Things Unseen: (An epic fantasy adventure series) (The Caris Chronicles Book 1) (20 page)

Leaving Crispin to set up camp, Caris headed into the trees to find their dinner. She hadn’t gone far before she found a small pink furry animal that was a perfect size for dinner for two. On returning to camp, she discovered that Crispin already had a pot of water warming over the fire and had made a good start on collecting greens to boil for a stew.

They spent the evening relaxing around the campfire, enjoying the closeness of their growing friendship. They talked intermittently, sharing things they had never told anyone else, and staring at the beauty around them.

When it came time to turn in, Crispin protested about having taken Caris’ bedroll from her.

“I feel awful having used it all this time, leaving you to be cold.”

“I’m fine,” Caris smiled, holding up her blue fur and blanket. “Plenty warm enough, besides, you’ve been unwell and your need was far greater than mine.”

“I thank you,” Crispin replied seriously. “But I am well now, and I insist you have your roll back,” he said with a smile.

Caris didn’t really want to take her roll back. It was the first night Crispin seemed fully recovered and she preferred he sleep warm and comfortable; she knew however, Crispin was too embarrassed to continue taking the better bedding.

“Truth is,” Caris said, “You’ve done a lot of sweating in that roll and it smells a bit too much like you. I think I’d rather keep my beautiful blue fur,” She smiled.

“Oh!” Crispin laughed. “Well in that case, you deserve to be cold! But...” he said with an admonishing finger, “if it gets too cold in the early morning I insist you wake me and swap places with me. We’ll do better if we take turns being cold rather than freezing the whole night,” he laughed “and neither of us will get very far if you’re too sick to walk. I’m feeling much better but I don’t think I yet have the fitness to walk the entire day while you ride Indira.”

Caris looked at him dubiously, she had no intention of waking him, but as she offered no verbal objection he left it at that. She settled on the other side of the fire and, with a light heart, fell asleep watching the stars that were visible above the pool.

Caris woke early after the best night’s sleep she’d had since the derk’s attack on her village. The Singer’s lilting voice wafted through the trees bringing with it the fresh aroma of herbs and wet grass. Though there were no words to her tune, her song suggested new beginnings, a fresh day, an awakening of life. Caris stretched out her arms feeling rejuvenated and energised.

She leapt up and checking that Crispin was still asleep went down to the water to bathe. The water was crisp but Caris walked in until it was up to her neck, careful to stay where she could stand, she submerged herself before returning to the edge where she retrieved her soap and washed her hair.

Finally, after washing off the grime of the last few days, she reluctantly left the pond, sluiced the water from her body, and quickly dressed before Crispin could wake to see her. She grabbed a brush and began to groom Indira’s coat while listening to the magical melody of the Singer who was moving through the trees around them.

By the time Crispin was up, Caris had tended Indira, packed all but the bedroll, and collected some fruit for their journey. Crispin woke with a smile on his face and in a short time was ready to set out.

They looked around for The Singer; she appeared ahead of them, smiled, and moved into the trees. Caris followed with a quick light step, munching on some fresh greens and fruit.

The track narrowed as the morning wore on. Green shrubs pressed in on either side of them and branches and leaves intertwined overhead forming a thick canopy. Caris took delight in the myriad of beautiful plants and colourful insects that lined their path.

Crispin was half way through a story about his first horse when The Singer dropped back so she was merely five paces ahead. She smiled encouragingly at them and began to sing louder. As they passed out of the dense foliage into an area with less undergrowth, Caris heard the sound of snarling.

Within moments, Caris and Crispin were surrounded by the grey-scaled beasts she had fled from when Crispin was still unconscious.

“Volves” said Crispin.

Caris began to reach for her bow, knowing there were too many for her to ever overcome, but The Singer shook her head; smiling and continuing to sing, she beckoned them forward. Caris was mesmerised by her calm assurance and the serenity of her song. She stepped forward in obedience and felt Indira calmly following behind.

As Caris watched The Singer’s face, who was now walking backwards smiling at her and Crispin, she was aware of the volves lining the path on either side of her. She had little attention to spare them as all her focus was on the beauty of The Singer, though she could hear them growling and snapping at the air, none of them made contact with her. It was not for lack of trying; the volves seemed to be straining against the air as if invisible harnesses were holding them back, forbidding them to touch their prey.

Caris basked in the beauty that radiated from The Singer until, when the sun was high in the sky, The Singer led them into a green glade. She wandered over to a tree to pick a piece of fruit before sitting happily in a small patch of sunlight to eat.

