CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

THE PALE

From the sky, a crow descends on a cold-rotting corpse as it plucks out its eye. Why always the eyes? Bodies of both Northmen and Union soldiers cover the battlefield; if not for the wintry winds of the Withering Lands, the smell would be even more unbearable. Near the crow lies another body of a dead Northman with a sword stuck in his eye; his face wears an expression of ecstasy even in these moments. A Union soldier approaches, stepping on the corpse’s face as he pulls out the sword. The other person won’t be needing it.

At the vanguard, General Iro stands beside a corpse of a faceless black demon.

“General Iro,” an officer speaks, rushing to the General.

“What is the status?” General Iro asks.

“About 30 000 left,” the officer says with a firm posture.

“And the injured?” General Iro asks.

“A little less than 6000,” the officer responds, saluting the General.

“At ease, soldier, you will give yourself a heart attack,” General Iro commands.

“Yes, Sir,” the officer relaxes as exhaustion takes hold of him.

The General looks at the faces of the weary soldiers. There is always a toll to pay for going to war, even for the experienced.

“No word on the Princess?” General Iro asks.

“No, sir. I don’t...” the officer says as he stops mid-sentence.

“We have to move on,” General Iro says, looking forward.

“I beg your pardon, General, but shouldn’t we retreat?” the officer asks.

“I’m afraid that is not a privilege available to us. They’ve closed out the retreat route. The only way is forward less we suffer a total defeat. Do not fret, we still haven’t lost,” General Iro says sighing.

On the battlefield, soldiers are resting as much as one could rest surrounded by imminent death.

“How many attacks has this been?” a soldier with bandages over his face asks.

“I think, five?” another soldier answers.

“Was it not six?” the bandaged-soldier asks, thinking.

“I could be. Hard to tell,” the soldier answers.

“Hard to keep track. No time for thinking,” the bandaged-soldier adds.

“Aye. No time at all,” the soldier says, nodding.

In the distance, a loud horn sounds off.

“The Northmen!” a soldier yells.

“Positions!” a high-ranking officer yells.

The soldiers rally up in defensive formations with weapons and shields in hand; staring at the empty trees that surround them on the left and right.

There is silence. The loudest sound is that of a simple breath and the fast beating of a human heart. Sweat drips from the face of a young soldier as he waits, glancing at the empty dark trees. There is nothing.

“Damn them! Another trick,” a soldier yells, throwing his spear on the ground in frustration.

“What is the point of this?” another soldier yells in anger.

General Iro stands tall on his mount looking at the toll on the faces of his men; he knows the answer. It is a war of attrition.

From the shadows, the one-armed Northmen chieftain watches them with a vicious smile upon his face.

“Chieftain Calder, shouldn’t we attack if the horn is sound?” a savage asks.

“We attack when I give the order,” Calder says.

“Tradition dictates that we must attack. You are dishonoring our ancestors by using such underhanded means. Is it not enough we ambush them like cowards? How far will you take this?” the savage speaks in anger. Other nearby savages observe the situation as they cannot help but agree.

“You, mystic. The god Boreas told you to listen to my orders? Is this correct? “Calder says, looking at one of the two female twins.

The young white-haired woman nods with a smile.

“Make yourself useful and cut his head off,” Calder says, looking away.

“What?” the savage blurts out as the mystic approaches him in haste; surprised at the situation he draws his axe and raises it to defend himself. The savage’s head drops as blood drips from the transparent invisible blade.

“Any more issues?” Calder calmly asks.

“No, Chieftain,” a group of Northmen yell in unison.

“Good. Now give our friends a brief shout,” Calder says as another Northmen raises his fist in the air.

They scream a loud war cry.

"Death! Death! Death!"

The soldiers of Union watch at the empty trees as the loud shouts cut deep into their very soul. Shaking and making their courage thin.

Under the guidance of the Luu tribe, the party travels through the snow and cold of the Withering Lands; an entire day passes as they slowly close in on their destination. Finally, they stop on the outskirts of a giant forest. Great white dead-like trees cover it. Taller than any other as they pierce the skies. The trees give an impression of moving, yet they do not. A sudden chill passes through their spines as they could swear they can hear singing. There is silence. The loudest silence. Strange? Snow covers the Great North, everyone knows this simple fact. So, why isn’t there any snow here? The sunlight shines on the pale-white trees yet it does not reflect back. It appears as the forest is devouring it.

“We are here,” Kopo Eno says.

“Where is here?” Tyr asks as the rest of his companions approach looking at the forest. Their expressions hold a mix of emotions. Wonder, fear, awe, disgust, beauty, and horror. Almost as if looking at life itself.

“The Pale Forest,” Xis says.

“A cursed place,” Owt adds as the giant steps back in worry.

“There are rumors that Boreas visits this place. If you are lucky, you will find him here if not you will have to continue west,” Kopo Eno says.

“What is this place?” Ulric asks as his hands shake; he looks at them with surprise. Is this fear or excitement? Either is good, Ulric thinks as he smiles.

“There are many stories about this place. The elders say a dead god is buried here,” Xis explains.

“Gods?” Tyr says smirking.

“In the name of Aion, what is in there? What sort of danger can we expect?” Shaphas asks.

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“The only danger there, apart from Boreas if you meet him, is what you bring yourself,” Xis says.

“Wat da hell does dat mean?” Noname asks.

