across the way. He climbed the steps and gazed up at the night sky fixing the patterns of the stars. "You're very far from me, my love," he said aloud. He went inside and lit the lamp in case Tamor and Shaylin decided to return. Then he found Gol's bed and fell into it, his breath slowing and mind calming as, at last, he drifted to sleep. ********************************************* Shaylin reached down for Tamor's hand as Vren curled up to rest. |
| The boy’s anger slowly subsided as he felt the warmth that simple gesture had given him. The girl led him through the trees to a hilltop overlooking a lake. Fireflies danced over the still waters, the heady scent of moss, dirt, and wildflowers stirring the senses as crickets chirped out their soprano melody and the baritone bullfrogs harmonized in the background. On this hilltop, nature worked its own magic. Anyone exposed to the alluring mixture of scenery, scents, and sounds found themselves unable to resist cupid’s arrow. Tamor and Shaylin were no exceptions. For a few moments, the two sat in silence, taking in the beauty around them. Tamor did not try to sidle away from the girl, nor did he make any attempt to slip his hand from her grip. As the three moons slid from behind the clouds to sprinkle down their light, the dew laden grass shimmered like a sea of diamonds. “It reminds me of my home.” At the sound of her voice, Tamor laughed as he turned from his view of the lake. “If only my country could be so . . . .” He caught the sparkle and curves to her flaming dress, noticed how the halo of moonlight on the top of her head showed the gold highlights within the silver strands, and suddenly was unable to form a coherent thought. Shaylin glanced his way, her earthen brown eyes falling on him inquisitively. Upon seeing how he gaped, she smiled knowingly, her effervescent giggle throwing Tamor from his trance. Embarrassed, the lad looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “So,” he said finally, clearing his throat. “Do you miss it?” He noticed from the corner of his eye that the girl was still staring at him. Tamor could not read what he saw there. “Miss what?” “The forest you grew up in.” Her smile faded and she averted her gaze. “A little. But it doesn’t matter. I can never go back.” “Sorry.” “It isn’t your fault,” she replied, shaking her pretty head. “I made the choice to follow you.” “And I always wondered why.” “You don’t know?” He did not look at her. He couldn’t. Silence, broken only by the crickets and frogs stretched over the area once more, the young man trying to decide the next thing he could say to change the subject. Shaylin beat him to it. “What’s your country like, Tamor?” A frown came to his sculpted face as he pictured Belera’s sprawling grasslands and rich countryside. “Not much different than this country, I’d imagine. Is a lot more hills, I guess. Villages and cities aren’t as spaced out.” He gestured to the three moons. “We only have one. That puzzles me, by the way.” He scratched his chin in thought. “How is that crossing borders would change the sky?” Shaylin shrugged. “I’ve never been to other lands,” she said, her warm body nuzzling up against his chest. He tensed, but soon the smell of earth on her breath and rain in her hair relaxed him. Sensing the change in him, she moved in closer, the top of her head just below his chin. “Do you think you’ll ever return?” “Home?” “To the other magi.” “ . . . I don’t think I’d be welcome there anymore.” His neck tickled as her head moved across it to tilt up at him. “Why?” A long sigh escaped his mouth. He stared down at the shimmering grass. “I left them.” “Why?” Her childlike questions put a sad smile on his face. He rubbed his arm in thought. “Like you, Shaylin, my family asked things of me that I wasn’t prepared to do. The only way I can face them again is if I admit I was wrong.” “And do you feel you were?” “Yes.” He rubbed his arm in thought. “I just can’t believe they are right.” “I see.” She moved in closer, situating herself between his legs, her head finding support on his right shoulder. He felt her fingers begin stroking his chest. The two listened to the bullfrogs for awhile before she spoke again. “Well, I don’t feel my family was wrong.” Tamor nodded, his arms slowly coming down to embrace her. He could no longer fight the emotions and nibbled playfully on her ear. “And how do you feel about your decision?” Neither had heard the arrow until it struck Tamor with a disturbing thunk inches above where Shaylin had been stroking. After feeling her lover convulse, the girl screamed and pushed away from the shaft protruding out of his chest. Just as shocked as she, the boy’s wide eyes stared in disbelief at the arrow. It took a few seconds for the pain to come, his fuzzy mind still trying to understand what had just happened. But when it finally arrived, it made up for lost time. He felt like his chest had been ripped open and at the same time a million tiny fires were biting him. Its intensity quickened his breath, which only sped up the blood flow and thus worked to kill him quicker. Five men emerged from the shadows on the side of him, boots snapping twigs as they started toward him and Shaylin. And then it all made sense. “Nice shot, Hector!” A stark faced young man with a blonde beard applauded the skills of a larger man with a longbow as the five men strode closer. “Not let’s watch him in his death throes.” Weakness overtook him and he started to fall backwards. Shaylin was suddenly there to grab his shoulders. His head hung back to expose his neck as he gasped for air that wouldn’t come, his lungs filling with blood. “Don’t leeeave me!” she screamed, searching his eyes for some sign of life. “Tamooor!” She hugged his limp body tight, her tears mingling with the blood on the front of his shirt. “Change into the wolf! Do something! Just don’t die!” “Arrow.” He managed the strength to reach out and touch her cheek to get her attention. She looked up, focusing on his lips to understand what he wanted of her. “Re. . .move . . .the . . . arrow.” Still sobbing she nodded, lowered him to the ground, and clutched the shaft in her flawless hands. “And what do you think you’re doing, wench? Helping him? Can’t have that, now.” The gruff voice belonged to a pair of arms which grabbed Shaylin around the waist and made to carry her away. But she held tight to that arrow, fighting her would-be captor tooth and nail. When she was finally overpowered and jerked from Tamor’s side, he gave a watery cry as the arrow and a large chunk of himself was ripped away with her. Not taking time to study the gaping, leaking hole, the dying boy concentrated on the wolf. By the time the process was nearly complete, more wolf than boy lying on the wet grass, Tamor sensed the man above him. Thrown from his concentration he stared up at the fellow, recognizing the broadsword he casually supported with his shoulder. The man shook his head and made a disappointed clucking sound with his tongue. “Our client told us you’d try something like this. What are you? Some sort of shape shifter?” The broadsword was taken off the man’s shoulder as the jerk shrugged. “No matter. Man or monster, let’s see how you fare without a head.” Clutching the hilt with two hands, the man raised the sword. “Goodbye.” A bone shattering roar shook the earth and stopped the blade. “What the . . .?” The man and his comrades squinted into the gloom in front of them as the foliage parted and the monster appeared. The man with Ingochun could only scream as Vren’s tail whipped out at him, sending him flying backwards into a tree. “Dragon!” the remaining mercenaries cried. At the sound of the alarm, roughly forty armed men with swords and bows rushed from the trees. Tamor cursed. That many men and they still had to take such a cheap shot? Those cowards! The fight between Vren and the attackers began, both sides inflicting damage. The mighty dragon fought bravely, but she was greatly outnumbered despite her size. Also, the trees gave her virtually no room to move. If she was a dragon that breathed fire, she wouldn’t dare try it with Shaylin and Tamor so close. The arrows zoomed at her from all sides, getting her wings, chest, head . . . . Shaylin was freed sometime during the battle, and she raced to Tamor’s side. The boy had fully transformed, but he still could not find the strength to move. She bent down to him. “Tamor, let’s go. Vren tells me she is weakening!” The wolf looked at the girl and whined. Something was wrong. Tamor could feel it. Usually when he transformed his strength returned and he was good as new. What had he missed? Shaylin, he said to her. Find the arrow I was shot with. The girl nodded and rushed from him, returning seconds later with the shaft clutched in her hand. Let me smell it. The arrowhead was lowered down to his snout. His nostrils burned with the acrid odor of poison. He cursed again, knowing it was futile. The wolf’s great amber eyes found hers. Take Vren and fetch Rook. “Come with us.” Tamor again tried to rise. He couldn’t. His muscles had gone completely numb. I can’t, he whimpered. Fetch him and use Vren to find me later. The wood-wife’s features tightened in panic. “What’s wrong, Tamor? Why can’t you—” Go! She bit her lip but did as told, kissing him on his velvety forehead before she took off. Within seconds, she had found Vren’s back and the wounded dragon took to the air, vanishing above the forest canopy, her flapping wings slowly fading until they could be heard no more. Tamor smiled as best as he could in a wolf’s body. At least Shaylin would be safe. The remaining men that had survived the onslaught formed a circle around the downed wolf. There was no mercy to be found in their eyes. One of them came forth with rope, and the wolf did nothing as his muzzle and feet were bound. He knew it was futile. Even if he wanted to struggle the poison made certain he couldn’t. “Take him back to camp,” one of them said, kicking Tamor in the side, taking pleasure at the sound of the wolf’s yelp. For now, he will probably be worth more to us alive than dead. Our client will arrive soon and then we can collect our payment.” |
| ******************************************* Gol met Jen's question with sad eyes. She took his large hand in hers. "THere should be no secret's between us. What happened just now? Is your friend a... does he practice..." she could not say it. "Rook is the son of Roderick Belshing, the sorcerer." Jen's free hand went up to her lips in distress. Her eyes grew wide. "How can this be?" she whispered. "You've no reason to fear him, Jen." He took her in his arms and held her against his chest. "If there is anyone to fear, it would be me." He stroked her hair. "I'm not what I seem." Jen pulled away from him. She stepped back and clutched the back of a chair. "Tell me then. Whatever you say will not change the way I feel for you. You will still be the man that comes and listens to me as I read by the fire. The man that carries my firewood, the man that I love. It cannot be changed. But there should be no secrets." The wind outside the house picked up, crying against the windows. Gol pursed his lips, afraid of what he wanted to say. Then a crash and the creaking of trees falling echoed throughout the forest by the house. Jen screamed. "What was that?" "Stay here," Gol said. He was out the door and running towardthe sound before she could protest. What he found shocked him and for the first time in years, his anger began to rise. Vren was sprawled on the earth, her wings crumpled, blood oozing from the many arrows that were imbedded all over her body. And in her claws she clutched Shaylin, who was unconscious. Gol ran to the dragon and studied the fletching on the arrows. He did not recognize it. He pulled Shaylin from the dragon's grip and lifted the girl up. Jen of course, had not heeded Gol's warning and appeared beside him, her long beige dress whipping in the strong breeze. ""What has happened?" She touchjed Shaylin's forehead, then carefully touched the dragon's arm. "What is happeing Gol?" she said more frantically. Gol's golden brow furrowed, his lips became a thin line. "Jen, go and wake Rook. Bring him here. He can fix this." She ran to the house, her leather boots clipping over the cobbles. Shaylin came to, her eyes wild and terrified. "They have Tamor! They'll kill him! He's dieing, please!" "Where?" Gol said, his voice low and stern. "Where is he?" "By the lake! He's been shot. I pulled out the arrow, but he was poisoned." she began to sob. Rook came out, groggy and wearing only a pair of Gol's pants which were cinched tight as they were ten times too big. "Oh Vren," he sighed as he ran to the dragon's side. Her chest was heaving. He tore at the arrows and then lay against her the rhythmic chant of the healing spell passing from his lips. The white light came. He found himself wavering, the strength leaving his body. His eyes closed and he struggled to concentrate. Finally he passed out. Vren rose, nuzzled the fallen priest and gazed at Gol. Come, we must save the boy. The dragon snatched up Gol and spread her wings taking to the air in only a few flaps, leaving Jen and Shaylin with Rook. ********************************** |
| Chapter 3: Cry Wolf The snowy beast’s eyes fluttered open. After the blurs of his surroundings cleared, he found himself glancing up at six to eight men. Each man stood in a half circle around him. Each man held loaded bows, awaiting their leader’s signal. Tamor froze. “Has the wolf awakened yet?” A tall man with sideburns and a peppering of gray in his tussled hair parted the half circle and squinted down at the wolf. Tamor pretended to sleep but apparently his bluff was seen through. The man with the sideburns smiled, an expression that parted his thin lips and revealed the assortment of gaps and gold fillings. “Excellent. I wanted him conscious for his death.” He walked away, rising his right hand in an offhand motion. “Shoot him.” Wait! The wolf tried to rise, realizing he was no longer bound. Before he could, the loosing of five bowstrings sounded. The pain created as a result was tremendous, the arrows nailing him to the ground in his paws and the patch of fur at his neck. He whimpered and tried to tear free. Useless. As his white fur turned crimson, another archer approached and stood over him. He loaded his bow, took aim, and smiled. Tamor closed the wolf’s amber eyes. The long shaft struck him in the side, puncturing his left lung, nailing him to the dirt. The wolf gave a cry and instinctively tried to break free, but it was useless and Tamor barely managed to control the wolf’s instincts before he felt himself letting go. “Hurry and pull out the arrows, men!” came the leader’s voice again. Tamor yelped as the mercenaries bent down and did as they were told. Gushing blood and fading quick, the wolf started to drift. . . . You fool! his mind yelled at him. Change back! Tamor knew his captors wanted this. He feared what they planned to do. Maybe it would be better to just die and avoid the torture? You must change back! his mind insisted. If not for you, do it for her! Shaylin . . . . Yes! Her! She’ll be lost without you. You must try to return to her! That did it. Before Tamor knew it he was concentrating on his human body . . . . The mercenaries stepped back in alarm. Murmurs of confusion rose as all watched the wolf’s fur dissolve and body shift alignment. The leader, Sideburns, came forth, his gray eyes a mix of intrigue and understanding. “Fear not, boys,” he laughed. “This is what we’ve been waiting for.” He turned to a younger man with a brown head of hair. “Flyn, go get that which I told you about earlier. It’s in my tent. Hurry!” Flyn’s eyes widened. “But Klint, why are ye listenin’ tae the Dark Lord anaway? Nothin guid’ll come o it.” “I killed my wife, boy, to escape such patronizing!” Klint