Chapter 8

Corson, with Omily and their love in tow, journeys into the forest realm. He hopes to find isolation and freedom, but instead stumbles upon further mystery and danger.

Chapter 8

            It was nearing dusk. Corson hoped to reach the first village by midday, but perhaps they were moving slower than he had thought. He stayed off the main roads as much as he could, but he had to ride along water sources to keep their aquoxen strong. While they rested in the wagon the aquoxen grazed and drank gallons of water to prepare for the next leg of the journey. The going was never fast, and Corson wasn’t entirely sure of their final destination. But he knew the eastern forest tribes existed. He knew they were peaceful and approachable. And he knew the further from The Tear, the better.

            Corson sat at the head of the wagon, on the small bench only big enough for one person. He held the reigns and watched the landscape pass. The trees were a sight to see at first, growing taller and thicker as they moved further east. But now the scene became tedious. Muted browns and dull greens surrounded him, and the constant shade wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed. They were under a small, rare stretch of open canopy, and the sun was beaming down on him. For once he didn’t look ahead at the dirty path or on either side of him at the foliage. He looked up, and let the rays soak his face, and stayed like that as the aquoxen plodded on and the wagon rolled behind them.

            Omily still didn’t have the strength to walk. She couldn’t do much but lie down and blink. It had been that way for almost three days, and there were at least two more of the same ahead. If it was up to her she’d hold the reins from the wagon bench in shifts, or even walk alongside the aquoxen. She was not made to be cooped up and kept from activity. The canvas of the wagon cover had become like the back of her hand, she had come to know it so well.

            It was the dead of night when Corson took her from the healing ward. He approached the guard outside Omily’s room casually, engaging in conversation before dousing him with a stolen handful of Dreamdust. Corson caught him as he fell and sat him comfortably against the wall. He had done the same to the six other guards that would stand in the path between Omily’s room and the stables. He stowed her in the back of the wagon, already packed with the rest of their provisions, and rode towards the gates. The aquoxen moved quietly enough to not stir any commotion. Corson swelled with pride at the skill of his deceit when he reached the gatekeeper. He had never been one for lies, yet he had never wanted something so badly. Corson managed to convince the guard that there was a legitimate reason for leading a wagon pulled by two Aquoxen out of The Tear in the dead of night. The adept spread the waterwall for them and permitted them to pass.

            The first day on the road was the most trying. Omily had no idea where she was when she woke, and it took her some time to recognize Corson. She woke with a scream, and he stopped the wagon instantly to find her shaking in a cold sweat. It took some time to get her calm and able to comprehend him. He laid with her for a while then. It took even longer to persuade her that it was a good idea to leave The Tear. She quickly regained her mind, and her heart, but not her strength. That would take the longest.

            Omily missed her family and she knew how much her disappearance would affect her father. It wouldn’t be an ache, though. It would be a fire, a burning fury, a rarity in Lightwater. Quento Constance would want his daughter back. He’d want her to stand with his nephew, Rophelius Immellion, on the front lines of battle, ensuring the continued peace and prosperity of the region. Corson Xull, however, would be dead to the Waterlord, which means he’d be dead to the entire region of Lightwater. She thought they wouldn’t be safe anywhere, and so she came to agree that the safest place would be east, into the forests where water and light rarely reached. They would find a remote place to build a home, a humble home, and they would live and love without boundaries, in a way they never could at The Tear.

            Corson gave the reigns a tug to try and speed up the aquoxen. The sun was starting to dip into the horizon. It was straight ahead of them on this curve of the path, but the tree lines blocked most of the light. The sky above had started to fade into twilight, and the canopy started losing its color and turning into black silhouettes. Corson’s eyes were heavy. They had been open and aware since first light, and he never let himself lose focus. The forest tribes were mostly docile, but other predators were not. There were packs of longwolves and goldfox that hunted Aquoxen. And while they might not harm Corson or Omily, they would have no issue attacking their animals. They might even be wild and daring enough to act on Omily’s weakness. They had been fortunate thus far on their journey, but vigilance wasn’t one thing Corson was about to reduce.

