The group made it past the vast rocklands of Feynram and then turned east towards the outskirts of Feynram. Tristan pulled out the wrinkled map, studying it harshly. Eamon noted his angst. He swallowed a few times, thinking over the correct tone of voice that would put Tristan at ease. He didn’t want to come across as commandeering. This was Tristan’s journey and he was to lead. Dalko had made that clear to Eamon in their private meeting.
“We can head east just as we are now,” said Eamon. “The Whispering Woods are ahead, but we’ll have to go through dense forest first. It’s the only way out of Feynram from this direction.”
Tristan was tracing a finger along his map. It paused at a grove of trees that was just below a large forest that was titled “THE WHISPERING WOODS.” Tristan lifted his head from the map. The road they were currently travelling went on for several more miles, but he could make out forest up ahead. They dotted the landscape like little green dots. “Outskirts of Feynram first, then the Whispering Woods,” said Tristan softly.
“That would be the way, yes,” affirmed Eamon. Tristan felt the tension in his shoulders ease a bit. He liked Eamon. He was glad that Asherin and Kenton were in the rear. Loren and Nothelm too, at least for now. He didn’t want them eavesdropping or chiming in on their conversation. Once he got this whole navigation thing figured out, then he’d be happy to welcome them up front. Eamon’s guard could cover their rear.
Tristan was not surprised to hear distant rumblings as the sun began to hang low in the sky. The weather had been cool and damp for nearly three months, but now they were beginning to near the winter solstice. The past three days had been cold. Today had been unusually warm, and that warm air was now colliding violently in the sky with the gloomy gray sky.
The group came upon a clearing at the edge of the Whispering Woods and decided to set up camp for the night. Tristan was the first to set down his things, heaving his pack down from his horse. Loren yanked her pack from her own mount, approaching Tristan.
“This where we sleep for tonight?” asked Loren.
“Yes,” replied Tristan. It was obvious enough, and he knew that Loren already knew the answer. She wanted a reason to speak to him.
“How far back does the Whispering Woods go?” asked Loren innocently. Tristan went to open his mouth but Kenton interjected.
“Five miles. It’s not long.”
“But those five miles will feel much longer,” said Eamon. Two of his guards had already prepared themselves to stand watch. “There’s odd things afoot in these woods. More likely to encounter odd animals and other beings than humans, I reckon.”
“Beings?” asked Nothelm, unsure as to what Eamon was implying. “What--like Elves and Dragons and that sort?” Nothelm held a warm grin, eager to lighten the mood. Spirits within the were low from a long day on horseback. Nothelm’s own buttocks were numb but he was determined not to let it dampen his own mood. The journey was too long to be pouting already. He glanced around the group. Asherin’s face was set in a scowl as she went about tidying her sleeping area. Nothelm furrowed his brow, and shrugged. Asherin was always scowling. Who was to know when she was truly grumpy and when she was merely being herself?
“No dragons here,” said Kenton. He neglected to mention Elves. Everyone knew they weren’t real in this world. Only in fairytales did tales of the Elves come to life. Some claimed they had lived thousands of years ago, others argued that the realm wasn’t thousands of years old.
“Well then,” began Nothelm, breathing heavily and chuckling lightly in the same breathe as he unslung his pack. “If anyone would like to share what to expect from our little excursion through the Whispering Woods, I know one lad who would be delighted to know!”
Loren and Tristan stood a few paces away from the group, chatting idly. Loren managed to get a warmth out of Tristan. He stoic facade for a moment, unable to contain a gentle smile. Her energy was infectious. It always had been.
“Do you remember?” asked Loren.
“What--you mean when you’d come and find me by Twin Hills and we’d explore together? At night?”
“Yes!” exclaimed Loren. “Oh, how that feels like so long ago. We would run and run, galloping through thick grasses and remote woods. The Whispering Woods reminded me of those nights, except the Whispering Woods looks dark as pitch. The woods by Sesten was alive with fireflies and bright bugs at night. I’ve never seen those bugs anywhere but Sesten.”
