Rain pelted down on his hood. The grassy hillocks swarmed around him, with slick grass his boots slipped on. There was no chance of scaling them, and these mounds were wide. It was gloomy above, and the rain hammered, but the sun shone behind the grey curtain. Sunlight meant the beast was nowhere to be seen, but Mazin felt watched. Unseen eyes pricking up his fine hairs. Trustworthy or not, he couldn’t tell.
His sweat hardened clothes were drenched by the winter deluge, adding needless weight. He couldn’t recall when his legs weren’t aching. The straps of his bag chafed his shoulders, his chest and back were raw. Rain pinged off the ruby pommel and hilt of his khopesh, but the dark Bagha’s warning kept his boots moving. Whenever he paused, Mazin sniffed the moist air, beneath the shade of a ruin, or a charred darkwood, ensuring Ammon’s stink was imagined.
There wasn't time for his teeth to chatter. Whenever the rain paused, it meant the chance for speed. The prince pushed through night’s darkness. He never slept at the night. His limbs found their strength with the moon glowing above. Not even the rain stopped him then.
His boots squelched in the midday gloom. He eyed the homesteads and farms on each horizon. Watching for any sign of movement, or threat of approach. Most stood, but ruined foundations and piles of rubble were too frequent not to concern him. This was not the civil war. He didn’t think Da hammered the Tigers as much as the Dhaar suggested.
Prince Mazin’s pace didn’t linger on the destruction. He whipped out a water-skin and gulped. Streams were a frequent occurrence, though not as present as ponds. With the constant rain, even puddles, those not tainted by boots, were a reasonable location to refill his bottle.
The sky rumbled after a few hours, and Mazin scrambled for shelter. It deepened the gloom above once the sun set. Another rumble shifted into a sharp clap, and he slowed to a halt. There was nothing around, only low hillocks and endless plains. There was nothing towards the west, and only shadows in the east. With more hillocks and drenched lush grass ahead, Mazin turned for the east just as a bright white whip cracked overhead.
It wasn’t long until lone darkwoods turned into groves. Tight formations of arrowhead trees shrouded in darkness. The occasional flash of searing white light sparked across the sky, giving away their green hue. Mazin scaled a mound on all fours, digging his fingers into the damp soil, tearing through the lush blades of grass for grip. Drenched by rain at the peak, on his haunches to avoid the attention of lightning.
A forest dominated the eastern horizon, with flickering lights to its south. North was a wall of mist that his Tamer eyes couldn’t pierce. He lowered with every crack of lightning above. The run-down farmhouse on the forest border was his only option. It kept its foundations, and much of its structure, but rain rotted the wood. There was some stone as well, paper walls hacked and shredded, yellowed beyond recognition. His chattering teeth spurred him to act.
Prince Mazin slid down the mound and sprinted for the shack. Splashing the puddles in his path, wetting the few dry crevices remaining on him. The grass turned patchy, surrounding the remnants of the farmhouse. He leapt over puddles and avoided the mud. No need risking a sprained ankle. The rickety structure wrinkled his nose. Alongside rot was overpowering mould.
He paused before the wide-open entranceway, peering into the blackness within. There was nothing save for more rubble. Fragments of the ceiling, and pools of rainwater in the corners. His palm itched for his khopesh, but there was only darkness, nothing more. Mazin dripped within.
His eyes searched for the driest patch while he ringed his hood and eye patch in the opposite direction. He placed his sheathed blade and damp bag against a wooden column. He shivered when he dragged off his dripping shirt and squeezed the moisture out of it, careful not to rip the fabric. Mazin considered taking off his pants, but his drumming teeth kept them on.
He scrounged around the dusty farmhouse for kindling. The cabinets were his only choice. Mazin swept the dust from his dry patch of floor, then huddled around the baby flame. He dragged himself out of the dungeon. Hope grew alongside the crackling fire, and Mazin rushed to dry his clothes and himself beside the warmth.
