Stormchild: Emeline and the Forest Mage

38 Fire

Erdil

    Urgency hung in the air like the foetid stench of a rotting corpse. Not that Emeline had ever seen a rotting corpse per sé, it was just an expression the townspeople used, and a rather grim one now she thought on it.

    Instead of banter and laughter, the party wore sullen faces and a silence brooding with violence. Every time Emeline peeked over at Avétk who strode determinedly at her side, his fierce scowl and stiff posture would hammer another nail in the coffin of tension snaring her soul. They expected war, or conflict; they expected her to change all of Erdil, to save Öldeim. Fathers, she wasn't prepared for this.

    The wind howled all around them, tugged at their coats, whipped every bit of loose material this way then that. A reddish dust danced on the plains and mixed with the snow in swirls that looked artistic and otherworldly. This place was strange and unsettling. Emeline clutched her coat to her chest with gloved hands, and frowned at the beauty around her.

    Nothing in her dreams looked the way this place did, and nothing she had seen could compare with it. It wasn't just the howling wind and stretches of dirt and snow plains that unsettled her. Barrenness—empty lifelessness screamed from all around, that's what it was. There were trees every now and again, yes, but the haunting shiver of desolation endured.

    None spoke, and in the wake of this silence the wind was free to howl, the crunch of feet on gravel and snow free to echo and mingle with the wind's mourning song. What were they walking into, what would she need to face? Fathers, she couldn't even face the bloody chickens. How would she ever face the Dark Woman? How was she going to fulfil the prophecy? It all sounded a bit crazy, a bit too big to be real.

    But the Mage looked serious as he walked up the road, leading the party to their fate. In fact, he looked more than serious with that scowl, and eyes gleaming with a distant light. He looked morbid, lips tight and chin set. The dormant thing she'd tried to bury deep inside her stirred, made her stomach feel uncomfortable, queasy, tense.

    For the longest time she could not think back, remember before the farm, before she had been who she was, and even now just thinking this brought on a wave of nausea and dizziness. Emeline's feet faltered, toe bumped the ground, and she toppled over as if in slow motion. But Avétk was there, his strong arms steadying her.

    With a nervous laugh, she looked him in the eye but could not settle her stomach enough to utter a thank you. Instead she gripped the hand he'd placed on her shoulder and swallowed down the queasy feeling with closed eyes. Never go there. There was a reason why she'd made that rule, and she would keep it.

    Ahead in the murky distance, she could see the suggestion of a hill towards which they walked. The hill was a safe place according to the Mage, a place where she and the others could rest without worrying about dream attacks. 'Angsmin' he'd called it. Some kind of power or spell must've made it safe from shapers and riders. With Avétk's strong presence, she decided not to worry about all that was coming. For now, the most important thing was reaching the safe place, and then she could almost convince herself things would be alright.

Träumenil

    Träumenil, with its average grass and that dusty road, was a dangerous place. Maybe before Emeline would've felt safe in her dreams, would have chased butterflies and chatted to comely townswomen, but this time as she stood before the dusty road, the tension in the air was so palpable she could barely breathe. The wind whipped her hair around, a warm wind, with leaves riding on its current. She bit her lip till she tasted blood, arms trembling with adrenaline.

    Something was very wrong. Her bright green eyes searched the horizon, waiting. When nothing happened, she swallowed her fears and took a slow step, dust pluming behind it, then another, and another. Then she ran, sprinted, fled, heart thumping and breath rushing in and out. Why was she running? Maybe it was the fear she could never escape, maybe she ran from her past, or maybe she ran to feel free, to get away from what was coming.