Caris looked around as if awakening from a dream, but a dream where she had felt more alive, more aware of what was most important, more at peace with herself than she had ever been before. At some point the volves had given up and left, though Caris had not noticed when, so engrossed had she been in The Singer.

She looked around the verdant clearing and sighed in contentment; every plant seemed more vibrant, they all stood out in their uniqueness but complimented their neighbours, making a beautiful whole. Caris thought she could sit for hours studying the unique contours of one plant. She felt that if she listened hard enough she would be able to hear their thoughts.

They had not stopped for long, however, when The Singer led them out of the glade. Caris was disappointed The Singer now moved farther ahead and, strive as she might, The Singer remained just out of sight, leading them with her enriching song.

It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that The Singer dropped back to them again, smiling and beckoning them forward. Caris smiled in anticipation of losing herself once more in the beauty of The Singer and her marvellous song. She was almost grateful to whatever creature was coming to threaten them, for the opportunity it offered to walk so closely with The Singer. She looked around to see what manner of beast it would be. The Singer’s voice grew louder.

At first, Caris didn’t see anything alarming. Then a large creature half again as tall as Crispin stepped away from the tree it had blended with. Caris was appalled at the sight of it. It was brown with long wild hair, standing upright on two legs; it had four arms each ending in five talons as long as knives. It looked at her with intelligent eyes.

Caris was vaguely aware of The Singer’s voice swelling in volume, seeking her attention, but before she could turn back to her, more of the creatures stepped out from trees until fifteen of them stood staring at Caris with hate filled eyes.

“Caris! Look at The Singer!” Crispin called out. The creatures let out a deafening roar. Caris screamed, never had she felt more terrified. She frantically grabbed for her bow and started loosing arrows. As the initial roar faded away, The Singer’s voice boomed through the trees, reminding Caris of peace, harmony, and security, but as the creatures charged toward her Caris didn’t have time to give her attention to The Singer. She fired arrow after arrow, dismayed to discover that the creatures kept advancing until she had taken out both their eyes.

As the first of the beasts closed in on her, a rearing Indira kicked it back. Caris turned to shoot at another creature and was horrified to see Crispin pulled from Indira’s saddle.

Indira’s wildly flailing legs clipped one of the beasts as it lunged for Caris. It fell into her, knocking her to the ground. A sharp pain exploded in the back of her head as she hit rock.

Everything went black.

Janen, Syngar, and Kalen slept late the next morning by unspoken mutual consent. Janen woke slowly. He finally rose and, dazed with exhaustion, made his way to the creek to wash. Syngar was still asleep, so Janen decided to hunt. He looked around for Kalen and saw her wandering around beneath the trees inspecting small plants.

It really was a beautiful place. The dense dry brush that had lined their path was absent from this part of the forest. The trees grew straight and tall, with patches of green bushes growing beneath them. Much of the ground was clear, however, leaving room for small plants to grow unhindered. It was a relief to be able to see more than a few paces ahead. It was shady under the trees but dappled sunlight danced on the leaves and ground.

Janen wished they had time to stop; it felt like they had been rushing forward for an age. He realised he had not had time to get to know any place since the day he had left his village. Suddenly, he felt very tired.

His burns were stinging again, though with far less intensity than the previous afternoon. He approached Kalen to ask if there was any more of the cream.

“Sleep well?” she asked. He was relieved to find her mood had improved.

“Like a log.”

“It is a peaceful place. There is more of the salve in the creek.”

“Thank you,” said Janen as he went to find it. He resolved only to use it if there was plenty to go around. He could bear the pain if he had to and it was more important to heal Kalen’s face burns as much as possible. He didn’t mind about his own face being marred and
Syngar is already an ugly old man
, he thought with a grin, but it was too much of a shame for such beauty as Kalen’s to be blemished so severely.

She has a similar look to Caris, though without the same defiant spark to her eye,
Janen smiled as he pictured her. He hoped she was okay, his worry for her was a constant uneasiness nestled in the pit of his stomach.

There was still half a mug of salve and, with relief, Janen applied some to his stinging sores before gathering his bow and heading into the trees to hunt.

He returned to find Kalen happily stirring another of her mixtures over the fire.

“Janen, I should have asked you before you went,” Kalen greeted him; “If you see any more of those purple flowers, please collect them for me. They are rare, but we will need more.”

“Quillet,” Syngar said appreciatively. Janen looked at him. He was still pale, and seemed to be struggling to talk normally.