The fine hairs on his neck pricked up, and a subtle pull dragged his eyes towards the deep darkness on the other side of the farmhouse. Unyielding and swirling, shifting to form black fur with silver slashes. The dark Bagha blinked its blood-red eyes at him, and the darkness it emerged from dissipated.
“You strayed west.” It said, sinking his heart.
“Where am I?”
“On the border, you were, at least. You strayed northwest, into the lands of the Jagu’ara.” It circled the interior of the farmhouse with an air of disgust, snorting at the ground. “You pushed on, do not linger in inhabited lands.”
“I would have frozen in this deluge.”
“This is not yet cold. It is the shaping hammer needed to strengthen you for the snows to come.” The dark Bagha snorted and a dust cloud floated all around it before lounging on the ground with some reluctance. “What you did is done. Your pace has quickened again.”
Then why? Mazin didn’t bother with the thought. He sighed into the flame and dragged his bag closer.
“There is no hiding anymore. Busy roads bar your way north now. Unless you wish to return to the grand road, you must traverse villages and farms until the Mahn’Parvat is visible on the northern horizon.”
His heart fell into a pit once more, but he remained silent. His eyes fixed on the fire and his mind drifted onto the drumming rain.
“I will watch. Do not repeat the same mistakes.”
Mazin jumped awake with sunlight blaring through all the farmhouse’s holes. He rubbed the dry drool around his lips. The ground was hard and dusty beneath his bare feet. His mind swam with incoherent mush, snatching him away from reality. Peaceful nature floated into his ears from outside, the songs of lesser beasts almost lowered his guard. The dark Bagha was long gone, but the warning returned to his mind.
He forced his feet back into his dry boots and snatched a piece of dried meat before strapping his khopesh around his waist and bag onto his back. His jaws struggled with the tasteless meat as he kicked the ashes of what remained of his fire. A simpering yellow sun washed over him when he stepped out onto the damp soil. There was a crisp breeze caressing his face, dragging him towards the forest. But there were soft whispers of voices floating from the north. Hesitation set in when an eerie sense of dread beckoned him into the forest in the east.
Mazin began by scaling the closest mound, stepping carefully across the soggy and ruined fields. His grand vantage only worsened his indecision. A town, or village, it was difficult to tell because much of the darkwood forest shielded it from his eyes. There was a wooden palisade ringing around what little of the town he saw. Specks of life strode around the wooden structures with thatched roofs. Chimneys coughed out smoke and Mazin observed the deceptive peace as a reason to avoid the forest.
He drummed his fingers; he fondled the ironvine ring still hidden in his pocket while his mind churned for a decision. Mazin followed the forest’s border north, watching it thin and skew west. His doubt forced his eyes towards the west entirely, one last ditch effort from his mind to return to the lynx road, risking another Ammon to torment him. The prince’s chest tightened at the thought. There was no delaying it now.
Mazin stretched his sleepy joints and freed his back of its tightness before resuming at a brisk jog towards the darkwood forest.
Despite the tight formation of the trees, Mazin found a path through the tree wall meters away from reaching the first row of darkwoods. Yellow, flat grass was commonplace within the forest once he crossed the threshold. Which did little to ease his growing anxiety. All options seemed awful choices, the forest the least, yet the signs of recent activity stilled him.
He prepared his ears for the tiniest pinprick and adjusted the slash of silk over his ruby eye while he weaved around the darkwoods. Sunlight forced its way through the canopy, but eastwards was dimmer. Mazin raised his hood and strayed northeast, as the grass returned to its usual lush green. The blades tickled his ankles when he turned north.
It was suffocating within. He saw the western border of the forest to his left. The east was more trees, with no sign of their end. Every breath he took was a deep one, inhaling the nourishing air all around. He caressed each tree barring his way, weaving around them, enjoying the crackle of swaying branches above. The grass crunched with every cautious step he took. His head darted towards every snapping twig in his vicinity.
Mazin sipped on his cool water. Birds squawked in the forest, cawing their displeasure at the stranger in their midst. Each one rang his enhanced ears. Winter was slow in silencing them.
