Cold From The North, page 25
part #1 of The Onyxborn Chronicles Series
They still had a few hours of sunlight as they made their way towards Delfmarc. Vellan’s knowledge of the area meant that they could move towards the city without being on the Mule Road – a development that Ogulf and Melcun welcomed. The way now was marred with jagged bushes and unsure footing, but it was much better than being visible on the road. Vellan had told the pair how he was due to be taken to the Bloomsunk Fortress, a militia-held outpost near the Eastern Coast of the island. Once they realised that two of their men and a valuable prisoner were not back by nightfall, they would surely send a party out to investigate.
‘How did you end up getting captured, Vellan?’ Ogulf asked.
The Esselonian man sighed. ‘Where to begin,’ he said. ‘Feda had sent me to a town at the foot of the Grendspires to seek news about her brother, Elundar’s, whereabouts. He’s not been seen since the war started but word had trickled to Delfmarc that he was camped near Kerstal. He was nowhere to be found and the locals hadn’t seen him, so we scouted the forests. That’s where we were ambushed. At first, some of my men thought it was Elundar’s forces, perhaps not recognising us, but it wasn’t. It was a bastard Blackbloom militia. At least sixty of them. Killed all of my men then surrounded me – giving up my sword was the only way to stay alive and to get back to Feda if I could.’ As he walked Ogulf noticed him balling his uninjured hand into a tight fist by his side.
‘People think these militias are pitchfork carrying halfwits, but they’re not. They are deserters and bandits all coming together to put up resistance to Feda’s cause in the North,’ Vellan said, spitting at the ground. ‘They think the Southerners will pay them handsomely for their so-called loyalty when this is all over. The cretins won’t get so much as a silver coin.’
‘Sounds to me like you were deceived,’ Ogulf said, aware of the thin line he was treading with such a statement. The words clearly struck a nerve as he saw Vellan’s posture stiffen.
‘Oh, I know,’ Vellan said with a slightly sadistic chuckle. ‘I realised this when I was surrounded. All those swords pointing at me, not one of them man enough to move forward and take a swing, right then I knew I’d been had.’ He cleared his throat and sighed. ‘This message you have for Feda, could it help her turn the tide of this war?’
‘Are Feda’s forces losing?’ Ogulf asked.
‘We’re certainly up against it. I expect the forces in the South to make a march on the North within the coming weeks, so we’ve called in our banners to rally and meet them in the field. It will be a hard-fought battle and we’ll need all the strength we have to win it,’ Vellan said. ‘I tell you these things in the hope that you will share news of aid coming to us, from Shingal or anywhere else. So, I expect an element of openness in return.’
Ogulf understood, though he was not willing to give information on the letter from Shingal – that was not his to pass on to anyone other than Feda.
‘Fair is fair,’ Ogulf responded. ‘We do not bring aid. In fact, we come looking for aid.’ Vellan scoffed in disbelief. ‘I know. It seems humorous given you’re in the middle of a war. But while your war is confined to your island, another war is coming. Broadheim has fallen to an incredible army. If our theory is accurate, the power they desire most is here in Esselonia. They washed over Broadheim with next to no resistance and they have the Shingally’s in their sights now. If the Shingal falls, then all that stands between you and their army full of evil is the short trip over the Sea of Lost Souls. We have come to seek Feda’s help and to warn her that no matter who wins this war, the North or the South, an enemy is coming for all of us.’
Vellan raised his eyebrows. ‘Another cult trying to fulfil the Onyxborn prophecy?’ He laughed off the end of his sentence as if dismissing everything Ogulf had said.
‘Didn’t you hear the part about Broadheim falling?’ Melcun butted in, his face screwed up in disbelief.
‘I heard,’ Vellan said, throwing his eyes towards Melcun. ‘Though, in truth, I have believed Broadheim to be weak for years now. First the rebellion, and then the cold, you were vulnerable – it’s no wonder they took your lands that easily.’ Ogulf knew that Vellan didn’t mean this mockingly, but the harsh tone in which it was delivered left a sting in Ogulf’s gut. ‘And while we have a war here in Esselonia, I couldn’t give a toss about foreign wars or another cult trying then failing fulfil a prophecy, and I would like to think Feda will feel the same,’ Vellan said. ‘I will take you to her, though. And I will see to it that you get an audience with her. I owe you that much for saving me. After that, you’re both on your own.’
Choosing to take the conversation no further, Ogulf nodded at Vellan. It seemed like a fair trade, and this way they would get their audience with the princess.
Following the truths that Vellan presented, Ogulf grew more puzzled with every step. How could he possibly ask Feda for help? And if he did, would he be met with the same retort he just suffered from Vellan? She seemed to be on the losing side of a civil war. It would have been hard enough to convince her if she had been on the winning side. Nonetheless, Ogulf knew he had to at least try to gain her help – or her understanding of the situation – before returning to his people.
The three men were now wading through a shallow marsh as they spoke. Insects buzzed past them as they pulled their boots out of the thick, black mud and waded towards a dense forest. It was black as night beyond the trees, much darker and far denser than the one they had passed through previously. This one was also substantially larger. The flat ground leading up to it hid its true size, so Ogulf didn’t know how long it went on for, he could only assume it would be quite the trek.
Following Vellan, they pushed through the forest boundary and into the dark thicket. The treetops hugged one another, starving the moist ground of light. It looked like midnight on a moonlit evening, when in actual fact, beyond the trees, it was still a sunny afternoon. Ogulf could not imagine how to navigate such a place, but Vellan moved through the space effortlessly.
‘You know where you’re going?’ Ogulf asked Vellan, trying to mimic the positioning of his steps.
‘Sort of. I have travelled through these woods many times,’ Vellan said, striking at a cluster of branches in his path with the stolen greatsword. ‘The only thing is, these woods are said to be haunted.’ He swung again, shattering a branch, then moved forward. ‘So, they change. They have a mind of their own. One minute you think you’re on the right path, the next, you’re lost. The key, I’ve found, is to just keep pushing through.’
‘And this will lead us to Delfmarc?’ Melcun asked.
‘Yes. If – and I mean if – we’re lucky, we should get out just at the cusp of the Dail Valley, which leads right to Delfmarc.’
Ogulf hoped that Vellan was right. If what he said was true and the forces from the South were looking to make a march on the North, then the sooner they got to Delfmarc, the better. Ogulf would prefer to be behind the walls of a city if a battle was going to take place.
Eventually they made it to a part of the forest which seemed impassable. Rising up from the moist soil for at least two metres, the branches and vines intertwined to create a wall. It went on and on for as long as Ogulf could see in either direction. Some parts were wide enough for a hand to go through, maybe, but there were no gaps big enough for any of the men to squeeze through. Vellan hacked at it with his sword and Ogulf chopped at with his new axe, but the same blade that had effortlessly cut through the two cart riders was now rendered useless by the branches.
‘Let me try something,’ Melcun said. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not fire.’
Ogulf noticed Melcun standing to his left. He was flexing his fingers and staring intently at the wall of wood. He began to move his hands as if he were prying open a door, pulling it open from the centre. Ogulf couldn’t believe his eyes as the thick branches began to bend, splinter, then snap into tiny wooden shards. Melcun’s fingers began to tremble as his power bent the awkwardly wrapped limbs to create an opening. Ogulf looked over Melcun’s shoulder to see through. It was still the same dense forest, but it looked like they could get through the gap and make some more progress. Ogulf turned to Vellan. His eyes were bulging, and his head reared back slightly.
‘So that explains the fire when you rescued me,’ Vellan said, to which Melcun just smiled and nodded.
Melcun just looked at the pair, extremely pleased with himself. Ogulf was just relieved that whatever Melcun had done had worked.
The three men pushed through the gap. They had to put their packs through first to fit. On the other side, they were met with a horrid, nauseating stench that was pungent enough to make Ogulf wretch. It smelt like decomposing leaves mixed with the rotting remains of a dead animal.
‘I think we may have stumbled on Petunia’s Graveyard,’ Vellan said. ‘Not to worry, though; that means we’re on the right path. Now move with me, quickly.’
