Thread: The Will of Fire: Island of the Old Kings: Chapter 8 (Novel)

Chapter 8 is done! This one took longer to write than most, 3 days. I tried to take this chapter as a break in the action, a chance for some exposition and an opportunity to introduce two new characters, the ones seen briefly back in Chapter 5. Let me know what you think!

Chapter Eight: Strangers

All was dark, and all was quiet. Through it all, dim thoughts lingered, and for a time he wondered if this might be what death was like. He did not know how long he had spent like this, his thoughts a blur, his senses dull and disobedient, but it seemed an eternity. Neither asleep nor awake, he had never felt so vulnerable.

It was a slow process, his recovery, like the scattered pieces of a puzzle being put together. His hearing was first to return. From either side of him, he thought he could hear footsteps, accompanied by the occasional squelching noise. There were other sounds too; buzzing and chirping sounds of all sorts, as well as low voices that he fell just short of comprehending, and a slow trundling that followed him all the while, growing neither quieter nor louder.

Beneath me? Yes, it seemed so. How strange. He thought that he should know what the sound was, but try as he might, he was unable to piece the answer together in his foggy state of mind. He had come to the conclusion that he was indeed in motion of some sort, so there was that at least.

Touch was next. Feeling. He was cold. Not the cold of death. He knew that cold, it was the last thing he had felt, before...

What had happened? If he hadn’t died in the square, where was he now? Things had seemed so hopeless. Had they somehow escaped? Had it all been a dream? Perhaps he would awake to the sound of bells, to the arrival of the Collectors, to work, the Archive, and other familiar things. Maybe he would find that comforting, maybe not, he couldn’t decide.

Taste. He tasted dryness in his mouth. He was very thirsty. He took note of that; that said something about how long it had been.

Smell. He could have done without that one. The smell of rancid water and rotting plants. A familiar smell, the smell of the marsh. He had made it out the city then, or so he guessed. The ruins had possessed a scent of their own, one that drowned out all others. Knowing that he was free of that nightmare of old stone brought a welcomed calmness. He let himself be carried for a time.

Then he heard it, the sound of water, rushing very quickly. It was grew louder and louder, until it seemed to come from right in front of him. Whether it was the sound of the river or fear that he might be dropped into it at any moment, he was unsure, but it was then that he finally returned to his senses and snapped awake.

A river stood before him, a few dozen steps of muddy grassy ground between he and it. He seemed to be seeing things from higher up than he was used to. Looking down, he was surprised to find that he was riding a horse, a large grey one, complete with saddle.

“Well, would you look at that? It seems our young friend has returned to us at last.” The voice came from off to the side. It was a man’s voice, one that he did not recognize. Fearing enemies, he reached quickly for his knife, only to find it missing from his pocket. Alarmed, he turned to look in the direction the voice had come from. As he did so, he nearly fell off his saddle, barely managing to catch himself with one arm. He felt a hand grab his shoulder, helping him back into place.

“Easy now lad. We don’t want you breaking your neck. You’re very lucky to be alive you know. I had begun to fear you might never wake up.” It was a man, and a stranger, but to his relief, not a Syl. He looked somewhere in his thirties, with blue eyes and blond hair that was short and straight, and stubble of a similar color on his chin. He wore a black cloak that hid the rest of his clothes, a hood resting around the back of his neck.

“He’s awake? Let me see him.” That was Eamon’s voice, there was no mistaking it. Roh turned away from the stranger to find the big man not far behind himself, Nora beside him, and the rest of their group following behind them. Eamon darted forward to stand beside him, looking up to examine his face.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his face stern as ever.

“Thirsty” Roh replied honestly. The hint of a smile appeared on the corners of Eamon’s mouth at this.

“Well, that can be fixed easily enough.” He gestured toward the river that lay before them.

“How long have I been out? And who is…” Roh heard the blond man laugh. He turned to look at him once more.

“Cadwallion, at your service.” He must have seen the puzzled look on Roh’s face, for he continued. “An odd name, I know. Call me Cad if you like.”

“If it wasn’t for him and his friend, we might not have made it out of the city last night” explained Eamon. “Those creatures had you in their grasp. You’d gone pale as a sheet. Then they rode in, and there was a great flash of light. Sent those things scattering! I picked you up and we ran for it back the way we came. You’ve been out cold for a day now.”

“A whole day?” It seemed absurd to him to be asleep for so long, he who was lucky to get a full night’s rest in his days in Dolemn. Eamon nodded at him. From beside him, Cad spoke again.

“As I said, it is lucky that you woke at all. Few Mages who enter Scars are so lucky, or so I am told.”

“A Scar?”

