The loud, bustling sounds of the village outside caused Sol to wake in a heat of daze. He had forgotten when sleep dawned upon him, or how much sleep he had gotten since the prior night. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the tent he resided in. Sol briefly remembered that the villagers had been kind enough to let him sleep in his own hut.
It felt homely. Woven, decorative fabric on tapestries clung from the walls of the hut. There wasn't much else besides it found use for supplies of the villagers, and a small wooden bucket to collect water and food sat atop a handcrafted chair to the far right. He turned to his side, where the duvets were disarrayed.
"Sol, are you awake?" A male's gravelly voice called, as he swung his way into the tent.
Sol hastily got away from the bed, and yanked his tunic from the chair, "I-uh, yeah...I'm ready," he replied swiftly, shoving it over his head.
"Well, good morning to you too. I'm Arhaan, in case you didn't know."
Sol spun around, his gold-flecked eyes almost instantly meeting a pair of russet ones. The warmth the rich-brown glow of the man's face emanated reminded Sol of dawn. The comfort that flooded the air from his presence pulled Sol curiously close, like something he had never felt before.
"Arhaan, I—"
"Oh, wait. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I'd assumed you be ready by now, it's noon."
Sol suddenly felt at unease. Reminded that the brute that tainted his village in flames was still roaming grounds with whatever it pleased. Soon, it's hot caked mouth of lava would pour its way through the winters trees, and disrupt it too, until the entirety of Nelua was no more.
"It's just that I am supposed to show you around." Arhaan backed towards the entrance of the hut slowly.
"No, wait!" Sol's eyes gazed over Arhaan's once again. "I'm coming with you, please," he insisted.
Arhaan chuckled, and pivoted on his heel. He walked outside of the tent.
Sol's cheeks flushed scarlet, and lumbered behind. He was greeted with the surrounding trees, whistling with the cold wind. This weather was unlike anything Sol had experienced before. He missed the sun. Although the village radiated a placid, amicable aura that rose naturally from its surface, the birds still chirped sweet, familiar melodies.
"It's cold today, isn't it," Arhaan said as they winded through the village.
Sol had realized his cheeks still budded warmth and turned away, diverting his attention over to the gates him and Morrigan walked through just yesterday when they had found this strange village. "What is this place?"
"Well, nobody really knows. Lot's of us swept in these past days injured and lost without homes. I heard there was an attack—"
"There was. I saw it." Sol swallowed the lump in his throat. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Oh, my bad..." Arhaan awkwardly ran a hand through his ruffled black hair. "Are you hungry, perhaps?"
Sol was about to decline the offer, but the thought of something to eat made his throat feel drier than it was, and a low growling erupted from his stomach. "Yes. Maybe it would be good to get something to eat around here," he mumbled.
"Then I'll be back. You just stay right here." Arhaan smiled and quickly walked out of sight before Sol could say anything else to him.
Sol quietly let out a sigh, and his boots crunched through the powdered snow, reaching a wooden log to sit and wait. For a few moments, he was alone, and felt lost; or perhaps, scared. The world around him was imprisoned in the white, cold sheet. The lacerating winds had stripped the last leaves from trees, leaving them brooding in the harsh world. The sun was out today. It beamed like a glowing torch, but there was nothing it could do to banish the cold land. He shuddered.
Soon enough, Arhaan had came back, where he was carrying what was to be a small wooden tray, the steam of the food lifting up into the air. Sol reached out as Arhaan passed a bowl of the hot meal to him.
"We don't have much supplies anymore, especially since this winter seems to be colder than the last." Arhaan provided an apologetic look, and sat beside him.
Sol shrugged and picked up the spoon as his eyes ravished over the oats. It tasted fresh, with a creamy texture that immediately burnt his tongue. "It's hot..." he warned Arhaan.
Arhaan laughed and held his steaming bowl of oats in his hands, to warm them. "What was it like?"
Sol pondered for a few moments. "What was what like?"
"The fires, the beast...How did you make it out with barely a scratch?"
Terror sucked the very breath from Sol's mouth, raising the fine hairs of his back. "It...It was unlike anything I had ever seen before." Sol admitted, and pondered over it. "I guess I was just one of the lucky ones."
"Yeah. I guess you were."
The sudden clashes of metal spread through the air, interrupting their conversation. Sol peered over the emerging crowd, and caught a glimpse of a man with a sword, battling a younger boy. He watched as they danced with their blades, the boy quickly sliding forward to cut, but the man's sword intercepted his, and trapped the blade on his hilt to execute the stab.
"I yield," the man called out. They both untangled their weapons. The crowd then cheered, with claps and excitement for the success of the man.
"Who is that?" Sol asked, as he continued to gaze at the man, and his sword which glistened in the sunlight.
"Oh, him? That's Yosef. He runs this place," Arhaan informed and went back to minding his own business with the oats.