“Redbugs, we call them.” Tristan squatted on his haunches, then sat flat on his butt. The ground was soft and the grass plush. “
“Don’t get used to it,” said Loren, noting Tristan’s comfort. “I have a feeling the farther we go, the less of this we’ll find.” She held a clump of bright green grass in her fist and then let the blades of grass go spinning and swirling to the ground.
“Dalko said the Whispering Woods may not be what they used to be. Although it’s never been a friendly place, it’s always been teeming with game and wildlife. We’ll have to ration our food carefully. We may not find food growing from the ground for quite some time after we pass through those woods.”
The night went smoothly, barring a few odd noises and sounds that came from the woods. At times, it sounded like howling. Other times it sounded like teeth gnashing--dogs or wolves fighting amongst themselves. One noise awoke everyone at the same time, the guards on watch were standing with the hairs of their neck stiff as a plank. A loud, piercing scream echoed through the woods. Tristan had awoke with a jolt, Loren with a gasp. Kenton rose to his feet slowly, his metal bared.
“Just a fox, most likely,” said Eamon. Kenton had not been so sure, and stood his ground with his sword in hand for nearly ten minutes before slowly easing back into his sleeping positon beside Asherin, who was already fast asleep again. Nothing bothers her, thought Tristan to himself.
He faked sleep and waited for all the others to fall asleep again. He lay flat on his back with his eyes closed until the sounds of light snoring and heavy breathing meshed with the chirps of crickets and croaking of frogs. His eyes opened and he gazed at the stars above them. The thunderstorm that had seemed imminent had cleared up and the clouds had drifted away. The sky was clear and beautiful that night. For many nights beyond, Tristan would look back on that night and smile--for her had no clue how many miserable nights were in store. If only he knew to enjoy that night for what it was rather than letting his thoughts swirl restlessly with anxiety.
The next morning came sooner than Tristan had hoped. He had awoken instinctively before the guards could arouse the group. The sound of their clunky boots dragging over the grass took Tristan out of his sleep before their voice came, “All, it’s time to wake up and get a move on it. Sun’s coming up!” A bleary, red-orange sky was just beginning to show over the horizon, which was back toward Feynram, where they had come from. Kenton was slowest to wake, his dirty blonde hair a tangled mess.
The group split tough bread but didn’t bother to heat up beans or coffee. Eamon and Kenton had hinted it might be smart to do so before starting on their day’s adventure. They would need all the energy they could muster. Tristan had shook his head, not saying much. He rolled up his pack and mounted himself, clicking his tongue and urging his horse toward the woods. Nothelm was close behind him, wincing at the sight of the dark and mysterious woods. The overhang was so thick that hardly any sunlight was going to make it through.
Eamon and Kenton exchanged sour glances, but Loren stepped between them with a typical warm smile spread across her face. “Surely no one’s tired yet. Our journey has only just begun! Come now, let us stay close to the Blackthorn boy.” This time it was Asherin who let a heave of exasperation escape her as she trudged her horse past the group and mounted. “Blackthorn boy,” she muttered to herself. She had never been one to care for legends or stories. All that mattered was right in front of her--not in some distant past or faraway land where a man or woman or great renown had accomplished some great thing.
Eamon waited for the group to catch up to Tristan before bringing up the rear with his guard. He watched Asherin mount, caught her looking back and making eye contact with him. He busied himself, feeling sheepish. He hadn’t been staring out of lust or interest in that manner, but rather with intrigue at her battle-esque aura. She was imposing and strong, built like an ox. Her long black hair portrayed fierceness and even beauty. Her type was not common, and Eamon had not seen such a woman before inside the walls of Feynram. Sure--he had seen female warriors and competent diplomats, but never one so tall and thick as Asherin.
Tristan led the group into the woods, the wrinkled map spread across his lap. His finger rested upon a word in thick, cursive letters. “WHISPERTON.” He folded up the map and tucked it away. His hand reached instinctively to his hip, where Drakiler sat snuggly in its scabbard. Myroniad, his powerful spear, sat upon his back, the bottom of the shaft peeking up over his right shoulder. The blade, which was really the blade of his father’s sword, pointed out below his left hip.
