Everyone was slow to rise the next morning as the sun drew near the horizon. A thick mist covered the ground, denying a clear view of the forest like a massive, white veil of cloud and ice. It was beautiful to behold, but all the more confining as a result of the silent, dream-like state the forest was in.
“How’s this possible?” one of Elana’s men queried, eyes wide at the strange scene all around them. It was more a rhetorical question than anything, but still commanded a response from the others.
“S’bewitched!” Another said a little too loudly.
“Be silent, fools!” Elana barked, “Folmsae’s a cursed forest. You wanna conjure more evil to us with all that bellerin’?”
No one else made a sound as Kalos observed that the palm trees, the sand, everything was coated with a thin layer of frozen dew. At the top of the still-green trees, tiny sparkles glittered in the weak light as a candy-thin shell of ice slowly began melting in the heat of the sun’s rays while it slowly descended toward them. He had never seen the light of day move so clearly before his eyes. Cold droplets started raining down all around them from the trees. The sky was crystal clear and bright blue on the other side of the fog.
“Let’s get going,” Doogin’s voice seemed to echo as loud as a horn, even through hushed tones. The entire group quickly began reconstructing their packs, growing more anxious by the minute.
#
After packing the horses and releasing them from their bindings, a few rays of sun finally pierced the veil, causing the mist to dissipate instantly wherever the beams touched it like some sort of arcane sorcery none of them had ever seen.
As soon as everyone finished mounting, a wave of excitement rippled through them. No sooner had they done so when a long, wide arc of sunlight swept through the mist like a giant fan, carving the veil into several massive chunks of fog that looked like they were ascending to the heavens in a heavenly furnace above their heads.
A long, thin ribbon of heat quickly flooded them with warmth, causing the brisk moisture to split into thousands of different pieces all at once. The sun continued burning away the unnaturally cold, damp air all around them at an astounding rate.
“By heaven’s light!” Avestus proclaimed as the path before them opened up in seconds. The trail they had been following appeared almost instantly from behind the veil. The mists were still burning to nothing in the distance around them, but if what they saw was any indicator of how much time it would take for the rest of Folmsae to clear up, it would only be a few minutes more before the entire place would once again look like a tropical sea of palm trees with no indication of the thick veil that had fallen over it late in the night.
The ice was still melting slowly, though, causing a delicate shower from the treetops without end. Everyone in the party was drenched and cold despite the liberating warmth that had come with the dawn.
They slowly started moving along the trail once again, this time with Elana in the lead. Everyone was still awestruck, but more nervous than ever. Folmsae had already proven to be even more mystical and dangerous than they feared in less than a day.
#
The group traveled in silence for a few hours as the temperature steadily increased. A wave of heat eventually replaced the cold morning chill and everyone was feeling it. The journey had quickly become uncomfortably warm and was beginning to drain their resolve.
Kalos grabbed the cloak he’d been wearing since the previous day and pulled it over his head before draping it over his horse’s neck. He rubbed his forehead dry with one sleeve and took a long breath, enjoying a short gust from the cool breeze as it sickled through the palms to revitalize him, but only for a few seconds before dying off entirely. A few of Elana’s crew did the same.
Kalos watched as Elana, who was now riding ahead of the group, carefully remove her cloak. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest as her midriff started glistening in the light between the shadows of the palm trees passing by.
A sharp jab in the arm snapped him out of his trance. He caught himself just before grunting in pain and looked over at the culprit with a scowl.
Doogin was staring at him like some grumpy grandpa who’d just caught his grandson trying to sneak a sweet treat without asking first. Somehow, the old man managed to bring his mighty voice down to a barely audible whisper.
“I un’erstand lad, trus’me. I was there at the Glaive two nights ago.” He let the secret meaning of his words sink in before continuing, “But if’er crew sees ya gawkin’ like that, you’ll be two strokes shy of yer final breath in half as many seconds, ya’ hear?”
Such a thought hadn’t occurred to Kalos at all before that moment. The frown on his face disappeared as he stole a quick glance toward Elana’s men.
Lugor seemed to be watching with a curious expression. Kalos wasn’t sure if the fellow knew why Doogin had punched him, but clearly Elana’s second-in-command had grown suspicious of them, which was more than enough to prove Doogin’s point in Kalos’ eyes.
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“Yes, Sir,” Kalos muttered under his breath. He sat upright and dropped his eyes to the trail, struggling to ignore Elana’s alluring physique altogether. Somehow his peripheral vision still found her sweet frame from the corner of his eye, but at least he wasn’t so obvious about it now.
“Don worry, boy. You’ll ‘ave plenty’o time fer such ‘tings later. Right now, she’s Cap’n Elana Red Dagger wit a heart’o black and an eye fer treasure. Don’t forget’at.” The tone in Doogin’s voice made it seem like he was reciting a line from common lore like some wise storyteller warning listeners about the woes that come from making wrong choices in life.
“Cap’n Elana Red Dagger? That’s really her name?”
Doogin looked at him in disbelief, “Ya must be jokin’ lad. Ya didn’t know dat after she told ya clear as glass? Look to’er blade for heavn’sake!”
Avestus mysteriously appeared next to Lugor and began chatting about some unrelated subject that everyone else was now focused on.
Kalos examined Elana’s sheath the best he could without being too obvious. A deep red shade of leather along the weapon’s handle matched the sheen of the case itself. He’d failed to notice the details of its craftsmanship when they crossed blades in the narrows. Now the exquisite quality of her weapon was easy to discern.
