SWNOVELS Chapter † 20 - memories II †
White clouds flit across the deep blue expanse of sky seen through the thinning trees. The deafening roar of water, cascading over large rocks, grows rapidly louder as the party of four escapees move on.
Pushing on, barely taking a few minutes to rest since their first night spent in the forest after the wild flight from the village.
Galen trudges on behind a silent Siril, his head hanging low, swear pouring down his back and dripping across his face.
Talli makes up the rear a few yards behind them, youthful energy and exuberance radiating from her, emphasised with every bouncy step she takes. Her soft whistling grating nerves already stretched past their threshold.
The three silently follow behind Virian, pushing hard to cover the distance to the river as quick as possible, her fear of pursuit and capture pulsing through the air, permeating the whole company in its pall.
Galen strains forward, muscles pulling with each step, his body aching all over. Stopping suddenly, he lifts his head in the air and takes a deep breath.
Sniffing, nose upturned, he moves his head round and round, like a bloodhound trailing a fresh scent.
‘Water!’ he gasps, realising they must be close he rushes
forward, overtaking Siril and pushing closer to Virian.
Virian walks behind a tree, disappearing from Galen’s view and he jogs forward eagerly.
Rounding the tree Galen bursts through a patch of shoulder high undergrowth, nearly crashing into Virian where she had stopped.
Galen gapes at the beauty surrounding them, a glaring brightness stark in contrast to the gloom they had experienced for days in the forest.
Stretching in front of them as wide as the eye can see a wide expanse of glimmering waterfalls, cascading over slick rocks.
The fast flowing rapids churn and mill throughout the wide river, gurgling and bubbling noisily.
Siril and Talli emerge from the forest edge behind them silently, breathing hard and stop next to the staring Galen.
‘Beautiful is it not?’
Galen looks back at Siril, a glint in his eyes as he nods his head vigorously.
Virian flashes a smile at her father before she moves closer to the clear water. Dropping to her knees on the watery ground, she dips her hand into the water, scooping the cool liquid to her lips.
Water runs through her fingers, flowing tantalisingly into her parted lips, spilling down her throat slightly. A gentle quiver racks her body as she savours the cool water, eyes
closed in enjoyment.
Galen looks at Virian a moment longer, dragging his eyes away from her before he moves forward. Kneeling close to a partly submerged rock, water spilling wildly over the top and around the sides, a little way from where Virian is sitting.
With a sigh of happiness he dips his whole head into the water, the current rushing past his ears, the coolness spreading tingling over his warm scalp.
Drinking deeply, he pulls the cold water between his parched lips down his dry throat. With a loud gasp of expelled breath he lifts his head back, wet strands of hair swinging wildly, droplets flying through the air.
Grinning he falls backwards, savouring the effects of the cold water filling his empty stomach and as he looks over, he sees Siril and Talli kneeling next to Virian, gently scooping the water up.
Galen closes his eyes and relishes the momentary chance to rest his sore limbs. Eyes closed against the glare, his mind relaxes as the gurgling sound around him washes over him, drowning out his senses as his mind slips into a black tunnel.
* * * * * *
The sun shines brilliantly through the crisp late spring morning. A gentle breeze blows through the air, a cold edge from the mountain snow cutting through the warmth of the sun.
Galen runs along a rocky track, slanting slightly upwards, as it meanders up towards the river. Small bushes and trees spring haphazardly up from the dry earth, new growth bright green against the winter brown.
Galen stops and rests his hands on his hips, chest heaving under the drenched white shirt, sweat pouring over his face.
Reaching up with his hand he unbuttons his shirt, coppery chest gleaming wetly in the morning sun, and ties it around his waist.
Breathing deeply, he struggles to keep his lungs and pulse under control, before continuing his quick morning jog, pushing his body even harder up the pathway.
He reaches the top of the small hill, slows to a walk and as he moves over the top, the roaring sound of water pounds through the air.
Galen moves forward slowly, a grin on his face as he nears a steep cliff. Peering into the depths he sees the swift current flowing thirty feet below him, swollen by the melting snow higher up in the mountains.
