The javelin pierced through flesh and bone.
Maeve froze, her eyes wide. Blood was gushing from the gaping wound where the Crownguard used to have her arm. Maeve moved but a grip, strong and firm, dragged her away.
‘Leave her!’ shouted the scout with whom she was down at the ruins.
‘But—’
‘They’re hard on our heels! Run!’
The man pushed her forward, sending Maeve stumbling across ash and roots. She coughed, spat, then sprang up, soon finding her balance, and took up the pace, zigzagging among the trees.
Risking a glimpse, Maeve turned her head over her shoulders. Their pursuers’ red scale armour glistened every once in a while in the dim light of the coming morn, albeit they mostly looked like mere shadows in the darkness beneath the thick canopy of the woods.
Only two Crownguard and the scout stayed alive. The guards got rid of their shields, spears, and helmets, holding on only to their swords in their sheaths. They closely followed in Maeve’s trail and tried to defend her with their own bodies.
Another javelin hissed through the air and slammed into the trunk of a nearby tree. Dried leaves fell rattling, charred bark splintered, and a cloud of wreathing ash hung aloft in the air.
Maeve flinched and turned back again. A giant of a soldier was jogging at the back of his group. He reached for another of his javelins strapped to his back. He was no ordinary human being. Maeve estimated the distance between the groups at two hundred yards or so—that goliath, despite being at least nine or ten feet tall, could not have thrown a javelin from that far, let alone one that could sever a person’s arm.
Unless he was Reborn or possessed a gemstone, she could not explain his nature.
That thought sparked something in her mind.
Gemstones!
She reached for her pocket. There it was, a small pouch, containing two raw gems she could feel through the linen cloth. She slowed down.
She stared at the pouch. The Crownguard around her slowed as well, they exchanged worried looks while gripping the hilt of their swords. Maeve contemplated using the gems only for a second. She had never operated with them before. The thought of failure made her knees numb.
She kept running.
Her lungs were on fire, but she was aware that stopping now would mean not seeing a dawn ever again. Her heart was pounding with the force of a warhorse galloping in full armour. In the distance, she spotted silhouettes among the trees, scarce silhouettes of what she believed to be buildings.
‘Where—’
The rest of her sentence drowned in the wake of the next javelin impaling the scout. The sheer force of the weapon shoved the man yards away, and it nailed him onto a tree with a sickening splash and a thud. His last dying breath ended up being an inarticulate groan of pain. A dark red stain grew bigger and bigger on his back around the protruded pole as Maeve dropped to her knee in shock.
Behind, thunderous roars resounded as the red-armoured soldiers rejoiced in their comrade’s successful hit.
Barbarians.
A Crownguard jumped to Maeve, offering a hand to help her get back to her feet. She accepted, but within, she let out a deep resigned sigh.
‘If we reach the village, we may—’
‘Do what?’ Maeve cut in, but she did follow the guard toward the buildings, and for the umpteenth time in less than an hour, she began to run for her life.
Hope soon subsided when she saw cloaked figures moving about among the wooden structures. As dawn broke and the first rays of sunshine pierced through the twig-ceiling of the forest, making ash look like snow, Maeve’s only—and perhaps last—thoughts were of home; that how similar this view was to Southern Andoriel in the winter.
All three of them slowed. Then, Maeve heard her name spoken by one of the cloaked people.
‘I’m not mistaken! It’s her! Lady Maeve!’
‘Prepare for covering strike!’ A holler so familiar and good to hear Maeve could have smiled if it was not for the gravity of the situation. She urged the others to take the last dozen-or-so yards. No border lay between the forest and the village, no fence nor gates, and thus the next moment found them gasping behind the Royal Hunters, with Reynard standing at the veranda of a wooden cottage, one hand held high.
‘Loose!’
Arrows glided through the morning air from various directions, hissing as they reached the unknown group of warriors. Even though they must have seen the stir among and inside the houses and heard the shouts of the hunters, the sudden retaliation seemed to strike them appalled—several running at the fore stumbled and fell to the ground, gored by many an arrow. The giant cried something, and the group came to a halt but not before Reynard and his men could shoot another wave of arrows at them. Maeve watched in silence; she was rooted in place. Confusion, hope, dread, relief, anxiety all mingled into a whirlwind in her mind, and it left little room for thoughts.