The air felt thick and suffocating inside the Whispering Woods. Not only was it humid, but all of the noise that had preceded their arrival had gone deadly silent once they entered. A narrow path snaked through the woods, twisting and winding. Vines, branches, and underbrush reached out at them as they slowly cantered their horses forward. The path barely accommodated the breadth of the horses.
“Does anyone else feel that?” asked Nothelm.
“What, like we’re being watched?” replied Asherin.
“Yeah,” said Nothelm.
“I feel it too,” said Kenton.
“It’s to be expected,” said Eamon loudly. He was in front of his guards but behind the rest of the group. “The living things of the woods do not like sharing their home with others. It's best we keep our heads down and get out of here as soon as we can. Only five miles.”
Loren had lost her warm confidence and stared gloomily ahead, fearful that she might get the attention of someone, something, if she let her gaze wander off to either side of the path.
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They had been travelling nearly two miles when they came upon a rare clearing that was no more than fifty yards in distance. The path resumed again at the other end of the clearing.
“Shall we pause a moment?” asked Nothelm. “I could use a minute to take a piss and scratch my balls. Been all bunched up on this horse for a while now.”
“We’ve only travelled two miles, Nothelm.” Tristan’s eyes were darting across his map. The clearing they had entered was a small circle on his map. There was a symbol there--too small to make out. Was it an animal? A logo? Tristan couldn’t tell.
“It feels like we’ve been travelling for hours,” said Nothelm.
“I agree,” murmured Kenton. He had his dagger in his left hand and the reins in his right hand. He wheeled his horse around, scanning his surroundings.
“Don’t,” said Eamon. “Let them watch. They don’t take well to strangers being here.”
“Who are they?” asked Asherin angrily.
“The wolves.” Eamon gulped nervously.
“Wolves? Its the middle of the day. Don’t they hunt at night?” asked Nothelm.
“Not in here…the Whispering Woods doesn’t have a day or night. Look around you,” the group followed Eamon’s eyes. “It’s dark now. It only gets darker at night.”
“Let’s keep moving,” said Tristan. He had maintained a distance from the group and now approached the other end of the clearing.
“Come on, hurry,” ushered Loren. “We mustn’t get separated.”
A distant howling rang through the air.
“That was definitely a wolf,” said Kenton. He grit his teeth, preparing to jab his dagger at anything that moved. Just then, a bush rustled and a small hare came darting into the clearance. Kenton’s breathing increased rapidly, a drop of sweat rolled down his forehead and between his eyes.
“Just a rabbit,” said Asherin softly.
Beyond the brush, and unseen by the group, were twelve sets of golden, glowing eyes. Saliva ran down the side of the wolves’ jaws. They were starving.
The group made it past the clearing and the sensation that they were being watched subsided some. A few extraneous noises had picked up again, and Kenton had never been more grateful to hear crickets chirping noisily.
“I think we’re nearing the exit soon,” said Kenton.
“Tristan has a map,” said Asherin. “Tristan, how much longer?” Tristan looked down at the map in his lap, unfurling it and studying it. They were a little over halfway. He didn’t say a word, only kept his horse spurred on in the right direction.
“Well gee, good thing the only mute member of the group has the map. He could be leading us to the edge of a cliff for all we know,” said Asherin.
“Easy,” came Eamon’s voice from behind her. “We about halfway, if memory serves me.”
Asherin had been tempted to ask what mission had dragged Eamon out this way through Whisperton and the Whispering Woods but something about the air made her stop. Talking suddenly felt uncomfortable. It was as if talking required an enormous amount of effort. Kenton suddenly felt it too.
It’s like a big heavy cloak has weighed me down and I can hardly think or move, thought Loren. Unbeknownst to her, the rest of the group was having the same thought. Asherin quickly resented herself for bugging Tristan moments ago. No wonder he had checked his map but not bothered saying anything.
An owl hooted. The owl swivelled its head and its eyes peered open three feet from Tristan’s face. It was sitting on a branch that was just barely off the beaten path. Tristan gave a yelp of surprise and his horse lurched forward, rearing its front legs. Loren’s horse did the same, and Kenton’s horse neighed wildly. Tristan held on for dear life, barely managing to stay atop his horse.
