More death, more pain. We shut the girls eyes and perform the burial ritual, spare a few words of comfort for her mother and father. But soon it is time to move on and as harrowing and shocking as it may be, we must move on. The terrain flattens out and becomes bare marshland peppered with a few sparse bushes. This place has ancient magic, old enough to make the war a thousand years ago seem insignificant. Murmurs rise up as I feel an old hatred deep rooted into this place. "What is this?" I ask, tense and on edge,
"It is an old, old place," Call is tight- lipped and his features have become harsh lines as he sucks his breath in, "It is said that the elf king at the time had an illegitimate son called Aedammair. Aedammair was consumed with hatred from a young age and so evil festered in his heart. He started dabbling in dark magic, and it is said that he was banished to these moorlands, where what was left of his pure heart was eaten away until he was just a shallow core. Aedammair wasted away his immortal life and it is said that his spirit resides here still." The murmur racing around Call's clan becomes louder, and some loud protests start up.
"Why was he so consumed with hate?" I shudder, suddenly feeling very chilled,
"Some say that his father rejected him as he was illegitimate, but that is not normally the nature of the elves, so it is hard to separate the legend from the truth," Call kicks his horse on, "And this is our path."
We gallop through the marshlands, following Call around the puddles of water that you would expect in the marshes. Wind harshly whips my face and as far as I can see lumpy marshland stretches out far into the horizon. Half an hour into the gallop and storm clouds begin to threaten above our heads. Desperate to get out of the marshland and into the other side of the forest to take shelter, the pace of out horses picks up. Finally, after our minds have been dulled by the unchanging landscape, a line of green and brown faces us like a wall on the horizon. We are so close to the forest. We cross into the shelter of branches and a slight tension releases from my body as I feel safe again. A yell starts out in the back of the clan, and I turn around, seeing a pale elf striding through the marshlands making for the forest. The elf- man's eyes are ice cold and his lips red like the berries at autumn. He is whispering something indistinct. At the edge of the forest he seems to halt, unable to continue on. "Continue on!" I yell, desperate to get away. We push on, shocked and relieved at the same time. Call smiles,
"We are so close to the Ailleacht Fields now."
YOU ARE READING
Sorceress
FantasyThey came at night, angry and lustful for treasure and slaves. We stood no chance. I lay in bed, completely oblivious. Then I heard the screaming. Aine O'Connell has been captured by Vikings, and forced into slavery. Then one day everything changes.