Ogulf and Melcun followed his lead as he moved more swiftly through the woods. For every thick tree stump, there were at least ten thinner ones around it, but these ones were easier to pass than they had been on the other side of the branch wall. Ogulf assumed that, beyond the canopy of darkness created by the trees, the rest of the world still basked in daylight. The men must have been pushing through this forest for at least two hours now, but the covering created by the towering trees prevented him from being sure.
The thick trunks became stumps as they moved through the forest. This area was almost clear but for a few huge trees which provided the roof of the world they found themselves in. Their trunks were broad and looked as solid as steel.
In the middle of the clearing was an immaculate hut made of thick circular logs. A candle shone bright in a small window on the side of the cabin. The hut looked out of place in such a setting. Its peaceful and quaint aura didn’t belong in a place with such a stench. It stood out like a radiant, warm ruby on a bed of dead fish.
Vellan had noticed the cabin just as Ogulf had. The Esselonian stopped and turned, motioning for the other two to halt. The look on Vellan’s face was not worry but real fear. Just as he quietly began to turn back the other way, they heard a harsh, dull thud nearby.
As they all turned towards the noise, they were met with a frightening sight. An old, haggard woman, hunched over in an unimaginably crooked way. Her eyes were shut tight and her mouth hung slightly open as if her jaws were unhinged. Her clothes were ripped, they looked hundreds of years old, some parts connected only by single lines of thread. Since she had appeared, the horrible aroma in the air had been replaced by one far more unpleasant – the sour smell of rotting human flesh.
‘I see you stumbled upon my humble abode,’ the woman said. Her voice was shrill and full of anguish. ‘Despite my best efforts to prevent exactly that. Heh.’ She didn’t look at them, just spoke in their direction. The closer Ogulf looked, it was clear that her eyelids had been sewn shut, thread crudely lacing them together through folds of crusted green skin.
‘Who are you?’ Melcun asked, covering his nose.
‘You dare to dwell in my lands and yet have the insolence to not know my name?’ The shrill voice cut through Ogulf like a blade. His body shivered. ‘I am Lady Petunia Canlan. I need not ask who you are – or should I say, what you are.’
Melcun threw a confused frown at Ogulf and pushed through to get closer to the old woman. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘You are impure. I can sense it. You’ve been on your way to me for days, but they’re coming back and it won’t be long before you and all your evil lot join them.’ She took a feeble step forwards and hobbled between Melcun and Vellan towards Ogulf who was at the rear of the three, standing at the end of their short, staggered line.
‘Forgive me,’ Melcun said, taking his hand from his face. ‘I am not who you think I am. We wish only to pass through the forest to meet our friends in Delfmarc.’
‘You do not fool me. Evil courses through you, the same evil that used to course through me. What will you do? Will you turn away from it or embrace it? You darken the world even now. This place strengthens you and it will give you further power.’ She turned to look straight at Melcun. This time her eyes were wide open and shone a powerful, scintillating blue, as the rough threading that was keeping her eyes shut split. ‘Power you could never have dreamed of until now. Never would you have been able to grasp it in Broadheim.’
Melcun took a step back, as did Ogulf. It was a combination of seeing the woman’s eyes shine like they had and the mention of their homeland. Ogulf couldn’t comprehend how the woman could have known such things, but the accuracy of her statement sent a sudden and overwhelming feeling of dread through every fibre of his body.
Melcun moved towards the old woman aggressively. Suddenly, she straightened from her crumpled posture and pushed her hand out in Melcun’s direction. He stopped in his tracks, held back by something as he tried to fight forward.
‘No. This is not how it will be. I can die now knowing the prophecy will come to pass. But it will not be your hand. Leave my lands, all of you.’
Vellan and Ogulf were rooted to the spot. Lady Petunia lowered her hand and Melcun was no longer prevented from moving. He paused when he realised this before thundering forward toward the old woman at a sprint.
As she saw this, her eyes lit bright again. ‘Leave at once!’ she screamed in a grating shrill, throwing her arms wide. A force came from her that sent all three men tumbling backwards. The force created a whirlwind which danced around the clearing. It howled through the trees, causing the candle in the hut to gutter and die. With another tremendous thud, it was over, and Petunia Canlan was nowhere to be seen. Her moth-eaten clothes lay empty in a pile in front of them.