“Just an owl,” croaked Eamon. No one else had enough bravery to speak. Kenton reached for his canteen, felt his muscles curl up like stiff paper that had no moisture left in it. He struggled, barely bringing the canteen up enough to wet his lips and relieve his parched tongue. A heavy fatigue was beginning to set in, and everyone could feel it.
“Four,” said Eamon warily. Everyone knew what it meant despite the vague nature of his mutterings. Four miles in, one to go.
The path had begun to widen steadily, until it was soon wide enough to permit them to ride two abreast. They declined to do so, instead continuing on in single-file like brain-dead zombies. Tristan hugged the right side, and so the group followed his lead behind him.
“Sand,” whispered Tristan. He was pointing at the ground on the left of the path. He snapped a branch from overhead and tossed it to the ground where he had pointed. The branch was embraced by the sand, then the sand moaned and sent a poof of sand up into the air. The sand enclosed around the branch and slowly absorbed it, dragging it down its depths. Eamon’s horse neighed gently. He patted its mane, even kissed it genty to try and calm it. Kenton felt his heart rate quicken. An unseen force seemed to pull him from his saddle. He came close to dropping out of his saddle and into the quicksand, but a curt shout Asherin snapped him out of it.
They made it past the quicksand the path began to narrow again before coming out into another wide clearing. It was darker here, despite the clearing. The trees covered the sky above them like a thick canopy, blocking any sunlight besides what was reflected from the trees’ leaves. Tristan's mouth gaped as he stared up at the trees. Loren’s mouth soon turned into an “O”, noticing what had caught Tristan’s attention. Everything was black. The bark, the leaves, the vegetation. Some of it had withered and died, but most of it still looked alive--only it was a black as pitch. Mesmerized and equally amazed, Kenton dismounted.
“Stunning,” he whispered.
“Kenton!” shouted Asherin. “I wouldn’t dismount. Get back on your horse!”
“It’s…nature…it’s so…gentle, and calm.” Kenton slowly ventured toward the other end of the clearing. The rest of the group was calling to him, in a sharp hush and low whisper. They were not sure why, but a whisper felt right. Something was asleep here, and it best not be awoken.
Before Kenton could go any further, the hair on his skin went straight up. A chill ran down Tristan’s spine. Asherin gasped. Loren gawked, covering her mouth with her hand. Twelve wolves emerged from the woods, mouth foaming and teeth bared. What startled the group beyond the wolves’ seemingly voracious appetite, was the color of their fur. Besides their golden-ring eyes, they were jet black. Their fur coats, their paws, their claws, even their teeth. All black.
Just like the trees, thought Tristan to himself. “Cursed,” he whispered to himself at first. Then aloud, he bellowed, “They are cursed! These woods--they are subject to the will of the Shadow! The vegetation has been poisoned.” It was as if the deep blanket of sleep had been lifted from his mind. His bellows awoke everyone else from their own mindless wonder. This was real--and those wolves were hungry!
“Run for the light, we’re less than a mile away. Stay off the path, go!” Tristan had withdrawn Drakiler from his scabbard and wheeled his horse toward Kenton (who was still without his horse) and the wolves, which were slowly encroaching on the group. “Go!” shouted Tristan, finally galvanizing the group into action. Kenton’s horse neighed wildly, ditching its owner and following hot on the tail of Asherin’s horse. The group bounded through the thick of the woods, vines and sticks whipping and lashing at their faces all the way.
“Kenton, hop on!” shouted Tristan. He spurred his horse past Kenton, who grasped Tristan’s arm and allowed himself to be hoisted up. He slid in behind Tristan and they rode off, the wolves hot on their trails and growling like little devils.
The horses were faster and more powerful, but the brush was thick and the trees were many. This slowed them significantly, but the wolves seemed to dance through the thicket like dark shadows. Tristan caught up to the rear of his group, but the wolves were gaining.
“I see the light ahead,” said Kenton. Tristan saw it too and lifted his sword to point. “The light is ahead, make it to the light and we will be free of these woods!”