Their pursuers’ numbers dwindled greatly. Already, there were at least as many red-armoured soldiers lying in the ash as there were standing. The goliath hurled a javelin at Reynard. The Hunter Captain easily side-stepped the threat—although the javelin tore down an admirable chunk of the roof above Reynard’s head.
‘Cease this madness and yield in the name o’ Her Majesty! Nay harm shall come to thee.’ The giant walked closer among the houses, so close, Maeve instinctively backed away.
‘You’re a bit late with that, son.’ Reynard signalled for a third flurry of arrows, effectively leaving no soldiers alive. Two stray shafts embedded into the goliath, but he cared little for them; his inexpressive gaze fixed on Reynard.
‘Thou hast nay idea what thou hast just got into.’ His harsh voice sounded calm. Determined, but at the same time indifferent. He reached for his head and took off his helmet.
Maeve studied his features carefully, finding she dreaded this man. The short white hair was cut in the same manner knights in the Brimlands used to have their frisure, leaving much at the top and having the sides shaven. But his face … the light glistened on stone-like horns, small ones, as if pebbles or rocks grew from his skull and temples. Aside from that, his round face was a mask of sheer superiority. Maeve could not avert her gaze, not because of the horns but of the eyes—they glowed in red.
‘Reinforcements for the Royalists are on their way,’ Reynard gestured towards him. ‘Whatever you did to Boar Isle is going to be paid in blood.’
‘I understand little o’ what thou spitest, fheregh.’ The man turned and looked around, staring deeply into the eyes of every one of the hunters and Maeve. The girl felt her soul wincing when that glare fell upon her. ‘I care not for Royals nor boars. This island be made first command post for the Crimson Army until further orders.’
‘Orders by whom?’ Reynard demanded.
‘Thy queen.’
Maeve frowned. King Bryne’s wife, Queen Alysia left for Temdath a long time ago and had only been heard of scarcely since. There was no way she could organise a special army to conquer the islands.
Reynard must have had similar thoughts. ‘Last I checked Bryne was King.’
‘I’m not talking about any of thine arrogant species.’ Species? ‘Thither is but one ruler o’ this land, and she is above all. Me, thee, all.’
‘Seems a tiny bit cracked, eh?’ Murmured one of the scouts beside Maeve, bow in hand, arrow at the ready. The goliath spared only a curt glance at him, then turned back to the Hunter Captain.
‘I shall let you live. I need not kill to conquer this land. I shall grant you the chance o’ surrender. Leave the aslakhan. Shall we meet again, I shall make you slaves o’ Her Majesty, or simply end your lives.’
With that, he put his helmet back on, turned, and walked away. Some of the hunters stepped forward, some aimed and flexed their bowstring, but Reynard did not give the order. He followed the giant with his eyes for a moment longer, then hastily got down from the veranda.
‘What was that, Captain?’ demanded one of the hunters; she stood against Reynard. ‘Are we really let that giant flee?’
‘You’re watching but you don’t see anything, Vhira,’ hissed the man. ‘That monstrosity was no ordinary man! He wasn’t fleeing. He let us do so.’
The huntress bowed her head, silent. Reynard turned to Maeve. ‘What’s happened?’
‘What’s happened?!’ Maeve was on the verge of screaming. ‘What’s happened? I haven’t a clue what’s happened! One moment I’m inspecting ruins, the next I find our fleet on fire and an army marching on shore!’
Reynard’s eyes widened. ‘Our fleet on fire? Are you sure?’
Maeve swallowed and nodded. She tried to recollect herself with unlikely effort. That last couple of hours had been a nightmare, and she was not sure she had woken from it yet.
‘Nehlia? The others? Anyone …?’
Maeve shook her head. ‘We cannot be sure what fate befell them.’
‘Are they Islanders?’ The captain asked puzzled, gesturing to the corpses.
‘I’ve never seen any Islanders like them.’
‘So where have they come from? Who are they?’
‘I was hoping you might tell me about them.’
