The Forest, by Ben Greenfield - Chapter 19: "The Awakening"

The Awakening Aria could hear the echo of her own bare feet slapping the cold stone floor of the great hall. She held an apple in one hand and a book in the other as she walked towards Father's courtroom. She imagined by this time in the evening, King Epirus would be tiring of a long day's work of managing the mountain domain of Aurora. Strategizing with military officers, plotting defenses against the impending migration of the Shramanas and Cithrun to into Aurora, and settling disputes between the farmers, hunters, and the rugged folk who inhabited the many cabins, huts, caves, and very small villages that dotted the rugged mountainscape. As she drew closer to the great wooden doors that served as a barrier between the outside world and Imperius courtroom, Iria could hear commotion, shouting, and the familiar, icy, low, emotionless voice of Tamar combined with the gruff bellowing from the king. Iria snuck closer and put her ear to the door. Give me 300 of your most devoted servants, trained fighting men, and I will set up scout posts and precise defenses on every hole in our border. That's all I ask. That's all I need. I can strike quickly, effectively, and with small groups. I can move with nimble precision through our lands. Tamar, you would never survive hunting a single rogue. Cithrun is far different than an entire swarm of Cithrun, considering controlled by the powers of the Shamana. Even if you hide, they will poison the air, poison the water, and poison the earth. I know how they fight. My fathers knew how they fight. Their fathers, great men of the Order of Goaald, knew how they fight. You do not defend a border against these power hungry hordes with sword or arrow or cunning. You fight magic with magic. Aria could only imagine Tamar's steely, cold blue eyes gazing with frustration at the ceiling. She heard the great knight's voice again. The girls are strong with magic, my lord. They wield their powers gracefully, but they have yet to draw blood. They have yet to stare evil in the eye. And they are growing weak. Weak? Yes, my lord. They are not sleeping. Have they told you of their dreams? Ah, the fanciful dreams of little girls. Give them a bit of wine with their supper, Tamar. They will sleep. Yes, give them mutton and wine and they will sleep. You know as well as I do, my lord, that there is deeper meaning to their disturbing visions. Even if I do not think that magic is enough to defeat the Shamana and the Cithrun, I refuse to deny or ignore the significance of these new dreams and visions they have been encountering. There was a Long silence. Aria bit into her apple softly and imagined her father stroking his thick brown beard, tapping his boots, looking out the window to see if enough light remained to go hunting for red stags or to swing his sword against the practicing blocks. There is only one whom I know of that can interpret visions. Tell me, my lord, and I will bring this dream reader to you. It is not so easy, Tamar. He is in the royal city of Castilla in Gwaald, and he will likely not leave that place. You would find him in the Crown's court. It will be a three days journey. I will not allow Aria and aithne to leave my sight for the full week that you would need. And. And yet you would train them and thrust them into battle against the raging evil hordes, My lord. Silence again, a loud sigh from King Grayson. We will speak more of this tomorrow, but begin to plan a journey to Castilla. Perhaps the girls will accompany you. Perhaps. Aria's heart skipped a beat. Castilla. The royal city of Goaald. The Crown's court. The thought of a great adventure made her cheeks flush with excitement as she turned to scurry down the great hall. Before Tamar emerged from the courtroom, the she saw a shadow across the way from her. On the other side of the hall, Enya quietly emerged. Darkness brooding on her face, she whispered fiercely at air, I told you we should never tell Tamar about our dreams. Now we're bound to be hungry, thirsty, and driven hard on horseback for this next week. Thank you for nothing, Sister. Aria watched as Aena stormed down the hall. Before she could call out to her sister, she heard the metal clanking of Tamar's armored boots. Approaching the great door, she clutched her book tightly, tucked away her apple, and slipped into the shadows. Deep in the royal forest of Goaald, dozens of miles east of the royal city of Castilla and carved into the side of a small slope was a cave. The tiny window of the cave, littered with tree branches and piles of small rocks, was deceiving in size, for it opened into a massive underground dungeon. Black stone peppered with white fingernail scratches lined the rock walls of the dungeon. A long mace, covered in thick spikes and flecked with blood, was propped up against a large stone in the center of the underground chamber. Beside the mace was a whip split at the end into long flowing tails, each tail covered with dozens of barbed prongs. Also bloodied on the top surface of the stone was a crushing vise the size of a human hand. A dagger, a fork, and a long, thin metal produce with tiny razor sharp holes in it. Holes shaped like a cheese grater. Beside this stone, with each of his arms and legs chained to the four giant boulders, was what may have been at one time a whole human. The flesh of his face was shredded with bits of skin and muscle hanging freely from his skull. A mix of dried blood and fresh pus oozed from the gaping wounds that could be seen beneath his tattered black garb. His hands and feet were crushed and their distinctive features mostly missing, replaced by useless nubs of bone and broken blood vessels with fingernails and toenails torn away. The man's teeth were mostly gone, plucked out and replaced by black bleeding pits. But one single dull silver incisor below his left upper lip glimmered under the light of the torches that lined the walls of the dungeon. He screamed, emitting a high pitched howling sound full of insanity, frustration, pain and anger. The object of his scream stood before him. A tall bald man wearing a dark crimson robe, silently holding a torch and smirking at the pile of tortured flesh before him. Behind the bald man stood a short, skinny figure dressed all in black. A wide brimmed hat was pulled low over his eyes. The bald man spoke. His voice was deep, unexpressive and guttural. You are pitiful. You realize that you will die here. You have no friends to come for you. I can ease your pain. Simply tell me more. The tortured piece of flesh attached to the chain spat blood and sneered at the bald man, his lone silver tooth glimmering again under the torch glow. I told ye everything me knows. His mouth was dry, his speech slurred. He wrestled against the chains and grimaced in pain as the chains bit in into his bruised and broken wrists. Oh, Grude ain't got nothing left to tell you. We could have fed you to the sharks, you ungrateful seafaring scum. You're lucky to be alive. Just speak and perhaps I will feed you two look alike boys. The one of them flinging water like a wizard mouthful of blood. Grood stopped and spat again, cutting up the sea monster and headed for the Crown's court. The elf is spectacles, that's all I know. All I know. His voice trailed, his eyes rolled back in his head. The bald man kicked him. Grood whimpered and struggled to his knees, the chain scraping on the stone floor. I swear on me mother's grave, all I know. I told ye. Still smirking, the bald man turned to the silent figure behind him. Go to Castilla. Hunt them as you wish, Cole. My liege. As the man with the hat slipped out the cave opening. The cold kicked Grood in the ribs. The tormented seafarer's captain groaned and rolled to his side as Cold gave him one last contemptuous smile and strode towards the opening of the cave. He called over his shoulder, die happily, filth of the sea. As Cold disappeared, Grood opened one eye and sneered. He twisted what remained of his left hand, maneuvering his wrist inside the band of the chain. His arm slipped free. With a dry voice, he quietly croaked, it'll take more than that to kill a seafarer, you lizard riding vermin. He wriggled and writhed toward the stone, reaching for the dagger while grimacing in pain. Oh, Gru doesn't die so easily now, does he? It smells like fish. The sound of River's voice. Terran's eyes open and his chin shot up from his chest. Tink had also nodded off, but jumped to his feet as river spoke again. Is somebody eating fish? River's voice sounded weary and half drunk, as if he was in a slight stupor, but his eyes were open wide and the color had returned to his face. Tink sprung over to Wisp, who sat smiling in her chair and gave her a peck on the cheek. Quibble and quivers. Wisp, you old marvel. You've brought him back from the dead. Wisps spiraled wider. Crow's feet bunched up against her bright and satisfied eyes. Of course. Nothing a bit of care