Sol's eyes traced over the tall, but slender male. Yosef's hair was a light-brown, that curled around his eyes, worn gray wit age. It emphasized his eyes. The eyes that had wandered to meet Sol's. He quickly realized that Yosef was heading straight towards their corner.
"You must be Solan. I've heard good things about you." The closer that Yosef came, that more Sol could see him. Tanned skin, despite the lack of sunlight that the surrounding village saw, and lilac bags hung under Yosef's eyes, aging him quite a bit, although he couldn't be much older than Qahir was.
"What? But how?" Sol asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. He had just arrived here yesterday, and barely anybody knew him enough.
"You should train with us. Perhaps a a duel?" Yosef exhaled, and grabbed Sol's arm.
"But I-I don't even know how to-"
"Well then that makes for a perfect place to start." Yosef interrupted.
Sol turned back to Arhaan for a moment, who provided a helpless shrug in return, but Sol found some reassurance in his eyes. This could be the beginning of him being strong enough to kill the brute that killed his family.
Sol's hands met the hilt of the token, and his heart began to pound. The sword passed to Sol felt heavy, with it's blade sharp, and the hilt an intricately carved form, the end of the handle tapered emerald green. It looked oddly familiar. But Sol didn't have time to admire its work as he heard Yosef unsheathe his blade. One foot in front of the other, they had begun.
Sol hadn't expected to make contact so quickly. He was taken by surprise as Yosef swiped at him, but missed as he awkwardly stumbled backwards.
Yosef wandered closer, and his sword clashed against Sol's, who barely managed to intercept. The blade weighed down on Sol, and he immediately began to break into a nervous sweat despite the crisp air that lurked around them. His damp fingers slipped on the hilt, and the blade hit the floor with a loud clatter.
He raised his hands to surrender, but Yosef only retreated, coming back to the full circle; ready to begin again, just like they had moments ago.
Sol sighed and fumbled for the sword, picking it back up. He thought about how disappointed Qahir would feel to see him give in to the blade so quickly.
He hesitantly lunged back into motion, and swung his sword at Yosef. His grip felt heavy on the hilt. It wasn't an agile movement at all. It instead chafed Sol's hand, and made him more nervous. Yosef had avoided his attack with ease.
He had found himself in one of the unfairest of battles, but convinced himself that bravery was all that he needed to fight.
Another swipe to the air as Yosef's blade came back into contact with his. A large clang came from the metal of the blades. It wasn't long before Sol was gritting his teeth, attempting to catch his breath.
He sneered, and swung wide again at Yosef, throwing an overhand cut in frustration. But Yosef parried quickly. Sol then tried to cut from the other side, but again, Yosef parried from his blade.
A deep chuckle escaped Yosef's throat. "Relax," he said.
Back and forth, and forth again, until Sol swung wide with a feint. Then Yosef closed in on his ground, and thrust at him relentlessly, to drive him around the ring. Yosef never faltered with his movements, and it made Sol nervous to continue, he felt flustered for believing he could do this. That he could possibly be good at this.
Sol then attempted to clear all cuts away, and parried desperately to counteract; but he only swept thin air. For every attack Sol planned, Yosef was two steps ahead countering them. Startled, a wave of adrenaline washed through his veins, and he stepped back. Sol tightened his grip around the hilt of the sword and held it out to keep Yosef at bay, and catch his breath.
Afraid of the blade, a hunter he may have been, but a swordsman he was not. But despite his newfound fear, he did not give up, this would only be one step closer to slicing the brute in half.
Sol stumbled around the edges of the circle, and eyed his opponent. Yosef was experienced; he was agile, and it didn't leave much room for Sol to pinpoint weaknesses, but he knew that he'd have to change strategy. He diverted his attention for a few moments the emerald pommel that glistened in the sunlight, and grasped tighter.
He would slaughter the beast that destroyed his village. Maybe not today, but he would.
Sol stepped forward again and clenched his jaw as his heart pounded with hostile rage and pushed his way through snowdrift. He then swung harshly, cutting through the crisp air, to wield his blade like a fool.
The sword suddenly lit brightly and new white rays shone like a beacon. The blinding array of light that sourced from its blade burnt through Sol's eyes, and a buzzing filled the silent air. It was just for a moment.
Then, when he thought that the ringing would never end, a harsh and burning impact jolted through his side in electric waves. With a grazing blow, Sol landed hard on the ground. The painful sensations that shot through his arm to his palm, through his veins had hindered whatever range he thought he had left. He dropped his weapon with a clatter. The blade was scalding hot despite the frigid air.
For moments, he felt dazed, and the world went black. It went cold. He found himself in the embers of his home, reliving the nightmares of the beast that shred his brother to pieces with its teeth amongst the hot flames, burning all else that he loved. Time slowed, but the visions stopped.
Sol found himself sprawled out in the cold sleet, his tunic was covered in thick crimson. He looked to the searing blade, and then met eyes with Yosef. Blood had been shed today, but it wasn't his, and it wasn't Yosef's.