Sheer rock face encloses the water in a narrow channel, echoes bouncing against the cliffs, sound multiplied to a deafening roll of thunder.
Galen leans forward to get a better view, feet precariously close to the edge as he searches for a good spot to jump in.
Cool mist drifts up into the air, covering Galen’s body in a
soft sheen of glistening moisture.
He stops as he sees a likely spot, measuring the distance with his eyes to the nearest rocks below.
The swift current splashes wildly over the fallen rocks, broken away from the imprisoning cliffs as time goes by, frothy white as they race down the mountain.
‘River is quite full this year.’
Galen muses to himself silently as he unties the shirt around his waist.
‘Oh well.’
Dropping the shirt to the floor he bends over, rolling his brown pants legs up to his knees. With eyes closed and breathing relaxed he turns around, arms hanging loosely by his side.
Cricking his neck he shakes his hands and arms, swinging them once more in a circular motion.
His eyes snap open as he bends his knees, leg muscles tense as he prepares to launch his body through the air.
‘Sir Galen!’
A thin voice screeches through the quiet, the feeling of complete isolation bursting into shards. Turning around slowly, annoyance burning brightly in his face, Galen looks for the intruding voice.
‘Here, Argnoth! I am over here!’ he yells loudly, trying to cast his voice over the rivers booming chorus.
Waiting patiently Galen looks down the path he had just come in on, as a small figure tops the crest of the hill and comes rushing down towards him.
Argnoth crashes to a halt before Galen, bending to his knee quickly, eyes dropped to the ground in respect.
‘Sir, I was sent... too...’ he gags breathlessly, thin arms shaking violently from the run up the hilltop.
‘Rest a moment Argnoth.’
‘Thank you, Sir.’
‘And stand up will you. We are not inside the walls now, so we can forsake these silly protocols.’
‘As you wish, Sir.’
Argnoth gets up from his knees, a faint smile crossing his young face, light brown hair standing wildly in all directions.
Small body shaking from fatigue, Argnoth blurts his message out quickly as he looks up at Galen.
‘I was sent to come and fetch you Sir. Your father requests you meet him urgently in the great hall.’
‘Did he say why it was so urgent?’ Galen asks, a slight frown creasing his brow.
‘No Sir. Only that it had to do with the disappearance of Simion.’
Groaning inwardly Galen turns away as he speaks.
‘Tell him I will attend shortly.’
‘Yes Sir, but he said to tell you to hurry’
‘Yes, yes. I will.’
Without looking to see if Argnoth had left, Galen launches into the air, bronze body flying over the cliff’s edge.
A loud yell following as he tumbles towards the churning river below, cut short as he crashes into the water with a loud splash.
Argnoth rushes to the edge of the cliff and frightened looks towards the tumultuous water.
A sigh of relief hisses from his clamped lips as he sees Galen’s arms and legs flail wildly a few yards downstream.
Shaking his head he turns around and trots back the way he had come.
*
The great hall is hushed as Galen pushes through the great oak doors, a slight morning chill still seeping from the granite walls.
Cleanly dressed and dark hair tied back in a neat plait, Galen walks past two guards stationed either side of the doorway, spears gleaming in the candle light spilling from a high chandelier and flaming torches hanging against the side walls.
Seeing his father seated further in he walks slowly, not wanting to disturb the crowd bunched close together around the great table at the front.
Galen’s father lifts his head, a glint in his blue eyes as he
catches sight of Galen approaching.
Clearing his throat, Marck Aiks motions Galen forward, whilst simultaneously shooing the crowd away from the table with the other hand.
The bunched crowd moves back hastily, mouths clamped shut halfway through uttered sentences; gestures stopped midway in the air, as Galen sidles in amongst them, stopping in front of the table.
Galen kneels’ quickly, head bowed and hands on the floor.
‘Father, you have summoned me.’
‘Yes Galen. I have. Come with me.’
Standing up stiffly, the grey haired man turns to the crowd of advisors, eyeing them loftily.
‘We shall return shortly. Continue amongst yourselves till we return.’
The clumped advisors bend their heads before turning towards each other, voices already rising in pitch as Galen and his father moves away.
