The Spirit of Revenge (19 page)

A man ran a scarred hand through a pile of ashes, the remnants of a campfire several days since extinguished. He stood up and held out his hand, letting the ashes sift through his fingers before drifting away in the breeze.

He turned and approached his chestnut horse.

The man readjusted a massive bow that hung on his back beside a silver quiver of arrows and climbed into his horse’s saddle with skillful grace. He pulled the black wolf furs of his cloak closer to his broad frame, and with a flick of his reins, guided his mount towards a narrow valley chain, the setting sun at his back.

F
or several days, the Warriors rode through Charun, following the river Setlon towards the Morgaul. Days of bitter chill and blinding fog fought to tear them down, seeking to lay waste to their morale.

Cain looked over his shoulder at Adriel who had fallen asleep, her head lying against his back. The mist had relented since noon and he could see her hands held limply around his waist, her hair falling around his back and shimmering gold in the sunlight. He opened his mouth to say something to her but quickly closed it, instead running a hand through his hair.

The movement shook her from her sleep and she sat up.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Cain,” she apologized when she realized she had slept on him.

“It’s fine,” he replied.

Adriel shook her head and stretched vigorously for a moment. They grew quiet, listening to their horses trudge through the thick undergrowth. Cain turned to the girl after a while and said, “Where the hell is this Morgaul? We’ve been riding for over a week.”

“Well you don’t have to worry any longer.”

Cain looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Because we’re already here,” she said as she pointed ahead of them. Cain turned and followed her gaze.

A line of trees stood dark and defiant before them, towering over the landscape. Fog swirled around their feet, captive mists in their thorny grasp.

Cain reined his horse to a stop and the others followed suit. They halted a few feet before the tree line and stared up into the darkness beyond.

The trees loomed high above them, their thick trunks clustered closely together to form an impenetrable blackness. They stared wide eyed into the forest, their minds lost in the shadows, lost for words.

Cain sighed and exchanged a nervous glance with each of them. “Well…”

“I have a feeling,” Aaron replied, “that if we go in there, we can’t turn back.”

“So this is it then,” Cain said to them, “there is no turning back. There will be no going home…”

Silas’s gaze fell. “We have no home to go back to…”

Aaron looked his friends over and returned his eyes to the trees before them. “On the other side of that forest, open war awaits us.”

Cain turned and stared into the ominous trees. “Then let us embrace it.” He reined his horse forward and rode towards the Morgaul; his friends following close behind.

Fog and blackness engulfed them as they crossed through the tree line and stepped into near absolute darkness.

The trees around them had spiny bark of an unnatural, sickly hue. Their roots protruded from the earth, bounding through the dark land like worms delighting in fleshly fodder.

Leaves of glossy ebony covered these unearthly beings, as if they fed off the very darkness pervading. The ground all around them seemed chiseled by an enormous blade, hewn and butchered into a violently twisting landscape. Deep fissures snaked across the forest floor, where it seemed more than just shadows crept from their depths.

The Warriors glanced around the Morgaul, drinking in the surrounding malevolence.

“We’ll need some torches.” Cain dismounted and began to fumble through his rucksack. He pulled out a hatchet moments later and approached the nearest tree.

He grabbed a low-hanging branch and swung his axe. The hatchet reverberated off the tree limb harmlessly. He swung again and the hatchet deflected off the branch before slipping out of his hand.

“Move aside,” Joshua said as he stepped forward, swinging his massive battle-axe at the tree. The axe bound uselessly off the branch. “What the…what’s going on?”

Cain picked up his hatchet and saddled his horse. “I don’t know, but let’s not find out. Everything about this place feels wrong.”

They reined their horses forward without a word and cautiously began weaving their way through the maze of trees. Slowly they descended a steep hill, roots clawing underfoot as if seeking to ensnare the travelers in their depths.

Fog swirled in thin beads about them, mere threads of silver in the dim light. They fought to gain any noticeable distance, forced to a slow and grueling pace by the unremitting terrain of the Morgaul.

Branches hung low over the path, whipping at their faces as they rode by. The air was cold and musty, stale from thousands of dark and silent years.

They passed several hills covered in a vast cocoon of roots. They followed the trail through these hills, mist swirling at their horses’ feet. All was deathly quiet. Not a sound dared grace their ears. They rode overwrought, shadows closing in around them.

The leaves of every tree began to rustle as if lifted by the fondling of wind. But no noise reached the travelers’ ears, no wind met their skin. The leaves seemed to dance with a life of their own, and from the shadows they divulged, a form arose. It appeared as sorrow, guilt, without flesh to see or touch.

Cain felt its heavy gaze bore into his back and he spun around in his saddle. A blur flashed across the mist and disappeared among the shadows.

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words fled his lips. He drew his sword as the shadow disappeared through the fog a second time.

“There’s something out there…” He muttered to the group. He spun around and scanned the encircling trees, fighting for a glimpse of the shadow.

It left as swiftly as it had come, leaving a qualm expression on his face.

“What is it?” Silas asked, his hand slowly reaching for the Sitar strapped on his back.