Reynard shook his head, snorting in disbelief. ‘We haven’t found anything save this abandoned settlement. No people alive or dead, no animals, no signs of life. I thought you’d just come upon some of the tribe’s warriors.’
‘It seems… worse than the Boar tribe.’
‘Come.’
The Hunter strode to the nearest dead soldier, signalling something to his companions with his fingers. Some of the hunters quickly ran for the rest of the two dozen corpses, while others gathered and went further inside the village. The Crownguard slowly followed Maeve, but it seemed obvious they could not adapt to the new situation as smoothly as the hunters did.
Reynard crouched and examined the corpse, starting with getting their helmet off.
‘You saw it, right?’ He whispered after he made sure they were out of earshot. ‘His head.’
‘It was hard not to.’ Maeve joined and felt the fallen man’s head. There were no protrusions, nothing like what the goliath had.
‘Did you … feel anything?’
‘I … ‘ Maeve sighed and shook her head. ‘I was blinded by fear. I have no idea if he’s Reborn.’
‘But could you sense it, should you have the chance?’
‘I could. Proximity matters only. I promise I will … try to be more—’
‘There is no rebuke, Lady Maeve,’ Reynard interrupted. Only after calling her Lady again did Maeve realise how informal they were being. ‘I don’t plan to remain here and wait until that goliath comes back with an army.’
Maeve looked at the man. ‘The reinforcements … that wasn’t true, was it?’
‘Seemed right to plant some wariness in him in that moment. Our best chance, for the time being, is to venture further towards the centre of the island. If they truly came with an army, they couldn’t seek us with much force. But eventually we’d need to leave, and if what you say is true, it might prove to be a delicate matter without a fleet.’
‘Cap’n.’ One of the hunters walked up to them. ‘M’lady. There’s some … trouble.’
‘Pretty sure it’s more than some,’ Reynard straightened. ‘Go on.’
Stolen story; please report.
‘The soldiers. Some of them are … uh. It’s better if you see it yourselves.’
The hunter led them to one of the corpses beyond the treeline. Maeve frowned, she looked around, her gaze fixed on the village. A sense of discomfort washed over her.
‘Did it not occur to any of you, Captain Reynard,’ she whispered, ‘that these houses are intact?’
‘Please, Lady Maeve,’ the man murmured back. ‘Don’t give me another puzzle.’
They stepped by the corpse in silence; then it began.
The soldier’s body slightly flinched. Maeve would not have believed it if not for the tiny puff of ash that hovered by the dead’s shoulder. She was daunted, blinking hard as if it was only a mirage.
The corpse’s skin drained. It became thinner and thinner, then cracks appeared rapidly on its surface, trickles of blood weeping from the slits. The flesh around its neck wrinkled right before their eyes, deep red lines dappled the crinkles, and spots of scale-like colouring in the shade of greyish green was crawling all over the body.
‘I suppose it’s high time we leave,’ said Reynard sternly. By that time, the hunters backed away from the corpses, watching in silent horror as the dead were wreathing in their eternal slumber. ‘Seen anything like that?’
Maeve slowly shook her head since she was unable to find her voice. That repulsive scene of obscenity mocked everything she believed pure: the faelin, the Gods, life itself. There was a pervert curiosity involved there. They knew they had better leave, run while they still could, never turn back and forget what they saw as soon as possible. But it was also a spectacle in some sense, something that was not familiar, not known, something which defied the very rules of their world and nature itself.
They had learnt to live with the gemstones, they had learnt to accept Reborn ones. Alas, they had seen no one returning from the Twilight Hall of the Gods, not ever.
Yet.
The inducement that broke their idleness was the same that broke silence: a shriek cut through the morning air as one of the corpses rose to all four and started crawling into their direction.
Dread clawed across Maeve’s back as she moved to turn around to run in the same instant the hunters moved to act. Some ran and called out to their comrades lingering in the village, others grabbed their bows and shot arrows at the abomination. Most shafts ricocheted from the armour, the ones that hit, did little damage: no blood flowed from the wound, no scream of pain followed. Only a cloud of dust rose from the creature’s skin, as if it was some very old ornate sculpture.