The chase ensued and the light ahead grew very slowly as they approached it. At first it was a small ball of light, but as they neared it, it grew into a wide light, like the entrance to a cave. The light was blinding as they neared it. Tristan spurred his horse to the front, whipping and kicking at his horse to speed onward.
A sharp cry rang out. Tristan felt his horse lurch forward with more speed and knew immediately. Kenton had fallen off. Tristan had seem the low hanging tree branch late and hardly ducked in time. Kenton hadn’t had a chance to prepare and thus was knocked clumsily off the back of the horse.
“Kenton!” shouted Asherin, wheeling her horse around.
“Leave him,” muttered Tristan, but no one heard him and he was glad they didn’t. Loren and Eamon and his guards had wheeled around as well.
Kenton had come to his feet quickly, but was swaying and disoriented. He still held his sword somehow, and slowly shuffled in a semicircle. A circle of twelve wolves were beginning to enclose him. As if on cue, they all attacked. Kenton sliced at the first one, slashing it across the belly. His flung his blade upward at the next, cutting its head open from throat to head. The third one leapt at him sideways, its claws digging into his flesh and its mouth reared back, ready to chomp down on his arm. Asherin had arrived.
Asherin catapulted from her horse, coming down on the wolf before its jaws could close on Kenton. She jammed her blade down on its back, twirling around and slicing through two more wolves, and then a third. But Kenton was down The slashing black claws of the wolf had done enough damage to leave Kenton in a painful heap on the forest floor. Red blood spurted busily onto a mix of black, brown, and yellow leaves. The rest of the wolves took their cue, growling with rage and snarling their threats before bounding off into the direction they had come. They disappeared into the dark.
Asherin picked up Kenton on her own and lay him across her horse before mounting again. “Let’s get out of here.”
No one needed to protest that idea. Just then, a sound from afar off, which sounded like a squealing pig, was enough to arouse them from their shock at Kenton’s nasty wounds. Kenton was writhing around on Asherin’s horse, agony plaguing him and offering no respite. Tristan winced, knowing Kenton was one of Dalko’s fiercest, most legendary warriors. The image of the wolves’ black claws and foaming mouths etched itself in Tristan’s memory for many years to come.
The group finally came to the end of the woods and spilled out into the bright light of midday. They had only been in the woods for a couple hours at most, but it had felt like days on end. The group dismounted, with Asherin laying Kenton delicately onto soft green grass.
“I’ll have my men stand guard in case those wolves decide to come after us,” said Eamon in his ever-diligent manner. Tristan regarded him lightly. Loren knelt beside Kenton, assessing his wounds.
“Dalko gave this pack. It has Denderrkan medicine in it,” said Loren. She busied herself rummaging through the pack of supplies.
“Is Denderrikan medicine supposed to be any better than what we have?” asked one of Eamon’s guards. Asherin shot him a dark glance. He blushed, turning away and vowing to himself not to be smart around the lady warrior in black ever again.
Asherin knelt down to help Loren, applying a white cream and securing a thick white bandage around the four wide gashes.
“Fortunately, he didn’t lose too much blood. The gashes are in shallow areas, but we’ll have to keep re-dressing it and cleaning it often to make sure it doesn’t get infected,” said Loren.
“It stings, badly,” said Kenton, wincing. He tried to rise to his feet, but faltered at the acute pain. The two gashes on each leg were the ones that hurt the most. The other gashes were on his arm and his rib, but those were more superficial and had just grazed him.
“We’ll rest here for a few hours before moving onward. I’d like to be away from those woods before nightfall,” said Tristan.
The group murmured their ascent. If Kenton were not hurt, they’d have gladly put as much distance between themselves and those woods as possible beginning immediately. Kenton dozed off into a feverish sleep while the rest of the group split small rations amongst themselves.
“May as well start a fire now,” said Tristan. “Better to have a fire now while it's still light out.” The group began a fire and cooked a hearty meal before preparing to journey onward. Meanwhile, Kenton dreamed he was all alone in a faraway iceland, the Shadow stalking him and hunting him like a dog after a mouse. Just as the Shadow caught him, swiping at him with his clawed hands, Kenton awoke with a start, panting and sweating.
“Your cuts,” gasped Asherin, “they’re infected.”