“Ordinarily, Magick is a temporary thing. When the spell is done, the world returns to a natural state. However, when Magick is used carelessly, used to destroy and kill on a large scale, it leaves behind a wound in the world itself. We call these places Scars. The ordinary rules of reality do not always apply in Scars. They have a life of their own, and tend to lash out at intruders.”

“When… When the ghosts touched me, I saw things.”

“That is to be expected. That city suffered a particularly terrible fate. However, the things that you saw last night were not spirits of the dead. Only echoes; emotions and memories caught in the Scar at the time of its creation, trapped there forever.” Roh was not sure if he believed Cad entirely. What he had seen did not seem like mere memories. There had been a consciousness to the phantoms, a hatred and rage that seemed all too real.

“What would have happened to me, if you hadn’t shown up?” He felt he already knew the answer.

“They were trying to suck the life from your body. As it was, it took a day for you to pull yourself back together. A few moments longer, and they might have succeeded. You would have died, and a part of you might have joined them in the Scar.”

“I don’t know why they wanted me. They seemed to blame me for what happened to them.”

“It is because you are a Mage, and the echoes could feel that. It is magick that created them. They fear, hate and crave it all at once.” A new question arose in Roh’s mind at this.

“Are you a Mage as well?” Cad nodded in response.

“I am. A disciple of Arias, as you will soon be.”

“Arias?”

“The man who summoned you. He is a great man, and a friend to all runaways. You will meet him soon enough.”

“Did he tell you where to find us?”

“No. Arias simply told us to look for you. It was Lyrra who knew where you would be found.”

“Who?” Cad pointed behind him with a thumb. Another horse followed closely behind him, a rider atop it, wearing the same type of cloak as Cad’s, though with the hood up, concealing their face. Roh wondered how he had not noticed this person until now. The hooded rider look at him silently for a moment, then looked away, looking straight ahead, as if they thought the river was more interesting.

It was then that he noticed that the group was no longer in a marching formation. They had spread out all around, setting up bedrolls. He spotted the ration sacks; only two remained. The sight of them made him notice for the first time how hungry he was.

“We’re setting up camp?” he asked, looking back at Cad.

“Indeed we are” he replied cheerily. “It was a long, hard day’s march you missed. Your friends will need time to rest and resupply, and where better than the river?” Stepping forward, he reached out to Roh with a leather gloved hand. “I will need my mount, if you don’t mind. There are things I must see to before we depart.” Taking his hand, Roh lifted off of the horse, dropping a foot or so before hitting the mud. His legs ached from long hours in the saddle.

“I have your bedroll here.” He handed it to Roh, who took it. “Your friend with the curls has your knife.” He assumed he meant Yosef, though he could not see him in the crowd. Moving aside, he watched as Cad climbed onto the horse’s back. Looking at the animal, he was surprised to see not a hint of tiredness in it despite the long hours it had no doubt spent carrying him.

“Where did you get horses? Do you raise them on the island?” Cadwallion laughed good naturedly at this.

“No, not on the island. Not enough room. These were borrowed, and they’ll have to be returned before we enter the forest, though I’ll be sad to see them go.” He turned to look at his fellow rider, the one whose face was still hidden by a hood. “Keep them out of trouble. I’ll be back before sunrise, if all goes well.” Taking the reins that hung loose from the saddle, he kicked the beast gently with his booted feet. Responding immediately, it took off in a trot, and he directed it, moving ahead, so that they were alongside the river. Kicking it once more, it broke into a run. Roh watched him shrink away into the distance for a time, too confused to do much else.

“Strange folk, but we were lucky to find them. Or that they found us, I suppose.” Said Eamon from beside Roh, who had almost forgotten that he was there. “And they seem to know where we’re going better than we do. I’ll admit, it’s been a relaxing day, not having to shout orders at anyone.”

“Where are we exactly? I don’t see the road.”

“Many miles from that accursed city, you can be sure of that. We left the road behind a few hours back, when we were approaching Riversmeet. They might have been informed to watch for runaways by now, wasn’t safe to get too close. Before us is the Vaelin’s brother river, which Cad tells me is known as the Vaslan. Across it is a bit more marsh, and then the Brellan Weald, a vast stretch of forest land. The island’s not much farther now.”

“Do you think we can trust them?” asked Roh, voicing the concern that had lingered since he woke, despite Cad’s amiable demeanor.

“They saved your life” replied Eamon simply, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. “Cad seems as honest a man as I’ve ever met, though I’ll admit that one in the hood seems a bit off. Been stone quiet all day.” They looked over at the other stranger, who now stood beside the river apart from the rest of them, looking across it while their horse drank from its waters. “No, I don’t think we have any reason to fear them. Whatever’s at work on that island, we’ll be better off there than scavenging in the wilds for the rest of our lives.”

“I hope so.” Said Roh, eyes still on the hooded figure.