shot the young highlander a look of pure disgust. “You’ve given me enough trouble as it is. As soon as this deed is done, we’re taking you back to that prison you came from!” Tamor didn’t hear the boy’s lilting reply, for at that moment his keen wolf ears were replaced with the dull, useless lobes of a human. He watched with his intense green eyes as Flyn raced away, the boy's tied back hair bouncing behind him as he disappeared into the mist of night. Sensing an impending fight, Tamor started charging for a drawing. Clearing his throat and testing his voice, he was surprised to hear it come out in a rasp. But at least it came out. “What did you send him for?” Klint glanced at the rest of his group and winked. “The wolf boy wants to know what we sent Flyn to get.” He gave a sideways glance at Tamor and the others laughed as if the boy had said the most amusing thing they had heard in months. Before the youth could understand the reason for such humor, the leader of the mercenaries grabbed him by the collar of his uniform jacket and slammed him into a tree. “Just sit tight until our client comes.” Tamor frowned, meeting the man’s gaze without fear. There was something odd about the way he was dressed. Not in the scarlet and dark clothes of the mercenaries but in the blackwork and royal blue of a . . . . “How much were you offered by Him to shame your family, Nobleman?” He was slammed again, this time hearing the sliding of metal immediately after. “Not nearly enough to take such insults from the likes of you.” The tip of a vicious longsword was pressed on the ditch of his prominent collarbone. When Tamor tensed, Klint laughed and withdrew the blade. “Just like I thought. Another coward from the council. “I merely like engaging in combat with opponents that do not bark and tuck their tail between their legs.” The collar of his uniform jacket was grabbed again and Tamor was yanked forward, his nose nearly touching Klint’s. He could smell the taint of cheap liquor on the man’s breath as Klint huffed in fury. The sword came up again, positioning itself under Tamor’s chin. “You don’t know when to keep shut, Boy! Same as all your kind.” “And what are you, now?” Tamor smirked, trying to ignore the coolness of the blade against his skin. “No longer a nobleman. Not a mercenary. Like I said, you’re a dog. A dog of Gana’s court.” “Enough!” Klint lowered the sword again, coming up instead with his knee. Tamor grunted as the meaty limb slammed his gut. He bent over to quell the pain but was stopped as his hair was grabbed and he was smacked in the face with the sword’s hilt. He was sent sprawling with this attack, landing on his hands and knees, spitting the blood and chipped tooth from his mouth as he coughed. A second later, two men hauled Tamor to his feet. He fought a bit, was punched in the face, staggered into another man, was spun around, and soon found himself staring back at the point of Klint’s blade. “If I know better, you possess the powers of your council, do you not?” Tamor glared back at the nobleman’s sword, which was again positioned inches from his nose. “And what if I do?” Klint’s hands found the magi’s uniform jacket, dragging him up to his level and eying him with this insane gleam. “You want to know what my client gave me for my payment?” Tamor managed to wriggle free, only to be grabbed again by the men behind him. “Not really.” “But I want to show you.” Klint smirked, turning to call over his shoulder. “Hoy! Flyn! What’s taking so long?” “A’m tryin, Sir!” The highlander’s muffled voice replied. “She’s a fitter, this ane.” She? The young magi bit his lip as Flyn came down the path. The highlander tugged and wrestled for control over a rope attached to a thrashing beautiful young woman Tamor knew and had once cared for. “Kala!” He rose then, rushing toward her stricken form before being grabbed by mercenaries and punched once to knock him from his excitement. He coughed and bent forward, watching through his watery vision as his wife was led down the path and forced to sit a slight distance from him. Her beautiful blue dress rustled in the wind and her rusty hair glistened gold. She was just like he’d remembered her. But he’d thought her dead! “Tamor, I’m so sorry!” Kala cried across the area to him, trying to pull free but being stopped each time by Flyn’s stern grasp. “I panicked." She broke down, a sight Tamor wasn't sure how he felt to react. “I didn’t want you to suffer like this. I didn’t mean for it to go so far!” “Kala, stop crying. I forgi . . .” Was that it? Was he just going to love her again after all she had put him through? Would two years of torture slavery and the blood of all those he’d been forced to destroy be forgiven that easily? He bit his bottom lip. “How’s the baby?” “I . . .lost him, Tamor. They beat me and I lost our baby. For two years, I have been Gana’s concubine.” Her tears hurt him deeply. “He raped me every night. Why didn’t you save me? Didn’t you hear my screams echoing through the halls?” A wave of heat washed over him and he sank to his knees again, feeling heavy and empty at the same time. His child. His only child. Gone. He had feared this notion when he’d learn Kala had been killed. But seeing her here, he’d thought maybe things were different. They were different. But not in the way he’d wanted. Sad as it was, he’d rather the baby survived than its serpent like mother. He did not know if he could trust her ever again for what she had put him through. “Kala,” he said, forcing himself up again, only to be punched and to stagger into the embrace of one of his burly captives. He got punched again, flipped with the blow, and landed on his back, fighting to retrieve the breath just knocked from him. “Why did you betray me,” he said finally, in between his coughing. “Why did you turn me in?” His wife hesitated. That interval of silence fueled Tamor’s hatred of her. “. . . Had I not betrayed you, I would have been forced to watch you get executed. Our people knew of your attack on those thieves.” “So?” Tamor narrowed his eyes, disgusted by the sight of her. “Those thieves attacked us. I protected us by killing them. I protected you!” He slammed his fist into the ground. “And you repay me by ruining my life and all my hopes for a future? Killing off a few thieves is not punishable by death!” “But killing noblemen is!” Kala’s voice was frantic. “I didn’t kill noble—” “You did, Tamor! You did! Gana tricked a few nobles to follow His lead, told them He could give them ultimate power if they killed your family. I didn’t know it at the time, but He framed you, Tamor!” She fell to her knees and wept, her face in her hands. Tamor watched her in silence, the weight of her words slowly affecting him. When she finally was fit to speak again, she hiccupped through it all. “Your actions were treason in the eyes of our race. And Gana gave me a way out to save you. He promised you and I would be kept safe until the people’s cry for your blood stopped. Fearing for the family, I accepted. Keegan was sent to friends and you and I were considered dead by all who knew us.” It was her answer that turned his hatred into guilt. Guilt of himself, of his own quick assumptions. Again he sank back, shock and a wounded blankness on his bloodied face. “And for two years . . . .” “For two years, He kept me locked away in His far tower, where I could never see you. He told you I had betrayed you and that He had killed me so you wouldn’t have to. I watched as he beat you in the courtyard below. I cried out as he nearly killed you during your training exercises. But I cried more for the rage you held, the rage I had given you.” She screamed to him, her face filled with more sincerity than he could ever deny her of. “I loved you, Tamor! Hurting you was the last thing I wanted!” Tamor lowered his head as the weight of Kala’s words brought him down. Too much too soon. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t react. Couldn’t breathe. He stared at the dirt with his wide green eyes, the ground blurring as he looked at it too long. Kala’s pleas of forgiveness were drowned out by Klint’s cruel laughter. Suddenly, the rest of the mercenaries stepped back, forming a circle around the nobleman and magi. Klint towered over him and spat onto Tamor’s back. “The noblemen you killed were my brothers, Magi, so when my client told me I could get some bounty for my revenge, I was all for it. She’s my girl, now, Magi. I’ll take better care of her than you ever could.” He placed his boot on the boy’s back and applied a bit of his weight. “And after my client has had His way with you, He says I can kill you.” He winked to Kala before Tamor was grabbed again and kicked thrice in the gut before being dropped. “But you won’t have to watch it, little lady. Flyn is going to take you away by then.” “You won’t touch her!” With a roar, Tamor surged to his feet and tried to plow into the nobleman. But Klint had helpers who easily caught the boy’s advance, pinning Tamor’s arms behind him. Klint approached the lad, shaking his head and making a disappointed clucking sound with his tongue. “I’m sure you didn’t give my brothers any mercy as you tore them apart. You must learn to take your medicine like a good boy, Magi, else I cannot guarantee the safety of your bonnie lass.” Kala screamed out as her husband was kicked, punched, and thrown. He crawled a bit as he writhed before dragging himself to his feet, only to be punched again and sent down. Tamor endured it all, not lifting a hand to defend himself. Still, Tamor charged his drawing, feeling the power flow through his body and vying his time. Kala’s pain made his own fury grow. On Klint’s order the boy was lifted, choked a bit, and then thrown sprawling. As Tamor was forcing himself up, he heard crackling. A brilliant spark centered in the middle of Klint’s winkled palm like a tiny ball of captured lightning. The nobleman saw the boy’s reaction and grinned, aiming at Tamor’s knee and firing. The boy yelped once his leg buckled, the shock wracking his body, burning it from the inside out. When the electricity finally left him, having ravaged his flesh with little burn marks and blisters, Tamor felt like he had been ripped open and was lying in pieces on the ground. He gasped and clutched at his chest while he glared up at Klint in dismay. Klint seemed all too eager to answer the boy’s unspoken question. “Not only was your wife given me. He gave me a bit of my actual payment in advance. Said my true reward would come once I gave you to Him. While I’m paying my men with gold, I will be paid in power and a chance at revenge.” Lowering his hand to his side, the nobleman narrowed his gaze on the kneeling boy. “Don’t you think that’s a fair trade? After all. Me avenging my brothers’ death makes sense. And as for powers? What could my men possibly do with such things? They can scarcely get out of their own way. Can you see them with magical abilities? They’d kill each other.” “On second thought . . . ” He grabbed Tamor by the hair and lifted the boy off the ground. “I don’t think I need any more payment than this. My client can collect your lifeless husk should he decide to stop by today.” He shot more lightning into the lad’s torso and laughed as he did so. “Yes, my need to kill you cannot wait. Besides, I shall be gone before the Dark Lord appears. And these powers I have are already fine enough for me.” Kala cried out at this statement and went into hysterics as the boy was shocked yet again. Klint turned to look at her, Tamor still getting zapped as the nobleman spoke to his young servant. “Flyn, bring her from here now. This is too much for her to bear. Prepare her for my return. I shall bed her when I am through.” The young highlander opened his mouth as if to protest, saw Klint’s reaction, and hurried to gather Kala’s sobbing form up. Flyn had obviously remembered some painful moment in which he’d disobeyed the nobleman, for a horse was brought and Kala and he mounted it, galloping off. Tamor listened as the sound of hooves faded then disappeared altogether. He continued to charge, feeling himself fading but knowing he had to keep fighting. “What is it, boy?” Klint watched his captive convulse. “Too much for a great and powerful magi to handle?” He laughed again, the lightning spewing from his fingertips and making Tamor scream out as his uniform jacket started smoking. “Such a pathetic excuse for a magi you are. Where is your great power? What can you do?” “You’ll . . . see,” Tamor forced between convulsions. “You’ll see once I am . . . through charging, if you . . . wish to play such games!” Klint scoffed. “What powerful sorcerer are you that you have to charge for your attacks?” In disgust he tossed Tamor from him. The lad hit his back hard against a tree and convulsed again before falling to the ground on his stomach. He didn’t get up. The nobleman came over and stepped on the young magi’s back, leaning down to nudge Tamor in the shoulder. “You dead, Boy?” No answer. “Already?” Klint got a little worried and nudged the magi harder. The body flopped slightly before the boy returned limply onto his stomach. There was no sign of breath. “Damnable hell! Ricun, get over here and help me turn him.” A large mercenary strolled over at his leader’s command. As the rest of the mercenaries looked on, Klint and Ricun flipped Tamor over onto his back. They stared down at his still form, his eyes wide and fixed pupils. Klint lowered the boy down and stalked away, cursing his losses. Ricun shrugged. “At least that’s one less magi in the world, eh, Klint?” The leader of the mercenaries whirled on him. “This magi had yet to feel my ultimate power! And look what you allowed me to do! I wanted him to feel the pain my brothers felt! I wanted him alive for awhile longer. Alive!” He stalked over to Tamor’s body and seized the boy’s shirt collar in his hands. “Does this bastard look alive to you?” Ricun backed off, as did a few of the other less brave mercenaries. Thinking he had intimidated his men Klint smirked, finding amusement in the coward’s reactions. He glanced back to the dead boy’s face and realized the difference in Tamor’s visage a second too late. The magi’s eyes were closed now. And no one had made to shut them. Klint never got to express his surprise as Tamor’s eyes shot open again, found the nobleman, and narrowed on him. If looks could kill, Klint would be . . . . Wait a minute . . . . Klint gave a cry as his body twisted on itself, his eyeballs rolled into the back of their sockets, and his skin rolled off his bones. With a final cry of sheer agony and horror, his head and limbs were virtually sucked into his torso. In an explosion of crackling bones, blood and other inner liquids, the nobleman was turned inside out, rolled into a ball and tossed to the dirt. Beyond the shattered ribs Tamor glared at the still beating heart as it hung from the bone by a few tendons, the lungs expanding one last time before they stopped. A few mercenaries retched in the bushes. Others ran from the area. Still others stayed to curse Tamor and unsheathe their blades against the boy that had killed their leader. Tamor heard none of it. He narrowed his gaze in hatred for this pitiful cadaver, and his rage set it aflame. |