Galen and his father walk through a side door set towards the back of the great hall, entering a spacious office.
A large wooden desk stands against the furthest wall, papers strewn across the dark slab, a large map covering the centre of the table held down by square blocks of granite.
Motioning towards a chair, Marck moves around the desk and sits down heavily in the larger chair behind it.
‘What is the news father?’
Galen asks Marck softly his chin resting lightly on folded hands beneath his chin. Marck flicks a glance at Galen, clears his throat as he puts his palms flat on the table.
‘The tome has gone missing.’
The soft spoken words hang heavily in the silent office, disbelief written all over Galen’s face.
‘It is believed that it went missing the same time that Simion did. So we have to assume that the same people are responsible for both disappearances.’
Galen listens quietly as his father continues solemnly.
‘Both must be found. The future of our world depends on the finding of the tome.’
‘But father, could it not have been possible that Simion took the tome and left by himself?’
‘Why do you think that?’
’Father, if you think this way about the situation...
Simion had access to the tome. There were no unknown persons in the citadel at the time. There were no disturbances or signs of intrusion or any signs of a scuffle. The signs point to him leaving by his own choice.’
‘I will hear no such talk Galen! He has been a loyal servant since the day he came here seeking sanctuary!’
‘Father, we must consider it! We did not know the tome was missing till now. Who discovered it?’
‘Felep. But what does that have to do with anything?’
‘Is it not strange that the person reporting the stolen tome just happens to be Simion’s faithful follower and ally? Why did he only report it today?’
Galen pauses, looks away his eyes glinting brightly.
‘Where exactly did Simion come from?’
‘Hmmm...’ Marck scratches his smooth chin, deep in thought. ‘You have a point. We will question Felep immediately.’
Marck reaches behind him and yanks lightly on a cord dangling from the roof. Sitting back he eyes Galen surreptitiously.
‘To answer your other question, as far as could be ascertained previously, Simion was a disciple of the Red Mages. He left them under dire circumstances and came here, seeking our protection from them.’
Marck gets up from his seat and paces to the far side of the room, looking up at a framed picture depicting some war fought ages ago.
‘I looked into his claims and it was all true. He had broken some sacred rule of theirs and was to be put to death.’
Galen looks at his father’s stiff back, stands up and walks over to him.
‘We will find the tome father.’ He says quietly as he grips Marck’s shoulder.
‘We must Galen!’
Marck looks at his son, tears glinting in the corner of his
old eyes, wrinkles etched deep along the corners.
‘I am sending you to Carpentia. That is the most likely place he would have gone. All will be arranged for your departure in a days’ time.’
A soft rap at the door causes the two men to turn around.
‘But first, something I have to give to you before you go...’
Marck walks back to the desk, opens a drawer and lifts a small box from inside, placing it on the table gently.
His gnarled hands shaking slightly he opens the lid, gingerly picking up a black stone hung on a thong.
‘I had hoped I would never have to give this to you, but we have been pushed into circumstances that require its use. As it has served me it shall serve you.’
Walking stiffly back to Galen, Marck intones an incantation softly over the stone, before lifting it over Galen’s head and hanging it around his neck.
‘Always have it with you. It will save your life, and no one will be able to harness its powers but you. Bear with me a moment as I tune the stone to your essence.’
‘Father....?’
‘It is the only thing I can give to help you on this quest, son.’
Bending his head solemnly, Galen closes his eyes as Marck lays his hands across his heart and a cupped hand over the stone.
A faint ripple of power shimmers through the room, silence thick in the air.
His breath heaving Marck releases Galen and moves back to his chair, sitting down heavily. Motioning weakly with his hand to the door he sits back. Galen steps to the door and pulls it open, surprising the waiting servant on the other side.
‘You... you called master?’ he stammers fearfully as he steps inside the office.
Marck looks silently at the servant man, hand resting against his cheek.
‘Yes, Dan. Please see to it that a respectable captain is found and arrange passage to the mainland. They are to set sail in one day.’
The servant nods his head and turns to leave.
‘Quietly. If you please.’
Nodding his head again, the servant sets of at a gentle jog through the group of arguing advisors, before disappearing through a door across the vast hall.