When the light from the blade completely dissipated, Sol's eyes looked down upon a still, steaming corpse of a crow that lay upon the ground in front of Sol. It's blood red eyes and beak were parted in shock — the only thing remaining that gave it a resemblance of that particular bird fowl. It's feathers were nowhere to be seen. There instead was a large gaping hole in its breast, completely cauterized and a save for the few intestines, and guts that sat in a melted puddle beneath it. A sweet, but nauseating scent filled the air, something like leather being tanned over a hot flame. The remains of the bird, what was left of it, was simply sizzling in the shocking silence.
Sol's gut wrenched as he continued to stare at the dead crow on the ground. He quickly stumbled to his feet, and a metallic taste sat on-top of his tongue. Blood... Blood was everywhere. Splattered all over his face. Suddenly, vomit pooled beneath his feet, and he clenched his stomach in pain.
He stared at the sizzling corpse for a few moments more. It's blood no longer crimson, but black-ink, seeping into the snow. Its black plumage warded one thing, and one thing only.
"Sol—" He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and tensed.
"No!" Sol shoved the hand away, struggled to get to his feet, and ran. An itching sensation traveled through his veins. He wasn't sure what had taken over him, but he knew that he needed to get away, to breathe.
He found himself back near the front of the vast blue waves that lapped across the shoreline and soaked the snow, wetness getting trapped inside of his boots. The waves retreated back to the sea, and an orange cotton-candy haze engulfed the cold beach as the events of the day drew to an end. Even the sun wanted to leave him.
Sol's knees buckled as he came close to the sea, and quickly cupped water into his hands, splashing his face. He rubbed aggressively. Cutting an elk's neck for it to bleed out dry hadn't been enough. He felt dirty. Like a murderer. He watched as the scarlet stained guilt of the crow contaminated the waters.
He was lost in his thoughts for a few moments more as the waves beat against his skin. Lifeless on the dirt of the ground across from him on the snow, mother's auburn hair scattered across her face; spoiled in dry blood. The terrifying image never left his mind. Or at least that was what he thought until he heard the scraping of metal against rough surface.
Sol gazed across the beach. It didn't take him long to find the source of the sound. Then he found himself walking up behind her, his eyes traveling over the large boulder as he watched Morrigan carve letters into it.
"What is this?" he asked, gliding a hand over the engravings.
"They're names. Names of the people that I have lost," she whispered, and finished carving one particular name; Anderson.
"What happened to this one?" Sol stared at the name, Anderson.
"I heard you have finally met Yosef." She sheathed her dagger in the pocket attached to a leather belt on her waist. "What do you think?"
"Think?" Sol scoffed and sat on the snow, looking out to the waves. "He's crazy. I had to wield a sword against him and-"
"Something bad happened, didn't it?" she said, and sat beside him. "I saw the light. Anyone could."
"What does it mean?" Sol wasn't certain he wished to hear the answer, but he felt he needed to know.
"Im not certain." Morrigan's brows furrowed, she pulled her knees close. "But from what I know from the books, it wasn't good."
"What do the books say?" Sol had heard tales as a young boy, but he thought that was all that they could be; just tales.
Morrigan scooped up some of the snow in her palm, as though to watch it melt away before her very eyes. "Our ancestors believed the lands are cursed, at least this portion of the land. A druid wanted to create monsters... So he created three swords, and the magic was interfered by something greater, something that was created became much worse than he originally sought." The cold snow did not melt; only made her hand a scarlet red. "Do you believe in magic, Sol?"
Sol pondered over the question. "Well, I've never seen it," he admitted. "Besides, what does this have to do with the duel?"
"The tale ends with the druid having spread the three swords around Nelua, and only those worthy of such magic can wield them." Morrigan turned to face Sol, her moss-green eyes were piercingly sharp against the redness of her hair. "It's probably silly. Maybe it was just the light of the sun, and a crow flew into your sword," she suggested.
Sol sighed and turned to face his worn boots. "Yeah, you're probably right."
He didn't have long to think about what this newfound information meant. He heard a familiar voice call out his name. Sol then turned around and saw a figure; Arhaan, running across the beach. "Arhaan, what are you doing here?"
Arhaan came to a stop, panting. Through gasps of air, he relayed their surroundings. "Sol, I've been looking for you everywhere since the duel."
"I've been here the whole time. What is it?" Sol shot a quick glance at Morrigan and back to Arhaan.
"It's your friend, Ying." Arhaan slowly caught his breath through gulps of air. "She's awake, and she's asking for you."
The fairy-tales could wait. Ying came first, and the sooner that she was healed, the sooner he could leave this village behind, and leave the bad omen with it. It was a good sign that she was awake, and he should be by her side, but part of him dreaded this moment. He dreaded having to tell Ying about Qahir. But he would do it.
"I'm going to go see her."
Word Count: 3,036