‘Leave it, run!’ Reynard cried and he soon drew near Maeve. The undead soldiers were clumsy and slow, albeit they did attempt to chase the living.
Soon, Maeve and the Royal Hunters managed to leave the village behind but did not stop until much later, when the trees became scarce and eventually gave way to what formerly had been a meadow on the slopes of a hill, with the scenery of jagged mountaintops in the far distance. Maeve could not see well in the fog of the morn, yet she could swear she saw little dots of green on the sides of those mountains.
‘What the Gods-fucked Hell has happened there?’ broke one of the hunters.
‘Watch your tongue, Lundahl,’ came the half-hearted reproach from Reynard. He wiped his brow and looked back at the forest. ‘We’ve left pretty obvious trails. They are slow, but they are going to find us if we linger.’
‘How are those things even possible?’ The woman, Vhira, the only one among the hunters, pulled her cowl around her head. Maeve could say it was only in part because of the chill of the dawn.
‘I know not. Lady Maeve, we are simple people. What could that be? Gemstones? The faelin? Some sort of illusion?’
I am a simple person, too.
‘Never have I ever heard of, let alone see any kind of gemstones or Reborn powers that bring the dead’s soul back to its mortal remains.’ Maeve was quite proud of herself, being able to speak without fumbling with the words. She was gasping hard, her lungs and heart ached, her limbs were sore to the point of exhaustion. Yet she stood still. ‘I did not sense the faelin being at work. I know nothing of illusions. But to me, those things seemed very much real.’
‘A pity Lady Dairin is not with us, then.’
Maeve was appalled at the sudden burst of scorn spreading through her being.
‘An Arcanist would be of no help in such situations,’ she said, careful not to sound overly condescending. She often faced the feelings she felt with confusion. Not understanding her own soul was a flaw she ignored arrestingly. ‘They study the faelin and the gems only. As I mentioned, it is of no relation to either of those.’
‘Very well.’ The Hunter Captain stared at the direction of the mountains, contemplating something deeply before speaking. ‘Whatever fate befell our brethren, I’m afraid we won’t know. You two,’ he pointed at the two remaining Crownguard, ‘can you march with your armour on? We’ll have a long journey.’
Both Crownguard nodded as they closed in around Maeve.
‘Then we march. Turning back now would be suicide if there indeed is an army of these. Goliaths and soldiers that don’t die are not exactly an expertise of ours, hunters. We head for the mountains, and then …’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘Let’s just reach them first. Maybe there’s some wildlife we can hunt for food. I gather none of you brought supplies from the ship. Watch out. Getting into the ambush of the Boars would be the last thing I’d want.’
----------------------------------------
Hours passed in dreadful silence. The morning shifted to noon, then afternoon, and the group only had few stops that never lasted longer than a couple of minutes. Although, Maeve was thankful for the slow pace as it proved much more merciful to her legs than running did. Despite all the long miles they had left behind, the mountains did not seem any closer.
They were having one of their breaks from marching in a small grove, surrounded by the same flatness that apparently reigned over Boar Isle: ash covered every path and hill, embers were smouldering here and there, and any plants they had seen was brittle, dead, and stained by soot. Maeve was sitting on a fallen trunk, struggling to remember the taste of food or water. She felt lonely among the hunters, even so that the two Crownguard, Amodh and Nash followed her everywhere, and Vhira, the hunter woman, tried to keep her company.
Reynard ordered some to look for game but not to stray too much away. Hunger proved to be an unwelcome companion, making the group be on edge. Maeve, having no better things to do, joined with Vhira. Amodh and Kash followed like shadows.
The hunt had turned to be uneventful, frustrating, and dead-silent.
‘How do we expect to find anything?’ she asked Vhira.
The woman shook her head while crouching, investigating the dead soil where ash could not cover the ground fully. ‘We don’t. The captain does this so we can occupy ourselves. We think less about the hardships this way.’
‘Is it any better to return empty-handed?’ Nash leant against a tree, arms crossed. Beads of sweat glistened on his bald head. ‘Keeping our hopes high in vain does little to lift our spirit. Constant failure is doomed to kill hope. I, for one, have no idea what else is left for us aside from hope.’