Several sets of eyes swing to the open door, as Galen closes it behind the departing servant.
* * * * *
Galen shrugs as he opens his eyes, the memory unsettling him.
A dark mood settles over him as he sits up, anger flashing
behind his hooded eyes.
A giggle to his right draws his attention to where his companions are lounging in the shade of a tree.
The loud gurgle of the river unsettles him, where it had soothed his mind earlier, and with a violent shove he pushes himself from the ground and stalks to where the three are sitting.
‘I know now who I am and why I came to the mainland.’ He says voice edgy and tight.
The three look up at his face, surprised by the anger flowing thickly in his voice.
‘My name is Galen Aiks, as I have told you already; I am from the island of Nordth. I have come to find someone and something that was stolen from us.’
Siril looks up at him, a pensive look across his face, before he silently speaks.
‘That is why I thought you looked familiar. You are Marck Aiks’ son? I knew him long ago.’
Galen looks at Siril surprised before sitting down heavily on the ground next to them. Siril sits quietly, rubbing his leg with, Virian and Talli impassively looking from Galen to Siril.
‘The rock around your neck, he gave it to you?’
Galen nods his head, not looking up at Siril.
‘May I inspect it?’
Galen starts and glances up at Siril fearfully.
‘You can’t touch it! It is protected.’
’I understand that from what Virian told me. She mistakenly touched it while you were sleeping.
Galen looks over at where Virian sits red faced, shame flooding through her. With a slight shrug Galen lifts the stone from underneath his shirt, dangling it spinning in front of him.
Siril bends over and looks intently at the spinning stone, hand reached partly towards it, thin fingers splayed wide.
A soft hum trills from his lips, eyes glazing lightly over, before he sits back and takes a deep breath.
‘The spell on it is quite intricate. It is a Spirit Spell.’
’How do you know this? Galen eyes Siril suspiciously.
‘I once travelled further from these forests then most ever did. I am well acquainted with the spells of the Necra.’
Siril stops talking looking Galen straight into the eye, not breaking the contact as he speaks.
‘You, Galen... are the son of Marck Aiks, High mage of the Necra, keepers of the secrets of death.’
Virian and Talli both gasp loudly, disbelief in their eyes as they look at the dark haired Galen sitting silently next to their father.
‘Yes I am. Now tell me something... What is this Spirit spell exactly?’
Siril sighs and shrugs as he starts to explain.
‘It is a very difficult spell even for a Master. It captures the escaping spirit as it leaves the body. As the person dies, it keeps the spirit locked inside a vessel, in this case this stone, before releasing the spirit back into the body once it is safe to do so.’
Galen sits back aghast, hand reaching to the stone as Siril continues.
‘Once the spirit returns, there is slight memory lapse, but usually, that comes back, as it is in your case, after a few days or in certain environments you find yourself in.’
Galen looks at Siril, lip trembling slightly as he says, ‘So you are telling me I died?’
‘Most likely, yes. You said you were shipwrecked? Did any of the others survive?’
Galen shakes his head negatively and looks into the distance.
‘Father must have known this could happen.’
‘Why did you come to the mainland? Most of you never leave the island.’
Siril expectantly looks at Galen, silently waiting for his answer.
‘There is something I must do, but I will not divulge this now. I... need some time... to think.’
‘I understand. We need to get moving in any case. There will be trackers on our trail as we speak. Let’s get ready to move on.’
‘Where are we heading father?’
Virian asks quickly, frightened by the thought of leaving the forest behind.
‘Where Talli was trying to escape too... we are heading north. Towards the Ash Mountains.’
‘But there is nothing there! We have all read the stories!’ exasperation makes Virian’s voice husky and thick with emotion.
‘None the less... we must leave. We will not debate this now!’
Siril gets up quickly before Virian can utter any objections and walks slowly up stream along the riverbank.
Talli jumps up excitedly, a smile spread wide over her face as she races after Siril.
With a sigh Galen gets up, reaches a hand towards Virian and as she grips the proffered hand, he pulls her up. Standing nose to nose for a moment they awkwardly pull apart and turn to follow.