“I wasn’t sure whether we would have time to cook it this morning but...”

“We have time,” Kalen replied, looking at Syngar with pursed lips. Syngar failed to notice their concerned glances, as he stared at the ground.

“I have found everything I need to bring relief and healing to his wound. This is a marvellous place for healing herbs. We were very fortunate that this was where you happened to find water Janen.”

“A large eppet led me here.”

“Led you here?” Kalen asked.

“Well I followed it, expecting it to head to water at that time of day,” he replied with a smile. “Though it kinda did feel like he was leading me.”

“An eppet, this far west,” Kalen mused, looking around.

“The Buck of Grace,” Syngar murmured, still looking at the ground in pain.

“The Buck of Grace,” Kalen echoed.

Janen stared at them, wondering what they were talking about, but before he could question them, Kalen jumped up. “Janen stir this for me.” She ran off into the trees again.

Janen stirred the pot, watching Kalen as she poked around under some bushes, before disappearing behind a wide ochre coloured tree.

“Aha!” She exclaimed. Shortly after, she reappeared holding more of the purple flowers triumphantly in the air. She came back flourishing them excitedly.

“I knew if the Buck led you here there would be some close; I just hadn’t gone far enough before, because I wasn’t expecting them to be here, they are so rare. But there are loads over behind that big old tree. Janen, go and get me some more.”

“So bossy, when you have a patient,” Syngar murmured. Kalen grinned at him and went to get some more water for her pot.

Janen brought a large bunch of flowers back and she left her pot to simmer while she ground them up.

“What is the Buck of Grace?”

“The Buck of Grace, who knows?” Kalen replied. “He appears when there is great need, often leading people to a place of peace and abundance. He is rarely seen in times of conflict, though there are stories of times gone by when he dwelt near humans, blessing them with wondrous pastures.”

“He made this place?”

“I don’t know,” Kalen looked like she had never considered it. “I don’t know if he just shows people where places of abundance are, or whether his passing causes his peace and plenty to settle on a place.”

Janen walked downstream pondering Kalen’s words, and then set about the grisly task of skinning the quillet.

By midmorning, they had eaten. Kalen had made a large supply of her lavender coloured salve and tended to Syngar’s wound: cleaning it again and putting a thin layer of purple cream inside, before enlisting Janen’s help to mop up the fresh blood while she pulled the wound together and liberally applied a thick white paste to the skin. Kalen held it tightly while instructing Janen to bandage the whole area firmly. Janen was amazed when she informed him that she had just glued the wound back together.

She finished cleaning the rest of their cuts with hot soaked bandages and smothered them in a white cream that soothed Janen’s pain immediately. Janen was glad to see that Syngar was sitting comfortably, the colour back in his face.

“I love your creams,” he smiled at her.

“Hmph, not that you deserve them,” she returned his smile. She seemed to have forgiven Syngar for not informing her immediately of his wound, though in truth Janen did not see that she could have done anything for him at the time anyway.

Suddenly serious, Kalen addressed them, “I owe you both an apology.”

Janen looked at her in surprise.

“I have been neglecting my gift. How can we be warned of attack, or expect to receive any guidance when I do not take the time to listen.”

Janen looked at her in confusion.

“There is no certainty that you would have been warned of yesterday’s attack, anyway,” Syngar argued.

“There is certainty that I won’t hear, if I don’t listen.”

“That’s not true either,” he replied.

“Our mission is too important for me to remain negligent. I can’t be constantly talking and in my head. This is why I always shun leadership. How can I hear when I am constantly telling people what to do?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Syngar said aside to Janen.

“One of you needs to take the lead,” she said, looking at Syngar.

“Huh!” was his only reply.

“Syngar, please,”

“It’s not going to happen,” he replied with a simplicity and shrug of his shoulders that brooked no argument.

She turned to look at Janen. “Then it will have to be you.”

Janen gaped at her. There was no way he could take command over Kalen, with her wisdom and experience, or Syngar, who was of an age with Janen’s dad.

“I, I, I can’t.” His stuttering refusal was argument enough.

Kalen’s shoulders slumped.

“Then we will make decisions together.”

“If you say so, boss,” Syngar replied with a grin.

Kalen glowered at him.

Janen kept his smile to himself. He would continue to make suggestions as before, but in the end he knew, he would always defer to Kalen.

“I hate to put you back in the saddle so soon Syngar, but I think we need to press on. What do you two think?” Kalen asked.