| Chapter Four Lauriette was frozen by the fountain, her voice caught in her throat, her wide green eyes searching the dark, glittery water for what she thought she’d seen. She pushed back a wisp of her russet hair and bent to touch the water, ready to prove that it had been the image of her husband, Rook. A glassy reflection of her face gazed back, one brow lifted curiously. She’d been singing, her voice filling the silent courtyard and echoing back down from the high walls that surrounded it. The castle and the courtyard had become her prison. It was a fine cage, all in all, but she longed to leave it. Her memories tore at her, made her guilty and sad. And when the familiar looking-glass ball had appeared, her voice had faltered. Daumion, her jailor, was too near, just beside the rose bushes. She turned to find him watching her, wondering if he’d seen it too. I should have kept singing, she thought, then he’d not have looked my way. Daumion’s pale skin nearly glowed in the odd light cast by the stars. Dressed in only pants and boots, he seemed out of place in such a fanciful courtyard. Lauriette cringed at the hurried pace of his footsteps as he approached. He had seen it; she was certain. He was almost running to her side. The rose he had plucked was being crushed in his fist, the petals drifting behind him in a dark, velvety shower. He caught her arm with a firm grip. It was the same way he held her when she slept, as if he were afraid to let go, afraid he would wake and find her gone. She touched his fingers in reassurance and beat him to the words that were already on his lips. “What is troubling you?” she whispered to him as she turned her gaze back to the fountain. He jerked her around to face him, the motion more reflex for he never actually intended to hurt her. She had bruises on her arms from the many times he’d done such a thing. When she changed her clothes, he would study the purple marks his fingers had drawn on her flesh with dismay. And each time she would forgive him as he kissed them. He still did not know his own strength. In time she hoped he would. “Come and sit by the fire with me, love,” he answered. “The night is cold and the water by the fountain will freeze over soon. Let me hold you close and kiss away your memories.” “You were the one to give them back to me, perhaps you shouldn’t have,” she suggested as she traced each of his fingertips. “Perhaps you’re right,” he smiled. “Would you like me to take them back?” She judged his smile. She watched the way the lines formed at the corner of his mismatched eyes. She waited to hear his thoughts but they never came and part of her was grateful for that. “If it would make you happy to take away who I am, then by all means do it. Infuse my thoughts with your will and end my suffering,” she dared. “For you know I cannot change how I feel for him.” “So you’re thinking of Rook again,” he mumbled. Daumion ran his free hand through his auburn hair, which she noticed, had grown fuller, wavier since his transformation. His lips pursed a bit but he smiled again, trying to brush off the distress she was causing him. “Let him be forgotten, love. Your are with me now, as it should be and will be forever.” “Forever is a very long time.” Impatient, he pulled her against him, nearly crushing her to his body. The tears that had welled in her eyes only strengthened his ambition. “Lauriette, it is late. The sun has set and I am tired of the night. Come inside and be with me.” She nodded, relenting to his passion, and stole a guilt-ridden glance at the fountain as he pulled her to the wooden door. They stepped in time with one another as if they were a well matched pair of carriage horses and passed into the castle. He held her hand firmly in his. She felt sorry for him in a way. He had been so unfeeling, so cold and empty when she’d first heard his thoughts within her own. She’d tried to help him, tried to fill the void of his loneliness then, but it had gone too far and he had loved her. “I should have killed myself,” she muttered, lost in her own thoughts. He stopped, drawing in a long, cold breath.. Lauriette bowed her head and studied the silver stitches on the purple carpet. The oil lamps that lined the walls cast dancing shadows that made the silver patterns shimmer. It reminded her of waves, of the rippling tide, and only swelled her longing. She waited for his wrath to surface, as it generally did when she became so melancholy. “I wouldn’t have let you. We belong together. You know it; you feel it too. Why do you cling to memories? Why do you let yourself succumb to guilt?” Her anger surfaced, lighting her eyes a bit and pulling at the sides of her mouth. “I loved him, Daumion. You cannot understand that, can you?” “Why can’t I? Look what I have become to be with you!” He pushed her in a burst of rage. Lauriette fell against the stone corridor. She had expected the blow and still had done nothing to brace herself for it. She touched the back of her head finding it hot and wet. In a daze she held her bloodied fingers before her face. The vibrant color glittered in the lamplight. She tried to focus on the pain she felt, to focus her temper and fight against him, but she was tired. It had been a long day. She could sense his anger as it faded. Though his mind was closed to her and had been since his transformation, she still felt bits of his mercurial emotions as if they could be sent through the air. “You haven’t changed. Your body is different but that’s all.” He sat down beside her in a huff and lifted her chin to face him. “Stop this. I love you. I don’t want to hurt you.” “And yet, you still do.” Since he had taken her from Bercelly, Lauriette had vowed not to cry. And so she bit her lip and glared at his chiseled face. He reminded her of a statue, a perfect marbled sculpture of a god-like man. His strange features were becoming more attractive with each passing day. She had to admit that. Pulling her eyes away from him, she wiped the blood onto the fine dress she was wearing. He had the finest things made for her, bought the best he could find. But she knew it would never be enough. Only he seemed not to understand. “Give me what I want. Give me my freedom from you, from this eternity you speak of. You know the way; I see it in your eyes whenever you look at me.” He stood up without answer and lifted her as though she were too fragile to walk. Lauriette tried to stay awake though dizziness was pressing in on her. She gave in to him again, and rested her head against his bare shoulder. His pale skin was warm, nearly hot against her face. The countless freckles that stained it made her want to trace them with her fingertips. She let him carry her through the corridor and into the study he so favored. The fire was glowing orange within the vast hearth by which he set her. There were cushions littering the stone floor for the purpose of reclining in that spot. Many a night had they slept there letting the fire speak when they could not. “Let me get a cloth for your head,” he said with remorse. She nodded faintly and turned her attentions back to the memory of the ball of water that had risen from the fountain. “Yes,” she mumbled, for the dizziness did not allow her to keep her thoughts to herself., “it was you.” She smiled, remembering the blackness of Rook’s hair, the way it felt to run her fingers through it and the way he seemed to shy when she kissed him as if she were something forbidden. “Bring me water,” she called out, not sure if Daumion could hear her. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the flames. “A pitcher! I’m thirsty.” He returned to her with sorrow in his eyes. She caught the emotion and began to wonder if she could speak to him through thoughts. She nearly tried it, but held back, for if that came to be once more, there would be no escaping him. He returned, his now bare footfalls a sliding noise upon the floor. Daumion sat upon the pillows, a silver pitcher and challis in his hands. “Sit up,” he said. She tried but found the dizziness kept her from it. He sighed and she felt his arm at her shoulder, guiding her into a sitting position. The challis met her lips and she was thankful at least that it was not wine. He was always forcing the drink upon her and she simply had a distaste for it. The water was cold and drifted over her tongue, chilling her body and calming her nerves. The room was growing hazy, a byproduct of the blow to her head. “Perhaps I will die now,” she smiled. “It will pass,” he sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” “Yes, you always say that.” There was a long silence and she could feel his fingers unbraiding her hair. Her eyes simply did not work, so she closed them and watched the firelight surge against the darkness of her lids. He pressed a cloth to the back of her head to stop the bleeding. Daumion rubbed her temples with his free hand, drawing small circles in an attempt to ease her pain. He stopped after a time. She waited, wondering if he would leave her to rest, praying he would go. Couldn’t there be something else to draw his attention from her, if only for a moment? But it was not so. His lips came at her neck first, pressing soft kisses against her skin. She could not help the small sound that escaped her throat. He was tender when he tried hard enough, but it was a struggle for him to be that way. “Please forgive me,” he whispered in her ear. He kissed her cheek gradually making his way to her lips. She placed her arms around him and sighed as he lay against her, pressing her body into the sighing pillows. It was hard to breathe with him there, but she held him despite that. Perhaps he would fall asleep. She only hoped that she could stay awake longer than him. Her dizziness, mingled with the euphoric feel of his skin against her hands, made her doubt her abilities. He could kiss her for hours and never be satisfied. She would be the one to push him away, the longing in his eyes forcing a depth of sadness to pass over her. Time slipped away and he finally turned to hold her beside him. She feigned sleep, something which was not hard as she was so close to it already. She rested a hand between their bodies to test the pace of his breathing. Satisfied at last, she turned, cringing at the shush of fabric her dress made. She sat up and watched him, waiting for movement. There was only the rise and fall of his muscular chest and the steady sound of his passing breaths. Lauriette touched the back of her head running her fingers over the lump that had formed there. She sighed as her hand came away dry. Rook would never have hurt her. The pitcher was a few lengths away. She longed to touch it, to dump the water over the cold stone floor just beyond the embroidered pillows. She turned again and crept on all fours to reach it. The metal handle was cold in her hand. She lifted the pitcher without steering her eyes from Daumion’s face. If he woke and saw her there, if he guessed what she was doing she didn’t think she could take the pain in his eyes, much less his wrath. I have to see him, she thought as she turned away. I have to know he still lives. She tilted the pitcher and drained it onto the floor, silently willing it to pool and whirl. At once it obeyed and a sphere came gliding up, level with her eyes. She thought of Rook, of the taste of his coppery skin on her lips when she kissed him, of the gilt-brown color of his dark eyes and the melodious sound of his voice when he sang. She wanted his memory so badly that she felt she would finally break down in tears if he did not appear. Gradually the image within the sphere became clear. She leaned toward it, intent on its image, her heart paining her as she hoped beyond all reason that he still lived. The thud of Daumion’s fist against her body broke her concentration. Her face hit the floor and the ball of water splashed against her cheek.. Lauriette gasped for air. He was on top of her, his knee pressing down on her chest. “Why!” he demanded. She could not breathe. She could not speak. Lauriette turned her head to catch his eyes. The tension on his face was wrenching. She let go of her resolve and sent the thought to him, no longer caring what the outcome might be. It took a long moment for his face to calm. And he pushed himself away as he realized once more that he’d hurt her. She slowly sat up and regained her breath. She’d been kept prisoner long enough. There were tears in his odd eyes. What have you done? came his voice. She grimaced realizing that he had not spoken the words. Her hand found purchase along the jagged stones of the hearth and she pulled her body up, leaning against its warmth. She waited, wondering if the mind-speech would waken the old spell that had bound them as dragon and keeper so long ago. She felt nothing. No forceful voice within her thoughts, no alien grip picking at her memories. But his face seemed to show otherwise. A tear escaped his ice blue eye and streamed down his cheek. “I will kill him,” he said finally. “I thought you already had,” she steadied herself against the dizziness. “Now I will be forced to mourn him twice.” Losing her grip on the hearth, as well as her balance, she fell forward and was content, at least, that he was quick enough to catch her in his arms. The last thing she saw was the coldness in his eyes. To spite him she whispered: “you cannot change my love for him.” And then the dizziness forced itself upon her in a swirl of shadowy darkness. She dreamed. |
| “What is he?” “Did you see what he just did to—” “Do I look blind to ye! Course I saw!” “By the Creator, is that lad human?” “He’s a demon!” “A monster!” “His head will be worth a fortune!” The men that had chosen to stay now crowded Tamor, blocking off any chance of escape. But the magi’s attention was fixed elsewhere, on the forested path the horse and his wife had disappeared down. It was still too early to tell what he was to do about Kala’s story or if he was even to believe her. So many things had happened over the years; he wondered if he still cared for her or if he had let her go. Her words met his mind again. “I lost the baby, Tamor. . . .Why didn’t you save me? . . . .Hurting you was the last thing I wanted!” He clutched at his head to rid himself of her voice. Meanwhile, the men surrounding him had grown bolder, sensing his weakness. Too much energy had been spent. Tamor was now magically drained. He would have to rely on his physical strength and abilities to get himself out of this mess. If such was possible. But the odds were against him. Twenty men had stayed to exploit his vulnerability, his sword nowhere to be seen. Without a blade to withstand the steel of his foes, even he wouldn’t last much longer. He searched for an exit, a quick escape route. Somewhere! Anywhere! There had to be one! And then he saw it, a tiny little space between two burly sword wielding mercenaries. Beyond them stretched a dusty trail and then a sharp drop into what looked like—judging from the half light of the moon’s sliver—nothingness. More than likely, it was a long way down. But it also happened to be his only way out at the moment. To try running through the forest in his state would get him nowhere. The lightning Klint used on him earlier had done its damage. But he couldn’t let his hunters smell his fear. No, he had to be strong. Creator willing if he had enough time to transform into the wolf he’d shred these dogs to ribbons. He knew, however, if he tried changing right now they’d be on him before he even sprouted claws and fangs. Escape seemed the best option. And hopefully, if his plan worked out right, Tamor wouldn’t be falling off that cliff. When the time came to jump, he’d have wings. First, he’d have to survive long enough to make that jump. And the mercenaries were getting restless, rubbing their thumbs along their blade, spitting on the ground by Tamor’s feet, shouting profanities to try and provoke him into making the first attack. Whether he waited for them to go at him or not, he was doomed if they all attacked him at once, which they no doubt would do unless he stopped them. But how? He still was one unarmed men against twenty armed ones. “Look at ‘im, boys.” A tall well muscled man strode forth, an earring in both lobes and a wicked whip chain coiled in his hands. “’e’s got nowhere to go. Like a caged wolf, ‘e is.” With a snap, the man uncoiled the chain and lashed at the ground a couple of inches from Tamor’s feet. The boy didn’t even flinch. “Well, come