Arrow of the Mist
Rockberg, the Bryns, and all the other villages of Nemetona were now safe from the venomous scourge. But Lia could only wonder at the full measure of destruction wreaked by the Straif. Or rather, by Draugyrd.
The spiny Straif breathed with renewed vigor, though its essence remained sour, much like the sloes that dangled amongst its razor-sharp thorns. Lia’s connection faded from the Straif, the tree free to soak in the misty air and wish for a long winter.
Wynn groaned and stuggled through the limp branches, and Lia made her way over her wilting cage to his side. Though her strength waned thin, she helped him to a stand. The horses snorted in their efforts to find footing, the tangle of dead limbs falling from their backs. Lia stumbled toward Merrie and grabbed hold of her saddlebag, withdrawing another water skin. “Seren water … we all must drink.”
The enchanted water would buy them some time. Brume’s lifeblood would slow the Straif’s venom, but for how long, Lia didn’t know. Wynn suffered the worst of it. The waters were unable to heal his poisoned gashes, but it staunched the rivers of scarlet pouring from his wounds.
“Lee,” Wynn said, looking upward.
Lia whirled around and nearly lost her balance at the sight. The steam was gone, and now a fountain of silver spouted from the headless Eadha. Though Wynn spotted the water, he couldn’t see the horde of pale and wailing ghosts shooting from it.
The torent of silver poured forth, but a greater mass of ink-black pressed down. Draugyrd hung there, while the Scalach shades whipped against the frail spirits, surrounding and herding them like frightened sheep. The souls flew from one prison into the grasp of another.
Lia grasped the pouch dangling from her belt. Into her palm, she emptied the herbal blend remembered from her vision of the old widows. She threw the herbs high and called out the widow’s chant, “Expello captivus phasma, arcesso imperium caelestis.”
The widow’s words poured from her lips, and spirits began to escape. The shades screamed in rage, a frenzy of high-pitched shrills, as their prisoners fled. On and on Lia called out the chant, louder, faster, until the great multitude of souls flew free.
Grandma’s voice rang beside her then. “Be gone captive spirits, by the power of celestial light.” Grandma Myrna flitted overhead, a glowing specter. “Ye’ve done it, child, wielded the invocation with an untainted heart. Ye’ve released them to the Summerlands, Granda Luis too. He’s at peace and prouder than ever of ye both. But we’ve little time before the master rallies his power and comes for ye again. The stone, child; retrieve yer stone.”
Lia choked back a river of tears and shot toward the Eadha stump, now barren and cold. She grasped her pouch nestled near the crumpled roots of her cage and released the crystal into her palm. Its fiery heat raged forth and she focused her mind, delving deep within the ancient quartz. She allowed it to draw from her energy, as she called out a single command, “Help us!”
A blinding light beamed outward, purging the surrounding mists. The faceless bodies of shades twisted wildly beyond its fringes, and Grandma shouted, “Hold onto its power, and once I’m inside, ye must race like the wind.”
Inside?
Lia held on to the crystal’s force, its span of burning light enclosing her within it. Grandma’s spirit hovered and she reached wispy arms out to Lia’s stone.
“You must race to the great Idho!” Grandma Myrna cried before her soul poured like a stream of water into the quartz. The burning light pulled inward, sealing the elder inside the crystal sanctuary.
Lia’s jaw dropped. Not only had Grandma anchored herself within the magic quartz, she had stayed behind instead of flying with the others to paradise. Wynn was right about the elixir. She was the maiden and Grandma was the blood-kin crone. And the final part of the cure.
Lia tucked her stone away and mounted Merrie. Wynn stared at her from atop Nolan, waiting, and she called out, “To the south!”
They charged forth, the silver waters giving their horses strength. Wynn rode beside her with his sword and shield in his grip. His bond to the weapons had become like hers with the crystal. They were his talismans, their magic wielded by the essence of their rightful holder.
They fled toward the Idho—the tree with the grand hollow from her dream two nights before. It grew at the southeastern tip of the Seren River just beyond the mists. Lia knew it waited for them, like a towering giant offering its body as a haven.
The bleak forest whipped by and Lia dared to think of home, dared to hope that her da lived, and that she still had time to heal him. She pictured him strong and laughing, sanding down a table or hutch chest. She loved the smell of his workshop, the fresh wood shavings, lemon infused oils, and sweet blocks of beeswax. He’d ask, “What d’ya think, Lia? Good enough for someone’s house or should we just put it out on the back porch?” Her reply was always the same, “Only the finest house will do.” His whole face would smile with pride.
Tears stung her eyes and her face froze in the chilled air. They maneuvered through the last of the Eadha stumps and the forest rose tall once again, the trees green with life. Her heart pounded with anticipation. They were almost free. But as they passed the first of the pale trees, an onslaught of winds beat against them.
Terror washed through Lia. “Shades!”
“We have to find cover.” Wynn’s battered face ran with fresh blood.
The Idho. We have to get to the Idho. Through the howling winds, Lia reached out her mind, straining to feel the tree’s essence. “Wynn, get to the yew tree on the riverbank, less than half a league!”
She buried her face within Merrie’s tangled mane. Her horse pressed against the driving storm. The drum of the Idho’s call grew louder, the ancient tree beckoning her. The winds raged, the mists darkened, and she lost sight of Wynn through the blinding gales. Not even his glowing blade answered her frantic cries. The pull of the Idho held her path straight, but her cousin had no such anchor. She had to find him before he vanished forever.
She drew out her pouch. Heat penetrated the leather from the quartz within, the promise of magic answering her. But before she could release the stone, a hard gust punched her, knocking her face first to the ground.
Lia landed in a flash of stars. She swam through the murk of unconsciousness, struggling for air. With a great heave she awoke, but nearly fainted again from the racking pain. Jagged stones and dead Eadha branches cut into her flesh. Like cruel hands, the winds ripped bloodied shreds from her ma’s cloak.
“Wake, child! He’s coming.”
Lia lifted her battered head from the ground and squinted at Grandma.
“Hurry!” Grandma Myrna flickered in and out of view.
Lia’s head throbbed and blood ran down her chin, the taste of salt and copper on her tongue. She grabbed her pouch, and this time released the fiery quartz. She barely uttered, “Protect us.”
Her insides tugged from the draw of power. Then a brilliant light shot from the stone, forcing back the Scalach’s winds. Lia rose on shaking legs and grasped Merrie’s reins for support. Her knees nearly buckled from the shooting pains in her ribs. Merrie nuzzled her, both an offering and plea for comfort.
Grandma Myrna’s spirit drew closer. “Quickly, Lia.”
“Have to … find … Wynn.” With every step, her energy waned and her body ached in revolt.
Terror etched across Grandma’s face.
Lia stumbled through the woods. She kept hold of Merrie’s reins and Grandma Myrna followed closely. The wild storm raged beyond their circle of light, its wrath useless against the quartz’s power. Wynn had to be near; they had separated only minutes before she fell.
Lia delved her mind into the stone, imploring the magic to expand. Her insides shuddered at the pull of energy. The vast light shot out arms like sunrays. She swiveled her head to each of its beacons and caught a glimpse of something glowing.
“Wynn!” Her call rang loud within the protective sphere. She maneuvered toward him, guided by the glow of his weapons. Nolan’s
head bowed against the driving winds, his muzzle nudging Wynn’s crumpled body.
Lia fell on her knees beside him. The crystal’s light encircled them all in safety. She gently rolled her cousin over and gasped. Blood poured from his broken nose, and gashes lined his cheeks and forehead.
She grabbed her water skin, propped his head, and poured a silver stream into his mouth. She folded a tattered edge of her cloak and dabbed his face with the enchanted liquid, but he did not wake. Her own strength withered, and she hurried and drank some of the water. The quartz responded to her replenished energy. Its light grew brighter, and within its embrace, Wynn’s weapons radiated like fire. Even the lindwyrm dragon on his shield sparkled. She continued to wash Wynn’s wounds and pour little streams into his mouth.
“He’s upon us!” Grandma Myrna screeched.
Lia peered at the edges of her crystal’s light. Draugyrd’s mass came down and enshrouded their bubble-like haven. Her breath stuck in her throat, but she held to her stone’s magic.
Stay strong, keep the light, push him away!
The Idho’s drum beat its promise of freedom, but Lia’s hope fell with each passing moment that Wynn lay motionless on the ground. Her body wavered, the stone using up more and more of her energy. It took every bit of her concentration to maintain the sphere of light.
Then the master shade’s words poured forth like venom, “Foolish girl, you cannot escape. Your fate is with me.”
“Never!” she shouted. “I choose my fate.”
“Ah, the ignorance of youth.” Draugyrd’s voice cut into her mind like daggers. “No, child, your elder kinswoman bound your destiny to me a long time ago.”
“More lies,” she spat. “Nothing but trickery.”
She shifted her eyes on Grandma. Grandma Myrna’s ghost froze like chiseled stone. Lia peered at her, imploring her to argue Draugyrd’s words, but she remained silent.
“No, little pawn, no more faery tales,” Draugyrd continued. “Your clever elder used your mother’s womb well, a living cauldron for her potions. There she brewed into your tiny body a desire to work magic, a longing for Brume, and imposed a fate upon you to serve her selfish needs.”
Lia tried to shut off his voice, but it strangled her mind and forced her to listen. “She made sure you’d follow in her ways. She left you all the right tools, even an elder kinsman to teach you, spellbound by her charms. All because she sold her soul for years of passage into Brume, and then didn’t want to pay her end. You became her only hope for escape. When you came to Brume, as she knew you eventually would, she summoned you from the streams. You see, poor girl, all this time, you’ve been bound to a fate forced upon you by a cowardly hag whose soul dims under the brilliance of your own.”
“No, that’s not the way. Grandma wouldn’t use Ma … Granda … me …” Lia faltered, her world tilting upside down. Grandma Myrna hovered near Lia in wretched silence. Everything Lia believed and revered about her grandmother began to drown in a flood of doubt.
Did Grandma sell her soul, her daughter’s womb, and the souls of her grandchildren to gain passage to Brume?
All that Lia upheld, everything she’d strived to immolate, fell like sand through her fingers. Was she kin to lies and deceit, an outcast whose elder had joined forces with the very thing trying to destroy her?
Nothing made sense. The world spun like a spindle pulling away every strand of reason from Lia. Tears spilled down her face, for herself, for Granda, for Ma and Da, and everyone suffering at the hands of her grandmother’s magic.
Draugyrd’s haughty snicker filled the air. “The ring of truth resounds clear and your elder knows it. So now, it is truly over. No more games; you are no longer her little pawn. Show the courage your kin failed to show and face your destiny.”
Lia’s distress weakened her energy. The crystal’s light shrunk, barely encompassing them. She gazed at Grandma, and though her kinswoman remained mute, her eyes softened to warm pools. Warmth streamed into Lia as thoughts of the Grimoire filled her mind.
Of course. Her book!
If anything revealed her grandmother’s truth, it was the beloved Grimoire. Lia recalled the healing recipes, the wondrous legends, riddles, and sketches, every word and brush stroke showing her love of nature. Understanding radiated within Lia.
Grandma Myrna placed both hands over her heart, a family gesture Lia knew well. Yes, I love you too, Lia gestured back, her heart freed from uncertainty.
Lia’s memory unraveled the truth. Grandma Myrna had brewed up special potions for Ma, but not the way Draugyrd described. She tended to her daughter’s body with loving care, feeding her herbs and tonics to assure a strong pregnancy and healthy babe. Ma claimed that without Grandma’s help, she’d have surely been childless. “I was born with a fussy womb,” she often said. “Bittersweet is the taste of Brume. It stole my ma away, but the bounty she gathered there helped me give birth to you.”
The knowledge Grandma gained from her widow-mothers, her birth bond with the fog, and her strange inborn gifts had instilled within her a clear life’s mission: keep the old ways alive, and bring magic and healing to those suffering under a destructive rule. No king, no one claiming sovereign rule, had the right to discard nature’s gifts. These riches were the rights of every living creature.
Yes, Lia thought. Grandma sacrificed her life to gain access to the treasures of Brume. And yes, she left behind the tools for her kin to carry on. But not for selfish need. She did it to ensure that all those she loved and all those they touched would thrive.