“Roh! About time ya woke up!” Yosef pounded him on the back jovially. Turning to look at him, Roh couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his obvious energy. He held a knife out to him.

“This is yours. Been holdin’ on to it.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, if you’re feelin’ up to it, I was wonderin’ if you’d mind helpin’ me out with somethin’?”

“Help you with what?”

“Well, as you might’ve noticed, we’re runnin’ a bit low on food.” He raised his other hand, in which he held one of the empty ration sacks. “Luckily, we find ourselves in front of a river, and rivers mean fish, or so I’ve heard.” He pointed out at the river with the blade of his knife, which Roh hadn’t even seen him draw. Still smiling, Roh nodded eagerly. He could do with something to put his mind off his worries. He followed Yosef toward the river.

They spotted a group of children who had beaten them there, some filling the waterskins, others simply splashing around for fun, the water up to their waists. They rolled up their pants leggings, kicked off their shoes and cast off their tunics, then stepped cautiously into the water. They found the river to be surprisingly warm, its crystal clear waters glistening in the light of the setting sun. Roh bent down, cupping his hands and plunging them into the water, retrieving a handful, which he drank down. It was cold and pure, and brought immediate relief to his dry mouth.

It was slow work at first, creeping through the water with great care, stalking the lazier fish as a cat would stalk a mouse. Roh saw Yosef catch one on his second try, snatching it out of the water before it had even noticed his approach. It was of a respectable size, slightly more than the size of his hand.

“Well, would you look at that? Think I’ve got a knack for this.” Grinning widely, he tossed his catch into the empty sack and immediately began searching for more prey.

Roh’s own fishing skills proved to be lacking. Try as he might to move without disturbing the water, the fish darted away time after time as he neared them. When at last he managed to get close enough to grab one, it proved to be more slippery than he had expected, wriggling free of his fingers before he could lift it out of the water. Eventually, long after he had stopped counting his attempts, he managed to catch by the tip of its tail. Handing it to Yosef, he saw that the bag was already nearing half full.

Seeing their work, several of the children joined them fishing, and then a number of the adults. The small and sickly catches they threw back, but the ones that looked safe to eat they added to Yosef’s bag, until soon it was nearly full. By then the sun had fully set, and it had become too dark to see beyond the water’s surface. One by one they returned to dry land, Yosef and Roh the last to reach the shore.

He had just finished pulling his tunic back on when he heard a voice calling his name. Looking in the direction he had heard it, he spotted Eamon beckoning him over, a circle of people around him. Roh pulled on his shoes, then hurried over to him, Yosef not far behind.
When he reached him, Roh saw that Eamon stood in front of a pile of sticks and a circle of stones, a makeshift campfire. Around it sat twenty or so people, most looking expectantly between himself and Eamon, who was sitting on a tree stump in front of the fire, a stick held in each hand.

“There’s a good lad. I’ve been trying to get a fire going, but the wood’s too wet. Care to give it a try?”

“Alright.” He glanced at the wood pile.

Ignite. There came a hissing noise first, followed shortly after by a curtain of steam as the wood began to heat. Finally, a fire burst to life, spreading from a few logs to cover the entire pile. Cheers and clapping broke out among the onlookers, as if he were a performer putting on a show. Unsure how to react, he bowed to them.

“Excellent work! Now then, hand those here, and we’ll have a real meal for once!” Yosef gave Eamon the fish sack, and soon they found themselves huddled around the fire with the rest. Once eyes and scales had been removed, the fish were skewered on long sticks and held over the fire, and a wonderful smell began to fill the air as they roasted. It spread throughout the camp, drawing the attention of the rest of their party, who one by one came to join them around the fire.

As they waited there was talking, jokes, and laughter. Roh could not remember the last time he had seen them so alive. It seemed as if the reality of their freedom had finally dawned on them, now that they had left behind rain, misery and peril. He could not help but think of Dain. If only he could be there with them, to see what he had done for them. It was then that Roh realized that he couldn’t even be sure that Dain had even survived the night of the escape. He would likely never know.

It seemed that Eamon was having similar thoughts, for just as some were about to take the first bite of their fish, he cleared his throat loudly, standing up to address them. Slowly but steadily, the talking died down, until only the crackling of the fire remained.

“Before we enjoy this most delicious meal our young friends have brought,” he began, “I would ask all of you to take a moment, and remember the sacrifice of those who could not join us tonight. Remember those who fell at the gate. Remember Frake, who has kept us fed these past nights. Remember Dain, our young leader, who led us to freedom at the cost of his own. They rightfully belong here with us tonight, and their courage should never be forgotten.”

There was a round of “Hear, hear!”s and “Never forget!”s, followed after by a moment of silence. Some lowered their heads in respect. When it seemed an appropriate amount of time had passed, Eamon sat back down.