“Enough! This is a place the people of the North avoid. It messes with your head. Go inside or not, that is your decision,” Kopo Eno says.

Melione walks forward as she smells it from the distance.

The voices whisper.

“Is this where we must go?” Two asks.

“Yes,” One adds.

“How do you know?” Two asks.

“I know! I know... I do not know!” One says as it laughs.

“I hurt! I’m tired! I want revenge so I can rest,” Two says.

“If only you knew,” One adds.

“Knew? Knew what?” Two asks.

“I don’t know,” One says as it laughs.

“Will it be there? Will my dreams stop?” Melione asks.

“The dreams?” Two adds as it inhumanly screams.

“You must go,” One commands.

“We need to go there,” Melione says turning to her comrades.

“Why am I not surprised you would say that?” Tyr adds, sighing.

“This is where we say our farewell, for now,” Kopo Eno says.

“May luck be on your side and bring you either victory or a swift death,” Owt says punching his chest two times; the other Northmen do the same.

“If you do not find what you are looking for here head west. There will be a large black tower near here. He will be either here or there, most likely,” Kopo Eno says.

“Thank you for your help. This must have been preordained by Aion,” Shaphas says with a smile showing a sign of a mirrored upside-down seven.

“It was the Moon that guided us,” Ulric says, annoyed.

“I’m growing tired of your blasphemy,” Shaphas scolds looking at Ulric.

“Enough! Make sure you do not kill yourself inside the Pale. We move,” Kopo Eno says commanding her warriors; they set off.

“Let’s go and get dis o’er wit,” Noname says making the first move; the rest of the party glance at each other as they follow.

They enter the ominous forest- the Pale. White light from afar converges as drawn to the great trees. They devour it, emanating out only a small portion back, dimming it in a pale reflection. Seemingly too bright at first glance, too dark at the next, yet it shines a decent amount, good enough as daylight. The contradiction of the snowless forest is too fast and hard to notice by the naked eye. If there is such a thing at all? Impossible to tell. Walking inside, their bones slightly shiver as the hair on the back of their neck stands up. They feel calm, ignoring the indirect signs of their bodies. Not listening to themselves but trying to listen to something else. Something near or far away? Is it a hum or a song? They can hear it and they cannot hear it. Too loud to ignore and yet too silent to hear.

“What sort of forsaken place did they bring us to?” Shaphas asks, staring around in high alert.

“This is unlike any forest I have visited and I’ve visited quite a few,” Ulric adds, gripping his crossbow.

“Where do we go?” Tyr asks turning to Melione; seeking her guidance as strange as she is.

“I don’t know,” Melione answers with a smile and a shrug; usually a preferable answer from her by Tyr’s standards, but not this time.

“Move it ya scarredy cats,” Noname says, unconsciously jumping to Ulric; she brushes this off, noticing the irony.

They walk as the wind itself guides them, pushing their backs where it intends. There is silence. Serene, calm, and beautiful. Momentarily they forget their worries, as immersed in what exactly, they cannot tell. Hearing nothing even the wind or their heartbeats. Is there such a calm as this? The giant pale trees move in harmony as dancing; they cannot see them move, but they can almost feel it. Suddenly, the silence breaks with a gentle hymn. A song? It comes from there and there and all around; it comes from the outside and it comes from the inside. They continue their travels as time loses all meaning. Did an hour pass or a day? No one can tell. The only thing they can tell is that they feel tired. A simple rest to remedy this is all they need.

Should we rest here, they think it, but no one asks. Looking at each other they lean next to a tree; to each their own. Leaned on the trees, the party gazes around in awe.

“Beautiful,” Tyr blurts out looking up in the sky; he cannot see it as roof of wooden branches covers it.

“Calm,” Ulric adds, listening to the sound of silence.

“Good,” Noname says, cozying up to the tree.

“Peaceful,” Shaphas adds, taking a deep breath.

Melione stands watching them with a slightly tilted head.

“Has anyone noticed there is no snow around here?” Tyr asks, yawning.

“Now that you mentioned it that is true,” Shaphas confirms as his eyelids become heavy.

“That is strange,” Ulric adds rubbing his eyes trying to stay awake.

“Who cares...” Noname speaks as her eyes close; she falls asleep as the others soon follow. Melione left standing, lies on the ground.

The voices whisper.

“He is not here. We must leave,” One says.

“How do you know?” Two asks.

“I don’t smell him,” One says.

“You’ve gotten strange,” Two says.

“Strange? Wasn’t I strange?” One asks.

“Stranger,” Two confirms as One laughs.

“We should sleep,” Two says.

“Sleep? Why?” Melione asks.

“I’m not sure! Something tells me we should sleep,” Two adds.

“Don’t sleep here,” One yells.

“Why?” Two asks.

“Don’t sleep!” One commands.

“I’m not tired,” Melione adds gazing up at the pale branches where light sips through the cracks.

“Sleep! Sleep!” Two commands.

“Don’t sleep!” One says.

“Sleeeeeep,” Two continues.

“I am tired!” Melione responds as exhaustion takes over. Her eyes slowly close.

“Nooooo!” One yells.

“Why do you stop us?” Two asks.

Melione lies on the ground falling asleep.

“We musn’t!” One screams in anger.

“Why?” Two asks; there is no response.

A gentle almost unhearable melody descends upon the resting party as the pale trees gently shake with the warm wind.