Morning was gone, though his pace was slow. He expected the forest to have ended. His eyes caught activity to his left. One of many villages the dark Bagha warned him about, with a hint of baking bread.
There was no need to leave the darkwood forest even as it became thinner. The fading sunlight eked through the tight formations, bathing the lush greens with an autumnal coloured fire during winter.
He forgot about his appetite while traversing the winding path. Never faster than a hastened stride. The occasional twig snap and screeching lesser beast stilled him. Mazin concentrated his enhanced senses, slowing his breathing to listen, sniffing at the air for unwelcome scents. There was always nothing beyond the rhythms of nature.
Nightfall came along with its chill. He feared to stop and make camp. Torches were close, and their holders. The darkness flexed its strength within the cramped forest. Not enough to force him to halt, but to slow him down. Twisting an ankle on the endless, snaking roots would be a nightmare.
Mazin wrapped himself in his arms against the biting wind away. Aided by the surrounding trees, he envied the solid walls and billowing chimneys of the people beyond the forest. He stumbled on a root and cursed when he caught himself digging his nails into the trunk of a nearby tree. The dark Bagha was nowhere to be found, but his frustrations turned his feet into bricks. It wasn’t fatigue, but he couldn’t continue on in the night.
The prince hugged his bag over his chest and slid down the closest trunk behind him. Its roots were wide enough for him to sit between them. He stretched out his legs, rested his head back, and allowed the overwhelming wave of sleep to win.
Mazin couldn’t recall his last blink. He awoke with the reaching fingers of the sun piercing the darkwood wall. Caressing his face with its meagre warmth, wiping away the remnants of sleep from his eyes. Another dreamless slumber to be grateful for. His back was stiff, and his neck ached. The lush grass did its best to provide comfort, but now it was as hard as stone.
He groaned back to his feet and washed out his mouth with water before trudging north again. His ears listened, and he sniffed the nourishing air, but he kept his head as low as his mood.
The darkwood forest waned, trees grew in sparser formations, leaving more open grass. Thus came an increase in pace. Perspiration followed soon after. Once he left the waking sounds of the village folk behind him. Darkwood stumps frequented the landscape, taking over from the tall standing trees, until there were only open plains.
Mazin paused, licking his lips and tasting the moisture in the air. The ringing palisade of another village to the east seemed too low from where he stood. He turned northwest and sprinted towards the hillocks and groves without forgetting the northern horizon.
Stolen story; please report.
The morning breezed by and the sun glowed in the middle of the sky. Since it woke him, there was no warmth to enjoy from the sun anymore. It was a light in the clear blue sky above, nothing else, yet sweat streamed down his brow. The open fields, regardless of the hillocks, demanded his sprinting pace to make up for time lost in the forest. Yet when his clothes stuck to his skin, Mazin found himself irritable.
He drained his water-skin, then listened for the faint trickling of water nearby. The crisp wind drew him further into the west, where after he climbed a hillock to find the source of the water in a rather rocky grove.
Water gushed and bubbled when he neared, and the warmth denied by the lacklustre sun above beckoned him closer. Mazin spotted a ghost tree as he arrived at the grove’s border, peaking through the tight formation of darkwoods. He caught a sweet scent amongst the warmth, and it doubled as he weaved his way through the tree line. Another gust of wind filled his nose with the same sweetness. He focused on the ghost tree. It glowed under the sun and sparkled as if the ashen wood held diamonds beneath its surface.
“Why is he taking so long?”
The sharp claws of anxiety snatched at Mazin’s neck. He dived back behind the closest darkwood and struggled to find his next breath.
“I will scream for him if I must linger here for much longer!”
“Ma, shush!”
“Excuse me?”
“Someone’s here.”
Mazin cursed under his breath.
How sour his luck continued to be. The Great Beast refused to dull his journey north. To run into a Tamer, a Tamer! Mazin punched his thigh, better than the words he intended for himself. The eyes he feared throughout his recent days were now realised. At least they weren’t ghosts like before.