From under the velvety red sheath shined a highly-embossed, golden hilt with detailed etchings in some unfamiliar pattern. It was one of the most beautifully crafted weapons he’d ever seen.
Etched into the side of the sheath was a long, narrow image of a dagger stretching through a group of brilliant red rubies installed into the casing at random intervals. Kalos thought they resembled drops of blood splattered across the ends of each carved line.
“She’s the only one who’s ever been able to wield that red dagger’o hers despite its many curses. It comes from a long line’o smiths that’ve been craftin’ powerful relics for generations.
“Not quite as strong as ya’ave there a’course,” Doogin smacked Kalos with one hand, where the dagger was hidden in the small of his back, causing him to flinch, “But a lot prettier and wit its own host o’dark magics ta fear.”
Doogin leaned back in his saddle while puffing out his chest as if to display all the pride he could muster over the superiority of his own handiwork compared to Elana’s blood dagger.
Kalos wanted to know more, “Doogin, you said something about dark magics? My dagger has some?”
Doogin grinned before glancing over at the boy, as if preparing to boast even more about his accomplishments.
When the blacksmith realized that his younger companion was posing a serious question rather than stroking his ego, he cleared his throat and adopted a more humble posture.
“Well, yes…” He suddenly appeared much taller than he actually was thanks to the powerful steed bearing him up at the same eye level as Kalos.
Doogin whispered, even making an effort to shield his mouth with one of those large, chunky hands of his to prevent eavesdropping, “As you know, dat’s Sultrani Ostele, lad.”
He lowered his hand before continuing, “Its true origins’r unknown, but the crafters who used it were said to’ve applied some of the most powerful, forbidden techniques to keep it ‘calm’ while it waits fer new blood to consume.”
Kalos’ face paled before Doogin quickly shook his head, “Now, now, hold on there lad. Not yer blood! Da blood of its enemies. You see, it’s a long complicated history.” He shook his head and sighed. He slowly scratched his scruffy cheek before speaking again.
“A’right, we’ll start from the beginnin’ then.” The man shifted in his saddle, tugging his reins to guide the mount a little closer as he continued, “This be dark stuff, so listen close! I’ll not repeat a word of it again, ya’ear?
“Dat metals’said ta be at least a’tousand years old. An ancient, vastly evil magician was came up with the recipe before Ceirlan was even a kingdom. Supposedly’ it died wit him, too… Perhaps because of him, actually.” He cleared his throat before carrying on with the story.
“The true secret of this metal has ne’er been heard by anyone outside the Sultrani King’s inner council. Eh, in my trade, one can’nay learn such secrets wit’out sharing some of the old, though. I got this history from a Sultrani bard a long, long time ago who’d heard some of it during his trav’ls.
“He told me that ery’time one’o these blades loses its owner, it gets reforged in Sultrani fires to wait fer a new one. Only great’n royal sorts get to use’it, because there’s only enough to make five’r six at a time, and ev’ry generation loses a little more o’ the original batch as new forging techniques are applied. Eventually, there’ll only be enough for one small trinket to be forged as a memento containing all the glory from its previous owners all the way back to the gran’sorcerer himself.”
Doogin wiped away some of the moisture that had been collecting at the corners of his mouth as he spoke.
“Each type has a dif’rent heritage ya see? The one you have’s from a long line’o bladesmen. A little of each owner’s blood is’till in the metal, actually. E’en yours, now boy. Initial affinitys’ the only time it samples a new master’s blood. But it’s like cookin’ an entire patch of funnyweed down to a single drop. Eventually just tasting it would surely kill whoever tried it...” Doogin paused, noticing the confusion in Kalos’ eyes and coughed, dropping the example altogether.
Kalos stiffened at the thought of having his blood mixed into the blade itself with a bunch of people from the past. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable to be carrying it around at all. His stomach almost wanted to turn at the thought.
Doogin pressed on, “Well, when someone new, who’s still alive, adds’is own blood to it, he becomes its new master and eventually frees all the power wit’in. So long as yer alive, it belongs ta you’n you alone.
“I simply fashioned it wit you as its master instead of some Sultrani snob. Between you’n me, I tink it’s happy about’t. Truly there was barely enough juice inside to make’t work at all, but ole’ Doogin’s still got it.”
Doogin nudged him with a sly grin.
“What’s going to happen to me?”
Kalos asked only one of the several questions that were piling up in his mind. He could barely keep his head straight from how queasy he was feeling all of a sudden.
Doogin’s grin faded as he looked around to make sure they were still safe to talk. The only one within earshot was Elana, who seemed to be focused on the conversation still going on between Avestus, Lugor, and the others.
He leaned close to Kalos, speaking in such a soft tone that he thought Doogin’s voice might break under the pressure of his restraint, “Listen, Affinity mus’be made between Ostele weapons and wort’y masters. A great many’ve died tryin’ to get what you have, now. Weak-hearted men simply can’nay survive it.” Doogin slowly shook his head as if to reinforce the authority in his words.
“If yer ever in a real fix, remember dat Ostele a’cepted ya fer a reason. Guidance from yer ancestors and da many great men who wielded it before ya will be there when ya need’em. Yer in real good hands lad no matter what happens next, I promise!”
©2024, K. M. Plum, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED