By Ways Unseen Read online

  Sarah said nothing, but handed her torch to Pladt, her mouth set in a grim line. They set off once again, but no more cries were heard to help guide them. By the time they stopped for lunch, their spirits were once again at low tide.

  As they sat and ate, they watched in numbed and muted horror as Geoffrey’s torch slowly faded and went out. No sooner had it winked out than Sarah’s too began to fade. By the time they set out again, they had only Haydren’s torch to guide them.

  After walking what seemed a few hours, they came upon another crossroad. Beside it, pointing to their left, was a bark arrow and a number denoting an intersection they had passed three days ago.

  As they looked at it, Haydren’s torch began to wane. Haydren gazed at the flame as if he had forgotten what torches were, and was trying to determine what was in his hand. Slowly, he bent down and pressed the shaft into the ground. He sat beside it, unable to take his eyes off the flame as it drifted up to the crest of the ball of cloth, now burned dry. The single blue flame held impossibly long upon the horizon as Haydren waited with bated breath. Finally, when he thought it just might defy reality forever, it snuffed out and sank them into total darkness.

  Sitting there, Haydren recalled the mastiff of so many years ago; despite what seemed impossible at the time, he recognized now how easily he could fight flesh and blood. Even with a simple gardening implement, he had been able to defend himself against a beast well over his size. But this enemy was intangible, insurmountable; there was nothing for him to attack with his sword, nothing against which to defend with a shield. The creatures hidden by the darkness were not hindered by it; it would not be the creatures, ultimately, that would kill them. But this impossible blindness, unassailable, unfathomable, would be their demise.

  “Haydren,” Sarah said, nearby; her fingers found his arm, then to his shoulder, and squeezed gently.

  You must lead them out. Look up.

  Blinking, Haydren looked up. Unlike ever before, the whisper this time rang from the silence like a tolling bell, the echo overpowering and erasing from remembrance the stroke of its inception. It was as if the words sprang into existence from nothing, beginning before time and existing always as fact – and it spoke to him now beyond a whisper and almost like a voice: a voice with authority and knowledge outside of himself.

  “Did you say that?” he asked.

  “I said your name,” she replied uncertainly.

  He glanced around; he could sense Pladt and Geoffrey near him, and could hear their breathing. Were they looking around as well? He could not see.

  Then, in the corner of his eye, he saw a light. He turned his head toward it, but it dimmed and went out. As his eyes cast downward, it reappeared.

  “Is that…?” he muttered. “Pladt, to the right!”

  He heard Pladt shift, then gasp. “It’s a light!” he whispered hoarsely. “Light, coming through the trees!”

  Haydren stood, knocking over his torch. He reached out and grasped Pladt’s shoulder. “I cannot see it well,” he said. “You must lead the way Pladt. Geoffrey, grab onto Sarah!”

  Pladt started off, shuffling through the loose dirt beside the path. He kept a hand stretched before him to feel and avoid the trees. He moved his head from side to side: when the light was before him, it dimmed till he could barely see it; but when his head was turned it seemed to blaze brightly. He was familiar with the phenomenon, and had used it to great advantage as a child in Werine playing Seek the Traitor. Now, it just might save their lives.

  Then, when he was swiveling his head, he saw once again the obsidian glow. He stumbled and stopped, nearly falling when his companions shuffled into the back of him. He felt Haydren’s hand squeeze his shoulder.

  “Cerberus!” Pladt whispered hoarsely.

  The hand squeezed tighter. “Then run!”

  He bolted forward, his shoulder wrenching from Haydren’s grasp. They were closer, now, and Haydren could see the pinpoint of light clearly on his own. Grasping Sarah’s wrist, Haydren too began running. When he was sure she was following, he released her and made for the light. Through the rush of air in his ears, the tramp of his feet on the earth, and the pounding of his heart, Haydren could hear the Cerberus growling, and beginning to chase after them.

  The blackness solidified into a wall of brush; Pladt burst through, spilling blinding light into the forest. Shielding his eyes with his arm, Haydren was close behind him. A branch clawed at his pack, refusing to let him escape. It pulled; his feet carried forward; and he was on his back. Geoffrey leapt over him as he struggled to rise and slipped in a dank pool of muddy water; Sarah glanced back into the woods as she waited for Haydren to rise and go on.

  They were on the Low Moors, free from the forest; but the Cerberus of Kalen was swiftly closing in.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MAGICS

  “You could not have foreseen that.”

  “I only needed to know the one who could.”

  “Your judgment was not so keen the first time.”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  Spring

  Haydren turned, facing the empty hole where he and his companions had just emerged, its edges broken and ragged with vines and branches. He whipped free his sword; Geoffrey was beside him, Follus blade dully gray in front; Pladt was several paces back, arrow drawn, and Sarah stood with fists clenched and chest heaving. A low growl sounded from the forest.

  With an animal shout the Cerberus emerged, teeth and fur charging at Haydren. He braced with his sword; three hundred pounds of muscle and hate slammed into him, knocking him backward and he crashed into another mucky puddle.

  Pladt’s bow twanged, and one head of the beast flared backward with a roar. The second head lashed downward at Haydren; his sword was pinned between his chest and the beast, flat side up, and all he could do was block the snarling jaws of the creature. A gust of wind blinded him with Moorish water, and as he cried out the Cerberus’ head ducked further out of the gale just as it ceased.

  “Get him off of you!” Sarah shouted.

  Haydren heard a familiar hum as Geoffrey’s sword entered the fray. With a deafening howl the Cerberus leapt away. His sword now free, Haydren made a desperate swipe as the beast slid backwards away from Geoffrey’s wrath.

  Another gust of wind blasted the beast in one of its faces; it growled contempt as it bit Pladt’s arrow free from its head. Haydren pushed himself upright, legs shaking as the rush pounded through his veins. Another growl from the Cerberus: its eyes flashed and the darkness within them began to swirl.

  “Cover your eyes!” Sarah warned. “And don’t open them till the shadow passes!”

  Haydren reversed his blade along his forearm and buried his eyes in the crook of his elbow, just as the Cerberus jutted his heads forward. Immediately, Haydren felt as if he were sinking into thick mud. He struggled to move his legs, but they refused. Over his body the shadow and muck crept; it reached his mouth and tried to force its way in. It reached his arm, and a great strength tried to yank it from his eyes.

  “I’m drowning!” Pladt shouted suddenly. “Geoffrey, Hayd—” He cut off suddenly, and Haydren heard him running, splashing through the standing water.

  “Pladt, it’s not water!” he shouted. There was a thump, a pause, a splash.

  “Strike him with lightning or something!” Haydren shouted to Sarah.

  “I can’t until I can see!” she replied, sounding far away and above him. Haydren gritted his teeth, and waited for the mud to go away.

  It did, in a flash, as if someone had yanked him instantly from the puddle in which he’d been floundering. He lowered his arm; Pladt lay near the edge of the forest, unmoving. Haydren whispered quickly that the archer was still alive.

  The Cerberus charged once again; lightning pounded behind the charging beast, missing him. Haydren stepped back, and gasped in surprise as his leg gave way beneath him, betraying him suddenly. He managed to keep his sword up, timing a vicious slash perfectly as the beast reached h
im; it turned the Cerberus’ head as it struck him, sapping some of the force and keeping the iron jaws from his throat as they crashed into his chest.

  Geoffrey leapt in once more, his blade quivering in space. The beast howled with each stroke; Haydren, flat on his back once more, worked his dagger free and fought the beast with all his strength.

  It was off him in an instant, limping its way back to the forest. Haydren leapt up, and with Geoffrey close behind him, closed with the retreating beast. All the days of hopeless wandering, of incessant attacks and nauseating mortal fear, swept over Haydren and found release in his sword. With one final howl the beast gasped and collapsed. Geoffrey ensured its death with three powerful, severing strokes, and both men stepped back, panting.

  “So passes the Cerberus of Kalen,” Geoffrey said, glancing down at his sword now covered in thick blood. He knelt beside the carcass, whispering some kind of chant that Haydren did not recognize.

  Haydren left him and approached Pladt, his sword tip dragging through the puddles. He paused, afraid to go forward for fear of what he might find. As he looked, he saw Pladt’s chest rise and fall; he sighed, approached, and knelt down.

  “Pladt,” he called quietly.

  Pladt’s eyes fluttered and opened. He winced and held a hand to his forehead where a welt had begun forming. “What happened?” he asked.

  “You tell me, I just heeded Geoffrey’s warning,” Haydren replied.

  Pladt closed his eyes, winced again, and relaxed. “Oh yeah,” he said. “The Cerberus can mesmerize its foes with its eyes.” He sighed, and with Haydren’s help sat up. “My bow?”

  Haydren glanced around quickly, and saw one end of it sticking up from a puddle. It did not appear to be broken; Haydren rose, returned it for the archer and helped him to his feet.

  “Is he all right?” Sarah asked as they walked back; Haydren said nothing, failing to hide his glower.

  “I see you have your magic back,” he said.

  “I believe it was the Cerberus,” Sarah replied. “As soon as Pladt hit him with the arrow, my connection with the element returned.”

  “Too bad your aim is not as good as Pladt’s,” he couldn’t help but mutter.

  “It’s difficult…” She pressed her lips together, knowing it was not the time to launch into a defense of magic. “I’m sorry; I had hoped to blind him with the water, so he couldn’t launch his mesmerizing attack.”

  “Yet more information that would have been handy earlier.” Haydren shut his jaw with a click, and decided not to pursue the topic.

  “I’ll be fine,” Pladt replied, rubbing his forehead with a smile.

  Geoffrey stood, produced a rag, and swiped the muck from his sword. “We should be going,” he said. “It’s growing late, and creatures are sure to roam from the woods at night.”

  “Let them,” Haydren replied. “One look at that Cerberus should make them think again about attacking us.” Even so, he turned and led them west as he too cleaned his sword. Pladt fell in behind him, still gingerly massaging his forehead. Sarah’s glances ranged from concern at Pladt to frustration at Haydren; she knew he felt she was useless, and she had to agree with him - in principle. She wished there was something she could say, but she knew Haydren would only understand actions. Geoffrey, falling in at the rear, cast one final glance at the forest which had for so long held them.

  Further now from the shadow of the Forest, they walked through tall shocks of moorgrass, a soft, blue grass well fed by water that hid just below the ground’s surface. As this water rose to the surface during spring and autumn, the name “Low Moors” was given to it as it seemed to sink below a freshwater sea. Their route took them between standing water and spongy dirt, the tread of their footsteps releasing a smell like rich mushrooms. Low clouds dimmed the world, and soon opened themselves up with a steady rain. Drawing his hood over his head, Pladt cursed quietly.

  “Do we know what day it is?” he asked presently.

  “If these clouds pass, I can give us a good guess tonight,” Haydren replied. “We will at least know what month it is, and which half of the month.”

  “I wonder if the year has turned,” Pladt mused to himself. He squinted up at the sky and blinked. “Still feels like spring.”

  As the land darkened, the company managed a makeshift shelter using Geoffrey’s and Haydren’s scabbards and their now nearly empty packs. The rain slackened, and the clouds to the south broke.

  “It’s late Elfumon,” Haydren said, and pointed. “Zedar still rises early.”

  “Zedar?” Geoffrey asked.

  “The star-pattern that watches over Deewan,” Sarah replied quietly.

  “I remember that story!” Pladt said, brightening visibly.

  “So we were in the forest nearly a month?” Geoffrey asked.

  “The Deewanians were under siege and in fear of imminent destruction,” Pladt continued as if Geoffrey had not spoken. “The Burieng Army was reported to be marching through the mountains with a force ten times what the Deewanians could hope to withstand.”

  “They were Keste at that time, Pladt,” Sarah corrected with a smile. “It wasn’t Deewan for several hundred years yet.”

  “To answer your question, Geoffrey,” Haydren said, “probably. We had ten days’ worth of pure fuel when we left, right? We certainly used all of it up.”

  “Right!” Pladt replied. Then he scowled. “My father always told it to me as Deewanians though.”

  Geoffrey shook his head and looked at Sarah. “Perhaps you should tell this story so we can have it done with?” he said.

  “Oh, he has everything else right,” Sarah admitted. “The Keste were an ancient people, skilled in smithing, poetry – and song, especially. The King, Burieng, feared their sword-making skills. So he sent his army to destroy them. They used to be spread through most of the Endolin Mountains; eventually, they lived only in a hidden village deep in the mountains – the village of Deewan, that Pladt is getting confused by.

  “When Burieng found them, he sent his whole army to destroy them. They had nowhere left to go, so they waited and whispered. Then, a day before the army reached the village, a huge, strange creature appeared and destroyed Burieng’s army, and they retreated. After that, a new star-pattern appeared in the sky over Deewan.”

  “Zedar?” Geoffrey said.

  Sarah nodded. “If you follow Zedar, you will find the village; if you come against it to destroy it, so the legend goes, Zedar will protect it; it no longer needs to remain hidden.”

  “And,” Haydren concluded, “the pattern rises early in winter and spring. In summer, it is nearer the horizon and rises late. If I had the proper instrument, I could tell us what day it was in Elfumon, within a day or two.”

  “Quite a handy skill,” Geoffrey noted.

  Haydren’s gaze diverted to the horizon, to the distant past. “One of many that Sir Cullins gave me,” he said.

  After a quick meal of cold meat, they drifted to sleep with one person to keep watch. Despite the promising break to the south, the clouds remained next morning. In time, their boots became perpetually soggy; rain descended in waves, and the hidden sun gave them little guidance. Then, above the rain, they heard the rushing of heavy water. Cocking his head, Haydren glanced backward.

  “The Tundee,” Sarah said. Pladt and Geoffrey looked blankly at her. “It’s a river that flows south, from the Seven Headwaters in the Kalen Woods to the Shadowmere,” she explained. “If we are so near it, it means we came out of the woods as close to Frecksshire as we possibly could.”

  “Does that mean we’ll be out of these rotten puddles soon, then?” Pladt asked, grimacing as he sank ankle-deep into yet another pool.

  Sarah paused, then nodded. “By tonight, actually,” she replied.

  From under their feet, something of a path, ancient and worn, rose and ran westward. Broken in many places, it nevertheless offered them dry ground on which to walk. Despite the unending rain, Pladt’s step became light; rain was m
ost common in Werine in the spring and winter, so he didn’t mind the drops: it was the puddles that annoyed him. Walking now a little above it, the land looked to him to be strewn with jewels, though under the clouds they shined now only dimly. As a smile crept onto his face, the path broke and he splashed into an intruding pool of water; the smile faded, and he sighed heavily. Adventures, he decided, were always better beside a warm fire.

  “So how about these Inns?” he said aloud.

  Haydren laughed; Geoffrey growled. “Well they’re not going to be so near the forest are they?” Geoffrey asked irritably.

  Pladt shrugged. “You got my hopes up is all I’m saying.”

  “A fool’s hope, maybe,” Geoffrey replied.

  “Those disappeared fifteen years ago,” Sarah said from the head of the party. “They were not as defensible as we hoped, and after a few attacks quickly went away.”

  “They couldn’t build up their defenses?” Geoffrey asked.

  “It didn’t matter,” Sarah replied. “Once your patrons have all been slaughtered by goblins, your promise of hospitality and protection rings…hollow.”

  “So what does that say for travelers without walls of any kind?” Pladt muttered.

  “They had better keep a sharp eye,” Geoffrey said, placing a hand on his sword-hilt.

  Pladt shook his head; the land was open wide, now, and he was grateful for the distance to see: but his eyes would not feel sharp again for some time.

  The rushing water grew louder, and the land split suddenly. A rotting wooden bridge hung before them as the Tundee roared a few feet below.

  “This is an illusion, right?” Haydren asked, staring dumbly at the crossing. “There’s no chance our torches went out just in time to see a peephole in the forest wall, which happens to let out abreast of what must be the only bridge to cross the river for miles.”

  “I didn’t even know this was here,” Sarah replied.

  “Perhaps someone is watching out for us,” Geoffrey said.