            He started looking for paths that led to small clearings where they could rest for the night off the main dirt road. He scanned left and right, back and forth for another hour’s half as the sun dwindled even further. Up ahead he saw an opening in the trees, a path that winded back west a bit. It only took a moment for him to stop the Aquoxen all together when he saw it. There was a light, a flickering one, a flame to be certain. It was the first evidence of humanity he had seen since he passed a traveling silk merchant on their first morning on the road a few hours before they even reached the tree line.

            “Corson?” he heard Omily shout weakly from under the canvas.

            “Just about to pull into a clearing for the night,” he lied. She would sleep, hopefully until first light, but he would use the evening to hopefully make friends with these locals and learn the safest place to go next.

            He turned the reigns and gave the aquoxen a yah, prompting them to head down the path. The trees were thicker as they rounded the curve, and once they settled the wagon in the clearing Corson couldn’t even spot the light in the distance. But he knew it was there, and once Omily was out he would find it again. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d find. It had to be a settlement of some sort. At the very least it was a camp that travelers much like themselves had established. They would know the land better than him, and hopefully offer their help. The only thing he knew for sure was that he should go alone. He wouldn’t bring Omily with him. She was still too weak. Further, he wouldn’t tell whoever he stumbled upon that Omily was with him, or that he had two tamed and trained aquoxen and a wagon full of supplies and provisions.

            “I can help you, Cor,” Omily said as she stood against the back of the wagon. He was pitching their canvas tent. It was almost second nature to him now, and took him no time at all. “At least let me gather some firewood.”

            Corson looked around. “There’s not much of a chill tonight,” he said. “I don’t think we’ll need a fire.”

            “You know I can’t fall asleep out here without a fire, no matter how warm it is.”

            She was right, and he knew it. He just didn’t want the fire to draw anything or anyone closer, especially while he was away and as night deepened. Omily was resilient, and wouldn’t go down without a fight, even if she wasn’t back to one hundred percent.

            “Just gather some small kindle,” he allowed. “I’ll find some bigger logs out in the forest, beyond the perimeter. The tent’s just about set.”

            Omily began walking around the edge of their camp, finding small twigs and broken branches that she could lift with little effort. She didn’t like being held back, but she knew it was wise. She had to regain her strength, and expelling it before it returned was folly. Corson was a great caretaker. He cared for her just as a healer would, despite his stubbornness and sometimes boorish ways. When it came to the one he loved Corson was able to find a tenderness and protectiveness that Omily found comforting.

            “Bring back what you’ve got,” Corson instructed. “That’ll be enough to start. Fetch the blankets from the wagon and grab a couple servings of red rice to cook up in the pot.”

            Omily pulled out a water skin first, a pouch nearly empty but still holding enough with which to cook. She crawled in and found the rice pouch next. Red rice was far from her favorite, but it didn’t help to be picky while traveling. It was tolerable, and it was filling, and they had it in bulk. Their blankets and linens had grown a bit filthy from the dirt on which they laid in the night. But again complaining would do no good. She was grateful to lie on anything but the cold hard ground. She grabbed their cooking pot next and pulled out a few pieces of dried rice left over from their previous meal. Corson grabbed the pot and stopped her when she turned around. It startled her a bit, and she jumped before she smiled at him. Their eyes met.

            “This is a bit heavy for you still, my dear,” Corson said, pulling it from her hands. I found some madcaps just a few feet into the tree line. Give them a wipe with a damp rag first, and cut them up to add to the rice.”

            “Some heat is just what that rice needs,” she said, leaning in closer to him as he held the pot between his arm and his hip. “It’s just what I need, too.” She kissed him gently on the lips.

            He was smiling when she pulled away. Her lips were so tender and soft.  “I don’t know,” he said, not wanting to say it.

            “It’s been so long,” she said in a whisper. “Not since… before the battle in the Hillands.”

            “Yes,” he said. “But it’s not a good idea. Not yet.” He wanted her so badly, but had to keep his priorities set. He needed to feed Omily and get her to sleep, then head out through the woods to find the light and meet its owners.

            “Very well. You may think I’m still weak, but I’m sure I can still be very convincing.”

            “Let me get some wood first,” he said with a grin. “Night’s nearly here.”

            With that he pulled away and put the pot on the ground with the madcaps he had found. He turned one more time before walking out into the woods to find more logs, and she was still watching him. She had a large smile on her face, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

            The night was as quiet as all the others, with little but the chirping of insects, the hooting of woodland owls, and the creaking of Enkeevo’s rocking chair. He was alone tonight aside from his elderly mother. She had fallen asleep with the falling sun, and night had settled. His brothers were out performing their part of the task. They had little choice in the matter. When Queen Faquella sent her warriors, it was wise of anyone they visited to do exactly what they wanted, without question. It was the unspoken duty of a forester.

Enkeevo had the porch lantern set to blazing. Its light was brighter than usual, per request of their visitors. The two men, bare-chested and chiseled as if out of onyx, had come the day before, from the northeastern trails. They were narrower, more winding, and less often traveled. But their steeds were swift and flexible. Tigeriders could cover twice the distance of most other travelers of the forest realm. There was no anger in their voice when they came, however. It turned out they had ridden for a day without rest, overnight and over a great distance, yet they didn’t look tired. All the way from the queen’s castle they had come.

Enkeevo didn’t like the bright light. He preferred the dark, the company of shadows. Even when the sun was shining, most of their cabin and their lands lived in the shade. But now he waited for the next visitor. There was a man who would come to the light from the forest to the southwest. He would be harmless, or so they said. Enkeevo still kept his weapons nearby. His spiked club leaned against the wall behind him. His snakedagger was snug in his waistband. And his blowdart was loaded. Enkeevo spent many a night on the porch, rocking back and forth, sipping at herb tea and listening to the forest change from day to night. This was different. He didn’t like the waiting game. Life took its time here and things rarely changed. But now he was under the charge of Queen Faquella, and acting guard, playing the part of wary but helpful local. No doubt Enkeevo would help this man regardless of the situation. That was the way of the forest people, or at least the ones he had come to know. That was the way their mother had raised them. But now he had to keep the man until sunrise, or at least long enough for the Tigeriders and his brothers to descend on the man’s camp and capture his Aquoxen and companion. The Tigeriders gave their word�"the queen’s word, he hoped�"that no one would be harmed. They simply wanted to learn who these new travelers were. They were too well-equipped to be aimless wanderers or lifelong nomads. Queen Faquella was nothing if not curious.

It was nearing high moon when Enkeevo heard the first shuffle of shrubs outside the tree line. He couldn’t see the man, but he knew he was out there. His ears were too familiar with the sounds of the night. The man was trying his best to be quiet. Certainly he could see Enkeevo. He played dumb, as he knew he should, until he saw the man approach the edge of the forest and step out into the grass. His arms were in the air, indicating he meant no harm, and he kept his eyes locked on Enkeevo’s as he walked halfway to the porch before stopping. Enkeevo stood slowly, and his rocking chair had stopped moving before the man spoke a word.

“My name is Corson Xull,” he said, arms up like branches, still and awkward as an oak in the desert.

“I am Enkeevo.”

“Hello Enkeevo. I mean you no harm. I only seek information.”

That would be simple enough to provide, and take no time at all. But Enkeevo needed to stall. He had to prolong this encounter.

“Where do you come from?”

“West.”

Enkeevo didn’t care to know much more than that. All westerners were the same to him, whether they were as dark as he or milky pale or somewhere in between. “Where west?”

There was hesitation in the man’s eyes. “The Tear.”

Curiosity began to creep into Enkeevo’s mind now. Perhaps the queen’s interest in these two was legitimate. “Why do you come in such shrouded darkness?”

“Your home and light are the first I’ve seen in days and nights. I could not find sleep tonight. I was too eager to meet.”

“What brings you here?” It was a question Enkeevo would ask regardless. It was good the man still had his arms in the air and hadn’t moved closer yet. Enkeevo could draw this out for some time, indeed.

“The Tear could no longer accommodate us.”

“So far east you come? There are other places between there and here.”

“We seek distant accommodations.”

“We?” Enkeevo followed this route. “How many of you are there, so far from The Tear?”

“Two. Just myself and a companion.”

“Where is this companion?”

Corson paused. “Sleeping.”

“Elderly?”

“Weak. Regaining her strength.”

Enkeevo raised an eyebrow. “Her? A lover?”

Corson pondered over this for a moment, looking for the right words. “Only if the accommodations are right.”

Enkeevo almost chuckled. This was a normal man, thinking with his heart and his head. That was the best kind of man. It was the most harmless kind of man, debatably. “You can lower your arms.”

Corson did just that, and shook the blood back into them once they were at his sides. “May I approach?”

The real Enkeevo wouldn’t mind in the least. This was Enkeevo the pretender.  “Tell me first. Who were you at The Tear? A slave, now escaped?”

“We have no slaves.”

“Who were you?”

“A bookkeeper.”

“And your lover?”

“A handmaiden of the lord’s daughter.”

“So she was the slave of a princess?”

“She is far from a slave.”

“And yet you ran off as if she was. Yes, indeed. She was a slave.”

Corson just nodded. He looked a bit frustrated. Enkeevo needed to keep him on a leash.

“We don’t have such ugly customs out east in the forestlands. We answer to no one but ourselves and the forest.”

“What of your queen?”

Enkeevo was taken aback. “You know of our queen? Most westerners are ignorant of such things. You surprise me.”

“I am far from an westerner. And a bookkeeper must be nothing if not knowledgeable.”

“I suppose.”

“So you answer to your queen. Just as I answered to my lord and my lover answered to her… princess. I look for the guidance of the queen to whom you answer.”

“I, nor no man or woman I’ve ever met, have laid eyes on Queen Faquella in more than a decade. She is far from us in body and spirit.”

“No one?”

“Not in the flesh.”

“The flesh? Then in what?”

“She is great, and aged, and wise, and beautiful.”

“It is said she ages like a majestic redwood, stirring more awe and beauty with the passing of time.”

“It is said, yes,” Enkeevo nodded slowly. “But it is not known. Approach, Corson.”

Corson took his steps tentatively. The cabin he had come upon was large. It had to have at least five rooms. He spotted a well on the opposite edge of the clearing. The grass below him was well-groomed, and the steps in front of him were swept and level. It was clear this house had been here for quite some time. But skilled hands built it, and it showed. Corson stopped just at the foot of the steps, where he spotted the spiked club against the wall. In his head he repeated the course of action he’d take if this turned ugly.

“You wish to have a dialogue with my queen?”

“I only wish a point in the right direction, and perhaps a place to clean up and rest for a day. We will stay out of your way, and be eternally grateful.”

“How far is your camp?”

“I took a harsh path directly through the forest from a clearing about a mile back.”

“Would you like to come in for a hot tea?”

“Will you help us? Otherwise I must return to my camp.”

“She does not know you left?”

“No.”

“Very well. We will help you. Please, come in first. It will be but a few minutes. There is always a pot on in our home.”

Enkeevo turned and opened the door of the cabin. He looked back, waiting for Corson to follow. With the spiked club still in its spot against the wall, Corson felt more comfortable. He climbed the four steps onto the porch. The rocking chair was still, and the light from their porch lamp was so bright he squinted when he walked by, wondering with curiosity why it shone so. Corson followed Enkeevo inside and took a seat in front of a small fireplace.

“Who else’s home is this, Enkeevo? It is large.”

“My mother still lives here. She is fast asleep. My father has passed, and my brothers have reached their thirtieth and moved on to start their own lives.” He felt bad lying, but he didn’t want any reason for Corson to pursue further questioning. “It feels quite empty in here sometimes. Accommodating you will be no trouble.”

“That is kind of you. I’ll be honest. I didn’t know what to make of the people of the forest. I’ve never been beyond the eastern border of Lightwater.”

“We are a simple people, but steeped in history like yours. Do you know much of it?”

“Your history? Not as much as I should. Only that you are the rumored descendants of King Erthanall.”

“That is rumored, yes,” Enkeevo chuckled. “Some of us embrace it. Others do not.”

“Which are you?” Corson asked. He watched carefully as Enkeevo dropped pouches of herbs wrapped tight with twine into the bottom of stone mugs.

“Part of me wants to believe that my ancestors did something historic that changed the world… that we were once held in high regard… respected and perhaps feared.” Enkeevo poured steaming water into the mugs. “But whatever Erthanall may have done, however he was beaten, and however he changed the world… it was so long ago. Anything he possessed must have been lost centuries ago. We are our own people. We have the forest, and that’s all we need.”

Corson nodded as Enkeevo gave him his mug. He cupped his hands around the warmth, letting it course into his body. “Your people are still respected, Enkeevo. We respect your peace and your hospitality. And your queen.”

“Queen Faquella, yes, she is one,” Enkeevo said, taking a long sip. “She is one who believes King Erthanall’s blood runs through her veins. But such is the mind of a leader.”

“Do you respect her? Or do you fear her?” Corson took a long sip himself. Having seen Enkeevo drink from his cup first put him at ease.

“Can’t a man do both?”

“Of course. But one is always stronger than the other.”

Enkeevo sat in a small chair across from Corson. He took another sip. “I suppose I fear her more than I respect her.”

“Why?”

“Don’t we always fear something more when we can’t see it?”

And with that, Corson couldn’t see. His eyes were open, he could feel, but his vision was gone. It had started with a blurriness that he tried to shake off. Everything was black now, and he could tell his other senses were fading as well. “En… Enkee…” he trailed off.

“I am sorry, my friend. All will be explained,” he heard, but it sounded as if Enkeevo was whispering it from across the room, even though Corson could feel his hand on his knee. Corson’s mind went blank next.

He woke with a start, but was surprised to see he wasn’t bound. His senses, surprisingly, were at full attention, perhaps even stronger than they were before. It would be foolish for him to move. There were guards posted on either side. Surely they were aware he was awake, but they weren’t much worried about it. They were armed and he was not. In front of him, in shrouded darkness, was a throne carved from dark mahogany, innately bordered with carved, leafless branches. The throne looked melded to the ground, almost part of the earth from which it came. Sun shone outside the window behind the throne, but very little light broke through into the room. Lit sconces on bare stone walls revealed nothing else of interest. Corson didn’t dare stand up to survey the rest of his surroundings. He just waited.

It wasn’t long until he heard soft footsteps behind him. He turned his head to the side and saw a tall, slender figure pass him. The woman wore a flowing dress of golden-brown silk. Her chestnut hair, hanging to her tailbone, had been tied in a thick tight braid, laced with dark green ivy that rose up around the top of her head as well. She approached her throne and turned, the back of her long dress remaining at her feet as she took her seat. The cut of her dress went down to her navel, splitting her small breasts and revealing a belly button studded with an emerald so dark and glowing and mesmerizing Corson had to shake his head to pull his eyes up to her face. Her skin was dark chocolate, as smooth as the silk she wore and as flawless as a starless sky. With the posture of a statue and structure of a goddess, Corson had no choice but to sit up and give her his utmost attention.

“Corson Xull,” she said, “former Closeguard of Lord Voltaggio Venyo the seventh, currently serving under Captain of Lightwater Rophelius Immellion. You fled The Tear with Omily Constance, High Adept and daughter of Quento Constance, Waterlord.”

“Where is she?”

“I am Queen Faquella, ruler east beyond Lightwater and Guardian of the Forest Realm.”

“Where is Omily?”

“She is resting, healing in ways that can only be found in the forests.”

“Why did you take us? Enkeevo�"“

“Enkeevo did his part, reluctantly. Slumbertea was not the original plan, but it fulfilled his duties well enough. Fortunately, the forester in him was immune enough to such a small dosage, and he was able to restrain you until his brothers and my Tigeriders returned. I will answer all your questions, Adept Xull, but first�"”

“Let me see Omily.”

“But first,” she said with a sharpness in her dark, dark brown eyes, “you will answer a few of my questions. And then you will see your dear love.”

Corson just nodded. He didn’t feel defeated. He just trusted Faquella, almost inherently. It was the same trust he felt from Enkeevo. Perhaps it was a trait of forest folk. But more likely, they were simply good and cautious and reasonable in ways that he had rarely come across at Lightning Bay and The Tear.

“Why has Lord Constance never accepted my audience at The Tear?”

Corson was confused, and it showed.

“Perhaps you are ignorant of this. Why do you think Lord Constance wouldn’t accept my audience at The Tear? Is Lord Constance too busy or too important to listen to the foresters? We have given your realm peace for generations, and all the goods the forest provides for very little in return. And he cannot give my visitors an hour?”

“What did you need from Quento?”

“It is not what I need, but what the forest needs. It is in peril, and I am its guardian.”

