Chapter 6
Through the Fog
Dearekk stood at the edge of a deep abyss. Mist surrounded him, its ghostly tendrils curling around his limbs, kissing his skin lightly. And the chasm pulled at him. It pulled at his very being, tugging him closer to the edge, until he was standing over the border, staring into its deep, dark depths.
Then the voices came.
They whispered; thousands of voices, hissing stories and whispers of the past, and secrets best left untold. Whispers of ancient evils, battles and things that mankind should have never forgotten, but had been lost, stolen away by the sands of time.
And they would not leave. He longed for silence, but it never came. He longed to run away from the blackness that consumed his mind, but he found that he could not turn away from the horrible whispers, growing louder, as if they were crawling out of the abyss, growing closer to the freedom with every step he took towards them.
Memories flashed through his mind, memories that were not his own.
A world without light completely submerged in darkness. A place that hope dared not venture.
Sweeping though and unknown land, twisted creatures created by the darkness itself, destroyed everything in their path.
A celestial warrior, dressed in white robes, fighting an immense beast that radiated with dark power.
The same warrior, casting the beast into a fiery pit, and sealing the prison with something that looked like…land.
A huge gold beast, with a body like a tiger, and a human like face, but with two horn-like spikes protruding out of either of its sides, and a rider dressed in gold armour, swinging a sword that seemed to glow with its own inner fire.
The same rider and beast riding along a grey path, dark trees concealing what lay ahead.
The rider, falling to a creature’s underhand trick. His life trickling away as the enchanted knife plunged into his side sapped away his strength.
Dearekk could not move. More memories flooded though him. Memories of beasts whose mere presence could send the most brave men running. Memories of a battle between the elements themselves, destroying lives like a child destroys and ant farm.
Blade-Bearer, they called him. Blade-Bearer, Reaper of the Cursed, Sun Carrier, the names were endless, but he knew of none of them. And he stood there, unmoving, unchanging. He stood there for a lifetime, with memories that were not his running though his mind.
Then another voice called out to him, one different from the others. When it spoke, it brought silence and peace, after a lifetime of standing on the edge, Dearekk found comfort in the simple voice.
“Dearekk,” it whispered, its voice full of a soft comfort. He had long forgotten his own name, and the sound of it was foreign to his ears. “Wake up. Wake up, child. You were not meant for this. Do not close your eyes to your past. Awake, Dearekk, awake and remember who you are.”
It was like a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and finally, Dearekk could move.
He let out a groan and opened his eyes, blinking as he adjusted to the sunlight pouring into the tent.
As he turned his head, the first thing he saw was a mop of blonde hair fly as a man’s head shot up, startling blue eyes full of despair and hope at the same time. As soon as their eyes met, Rith’s shoulders slumped in exhaustion and relief. “I though I told you to never do that to me again,” he said, his voice hoarse and rasping.
Dearekk let out a weak smile. “I didn’t,” he replied, “that was all part of one happening.”
Rith managed a smile in return. As Dearekk looked closer at him, he saw the extent of Rith’s exhaustion. Dark circles were under his eyes, and his whole body slumped, as if he was holding a huge burden. “Rith,” Dearekk hesitated, “are you alright?”
Rith opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, a young girl stepped into the tent. She looked stunned for a moment, but then quickly blushed and spoke, “I am sorry, milord, but I was told to come and attend to your injuries.” If anything, her blush grew darker and she refused to meet his eyes.
Dearekk nodded, and then asked, “How long have I been asleep?”
“Four days, milord.”
Dearekk turned and stared at Rith. “Have you slept at all?” he asked, stunned at his friend’s loyalty.
Rith muttered something, and said, “You were screaming the first day, everyone could hear you, but then you just went quiet.” He looked away, “The quiet scared me more, at least when you were screaming I knew you were alive…” he trailed off.
“Go to sleep.” Rith stared at him. Dearekk lifted his hand and pointed out the front flap of the tent, “Go to sleep now, that’s and order, captain!”
Rith shot him a look that could kill, but Dearekk was not so blind as to miss the relief behind his ice blue eyes as he left. Dearekk then turned his attention to the girl.
“What is your name?” he asked.
She hesitated for a moment, and then said in a timid voice, “It is of no matter, milord.”
“It is to me,” he replied firmly.
For a moment she looked as if she would refuse, but then said, “I am called Enoka.”
Enoka. He had never heard that name before, but it had a certain ring to it, as if its very sound called upon the deep magic. He nodded, the asked, “Why are you here, Enoka? I thought all women were left behind at the castle?”
Once again, she hesitated, but answered in a careful voice, “I was told to accompany the troops. Some other women and myself do the cooking and chores around the camp.” She spoke as if every word she said was fragile, and could be broken if the slightest force was put behind them.