on, then.” He rolled his chain up and awaited Tamor’s reply. “You gonna make it intrestin’ fow us or do we ‘ave to provoke the beast in you to come owt an’ play?” Tamor snorted in disdain. “Worry about the boy in me, Ricun,” he said, his voice deep and menacing. “For it is he that is more unpredictable, relying on his own inner need to kill rather than natural instinct.” “Well, let’s ‘ave a go at the boy, then.” Ricun flexed his broad biceps and cracked his knuckles. The other men responded with a few chuckles and eager steps toward Tamor. He had but an area of six feet to make his move in before he’d slam into the nearest mercenary’s gleaming blade. What is it going to be? his mind screamed at him. Decide your move and make it already! He kept that trail and cliff in mind and then positioned his body for the imminent fight. Murmurs of unease rose up from the mercenaries. Were they still frightened of him? To test this theory, he shot a vicious glare at two men on the side of him. The whole group flinched, two men afraid of being turned inside out; the rest afraid for their comrades. But when nothing happened they all opened their eyes and started laughing nervously. They stopped laughing the instant Tamor took advantage of their distraction and lunged for the two men he’d glared at. Tamor punched the first one out before the man could raise his sword against him. The second one, given more time to react, slashed the air at the boy’s head. The young magi ducked and the blade skimmed the air above his head. As his opponent recovered from the swing, the boy dropped into a crouch, snatched up the felled mercenary’s short sword, and came back up, stabbing the second man in the gut as he rose. He just had time to yank his blade from the man’s stomach and stab the fellow he’d punched in the face before the rest of the group charged him, outraged at the loss of another two comrades. Spinning around he met a blade, and the two weapons rang out as they struck. Sliding the blade down and across, the two combatants broke from the lock and swung to clash swords again, their metal glistening. Tamor broke off, sidestepped a thrust, and then slashed at his opponent’s thigh before deflecting another attack from another man coming from his right. He kicked out at the coward who dared flank him. As that man staggered back to recover from the shove, an enraged Tamor gave no mercy to the man he’d already slashed in the thigh, blocking a final attack by the wounded fool before coming up with his blade, spinning it once, then thrusting it clean through the man’s heart. As the dying man dropped to his knees, Tamor put his boot on the fellow’s chest to wrench his sword free. He had just enough time to whirl on his next opponent behind him and grab the man’s sword wrist before kneeing him boldly in the groin. His first non-lethal debilitating blow dropped his victim with a grunt, and Tamor turned to meet the next wave of mercenaries, dodging, parrying, and counterattacking them all until six more bodies joined the blood slicked ground. The remaining ten mercenaries backed off, not willing to become the magi’s next victim. With no one to challenge him, Tamor bolted for the outside of the ring. Screams of pursuit sounded behind him. He kept running. Escape while he could. Escape to find Kala. NO! No, escape to find Shaylin, right? Yes. Forget about Kala! She wasn’t important. She was dead to him now, for she had died two years ago, when Tamor was seventeen and still a child. Two years could change a man’s outlook on life and Kala’s existence was obsolete compared to what he felt for Shaylin. Kala had betrayed him. No matter how he approached the issue, whether he looked at the details in the light of the moon or the shadows cast by the sun; the obvious still glowed in bright iridescent words. She never had to agree to help Gana. That had been her decision. That had been what condemned her and Tamor. It had been what killed the baby . . . . And he could never forgive her for that! Something grabbed his leg, twisting and coiling around it. That something went taut and his foot yanked out from under him. With a grunt he slammed to the ground on his chin. He tasted blood as he bit his tongue, and more blood was shed as he twisted around and a fist slammed into his nose. The crunch of bone echoed in his skull. He cried out, cupping his hands over the afflicted area. Blood trickled from his nostrils as he glared up at Ricun. “An’ w’ere do you t’ink you’re going? Trying tow escape, are you?” Tamor was grabbed by his hair, dragged forward on his stomach, and hurled back to the area he had at first stood in. Pain wracked his body as the sharp rocks he landed on tore his flesh, spilling even more blood. The mercenaries then surrounded him again, glaring back as if daring him to try and get through their wall. Did they think that would stop him? Keeping his weakness at bay the best way he could, Tamor mustered the strength he had left and honed it into a powerful kick to Ricun’s gut. As the man folded in on himself, the magi used this opportunity to relieve his other ankle of the whip. Once free, Tamor’s survival took over and he bolted for the two nearest men surrounding. In truth, he hadn’t a clue what he’d do once he reached them, how he might fend them off. However, he didn’t have tow worry, as his sudden charge froze the two mercenaries with fear. Apparently they could not shake from their memory the gory image of their leader and comrades, even though Klint was now just a pile of ash on the ground. They didn’t call his bluff and instead shouted a few curses before sidestepping to let the boy through unchallenged. Fearful of his wrath, the mercenaries did not give pursuit this time. Ricun’s booming oaths pounded into Tamor’s spine but he ignored them, concentrating more on the cadence of insects and tree frogs. Freedom! The feeling held its own sense of euphoria. Tamor did not look back, his feet pounding the earth in eagerness to set as much distance between him and his enemies as possible. As he ran he pictured in his mind the animal he wished to become, thinking back to a time he had wanted to forget. His memories inspired his transformation. . . . The council had been astonished when Tamor faced his test. Instead of receiving the ability to transform into one animal that matched his soul and mirrored his future, the young magi had been chosen to transform into two. Such an honor was only given to the greatest few. Though none ever said it directly, Tamor knew the council had never considered him great. Albeit they thought him worthless, a rebel set on destroying the order. So it went without saying Tamor’s test results sparked some deep jealousy. The first form, of course, had been the wolf, a beast symbolizing leadership, loyalty, and honor. Tamor had laughed at such a grant, for he’d never considered himself to have any such qualities. His father had told him the animal could mirror what his future soul was to be like, but even now, Tamor doubted he was meant to be a leader or a courageous hero. Everyone else felt the same way and Tamor’s father had been confronted by every member of the council about the boy’s fate. They believed the boy hadn’t deserved the wolf, for it was said to be the most coveted form, only granted to high powers and strong souls. And an alpha wolf, which Tamor became, was of the highest forms a magi could assume, aside from the dragon, but that form was impossible to attain at such a young age. Supposedly, being granted the power of the wolf meant he was destined for great things. He had laughed then at the thought and he still did. Him? Greatness? The second animal chosen for him had been the owl, symbolizing a strong heart, empathy, and foresight: all of which Tamor doubted he ever once had or ever would have. His sister had always asked him why he’d been given the two most important animals. He never had an answer. She always asked him if he believed he was worthy of them. And he had always laughed such a question off, telling her he never would use the owl form because of his chronic fear of heights. There had only been two times in his life where he had become the owl: the first time was when he attained the power during his test. The second time, Creator willing, would be now. Transforming into a bird was a tricky technique, far different and more complicated than a wolf, probably because it was such a drastic contrast. Whereas the wolf’s bone structure needed to change and grow in order to support a Human, its organs were more or less the same. With a bird, however, nothing remained. All bones dissolved to be replaced by hollow tubes. Organs shrank and many blood vessels just vanished. Flesh raised, paled, and softened. The patterns in the plumage showed up, painting black stripes on random feathers. His arms and legs had not changed yet, but he was shrinking nonetheless, his speed increasing as his weight decreased. “Don’t jest stand there, you fools!” Ricun bellowed to the others. “ ‘e’s getting away!” Sharp owl features replaced his boyish face as his head changed. Rounded ear lobes sank into his skull, the parts he heard out of becoming nothing more than two holes on either side of his head. Green penetrating eyes bronzed then turned golden. A hooked beak showed no evidence of the panicked grimace that had graced his human lips. Hurry up! his mind screamed. You’re changing too slow! Footsteps trampled the ground behind him. They were coming! He hopped a bit to get the feel of flying, flapping his wings, catching the air and landing on his no longer human legs. Talons dug at the earth a final time before he pushed off with a high pitched screech. Victory! He had made it! It came almost out of nowhere, a bright black shaft of death, searching out the snowy owl’s heart. Tamor managed to dodge it somewhat, but couldn’t stop it from hitting him entirely. His left wing took the blow, the arrow making its hole before exiting out the other side and whistling off into the shadows. The owl, no longer balanced or strong enough to fly, fought to keep enough control to spiral the forty or fifty feet down to the forest floor. Despite all efforts, he slammed to the ground hard on his feathered side, blood staining his pale wing. He smelt the mercenaries as they rushed at him, no longer afraid because the boy was helpless. The owl hopped to its feet and tried setting to the air again with its one wing but the only thing Tamor managed to accomplish had him hopping and fluttering, hopping and fluttering. All the way down the path. The mercenaries got closer. He knew changing wouldn’t help. They’d be on him before he’d finished. He’d be helpless! But hopping away didn’t get him any further out of danger, for his hunters easily caught up. One mercenary jumped the owl, slamming the beast down to the earth and smothering its screeching pecking body with his own bulk. He fought beak and talon but to no avail. No sooner had the first mercenary jumped him, the others followed suit, all pig piling on him and crushing him into submission. Pain in his wing weakened his ability to fight back. It became apparent he had no choice but to transform. For some reason, he feared that was exactly what his enemies wanted. As he changed, he tried his best to charge for a drawing. Ricun’s shouts to his men to ready their bows and knock them had Tamor worried he might have to use it. A few men called out as he transformed, and two other mercenaries came over, one holding a long healer’s needle of some sort. Once he’d returned to the struggling young man, replacing his feathers for a pair of loose fitting pants and a shirtless chest, Tamor’s eyes smelled the uncanny scent of trouble. The clear liquid in that needle was anything but harmless. Eyes wide with fury and fear, he tried to kick himself free of all the men atop him. But the minute he squirmed from the pyramid of flesh, two more mercenaries broke from the huddle and jumped him again, flipping him over onto his muscular back and pinning his arms and legs. The mercenary with the needle approached at an easy swagger, a grin of pure sadism on his face. No sign of a true healer in those eyes. And so it became obvious that whatever the mercenary intended to give him, it was not medicine! Ricun appeared above him suddenly, a tower of tainted teeth, bulging muscles, and scarred facial features. Reaching down, he slapped the struggling boy across the cheek to get the lad’s attention. Tamor glared up. Ricun smiled. “Won’ feel a t’ing, lad. Be ovow befowe you know it.” With that, he signaled and the needle was plunged into Tamor’s chest. The liquid felt warm as it entered his bloodstream, numbing his body in certain places, coating him in a sense of comfort. Closing his eyes, he waited for the feeling of release to come. Death. Such a liquid couldn’t mean anything else. But nothing happened, save the odd feeling of loss somewhere in his body. He couldn’t determine where or why, but he felt different. Probably killing him slowly, he thought dejectedly, his mind automatically flying to Shaylin and how she might react to see him like this, her hero, strapped against the earth, helpless and afraid. Pathetic! “Awright now. Up you gow.” With help, Tamor stood. No dizziness came. No weakness in any other place except his soul. What had happened? He still wanted to know! “’Ow abowt we see if you can’ fly witowt your wings, eh?” Before the boy could protest he was dragged to the end of the path, pushed to the edge of the cliff, and despite his clawing to remain on solid ground, was pushed violently off. Instinct had him flipping around in mid air and grabbing hold of the cliff rock with two hands, determined to not fall to his doom so soon. The wind whistling in his hair, his teeth gritted in anguish, he started climbing back up. But Ricun saw this and was crouched down in no time, taking up Tamor’s arms and grinning. The muscular mercenary bore into the boy’s gaze. “Enjoy your fall, magi.” With that he sank his fingernails into the boy’s flesh, pulled upward, and wrenched the boy’s hands from the cliff before releasing Tamor. The boy plummeted backwards through the air with a frantic yelp and the mercenaries above laughed. No time to change! He’d hit before he was done! And one thing was certain. He’d rather die as a Human than some half bird freak! A blur of movement from the side of his pinwheeling body, and the next thing Tamor knew he stopped falling, slamming chest down onto the taut furry back of a giant winged beast. Realizing he was not dead, he laughed in relief and ran the fur between his fingers, taking in the beautiful musky fragrance of dragon mane in the evening. He closed his eyes, rubbing the fur against his cheek, unable to get enough of the heroic beast that had saved him from certain doom. “Thanks, Rook,” he said finally with a deep sigh. “I owe you my life.” “Indeed. You owe me more than that, Boy.” Tamor recognized the voice and when he glanced up to see the face he rolled off the griffon with a yelp. Any quick death would be welcomed if torture was his only alternative. But before he could gather speed for the fall he hoped might break his neck, Gana caught the lad up again and Tamor slammed onto the griffon’s back. Teacher and student met the other’s gaze, one of fear, the other eagerness. Gana smiled. “It’s nice to see you again, Tamor. Two years is a long time for the apprentice to be away from his master.” He grabbed Tamor by the neck as the griffon flew for a pass over the other mercenaries. With little care or worry of injury, he chucked the boy overboard. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” |