“What type of peril?”

“You must speak to Lord Constance on my behalf.”

“That is not possible,” Corson said, trying to convey his sincerity. “I left The Tear with Quento’s daughter without him knowing. It is possible he has scouts out looking for us as we speak. Is that why you brought me here? To speak with Quento?”

“I started watching you when you entered the forest. I am one with the trees and the foxes, everything that flies and climbs and burrows. Your aquoxen were the first curiosities that caught my eyes. I learned where you came from with the sharp ears of my scouts, and I sensed you sought me. So I hastened the process, and now you are here an eternity before you otherwise would have found me.”

“Tell me what is wrong with the forest.”

“There are others who think they are connected to King Erthanall just as I am, or was. They are fools, sub-humans, both mentally and physically. In the caves they dwell, and in the dead of night they pillage our villages and slaughter our animals and demolish and burn our trees. We have the defenses to keep ourselves mostly safe, but not the offenses to quell their blood thirst. They are, unfortunately, as welcomed and accustomed to the forest as we.”

“Cave dwellers?”

“Savages, in truth. Many westerners think we are the savages. You don’t know savage until you see a man with skin as pale as cloud and teeth the colors of urine and blood and rust. Those with hair only have ragged strands growing at random. They can’t stand straight and they run on all fours with surprising speed. Those that talk claim to be children of the earth, birthed by the ground itself and destined to return to it in death, only to repeat the cycle until the end of time. Immortality is their claim. But we’ve burned and decapitated enough to know that is not the truth. They are beasts, and they are bred not from the earth, but from evil.”

Corson took a deep swallow. His mouth had dried out while Faquella spoke.

“I have two options as I see it, Adept Xull. Since you will not speak with Lord Constance, I will send word to him that I have your daughter�"and you�"captive, and will only return one�"or both, if he’s feeling vengeful�"after he sends the help I seek. My other option is simple: you and Omily take the place of the force he would send. When the savages are defeated, you are granted immunity and all the accommodations you could ask for in the forest realm.”

“You want us to fight cave dwellers?”

“Not by yourselves. We have warriors, very capable ones, and they will support you. But we’ve never ventured into the caves. We’ve never taken the fight to them. It is time, with Omily’s power of water and your power of light. They will be indispensible in the caves, and they will put this savage business to an end, and the forest can return to peace.”

Corson’s head suddenly hurt. He realized he must not have slept very well. There was no way of knowing just how long he had been out for, but it was impossible that it was a comfortable sleep. He could have been propped in this unpleasantly rigid chair for hours. His neck was aching, and he rubbed at it with strong fingers.

“What is your decision, Adept Xull?”

“I must speak with Omily first. I can’t make this decision for both of us without her knowing. We must decide together.”

“She will not wake until tomorrow morning, and with the morning will come her full strength and vitality. She will feel anew.”

“You took her? Just like you took me?”

“It was painless, just like your experience. We hastened your travel, as I’ve explained, and brought you to the destination you ultimately desired. I do not expect a thank you. I also don’t expect resentment in return. Once you see your love returned to her full self, you may just extend the former.”

“How long was I… asleep?” Corson asked, not entirely sure if it constituted as sleep. He knew the queen’s domicile was deep, deep in the forest, not connected to a single road or path, hard to find by day and impossible by night, or perhaps the latter all the time.

“You were asleep only for the night. Once you were secured, my condors flew you and Omily over the canopy.”

Corson had never felt so helpless.

“Enkeevo volunteered to bring your wagon, and thusly your aquoxen, the rest of the way through the forest. They will be fed and cared for along the way.”

That was a relief to Corson. He had come to care for the aquoxen, and he trusted Enkeevo. Yes, he trusted the man who put him under with a sip of tea.

“Stand, Adept Corson Xull,” Faquella said as she rose to her feet.

Corson stood, and was ready for the guards to take him to his cell.

“Let me show you to your quarters,” she said, stepping towards him. “And then I will take you to visit Omily, though remember, you will be unable to rouse her.

They had quarters? They weren’t prisoners? No, of course they weren’t. This was where they wanted to be. This is what they left The Tear for. They were guests. All he had to do was convince Omily to drown out the caves.  And then they would be residents, and then they would be foresters, and then they would be free.