Draugyrd was wrong. Grandma had carried out her end of the bargain—wielding the amber, enchanting food and ale for the Scalach shades, leaving a bit of her spirit each time. She knew her soul would end up in the fog—the place of her birth—for eternity. What she never thought possible, was how Draugyrd would use her spirit against everyone and everything she held dear.
The fateful verse rang out in Lia’s mind:
For the call of magic, I do what I must;
Sacrifice is needed, to do what is just.
The dark master beckons, and his command I do heed;
Anything I will do for flower, root, and seed.
And after my life does perish,
And the magic fades toward its end,
I know the children will come forth and bring it back again.
Lia glanced at her sleeping cousin and knew they were part of “the children” coming forth to bring magic back to the lands. They would find a way to purge the imposed stupor from the people of Nemetona, strengthen the crystals’ enchantment of Brume’s fog, and expel Draugyrd and his ruthless horde back to the pits of the Underworld. The lands would thrive once again, but not by the poisons of Draugyrd.
“You are right, Master Shade,” Lia said simply. “I must stand and face my destiny.”
Draugyrd paused, loosening his grip, and Lia summoned her remaining strength and poured it into the quartz.
The light expanded, shoving the powerful shade back. He bellowed in fury, nearly shaking Lia’s skull apart. His forest turned to a dark blur as hurricane winds tore the surrounding trees apart. She pushed aside her grief for the tormented woods and held on to the magic.
Draugyrd raged against the bright sphere, his pitchy mass crashing upon the light in waves. Sweat poured down Lia’s face, her body shook, and her head ached. Just when she was near collapse, Wynn rose beside her. He thrust his blade through the border of light and pierced Draugyrd’s mass.
Draugyrd, the wild storm, and the surrounding mists flew deep into the confines of Brume’s fog, as if sucked there by some unworldly void. All turned quiet and still. Wynn’s blade shone clean, as if he’d pierced nothing but mist, but Lia knew the sword’s magic had burned through the shade. She’d heard his cries of pain before his voice silenced.
“Gone to lick his wounds,” Grandma Myrna said. “He’ll be needing a fine measure of tending to, to regain his power. Then only time will tell. But ye’ve done it, dear ones. Together ye’
ve triumphed.”
“That voice … a woman.” Wynn’s eyes shone against his haggard face.
Lia quickly faced him. “You can hear Grandma?”
He stumbled and gripped his side. “I heard a few words, like a whisper.”
“You’re hurt, Wynn.” Lia reached out to him, but he put his hand up to stop her.
“I’m all right, just a bit broken inside.” He creased his brow. “What? Why the strange look?”
Lia gently traced the sharp pattern painted on his sandy hair. “Running through a misty forest with jagged white streaks in your hair.”
His eyes widened. “Don’t tell me that dream of yours came true?”
She nodded, dumbstruck.
Wynn blew out his breath and shook his head. “How ’bout we get out of here now?”
Grandma Myrna smiled at them and her spirit slipped back into the quartz, the light drawing in behind her. Lia cupped the crystal in a gentle embrace before she tucked it within her pouch.
Her eyes roved the battered forest, now cleared of mist. The surviving trees reached out to her in gratitude. Though many had been injured or killed, life prevailed. For now, this wood lived free from Draugyrd’s grasp.
Wynn nearly passed out again mounting Nolan, and Lia handed him a root. “Chew on this; it should help some of the pain. Not much more we can do now for cracked ribs.”
They edged the last of the Eadhas and Lia spotted a small gnarled tree in a barren plot. It was the elder, or Ruis tree, that Draugyrd used Grandma’s magic to be-spell. For some wretched purpose, to be sure.
Its crooked limbs reached out to her like arms, the corky wood covered in blood-red leaves and purple-black berries. One of its more grim nicknames, “Tree of Doom,” fit quite well after the master shade’s touch. Lia felt nothing of the tree’s essence, and sensed only emptiness, like a hollow shell of its long forgotten life. Even so, it called to her.
She veered Merrie toward the tree, her heart pounding like a death march.