He nodded and closed his eyes, allowing her to tend to his calf. As she began to apply a paste like medicine to it, he could not help but hiss in pain. Her head shot up, something akin to fear in her eyes.
“Talk to me, Enoka,” he managed to gasp out. The pain was threatening to overwhelm his mind; he needed a distraction. “About something, anything!”
Her eyes widened for a moment, and her mouth opened with a soundless question. But she quickly closed it, and began to speak. She told him of her two brothers, both of whom were in the army. She told him of the fables and myths that they told in the village. She told him of the autumn harvest festival, and the songs they sang. And when she was finally done, a small sigh of relief escaped Dearekk’s mouth.
Enoka stood up, clearly shaken by the experience of causing her prince so much pain. As she walked out the door, Dearekk felt the need to say something. Something to tell her that he did not hold anything against her. “Enoka!” he whispered. She froze, but did not turn. “Thank you.” With that he closed his eyes, and listened to the ruffle of the tent flap that told him that she had left.
His mind left the girl, and he felt a fear consume him. He felt a fear of sleep, and the dreams that would surely accompany it.
¨ ¨ ¨
He was just on a morning stroll when she attacked him. How was he supposed to know that there were elves hiding behind every tree in the Fay’s Forest? As far as he knew, they had never ventured that close to the camp.
She had come out of the fog like a ghost, making no sound as she ran towards him. Her raven hair spread out behind her, and her black blades spinning in her hands.
Dearekk was mesmerised for a moment as he saw her running towards him. She had a deadly sort of beauty, one that no human woman could accomplish, and even though she was no the prettiest girl he had ever seen, she still fascinated him to the point where he almost forgot she was attacking him.
“Whoa! Whoa!” he called out as he backed up from her. But still she ran at him, he ducked at the last second as her knife swung towards his neck. Snarling, she slashed at his midsection, but he danced back. They circled each other, both analyzing their opponent. He noticed that her knife hilt was made out of what could only be the bone of a moonhawk. His eyes widened, a moonhawk was impossible to kill. It was only visible during a full moon, and when it was visible, it could easily elude any knife, arrow, or sword simply by dispersing itself into pure darkness. The only moonhawk bone he had seen before was at the royal museum.
The elf girl threw her knife at him, which he just barely managed to avoid. He heard a dull thunking noise, and knew that it had buried itself in the tree behind him. Hissing in anger, she threw her other knife, which he also avoided, and lodged itself in the same tree. For a moment their eyes met, grey meeting green, then they both rushed at the tree, each desperate for a weapon.
He felt a horrible pain in his wounded calf, and he realised that she had kicked him. Furious with her underhanded blow, he swiped out his arm, taking out her legs and knocking her to the ground. Together the rolled on the forest floor, each trying to gain the upper hand. Finally, she pinned him to the ground, drew a third knife out of her boot, and began to lower it to his throat. Desperation drove him to quickly grab her forearm in an attempt to stop her, but at the same time, he lifted his eyes to meet hers, determined to look death in the face.
He suddenly saw her eyes widen, and she quickly jumped off of him. Baffled, he could only stare at her from the ground. As he slowly stood up, she took a step back, away from him, her eyes wide with something like…terror.
And as she backed up, she hit something hard. Before Dearekk knew what was going on, the elf girl was on the ground, pinned by Rith, with five other soldiers all pointing their pikes at her. She snarled, fighting vigorously, thrashing, and struggling to break free of Rith’s hold. But Dearekk knew that hold; he had been trapped in it many times, and knew that the girl would never escape. The look in Rith’s eyes only confirmed his suspicion.
Suddenly, Rith’s hand came down and squeezed at the base of the girl’s skull. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she lay still.
“What did you do?” Dearekk cried as he rushed over to his friend. “Did you kill her?”
Rith looked down coldly ad the girl. “No, she just blacked out. She’ll wake up in a couple of hours.” With that, he slung the girl over his shoulder, and began to walk back to camp. As Rith turned to look at Dearekk, he saw a cold fury consume his friends ice blue eyes.
A wry smile graced his lips, but there was no humour in it. “I suggest you do not take any more morning walks,” he said, “lest meet any more elves. They will not be happy that we took one of their own. I recommend you get some rest, my prince.”
Then it hit him; Rith was carrying the elf back to camp, through woods infested with her own race. They would know that it was Rith who took her, and it would be Rith who would face the wrath of the elves. Rith had just taken the blame for Dearekk’s mistake. And his loyalty just might cost him his life.
(A/N Um yeah. Hope you like it. If you do vote, comment, do something that tells me you like it. If you don't, comment and tell me what is wrong. I am open to any criticism. )