| Tamor closed his eyes in anticipation of the fall. The air had grown icy and his body was racked with pain. With little care anymore for he knew death was scraping at him, he let all thoughts slip from his mind. He felt claws grip his waist and he let out a whimper as he was pulled upward with a force that knocked the last bit of wind from him. The creature had him. He tried to swallow but found his throat too dry to do so. A searing thought entered his mind: Fool. Great wings flapped high above him and he heard Gana’s voice far in the distance. He could no longer concentrate, no longer make out words. Gol urged Vren higher and the young dragon flew into the clouds. She was being followed and the pursuer was gaining. He feels cold, Gol. Gol had not been atop a dragon for years. At first it was frightening, the loss of gravity, the sense of helplessness, but then the feeling was replaced by a lust for the freedom of the wind whipping through his hair. His icy eyes narrowed as he turned and searched the night sky behind for Tamor’s captor. The only sound was Vren’s heaving chest as the dragon glided through the cloud cover. I think he may be dead Gol. I cannot feel his thoughts. Gol could hear the shrill panic in Vren's thoughts, she had become fond of Tamor. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Rook lay in Jen's arms, his eyes wide yet unseeing. He was drifting in dreams, far from his body, lost in memories that seemed to jumble together like an unmatching puzzle. He had no sense of reality, only the feeling of cold that encompassed him. The dragon had been poisoned, wounded, would have died if he'd not healed her, her no him. The next memory slipped in to replace the first. He was gazing down into a pit meeting the eyes of the dragon as it sufferred as it willed its voice at him and was unable to reach him because of the bonds from his dragonkeeper. Then the next memory, Lauriette gazing down at him from the carriage where he lay, sodden with mud and icy rain, broken of will and tired beyond all reason. She was his life at that moment and for the first time he wondered what she'd seen in him. The dream shifted and he was again holding the parchment, the dark messenger that had broken his heart and sent him adrift into the world again when all he'd wanted was to be with her for all his years. He read over the note again and again, his eyes teared over and he could hear Jen's voice, the tinge of concern in it and the far off wailing of Shaylin. Yet he read it again, his lips moving though no voice came out. Rook~ I cannot watch you grow old and die while I remain the same as the day after we wed. I am gone, dead to you now. Take Bercelly, rule it well. My destiny, as it has always been, is with the dragon. Lauriette He studied the writing, it was hers. The slant of the perfect lettering, the way in which she dotted the i in her name. Something still, was not right about it. Something he had not questioned at the time. In his dream, he reached out for other papers, other scrolls that would answer his question. For all at once he doubted that letter. He doubted its honesty. Something was amiss. He was pushed down by a wolf, its amber eyes glaring into his own with rabid ferocity. The creature's claws were digging into Rook's flesh, but it did not attack. Shaylin knelt beside Jen and touched Rook's cheek. "Wake mage, he needs you. Tamor will die. Please! You have to wake!" Rook swallowed as he stared back at the canine that was pressed against his chest. It was hard to breathe for the beast was heavy, and its hot breath seemed to steal his own. "Tamor?" Rook said in a half voice. "Yes!" Shaylin screamed down at him. "Wake up! The hunters found him, they found us! He was shot!" Rook looked over the wolfe's head to try and see the face of the woman that seemed to s[eak to him from his dreams. There, just behinf the wolfe's white ear was the answer he sought. A fine quill perched within a bottle of black ink. He studied it long and hard remembering the day he'd found Lauriette's letter. It had been sealed with wax and her own ring had been pressed into it. How authentic it seemed. However there, just next to the black ink bottle was another more precious bottle of richer ink. Ink that was her favorite color, the color she wore, the color of her room, the color of the flowers she carried at their wedding ceremony. "The letter was false!" Rook cried out. The bitterness in his own voice woke him from his trance. He tried to stand and found that weakness was eating at him still. Jen pulled his arm over her shoulder and helped him up. He turned his gaze to Shaylin. The girl's eyes were shiny with tears. "Tamor's been shot," she said again. He opened his mouth to speak but found no words would come. The healing had drained him and he was amazed he was conscious at all. Frustrated, Shaylin turned and fled back to the forest, back to where she'd last seen Tamor. Her eerie voice rose up through the treetops and Jen and Rook's hair stood on end as the forest answered the woodwife's call. Like a swarm of bees the sprites came flitting from beneath rocks, within bushes, down from the very trees. They hummed as they flew after Shaylin. Her anger was quelled. Her fingers lengthened and curled at the end to become claws. Her skin stiffened, shifted and became mottled as ancient tree bark. Her eyes sank into her head glowing red as she ran. Only her silvery hair remained the same. Soon she could hear their garbled voices, their strange dialect. She came upon the men that had attacked Tamor. Shaylin slowed her pace, creeping along the thorny brambles that edged the circle of men. They were all gazing skyward, and seemed confused. |
| Gana smiled. The dragon would be no match for his mount. Bloodrayne was a master hunter, just like his master. Pulling on the reigns to turn the griffon around, he girded the beast upward. The dragon had taken to the clouds, no doubt hoping hide behind them. The Dark Lord knew such attempts were futile. The night was his. He dwelled in complete darkness, could see perfectly in it. As far as he could tell, the rider on that dragon was merely a Human, much like the pathetic cargo the dragon clutched in its claws. Their limited vision would soon be their downfall. His red eyes glowed in anticipation for the attack, and with care he coaxed his large mount into the clouds, the gray puffs skimming the griffon’s beautiful brown black wings. When Tamor opened his eyes and saw the griffon’s silhouette in the clouds in front of him, he realized he had not been grabbed by Gana’s pet after all. Then what? His arms felt like weights as he raised them to feel the scaly talons wrapped about his midsection. Thanks, Vren. This time, he knew his gratitude was being handed to the deserving party. Now, let’s get out of here. A gentle roar of relief came from Vren and the dragon picked up speed, winging her way over the forest, desperate to escape the inhuman hunter that chased her. But Gana had other plans. “You belong to me, boy!” he called out, his deep, booming voice shaking the skies. “And to me you shall return!” He comes on too fast! Vren’s voice hinted of panic. And if that griffon reaches me I fear I might not be able to fight it! Tamor grimaced, feeling the full of his wounds and the weight of Vren’s words. Gana would not stop until he had him. And if nothing was done, the Dark Lord would not hesitate to kill all involved with Tamor’s escape. That meant Gol and Vren would die . . . and the magi wasn’t eager to have that on his conscience. Then again, he wasn’t eager to just hand himself over to Gana either. What to do! He tried concentrating on the owl, hoping to transform and peck out the damned griffon’s eyes. Still nothing. What had happened to his powers that he no longer could transform? He moaned as his stomach churned and a cold sweat washed over him. Memories of the mercenaries and the needle they’d injected into him sucked the color from his skin. He had a bad feeling about this. What about his other magic? Could he still use that? He closed his eyes, the griffon and Gana soaring ever closer. No longer was the Dark Lord just a small smudge of black in the distance. Now Tamor could see Him clearly, everything from his glowing red eyes, to the ominous black hooded cloak rippling against his shrouded body as he leaned into the griffon’s silky golden black mane for less wind resistance. But Tamor could not tell what his master was thinking. The eyes were unreadable, emotionless. Even the griffon’s hooked beak revealed more emotion in its than the shadows that hid its rider. It unnerved the young magi, for he knew his master was planning something. Gana always was planning things. And whenever Gana planned, people suffered. The young magi squinted against through the cloudy haze in attempts to catch some hint of his master’s plans. Nothing. The hooded cloak merely goaded its griffon closer, as ethereal and stoic as Death himself. Which wasn’t entirely a bad comparison, considering they were basically one in the same. The boy closed his eyes, praying for the nightmare to disappear. But when he opened them, Gana still remained and Tamor whimpered, realizing running from Death was futile. He charged for the drawing. It was the only way to buy Vren more time. The dragon’s claws gripped him tighter, squeezing his midsection and making it harder to breathe. He knew she didn’t mean to and that she was only afraid, but she was crushing him! He couldn’t form the air to tell her out loud, and his thoughts were too busy charging magic for his drawing to speak to her in his mind. So he just hoped she didn’t kill him before he could help her. ************************************************** Little did Tamor know, Gana was also charging for a drawing: one reason why the Dark Lord had been so calm and unreadable. Guiding His griffon up above the clouds so that they were hidden in a blanket of mist, He centered His thoughts on the dragon. With a sadistic laugh, He raised His sleeved arm and took aim, His palm closed. Once the dragon had come into His range, His palm opened. ************************************************** Tamor sensed the energy before he saw the flames shoot through the clouds down at him. He cursed, trying to warn Vren, but having no strength to do so. No time! No time to finish his drawing. No time to prepare for the blow. No time! With nothing else left to do, no breath to scream out, Tamor clamped his eyes shut and waited for his doom to greet him full in the face. |
| Gol felt it, the infernal heat that had always surfaced when he'd lost control of his consuming rage. He turned to see the flames surging toward Vren. He could make out the image of his pursuer through the murky clouds. "What manner of demon are you?" he muttered. He willed the flames to turn, but they did not. Vren felt it too late and her angular dodge merely cost Gol his balance. He slipped from the dragon's back and felt himself falling through chilled air to his doom below. He gazed up and saw the flames engulf Vren's wing. The dragon screeched in pain as she twisted and fell too. Yet another shadow dropped from Vren's clutches. Gol knew all was lost for him. He focussed on the demon that had taken Tamor, focussed years of lonely bitterness, of anger that bit at him from rejection and sorrow. He grimaced as his own flames shot up toward the heavens and wrapped themselves around their target. "Die with me!" Gol called in defiance. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Among the trees Shaylin's strange body stretched and pulsed with light. Her red eyes caught the first falling shadow and she sang to the sprites. The mercenaries turned, catching sight of her for the first time. Their screams rose up and a few ran in terror. The woodsprites swarmed toward the shadow of the man that was falling from the sky. Shaylin could only hope it was Tamor. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Vren spiraled toward the earth, her body crying against her every effort to right itself. At last her wings spread out, the left one tattered and throbbing from burns. She opened her murky eyes and fixed them on her fiery target. Flapping with fury, she found her great body had lost its grace. She was reminded of her mother's stories of flying with a damaged wing. It's not so hard if you just keep your balance. her mother had hissed. So the young dragon leaned to the the right letting her stronger wing carry her weight. Still, her flight pattern was skewed and she struggled toward her attacker. A stray thought came into her mind. She held her empty claws in front of her face and cried out. "Tamor!" |
| He squinted against the wind that rushed at his face, smothering him, burning his skin. Gravity dragged him down, forcing his body to pick up speed, the wind whistling in mockery of his predicament. Dizziness overtook him as the ground plunged toward him, the brown and gray carpet now taking on a more complex form as bushes and roads finally made themselves visible. He cried out, if only in his mind. He had lost sight of Gol and Vren and could only fear the worst for them. He didn't have to wonder to know what was to be his fate. Glancing up, he had his fears confirmed. Gana's black-gold griffon was diving down for him, claws raking, beak snapping in fury as its rider screamed for it to plunge faster. Tamor clamped his eyes shut, feeling the wind beat at his hair and clothes, stealing his breath. He actually prayed that he'd hit before Gana could catch him. Because either way, he knew he wouldn't survive this night. And better to go out quick than to endure what his master no doubt had planned for him. Such luck never was on his side. The griffon twisted, tucked its wings to its side and with a mighty screech, had dove around and under the free falling magi. Tamor traced its movements until it disappeared on the side of him. Before he could turn to glance down his entire body snapped with the force as he suddenly stopped falling. Despite the fact of it boasting a beak, the griffon had teeth! Dozens of sharp needles punctured Tamor's lungs, penetrated his spine, and tore open his chest, the griffon tightening around its prey as if it wished to snap him in half. Did you truly think you could get away? Gana's laughter rang in his buzzing mind. Only when I say you may die will death finally claim you! The shock of being caught up and the sudden burst of pain prevented him from crying out. Air suddenly became harder to summon. He felt the warmth and smelt the metallic scent of blood as the liquid ebbed from his open chest and flooded his torso. His arms and legs dangled limply from the beast's mouth as the injury to his spine had left him paralyzed from the neck down. Gritting his teeth, clamping his eyes shut as if retiring to the darkness in his mind might quell some of the pain, the young magi felt himself begin to drift. Someone called his name, but it was impossible to answer back. Even your body seems to be rebellious! Gana's thoughts tore into him like knives and soon the boy felt a hand touch the top of his head. Ice as bitter as death's cold kiss fell over the lad's body. The boy cried out and thrashed, realizing he could once again move. Blood stopped flowing from his wounds and tickling his flesh. The teeth puncturing him let up a bit and the open areas somehow sealed back over. Tamor cursed. You dare heal me when you're just going to kill me soon enough? He struggled some more and purposely gouged himself in the side on a few teeth. I won't let you humor me so! You have no choice, boy! The griffon shook Tamor to silence his complaints and Gana healed the lad with the same bitter wave of ice before the griffon released its hold on the boy and Tamor fell the remaining ten feet to the earth. He struck hard, not so hard to kill him, but hard enough to wind him. Griffon and Dark Lord landed in a ruffled of wings and robes near a tree close to where Tamor had fallen. Once dismounted, the black cloak casually approached his victim, black robes billowing, red