from the earth can't care. Right, my boy? She planted her hands on Terran's back and nudged him towards his brother. Go ahead. Give him some love. Terran had already leapt to his feet and brought his cheek close to River's. He rubbed his nose up against River's warm skin and smiled. You need to stop dying, River. It's a bad habit. River shrugged, turned his head and glanced out the window. We're not on the boat anymore, are we? Tink was already pacing the room quickly, hands clasped behind his back. Yes, I'm glad to say. We are not on a boat. And that fish you smell is not the breath or belly of a sea monster. You. You made short work of that demon, my little butcher. River appeared confused for a moment. Then he looked down at his hands. All I remember is eating porridge and then being cold. Really, really cold. Tink rubbed his chin. Perhaps tis for the better. Could be quite a horrendous memory should it ever come back. He stopped, shuddered, and rubbed one of the welts that still remained on the back of his neck. I wish I could Forget that beast. Then. He turned to Wisp. My dear, if we are to go to the Crown's court, these boys will need more than their tattered rags. Have you anything? A twinkle came to Wisp's eye. Plenty of leather moccasin, but for over the feet I have just the thing. Before he ben in the port and our life together to seek his way, he left me a roll of the finest ebony fabric, cut from the canva buds deep in the mountains of Aurora. It has the softness and lustrous silk, the drape and durability of cotton, the warmth and comfort of cashmere, and the toughness of red stag hide. A fabric fit for a warrior king. These boys will stay warm for hours on end and slip through the city unbothered by the Roman thieves and murderers. She smiled proudly. I made two cloaks from it. A bit large perhaps, but if you're lucky enough to be invited to a Crowns feast, you'll quickly fill em out. River sat up, grabbed the bowl of broth and took a giant swig. He wiped his mouth, adjusted the tiny towel around his waist, swung his legs over the cot, and stood up. I'm ready to get dressed. His face instantly turned white, his knees buckled and he collapsed towards the floor. Terran stooped down and caught river by the armpits, pulling him back up toward the cot as Wisp frowned. Your brother is still weak. His spirit's warmth has returned, but the blood will take time to build, to flow. Let him rest. Tink clicked his tongue and tapped his foot. Time is pressing, Wisp. Darkness will set in soon. We must get to the Crown's court. Have you a wheelbarrow? Wisp chuckled. Better. We shall saddle up Theodore and your young un can ride him. Castilia is a den of confusion, a bustle of worries, and a spider's web to navigate. This city is a machine for extracting your money minute by minute, hour by hour. So I'll stay here in my comfort, thank you very much. But you take Theodore. Theodore. That old beast is still kicking. Strong's ever Tink. He'll bring me up and down the cobblestones now and again to deliver medicines and fetch new foods and seeds and plants. But mostly he stands in the back near the herb garden, chewing alfalfa. I wager he'll enjoy a bit of exercise. I'll fill a canteen with more broth and send ye off. An hour later, as dusk set in, the wooden fence door behind Wisp's hut squeaked open and and three figures emerged from the shadows. One wrapped in a dark black hooded cloak and slumped atop a small, brown, bedraggled donkey. A tall elf in a green cloak made a low clucking sound and tugged on the donkey's halter. Behind him walked a smaller figure in a black cloak and leather moccasins, a canteen strapped around his torso. As the sun was beginning to set, the port had grown quieter. Occasional howls of laughter echoed from a nearby pub. A single cart clattered down the cobblestone street and faded into the distance. A the fizzing brine of the surf incessantly hummed as big ships and small boats anchored to the docks creaked and groaned in reply. The three figures and the donkey slipped out into the alley unnoticed and began to weave away from the ocean and towards the center of the royal city. From across the alley, standing at the entrance to the pub, someone watched. He was short and skinny, with a wide, brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes. He studied the figures as they exited Wisp's yard and disappeared up the road. Then he sneered, hissed with pleasure, and darted away in the opposite direction.