‘Hope can never be killed,’ argued Vhira, and she went forward, following an invisible trail. ‘That’s why we are here, after all. We hope things may turn to our favour.’
‘With all respect, Hunter,’ Nash sighed, pushing himself from the tree, ‘I believe you are too young for having met enough desperate people. Hope does wane with time. I do envy your optimism, though.’
Maeve glanced at the Crownguard. She was unable to tell his age, but he had wrinkles around his eyes and the corner of his lips; and yet she was concerned Vhira and he were about the same age.
‘True, I haven’t. But I know my companions, and I know that our current situation is but one of many ordeals we have faced throughout these years.’
‘Didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘You didn’t. I just won’t accept surrendering to despair.’
They followed Vhira as she was looking for tracks in the ash, to no avail.
‘Did you find anything on this, Lady Maeve?’ Amodh’s question struck her unexpected. The Crownguard gestured around, his fair hair hang in a ponytail. It took Maeve a moment to realise he was speaking about the destruction. ‘Down at that ruin. What could possibly cause the damnation of an island this large?’
The image of the impaled scout popped into Maeve’s mind. She forced herself to let go of the memory, focusing instead on the masonry she found in that valley or former lakebed. The faelin echoed inside the ruins, and she did find out that it had been a vessel for the pure essence of the power.
‘I could not have much time to investigate the whole structure,’ she answered. ‘But I managed to reveal its function. For whatever reason, the Islanders possessed some stonework which could essentially store faelin inside itself.’
Silence followed her words. She imagined, were there any crickets alive, their chirping would have resounded, mocking her.
‘And … how could those stones have the power inside?’ Amodh asked tentatively.
‘It’s … much like gemstones, you see. The jewels are in connection with the power, and you never have to worry about emptying its essence. There are cases where gems stop working, but mostly it is due to human meddling. Only raw gemstones may touch the faelin freely. A ruby in a ring, for example, loses its purity to the jeweller’s tools, and hence can be unreliable.’
Another wave of silence. I’m not even answering the question he’s asked.
‘I don’t understand,’ Amodh shook his head. ‘Gemstones have power, that much is clear. But how come that a regular stonework possesses the same properties as a ruby or a sapphire?’
Maeve was grateful for those questions beyond words.
‘All right, so firstly, rubies and sapphires are basically the same, only that they are different coloured versions of the same mineral called Corundum. Corundum is mainly associated with the elements, as ruby manipulates fire and sapphire does so with air and water. Although, we still call a green Corundum a sapphire, so in fact it’s not an emerald that operates with the earth, contrary to popular belief, but another Corundum, a green sapphire.’
She noticed the glances she was getting were probably much like the ones she had given to Dairin when the woman tried explaining these same things to her. She cleared her throat and quickly got back on track.
‘To answer the question, an Arcanist is able to tell which gemstones worth further inspection after mining, which are the ones whose powers may be called forth and harnessed. Often, they need the help of a Reborn to delicately channel their own source of faelin into the gem so that it can be activated. Arcanists are not in connection with the faelin directly.’
‘So … theoretically then, could a Reborn and an Arcanist make any kind of object be like a gemstone?’ Amodh was trying hard. He was off the track, but he was trying.
‘Not unless it has a Well of Source, to be a vessel for the faelin. Just like all the Reborn. To make such vessels out of anything … I’m terrified by the mere thought of it.’
‘So the ruins …?’
Maeve shrugged apologetically. ‘I’m not sure how it is possible.’
‘I’ve heard something.’
Nash froze and put up his hand. The group halted and listened. A faint noise of continuous humming filled the air.
‘Some sort of rumble,’ observed Amodh. ‘Could it mean anything good?’
‘Maybe more soldiers?’ worried Maeve, but Nash shook his head.
‘Marching doesn’t sound like this. It’s something else.’
‘I suggest you all go back. I’ll find out what it is,’ said Vhira and she immediately began to tread into the direction of the sound.
Amodh and Nash looked at Maeve expectantly. She did not hesitate.
‘We’re coming as well.’ The hunter frowned but before she could say anything, Maeve continued, ‘You might need a healer.’
They attempted to sneak as best as they could, although the trees grew quite far from each other. The ground started to slope, and soon they left the grove behind. A couple more yards, and they saw what caused the noise.