“Well said, love” Roh heard Nora whisper into her husband’s ear. Eamon said something back, but Roh didn’t catch it.

“Now that that’s done, let’s eat!” There was a loud cheer, and the feast began.

The fish was hot and crispy from the fire, steam rising from it and hot water dripping out of it as Roh took a bite. It burned his mouth, but he did not care, for it was by far the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted. He savored each bite, leaving nothing but bones behind.

“You in the hood! Lyrra was it?” Nora called suddenly, looking out toward the river, where the hooded figure watched them from a distance, leaning against the tree they had tied their horse to. “Won’t you join us? You must be hungry!” Roh turned around in time to see them shake their head at Eamon in reply.

“Suit yourself” Nora muttered.

“I'm missing Cad already” added Eamon. “He was good conversation at least.”

The others looked away, but Roh continued to watch the hooded figure, reminded of questions yet answered. It was Lyrra who knew where you would be found, Cad had said. How could that be? Had they met before? Curiosity soon overcame him, and he found himself rising to his feet. Several heads turned to watch as he left the fire, headed toward the hooded figure.

He could feel eyes on him the entire way as he approached, peering out at him from within the shadowy mask of the hood. The hooded figure neither moved nor spoke. Soon he stood an arm’s length away, and still there was silence.

“Who are you?” Roh asked, feeling rather foolish. For a moment he thought his question had been ignored, but then a reply came from beneath the hood.

“Lyrra. Did you not already know this?” It was a woman’s voice that spoke from beneath the hood, young sounding. She was older than himself, but younger than most in the group, or so he guessed. Her tone was harsh and to the point, as if she wished to speak no more than was necessary. Behind her, the horse chewed marsh grasses hungrily.

“Do… Do I know you?” he asked. Lyrra shook her head. “I see.” More silence. He was painfully aware of his awkwardness.

“You have other questions” observed Lyrra suddenly. “Ask them.”

“Why are you still wearing that hood?” he tried.

“I must” she replied. “If they saw my face, they would distrust me.” Roh was unsure of what to say to this. He decided that it would be better to change the subject.

“If we’ve never met, how did you know where to find me?”

“I saw you in the Truth.” She seemed to expect him to understand what that meant. His expression must have betrayed that this was not the case, for she soon went on. “You don’t understand, do you?” He shook his head. Looking away from him, toward the river, Lyrra spoke.

“All living things have a will of their own. The same is true for the world itself. It has a plan set out for everything, which we call the Truth. When Mages use magick, they go against the Truth, fighting it for dominance over whatever they wish to change.” She looked back at him. “The tiredness you feel when you use magick, that is the Truth pushing against you, trying to reclaim what you have taken from it.” The silence resumed as Roh took in what had been said.

“To see the Truth, would that mean you see the future?” he asked at last. Lyrra nodded slowly.

“A kind of future” she replied. “The future that the world wills to be. Visions, sometimes in my dreams, sometimes when I look at a person. Even Arias does not fully understand my gift. He says that it should be impossible to see the Truth, even for the greatest of Mages. Still, I can see it.”

“You aren’t a Mage then?” Lyrra shook her head.

“I see the Truth, but I cannot touch it.”

“You saw me in a dream?” She gave a nod, but no words. “What did you see?” There was no reply. Roh sighed, half in frustration, half in exhaustion. He may have spent a day asleep, but he didn’t feel it.

“You were not the only one I saw” Lyrra offered at last. “There were two, in my dream.”

“Who was the other?” he asked.

“The one that was left behind, the one the Governor of Dolemn keeps locked beneath his mansion.”

“Dain? Dain is alive?!” All tiredness was gone in an instant. Lyrra nodded at him.

“I dreamt of him two nights back. He is safe. We will need him, but he is beyond our help for now.”

“I… Thank you. It is good to know that he is alive at least.” He bowed slightly, and then turned to leave. After several paces, he caught the sound of footsteps that were not his own. Glancing back, he saw that Lyrra was following after him. Saying nothing, he continued toward the campfire, where only a few people now remained, most having already gone off to their bedrolls to sleep.

“Well, if it isn’t our silent protector” said Eamon, looking over Roh’s shoulder at Lyrra, who said nothing. “Roh, go get some sleep lad. You’ve got fourth watch tonight.”

“I will keep watch” stated Lyrra.

“What, all night?”

“Yes. I don’t intend to sleep. Go and rest.”

“I…” Eamon began bewilderedly. “Alright then, if you insist. Wake me if you need me.” He walked off, Nora following after him. Those few who had remained around the fire got up and left shortly after, leaving Roh and Lyrra the only ones still there.

“I… I guess I’ll go to bed as well then.”

“Good night” said Lyrra, sitting down on Eamon’s stump.