“Terrible idea!” was Syngar’s immediate response and Janen had to stop the laughter that threatened to erupt at the look of consternation on Kalen’s face.

“If it’s to be a democracy, then I vote we stay here. It’s a beautiful spot. When I’m healed I’ll build us a log cabin.”

“You’re impossible!” Kalen said as she rose to go and saddle her horse.

Janen and Syngar grinned at each and Syngar called out, “What happened to our democracy? That didn’t last long.”

“I’ll saddle your horse,” Janen said, rising. He left Syngar to chuckle to himself.

As they started heading back to where they had left the lost one’s trail the previous afternoon, Kalen queried Syngar,

“How am I to listen inwardly when I’m so angry with you?”

“It’s a great mystery.”

She sighed, “No one disturb me, I don’t care what the crisis. You two louts can deal with it.”

“Yes boss,” Syngar replied.

Janen thought Syngar might be pushing it a bit too far, but when he looked back at Kalen, she was shaking her head with a small smile on her face.

“I didn’t understand half of the conversation back there?” Janen said softly to Syngar.

“Mmmm, Kalen’s a seer. You don’t know about seers in your village?”

“No.”

“I thought not,” Syngar replied, cryptically. “She sees pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“Things that are going to happen, things that are happening. Sometimes, it’s not even as clear as a picture, just an impression, or a feeling. Sometimes she’ll get an image but then she has to contemplate it until she gets an interpretation. It’s how we arrived on time to rescue you, Bek, and Tilda.

I didn’t get the whole story, but apparently she saw grey ones throughout the trees; they were thickest by the road. You saw the mess they left behind. They were waiting for us. None of us would have survived if we had ridden into that. She also saw you three fighting for your lives and a way through. So we rode to your aid.”

“And Crispin listened to her? Because she saw pictures in her head?”

“Of course he listened to her! Fool’s a person who doesn’t heed a seer.”

Their conversation petered out and Janen was left with an even deeper respect and awe for Kalen than previously.

Toward dusk, they left the path of the lost ones again, taking care to conceal their tracks. Kalen ordered a cold camp, not wanting to risk discovery unnecessarily. They had built a good supply of smoked meat and had picked a large bundle of golden fruit from a moonda tree that morning.

Syngar was clutching his stomach in pain by the time they stopped and Kalen had to reseal it where the flesh had come apart. After tending to the horses, Janen climbed into his bedroll; it seemed the farther west they travelled, the cooler it was getting.

The sun had already crossed two thirds of the sky the next day, when they came across the dead lost one in the middle of the path.

Janen rode straight past it, glad they had one less enemy to defeat if they ever caught them. It seemed to him that whenever they were gaining on them something would happen to hold them back. It was so hard to catch them up as it was; they slept so little and he was becoming increasingly convinced they were purposely choosing the thickest brush to travel through, making it difficult to gain time with the horses.

He heard Kalen and Syngar stop behind him, so he reined Prince in to see what they were doing. They both sat their horses, gazing down at the dead lost one. He hadn’t been there long; Janen thought they were now less than half a day behind.

He looked at Kalen and Syngar wondering at the delay. He was surprised to see Kalen wipe away a tear.

“He treats them like beasts! Worse than beasts. He drives them without mercy, stripping them of even a basic humanity,” she said angrily. “They didn’t even move her from the trail,” Kalen cried. “She was someone; she once had people she loved, who loved her. She deserved a decent burial, with kind words spoken over her.”

“I’m confused,” Janen murmured to Syngar, as they rode away, “Aren’t these the grey ones we are pursuing to kill?”

“We will kill them if we must, though they don’t fight us of their own will. It is not death that is so grievous, it is how they are treated and how degraded they become. It would be one thing to fight a people who had been misled by an evil ruler with clever words, but the Dark One doesn’t just manipulate them onto a wrong path. He blinds them to right and wrong, to good and life; he robs them of the ability to choose, takes all their freedom, and enslaves them to his will. And they don’t even know.”

Janen looked back to where they had left the lost one, with a new understanding that they weren’t the real enemy. The real enemy was much more powerful and sinister.

It was not a lot longer before they rode through some particularly thick scrub and found themselves at the edge of the trees. Janen pulled Prince to a halt and Kalen and Syngar reined in beside him. The trees didn’t thin out. They just ended. Janen stared out at a sea of long dry blue grass that stretched as far as he could see, rippling like water in the breeze.

“The Barren Lands,” said Syngar.

“I had hoped to catch them before now,” said Kalen.