The Arkanist

Janos and the Moon

         When the flame was larger than it was originally, Jakn released his connection with the arks by uttered the ending command, “Adro,” and his mind lost sight of the arks in a blink of the eye. Martem followed.

         “For know, you must continue to study the ark’s movement and patterns before you attempt anything of the sort. Keep your Alar focused on them for the remained of our time at camp today, and then again tonight. It will not drain your strength, trust me, not if all you do is watch. Tomorrow you will finish your mastery of wind arks, then, we will begin practicing with fire arks. You are progressing smoothly, but I do not want to rush you into anything, for the consequences could prove fatal.”

         Martem nodded and retuned his gaze to the fire. Half an hour later, Martem had them walking again, his ears hearing the breaking of twigs in the distance.

         Ever on the road led them, seemingly walking in circles for the forest was a maze of seduction and a labyrinth of illusion. The trees looked similar and the ground remained frosty and leafy. Yet as they continued onwards, the trees grew taller and thicker, until they kissed the snowy clouds and faint wisps of snow escaped through the leafy canopy. Here, the ground was blanketed in a fine film of white, and the limbs of the trees were peppered while the leaves were cloaked in robes of white and grey so they looked like old withered men.

         Jakn watched their solemn faces stare into nothingness as he passed them, their bark rigid and dark, snow collecting in the seams like white veins. Vena walked slowly behind him, her lute strapped to her back and her hair tucked beneath her hood. When times got boring, which they always were, Jakn would ask her riddles or hum soft songs together and whisper tunes of the winter and of snow and of trees. Often times Jakn swung his sword about him, the cool steel gleaming blue in the blades of sunlight that were large as needles as they stabbed through the roof.

         Martem was silent for the most part, walking ahead grimly in his green and brown cloaks. He would sniff the air and smell the ground and bend low to the track as they walked, sometimes eating the bark from the trees. Never did he stop walking though, not until they came upon the remains of a tavern or inn or home beside the road. In the cold forest, the trees had engulfed the woodwork and ivy had eaten the place whole. Just the faint structure o fit could be discerned, looming like a ghost in the cold.

         It shuddered with the trees as the wind rattled its foundations and returned to its solitary and taciturn being. Martem shuffled toward it, his feet padding along the leaves until he was beneath the threshold, the door nowhere to be seen. Jakn and Vena followed afterward, the huntsman investigating the abandoned place.

         There was a cold and dead hearth when they entered, and a pair of beams that supported the once-oak roof. They walked through the beams to  a wall, which lead them onwards to  a staircase. The rotted wood climbed around the trunk of a tree, winding forever on into its head of leaves and branches far above. Martem decided he not test it in fear of falling and began making towards the road again. When Jakn decided to follow him, he saw something on the floor. It was a badge, embroidered with the gold and red sigil of a crown, resembling the crest of the Empire. It was burned.

         He showed it to Martem back on the road. “Imperial justice they call that,” said the huntsman. “Show up in some place in the middle of nowhere like this and claim the lands, and strip your legal rights to ownership with a snap of the fingers. If you don’t agree, they’ll kill you or slaughter you’re family. Brutal people they were, the Anturans. Caused a bit of a stir with the woodsmen.”

         “So they rebelled?” asked Jakn, walking beside Martem.

         “They tried.” He looked forward. “Whatever rebellion or protest they made was squandered and laid to rest before it even caught and wind. Word wouldn’t leave the countryside or the Aden and make it to the big cities where anything could actually happen. No, all that happened were mild protests concerning the commonwealth’s land claims and agreements. Never would the Empire sign a law in iron having the commonwealth keep their lands without being taxed by the Empire. Most likely, me and a couple of others are the only ones that even knew or remember those times. All the others have died, forgot, or had no idea to begin with.” He looked down at his feet. “It’s sad really, and a dark mark against the Anturans few know of.”