The following is an original work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book/story are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The following is intended for mature audiences only.
Chapter 13
Ancra, the gateway to Heleath. It had remained as green and pristine as Heleath had once been. A deep gorge molded by two rocky mountain ranges that formed a beautifully scenic path originally leading to the temples at Heleath. Soft clover covered the ground while smooth birch trees dotted the lush slopes.
Under any other circumstance, Finneck might have appreciated its beauty. The serenity of it all. Instead, he and four others were on a mission. Angor, Kaylub, and two healers guiding a small cart driven by two horses were making their way to a predetermined spot. Just like the trip’s purpose, Finneck had no clue where they were headed precisely. The moment he entered the fortress at Nasbith, he was summoned and told to take part in this mysteries excursion.
Feeling Sterk’s eyes heavily upon his back as they left him and another at the entrance to the gorge, descending closer to some unknown fate.
Kaylub’s small body nestled against him as she rode in front of him. Her little hands absently patted the horse’s white mane as they rode at a casual pace.
Angor, one of the king’s most active councilmen, led the way on his own horse. A small man with a thin, compact face that reminded Finneck of some diseased rodent. Deep set, beady eyes constantly on the move, always watching. Put the captain’s nerves on edge. And that was just his looks. The man’s voice was no better. Scratchy and wiry just like the thin mustache that sat over his almost non-existent upper lip.
Wrinkled complexion, not from an impossibly long immortal life. Angor had been given Idun’s fruit very late into his human life. If it weren’t for the drugs administered to lessen the pain of transition, he surely would not have survived.
Finneck could only guess his severe loyalty to the king went much deeper than he thought. Angor won his chance at immortality through the lottery. Usually someone of his age wouldn’t even been able to enter. It was very telling.
The girl’s small frame shifted in the saddle, tearing Finneck’s eyes from boring into the back of Angor’s balding head.
“You’re not going to leave, right?” she asked quietly. The entire trip, up until this point, Kaylub had remained uncharacteristically quiet. Back straight, chin and eyes forward. Demeanor she almost exclusively exhibited only around her father. Allowing her training to prevail in attempts to make him proud.
“Of course not,” answered the captain with finality. Though his only task was to take her to where Angor directed, he had no intention of leaving her alone with the wiry-haired bastard. He assumed there was a reason he was sent in-lieu of some other random guard. Everything was done with intent. This, no doubt was some type of message.
“I’m scared.”
Words admitted so softly Finneck wasn’t sure it wasn’t a whisper on the wind floating from Heleath’s cursed lands.
Finneck swore to himself having never stopped to wonder if this little girl knew the reason they were riding out to such a forsaken place. If she knew what laid before her. Not that knowing would make this journey any less scary.
“I’m here,” he reiterated knowing it was the only reassurance he could offer at the moment.
Slowing his horse to a stop, Angor turned and gave the healers a curt nod before dismounting.
Focused on the land several yards from the stopping point, Finneck remained on his horse, protecting his charge.
It was as if an invisible barrier separated Ancra from Heleath marking a defined line through land and sky. On the far side of that line the ground had gone from thriving with life to dwindling with death. A soggy wasteland.
The blue vastness of the sky that sat above Ancra was overtaken by ample grayness and blotched with black at the border to Heleath.
Throwing his leg over the back of the horse, Finneck lowered himself to the ground. Allowing a moment to notice the soft bounce of the clover underfoot before he reached for the girl. An unwelcomed breeze, by way of Heleath, snaked its way around them as he pulled her from the saddle.
“Yuck,” she exclaimed as he set her down.
Hard to argue with that. The faint smell of rot and algae that clung thickly to the breeze coated the back of his throat. In his opinion, a large wall should have been constructed around Heleath the moment the sky became so scorched. Sadly, he was ultimately nothing more than a guard, a pawn to the crown. No one would be asking his opinion any time soon.
“We are ready, Captain,” Angor declared authoritatively. The power in which the entitled councilman assumed irked at Finneck’s thinning nerves. It pissed him off even more that, in this instance, Angor had the power of knowledge. Swiftly reminding Finneck of what he truly was; a sword for the crown.
Clenching his jaw, Finneck surveyed the scene before him. The two healers stood on either side of a large, flat rock the size of a small table. They had surrounded the outer edge of it with potions and powders. Clasped in front of them, their hands were covered by the length of their sleeves, hidden from sight.
The girl didn’t move.
Finneck bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from demanding Angor divulge every detail of this endeavor.
His intentions.
What did Finneck know of intentions? He couldn’t say with any certainty if they were there because of Angor, the king, Minister Khayin, or some other force entirely.
Settling a hand between her tiny shoulder blades, the captain urged her toward Angor and against the will of the pit in his stomach and lump in his throat.
Pulling her shoulders back and raising her chin as she was taught, Kaylub stepped forward.
“Keep your distance, Captain. But remain alert,” Angor yelled over his shoulder grabbing Kaylub by the arm.
Placing his hand on the hilt at his side as unease filled him. The comfort of an old friend and protector, Fidelia, his sword.
Following instructions that Finneck couldn’t hear, the little girl scooted herself onto the rock, swung her legs over and laid back. Her little feet dangling over the edge.
Using a flimsy hand gesture, Angor urged her to roll onto her front. Obliging, legs slightly rocking, the only indication she was scared.