Cain raised his head and suddenly the shadow appeared directly in front of them. The entire group pulled their weapons out with a ring of steel at this apparent threat. The figure suddenly retreated through the fog.

“What the hell was that?” Silas asked them as he held his weapon warily before him.

“I don’t know,” Joshua replied, “but whatever it was…there better not be more of them.” The others stared at him in trepidation. There very well could be more.

The fog swirled dense around Cain as he awoke from his sleep. He shook his head and stood up from his mat. Something had awoken him, but he knew not what. He looked around his surroundings and struggled to see through the dark trees. The distant howl of wolves echoed eerily around him. A light breeze brushed across his face.

Then through the night, a figure approached. Cain jumped for his sword and unsheathed it. A young child stepped out into the moonlight, his vivid green eyes smiling warmly at Cain.

Cain lowered his weapon as the boy approached. He then noticed the pendant around the boy’s neck. It was Eileen’s, and this was his son. Cain dropped to his knees in disbelief, tears brimming in his eyes. Cain tossed his sword and knelt before his son, embracing him firmly.

“I thought I’d lost you…” The boy said nothing as Cain buried his fingers in his son’s hair. “Do you have a name?”

The boy pulled himself away from Cain’s embrace. “You never named me…”

Cain’s gaze fell. “I’m so sorry…it’s my fault you’re dead…and your mother. I couldn’t save her.”

His son reached out and brushed a tear from his father’s cheek. “It’s not your fault.”

“I wish I could believe you…”

“One day you will, Dad,” he said as he began combing his father’s hair with tiny fingers.

“This…this is just a dream. Isn’t it?”

The boy nodded in reply. Cain sighed and stood up, resting a hand on his son’s head. “So you really are dead?”

“And mother too…” The boy wiped a tear from his eye.

Where is she?” Cain asked.

His son pointed to a nearby tree. Cain followed the imaginary line of the little finger to a silhouette lying in the grass. Eileen lay in a bloody mess; stomach ripped apart, her entrails spewing forth. Her eyes stared cold and lifeless at her husband, lips silently pleading to end her suffering.

His son suddenly disappeared from his side and an infants arm reached to him from within its mother’s womb.

That horrid memory of a night long since past swelled within Cain’s mind, releasing the flood of pain and despair that he had so bravely held at bay.

Fires rose behind Eileen and engulfed all the forest as Andaurel rose from the shadows, glowing in the light of its pyre.

Cain’s eyes flew open and he leapt from his mat, screaming in agony. The leaves around him danced by an unseen sinew that gave them motion. They whispered with the softest words of wind, casting shadows over Cain as he roared with despair.

His dream had become a nightmare, what once had warmed his heart now blackened his mind. He had fought so hard to bury that memory lest it consume him with despair, but now it swelled within him, clawing its way out.

He howled at the pain of this memory, stabbing his sword repeatedly into the ground. His friends awoke to his madness and threw themselves over him.

Cain screamed and lashed out at them, cutting Silas on the arm with his sword.

“Sorry, mate,” Joshua said as he reeled back and punched him in the face.

Cain rose from the grass, head searing with pain. His friends gathered around him, a scared and confused look etched on their faces.

“What?” He asked as he gripped his forehead.

“Sorry about that,” Joshua said. He leaned forward and pulled Cain’s hand away from the bruise above his eye. “You went mad, I had to stop you.”

“That’s bullshit,” Silas muttered as he wrapped a cloth around the gash in his arm. “What the hell’s the matter with you anyways?”

Cain groaned and shook his head. “Nothing…just a dream.”

“Well get your head together,” Silas replied as he stood up. “We don’t need you going crazy.”

Cain rose to his feet and picked up his rucksack that they had already packed. “Aye, sorry about your arm.”

Silas shook his head and saddled his horse. “Just a scratch.”

The group reined their mounts back into the forest and down a hill riddled with roots.

They crossed a large patch of black mushrooms, taking little care to avoid trampling them. Soon they came to an extensive network of crevices.

They picked their way slowly and cautiously across the chasms, forcing their horses to jump over the larger ones. They wound their way through the endless expanse of trees, fighting to maintain a straight course ever north.

Cain closed his eyes as they rode, breathing heavily to calm his racing mind. He knew it was just a dream, but even so, it felt too real. He could still feel his son’s hand in his; feel his young heart beating louder than his own.

He had managed to lock the events of that night within the recesses of his mind for the pain of it was too much to bear. It was as if the Morgaul released it, unlocking every painful memory and beating them senseless against the walls of his mind.

With every glance at the surrounding trees, he could see only his son’s face. However, as he would close his eyes and open them again, the images of his son would be gone. Cain knew he was only plaguing himself, for his son was as dead as his father’s happiness.

“Cain?” Adriel’s voice called out quietly from behind him. He looked over his shoulder, shaken from his thoughts.

“I’m fine,” he replied.

“No you’re not,” she stated, unimpressed with his halfhearted lie.

He turned and fidgeted with the straps of a saddlebag. “You’re right,” he muttered to himself, “I’m just going insane.”