They stared in amazement.
‘Water!’ Amodh exclaimed as though a child who had just got a new toy, but Maeve did not judge—a sense of relief washed over her so strongly she collapsed to her knees in the ash.
‘Finally,’ she muttered.
A narrow brook was running at the bottom of the valley, coming down from the tall rocks standing on their right, crashing into stones as it fought its way through the rocky riverbed. But that was not the only spectacle catching Maeve’s attention.
On the bank across, the field shone green. Grass covered the ground, flecked with the most various bright-coloured flowers Maeve had ever seen. Dandelion floated in the gentle breeze that caressed the land. Spots of ash lingered, but as far as Maeve saw it, those were carried by the wind from their side.
‘Strange,’ she voiced her thoughts. ‘Looks as if the river functioned as sort of a barrier.’
‘An effective one at that.’ Vhira pointed towards the brook further down; the slope of the hill they stood on was exceptionally high, for they could see green valleys and fields stretching beneath. The brook widened into a sluggish river down there, being a contour line between the contrast of green and grey, of life and death. ‘Shall we be alert?’
Maeve stood and walked up to the water. She felt the power of faelin pulling her close. ‘I expect so.’
She crouched by the flowing water, holding a hand above it. The puzzle of the ruins had already proved a mystery she could not yet solve. She did not want another one.
She opened up herself, once again let her Well be filled with the essence to its brink. It felt static, rigid, permanent—much as a barrier indeed.
‘I’ll go get the others,’ Vhira said. ‘Will you manage on your own?’
Nash snorted. ‘I don’t think you realise we’re Crownguard, hunter.’
The woman nodded and strode away. Maeve let go of the faelin when Amodh sat beside him.
‘Is it safe to pass? Is it even possible?’
‘It is,’ Maeve extended a hand over the brook again, to demonstrate her claim. ‘It only stands guard to deflect faelin. I … am not sure as to how this is possible. No Reborn wield gifts like that, summoning faelin to their will and binding it to the physical world in its purest form.’ A claim she only heard from Dairin, but one that she could believe without much doubt. The power was prevalent in the world, more vividly at some places than at others, but always sleeping, waiting to be harnessed by gemstones or one that was touched by it. Thus, according to their limited knowledge on the power, it could never form a barrier on its own.
‘I have to admit, I don’t quite understand sorcery, Lady Maeve.’
‘It is no sorcery.’
‘If you insist, milady. But people are doing things my great-grandfather would not only be confused about but he’d think stories of the folk came to life.’
Maeve considered the Crownguard’s words. Her father feared her abilities, that had been the very first wedge between them. I wonder what my great grandpa would think about his great-granddaughter.
After a while Vhira returned with Reynard and the hunters. The Hunter Captain seemed careworn, but his eyes glistened with newly found hope. Maeve quickly informed him about the situation, then he ordered the hunters to cross the river. Since it was shallow and overly rocky, they found no difficulties in doing so.
‘Our next objective is to find a settlement or town,’ Reynard told Maeve on the other bank. The sensation of standing in the grass up to their hips, the flowers surrounding them, and the faint buzzing of insects made Maeve forget her hunger. She could not bother with her wet clothes, either.
‘And convince the folks that we did not, in fact, want to do the exact same thing with their isle someone had already taken care of before us.’ Reynard gave a stern look to Nash who shrugged indifferently. The captain then slowly nodded.
‘That shall not be too big of a challenge. We don’t seem much of a conquering force.’
Maeve glanced at the two-dozen people covered in ash. ‘We shall be aware of the wildlife as well. Evening is drawing closer; we may not want to opt for spending the night in the open.’
The grass rustled around them, and shapes rose from the sea of green. Maeve blinked. The humanoid forms of entities stood in a large circle, surrounding the hunters. They held bows and arrows, aiming at the group. Before Reynard could even draw breath for a shout, one of the creatures stepped closer.
‘You will not sleep in the open.’ A man’s baritone. ‘You are coming with us to Tusk Ridge. Resist, and you’ll pay with your lives. I am Mindu Stormwalker. Welcome to Boar Isle.’