eyes glowing in anticipation. Fingers edged with dagger sharp nails gripped the young magi's shoulder and flipped him onto his back and Tamor stared up at his master in defiance. Why not just kill me now, Gana! he growled in his mind. The sleeve came out a struck the lad harshly on the cheek, snapping his head sideways and adding to his dizziness. You are not worthy to address me using your thoughts! Speak with voice or I'll make you! Pressure squeezed his skull. Tamor cried out. I'll never obey. . . He writhed and screamed some more as his thoughts were stopped in mid sentence and his mouth was pried open by some invisible force. ". . .You or your followers ever again!" He gasped, clutching at his throat, his eyes wide in shock. The Dark Lord chuckled. That's better. Without warning, his boot toe made contact with the boy's side, stricking him so hard it flipped Tamor up into the air and spun him before he landed on his stomach a few feet away, gasping and coughing from the impact. "I swear, Gana," the boy strained in a whisper, his nails digging at the dirt as he balled his hands into fists. "Even if you're to kill me tonight, I won't be satisfied to leave this earth until I have seen you to your grave as well!" Such confidence for someone with no future. The boy forced himself to sit up. The area he and Gana found themselves in was different from the land they had otherwise been flying over. The hard packed dirt and lack of trees made him wonder just how far away from the initial mercenary camp he'd been taken. But he could not let his fear show. Could not let himself realize just how hopeless things looked for him. "Maybe I have more of a future than you know." His smile was ironic. "I've made allies while I was away from you, Gana. You no longer control my destiny! They may come to save me." FOOL! Again the boy was kicked, this time in the chest, flipping him head over heels with another yelp. With utter distaste for the worm below him, the Dark Lord glared down at Tamor and hissed. Even if you DO manage to escape me alive, you will die! You know just as well as anyone else that the eternal cold does not heal you. It merely freezes all the wounds you take on and forms an icy shell so tough not even the strongest healing power can pentrate it. His laughter made Tamor's heart skip a few beats. Within a fortnight that ice will melt and you'll be dead! Tamor felt the icy cast on his chest and grimaced. His master was right. He was familar enough with the eternal cold to recognize it and understand its abilities. "Believe me, I'd welcome death if it meant being free of your shackles!" The other sighed, boots crunching the slightly frosted ground as he approached the boy. "Do not be so sure that you can escape me in death, boy. My hold on you stretches far beyond the grave." With another chuckle he reached into his robes. A slight movement and a metallic thud indicated something had been dropped. Tamor's eyes fell on the broadsword in confusion. "Why are you giving me Ingochun?" Gana shrugged, reaching behind his back and withdrawing another sword. "I want to see how much my reluctant disciple has learned. Pick up the blade, Boy! It shall be like old times again." Tamor stared at Ingochun in hesitation, his mind churning with idealistic thoughts of victory. PICK UP THE BLADE! An unknown force grabbed at him again, working his arms and hands to snatched the broadsword up. But the force left him once Ingochun was in his grip. Tamor again glanced from the blue blade's cool surface to the ominous opponent above him. Narrowing his eyes, gritting his teeth, and praying he wasn't making the wrong decision . . . he rose to face his master. |
| Vren followed the griffon's path with squinted eyes. The creature had landed in the forest, among the trees. The dragon dove after, half gliding, half falling, her torn wing crying out aginst her efforts. Spying the cocky beast, she roared and crashed into it, just as it turned it's feathered head. The beast cawed in confusion but its voice broke suddenly as its neck was snapped. Its eyes held Vren's as the dragon pushed the quivering body into the earth. The dragon could feel the griffon's heart struggling to pump as she pressed her clawed hand into the creture's chest. "Where is Tamor!" the dragon spoke, her reptilian voice more of a whispering hiss than a voice at all. The griffon's beak parted and air sputtered out as Vren crushed the creature's lungs and chest. Blood oozed out over her claws and slipped over the griffon's sleek feathers. The pain was only adding to her fury, and though she cringed when she did it, Vren sat back on her haunches and launched a fiery breath at the mangled beast. The fire ate at the griffon. It's feathers curled and the flames popped with hunger. A voice caught Vren's attention and she looked skyward to see Gol. SHe stood on all fours, unsure if she could launch herself to him in time. A buzzing mass was circling around him and Vren was unsure of what it could be. The woodsprites latched onto Gol with clawed hands, tugging at his clothing, his skin, any part of him where they could find purchase enough to hold on. They flicked their insectile wings and heaved the giant man toward the trees, toward the voice that called to them that sang to them and commanded them. He was dropped at Shaylin's bark covered feet. She glared down at him with rubicon eyes that seemed full of hatred and anger. The few mercenaries that approached her found themselves swarmed by the woodsprites. Shaylin knelt to touch Gol's forhead. He looked up, his eyes wide. Wordlessly, the woodwife turned to search again for that which she had lost. Her feet crushed all she trod upon and her eerie voice rose up through the trees. Gol stood up, realizing somehow that it was Shaylin and followed after her. |
Through impressive footwork and much improvisation on the fly, Tamor held his own against his tyrant of a master. Whenever backed up against something, he always found an opening to avoid catastrophe. Once he tripped over a felled log, he rolled away from the plummetting blade so lusting for his lifeblood. The log was split in half, but Tamor was spared by some miracle. However, no sooner did he rise, shaken and willing to take his weapon up to deadlock with his opponent, Gana grabbed the boy's sword hand and forced Tamor to look into the man's face. Tamor concentrated on the dark lord's nose and mouth, for he knew if he were to gaze into those eyes it would mean death for him. Realizing the reason for his apprentice's actions, Gana simply laughed, thrusting the boy from him. You have obviously attained a certain amount of common sense prior to this battle. Pity you never possessed such during the two years I kept you. Tamor smirked, regaining his footing and jumping to avoid the blade intended for his chest cavity. "Well, Gana. Let's just consider the teacher, shall we? How could I have learned common sense from one who boasts none for himself?" A cone of fire spat at him. Had he not ducked, it would have taken his head off. Instead, it blew away the tree behind him. The wind blew the splinters and sawdust onto Tamor, but it did not stop him from deflecting the weapon that thrust itself from the cloud. He blocked another, and another, one toward his knee, the other up near his shoulder. His opponent's blade slid from him, taking him off balance. But he used his equilibrium to pivot on his leg and come up with his sword to block the attack. Tamor found his opening immediately after thrusting the sword free, using his opponent's momentary backstep to come up with his fist and lay a cross hook into Gana's concealed jaw. Such fluid movement. Such in synch combat. Indeed, master and apprentice had done this before. Gana staggered back from the blow, wiping the blood from his chin. Some of my lessons sunk in after all. Tamor shrugged, readying his weapon again. "Not going to be as easy as you thought, eh?" "Perhaps. But I needn't fight you like this to win. This was merely a game I wished to play. Know only that I control the situation here, boy." "You may hold the power to kill me, but you do not control me. I am no longer your puppet. And if death releases me from my servitude then so be it." With a fierce battle cry, he charged Gana, swinging Ingochun high and strong. The battle continued, clangs of metal and the grunts of the combatants filling the air. Fear was the only thing honing Tamor's blade. The fear of dying, fear of living in his master's shackles once more. He did not fear death as much as he feared defeat, for defeat might mean he would remain alive, remain alive to suffer. So if he were to be defeated in this battle, he'd kill himself. The only option was victory. And that would be nearly impossible to achieve. After managing to knock Gana to the ground with a sharp shoulder thrust to the man's chest, Tamor lowered Ingochun to the man's throat in warning. He doubted this tactic would help secure victory, but it was the only thing he had. Though Gana still probably was loaded with surprises in his bag of tricks, Tamor was running out of ideas. Sure enough, the young magi heard laughter from behind his opponent's dark cowl. But Ingochun did not waiver. Instead, Tamor thrust the blade downward with a crunch of fabric and the grass underneath it. The laughter stopped, a fierce wind kicked up, and the cloak dissolved into sand, its grains swirling in the air. Shocked, Tamor removed his sword from the sand pile and staggered back. Had he actually killed done it? Had he actually . . . . No. No that had been too easy! Far too easy. The laughter returned, this time surrounding Tamor with its booming sound. Thunder erupted from above, the wind blew hard, and lightning streaked the sky. Seconds later, rain pelted the lad in a torrential downpour, hindering his view of the area, freezing him with its icy wetness. Twas not a natural storm, Tamor knew. This was Gana's power. The power of a spirit. The boy's quickened breath came from his mouth in vaporous puffs. Pin pricks of gooseflesh crept up his arms, and the hair on the back of his neck tickled. FOOL! I CREATED WHAT YOU HAVE BECOME AND I ALONE HAVE THE POWER TO DESTROY YOU! Unseen hands grabbed him by the throat and propelled him backwards, wrenching Ingochun from his nerveless fingers. Grunting, his back slamming brutally into a thick tree trunk, he had little time to recover from his shock before Gana's sword flew at him. The drawing he'd been charging for gave him enough force to knock the seemingly wielderless weapon from the air before it made contact with his forehead. But Tamor could not stop the lightning which forked from the sky. The tree he had been pinned to blew apart, the explosion and force of the attack throwing him a good thirty feet. It didn't matter how far he was thrown. The lightning had hit him full on. By the time Tamor struck the earth, skidding a bit in the gravel, tearing open old wounds and slicing apart new ones, he felt nothing. |
| Shaylin came upon the body first. For that is what is was, a body, an empty vessel lacking the spirit to guide itself. Tamor did not, could not breathe. He was covered in gore, his body broken and cold. The woodwife knelt to pick him up in her bark encrusted limb-like arms. She cradled him to her misshapen body and wept tears of sap. The leaves that had sprouted from her shivered in anguish. When Gol finally caught up to her she leaned back her head and howled. The sound was the whisper of a thousand leaves in the autumn wind: dry, raspy, crackling and sad. "Is he-" Gol's voice broke when the tree woman turned on him, her gaze one of darkenss. The orbs that had been her glowing eyes had faded to a pale coloress hue that sparkled with electricity. "I will take him to the son of Belshing," she whispered. "He is the only one that can bring him back." "Wait Shaylin," Gol called. "If he is dead then it was his time to die." "He can bring Tamor back!" she spat, sap spraying onto Gol's tunic. "He killed my sisters! He owes me this." Gol ran to keep up with her wide strides and she reached back and knocked him onto the earth. His giant body fell like a clod of dirt, embedding itself into the mulch of the forest floor. He raised his head to see her, yards ahead already. The moons had long since finished their passes and darkness was settling over all things. Far in the distance a wolf howled, a wolf or one of Belshing's feral cats. Gol could not be sure. He pushed himself up, crawled a few feet then stood. The tree next to him was rustling. They were all moving as though a strong wind had grasped their upper branches. Leaves fluttered down like tears. He ran his moist hand through his blonde hair and scowled. The world was not right tonight. The air crackled with magic and the forest cried over the death of a man. He ran after her following the irregular shape of her footsteps, if they could be called that, in the earth. ~*~ Jen ran a wet cloth over Rook's forehead. He was not awake, but mumbling. She shuddered as the sound of Shaylin's tread echoed outside her home. "By the gods, what else can happen this night?" she whispered. The door was torn from its hinges and Shaylin's knotted face peered into the cottage. "Rook," it hissed. Jen threw her hand to her mouth, stifling her scream. Her eyes grew wide but she held her ground. "What do you want?" she managed. The tree woman's shoulders heaved. Her body seemed to melt, to waver. Bits of dry bark and hundreds of leaves showered down to the floor and steps as Shaylin slowly changed back. Her hair fell over her naked body and her pale cheeks were covered in sticky tears. In her arms she held Tamor's lifeless body. Blood was trailing from it. His green eyes were wide and lifeless. Jen did scream then. Her voice carried out into the night, a sorrowful cry. Gol ran faster, his face torn now, with worry for her. When he came to the cottage his heart skipped. The door was resting on the cobbled road, its hinges smashed to bits. The leaves crunched underfoot as he entered. He eyed Shaylin. The woodwife had spread Tamor out on the floor, a blanket cushioning his head. She was washing his wounds and tending him as though at any moment he would wake. "Let him go, Shaylin," he whispered. "No," she said, the sound nearly gone from her voice. "I gave up too much to come with him. It cannot end like this." "Everthing ends, everything dies, we all have our time." Jen came up behind Gol and took his hand. Her fingers were icy. "Rook has agreed to try it." "What?" The air stilled and Gol could just make out the familiar sound of the priest's voice on the other side of the bedroom door. It rose and fell, rhythmic and full of sad undertones. "No, he cannot. The dead are meant to stay that way." He bolted toward the door and Shalyin screeched at him. As he went for the handle, it opened and Rook stepped out, weaker in appearance than Gol had ever seen him. "You can't do this, Rook. It will kill you." The priest looked up, his dark brown eyes flashing light as he half-smiled. "What have I to live for?" he whispered. "You have Lauriette!" Rook nodded. "I had her once. If I want her back, I'll need his help. I had a vision." "Vision or no I won't let you do it." Rook lifted his hand to dismiss his old friend and knelt beside the body. He lay his hand over the face and closed Tamor's eyes. "Step away from him now," he whispered to Shaylin. She hesitated but finally pulled away. Shaylin wrapped her arms about herself and rocked back and forth eyeing Rook. Her gaze was accusing. He reached down and clasped his hands over Tamor's. Bending his head in prayer, Rook began. Gol's rough grip on his shoulder did not sway him to falter in his song. When the sailor pulled him as if to take him away fron the task, Rook looked up into his old friend's blue eyes. Gol swayed backward and would have fallen if Jen hadn't stood behind him to slow his fall. Rook began his song again, calling on the elements, the mercy of The Creator and all the souls of those Shan-Sei before him. He knew it could be done. He knew it had brought his father to madness to do it. And yet Belshing had done it more than once for the woman he loved. Gradually the song began rhythm, background, a soothing place from which to fly. Rook's eyes closed and his spirit spread out, reaching for Tamor's. |