He wished to steal a glance again, but fear soiled his limbs into stillness. It rooted his boots to the tree he hid behind. Mazin shut his eyes and begged for his heart to slow its gallop. It threatened to burst through his chest, and he struggled for his next breath. Ammon’s rancid stink tainted his mind.
It’s not real, it’s not real, he repeated. He’s not here.
“Come out stranger!” The girl, at least she sounded young enough, shouted at him. “We have no riches for you to steal.”
“Beast, girl,” the other one sighed. The girl shushed her again.
Blood stained his hands, replacing the streaming sweat on his face. His eyes remained shut, but it convinced him his flesh wept blood. Blood of his making, but not his own. The weight of his khopesh filled his hand, without unsheathing it from his waist.
“Coward!”
Enough!
Mazin forced his eyes open and blinked the horror of his violence away.
The girl is clearly a Tamer, she wouldn’t be…
Mazin didn’t finish the thought. Yet that didn’t mean she couldn’t be a bandit.
A child bandit. His mind mocked him with a chuckle.
He heard Zaki’s disgusted words at his behaviour. The shame he brought to Atum Ra, let alone himself. Mazin clenched his fist. Discipline in all things.
The prince emptied his chest and slowly filled it again with freshness to wash away his reeking fear.
“Show yourself, or violence will follow!”
Mazin sprang from his cover with his arms raised. There were two women dressed in fine furs and a carriage with its front wheels removed. Behind them was a steaming pool beneath a towering ghost tree, the largest he had seen, with most of its white silk streamers for leaves turning pink and folding into flowers.
The shorter of the two narrowed her eyes. Not a Tamer then, for the other, the girl, raised an eyebrow at him. The girl was sun kissed, but paler than the woman beside her. With strange brunette hair streaked by fiery red. They shared enough to assume their relation. Mazin dared a few steps closer, and neither of them spoke against him. He tried it again, and the girl’s mother gasped at him.
“No closer!”
Mazin snatched at his face, then calmed when he felt the silk eye patch. The woman lingered on the left side of his face.
She knows, she must know.
“State your business.”
Mazin glanced at the girl, who took her mother’s duty of narrowing her eyes at him.
“I thought to bathe. It has been some time since my last,” the girl sniffed in his direction and appeared unconvinced. It couldn’t be deceit; it wasn’t far from the truth.
“What business does a Lion cub have in the Dhaar Province?”
“Ma, he’s a Tamer, he’s…”
“Quiet Lee-lee,” the woman hissed.
It just occurred to him they were Lions themselves, at least the girl’s mother.
“I’m making…”
Mazin watched as the girl’s attention jump over his shoulder, then widen. His ears caught the hurried and padded footfalls of an approaching beast from behind. The prince spun around with a hand rushing for his khopesh, but the overgrown beast already pounced.
The girl yelped long before her mother realised what had happened.
“Da no!”
A silver furred beast, with a dark underbelly and strikingly yellow eyes. It bared its dagger sized fangs when it growled down at him. Buffeting warm and angry smelling breath onto his face, with dribbles of spit. The beast’s snout almost kissed his nose, and its paws crushed his shoulders. Mazin dared not blink, let alone squirm.
“What do you want with my family, boy?” The beast’s Tamer glared down at him. Menace set his icy blue eyes ablaze. His hair was shockingly ruby red and braided like the girl’s. The man was pale and freckled, as if he had never been south.
“Speak!”
The red-haired man’s Tamed snapped at Mazin, and he shut his eyes and turned away. What little courage he clung to withered.
“Da wait!”
The girl yelped while sprinting towards them. It was her sweet perfume that drew him into the grove. Mazin turned away from the growling beast.
“He means no harm.”
“Quiet Lee-lee,” a gruff voice responded, though not without care. The Tamer dismounted and thumped to the ground. He smelled of lye soap. Mazin shut his eyes as the man knelt beside him. Icy steel kissed the prince’s neck.
“Speak, boy, and tell me why you carry death on you?”