As Ogulf stood and realised that she had vanished, he gazed at Melcun and then Vellan. Vellan’s eyes were still wrought with terror but he was on his feet. Ogulf’s eyes were drawn to the immaculate hut. Vellan led the way as they moved through the forest with fear in their footsteps.
A few minutes passed in silence as they made their way away from the woodland hut.
‘What did she mean by that?’ Melcun asked Vellan. He didn’t stop, so Melcun grabbed his arm and turned him to ask him again.
As Vellan turned to meet his gaze, his nostrils flared. ‘That is not for me to say.’
Chapter 29
The air felt less stale as the trees began to thin, and Ogulf breathed a sigh of relief, still reeling slightly after their encounter with Lady Petunia. In all his years scouting and travelling, he had never seen anything like her; the way her body was folded like an accordion one minute and then as straight and strong as the trees around her the next was worse than even the most unpleasant scenes of his nightmares. He kept thinking about her eyes and the vile thread that clamped them shut.
In the last week, Ogulf had already had more dealings with magic than he had in all of his previous years put together. He chose not to count Melcun’s occasional flare or spark in their youth as the same kind of magic he had seen since venturing South for the same reason he wouldn’t hold a pebble and arrow in the same mind, even if they had the same purpose when used as projectiles. This no longer felt like his world – it was different, frightening, intriguing, and exciting all at once.
‘Why won’t you tell me what she meant, Vellan?’ Melcun asked. He had been asking the Esselonian variations of the same question for the last hour. Ogulf watched Melcun’s routine of frustrations when he would ask the question, get frustrated with the lack of an answer, push the urge to enquire again to the bottom of his stomach, then when it rose in him again, minutes later, he nervously cracked his joints before trying a different combination of the same words in the hopes that, this time, Vellan would relent.
‘I’ve told you. It’s not my place to say. She thinks you practice dark magic. It’s the kind of conversation to have with a Thinker or a priest,’ Vellan said at last.
‘A priest?’ Melcun said, stopping in his tracks in front of Ogulf as Vellan kept walking. They were nearing the edge of the forest. ‘What in the name of all the gods would a priest do? Are you trying to say I am cursed?’
‘Something like that,’ Vellan said, finally giving in to Melcun’s onslaught of questioning. ‘It’s said that dark magicians have a different aura, like they’re marked as an evil person, but that’s as much as I’ll say, so save your breath, because it’s not something I understand.’
‘And who in the gods was that crazy old woman?’
‘Petunia Canlan, former Overseer of the Order of Mages in Esselonia, cast out and left to decay for practicing dark magic. She believed she was Cormag’s very own daughter at one point. She’s an imbecile of the highest order, so I wouldn’t take what she says too seriously.’
‘Gods, just as I am getting used to not hiding my abilities, I get called a dark one. I thought magic was accepted here?’ Melcun said.
‘Not all magic,’ Vellan said.
Vellan made it past the tree line and disappeared from the dark of the forest into the harsh light outside it. The perfect wall of white burned Ogulf’s eyes as he made his way closer.
His eyes began to adjust as he passed through the invisible boundary and emerged onto a grassy knoll. Not just warmth but real, prickling heat washed over his body, like he was surrounded by the lick of ten fire pits. He had not felt the sun so powerfully since the morning after the Battle of Mrandbrog Gorge during the rebellion and he had greatly missed its touch.
That day it was like the sun gave out its very own reward to the Keltbran people and members of the Ravgrin clan. They had successfully held off the rebel advance while waiting for the King of Broadheim and his forces to arrive. Outnumbered five to one, they managed to almost even the odds before the heavy charge of the king’s cavalry finished off the fighting men of the revolt.
As his vision returned to normal, Ogulf noticed the long grass field sloping down from the edge of the forest. Vellan was already bounding down it with a spring in his step, and Ogulf could see why; visible in the distance was a huge mound of rock which could only be Delfmarc. It was even more stunning than any citadel Ogulf had seen in all of his life. Its sprawling perimeters almost made Jargmire look small.