Fool! You thought death would be your salvation? I own you, Tamor. I own your soul! The invisible force came for him, reaching, groping, grabbing him in its vicious clawed hand. Tamor's soul cried out, 'eyes' darting to and fro in search of something to latch onto and hold him from the monster's cold embrace. His attempts were in vain, and he was thrust into the vortex of darkness . . . . Darkness. Thick and unforgiving darkness. If not the moans of tortured souls in the nothingness around him to tell Tamor he wasn't alone, the boy would have been convinced otherwise. Once I have shackled your soul, I shall make your body one of my undead knights, won't you like that, boy? Damn you, Gana! he snarled, searching his master out, eager to tear the demon apart. I believe the better phrase would be damn your friends, boy. After all, a soulless body does not know friend or foe. Your dear sweet tree nymph shall die? What is it? She is dedicated to a certain tree in a certain forest not too far from where your body lays? Hmm. . . . I swear to the Creator, I'll find some way to make you pay if you so much as harm a single hair on Shaylin's head! Something snapped in the nothingness and the boy's arms were brutally grabbed before he was thrust backwards. Shackles of sparkling, snapping magic bound his hands to that wall. His master's lava coated eyes suddenly glowed out from the pitch black in front of him. It won't be me hurting her, my boy. It shall be you. I would never do it! Even my body knows better! Ahh, but a body no longer under your control is merely a plaything I can command, you should know that by now. You won't get away with this! He thrashed and fought against his bonds. Useless. Gana was used to trapping souls. And Tamor knew he wouldn't remain here forever. His soul was important to Gana. his soul contained powers the Dark Lord had always coveted. Gana would . . . . The pain began, just like he knew it would. The process of the Dark Lord sucking away the essence of his soul was just the way Gana had told him it would be. He cried out and thrashed, lifting his 'head' to the emptiness above him, parts of his soul swirling away from the rest of him to fly into the dark lord's greedy mouth. This was it, he realized through the agony. He'd failed and now would suffer the same fate as all those who had served Gana and died. There was nothing to be done. A sudden pull against his soul made him gasp, but he realized after that the pull was not Gana's doing. The unknown force was yanking him away from the shackles and trying to force the magic bonds open. Gana stopped draining him to stare in awe. What sorcery is this? he roared. You do not have such powers over death! Tamor's soul smiled in knowing. I don't, Gana. But I know someone who does. The shackles to his soul's left 'arm' broke away and Tamor wasted no time to shatter the other one. Gana thundered his fury, but the boy ignored it, slipping through the Dark Lord's grasp and seeming to vanish. Course, Tamor's soul hadn't vanished. Simply, it had been whisked away by a man the young magi would be undoubtedly indebted to once he had breath in him to announce such a thing. ************************************************* Much of what happened after that was a blur. The next thing he remembered was sucking in a large helping of stagnant air and opening eyes that he thought he'd never have the power over again. Rook's face was the first one he saw, lined with worry and what appeared to be exhaustion. "Couldn't stand to let me go so easily, eh, Dark Priest?" he whispered jokingly. Rook smirked but didn't say anything. Something was wrong with the man. He looked frailer, not with it completely. It looked to Tamor like the dark priest had lost something. . . . Or maybe he was reading into things too much. Being dead for a few moments tends to make one consider life a lot more carefully. And because Tamor had definitely been dead, he only now realized how beautiful the simple pleasure of breathing was. He sucked in a few more mouthfuls of air before belching and smiling at Tamor. "I owe you one, I guess." But coming back from the dead so quickly tends to have repercussions--for both the victim and the person performing the ritual. A sudden jab at Tamor's heart told him the awful truth. His fate had been changed. And now the future had been also changed. Weakness overtook him just as Shaylin came running to him. His eyes clouded over as she grabbed him into her powerful embrace, soaking his bloodied uniform jacket with her salty tears. The smell of her earthy hair reassured him that he truly was alive. By the Creator, did it feel good! As his mind tugged him further into slumber, his body needing time to recover from the immense shock it had just undergone, Tamor reached out and stroked Shaylin's gorgeous silver hair before falling limp in her arms once more. Perhaps she thought him dead again for as he drifted off to dreamland, he heard her distant wails. Don't cry, he soothed, his thoughts tackling against his subconscious to get one more message out. I won't leave you anymore. Get some rest as well, Shaylin. His muscles relaxed, heart slowed, and then . . . that was it. |
| Rook stood up and swayed. His body felt far too light, almost a distant thing. His senses were dulled. He had done it! But then he had done the unthinkable. To bring back the dead! He turned his head to catch a glimpse of Tamor's face, wondering if the task should have been done at all. He teetered toward the doorway and fell out onto the steps, crushing the leaves left by Shaylin as he hit the earth. A burning began in his chest, like bile. He lay motionless, his eyes caught on the few stars that remained. The day was coming, the sun was rising, but he did not feel the joy that occurence used to bring. Before, no matter how spent he was, he'd have wanted to sing the sunrise prayer. The darkness seemed more his own now. He lifted his hands and studied his long dark skinned fingers, the rounded nails. Bringing them apart, he slapped them together in a single clap and from the air that cracked between them a raven appeared, it's glossy black wings opening as it did. It flapped noisily before settling down onto Rook's chest and cawing low. "It is hard not to follow in my father's path," he whispered, as he eyed the bird. "It seems the path was cut for me and it runs so deep I falter when I try to climb over the sides. He loved a woman he should not have and I do the same." He tried to read the bird's thoughts, but found the creature's mind empty as a slate, yet waiting for his will to control it. "You are not real, my friend," he mumbled. He stroked the bird's feathered back and it pushed against his hand as if his touch were comforting. "No, you are not real. I don't know what you are. But go and find her for me!" The bird squawked and spread its wings, eyeing its new master with pupiless black bead-like eyes that held no emotion. It flapped its wings, sending Rook's hair back in dark tendrils. Then it was airborne, sailing past the shadowy trees, across the paling sky toward the sunrise. Rook closed his eyes and let an unconsciousness overtake him. It could have been sleep except that he was aware, aware of all that was happening around him, the chirping of the crickets, the fall of the smallest leaf to the forest floor, the chitter of a squirrel and the lonely call of the birds searching for their mates now that morning was coming. Much worse he was aware of what the raven saw, the tops of trees, the patchwork pattern of a village that it flew over. It knew its purpose and was hunting for 'her'. ~*~ Midday found Vren and the dragon stumbled through the forest, crushing brush in her path. Her way would be easily tracked, but the pain was just to harsh to let her fly again. At last she found the clearing where Jen's house stood. A thin smoke was rising from the chimney and the voices from within were familiar at least. Gol and Jen were mumbling. Shaylin was singing a song that seemed far too light-hearted given all that had happened and Tamor's voice was loudest of all. The dragon spread her body down on the cobbled street and stretched out her injured wing. The scent of her own blood was heavy in the air. Soon they would know she was there. Her voice was a low groan, barely audible and mingled with pain. She listened, but did not hear Rook's calm voice. Her dark eyes fell on the footsteps that led from the cottage. No, Rook had gone, where and why, she did not know. But then the pain was enough to worry about, so she sighed and let her eyes slip shut and sleep lightened the burden. |
The woman came to him in his dream, one ivory hand reaching down to stroke his bangs, the other caressing just under his chin to bring his face in line with her dazzling violet eyes. When she sat on the edge of his bed, her tiny frame scarcely sank where her rump met the cushion. She leaned over his aching body, her breasts touching his shoulder as she went in for that passionate kiss, a kiss to proclaim their ever lasting love. “He is sleeping. The night is ours.” Their lips locked again. He couldn’t stop inhaling the smell of the toddler she had recently cuddled, her own natural scent of honey and wool rising up to tickle his nostrils as he delved deeper, hungering for her touch and the feel of her heart under the thin, tan dress she wore. His hand dipped down, rubbing her curves and feeling the smooth bulge of her stomach. Within a few minutes, she had nestled down beneath the covers next to him and they made love well into the night. When the passion ended, they lay together, staring at the ceiling, discussing things. The crickets outside the window provided the right ambience for such thoughts. “It has been over a year since you left them and two years since my husband left me. We both must stop thinking about the past and move on. What is done, is done.” She turned onto her side and reached her hands out to caress his tight cheeks. “You have me. And Keegan thinks of you as a father.” She pointed to her belly and smiled. “And this one will know you as nothing else. We are your family now. Not the council. Not your father and your sister.” Tamor closed his eyes, nodding once. “You’re right, Kala. Like always.” Her charming giggle went to soothe his despair. “It is a gift.” Then the doors burst open and a dozen or more fully armed soldiers rushed in. The room was torn apart as Tamor and his wife fought them; but the ambush had given the soldiers the advantage and soon the two were bound and thrown into the center of the room. The little boy cried in the room down the hall, but his screams were ignored as the men formed a circle around his mother and Tamor. The tip of a longknife hung inches from Tamor’s nose. “Do not try anything foolish, Magi, or we cannot guarantee the safety of your family.” Stopping the drawing he had been preparing to use against these men, Tamor glared back, his teeth grit in a snarl as he fought a little against his bonds. Useless. His wife knelt at his side, sobbing in fear and trying to get close to him but being yanked back by her captor. “What do you want from me?” he growled. The leader of the men walked over to him and punched him across the face. His wife screamed as Tamor’s face snapped to the side and he fell to the ground. He was picked up by the other two men and held as the leader addressed him. “We have orders to bring you to Gana.” “The Dark Lord?” Tamor grunted and felt his knees buckle as another fist met his gut. “But what does he want with me?” “Rumors spread quickly in Belera. A little birdie told Gana of your powers and he wishes to have you in his army. He will be your master.” “You’re a fool if you think I’ll bow down to—” He stopped suddenly as the leader of the group approached Kala with the longknife. The girl’s eyes went wide with horror. Tamor lowered his head in submission. The leader smirked. “That’s better.” He lowered his knife back on Tamor. “Now, boy, you will accompany my men and I to the Dark Lord’s domain. You will not make any attempt to escape, else you will be to blame for their deaths.” After he spoke, the returning sound of Keegan’s crying made Kala whimper. A soldier appeared in the room, cradling the three year old like a proud uncle. Tamor tensed. “Let them go and I promise I’ll come with you.” “No, boy. They’re coming with us so your promise holds.” “But my wife is pregnant. She can’t possibly--” “Your wife can make the journey.” The leader looked to Kala, who averted her eyes from his gaze. “She’s made it before.” “What?” Tamor’s eyes went wide as he glanced at Kala. The girl could not look at him. “Has she not told you?” The leader looked astonished. Walking over to Tamor, he placed his foot on the boy and pushed him down on his back. Then he leaned over, his boot still on Tamor’s chest. “She was the little birdie . . . .” ******************************************************************* "Kala!" He shot straight up, chest heaving, eyes darting around the dimly lit room. It took him a moment to realize he'd been dreaming. A soft whimper left his dry lips, his hands reaching up to his sweaty face to cover his eyes as he sighed. "Kala. . . ." He did not cry, though he wanted to. He would not allow himself to cry for her. Trembling fingers fell from tense cheekbones to feel the softness of the bed he lay in. Blankets of hand made quality and hand painted images of sea turtles hugged his naked chest, and as the door on the side of him creaked open, the sound of singing from the next room over spilling into the room, the smell of seasoned stew broth and cold air following right along with it, the young magi pulled the covers up toward his neck to ward the chill. He was alive. Gana had lost, for the time being. Tamor had another chance to set things right again. All because of . . . . "I see you've finally awakened." The deep, familiar voice roused him from his thoughts and he tilted his head to watch the giant of a man swagger across the room. The man's feet were bare, but he still sounded like he wore boots when he walked. "I know Shaylin will be pleased." "Shaylin...." Her name tickled as he whispered it, the memories of the hill and the conversation bringing a gentle smile to his lips. "How fares she?" "Better than your daring healer." Gol stopped at the foot of the boy's bed, fixing the boy with a frown. "He aches, inside and out. But I'll be damned if I know what hurts him more right now." Tamor didn't like what he saw in those icy, blue eyes. "I owe Rook my life," he said after a moment's hesitation. Once the words left him he grimaced. Since when did he admit to anyone he owed anyone anything? "You owe the man more than that, boy." Tamor furrowed his brows. "What can be more important than owing someone--" Gol's stern look silenced the boy in mid sentence. "Clearly, you know little of love." "What?" The candles on the nightstand by Gol flickered as the large man sighed and pulled up a chair. He flipped the back around and straddled the thing like he might ride the piece of furniture out of the room. "He's told you enough about his lost love, hasn't he?" As he spoke, Gol strummed the back of the chair and leaned over to keep the young magi's uncertain stare. Tamor nodded guardedly. "Once or twice, yes. But he never went into detail." "Nor will I, either." The reply sounded snappy and awkward, as if Gol did not wish to