Mazin hesitated, flinching at the cool sharp steel shaving the fine hairs on his neck. He blinked first, but remained still, watching the Tamed growl at him. He turned towards the redheaded man, with a braided beard to match the hip length braid.
It was a blacksteel axe, a silver edge against his neck, with glittering strengthening script on its surface. Fine black silk wrapped the thick vinewood handle. Mazin’s eyes lifted towards the pale man and noticed his blue eyes fix upon the silk covering his ruby eye. Whatever intimidation remained in those blue eyes shifted into curiosity.
“I’m just a Tamer travelling to Bana’Parvat for my bonding,” Mazin said, his voice breaking.
“See,” the girl said.
Her father, why her brunette head had streaks of red. The man narrowed his eyes at first. Then slowly lifted his axe and hung it back on his waist, across from an identical axe. It was Mazin’s turn to frown as the overgrown beast ceased its growling. A dual wielder, with thickened maroon furs rich enough to be regal.
“Apologies, lad,” the man offered a hand. “The roads are perilous these days, can’t be too careful.”
Mazin watched as the stocky pale man stomped away with his Tamed towards two large spoked wheels in the grass. He hefted them onto his shoulders and nodded at Mazin again on the way to the carriage.
“Well?” The girl nudged him as Mazin stared. “What’s your name?”
“Lee-lee,” her father sighed.
The girl rolled her eyes, then smirked. She shared her father’s freckles as well, from one cheek, over her nose, to the other.
“I’m Ai-leesha, does that help?”
“Uh.” Mazin glanced to his right, searching for a path out of the grove.
“Come along. You’re here for the spring, are you not?”
She beamed at him, and was of equal height, yet she kept an air of youthfulness about her. Ai-leesha strolled away and didn’t glance back when he hesitated.
Just run, you fool, run!
Mazin followed.
He arrived at the carriage and watched as her father lifted it with one hand, while his Tamed took the weight. A Bavamso this far south, Mazin struggled to believe it. Even as the beast watched him with its yellow eyes. He didn’t realise Wolves travelled south of the Mahn’Parvat these days.
“Trouble on the road?” Ai-leesha’s mother asked. She seemed frail, despite the richness of her cloak. Then her eyes fixed on his eyepatch.
“Mm.”
The Wolf man rolled in the carved wheels onto the front of the carriage. And clapped with a wide grin on his face.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Ai-leesha poked him, and mischief danced in her hazel eyes, much to her mother’s displeasure.
“I uh… well,” Mazin rubbed his hands and his eyes danced around in hopes of an escape again.
“His name is his own, Lee-lee, don’t pressure him,” her father turned towards him. “I am Nameless boy. This is my wife, Isa, and Ai-leesha has already introduced herself.”
The prince nodded, and forced a smile, sheepish about his current state.
“Bana’Parvat hey, perhaps you wouldn’t mind traveling with us? We could use an extra sword to dissuade any would-be attackers from us. After you bathe, of course, if that was your intention for coming here?”
Mazin’s mouth opened and closed. Ai-leesha’s hazel eyes bore into him, her mother’s eyes narrowed, while Nameless’ blues brightened.
“I don't want to bother you.”
“Nonsense, not at all. Like I said, you would be useful to us, if you wish to be?”
There was no scent of deceit. But the scars of Ammon scorched his mind still, and it didn’t help that Isa’s curiosity disquieted him.
What’s the worst that could happen? A dual wielding Tamer dressed in regal furs in league with the Bannerless? Surely not, never. Let the Beast strike me down. I will deserve it if this is another trap.
Mazin debated in his mind while their stares lingered on his covered eye. He yearned for companions, which was a surprise. It helped that a Tamer was amongst them.
A babe wailed within the carriage, and Isa apologised as she scurried back in. That was enough for the prince.
“If you would have me, I would be glad.”
“Wonderful,” Nameless clapped. “Please, if it is your wish, bathe, it would be an honour to wait.”
Mazin stopped his frown before it could wrinkle his brow. He forced another wide smile and nodded, before stepping towards the hot springs at the foot of the enormous ghost tree.