As Angor stepped away, the healers moved in. Buzzing about, pouring liquids and powders from various containers either into bowls or directly onto the stone around the child. Careful not to let any touch her.
Turning her head toward Finneck, her gaze unfocused and passive as she waited. As they all waited.
Pulling a dagger from a belt around his waist, the healer on the far side raised it over Kaylub’s back. Instinctively, Finneck took a step forward tightening his grin on Fidelia. Angor, seeing the movement in his periphery, held his hand out toward Finneck.
Slowly bringing the blade down, the healer diverted from her back and sliced the palm of his own hand. Allowing the blood to pool. While the other tore the girl’s shirt down the middle of her back, exposing her skin.
Taking a step back, Finneck relaxed his face while his white-knuckled grip remained.
Using the gathered blood, the healer began to draw a series of runes on either side of the girl, directly on the stone. Balling his hand into a fist, staunching the blood, he looked over his work.
The other healer took his position on the opposite side of the rock, Kaylub between them. Raising their arms, tilting their heads back, the healers began to chant. The unified words were not any Finneck recognized. The electric feeling flowing through the air was all too familiar as it carried the scent of a recently discharged lightning strike.
Captain Finneck Salvotiis was a practical man. He believed in flesh and stone. As an immortal, he was innately given the ability to wield magic—to his dismay. Like every other guard, he was taught the basics of healing on the battlefield, conjuring fire, and menial elemental contortion. He despised thinking of the things he had learned from his father growing up. It was bad enough that he reverted to those lessons when he wasn’t paying attention. As a rule, he refused to use magic. That rule began as the basis for his survival once he entered Terrennum in his youth. But the more he witnessed, the more he loathed that fantastical part of him.
Nature was an entity of its own. Not something to be manipulated to serve the purpose of man. Heleath was a shining, rotting example of magical consequences.
The fact that they brought this little girl to the edge of Heleath’s boundaries to chant over her for gods knew what reason had Finneck’s entire body tensing to the point of vibration.
The more words the healers spewed, the thicker the air became.
Slamming their hands together simultaneously rendered the world around them mute. Not a sound. No soft sway of the flowers in the breeze or the dancing of leaves. It felt as if someone had shoved cloth into his ears – pressure and no perceptible sound.
A single crimson droplet seeped from one of the healer’s clasped hands. Landing soundlessly on the middle of the girl’s spine. Perched perfectly on the slight curvature of her back. A flawless bubble.
Sharp claps of thunder broke through the vacuum of silence. Hazy clouds from Heleath broke through the invisible barrier, seeping over into the cerulean blue above them.
Kaylub’s eyes widen, muscles visibly tense as she fought to remain still. Finneck couldn’t tell if it was from fear or pain.
Another series of thunderous cracks reverberated across the gulch and through their bones.
Voices raised, chanting over the sound of growing winds. Lightning spidering its way across the sky.
Sound may have returned to his ears, but the pressure had not abated. The force expanding, threatening the resolve of his legs to keep him upright. The horses reared up, pawing at the ground, shaking their heads, itching to leave this place.
From the corner of his eye, Finneck could see Angor holding onto the edge of the cart, refusing to fall to the ground. It was the feral smile on the rat’s face as his focus remained glued to the girl that was more concerning.
More blood dripped from the healer’s hand as he raised a well-oiled dagger. With the next series of thunderous lightning, he brought the blade down into the girl, at the base of her neck.
Finneck didn’t know if it was the scream of thunder or his own voice that echoed around him.
“Do not move,” demanded Angor yelling from across the way over the drum of pressurized air.
The councilman’s words rooted the captain’s feet to the ground. Red mist coating his vision. Finneck stared at the blade as only the tip buried itself into her flesh.
Tilting his face skyward, the dagger-wielding healer dragged the blade down a few inches.
It was then that Finneck heard the most heart-wrenching sound ever made in the realm. The voice coming from the girl lying on the stone was animalistic. Fingers clawing at the stone around her. Nails jagged as they fought to find purchase. The air around them coalesced. Finneck’s lungs seized. His mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to breathe under water.
Down on one knee, Angor was doing the same. Mouth working like a carp’s. Both healers relying on the stone for support. Sweat dripping down their brows as the wind whipped wildly at their robes.
Silent lightning streaked across the sky as the dagger was pulled from the girl’s flesh.
Two electric bolts struck the ground on either side of the rock alter throwing dirt, smoke, and the healers into the air.
And then it was over.
Clouds dissipated, allowing the sun’s warmth to blanket the area once more. Pressure lifting, Finneck gasped, lungs expanding easily.
Not wasting a moment, Finneck ran to Kaylub’s side before the ache in his lungs had a chance to subside.
“Do not touch her,” warned one of the healers, voice raw and thin as he picked himself up off the ground.
Finneck wanted to punch his sword through the healer’s exhausted face before ripping the heart from his chest. Assuming he even had one.
Standing by her side, Finneck could feel the air sizzle with energy. The open wound on her back dripped no blood, the edges burnt as if cauterized.
Pulling his eyes from her back, Finneck squatted down, locking eyes with Kaylub. Tears pooling on the stone beneath a face that held a serenity the captain would never understand.
“It’ll be okay, Finneck.” Her little voice no more than a harsh whisper blowing away with the last of the winds.
“My dear girl,” Finneck whispered back.
I’m eternally sorry.