remain on such a touchy subject for so long. "That information is up to Rook to reveal. I'll not even attempt because I don't whether he favors you enough to say anything. I do know that I don't." The man's intense gaze darkened some more. "You should not be here speaking to me right now because you died. The dead should never merit the chance to dwell in the presence of the living. It is not the way of things." Tamor fought against his unease to meet the glare with his own pair of defiant, green eyes. "But it was not my decision to bring me back." "No," Gol growled. "It was Rook's." "So you consider your friend's decision a bad one." Gol apparently understood the meaning in the other's statement, for he set his jaw and looked away. "I know he had his reasons, but what he did will not change your fate. Death does not relinquish its victims so easily. You still do not bear the color of your former self." Tamor glanced down at his hand and made a face. "I still run a fever. Let's not be too hasty and blame my paleness on the fact that I've cheated death. Or do you not trust your friend's judgment." The man's fist pounded the back of the chair and he glared at the startled boy. "I trust that he will go through any extreme to get her back, whether it be dabbling in the art of life and death or sacrificing his very soul in the process!" Tamor forced himself to shrug. He couldn't let the man know he'd made a point. "So what do you want me to do about it? Rook knows what he's doing and whether or not it ends up that way, you're powerless to stop him." Silence. The man's fist relaxed and slid off the back of the chair to hang limp by his side. His head soon drooped in the same manner as he shook it. "You don't think I know that?" His voice was soft and shaky, as if the man were on the verge of tears. Tamor folded his arms. "I don't know. You obviously think you can somehow save him once he's gone beyond the point of saving, so what am I to think?" Gol's head shot up and he fixed Tamor with the fiercest, most malice filled eyes the boy had ever laid witness to from the likes of a Human. "You will help him." "Me?" Tamor scoffed. "What can I do that his best friend can not?" "You are more familiar with magic and how it works. You also know what it's like to sell your soul to the devil." ". . . And what's that supposed to mean?" Gol shrugged. "That's what you did, didn't you? You were working for that evil sorcerer. It's obvious from how much that bastard wanted you." He leaned into Tamor with a smirk. "What's wrong?" he sneered. "Sign a contract you couldn't fulfill? Make a few bad choices? Or were you also hungry for power and blinded by your own ambitions?" It was Tamor's turn to slam his fist down, and he did on the nightstand beside his bed, jarring the washbowl and nearly toppling the candle holder. "You know nothing of my past, so don't you dare try to analyze me! My powers did not come from the devil, nor did they come from the want for power. My powers were inherited! They were my curse, my burden to carry in response to the punishment dealt my father and his council for dealing in matters that should have been left alone. The first fifteen years of my life were spent in what could have been better considered a prison than a council stronghold for the 'gifted.' But I soon left that life to find love. The dark lord found out about my powers and threatened to kill her if I didn't join him!" He slammed his fist down again. "You're right, Gol. I did sell my soul to the devil. I pledged my alliance to Lord Gana, which is as grave a promise as selling my soul. I not only belong to him in life, but when I die, he controls me in death. But the price was nothing I hesitated to accept. Nothing was too large a sum to give for Kala and her child. I did all this to save the girl I loved!" Gol nodded, sighing and running his fingers through his golden hair. "You sound just like him," he chuckled. ". . . ." "Don't you see!" Gol's flashing blue eyes fixed on Tamor again. "You and Rook are so similar it scares me. The only difference at this moment is you don't have a way out. You went too far in and now you'll have to accept the consequences when the time comes." Tamor wanted to protest, but he could find no way around it. Despite the fact that Gana didn't physically own him, he still owned him when his life ended. That single thought frightened him beyond all thought. He was still a prisoner. "But Rook," Gol continued, apparently sensing Tamor's realization and wishing to drill into the magi's head his point whilst the boy still wished to listen. "Rook still has a chance." His eyes had lost all trace of anger when they looked once more in Tamor's direction. Now they were filled with a single plea. "If you have truly changed, boy. If you are no longer the demon you once were in the clutches of that tyrant. If you understand empathy and emotion enough, and if you cherish life as much as you claim, please! Please help Rook so he doesn't make the same mistake you did." Silence fell over the room once more as Tamor stared into Gol's painful features and found he had to look away. Closing his eyes didn't help to erase the man's words, but at least it allowed him a dark space to think. Something in his chest ached. His heart? How could that be? He didn't have a heart. "Is . . . everything all right in here?" He welcomed Shaylin's unsure voice like he might welcome a breath of fresh air, going so far as to wink at the girl as her beautiful face fell on him and her eyes lit up. "You big idiot!" "Is that my name? I could have sworn it was Tamor, but maybe you changed it whilst I slept?" He forced a laugh as she rushed him, snatching him up in a powerful embrace and squeezing him until he jokingly told her she was choking him. Releasing him in apology yet only able to stand at the side of his bed for but a few seconds before needing to embrace him again, Shaylin squealed with delight. "I was so worried." "Judging by your need to constantly touch me as if you're afraid I'm not real, I can't understand why you'd say that." She looked at him in puzzlement, but when he winked her way and she realized he was being sarcastic, she once again proceeded to hug him, a few kisses making their way onto his forehead, cheeks, and one lucky one found its mark on his lips. He held that one the longest, his fingers finding the girl’s back as they embraced, but Gol's last words to him broke him from his loving mood and so he broke from the kiss prematurely. Shaylin's look of confusion panged just as bad as Gol's truthful statements. So to avoid hurting the girl's feelings he shrugged and gave her a more fleeting kiss on the lips. "I'm very tired right now, Shay. I need to be alone to think." "Are you joking again?" Shaylin giggled, jumping onto the bed and curling up beside the startled boy, her head resting against his chest. "You've already slept long enough. How much more can you possibly have to think about that you haven't completed in dream?" "You . . . have a point." "Of course I do. You should know by now, dark hero, that a wood nymph is never wrong." He smirked. "Is that so?" "Yes indeed." She giggled and nuzzled him some more until he was forced to wrap his arm around her. "But if you truly do have a lot to think about, nothing helps more than a nice song to open your mind." "I don't think that's--" Before he could protest, she'd begun the song. Her voice carried through his ears and stroked his heart into submission. Even someone as cold and dark as himself could not escape the ensnaring peace the wood wife could weave with her haunting music. Apparently large men with grudges could, though. Gol rose from his chair with a grunt, walking toward the door and placing his hand on the lintel before turning toward Tamor. "Remember, you owe him," he said severely. "You owe Rook your help." Tamor set his jaw. But the music once again caught him and soon he found himself abandoning all the conflict of indecision and confusion to sing along with her, his own voice not as beautiful as hers but bearing a distinct quality of happiness just the same. A false sense of happiness, of course. For the time would come later on when he'd have to confront the truth of Gol's words—both about Rook and himself. If Tamor thought about it, his very life was wrapped around a false sense of freedom. He raised his voice louder in hopes of leaving the pain and dark thoughts to drown in the melody of song. |
| Rook lay beside the river, his eyes closed tight against the daylight that spilled down from the forest canopy. He felt everything: the slight breeze against his cheeks, the pine needles that poked through his tunic, the mud, squishy and moist that had settled beneath his legs. Before he’d lain there he had taken off his shoes. His bare feet hung in the river. It seemed the water sang to him. It sang with her voice. So he longed to lie there, unencumbered by thought or motion, and dream that Lauriette was with him. He had done the unthinkable, snatched someone from death. The dream had whispered that Tamor would be the one to help him. At least he thought that was the message. His eyes opened and for a moment the world was bathed in bright light as his pupils contracted. His eyes glowed for several moments until at last, the power faded. His father had done the same for his mother, twice and gone mad for it. In fact he could feel the pull of madness already. He turned his head to the side, a small grin spreading across his full lips. It would be easy to slip into, that madness. It was almost a comforting thought. He could find Belshing’s hold again. He could rebuild it, remake the entire fortress, stronger than before. His eyes slipped shut as he thought of the feral cat creatures his father had once created. The memory of their howls came clear. They were speaking to him that night. Their language was no longer a secret. The river rushed past. Rook sat up and watched the ripples along the current, the fish that darted beneath the shiny water seemed aware, far too aware of his presence. His father’s powers had been remarkable, uncontrollable, yet he felt that same strength. He held up his hands and clapped them together. When they came apart a bird appeared, its upper chest feathered white and its body an oily black. It fluttered before him and then lighted on his shoulder. Soundlessly it regarded its creator. “I created you,” Rook whispered. He held out his finger to the bird and it lowered its dark head. He let his eyes slip shut again, remembering the bird his mother had kept in her room, how it had regarded him as if it were a spy from a distant land. Now he understood, indeed that’s what the bird had been. His mother had called it a Rook when in fact it was a raven. This bird was different; it was not his father’s creation, but his own. Its head rubbed against his fingers. Rook shivered for the bird was cold as death. “What have I done?” he called out. The bird didn’t flinch, didn’t take flight as any normal bird might do. It continued to regard him as though waiting. “What have I done!” he screamed. His voice echoed out into the trees. He stood and pulled on his boots, the bird still atop his shoulder as though it had every right to be there. As he walked back toward Jen’s house, he found every flower he passed, every toadstool, every curve of bark on each tree to be the most fascinating object he’d ever beheld. It was incredibly hard to keep going in the right direction, as though each part of the forest begged for his attention, his touch. He stopped at the edge of the forest and regarded Jenaline’s cottage. The tiles of the roof were slightly crooked, that in itself was an anomaly. He longed to study it, to calculate the way in which each tiled was balanced upon the next. Vren’s low hiss brought him from the wasteful thoughts. ‘At last you return to us. I thought you dead.’ She didn’t bother to lift her head as he came to her. His fingers ran through her mane in a gentle way as he surveyed her torn wing. “No, not dead,” he whispered. Though perhaps it would have been easier to be so, he thought. ‘Your thoughts are as loud as banshee screams.’ Her eyes caught his and held them for a moment. ‘What have you done, mage?’ Rook smiled and drew his hand away from the dragon. He tried to still his mind, to still that strange buzzing sound in the back of his head. Her wing, mutilated though it was, he found intriguing. The blood had trickled down to the worse parts and begun to scab. The flesh was drying in the places where air could reach it. “You suffer the same fate your mother suffered.” Vren turned her head away and closed her eyes. ‘Go on and heal it. You waste time with your words.’ She lifted the torn wing out, her body shivering from shock, and held it aloft. His voice startled Gol. He’d been washing the dishes inside the cottage when the familiar words of the healing prayer came ringing into the cottage. A white light surrounded the dragon, encompassed Rook’s tall form and bathed the south side of the house in brightness. Gol had to squint to make out anything at all. When he came to Rook’s side, the mage was near unconscious and laughing hysterically. A strange dark bird was circling Rook, flying lower with each pass as though it wished to land on him. The light faded. Gold shooed the bird away until it finally ;anded atop the tiled roof of Jen’s cottage. It squawked once then remained silent. Vren stood and eyed her repaired wing. Her mother’s wing had been scarred where Rook had healed it, long ago. However, Vren’s wing bore no deviation in skin tone. Each scale had been repaired just as though no damage had occurred. The pain still echoed in her body, but she stood and flapped the appendage, testing it. “Rook,” Gol said. “Are you well?” The mage nodded, managed to stop laughing and had trouble not counting each thread that was woven into Gol’s pants. The giant of a man reached down and helped his old friend to stand. “Your eyes are like the sea,” Rook mumbled. “He keeps her by the sea.” Vren stood and grated her claws along the cobbled road, catching Gol’s attention. ‘He needs to eat.’ Rook shook his head as tears fell down his cheeks. He shook himself free of his friend’s grasp. “Take me now, Vren. I cannot bear another day without her.” |
| "The dragon is right. You look gaunt. There's black circles under your eyes. And why were you laughing? there's nothing funny about what has happened." Rook pursed his lips, a wave of fatigue spreading over his body. His fingers tingled. "No," he managed as he swayed in his friend's grip, "I think it best I lie down." 'Hurry,' the dragon thought. 'There will be others that follow after us.' Gol eyed Vren for a questioning moment. "Then let us get on our way." He helped the dark priest into the cottage. Jen offered Rook tea, which he drank down far too quick. "We must pack up some food. Things that will keep. And we'll need water skins and clothes, rope, tents..." He set about the task, gathering the necessary provisions into neat bundles. By nightfall the group stood together outside the cottage. "I'm going with you," Jen said. Gol only nodded. He would have it no other way. It would be the last time the two saw her cottage. A week passed. The unnamed territory, looming on the seacrested horizon was both a beacon of hope and terror for Rook. He could feel the power in the land itself. He had not felt that the first time he'd come. This was a new sensation. He knew the cause of his awareness was a result of what he'd done for Tamor. He turned to look at the cause of his change. Tamor was sitting on the dragon's back, the wood-wife nestled in his arms. The yound man's sharp green eyes were taking in the wilderness below, the green of the thick jungle and no doubt he noticed the lack of cities or settlements. |
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